#And the “you don’t want to be like your father” that had been put before it was contradictory

[cirambay-stories]

Sitter

dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

You’re spending spring break alone at home while your father is five thousand miles away when all of sudden, you fall sick. Enter Joel Miller: your father’s buddy, sent by him to check on you.

Warnings: 18+, age gap (reader is in college, Joel in his early 50s), no outbreak, no mother in the picture but your father has a named girlfriend (sorry), no bra household, dry humping, footjob while watching SpongeBob, oral (m and f receiving).

Word count: 6.8k

“Dad,” your voice is hoarse like it has just come out from a dying goose, and you spend the next five seconds trying to clear your throat.

“So like, I’m… sick, kinda, but it’s not really bad, so—” A train of coughs that feels like they are going to tear your lungs apart. “—sorry about that. It’s nothing. Don’t worry too much, don’t even think about it. I just wanted to let you know.” Another coughing fit. “Okay. Have fun, I love you.”

You click your phone screen and let the voicemail find its way to your father’s ancient block of telecommunication. It’s 11 p.m. for you, 5 a.m. in Tuscany, you calculate with your fingers. You might be wrong. Either way, your father is probably asleep. He had been away for a couple of days with his girlfriend Amy for her nephew's wedding. And they plan to spend another week there, because it’s their anniversary, and Amy had always wanted to go to Italy.

“Will you be okay?” your father asked, apologetic. He leaned onto your bedroom door’s frame while you were unpacking your backpack.

“Yeah, Dad, what am I, eight? Go.” you laughed lightheartedly.

“It’s just you came down here from school and then I go, you know. I wish you’d said yes and come with us.”

“And third-wheeling you and Amy for ten days?” you giggled. “Dad, it’s okay. Come on. We’ll still have the weekend together when you come back.”

You heard Amy call for your father from downstairs, followed by a question about his dress shirt. You grinned, gesturing for him to go.

“Me and Amy will make sure the fridge is full, okay?” he says, voice fading as he steps down the stairs. You shook your head. You’ve survived on dry ramens and day-old coffees in college. You would be okay. Right?

Loud buzzer sound. The game show on the TV you put on to distract yourself from the fever is not doing a good job. You try to focus, but the noises coming out of it sound muffled, and the colors are just so bright and saturated that they make your head spin. You click on mute before slamming the remote on the coffee table, and it lands safely on some crumpled Kleenex. A thermometer is sitting next to the box, the tiny display screen blank. It’s broken, and you make a mental note to scold your father for always keeping faulty things around the house as if he’s going to fix them. A few bottles of pills you fished out of your father’s medicine cabinet to at least ease your aching muscles are toppled next to a half-empty Nyquil Nighttime Relief bottle with its cap screwed but crooked.

You second-guess your decision to let your father know that you’re unwell. But again, he hates surprises, so letting him know that he might find your rotting corpse in front of his TV when he gets back is, perhaps, doing him a favor.

It’s dark in the living room, and the leather couch is sticking to your sweaty leg. You should probably put sweatpants and a hoodie on instead of biker shorts and a stretched out shirt that looks more like a rag than a proper clothing item. But climbing the stairs now? No, thank you.

You shift your body, trying to find the best position to fall asleep in since the wrong angle seems to block your nasal passage. A groan leaves your throat when you can’t pull the fleece blanket to cover your body. You find out you are sitting on both ends of it. To hell with it.

You blink slowly. The Nyquil seems to start working. Can’t sneeze or cough if you’re knocked out, you think. You close your eyes, the colors from the TV somehow find their way in and flash washed-out red, white, yellow behind your eyelids. You’re too tired to reach for the remote.

Maybe you’ll feel better when you wake up.

You jolt when something cold makes contact with your forehead. Within microseconds, you yeet the thing away hysterically, hitting yourself in the process. The thing flies and lands on the wooden floor with a wet, thwap sound.

“Easy, easy,”

If it was just a little bit not so sudden and confusing and designed to constrict your blood vessels until your organs fail, you would have yelped. You nearly snap your neck trying to find the source of the voice, and your tense shoulders fall as quickly as they were raised when you notice the familiar face belonging to a broad frame standing next to the couch.

It’s Joel Miller.

Of course it’s him. Your father likely has him on speed dial.

He and your father go way back. Went to the same school, crushed on the same girls, hit the same bong, and so on. They were even in a band together. Your father has pictures of them from years ago, with greasy hair, earrings, bass and drumsticks in their hands. Cringe.

Well, just your father. Not Joel though.

You haven’t seen him in like, what, a year? And yet he looks good as ever. Well, Joel has always looked good his whole life. When you saw the pictures of him from high school you thought, Oh Fuck, I Would Totally Have A Crush On This Guy. And then you had to sit in silence and ponder, because, well, you are having a crush on this guy. Sort of. Maybe.

He bends over to pick up the thing you just yeeted on the floor, which is apparently a washcloth, and dunk it in a basin on the side table, which is now clean from all the stuff that was previously there.

“Joel,” you chirp. “Hi.”

“Hey.” he smiles as he squeezes the washcloth. Beads of water come trickling down his knuckles back to the basin, gleaming in front of the still-turned-on TV.  “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay. What time is this?” you straighten up, rummaging around the blanket to find your phone to no avail.

“One-thirty. Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. Your old man asked me to check on you." He folds the cloth in two and dab it before stepping closer and pressing it against your forehead, nice and cold. His other hand supports your head from the back, basically cradling your skull.

“Your front door was unlocked when I came in.” says Joel, as if you are capable of digesting any kind of information at the moment. “You shouldn’t do that.”

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly. “And sorry my Dad made you come here. You didn’t have to, it’s not so bad.”

“Come on, it’s only a ten minute drive. ‘S okay. I checked your forehead. Not too bad, but still a fever, y’know. You took the Nyquil?”

The thought of Joel Miller touching your forehead with his palm in the dark while you were asleep somehow makes the neurons in your brain stop interlinking for a second. Were you sleeping with your mouth open the whole time? You knew you did fall asleep that way since you couldn’t breathe through your nose. Man.

“I did.” you nod, shaking the thought away. You feel your lungs tighten, though. Another coughing fit incoming.

“Good,” Joel presses his hand to your forehead again as if trying to make sure the wet washcloth is properly glued onto your face. The soft pressure disrupts your composure and you cough like a machine gun submerged in a container full of Elmer’s glue, hacking up thick mucus up your throat. Joel leaves your side with hurried steps and, within seconds, somehow has a paper cup under your chin for you to spit into.

You try to grab the cup, flustered, but he doesn’t let go and instead helps you sit up straight, patting your back.

“Spit.” he says as you wheeze with phlegm in your mouth like an imbecile. You awkwardly grab his wrist for support and spit the mucus out into the cup. Soon you’ll realize how foolish it is to grab someone’s wrist using the same hand you used to cover your mouth while coughing. The string of saliva takes a ridiculously long time to break free from your lips, but Joel is unfazed. He takes a glance at the mucus, likely checking the color and consistency.

“Thanks,” you blink rapidly, still processing.

“You wanna go to urgent care?” Joel asks.

“Nu-uh,” you shake your head. “I’m okay, I promise. I feel a lot better already.”

“It’s probably just a bug,” he pats your back again before walking to the kitchen to dispose of the cup. “How long has it been going on?”

You wait until he comes back because you don’t think you can speak loud enough for him to be able to hear you from the kitchen without tearing your throat apart. Joel thinks you didn’t hear him the first time and is about to repeat his question when you say, “Uh, it got progressively worse last night.” you realize how serious that sounds and quickly add, “But not like, worse worse. I mean, compared to,”

“And before that?”

“Just a scratchy throat.”

He looks like he’s mentally taking notes with arms folded in front of his stomach. It’s the first time that night you take a full look at him under the glow of the muted TV. You can’t really make the colors out, but he’s wearing a dark t-shirt under an unbuttoned flannel shirt and jeans. He’s keeping his beard kind of thin compared to the last time you saw him, but still the same, well-tended mustache that makes a strong presence over his lips. You can’t help but notice the graying strands of hair that stick out among his dark, messy hair, complimenting him so well. You are pretty sure the ratio between light to dark hair has been shooting up this year. You like it.

And his eyes. They’re rich, and dark, and the fact that he furrows half of the time that it creates permanent dents between his eyebrows just makes him ridiculously hotter.

The mucus factory must be working overtime tonight because you can feel the slight slippery feeling of lubrication where you’re sitting. Fucking stupid, you think, read the room.

All of sudden, a lightning flashes, lighting up your surroundings before the grumbling roar of thunder follows through. For a second, you can make out the shapes and silhouettes of everything in the room like a photograph. Joel fits rightly in the left third of this main piece in your mind exhibition. You wish you could take screenshots with your eyes and keep it to admire later.

Joel glances out the window. Heat lightning reveals the blobs of clouds outside, and the strong wind is starting to blow debris to rattle the windows. He shifts his focus on you again. “Did you eat?”

“I’m okay,” you shrug. Storm is coming, Joel better go home before it gets worse.

He chuckles. “Yes or no?”

That chuckle tickles something deep inside of you. You smile shyly. “Yes, Joel. I’m okay.”

Joel stares at you, and you are pretty sure he senses that you did not, in fact, eat dinner. “I’m starvin’, actually,” he gets up and takes his flannel shirt off, and then tosses it on the couch before making his way towards the kitchen. You scream internally at the sight of his biceps like a deranged fangirl.

“Mind if I take a look in the fridge?” he yells while opening the fridge door. Just being polite. He knows your father will let him dismantle the house and take the pieces home if he wants to.

You free the tangled blanket from around your legs, only noticing now how under your old, sweat-dampened, Marlin Club shirt, your nipples are as erect as fireman’s poles. Was it the temperature, Joel, or both, you can’t conclude.

Joel whistles when he finds that the fridge is full. He grabs a can of beer and pops it open, studying the contents of the fridge and thinking of what he can cook for you as he gulps the beer down.

You follow him to the kitchen, jump to sit on the kitchen island as Joel grabs some produce off the fridge and sets them next to you. He looks at you, blinks a couple of times, then occupies himself with the food cabinet over the counter. You try to be helpful by unwrapping the basil and cherry tomatoes.

“So, how’s school?” Joel breaks the silence as he washes his hands. “And don’t just say okay, please.”

“You got me there,” you laugh. “Nothing really amusing, really.”

Then a few more superficial, classic-catching-up questions while you both prepare the pesto. Joel asks about the trip to Italy, how your father mentioned proposing to Amy soon, what do you think about that. You ask about his brother Tommy, work, and the average cost to renovate a room, to which Joel answers in detail really nicely. Then come the usual do-you-remember-when stories, melting down the strange and awkward atmosphere between the two of you. Laughters fill up the room. It’s fun and familiar.

“Did you remember when you used to call me Uncle Joel?” Joel sneers as he tosses a pan to the sink. “You used to be so nice and polite.”

“I was like six!” You snorted. “And you can’t even pay me to call you that again, Joel.”

Then, the once-your-pops-and-I anecdotes. You’ve heard some of them from your own father’s mouth, but you still listen to Joel’s versions eagerly anyway.

At one point, you start to cough again so Joel instructs you to just sit down on the counter. You don’t complain—it means you can just sit back and watch him from the back and imagine how it would feel to run your fingers through his hair.

When Joel stirs the pasta with the pesto sauce, the weather has gone full-blown insane out there.

“You should stay the night,” you try to sound as nonchalant as possible. His presence is sending arrays of erroneous signals to your reproductive organs, which will most likely result badly if he stays, but how can you let him drive home in this kind of weather?

Joel hands you a fork and pushes a plate of fusilli for you to eat. “Eh, we’ll see,” he shrugs. “I don’t mind drivin’ through a storm, but I can’t just leave you alone if you don’t feel well.”

“Dad told me you got a folded chair smashed through your windshield last summer.” You take a bite, the thick sauce coats your tastebuds and you groan in satisfaction, even though you can’t really taste it to the fullest because of your stuffy nose.

“Oh, yeah, that.” Joel chuckles. “I was lucky it aimed for the shotgun.”

He eats standing up across you, one elbow on the counter. When you both finish the meal, he takes your plate and starts washing the dishes. You tell him to do it later, and then offer your help, and he says no to both. You insist on drying the dishes anyway, standing side by side with him.

After the very late dinner, you two retreat to the living room. Joel asks you to take some medication again and you decline, stating that you feel better already.

“Headstrong, ain’t ya?” Joel sighs. “Okay, sleep then. Wanna sleep in your bed?”

“Not really sleepy,” you shake your head. “Feel free to take Dad’s bed, by the way. You have work in the morning, right?”

“Nah, I’m alright by the couch.” Joel scoots to make room for his legs and lies on his back, groaning like every other old person when they finally get to be horizontal. His feet are dangling on one side, his head on the opposite armrest. You take the old recliner that doesn’t even recline anymore near Joel’s feet, facing both the TV and Joel at an angle.

The TV is still on, showing the same game show but already on a later season. You unmute it and watch it together with Joel for five minutes before you realize that none of you has laughed yet, and you ask Joel if he wants to watch a movie instead. He says why not.

You open a streaming service and browse for movies on the home page. Joel probably likes action and other classic old man genre types. You pretend to read some of the summaries and see if Joel perks up at one of them, but he doesn’t seem to really care about the TV.

“I don’t know what to watch,” you admit. “Do you wanna pick the movie?”

Truth is, Joel can’t give a single shit about no goddamn movie. He’s been distracted by so many thoughts in his mind. But he gestures for you to scroll back up anyway.  “Let’s see the trending ones.”

You stop at a tally of newly released and currently popular films at the top of the page, giving Joel a chance to read about them before moving to the next one.

“This one looks excitin’.” Joel points at the screen. The poster shows a man in classic Viking attire, staring intently at the viewer with striking blue eyes. Some kind of pelt is draped over his shoulders. His hands are on top of each other, resting on a sword handle, the blade facing the earth. Dried mud and blood are splattered over his face and armor. The Conquest, it says. You don’t recognize the actors listed. The summary says something about revenge, passion, blood, power, blah blah. You click play.

The movie opens with a battle scene. The movie looks like it runs out of lighting budget, and you need to squint to be able to tell what they are actually doing. Nothing can be heard except grunts and blades clashing. You look over at Joel to see his expression, but he’s looking at you. He quickly averts his gaze back to the screen.

Twenty minutes pass, and none of you are really paying attention to the plot. Not until the main guy enters a wooden tub filled with steaming hot water with his asscheeks out, and then a woman enters the scene with nothing but a thin white veil covering her body. She drops the cloth and joins him. The warm light from the torches is highlighting her breasts.

“Woah,” you look at Joel again, but he says nothing, but you can see his Adam’s apple moving awkwardly.

They kiss, and he grabs her bosom with his humongous palms and knead them. Then he buries his face between them, with the woman kissing the top of his head. After what feels like a millenia, he lifts her lower half from the water, and then puts her down to sit on the edge of the tub before performing cunnilingus. She moans.

You start to feel a pool of heat brewing inside of you. This feels invasive of their privacy, somehow, with no soundtrack added, just fire crackling and water splashing and erotic moaning.

Joel clears his throat. “Uh, maybe we shouldn’t watch this,”

“You’re the one who picked the movie.” you say, eyes fixated on the screen.

“Well, it didn’t say nothin’ about eatin’ a lady out in the summary.”

He reaches for the remote and turns the TV off, leaving only the sound of rain hitting your window in your eardrums.

“Hey,” you whine. “That’s not nice. I didn’t say yes.”

“It’s late. Go to sleep.” Joel folds his arms over his chest, partly staying warm, partly because he’s so flustered he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He then closes his eyes, knowing damn well he’s far from feeling tired let alone fall asleep.

“We’re both adults anyways,” you mutter, but Joel doesn’t move. He’s probably actually tired.

Your gaze is affixed on him. He surely doesn’t look like he’s sleeping in peace right now but he’s still handsome nonetheless. His old shirt is a tad bit too tight around his biceps. You can see the protruding veins beautifully decorating his arms and hands. His legs are slightly crossing with one ankle on top of another, and his breath is steady. He’s gorgeous.

In your wildest dreams, you would jump to straddle Joel, and he would grab your hips and fuck you to death. Is it bad that your immune system is fighting one of the worst battles in your life, and yet your number one priority is somehow to get laid, by this man specifically? It’s both excruciating and foolish. 

The movie you just saw doesn’t help, either. In fact, it makes everything worse. Your mind keeps wandering back to it, the way the man eats the woman out, and then back to Joel, imagining the top of his head would look like when he eats you out. Fuck. You know that if you don’t get to touch this man in the next 30 minutes, you are either going to combust or burn everything in the vicinity.

You close your eyes, try to do the mindfulness practice you once saw in a magazine. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. You repeat “Release me from this earthly desire” in your head like a rookie buddhist wizard trying to cast a spell with a broken wand. You ball your fists in your lap so hard the joints start to hurt.

It’s not working.

Your mind keeps wandering back to different scenarios, different positions, different spots around the house. Low grunts, fingertips pressing your sides, tongue between your lips…

You can’t do it anymore. You need release. You need to at least be able to feel something, a little reward for your throbbing clit. Trying your best to be as casual as possible, you pull your folded legs closer to your body, your left heel even closer to your biker-short-covered cunt, and shift your body weight on it.

The pleasure that has been building up there bursts like a balloon. You sigh.

There are two things that Joel is not: young, and oblivious.

Oh, he is totally aware of what’s happening. You are not doing a good job trying to be subtle. From the non-stop staring, to the constant fidgeting, to the borderline sexual sighs, to the hard nipples, Joel knows you are going through something that is completely different from just being ill.

And he totally understands. He’s been there, done that. There was a time when his back wasn’t hurting and his face hadn’t been ‘graced’ with crow’s feet and age spots yet, when his hormones were at all-time high and his blood liked nothing more than flowing to his cock recklessly at the slightest inducement. He understands what you are going through.

So when you start grinding yourself onto your left heel followed by soft moans, he is not exactly surprised, just mostly in awe of your debauched audacity.

That is too much, even for him. He clears his throat, hoping you’d catch the hint and stop for good. But you don’t, and your eyes are closed and your eyebrows are knitted together in concentration, and your hips are moving slowly, sensually, chasing something, the sight of it stirs something up in his guts.

It is vulgar, and most importantly indecent in every way, but Joel can feel his own arousal creeping up no matter how hard he tries to convince himself that it is not happening.

He calls your name. Your body responds faster than the critically thinking part of your brain and you stop like you just got cursed by Medusa. 

You can physically feel your heart drop to your ass. Your neck moves stiffly to find his eyes like a broken animatronic. “Yeah?” you croaked.

“Do you think I don’t know what you’re doin’?”

You blink. Deny? Act stupid? Admit? Deny, deny. Wait, deny? No, act stupid.

“What… Do you mean?” you say, and you realize that you chose the dialogue option that actually sounds the dumbest.

Joel clicks his tongue. “Might as well hump me if you want it that much.”

Wait, what? Your eyes light up. “Really?”

Joel stares at you in genuine perplexity before lifting one hand up to massage his temples. He takes a deep breath, and in the softest way possible—like telling a puppy she can’t eat electronic parts—sighs, “No.”

“Oh,” you cover your mouth. “I thought you meant—“

“Yeah, yeah. My bad.” he sighs again, sounding significantly more frustrated. He then uses his hands to support himself to a sitting position, composing himself.

Silence. You don’t dare to look at Joel, but your cunt keeps pulsing like a metal detector. You understand that the beeping—desire—will not die down unless you get the valuable artefact from the bronze age—Joel—in your hand. Is this time to be bold and brash?

“Joel,” you call, and you can swear that was not a sober decision, but the stage curtains have been pulled back, and you are pushed to the stage to play your part.

“Hm?”

“What if… I hump you anyway?” you stand up, and your knees are slightly buckling but you act tough and bold regardless.

Joel’s jaws opens and stays slightly agape for a while before he says, “That fever is really messin’ with your brain, huh? Sit down.”

“You’re bricked up, Joel.” you accuse. You don’t actually know for sure since Joel keeps a hand on his lap to cover his crotch, but Joel gulps. Gotcha.

“Unrelated to you.” he hissed in defense.

You scoff.

“Joel, please,” you grouse, voice cracking and desperate. “I want this so bad.” you whisper as you take slow, threatening steps towards Joel until your crotch is not even an inch away from his knee. “I want you so bad.”

“This ain’t right, kid.” Joel puts a hand on the outer side of your arm, and it’s worth pointing out that he’s shaking. “You know that.”

Joel doesn’t tell you that he’s battling demons in his head, and he’s currently losing. A million impulses are catapulting burning boulders onto the gate of his conscience, and all he got is one bleeding, sickly troop with a chipped wooden sword. But he puts his best stern expression despite the fact that his body is betraying him.

He could leave now. Push you away. Clear his head. Come back later. Or not come back at all.

But he knows he doesn’t want to. He can hear his blood rushing and his heart singing battle cry. Not to mention his cock, hard and nearly burns a hole through his jeans.

A long pause. You want to push him further, but you know you don’t need to. The black marlin printed on your shirt does a worthless attempt at distracting Joel from your hard nipples, putting him into a trance.

Joel takes a deep breath. He knows he has lost. “You can help yourself, that’s all,” he nods, more trying to convince himself rather than talking to you. “Just to make you shut up and get rest. That’s it.”

That’s an unenthusiastic barf-colored green light, but it is a green light nonetheless.

You put your hands on Joel’s shoulder before putting your left knee next to his right leg and lower yourself down onto his thigh, while your other knee rests in front of his crotch and presses onto his raging hard-on. Your cunt pulsates in pleasure upon contact, and you let out a gasp. Joel anxiously places his hands on your sides to keep you steady, one thumb ‘accidentally’ brushing your nipple, earning a whine. You lock gaze with him, and start moving.

The friction sends buzzes up your head. You make each grind count, and every single one feels like heaven despite the layers of fabric between your cunt and his beefy thigh. Moans and Joel’s name spill from your lips indeliberately, and he tightens his grip on your body until his fingertips turn white as if you would fly away with a gust of wind if he doesn’t. If you weren’t so absorbed in your own pleasure, you would’ve noticed how shallow and rapid Joel’s breath has become. It turns him on watching you getting off because of him, using him, how your eyelids flutter and your pupils are having a hard time staying in place.

Joel wants to break free from his denim, badly. While he consciously thought, planned, and stated that he’s doing what he’s doing only for your satisfaction and be done with it, it isn’t exactly nice having your kneecap pushing button-flies shaped caves on his crotch repeatedly. Especially not when his cock, which probably has its own brain, has been begging to be taken care of, too.

You, on the other side, are having the best time of your life. As your climax is building up in your south region, you smile at Joel, who smiles back. His hand leaves your ribs briefly to brush the hair that is sticking to your sweaty forehead away from your face.

“That feels good, doesn’t it?”

You nod weakly. “So good, Joel, so good,”

For a moment there you consider kissing him. His face is merely two inches away from you, and he looks ravishing, all sweaty and blushing. And how you just want to have your tongue inside his mouth, his lips all over yours sloppily. But that feels like overstepping boundaries, like a whole uncharted area you can’t cross, spreading the flu aside. You opt to put your chin on his shoulder instead, trying to focus on your orgasm.

“I want to see your face,” Joel says in your ear, his beard grazing your cheek. Takes you three whole seconds to process that, and when you do, it tingles your core. Before you can answer, he continues, “You’re so beautiful like this.”

You pull back, meeting his gaze with flushing cheeks. You don’t know what to say, and maybe you don’t have to. You continue to be dumbfounded when Joel stops your motion and helps you to stand up.

“Hold on,” he says as he undoes the buttons of his jeans. “I need to take these off.”

He quickly kicks the jeans off his legs, revealing a dark gray boxer briefs under. A wet patch adorns the bulge right in the center. He then manspreads and gestures for you to come back onto him, to which you comply. “C’mere,” he says, “I need to feel you on me.”

You straddle him, positioning your cunt right on his cock, and on everybody and their mother, it feels good. No, it feels right. Joel lets out a groan that cuts into a gasp when you start to grind. “Fuck, yeah,” he grabs your ass, helping you settle on a rhythm.

The contour of Joel’s cock, albeit still covered by the fabric of his boxer briefs, touches every last nerve ending of your cunt in such a different way that his thigh did. You pick your pace up, getting the pleasure to build up again. 

“Joel, I’m gonna come,” you moan, voice quivering. You rake your fingers through his hair, your noses almost touching.

“Keep going, baby,” he says through a smile. “Don’t hold back. You sound so pretty.”

The encouragement is shooting up fireworks in your lower belly, and you start making more sounds. You’re close. So close.

“Makin’ me so hard all night, you,”

You whimper as you come, hips convulsing. Time slows down, and it feels like your cunt is pulled towards a strong gravitational force within your own body as you are sinking down a quicksand, all while pleasure forces your brain to reboot itself.

“That’s it, that’s it. There you go. You’re so good.”

Joel holds the back of your head while you’re laying on his chest, limp. When you pull yourself away from him, he presses a palm to your cheek, smiling. “Attagirl.”

When you finally gather yourself, you pull away from Joel, leaving a huge wet spot on where you just had your cunt on, and scoot to the spot next to him on the couch. You are about to lean onto his shoulder when he stands up and picks his jeans up from the floor. He sees the wet trail of arousal you left on the fabric in the thigh area and snickers.

“Damn, kid, you’re practically a snail,” he points to it. “Poor thing.”

You wince. “What are you doing?”

“Puttin’ my pants on?” he answers in the exact same tone, fixing the position of his boxer briefs.

“But you haven’t even come yet!” you protest. “What the fuck? Take them off!”

“That’s not what I agreed to, remember? I help you come so you’ll shut up and sleep. You’ve come, now shut up, and go to sleep.” he lays it out like basic math while you press the base of your palms onto your eyelids, confounded.

“You’re a sick person,” you shake your head, and then point to his crotch. “You’re literally still hard.”

“That has nothin’ to do with anythin’.”

You stare at the open space, like you’re trying to break the fourth wall in a sitcom. Can you believe this guy?

“Joel, your line is ‘I’m going to fuck you so hard.’ Now let’s start again from the top.”

Joel, who’s struggling trying to fit his bulge back in the jeans without hurting it, stops fussing with his button-fly shortly to push your head back—softly—to the couch. “Sleep,” he drags his palm over your face to close your eyelids.

“Joooooel,”

“Your line is ‘Yes, Joel, good night.’”

“Yes, Uncle Joel, good night, Uncle Joel,” you mock as you swiftly jump from the couch and pull his jeans down to his ankle and force him to step out of it. You hear Joel yelling hey, hey, hey as he tries to simultaneously fight you and not hurt you. You throw the pair of pants across the room with all your might and it lands with a loud thud.

“What are your pants made of, steel?”

“What is wrong with you?” he takes a step to fetch it, but you stand up and push him back to the couch. Joel is for sure going easy on you, because if he wanted to, he could definitely launch you through the walls. Instead, he just accepts his fate and stares at the ceiling, defeated.

“Nobody sleeps with jeans on, Joel,” you reach for the TV remote again. “Now let’s watch something again and then sleep.”

“We’re not watching the viking movie again.”

“We’re not watching the viking movie again,” you repeat. “We’re watching SpongeBob.”

Joel groans.

“What, you don’t like SpongeBob?”

“Not my era,” Joel says. “I watched Gumby. Tom and Jerry. The Muppet Show.”

“No wonder you act like the heckling old guys.”

“I don’t, but, sure,”

“Oh, you’re more like the eagle. So serious all the time.”

Joel rolls his eyes. You play the first episode of the first season of SpongeBob Squarepants, and the familiar intro begins. You take a look at Joel in the corner of your eyes, how he has one of his forearm on the top of his head, bicep almost as thick as his head. The other hand is resting on his thigh, and you can tell that he’s at least still half-hard. You wonder how he looks under those boxer briefs.

On the screen, Squidward and Mr. Krabs are climbing a post with a sea of raging anchovies under them. Joel’s lips slightly turn upward. Ha, eat that, Mr. Old Cartoon Head.

You shift so that you’re on your back, legs resting on Joel’s lap. He gives you a look, but doesn’t say anything. Minutes later, totally absorbed with SpongeBob pestering his neighbor with a reef blower, he has a hand on your ankle, caressing it without much thought.

They would have written about you in a Greek tragedy the way you’re consumed by greed and lust. When your toes stroke Joel’s bulge, totally by accident and not precalculated at all, you pretend like you’re captivated by the TV. It’s hard and you can definitely discern the ridge of possible veins and the head of his cock.

Joel exhales, sounding so done and tired.  “I know you were going to do this,”

But he doesn’t push you away. And that excites you.

You don’t say anything or look away from the screen, but you keep rubbing the outline of his cock, which is now more visible and grows slightly larger, with the space between your big and index toe. Your brain automatically puts the ice clinking in a vase while SpongeBob is getting dry under Sandy’s treedome as background noise to amplify Joel’s restrained grunts.

You like this. You like having Joel wrapped around your finger. Soon after, you withdraw your legs and sit up, causing him to open his eyes over the sudden halt.

You stare at him, bold. “Would you like my mouth?”

Joel nods.

You don’t even wait for a second. Joel helps you take off his boxer briefs, the length of his hard-on springs out like jack-in-the-box. You admire how it looks, how the tip is totally sticky and glistening, before lowering your tongue. Joal lets out a sound akin to a whimper as you let your saliva ooze down the underside of his cock and quickly retrieve it into your mouth using your tongue. He tastes slightly salty, like sweat. And if you could smell better you’d see how hypnotizing his scent is, like calling you to stick his cock down your throat until the world collapses.

“That’s it,” Joel says, out of breath. His cock is now grazing the soft wall of your cheek, and he wonders how experienced you actually are because you definitely don’t act like an amateur. You use one elbow to support yourself, the other one taking turns massaging his balls and the base of his cock.

The only downside of this is that Joel can’t really look at your face. He craves the sight of you, how your lips are wrapped around his cock, and how your cheek is bulging like a squirrel full of him. One of his hands crawls up your back under your shirt, rubbing it before it finds a new target: your breasts. He kneads on one, thumb flicking the bud. You can’t help but moan and take him deeper, sending vibrations from your throat to his cock.

Joel knows he won’t last much longer, and he would very much like to keep this thing going as long as possible. So he asks you to stop, averting your disappointment by lifting up your shirt and sucking on one nipple. He’s surprisingly tender with it, taking his time. You reach a hand to his cock again, trying to at least get him off with your hand, but he pulls your wrists back and locks them on your sides.

“Joel,” you whine. “Fuck me. Please.”

“No can do,” Joel answers as his lips are trailing down to your stomach, where he peppers kisses all over. You scoot backwards and like reading your mind, he tugs the hem of your shorts down to your ankle before yanking it away, revealing your throbbing, desperate cunt. He then dives down, nose pressing against your mound as his tongue explores the new treasure island.

Just like in the movie.

You try to grab on something, anything, but the leather couch does nothing but squeaks, and Joel instinctively laces his fingers with yours. The view of the top of your head is exactly how you imagined it would be. The moans released from your lips are rather loud, especially when Joel creates a suction cup with his lips right on your clit.

“Joel, Joel,” you grasp his hands with all your might. “This is fucking unfair, I’m so— I’m gonna—”

Before you get to finish your sentence, your body already decides that it’s time for another release. Your heels are planted firmly against the couch as your hips lift to the air, and Joel lets go. He kneels before your cunt, pumps himself to oblivion and comes all over you before you get to collect yourself, staining your stomach and breasts. Later you’ll realize that the first spurt went a little bit rogue and landed on your hair.

“Fuck you, man,” you complain, sticking out a middle finger at him. “I was supposed to make you come.”

Joel rests his head on the couch armrest, eyes closed. “You did.”

“I meant technically,” you attempt to nudge him with your leg, but he dodges and stands up to grab the washcloth he used to compress you with earlier. He then wipes your stomach and breasts with it, the cold water making you squirm.

“What now?” you ask when he hands you your clothes.

“Sleep. It’s four in the mornin’.” he says as he puts his stained, sticky, wet boxer briefs on and sits on the recliner. So you can’t drive me mad anymore, he says.

You whine, but you realize that your eyelids are actually very heavy. “Blowjob first time in the morning?” you offer before letting yourself drift off.

“Thought you were s’pposed to be sick.” Joel shakes his head. But he grins.

a/n: Thank you for making it this far!!! ☺ I apologize if there are grammatical errors, misrepresented American school holiday system, and missing important tags/warnings (please let me know!)

[straylightdream]

I didn’t plan it

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: husband! joshua hong x afb! reader

sometimes you don’t fully plan on things happening. something little slip ups are supposed to happen.

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞(𝐬): established relationship, romance, fluff

𝐚𝐮(𝐬): nonidol

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.6k

𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: angst?, unplanned pregnancy, crying, self doubt

𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: unprotected sex, breeding kink, sex at a party (it’s in a bathroom and absolutely no one is around), fingering, dirty talk, hand on the throat, creampie, nicknames: baby (hers), shau (his)

𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 18+ nsfw

𝐚𝐧: a little belated birthday post for Joshua. This is apart of my series of stories with SVT as fathers and husbands called my only one. This isn’t as edited as I would like it to be.

𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬.

Life has been tough recently. Work has felt like it’s been eating you alive and Joshua has been traveling more for work than ever before. Recently you feel like you have been losing your mind.

It doesn’t help that last week you realized your period was beyond late. You haven’t seen your husband in two weeks and you didn’t really feel like burdening him with the idea that you might have accidentally gotten pregnant. At close to midnight on a Thursday night you took a solo trip to a convenient store to buy a pregnancy test.

You and Joshua had been so good about using condoms while you were inbetween birth controls. Well you were really good about using condoms until one night you got horny at Seungcheol’s house party. Gripping your husband's hand you led him off to the master bathroom away from all the party goers. Sitting on the edge of the counter he pushed your panties to the side and rubbed two fingers through your already wet folds.

“Are you already that turned on? Your panties are so wet they’re sticking to your pretty pussy.” He loves teasing you when you’re like this.

“Can you please fuck me?” You practically beg. Your panties have been uncomfortable for the last hour.

“Do you want my fingers?”

“I want your cock.”

He shakes his head as he pumps two fingers inside your wet core. Earning a wonton moan. “We don’t have condoms, baby.” If you were smart you would have made Joshua put one in his wallet for emergency situations like this.

“Does Cheol?” You can’t help but whine.

“No baby he doesn’t. His wife is pregnant and before they were on a mission to get her pregnant. Condoms are the last thing on his mind.” The heel of his palm rubs your clit as he rubs your gummy inner walls.

“Can you pull out?” You sound like a whore in heat with how you’re begging him to fuck you. “Or you don’t have to pull out. You haven’t filled me up in so long.”

“What if I get you pregnant?” He’s clearly trying to be the ration one here.

“I thought you said I would look hot pregnant?”

“I’ll fuck you but I can’t guarantee I’ll pull out.” Stepping back he unbuttons his pants and pulls his already hardened cock from his jeans. “You’re so damn needy,” he teases.

Running his length through your wet folds he earns another moan with his head nudges your clit. “Spread your legs more.”

Blindly you listen. He pushes into you with one quick thrust. One hand rest on your throat and the other grips your thighs. Your thigh is bound to have bruises from his grip tomorrow, but you don’t care. It will be a nice reminder of this moment. This reminds you of when you were both horny college kids back in the day. Back then you use to commonly have sex in bathrooms at parties. But back then you weren’t worried about not having condoms. Your iud was your form of birth control back in the day.

Fingers tangled in his dark hair pulling his lips to yours. Moans are muffled as your lips move together. He fucks you at a rough and quick pace.

“Baby can I come inside you?” He pleads.

“Please fill me up,” you moan.

The crushing wave of your orgasm hits you as Joshua moans your name not pulling out. His thrust are sloppy as he paints your walls with his thick white ropes. Slowly he pulls out as a little of his release trickles out.

Your lapse in both of your judgement is definitely what led to you getting a positive pregnancy test. The morning sickness you have been experiencing is another side effect of your romp in the bathroom at Seungcheol and his wife’s house.

You have about another week before your husband returns from his trip. It will be nice to finally tell him that he’s going to be a father.

The whole time he’s been gone since you found out you’re pregnant you can’t help but think about the fact that neither of you have brought up the idea of having children. Outside of you switching your birth control you’ve never had a slip up. Sure your husband tends to have what you jokingly call a breeding kink. But he’s never actually mentioned wanting to be a father anytime soon.

The final week you were home alone you just focused on work. You didn’t want to think about the fact you're pregnant. The only time you really think about it is the morning when you can’t help but be sick.

It’s a blessing you're off today you can’t hold anything down and you’ve been sitting on the bathroom floor for two hours. Joshua can’t get home soon enough.

The front door opens and you hear your husband call your name. You yell letting him know you’re in the bathroom.

Peeking his head inside he instantly has a look of worry on his face as he sees you sitting on the floor.

“Baby what is wrong?” He crouched down in front of you.

“I was hoping this was going to be way more romantic,” you sigh. Your eyes are brimming with tears. You feel like you suddenly want to cry.

Resting his hand on your cheek. He slowly drags his thumb across your skin. “Baby you need to tell me what’s wrong.”

“It turns out I’m pregnant.” His eyes go wide as he stares at you looking completely caught off guard. He moved so he’s sitting on his butt in front of you. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, he just stares. You can see the gears moving in his brain as he’s trying to process what you told him. “I know we never really talked about kids since we got married. I know back in the day we both said we wanted to be parents. This timing probably isn’t the best with either of our jobs.” You’re rambling on. You can’t seem to stop talking.

“Baby-“ he finally cuts you off. “I want to be a father. I just got caught off guard. We weren’t exactly trying to have one at the moment. But I’m still happy you’re pregnant.”

A sense of relief instantly washes over you. Tears start sliding down your cheeks. Your husband moves so he’s sitting right in front of you. His hand reaches up again brushing away your salty tears. “Baby why are you sad?”

“I’m not sad. I’m just relieved. I was so worried we weren’t ready for this.”

“Why wouldn’t we be ready?” He asked, smiling.

“Well my job is a mess, and you’re traveling so much right now.”

“Baby if you need to quit you can. I make plenty to support us.” Joshua is literally perfect. He’s always been so emotionally supportive of you. “I’ll let them know that soon I won’t be able to travel like I am. I don’t want to leave my pregnant wife home alone.”

“Okay we’ll figure it out.” Joshua leans forward pressing his lips to yours for a gentle kiss. “I’m pretty sure our baby was conceived at a party.”

He tugs your body close to his. Sitting on his lap he holds you close to him. “It might sound strange but I had a strange feeling that I knocked you up that night.”

“Why is that?”

“We’re always so careful, but that night when you asked me to fuck you raw I just had a feeling.”

Pulling back a little you get a good look at him. “Are you sure that’s just not your breeding kink?”

Rolling his eyes he lets out a breathy laugh. “I can’t wait to watch your belly grow.”

“My body is definitely going to change.”

“You'll be more and more beautiful each day.” Sometimes you fear Joshua is too charming for his own good.

“You can lay off the charm you already knocked me up.” He instantly laughs.

“You know what’s funny?”

“What?”

“We’re gonna have a baby not too long after Cheol’s baby is born.” You can’t help but smile at the idea of your unborn child being friends with Seungcheol baby. “My whole friend group seems to be having babies right now.”

“We’ll be adding another to the bunch.” Leaning forward you press your lips to his for a gentle kiss.

“Why don’t I make dinner to celebrate?”

Crawling off his lap he helps you stand up. Your evening is spent watching your husband cook dinner. He made your favorite pasta you always ask him to make. Being with Joshua has always made you happy. You haven’t ever loved anyone like you love him. He truly is your person.

When nightfall arrives you lay in bed with your husband curled up next to you. He has the shirt pushed up, leaving your stomach on full display for him. Gently he draws shapes on your soft stomach.

“Did you want to find out what we’re having?”

“I would like to. Especially so we can pick out names.” You had actually thought about that quite a bit while you were waiting for home to come home.

“I can’t believe we’re gonna be parents.” He looks so proud when he says that.

You might not have planned to have a baby, but maybe this was the universe telling you it was time. You couldn’t wait to experience another stage of life with Joshua. This next chapter together was going to be parenthood. You just knew Joshua was going to be the best dad ever.

“I love you Shau.” You whisper as he continues to draw shapes on your stomach.

“I love you too darling.”

If you have asked to be tagged I request that you please reblog. If you could leave comments and or tags that would be greatly appreciated.

[holmesianlove]

Chapter 30 - Silver

“Good morning, my love,” John sighed, beside his head. “Happy Birthday.”

“Mmmm,” Sherlock sighed into his pillow. “Morning.”

“How about I make some breakfast for the birthday boy?” He kissed Sherlock’s curls and then another on his shoulder blade before sliding out of bed.

“Joooohhhhn,” Sherlock moaned, turning over. “Where are you going?”

“Come on, you. I have plans,” John said impatiently. “Get yourself up and I’ll make those eggs you like.”

Sherlock flipped back onto his front, burying his head into his pillow. He lay there for a while, listening to the sounds of John rustling around in the kitchen. He could almost fall back to sleep if he just settled back down the right way. He tried fluffing his pillow and pulling the blanket just right. But now that he was listening to John, he wanted to be near him again. He had never realised just how obsessive he could be about another human being but ever since Christmas, ever since they had crossed into this new territory, life had finally felt like it had all fallen into place, like everything had suddenly become colourful. His heart was overflowing with so much love.

With a heavily annoyed groan, he got himself up, put his dressing gown on and padded to the bathroom. After emptying his bladder he decided to freshen up, wash his face and tidy his hair to look nice, to wake up properly so he could greet John with more enthusiasm. He got  out his skin care and worked on his face. Then he grabbed his comb to tidy up his curls. When he looked back into the mirror, he suddenly let out a blood curdling shriek.

He heard John drop something in the kitchen which shattered on the floor and then John came running in.

“Sherlock?! Are you okay?! What is it?” John cried out, worried.

“John! Look!” he moaned. “Look!”

“What exactly am I looking at?” John asked, frozen in the doorway trying to understand, looking for signs of bleeding.

“My hair John. I have a silver strand! A grey hair, John!”

John sighed and collapsed heavily back against the door frame, rubbing his hand over his face. “Jesus Christ, I thought you’d sliced your face open shaving or something.”

“But John…” Sherlock pouted, expecting a bigger reaction to the news.

“Welcome to the old boys club,” John simply said with a sigh. “Mine’s been getting greyer for months. Are you going to lose interest in me because of it?”

“Of course not,” Sherlock scoffed.

“Exactly.” John gave him a smug expression.

Sherlock still sulked and fussed at the mirror “Come and check for more. I want you to pull them out of my head. Will you?”

John just stood at the door frame looking at him lovingly in silence. “I’m going to marry you,” he said gently.

“What?” Sherlock spun around.

John grinned. “Yep. I’m going to whisk you off to the countryside and marry you. Not today, obviously. Don’t worry. But one day. I definitely will.”

Sherlock paused, letting the thought jiggle around in his brain for a moment. “Is that right?” he finally asked, gently smiling as he walked over to John. He needed to look right into those eyes and judge how serious he was.

“Mmm-hmmm.” John let out a contended sigh. “And until then, you will just have to get used to becoming all distinguished and silver. Like your father.”

“Oh dear god,” Sherlock moaned, collapsing against John.

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” John said, laughing at his ridiculous partner.

“I hardly think eggs count as a surprise, John. You told me already.”

“Not the eggs, you twat, there’s something else. Come with me.” He grabbed Sherlock’s hand and led him into the kitchen. “Just watch out for the broken china. And ignore the fact that it may have been your favourite mug. I’ll tidy it up in a moment,” he said in a flurry before Sherlock could register it. “Now sit.”

Sherlock sat himself down at the table, looking a little stunned. Until he saw it. On his plate, were not the eggs yet, but an envelope. “What’s this?”

“Well go on.” John pointed at it to encourage him.

Sherlock opened the envelope and read the card inside. It was a cryptic clue. He had already solved it of course, within seconds but he sat there holding the card in his hands, his mouth open in surprise. His fingers stroked the card and he found himself getting a little emotional. “It’s a treasure hunt?” he asked, finally looking up at John.

John shrugged. “I did have to ask your brother for some pointers and I can't promise to be as smart or as cryptic as him. I'm going to have to learn my way around this,” John said, already apologising for his clumsy version, and blushing slightly. “But yes, I am going to make you work for your presents.”

“You’re already the best present,” Sherlock sighed, smiling up at him.

John paused and smiled. “Oh my god, I can’t believe you just said that aloud,” he laughed. “Sherlock Holmes, you’re getting soppy on me.”

“No, I’m not!” he rushed to protest.

“Yes. Yes you are,” John teased. “One silver strand of hair and now you’re all soppy. You’re old and sentimental.”

“Shut up!”

“I love you,” John sighed happily.

“I know. And I love you,” Sherlock rushed to say.

“I know. Now, let me finish your eggs. Once you’ve eaten, we can do the treasure hunt.”

“The day you walked into that lab, was the very best day of my life,” Sherlock sighed.

John smiled and they both just held each other’s gaze for a moment. John leaned in and kissed him gently and then pulled away. “See? Old and soppy,” he teased. He gave Sherlock a little swat on his arm and laughed as he walked back to the counter to finish making breakfast. “Besides," he added. "I’m pretty sure in the last week, you’ve had some days… and nights, that might be better than me walking into the lab and offering you a phone. Don’t you think?” He gave Sherlock a cheeky wink.

Yes, the last week had definitely had some pretty incredible days. And nights. Sherlock’s mind quickly found a few of his favourites in the catalogue of his mind palace, and replayed them as he waited in silence for breakfast. Some very passionate, and steamy moments.

I’m going to marry you.

John’s words suddenly floated back into Sherlock’s head, and the silver strand of hair was long forgotten. He didn’t care about that, if he had his doctor, his blogger, his friend by his side for the rest of his life. Sherlock relaxed back in his chair and sighed to himself. He couldn’t have planned for things to go any better. If he had asked his brother to manipulate a scenario such as this, with all his resources, it never would have been this perfect.

In the end, things had worked out exactly as they needed to. Eventually.

@lisbeth-kk @helloliriels @totallysilvergirl @221beloved @safedistancefrombeingsmart 

@givemesherbet-blog-blog @naefelldaurk @a-victorian-girl @phoenix27884 @peanitbear 

@starlitkeys @lumilama @yorkiepug @talkativeanxiousturtle @kettykika78 

@kittenmadnessandtea @whatnext2020 @egregiously-chuffed @chriscalledmesweetie @catlock-holmes

@battledress @kholkate @randomquadballpun 

@sillygirlsmindpalace @johnlockficclub @rainstarboii @bheadhe

@wssh13 @br-nz @solarmama-plantsareneat @givemesherbet-blog-blog

@dw91165 @pileofstardust2106 @moonkeller @surprisinglyokay @r4venlyn  

@therealalexisamess-blog @e-b1838 @rhasima @salmonsown @tropelovingpainter 

@westandforships @fuck-off-watson-rp @notjustamumj @melodious-me @sherlocke3d

@otter-von-bismarck @silvergoldsea @calaisreno

[bakudekuficlibrary]

Does anyone have hockey player X figure skater Bakudeku fics? it dosent have to be katsuki as hockey player and izuku as figure skater it can be one or the other for any of them!

BakuDeku: Hockey Player/Figure Skater 6 Works

Shut the Puck Up and Kiss Me, You Lutz! by SweetSide ( E | BKDK | 30,826 | 10/10 )

Bakugou Katsuki's not the first hot-headed hockey player Izuku has encountered in his figure skating career, but he's certainly the loudest.

At first, Izuku can't believe such a guy has the power to turn his head and his heart, but there's just something about him and it doesn't take much for Izuku to realize he can't resist, because he doesn't want to.

skating on the thin ice (of modern life) by starkliquors ( M | BKDK | 40,121+ | 7/9 )

Bakugou Katsuki. Alpha. Hockey Captain. Doting Father. Media Disaster.

Midoriya Izuku. Omega. Ice Staking Champion. Badass Coach. Media Darling.

Eri. Unpresented. Along for the ride.

[Hiatus] Winter's Fray and Dulled Blades by Reapz ( Not Rated | 58,781+ | 9/24 )

Izuku, championship winning solo skater, is expected to perfectly land quads if he hopes to make it passed the Olympic qualifiers and seriously compete for gold.

The issue? His coach had decided he would be eliciting the help of Katsuki, center and captain of UA’s competitive D1 hockey team.

Estranged childhood friends are reunited after years for this new training regimen.

Triple Axel by serenetaflowers ( G | 2,724+ | 3/? )

Izuku Midoriya wants nothing more than to be a pro ice hockey player, and with selection for Japan’s Winter Sports Association Under 21s Program less than 3 months away, Izuku is under a lot of stress with practice being his only form of escapism.

Katsuki Bakugo has been figure skating ever since he was a ‘brat’ and his only goal is to become the number one figure skater on the planet; he too wants to be selected for the program.

The program has a brutal selection with only 50 spots up for grabs so the pressure is on for both Katsuki and Izuku.

The only problem is that UA campus’ rink is only available for a set number of hours after its closing time.

Tensions rise and will both put their differences aside so they don’t end up biting each others’ heads off before the actual selection process?

all I've seen since eighteen hours ago was green eyes and freckles and your smile by wonder_lyn (orphan_account) ( T | 2,415 | 1/1 )

Hockey player Katsuki Bakugou and figure skater Izuku Midoriya are in love.

The rest of the world just doesn't know that yet.

aka the reason my search history is full of hockey rules and ice skating techniques

[Abandoned] The Rink Rats by bookaddicted74 ( T | 7,599+ | 8/? )

Izuku Midoriya begins his journey at UA University at the ice rink. Between being a hockey fan and figure skater himself, he finds himself constantly in the same place as a certain short tempered, blonde hockey player. On top of his athletics and fanboying, Izuku sees Bakugou in section 1A of Physics where it seems like everyone knows each other. How will this relationship develop? Read more to find out!

In less dramatic words, all of class 1A is in the same section of physics and a lot of them are involved in figure skating or hockey. Bakugou and Midoriya are the Romeo and Juliet of the ice rink and a lot of shenanigans ensue. This fic’s main plotline follows the relationships formed in class 1A (both platonic and romantic) with Bakugou and Midoriya being at the center of it.

Fanart, AUs, & Special Mentions:

habken (battle of the blades AU) figure skater bakugou hockey player deku

starrywhitewall figure skating AU

limesicle ktdk figure skating AU

jollykings_ bkdk ice skating AU

'tis the season to read about fictional gays on ice. if I missed any, feel free to comment 'em below!

~ Gabs ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

[writing-rat]

Rings

Pairings: Wednesday x Enid

Content: Just fluff

Summary: Wednesday gets Enid a ring.

WC: 1152

Wednesday was with Enid as they were going shopping in New Jersey. Enid had flown in 2 days ago and she was excited to go shopping. It was her favourite part honestly, and Wednesday had expected that so she had made a list of shops to visit. A perfume shop, a candy shop and clothing shops. She would even use the black card her father had given her when she was younger. She only used it when necessary and with her ‘bestie’ coming, she deemed it as that. She had bought her clothes and her typewriter using the card. She was not irresponsible, she had to show she was responsible with money before she got it. Her father made sure of that, as well as her mother and she showed them when she didn’t spend most of the $1000 her parents gave her and took her shopping. She only got a leather coat costing $200 and that was it. Hell, she still owned and used it. 

“Enid, are you ready to go? Mother and Father are waiting,” she spoke, watching as her friend was packing a small bag. She was nodding, before she grabbed some lip balm.

“Ok, I am done,” she spoke, skipping out as Wednesday followed, her eyes looking the rainbow up and down. She had gained feelings for Enid, she would admit, but she wouldn’t act on them. She did not want to ruin their friendship. They soon arrived at the truck that her uncle owned, but had let the family use. Gomez was driving, romantic music playing from the speakers. “Are you excited to see the Sharks play against the Devils tomorrow?” Gomez asked. He had bought tickets for him, Morticia, Wednesday, Pugsley and Enid and safe to say, Enid was excited about it. 

“Yes! As much as I love your family… I will always root for the Sharks. Sorry not sorry,” Enid chuckled. Wednesday smirked.

“Get prepared for a loss, I don’t need to see you whining tomorrow night after all,” Wednesday smirked.

She and Enid had been sharing bedrooms like they did in Nevermore, and even had been sharing the bed since Wednesday and the rainbow wolf was getting nightmares most nights and they wouldn’t sleep well. That led to cuddles and it worked… except Morticia walked in early one morning and saw them. She was disappointed to learn they weren’t dating, but she knew her daughter liked the wolf. She was a dove after all…

Wednesday and Enid soon got out of the car, wanting to be alone as they went shopping. First, they visited a makeup shop (and protested when Wednesday tried to pay… she soon accepted it). Enid exited with new nail polish, perfumes and just new stuff. She had to leave most of her stuff after all. They then went to a candy shop, Enid getting enough to cause a sugar rush for 10 years. Once again Wednesday paid then they stopped at a cafe. They had some sandwiches and some coffee (but Enid had hers with milk and sugar) then proceeded to go clothes shopping. Enid also finally accepted some clothes that were designer. Safe to say she was happy when Wednesday walked by a store. It had lots of jewellery in it and it got her thinking. “Can we stop here, mon chiot?” she spoke, accidentally using a pet name. She didn’t realise, however.

“Yeah, of course, we can,” she spoke and skipped in looking around. Wednesday meanwhile went to the rings before she walked over to. “What is your ring size?” Wednesday demanded. Enid widened her eyes before she answered, to which Wednesday nodded and then went to the counter. Enid stood back, as she wanted to get a necklace but she was debating on the price.

She jumped when Wednesday was behind her. “Here,” she spoke and handed over the black card. “Buy whatever you want, you deserve it,” she added. Enid thought before she sighed, knowing Wednesday would make her anyway. Going over to the counter, she paid for it as she put on the necklace. It was a necklace with a raven design on it. Admittedly she got it because it reminded her of Wednesday. She knew that Wednesday was her mate, but she didn’t want to reveal it. She knew what the goth was like after all, but she also knew she was an exception. She didn’t want to push her too far though. “Terrible design,” Wednesday spoke, but Enid knew it meant good. “Want help putting it on?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. Enid also saw nervousness in her eyes which she wondered why. Enid nodded.

“Of course,” she spoke, turning around as Enid handed over the necklace. Wednesday was gentle as she put it on before she nodded. When Enid turned around, she felt her heart stutter. “It looks beautiful on you, mi vida,” she spoke without hesitation. Enid blushed and smiled. 

“Come on, let us keep going,” she spoke with a smile. Wednesday nodded, the ring inside of her pocket. She had to wait for the right moment…

–

After shopping, the 2 girls visited the Fairmount Cemetery and Crematory and walked around as they were staying close to each other. That was when Wednesday stopped, and so did Enid confused. “Enid. This… may be hard to say considering it is me. But I want you to be with me forever. You make spiders crawl in my stomach, you make my heart beat so fast that I get excited it is a heart attack. I want you to be buried next to me. You are a brilliant wolf, and I hate that your family has corrupted your mind. You deserve better, mon chiot, and I want to show it to you. Please, let us be together even if it is as friends,” she spoke. Enid had wide eyes before she nodded. 

“Wednesday, you make me so happy. You have made me learn to love myself. I would love to be six feet under with you,” she said with a smile. Wednesday’s eyes lit up before she got her hand out of her pocket. In it was a ring with a unicorn design. 

“I… got you this,” she spoke. Enid smiled before she kissed Wednesday’s cheek softly. 

“Thank you,” she spoke and put it on immediately.  

“That was a coward’s kiss. If you want to kiss me, kiss me on the lips,” Wednesday deadpanned. Enid blushed before she nodded, kissing her on the lips. Wednesday kissed back, holding her hips gently as Enid blushed harder. 

“I need to get you a piece of jewellery too now…” Enid murmured. Wednesday chuckled. 

“You do not have to,” Wednesday stated. “Your cuddles and love is enough,” she added. Enid smiled and nodded as she was happy about that. She didn't have enough in her own personal account after all. She was happy to become an Addams.

[creampuffqueen]

Not to Plan

Korrasami Week 2024 - Free Day

Summary: Korra accidentally mixes up her schedule, leaving her on airkid babysitting duty the same night she's meant to go on a date with Asami. Chaos ensues.

Word count: 4613

----

“Hm…” Korra brushes her fingers through her hair again, lower lip pouting in concentration. “Do you think this is too much?” 

From her perch on her bed, Ikki shakes her head emphatically. “No way. You look so beautiful, I bet Asami is gonna pass out when she sees you!” 

Korra grimaces a bit at her reflection in the mirror. “I don’t think making her pass out is exactly the kind of impression I’m going for, Ikki.”

The young airbender ignores the comment, bouncing off the bed to stand at Korra’s side. She spends a long moment examining Korra’s outfit every which way, before stepping back and stroking her chin thoughtfully – not unlike the way her father strokes his beard in the same motion. “Actually, you could probably use something more.”

“More?” Korra snorts, “Really? I feel like this is already a lot.”

“No, trust me, you need more,” Ikki replies, pushing Korra backwards and forcing her to sit down on the bed. “I know these things. Aunt Kya let me help her get ready for her date with Chief Beifong the other day. I know just what you need!”

Korra isn’t entirely sure if she should be putting her date night appearance entirely in the hands of a twelve year old, but the swirling in her stomach won’t let her relax. She and Asami haven’t seen each other in days, and haven’t had a proper date in weeks. She knows Asami won’t mind what she wears, but her girlfriend always looks so stunning when they go out, and Korra wants to try and make her feel the same way.

“Here we go!” Ikki, who had used the time Korra was lost in her thoughts to rummage around in her dresser, now triumphantly brandishes a large makeup palette in both hands. “I knew Asami left one of these over here at some point.”

Korra’s stomach flips again. “Makeup? I don’t know, Ikki, I’m not very good at that stuff, not the way Asami is –”

“You’re not putting it on by yourself,” Ikki admonishes. “That’s what I’m here for! Now, close your eyes and let the master work…”

A quick glance at a nearby clock confirms another one of Korra’s fears: she’s running out of time. Arguing with Ikki will take too long, so instead she braces herself for what she might see in the mirror afterwards, and closes her eyes.

The chatterbox airbender falls silent for the first time all day as she works, gently blotting and swiping different powders onto Korra’s face with surprising precision. A few strokes over her cheekbones, some soft taps against her eyelids, a smear of gloss over her lips, and…

“Done. Do you like it?”

Korra’s eyelashes flutter as she parts them, peering back at herself in the mirror. She looks… good. Really good, actually. 

Ikki glances up at her, eyes wide, still silent. She opens her mouth to speak, but Korra sweeps her into a hug before she can. “It looks fantastic, Ikki. Thank you.”

The clock on the dresser chimes for the half hour mark, breaking their embrace. Korra stands up, brushing her dress off in an attempt to keep it as smooth as possible. “Alright, time to go. Thanks again for helping me get ready.”

Ikki vaults off the bed, voice restored. “No problem! Let me get my shoes and then I’ll be ready to go too!”

“Go too – wait, what?” Korra tries to call after her, but Ikki is already out the door, sprinting down the hallway to her own bedroom. “Ikki, what do you mean, go too?”

“Mom and Dad’s meeting with President Moon is tonight, remember?” Korra bites back a shout of surprise, whirling around to stand face to face with Jinora, who has seemingly appeared out of thin air.

“Meeting with the president…” Her stomach drops. “Oh no.”

Jinora’s mouth tightens into an awkward grimace. “You forgot, didn’t you?”

Korra responds with a grimace in kind, voice panicked and soft. “I did.” Things have been so busy lately, keeping her away from her girlfriend, that she jumped at the offer of a date without bothering to check, well, the date. And now she’s double booked herself. 

“Are your parents still here?” Korra asks desperately.

“They left half an hour ago,” Jinora replies.

“What about the air acolytes?”

Another wince from the teenager. “Dad gave them the night off because you said you’d watch us.”

“Jinora, Asami and I have a table for two booked at Kwong’s Cuisine. How am I supposed to fit four more people there? Not to mention, it’s a date.”

“I can stay behind if you want,” Jinora offers, voice a bit too even for Korra’s liking.

She narrows her eyes. “Didn’t Kai just get back from a relief trip yesterday?”

The blush on the younger girl’s face gives her away instantly. “Maybe.”

Korra sighs, placing a hand on Jinora’s shoulder. “Nice try, kiddo, but not a chance. If your dad found out I left his fifteen year old daughter unsupervised on the island with her boyfriend… I think you’d have to start searching for the next Earth Avatar.”

“That’s not fair, though!” Jinora protests, “You’re getting to spend time with you partner, why can’t I?”

“Because I am an adult,” Korra reminds her, “And you are not. Besides, with you four around it’s not like we’ll get to spend any time alone. Speaking of - Ikki, Meelo, Rohan, let’s go!”

Jinora huffs, crossing her arms in the universal symbol of teenage frustration. Korra lets her, remembering how she was doing the same thing only a few years ago. The other kids emerge from their rooms at her call, thankfully looking put together enough that she can haul them over to the ferry.

Or, wait – Rohan’s shoes are untied.

“Is everyone ready?” Korra asks, heading over to the youngest of the airbending children to help with his shoe situation.

“I gotta tie my shoes first,” Rohan pipes up, plopping himself onto the floor and grabbing at his laces.

“Here, let me help –”

“No Korra, I can do it by myself!” The five year old insists. Korra bites the inside of her cheek, trying to keep her cool. Normally she wouldn’t have an issue waiting for Rohan to tie his own shoes, but they’re on a time crunch tonight.

“Rohan, we need to go. Let me just tie your shoes real quick.”

“I can do it!” He repeats, scooting away from Korra’s grasp. Slowly, moving at what must be a tortoise-slug’s speed, he pulls his laces tight and begins the delicate process of making a neat bow. 

Korra watches intently as Rohan ties his first shoe, and then starts on the other. The second shoe seems to pose more of a challenge, the boy sticking his tongue out in concentration, fingers clumsy and tangling. They’re going to be here all night at this rate.

“The right shoe is always harder,” Rohan complains, and yet when Korra offers once again to help, he rejects her outright, once again demanding he be allowed to do it on his own. 

Then, to Korra’s utter devastation, the horn of the ferry waiting at the dock trills – once, twice, signalling the boat pulling out to make its journey back across the bay.

The three older kids wince in unison. Korra wants to slam her head against the wall, regretting every decision she’s ever made. She missed the ferry. There won’t be another for a few hours. Making it to this date is seeming less likely by the minute.

“Got it!” Rohan cheers, breaking the tension. He launches himself upwards and kicks his feet, showing off his shoelaces: two perfect bows, tied all by himself.

“That’s great, Rohan,” Korra praises weakly. The five year old beams, surging forward to grab her hand, none the wiser to the dilemma now facing her. 

“Maybe I should just call Asami and reschedule,” she mumbles. Nevermind she hasn’t laid eyes on her girlfriend in nearly a week.

“You can’t reschedule!” Ikki gasps, “You spent so much time getting ready!”

“I know, but we’re already late and –”

“We can take Pepper,” Jinora offers quietly, lifting the visage of teenage angst for a moment. 

“Yes, yes, let’s take Pepper,” Ikki agrees. She grabs Korra’s free hand, tugging her and Rohan along behind her. “Besides, I read in this magazine that ladies should arrive to dates fashionably late. The writer said it’s good to build tension.”

“What magazines?” Jinora probes, “We don’t get magazines here.”

Her little sister pointedly ignores her. Korra holds her breath for the inevitable spat, but thankfully Jinora decides to just ignore her in kind. Thank the spirits for that, at least.

Somehow, in the first stroke of good luck she’s had all evening, Jinora’s bison is already saddled up and ready to go. She chooses to ignore the obvious reasoning behind it, instead focusing on making sure her clothes stay clean on the flight over. 

“You should let Asami make you a wingsuit,” Meelo suggests as Jinora yip-yips her bison into the air. “Then all of us could have just flown over, no bison required.”

Korra sighs, leaning back against the saddle. “Maybe next time.”

Meelo nods sagely, advice given. He sticks a finger into his mouth, playing with a wiggly tooth. “Do you think Asami could pull this thing out with pliers? I’m a bit strapped for cash right now.”

“Airbenders don’t have money, Meelo,” Jinora calls over her shoulder. When she turns around again the ten year old sticks his tongue out at her, making a face.

“She won’t have her toolbox with her at dinner, so I doubt it,” Korra tells him. “What do you need money for, anyway?”

“It’s never too early to start saving for retirement,” Meelo replies nonchalantly. Korra honestly can’t tell if he’s joking. 

Though the flight into the city is short, Korra still can’t help the anxious tapping of her foot that starts up as the minutes tick by. And then keep ticking by, as Jinora searches for a place to land her massive sky bison in the middle of the Republic City Downtown. 

By the time Pepper is secured on the outskirts of a park, Korra is nearly ready to pull her own hair out. “Okay everyone, time to get a move on!” She hoists Rohan into her arms as she starts a strict pace, trusting the older three kids will follow.  

They tumble into Kwong’s about ten minutes later, sweaty, flushed, and messy. Korra can feel blisters beginning to form on her heels from her fancy shoes, and she dreads coming across a mirror and having to face her reflection looking like this. Truly, it’s a miracle that the doorman actually lets her inside the restaurant. 

“I have a reservation for Sato,” Korra gasps out, attempting to wrangle a squirming Rohan. 

The host raises a perfectly groomed eyebrow. “Of course, Avatar. However, I remind you that your reservation is only for two diners.”

“Can’t you just pull up a few extra chairs?” She replies desperately. “This one can sit in my lap, and the others –”

“I can sit in my own chair!” Rohan interrupts, his tiny round face aghast. 

“I know you can, Rohan, but…”

“Korra? I thought I heard your voice!”

A sense of relief washes over her, muscles relaxing, face crinkling into a smile of its own accord as she turns to look at the one person she’s been dying to see all evening. Asami.

Her girlfriend looks utterly gorgeous, as expected. Hair pinned up in a way that leaves it flowing over one shoulder, jewelry glittering beneath the candlelights, red dress hugging her sides – at this rate, Korra might be the one passing out from her beauty.

“Asami!” Ikki and Meelo trill, nearly tackling her in a hug. Asami oofs as they barrel into her, but catches them and holds them both close with a smile.

“Hey guys, what are you doing here? Korra and I weren’t expecting company tonight.”

Before Korra can attempt to explain, in the most tactful way, that she’s been relegated to the role of babysitter for the next few hours, Jinora steals her thunder with a decisive “Korra forgot she was supposed to watch us tonight.”

“Uh, forgot, is not, um, exactly what I’d call it –”

Jinora rolls her eyes. “You forgot.”

Korra smiles sheepishly in Asami’s direction. “Okay. I might have forgotten. You look beautiful, by the way.”

“‘Sami is so pretty,” Rohan agrees from his perch in her arms. Asami, still locked in a double embrace from Meelo and Ikki, positively beams.

“Well, thank you both. How about we go sit down?” She pins the host with a pointed stare. “I’m sure it won’t be a problem to move us to a larger table with more seating.”

The man sweats beneath Asami’s gaze. Dabbing at his neck slightly, he nods hard enough that Korra wonders how his head stays on. “Of course, Miss Sato, right away.”

Meelo tilts his face upwards to glance at Asami. “I need you to teach me your ways.”

She laughs at that, somehow far more okay with this entire situation than Korra would expect anyone else to be. “Maybe another time.”

Asami manages to wriggle out of her hug-trap, coming close to twine Korra’s fingers with her own. “You also look beautiful, Korra.” She emphasizes her compliment by pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. Korra could melt from it.

“And your makeup – did you do this yourself? It looks amazing.”

Korra chuckles, shaking her head. “I can’t take credit for any of this, honestly. Ikki all but dressed me herself.”

Asami gives the younger girl another dazzling smile. “Well, I guess I’ll have to thank you then!” Pink tinges Ikki’s cheeks as she looks away, suddenly bashful. 

The host comes to announce that their new table is ready, and Asami ushers them all to follow after her. Rohan begins to squirm again in earnest, little arms outstretched in earnest desperation. “I wanna be with ‘Sami!”

You and me both, kiddo, Korra sighs internally. But, to keep things running smoothly, she sets Rohan back onto the floor to let him sprint to Asami’s side and cling to her hand. All Korra can offer is yet another apologetic glance. 

They attract more than a few stares as they settle at their table, each less subtle than the last. Korra can feel their eyes burning into the back of her head, making her begin to sweat. Oh spirits don’t let me start sweating here. She cringes to imagine what she must look like at this point.

“This place is so fancy,” Ikki murmurs in awe, staring enraptured at the small chandelier above their table. 

“Yeah, yeah, but is the grub any good?” Meelo asks, snagging a menu from the table. He props it in his lap so he can read and wiggle his tooth at the same time. Korra doesn’t have it in her to chastise him about putting his fingers in his mouth in public. 

Thankfully, she and Asami have managed to be sat next to each other, and her girlfriend turns to kiss her cheek again. “Anything in particular you’re hungry for, love?”

Korra bites her lip before she can reply with the first thought that comes to mind, all too aware of the little ears sitting nearby. “Um. Not sure yet. Definitely something with meat though; I’ve barely left Air Temple Island these last few days.”

Jinora tosses her menu onto the table with a long-suffering sigh, pulling their attention in her direction. “The vegetarian options here are shit.”

Her younger siblings gasp in unison, utterly affronted. “You can’t say that!” Rohan all but shrieks, Ikki and Meelo quickly repeating the sentiment. 

Asami glances at Korra, raising an eyebrow in a clear question of should you do something about that?

Korra just sighs, leaning in close to whisper in Asami’s ear. “She’s trying to get a rise out of me because I wouldn’t let her stay back on the island with Kai.”

Not that Korra isn’t empathetic towards the teenager’s need to let off some steam and test a few boundaries in the process, she can’t help but wish Jinora chose any other night but this one. This dinner is already going to be tough to get through without her angsting in the background the entire time. 

“Best to ignore it for now,” Asami whispers back in agreement. Beneath the table, she grabs Korra’s hand and squeezes, a silent support. Korra squeezes back, grateful for the backup.

Somehow, with their combined forces, they manage to find a meal that each of the children both can eat and want to eat. Jinora’s assessment of the vegetarian options was correct – they really are shit. 

The wait for their food passes in a blur. Korra can barely get more than a sentence to her girlfriend, their conversation constantly interrupted. Ikki’s babbling questions. Meelo’s current obsession of would-you-rather scenarios. Rohan’s excessive storytelling that never seems to have an endpoint. Korra wants to sink into the floor in frustration.

There’s a brief respite when the food finally arrives, with everyone eagerly digging into their plates. However, it’s only for a moment; Korra soon has to dedicate her attention to making sure Rohan chews with his mouth closed and Meelo uses his napkin. 

And then the kicker comes.

“Korra, I need to use the bathroom.”

The waterbender barely suppresses her sigh. “Can you hold it for a bit, Rohan? Everyone’s almost finished, and then we can go home.”

The young boy shakes his head gravely. “I can’t hold it. I drank too much water.”

“Okay then. Let’s go potty real quick. Come on, I’ll take you.”

Rohan hops up from his chair, and it quickly becomes evident how dire the situation is – he’s squirming in place, rocking back and forth, bouncing from foot to foot. 

Korra offers her hand. “The bathroom’s this way, Rohan.”

Despite his obvious potty-dance, Rohan still takes the time to point at Asami. “Can ‘Sami come too?”

“Asami is gonna stay with your siblings, buddy.”

“But I want her to come with us!”

Korra takes a heartbeat to pray to any spirits around for a bit more patience. “Do you want Asami to take you instead?”

A firm shake of his head. “No, I want you and ‘Sami.”

There really isn’t any time to argue, if the speed of his wiggling is anything to go by. “Fine. Asami, will you come to the bathroom with us? Jinora, you’re in charge for five minutes and five minutes only.”

“Nobody’s in charge of me!” Meelo protests, but Korra drowns him out, gesturing for Asami to follow as she nearly drags Rohan to the bathroom. An accident on these nice carpets is the absolute last thing she needs tonight.

Inside the bathroom, Rohan’s independent streak is still going strong, the five year old insisting he can do everything himself. For this, Korra hopes he’s right. With Rohan finally inside a stall to take care of business, she gets a second to lean against the counter and just breathe.

A soft hand twines with her own. Asami leans on the counter beside her, resting her head gently on Korra’s shoulder. “Well, tonight has been interesting, to say the least.”

“I’m so sorry,” Korra apologizes frantically. “I swear I didn’t mean for this to happen at all, and now I’ve ruined our first night together in weeks. I’m going to make this up to you, Asami, I promise.”

Asami leaves the counter to face Korra directly, green eyes alight with amusement. “Korra, you don’t have to apologize. Sure it’s not what we planned, but I love any time we spend together. Even if it’s not exactly perfect.”

Her hand comes to rest on Korra’s cheek, stroking it softly. “Besides, if tonight’s chaos means I get to see you like this… I’d say it’s pretty worth it.”

Korra blushes at the compliment, though she doesn’t look away. Asami grins wider, eyes flickering down to her lips. They lean in together, noses brushing, and –

“Finished!” Rohan announces from his stall, causing the two women to jolt away from one another, ending their kiss before it even starts.

Korra steps from Asami’s arms, smoothing her dress again. “Alright, come on out and wash your hands so we can get back to the table.”

There’s a pause. “Can you help me wipe?”

Asami smacks a hand over her mouth, muffling her sudden giggles. Korra can feel her face falling in devastation.

“No problem,” She mutters, heading into the stall. “No problem at all.”

~~~~

It’s clear there’s some sort of issue at their table before they even reach it. Korra can hear the raised voices from the moment they leave the restroom, carrying over the quiet chatter of the other patrons. They’re attracting stares again. 

Korra and Asami share a glance when they hear another cry of anguish and increase their pace, hurrying back to their table full of unsupervised children. 

The sight that greets them isn’t too pretty. Meelo is sobbing, tears and snot both pouring down his face. Ikki and Jinora are somehow arguing with each other even louder, pointing accusatory fingers over their brother’s shaking shoulders. 

“What is going on?!” Korra demands, rushing to their sides.

“I SWALLOWED MY TOOTH!” Meelo wails, another round of fat teardrops leaking from his eyes. 

“You what?!”

“Meelo swallowed his tooth!” Ikki repeats, voice panicked. 

“And it’s Ikki’s fault!” Jinora adds, scowling.

“It is not my fault!” Ikki shrieks, loud enough that Rohan, still standing with Asami, covers his ears. 

“You challenged him to see who could eat their food faster, and he ate so fast he didn’t notice his tooth fell out when he was chewing! It is totally your fault!”

Meelo cries even harder. Korra is at a loss for words.

“The – the tooth spirit isn’t gonna be able to leave me any present because I swallowed it,” Meelo hiccups, cheeks reddening.

“You should make Ikki give you her next tooth,” Jinora suggests, completely unhelpfully. That option only starts another round of tears and another round of yelling.

“All of you, QUIET!” Korra shouts, finally fed up. The three children pause, eyes wide. Meelo’s sobs soften out to sniffles, and the girls’ expressions quickly shift to ones of guilt. 

“How about I go grab the check?” Asami offers, scooping Rohan into her arms. “I think everyone’s done eating. I’ll meet you guys outside, okay?”

Korra nods in agreement, thankful for the help in wrangling the unruly mob currently disguising itself as children. She steps over to Meelo’s seat, lowering herself onto one knee – a bit awkwardly, due to her dress.

“Hey. Look at me, buddy.” Meelo sniffs again, wiping his nose. “I promise you, the tooth spirit is gonna know about your lost tooth. They’re a spirit; they don’t need to see your tooth to know you lost it. But if you want, when we get home, I can help you write a note just to make sure. How does that sound?”

Another sniffle. Meelo nods slowly. “That sounds good.”

Korra smiles, gently ruffling his hair until she sees the start of a giggle. Meelo situated, she turns to Ikki next.

“Ikki, it wasn’t your fault Meelo swallowed his tooth on accident. You couldn’t have known it was loose enough to fall out that easily. I know you didn’t mean it.”

“I didn’t mean it, I swear,” Ikki promises earnestly. “And I’m really sorry that you swallowed your tooth, Meelo.”

“There we go, that’s what I like to see,” Korra encourages. “You two, go catch up with Asami at the front while she pays the check. Jinora and I are gonna grab Pepper and come pick you guys up.”

With all the younger kids gone, Korra can focus her full attention on the teenager in front of her. But rather than try and force her to talk, she just gestures to the side door. “Come on, let’s go get your bison.”

She and Jinora walk side-by-side, completely silent. They reach Pepper after only a few minutes, and climb up the saddle together. Korra no longer cares about the fur or messing up her dress, so she makes sure to give the massive sky bison extra pets for her hard work. 

Jinora, sat on Pepper’s neck, slowly turns to look at Korra, eyes downcast. “I’m sorry, Korra. I haven’t been exactly… helpful tonight. I know you were looking forward to your date with Asami, and I’m really sorry if I’ve ruined it.”

Korra thinks back to Asami’s words in the restroom – how was that only twenty minutes ago? A soft chuckle escapes her lips. “It’s anything but ruined, don’t you worry.”

Jinora sighs. “Still. I’m sorry. I know I’ve been really annoying.”

“Listen to me,” Korra replies gently. “You are one of the most special, talented, important teenagers in the entire world, Jinora. But you’re still a teenager. I think we forget that sometimes – me included. So sure, you weren’t on the best behavior ever tonight. We all have bad days. There’s nothing you’ve said or done that can’t be fixed, I promise.”

Jinora surges from her perch to wrap Korra in a hug so tight she hardly breathe. “Thank you.”

Korra pats her back weakly, wheezing slightly. “No problem, kiddo. You know I’m always here for you.”

They linger in their hug for a few more moments, then Jinora finally releases her to grab Pepper’s reins. The sky bison makes the journey back to the restaurant in under a minute, then hovers outside until Asami and the other kids finally emerge from the front doors.

“There’s nowhere to land!” Asami calls into the sky, hands cupped around her mouth.

Korra peers over the edge of the saddle, grinning. “Not a problem. Hold yourself steady; I’ll air-spout you up!”

Ikki, Meelo, and Rohan create small whirlwinds of their own to propel themselves upwards, each of them landing expertly into the saddle. They join Korra at the side, watching her next moves with eager anticipation.

Asami is far better at being air-spouted than Mako ever was, even in her fancy dinner dress. The wind whips around her as Korra spirals her arms, and when her black locks tumble into her face she just pushes them aside and keeps smiling.

The air built up, Korra flicks her wrist, and Asami’s feet leave the ground as the air-spout carries her – right into Korra’s waiting arms. 

“Stuck the landing,” Asami giggles, wrapping her arms over Korra’s neck. Jinora gives another yip-yip, and Pepper takes flight for Air Temple Island. 

“You know I’ll always catch you,” Korra replies, letting herself get lost in Asami’s green eyes. 

“Kiss!” A small voice demands from their side. Korra breaks their gaze to glance downwards, finding Rohan clinging to her dress, chubby cheeks parted around an excited smile.

“Yeah, kiss!” Ikki joins in, bouncing eagerly in place.

“KISS, KISS, KISS!” Meelo chants, pumping his fists in the air. The other kids quickly join in, even Jinora, from her place at the reins.

“I don’t think we can deny them,” Asami laughs, the faintest hint of pink flushing over her cheeks. 

“I don’t think we can, either,” Korra agrees, a laugh of her own bubbling up from her chest. 

They lean in together, eyes closed, noses brushing. Their lips find each other like magnets, drawn together helplessly. Asami sighs into the kiss, and it’s the most beautiful sound Korra has ever heard. 

She kisses her back with the same excitement, heart fluttering. The rest of the world falls away, leaving only this. Only Asami. 

Their date night hasn’t been ruined. Not by any means.

----

thanks so much for reading! this will be posted on ao3 as well.

hopefully i was able to properly capture the chaos that comes with watching children lol

@korrasamiweek2024

[sinful-sonnet]

Whiskey & Wildflowers

Chapter 5

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W/C: 14k 😬😀

Content warnings: emotional distress, smoking, alcohol use, complicated family dynamics, sexual tension, Joel being kind of possessive, feelings of betrayal

Chapter Summary : In this chapter, tensions rise as you struggle to accept your dad’s sudden reappearance—this time with another woman in tow. Feeling hurt and betrayed, you seek comfort in Joel, who drives you home from the grocery store after you pick up wine for Linda at your dad’s request. Despite his support, you find yourself torn between the lingering pain of your father’s abandonment and the increasingly complicated feelings you share with Joel.

——————-

“A Fragile Balance”

Joel eased the blanket around your shoulders, his movements deliberate and gentle so as not to disturb your sleep. He paused for a moment, watching you breathe, a tangle of emotions weighing heavily on him. For all the closeness he’d just shared with you, he couldn’t stay. Not without risking Sarah walking in and putting the pieces together.

Carefully, he shifted out from under you. Your brow furrowed in sleep, and he froze, one hand hovering near your arm in case you stirred. But you settled again, the blanket sliding down to your waist. He pulled it back up, making sure you were covered and warm before straightening up.

With one last glance, Joel stepped away, running a hand through his hair as he exhaled quietly. He let himself out the front door, the cool night air meeting him like a wall. For a moment, he lingered on the porch, torn between staying to watch over you and leaving to keep the delicate peace with Sarah.

He chose to leave.

Back at his own house, Joel slipped inside with a weary sigh. The darkness of the living room reminded him that Sarah was likely already asleep—or so he hoped. He didn’t want any awkward questions. Not yet.

But as he passed the hallway toward his room, a lamp switched on in the living room behind him.

“Dad?” Sarah’s voice was thick with sleep. She must have dozed off on the couch. “Where were you?”

Joel closed his eyes, mentally bracing himself. He forced a casual note into his tone, turning back to face her. “Went for a drive, that’s all,” he mumbled, half-truths sitting uncomfortably in his chest.

Sarah peered at him, her brows knitted. “So late?” She rubbed her eyes, yawning. “You okay?”

Joel forced a small smile, stepping over to the couch where she’d tucked her feet under a blanket. “I’m fine, baby girl. Just couldn’t sleep.”

He was relieved when she shrugged, not pressing further. “Alright… well, don’t stay up too long.”

“Yeah,” Joel murmured. “’Night, Sarah.” He reached over and flicked the lamp off, leaving her to settle back down in the dimness.

Retreating to his room, Joel shut the door behind him, leaning his back against it. His heart still pounded from the earlier closeness with you, from the guilt he felt sneaking in now, stirring around and making it hard to breathe.

He breathed out, a single quiet exhale. We shouldn’t be doing thi-s… he told himself for the hundredth time. But he couldn’t deny how right it had felt to hold you, how he’d ached when he had to let go.

Tomorrow, he thought, he’d sort this all out. Or maybe the day after that. For now, exhaustion claimed him, and he let sleep wash over whatever was left of his restless mind, hoping morning might bring some clarity.

-

You woke up the next morning, blinking against the early sunlight that streamed through the window. There was a moment of lingering warmth on the couch—like someone had been there—but as your eyes adjusted, you realized Joel was gone. A pang of disappointment hit you harder than you expected. You’d fallen asleep in his arms, and it had felt so comforting, so right. But now he was nowhere to be found.

At first, you wondered if he’d stepped out for just a moment. You even glanced around the house, your heartbeat picking up as you searched for any sign of him. Nothing. It left you feeling emptier than you wanted to admit. There had to be a reason he’d left so abruptly, right?

You tried not to take it personally. Maybe he had to get back home so Sarah wouldn’t suspect anything. That thought offered a small measure of comfort—this was a complicated situation, after all. Still, you couldn’t help but feel a little hurt.

Instead of texting or calling him right away, you decided to give it a few days. Let things settle. You told yourself it was better to see how everything would play out before reaching out again. Maybe he’d contact you first.

But as each day dragged on without a call or text, you realized just how much your thoughts revolved around Joel. He’s on my mind too much, you told yourself, annoyance prickling at the back of your neck. You needed a distraction, something to channel your energy into that wouldn’t involve constantly checking your phone, waiting for a message that never came.

So, in a moment of impulsive restlessness, you went online. You scrolled through social media, half-reading posts and updates you didn’t really care about. Then, an ad popped up—one for creating an online following, a page of your own. You recalled hearing about OnlyFans: people posting content, building connections, sometimes making extra money or just seeking attention from strangers on the internet.

At first, you brushed the idea aside. But the more you thought about it, the more a new kind of curiosity took hold. Would it be such a bad thing to try? You were craving a sense of being wanted—of having someone’s undivided attention. Joel had given you that feeling, even briefly, but now he was absent. Why not fill that emptiness elsewhere?

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you were already setting up an account. Choosing a username, fiddling with the profile picture, typing out a short bio. Your heart pounded with a mix of excitement and nerves. It felt thrilling, a little reckless, but different—and maybe that was what you needed right now.

Once everything was live, you stared at the screen, half-exhilarated, half-terrified. What- if this is a bad idea? you wondered. But you were in too deep to back out now. You told yourself it was just for fun, a temporary distraction, a way to remind yourself there was a world beyond the tangled feelings you had for Joel.

As the notifications started to trickle in—likes, follows, curious comments—your phone buzzed in your hand. Each ping sent a jolt of excitement through your veins. It felt good to be noticed, desired, even if it was by faceless strangers on the internet.

For a few days, you immersed yourself in this new venture, checking messages, posting carefully chosen photos. And in the back of your mind, you wondered whether Joel suspected anything—whether he even cared. But you pushed that thought aside. After all, you were busy-, and maybe this was exactly the distraction you needed to keep from dwelling on what had happened between you two.

Still, at night, lying in bed after the glow of the screen faded, you couldn’t help but think about Joel’s steady warmth and the quiet comfort of his presence. You told yourself the likes and attention you got online were enough for now. If he wants to talk, you thought, he knows where to find me. And that was the best you could do to convince yourself things would eventually make sense.

-

For days, Joel found himself pacing the living room, his eyes flicking between his silent phone and the front door. He told himself it was foolish to expect your call—that maybe the space was good for both of you. Yet every time his phone buzzed, his heart leapt, only to sink again when it wasn’t your name lighting up the screen.

He kept replaying the last time he saw you—how you’d fallen asleep against him, and how warm you felt in his arms. He remembered the pang in his chest when he slipped away, moving so carefully not to wake you. It’s for the best, he kept telling himself. Sarah can’t find out. But the more the days stretched on, the more he felt that a piece of him was missing.

If he was honest, he’d hoped you would come around. Maybe send a text or show up at his door, looking for any excuse to talk. But you didn’t. He noticed your silence everywhere—in the absence of knocks at his door, in the quiet hum of his phone, in the dull routine of his mornings.

He tried to keep busy. Fixed a few things around the house, helped a neighbor with a broken fence, even tried immersing himself in the mundane details of his job. But everything felt hollow. Nighttime was the worst. Lying awake, Joel would stare at the ceiling, thinking about how simple it had been to hold you. How right it had felt, even if it shouldn’t have.

He thought about calling you, more times than he’d ever admit. His finger would hover over your name in his contacts, heart pounding like he was a teenager again. But each time, he convinced himself not to. She’s probably waiting for you to make the first move, Miller. Then he’d set the phone aside, wrestling with guilt for wanting something he wasn’t sure he could have.

Days turned into a week, and every silence felt a little heavier. He started to worry that maybe you’d decided it really was just a one-time thing. Part of him thought he should accept that. If anything, it was the sensible choice—this was complicated, and he knew it. Yet reason didn’t chase away the ache that settled in his chest whenever he caught himself thinking about you.

Despite all the logic, the guilt, the fear of Sarah finding out, Joel couldn’t deny that he missed you. He missed your laugh, the warmth in your eyes, the way you let your guard down with him in quiet moments. Maybe it’s for the best, he told himself again, trying to swallow the disappointment. But deep down, he wasn’t sure how long he could lie to himself. Because with each passing day, it felt like something precious was slipping away—and he wasn’t certain he knew how to live with that.

•

Sarah could hardly sleep, the weight of her suspicions pressing down on her every time she closed her eyes. She’d caught subtle signs—the way you and her dad sometimes exchanged glances, the sudden hush whenever she walked into a room, the lingering warmth in the house when she got home late and found him missing. It was enough to piece everything together, and it made her uneasy.

One evening, after pacing her room for an hour, Sarah resolved she couldn’t keep it in anymore. She found Joel in the kitchen, rinsing dishes under the tap. He barely looked up when she entered, but she could tell by the tension in his shoulders that he sensed her mood.

“Dad,” she began, her voice edged with resolve. “We need to talk.”

Joel shut off the water and turned, drying his hands on a dishtowel. “’Bout what?” he asked, trying to sound casual. But Sarah saw the flicker of apprehension in his eyes.

She crossed her arms, leaning against the counter. “Look, I’m not an idiot. I’ve seen how you act around her. The secret phone calls, the excuses to leave at odd hours…” She trailed off, letting her words hang in the air.

Joel’s gaze tightened. “I’m just helpin’ her through a tough time,” he insisted, tone a shade too defensive.

Sarah took a careful breath, forcing herself to stay calm. “Really, Dad? Because it looks a lot more… personal than that.”

For a moment, Joel’s eyes flickered with guilt. He hesitated, caught between his protective instinct toward you, his fear of hurting Sarah, and his instinct to deny. Ultimately, denial won out. “You’re seein’ things that ain’t there,” he said quietly. “It’s not what you think.”

Sarah’s stomach twisted—she knew he was lying, but he was her dad, and she still loved him. “I just don’t want anyone to get hurt,” she murmured. “And I’m not a kid anymore, so you can be straight with me.”

Joel’s expression hardened, then softened again in the span of a breath. He looked down at the floor, as though searching for the right words in the pattern of the tiles. Finally, he looked up at Sarah with weary eyes. “There’s nothin’ to talk about, alright?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

Sarah’s chest ached. She could see in his face that he was wrestling with something big—something he wasn’t ready to share. After a moment, she uncrossed her arms and turned away, her voice subdued. “Fine. But I know what I see. And so do you.”

She walked out, leaving him by the sink with his thoughts swirling and no easy way to bridge the gap now sitting between them. And though she didn’t get a confession, Sarah’s suspicions were confirmed in the silence of her dad’s denial.

“You know she told me right?”

Joel froze, his hand still gripping the back of a chair when he heard Sarah’s words. His gaze darted up, meeting her eyes for the briefest moment. A wave of panic and guilt washed through him, but he tried to keep calm.

“What do you mean?” he asked, though his voice came out quieter than he intended.

Sarah leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching her father with a look that told him she was done with half-truths. “She told me,” she repeated, voice steady. “About you two. About what happened.”

A muscle in Joel’s jaw tightened. He swallowed, heart thudding in his chest. “Sarah…” he started, but he didn’t know how to finish. The tension in the room felt suffocating, and he caught himself wishing he could rewind time—do something, anything, to avoid this conversation.

Sarah exhaled, shaking her head. “I don’t need details, Dad. I don’t even want them. But don’t treat me like I’m clueless.” She pushed off the doorway, taking a step closer. “I’m not trying to make this harder than it already is. But don’t lie to me.”

Joel raked a hand through his hair, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. “I never wanted you to find out,” he said finally, struggling to keep his voice level. “Not because it’s some big secret, but because I—” He stopped, the words lodging in his throat. He wasn’t sure how to explain everything that led him here.

Sarah’s gaze softened just a bit. “Look, I’m not saying I’m okay with it. But she’s my best friend. You’re my dad. I deserve honesty.”

Joel nodded, lowering his head. “You’re right,” he managed, his voice thick. “I’m sorry.”

For a moment, Sarah said nothing, letting the apology linger. Finally, she spoke again, her tone quiet. “What happens now?”

Joel rubbed his temples, fighting the urge to pace the floor. “I don’t know,” he admitted, forcing himself to meet her eyes. “I’m…figuring things out.”

Sarah studied him, emotions flickering across her face—hurt, confusion, maybe a glimmer of compassion. She nodded slowly. “So am I,” she said, her voice a touch softer. “So is she. None of us asked for this.”

He didn’t have a response to that. He could only watch as Sarah turned and walked away, leaving him alone with the mess he’d never intended to create—and the stark reality that some lines, once crossed, can’t simply be undone.

-

Sarah’s text caught you off guard, your phone buzzing in your hand as you glanced at the screen. So I told my dad that I knew. You felt your stomach twist at the thought of Joel’s reaction—How did he take it? indeed.

You typed back:

Oh god, how did he take that?

The three little dots appeared, indicating Sarah was typing. You waited anxiously, shifting in your seat, your mind buzzing with worst-case scenarios. Finally, her reply popped up:

Not great. He looked like someone punched him in the gut. Didn’t exactly own up to anything, but he knows the jig is up.

You exhaled, your heartbeat drumming against your rib cage. For a second, you didn’t know what to say. The entire situation felt like a fragile house of cards, and now it was teetering.

I’m so sorry, you texted back, I never wanted you in the middle of this.

It took a minute before Sarah responded:

I know. But it’s done now. He’s freaking out, I can tell. I’m trying to figure out how to handle it too.

You sighed, guilt washing over you. You typed:

Let me know if I can do anything. Please.

You stared at the screen, willing Sarah to reply. When she finally did, her words felt heavier than you expected:

He’s my Dad. I love him, but I’m not going to pretend everything’s normal. I just needed you to know it’s all out in the open.

You swallowed hard, a lump forming in your throat. All out in the open. There was no going back now.

Sarah’s messages kept coming in rapid succession, each one making your stomach twist with a mix of guilt and relief:

Sarah: “I knew you had a thing for him from the very beginning, but I didn’t actually think it would get to this.”

Sarah: “It’s just weird.”

Sarah: “But I know you’ve been going through a really rough time, so I can understand the need for comfort.”

You stared at the screen, your emotions tumbling over each other. You typed and deleted a few replies before settling on something you hoped came across sincerely:

You: “I’m sorry it turned out likethis I didn’t mean for it to happen, it just… did. I never wanted to hurt you or make things weird.”A pause followed—a long one, where you imagined Sarah reading your words, trying to sort through her own emotions. Eventually, her response arrived:

Sarah: “I’m not gonna lie, I’m still trying to wrap my head around it. But I’m not going to hate you or him just because this happened. I just… need time.”

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard again, heart pounding.

You: “I get it. Take all the time you need.”You sent it off, wishing there were a simple fix. The weight of everything pressed down on you—your lingering grief, the complicated feelings for Joel, and now the knowledge that Sarah had known all along and was struggling, too.

A final buzz lit up your screen:

Sarah: “We’ll figure it out. But let’s be real with each other, okay? No more secrets.”Exhaling shakily, you typed back:

You: “No more secrets. Promise.”

You set your phone aside, a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions swirling inside. This was your new reality now: everything out in the open, and all of you trying to navigate this fragile truth without losing one another in the process.

-

Then you got another text message but it wasn’t from Sarah this time

“How you doing kiddo?”

You stared at the message for a long moment, the word kiddo making your chest tighten with conflicting emotions. He’d always called you that—an affectionate nickname that used to feel comforting. Now it just felt like another reminder of everything that was messy and confusing between you.

You didn’t reply. Instead, you locked your phone, tossing it on the couch with a sigh. But the silence was too loud, the urge to distract yourself too strong. After a heartbeat of hesitation, you picked it back up and opened OnlyFans instead.

Your notifications were lit up with messages, likes, new subscribers—faceless people who were there solely for what you chose to share. It felt oddly freeing: no emotional baggage, no complicated history, just the promise of attention and validation. You scrolled through a few incoming DMs, answering flirtatious questions with a practiced ease. It wasn’t personal. It wasn’t real. And that was the point.

Each ping of a new message made your pulse skip a beat, chasing away the heaviness that Joel’s text had left behind. It was shallow, maybe even unhealthy, but right now, you needed a break from the emotional weight of it all.

Still, a small part of you kept glancing at the top of your screen, half-expecting another text from Joel to pop up—something else beyond kiddo that might prove he truly cared, that you weren’t just a passing crisis. But no new messages came. Just more notifications from strangers wanting a piece of your attention.

You exhaled, typing out another reply to a subscriber asking how your day was going, forcing a playful tone you didn’t quite feel. At least here, you could pretend you were in control, that everything was fine.

And if Joel was waiting for a reply… well, he’d have to keep waiting. For now, you weren’t ready to deal with the knot in your chest that the word kiddo brought up. Not when you had a different kind of attention just a tap away.

•

Weeks slipped by in a blur—messages, late nights, and the occasional pang of guilt you tried to brush off. You got used to thinking that your dad wouldn’t come back, that he was out there somewhere but effectively gone from your life. So when the front door suddenly clicked open late one evening, you tensed, pulse hammering in your ears.

You braced yourself, half-hoping it might be Joel. But the figure in the doorway froze you in place.

Your dad.

And he wasn’t alone.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he drawled, pushing the door wider. A woman you’d never seen before stood behind him, hair tousled, her lipstick slightly smeared as though they’d just shared a kiss in the car. “Did ya miss me?” he asked, like he hadn’t been gone for months without a word.

You stared at him, your heart thudding painfully in your chest. “Dad?” you whispered, your voice faint. A whirlwind of emotions swirled inside you—anger, relief, confusion, betrayal—all battling for control.

He gave you a lopsided grin, seemingly oblivious to your shock. “I figured it was time I came back. My friend here—” He turned, gesturing casually to the woman at his side. “—offered to drive me. Thought it’d be nice to, y’know, bring her along. Didn’t wanna show up empty-handed.”

You blinked, your mind struggling to catch up. You’d spent so many days convinced he was gone for good. You’d held funerals for him in your head a hundred times—decided he might as well be dead, because the hurt of his absence was too much to face otherwise.

“Where have you been?” you managed, your voice thick with disbelief.

Your dad shrugged, waving a dismissive hand like it was no big deal. “Around. Needed space to figure stuff out.” Then, as if remembering basic courtesy, he cleared his throat. “Uh, this is Linda. We’ve been… spending time together.”

Linda gave a small, polite nod, though she looked almost as uncomfortable as you felt. You took in her expression, noticing the uncertainty in her eyes. She clearly had no idea what she was walking into.

You stood rooted to the spot, your gaze darting from your dad to this stranger and back again. Questions flooded your mind—Why are you here now? Why didn’t you call? And who is she? But none of them came out.

Instead, you swallowed, trying to get words past the tightness in your throat. “I—I didn’t think you were coming back,” you finally admitted, voice trembling.

Your dad’s face fell a fraction, a flicker of guilt passing over his features. “I’m sorry,” he said, though it sounded more like a placeholder apology. He shifted, clearing his throat again. “So, we’re back. Is it okay if Linda stays tonight?”

The sheer casualness of the question made anger flare in your chest. He leaves for weeks without a word, and now he just walks in with some woman and acts like nothing happened?

You opened your mouth to respond but found yourself speechless. Instead, you just stared at him, your anger and pain catching in your chest, making it hard to breathe.

Without waiting for your reply, your dad gave a vague wave of his hand, as though you’d just agreed. “We’ll talk in the morning, alright? It’s late. Go on and get some rest, sweetheart.”

You didn’t say anything as they started down the hallway, your dad’s arm draped over Linda’s shoulders. As they disappeared into the house, you remained frozen in place, trying to calm the storm raging inside you.

He was back, but it didn’t feel like any kind of homecoming you’d ever imagined. And judging by the hollow ache in your chest, you weren’t sure you wanted him here at all.

You stand there, rooted to the spot, heart pounding in your chest. Tears sting the corners of your eyes as you wrestle with a torrent of emotions—anger, hurt, betrayal. Did he even care? you wonder, remembering how he walked out right after your mom’s death, how he claimed he couldn’t bear to be in the house without her. And yet here he is, strolling back in with someone new.

Your throat tightens, and your vision blurs with tears you’re trying desperately to hold back. Your dad’s words still echo in your mind: “Needed space to figure stuff out.” But all you can think is, figure what out? What about Mom? What about you?

A single tear rolls down your cheek, followed by another you can’t catch in time. The house feels colder than ever—like a shell of what it once was. You wipe your face and swallow hard, not wanting him to see you cry. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of thinking he can explain away the pain he’s caused.

But a flicker of guilt tugs at your heart. You remember how broken he seemed after your mom passed, how he couldn’t even step into their bedroom without his hands shaking. A part of you understands how grief can twist a person’s actions. Yet another part of you seethes at the thought that he could bury his loss in someone else’s arms so quickly.

You wish you could run to your room and slam the door, scream into a pillow, or anything to release the tightness in your chest. Instead, you stand frozen, tears falling silently. You feel so alone.

Eventually, you manage to take a shaky breath. He left this family when we needed him most, you remind yourself, forcing your shoulders to square. Even if your tears are still threatening to spill over, a resolve takes shape inside you—He doesn’t get to waltz back in and pretend everything is normal.

Turning toward your bedroom, you brush off the tears with a trembling hand. Maybe you can’t confront him yet, but you won’t let him ignore what he’s done forever. You deserve answers—about him, about Mom, and about why he thought it was okay to show up now with another woman in your mother’s house.

For now, all you can do is close the door behind you and let the tears come in private. At least in your room, the world can fade away—just for a moment—while you gather the strength you’ll need for what’s to come.

-

You’re seated at the kitchen table, your hands wrapped around a mug of coffee that’s long since gone cold. The morning sunlight doesn’t feel nearly as warm as it should, especially with the tension crackling in the air. Across the room, your dad and Linda whisper and laugh like they’re the only people in the house—an arm around her waist here, a quick kiss on her cheek there. Every display makes your stomach twist.

They haven’t really acknowledged you yet. You’re not sure if it’s ignorance or avoidance, but either way, it sends anger bubbling up under your skin. You stare at the table, focusing on a small scratch in the wood to keep yourself from snapping at them. A hundred thoughts swirl in your mind—How could he do this? Doesn’t he remember Mom?

Eventually, your dad notices your rigid posture and gestures to Linda to give you both a moment. She steps away, still glancing at him with a fond smile that makes you feel even more out of place. Your dad pulls out a chair across from you and sits down, clearing his throat.

“Morning,” he says, overly casual, as though last night’s shock and all the awkwardness isn’t sitting right there between you.

You take a slow breath, gripping your mug tighter. “Morning,” you manage, your voice stiff.

He opens his mouth as if to say more, then closes it again. After a beat, he sighs. “Look… I know this is a lot to take in,” he says, lowering his voice. “But Linda and I—things just… happened.”

“Things just ‘happened’?” you repeat, your tone sharper than you intended. You glance over at Linda, who’s now occupied with her phone, giving you a semblance of privacy. “You were gone for weeks. I thought you—” You swallow, unable to finish the thought.

His gaze flits away guiltily, then back to you. “I didn’t handle things right,” he admits. “I should’ve called more, should’ve checked in. But… I was hurting too, you know? And Linda—she helped me through a really dark time.”

The knot in your chest tightens. You’re not sure if you feel more anger or sorrow. “I was hurting too. You left me alone in this house.”

Silence hangs between you for a moment. He reaches for your hand, but you pull it away, your eyes welling with a frustration that threatens to turn into tears. After all, it’s hard to watch him so easily offering affection to a stranger when it feels like he left you behind.

He exhales shakily. “I—I’m sorry,” he offers, his voice faltering. “I know it’s not enough, but I am. We can talk more. Just… not right now, okay?”

Your eyes flick to Linda, who’s still pretending not to notice, and you nod stiffly. “Yeah. Not right now.”

He stands, patting your shoulder in a way that’s almost tentative, then walks over to Linda. They resume their hushed conversation and stolen touches as though the two of you just had a friendly chat. Meanwhile, you stay at the table, hands trembling around your mug, desperately wishing life could return to something more recognizable—and feeling painfully aware that it never will.

You sit there, the knot in your stomach growing tighter with every affectionate word and casual touch between your dad and Linda. Your eyes burn as you stare into your cold coffee, remembering how things used to be—before your dad left, before you lost your mom, before everything you knew felt like it was unraveling.

A single, clear thought pushes its way through the chaos in your mind: You want Joel. You want to run to him, to bury your face in his chest and let the dam of tears break free. You picture the warmth of his arms around you, how safe you felt the last time he held you, and it’s almost enough to make you get up and head straight to his house.

But then guilt creeps in, reminding you of the distance that’s grown between you, of Sarah’s suspicions, of all the reasons this might not be so simple. Your heart pounds as your dad’s laughter rings through the kitchen, and you feel tears threatening to spill over.

In this moment, all you can do is keep breathing. Keep sitting there, forcing yourself to remain still when every fiber of you wants to stand up, walk away, and never come back. I just want Joel, you think, your mind circling back to him over and over again. Because no matter how messy things are, he’s the one person who knows you—the you shaped by loss and fear and need.

And yet, you don’t move. You just sit there, aching, the sound of your dad and Linda’s easy conversation grating on your raw nerves. You stay, quietly, because right now, that’s all you can manage.

-

The sun hangs low in the sky as you wander down the sidewalk, your hands shoved into your jacket pockets. Every step feels heavier than the last, like your worries are weighing you down. You catch your reflection in a store window, noticing the hollow look in your eyes, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you slip inside a small convenience store.

You emerge a few minutes later with a pack of cigarettes in hand. You haven’t done this in ages, swore you’d never pick it up again, but right now, the weight in your chest is too much. Maybe the burn in your lungs will distract you from the ache in your heart.

Making your way to the nearby park, you find a quiet bench beneath a large oak tree. The late afternoon sun filters through the leaves, casting dappled shadows on the pavement. There’s something oddly peaceful about the scene, even as your mind churns with everything that’s happened.

You fish out a cigarette, placing it between your lips. As you strike the lighter, your hand trembles. The first inhale stings, burns down your throat, but it also draws your focus away from the thoughts circling in your head. You lean back, exhaling a plume of smoke into the still air, trying to let it carry some of your stress away.

You know it’s a terrible habit. You know it can’t solve anything. But in this moment, the sting in your throat and the haze in your mind feel like a kind of relief, however temporary. Sitting there, the world feels muted—the sounds of passing cars, the distant chatter of a couple walking their dog, even the rustle of leaves overhead.

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to ground yourself. Just breathe, you think. One breath at a time. The smell of smoke mingles with the crisp scent of the park grass, creating a strange contrast that perfectly captures how you feel: stuck between what you know is wrong and what feels good right now.

It doesn’t fix anything—of course it doesn’t. But it’s a moment of reprieve, a space where you can let the world slow down. And for now, that’s all you can really ask for.

You’re standing outside the small corner store, leaning against the wall, a cigarette perched between your fingers. You’d only stepped out for a moment, desperate for a brief respite from everything weighing you down. You take a drag, exhaling a thin stream of smoke into the early evening air.

A familiar voice breaks through your haze. “Didn’t know you smoked,” Joel drawls, his tone tinged with surprise and concern.

You jerk upright, startled. Joel’s standing a few feet away, a paper grocery bag balanced in one arm, his gaze fixed on the cigarette in your hand. His eyes flick from the smoke curling upward to your face, and you can practically feel the tension rolling off him.

You shrug, pressing your lips together in a tight line. “I don’t… really. Just needed something.”

Joel steps closer, setting the bag down on the pavement for a moment. He shoves his hands in his jacket pockets, brow furrowed. “That something’s gotta be pretty bad if you’re turning to these,” he says gently, nodding at the cigarette.

You glance at him, wanting to muster some sarcastic retort, but the soft worry in his eyes makes the words stick in your throat. Instead, you drop your gaze, flicking ash to the ground. “Life’s been… kinda rough,” you say quietly, as though that alone explains everything.

Joel sighs, running a hand over his face before looking you over. “Your dad?” he ventures. “I heard he’s back in town.”

Those words hit you hard. You swallow, suddenly finding it difficult to meet his gaze. “Yeah. He showed up last night. With someone else.”

Joel’s jaw tightens, and he looks like he wants to say something but isn’t sure how. After a long moment, he reaches out and gently plucks the cigarette from your fingers, stubbing it out on the ground. You’re too drained to protest, watching as the ember dies.

“I don’t like seein’ you do that,��� he murmurs, his eyes meeting yours. There’s concern there—concern for you that feels both comforting and painfully intimate.

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, suddenly aware of how close he is. “I’m okay,” you insist, but your voice betrays the fact that you’re anything but.

Joel doesn’t call you out on it. Instead, he slips a hand onto your shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I know it’s tough, kiddo. Trust me, I get it.”

That word—kiddo—still sends a small spike of hurt through your chest, but you try to ignore it. You look away, blinking hard. “You… you want to take a walk?” you ask, your voice coming out rough.

Joel nods, grabbing his grocery bag and adjusting it in his arm. “Sure,” he says simply. “I’ll walk with you.”

Without another word, the two of you step away from the store and into the evening, side by side, letting the quiet speak for all the complicated feelings neither of you can quite say aloud.

Joel disappears momentarily, heading back to where he parked his truck to drop off the groceries. You’re left waiting on the sidewalk, arms wrapped around yourself despite the mild evening air. By the time he returns, he notices the slump in your shoulders, the distant look in your eyes—how you seem even more weighed down by everything than before. Your clothes hang off your frame, emphasizing just how much weight you’ve lost.

He pauses a few steps away, heart clenching at the sight of you. She looks so tired. It’s the only thought in his head as he closes the distance. Gently, Joel touches your arm, making sure not to startle you.

“Hey,” he murmurs, voice hushed with concern. “Come on, let’s go for that walk.”

You blink, eyes sliding to meet his. For a moment, you don’t speak, just nod. Joel’s expression softens. He carefully places a hand on your shoulder, guiding you away from the busy sidewalk. Each step feels slow, measured, like he’s afraid to rush you.

The sounds of cars pass by in the distance, and you walk in silence for a while, letting the quiet speak for all the pain you’re carrying. Joel wants to say something—anything—but he senses you don’t have the energy to talk. Instead, he stays by your side, his presence steady and safe. You can practically feel his concern radiating, as though he’s trying to shoulder some of your burden just by being there.

Eventually, he clears his throat. “You hungry? We could grab a bite or find somewhere to sit.” His tone is gentle, careful.

Your answer comes out barely above a whisper. “I’m okay,” you say, even if you clearly aren’t.

Joel glances at you with a worried frown. He knows you need more than a walk right now—something that might help you remember you’re not alone. He hesitates, then lightly touches your arm again. “Let’s just… find a quiet spot, yeah?”

You nod, letting him guide you toward a nearby bench under a tree in a small park. He eases you down onto it and sits beside you, leaving just enough space to give you breathing room, but staying close enough that you know he’s there if you need him.

As the dim glow of a streetlamp settles on both of you, Joel studies your profile—how your gaze is fixed on some distant point as if you can’t bear to face the present. He wishes he could snap his fingers and fix everything: your family troubles, your grief, the loneliness that seems to cling to you. But all he can do is stay with you in this moment, hoping you’ll let him help lighten the load, even if it’s just a little.

He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, his voice low and earnest. “We’ll figure this out,” he promises, though he isn’t entirely sure how. But one look at you—lost, exhausted—and he knows he has to try.

You flick the lighter, bringing the cigarette to your lips again. The glow briefly lights your face in the dim park before Joel reaches over and snatches it away. In one swift motion, he tosses it on the ground, crushing the ember under his shoe.

“Enough,” he says, his voice firm.

A spark of anger flares in your chest, and you glare at him. “Fuck you,” you spit out, the words sharper than you intended.

Joel stiffens, his features momentarily tightening. But he doesn’t snap back. He just sighs, running a hand over his face. When he looks at you again, there’s an uneasy mix of frustration and concern in his eyes.

“I get it,” he says quietly, fighting to keep his voice calm. “You’re pissed at a lot of things right now. And if you need to be mad at me, that’s fine.” He hesitates, his hands clenching at his sides. “But I’m not gonna watch you tear yourself apart.”

You clench your jaw, tears threatening to sting the back of your eyes. You want to yell, to push him away, to make him leave you alone. But at the same time, a part of you just wants to collapse into him and sob until there’s nothing left.

Instead, you shove your hands into your pockets, swallowing the knot in your throat. Neither of you speaks for a long moment, the silence heavy with tension. Finally, Joel exhales slowly, taking a small step back.

“Come on,” he says, his tone still gentle despite the conflict flashing in his gaze. “Let’s just… keep walking.”

You don’t reply, Despite the anger roiling inside you, you don’t walk away. Because for all your fury, you still need that steady presence—and, somehow, both of you know it.

Joel realizes you haven’t followed him, and he turns back to find you still on the bench. At first, he stands there, hesitating, unsure of what to do next. His jaw tightens as he sees the tears rolling down your cheeks.

Slowly, he walks back, taking a seat beside you again—leaving just enough space so he’s not crowding you. For a moment, neither of you speaks. The only sound is your quiet sniffling and the distant hum of traffic.

“I’m sorry,” he says finally, voice low. It’s not just about the cigarette—there’s more weight behind those words. He rubs a hand over his face, as though he can’t find the right way to fix what’s broken.

You press your palms against your eyes, trying to stop the tears. You feel exposed, weak. “I just… can’t do this,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

Joel opens his mouth to respond, but he hesitates, letting the silence linger. Then he exhales slowly, and his arm reaches out—gently, like he’s giving you the option to lean into him if you want.

When you don’t pull away, he closes the small gap, resting his hand lightly on your shoulder. “You’re not alone,” he says quietly. “Whatever it is, whatever you’re feelin’—you don’t have to go through it by yourself.”

You swallow hard, still staring down at your shoes. Part of you wants to brush him off, keep your guard up. Another part wants nothing more than to collapse against him and let the tears come.

In the end, you just stay there, neither leaning in nor pushing him away. But the simple fact that he stayed—didn’t leave you sobbing on that bench—offers the smallest measure of solace, even if the ache in your chest is still throbbing.

You lean into Joel, your hands clutching at the fabric of his shirt as sobs wrack your body. The moment you give in, it’s like a floodgate opens—you can’t hold back anymore. His arms circle around you, drawing you in until your face is pressed against his chest, and you feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing against your cheek.

Joel doesn’t speak. He just holds you, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other wrapped around your shoulders as if to shield you from the rest of the world. Your tears soak into his shirt, and you can’t help but notice the faint smell of soap and something distinctly him—a familiar comfort in the midst of your turmoil.

Eventually, your sobs soften into quiet hiccups, and your grip on his shirt loosens, though you don’t let go entirely. Joel strokes your hair in gentle, rhythmic motions, neither rushing you nor asking questions. He just stays there, bearing witness to your pain, sharing the silence until the tide of grief ebbs and you can finally breathe again.

Your pulse thunders in your ears as you glance up at his face, taking in the worry creasing his brow before your gaze flicks to his lips. The thought races through your mind—Should I just do it? Your heart kicks up a notch, heat rising in your cheeks at the idea of closing that distance and feeling him against you.

Joel’s hand is still resting on your back, his touch gentle, steady. You sense him watching you carefully, as though he can read the swirl of thoughts in your head. The air between you feels charged, and you wonder if he’s feeling that same pull, if he’s thinking the same thing you are.

His eyes soften, and for a moment, neither of you moves. Your breaths come shallow and quick, matching the pounding rhythm of your heart. You can’t decide whether to lean in or pull away, whether this is the right time or the worst possible moment. But your gaze keeps slipping to his mouth, and every beat of silence seems to magnify the tension.

You swallow hard. -Don’t overthink it. A voice at the back of your mind urges you to take the chance—you’ve already let him see you at your most vulnerable, what’s one more step?

Yet part of you hesitates. There’s so much left unsaid, so many complications. Still, the warmth of his chest against yours and the steady rise and fall of his breathing is comforting in a way you desperately crave. And in this quiet space, it feels like it could be enough just to lean in and close that gap—if only for a moment.

Joel's gaze flicks between your eyes and your lips, and before you can decide what to do, he makes the choice for you. His hand at your back draws you closer, and he leans in, gently closing the distance. His lips brush against yours in a soft, tentative kiss— almost as if he's testing the moment, giving you the chance to pull away if you want to.

You don't pull away.

Instead, you tilt your head just enough to let the kiss deepen, your heart pounding so loudly you can barely hear anything else. The world around you seems to fade-no more bustling streets, no more lingering sadness, no more conflict. It's just the warmth of Joel's mouth against yours, the comforting press of his body, and the electric tension that's been building between you finally finding release.

He lingers there, not demanding more than you're ready to give, as though he's still making sure this is what you want. And when you respond, threading your fingers through his shirt to keep him close, he exhales a soft sigh that tells you he needed this too.

When you both finally break apart, your forehead rests against his, breaths mingling in the space between you.

Neither of you speaks right away. You just hold each other in the quiet, letting the moment settle, letting it be enough for now.

Joel’s breath grazes your lips as he whispers, “I missed you.” Those words, so simple yet heavy with meaning, make your chest tighten. You slip your fingers from his shirt to rest gently against his cheek, your eyes searching his.

“I missed you, too,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Joel’s gaze flickers with relief and something deeper—an emotion you can’t quite name but feel all the same. He cups the back of your head, his thumb tracing a delicate path along your hairline.

For a moment, the world around you both seems to stand still. You focus on his heartbeat against your chest, the quiet rasp of his breath, and the warmth of his body pressed to yours. It’s surreal, how one small moment can feel like coming home and diving into the unknown at the same time.

Eventually, you let out a shaky exhale and lean your forehead against his, soaking in the closeness. You can’t quite manage words to describe everything spinning inside your mind—the relief, the longing, the ache of the past few weeks—but you figure the silence between you says enough.

Joel shifts, brushing a stray tear from your cheek with his thumb. “You don’t have to go through any of this on your own,” he murmurs, his voice resolute.

You nod, swallowing the emotion threatening to choke you. “I’m trying,” you whisper, your hands curling into the fabric of his shirt. “I just—I don’t know how sometimes.”

His response is another gentle kiss, a reassurance that, for now, you don’t have to figure it all out by yourself.

Joel brushes off the dirt from his jeans as he stands, then offers you a hand up. You take it, fingers lingering in his for a moment before releasing him. The warmth of his touch still buzzes through you, but he clears his throat, glancing back the way you both came.

“I, uh… got a bunch of frozen stuff in the truck,” he says, almost apologetically. “Should probably get it home ‘fore it all goes bad.”

You nod, a faint smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. It’s almost surreal—one moment, you’re in each other’s arms, the next, reality is knocking. But that’s life, you suppose. Even in the midst of heavy emotions, everyday details sneak in.

Without further words, you both start walking. The path back is quieter, punctuated by the rustle of leaves and distant city sounds. Joel steps a bit closer, as if unconsciously wanting to keep you near. Every so often, your arms brush, and it sends a gentle thrill through you, a reminder of the kiss you shared not long ago.

When you reach the truck, Joel pops open the passenger door for you. “Hop in,” he murmurs, nodding toward the seat. He disappears around the back, checks the ice chest in the bed, and then settles into the driver’s side.

He starts the engine, the rumble filling the evening air, and glances your way with a careful smile. “You good?” he asks, his gaze flicking from your eyes down to your hands, as though making sure you’re steady after everything that’s happened.

You manage a small laugh, tucking a stray hair behind your ear. “Yeah,” you say softly. “Better than before.”

Joel nods, relief briefly flashing across his features. He shifts into drive, and the truck eases onto the road. The silence between you is comfortable now, peppered with the distant hum of the engine and the city lights flickering past.

Neither of you says much, but the weight of what you shared lingers in the charged air. Joel’s free hand rests on the center console, close enough that you could reach out if you wanted. After a few moments, you let your fingers gently brush over his. He responds by turning his palm upward, lacing his fingers with yours. It’s a small gesture, but it makes your heart flutter.

Soon enough, the neighborhood streets come into view, and the truck slows to a stop in front of Joel’s place. He kills the engine and turns to you. “I gotta get this stuff inside,” he says, though his eyes haven’t moved from your face. “You—”

He hesitates, clearly unsure if he should invite you in or take you home. You bite your lip, wondering if you should offer to help or just say goodbye for now. The night air feels thick with unspoken questions.

Finally, Joel breaks the tension. “I can drive you home after, if you want,” he offers, voice soft. “Or… you can come in for a minute?” The invitation hangs there, gentle but not pushy.

You inhale, considering your options. A small part of you just wants to stay near him, to hold onto the comfort you felt. But there’s still that ache, that mess waiting for you back at your own house.

“Maybe just for a minute,” you say quietly. “Then I’ll let you get your rest.”

Joel nods, a hint of a relieved smile curving his lips. Grabbing the frozen groceries from the truck bed, he leads the way to his front door, flipping on the porch light. As you step inside, the familiar scent of his home surrounds you—coffee, faint cologne, something warm and reassuring.

He disappears into the kitchen to store the food. You linger in the entryway, crossing your arms loosely over your chest, taking in the space. It feels strangely comforting and carries memories you’re still untangling—of warmth, of safety, of a kind of hope you hadn’t let yourself have for a while.

When Joel returns, he looks at you like he’s not sure what to say. Eventually, he breaks the silence with a quiet, “I’m glad I ran into you tonight.”

You nod, heart pounding anew. “Me too,” you whisper.

And for just a moment, everything feels still and possible in the hush of his home—frozen groceries forgotten, the rest of the world held at bay.

Joel sets the last of the groceries aside, then turns to you with a hesitant smile. “Sarah’s at work until later tonight,” he murmurs, almost as an afterthought. There’s a subtle shift in the air when he says it—like he’s offering you a sliver of extra time, a moment that might not have been possible otherwise.

You nod slowly, your heart beating just a bit faster. It’s an invitation without words, a chance to linger in this space together, if you want. Part of you wonders if you should head home, but the pull you feel toward him is hard to ignore.

“Right,” you reply, your voice quiet. You glance around the kitchen, your eyes catching on little familiar details—Joel’s jacket slung over a chair, the faint smell of coffee still hanging in the air. It feels surprisingly cozy.

He shifts, crossing his arms loosely as he leans back against the counter. “You, uh, want somethin’ to drink? I got water, soda… maybe a beer or two.” There’s a note of nerves in his tone, as though he’s testing the waters.

You consider it for a moment, then nod. “A beer sounds nice,” you say, your lips curving in a small, uncertain smile.

Joel retrieves two bottles from the fridge, twists off the caps, and hands you one. Your fingers graze his, warmth lingering even in that brief contact. You both take a sip—an excuse not to speak for a beat, just to share the moment in silence.

He glances at the clock, then back at you. “We’ve got a little time before she’s home,” he says, echoing the unspoken subtext—that you can stay, if you want to.

Looking at him, you recall the way his arms felt around you earlier, how his steady presence made the chaos you’ve been carrying feel just a little lighter. You slide onto one of the kitchen chairs, and Joel settles in across from you. The soft clink of beer bottles on the table punctuates the hush.

For a while, you just sit there together, letting the tension ease from your shoulders, sharing a quiet that’s strangely comfortable and electric all at once. And when Joel’s gaze meets yours across the table—warm, concerned, hopeful—you feel the stirrings of something you’re not sure you can name, but you’re certain you don’t want to lose.

As you sit at the table with Joel, your phone starts buzzing incessantly, lighting up with a stream of notifications. You glance at it briefly, realizing it’s messages and alerts from your OnlyFans account. Your heart skips a beat, a wave of panic rising as you quickly flip the phone over to silence it.

Joel’s eyes flick to the phone, his brows furrowing in curiosity. “Busy tonight?” he asks lightly, but there’s a hint of suspicion in his tone

You force a small laugh, waving a hand dismissively. “Just… some stuff I need to handle later,” you mutter, avoiding his gaze as you take another sip of your beer.

Joel doesn’t seem convinced. He leans back in his chair, arms crossed, his eyes fixed on you. “What kind of stuff?” he asks, his tone casual but probing.

Your cheeks flush as you try to think of a way to deflect the conversation, but Joel’s gaze is steady, and you know he’s not going to let it go. The tension in the room shifts, and you can feel your stomach twist with a mix of embarrassment and guilt.

“It’s nothing, really,” you insist, your voice a little too quick, a little too defensive.

Joel tilts his head, studying you. “Doesn’t look like nothin’,” he says quietly, nodding toward the phone. “You gonna tell me, or am I supposed to guess?”

You hesitate, your mind racing for an explanation that won’t make things worse. But the look in Joel’s eyes stops you—concern, curiosity, and something else you can’t quite place. You know lying won’t work. He knows you too well.

“It’s…” You take a deep breath, biting your lip. “It’s an account I started. Online. To… connect with people.”

Joel’s brows raise slightly, and he leans forward, his expression unreadable. “What kind of account?” he asks, his voice low and steady.

You glance away, your fingers tightening around the bottle in your hand. “It’s… OnlyFans,” you admit, barely above a whisper.

Joel is silent for a moment, processing your words. His jaw tightens briefly, and he exhales through his nose. “OnlyFans,” he repeats, his tone neutral but tinged with curiosity. “And what exactly are you… postin’ on there?”

You look at him, unsure of how to answer. “Just pictures. Nothing… crazy,” you say quickly, your voice defensive again. “It’s just… a distraction. Something to keep me busy.”

Joel leans back again, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studies you. “That what you really need right now? A distraction?” His voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it, a hint of something deeper—concern, maybe even disappointment.

You feel your cheeks burn, and you lower your gaze. “I don’t know,” you mutter. “I just… I needed something. It’s not like it means anything.”

Joel doesn’t say anything for a moment, the silence between you thick with unspoken tension. Finally, he sets his beer down, leaning forward again. “Look, I’m not gonna tell you how to live your life,” he says quietly. “But you don’t need to look for attention from strangers when you’ve got people who care about you. People who are right here.”

His words hit you harder than you expect, and you glance up at him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. For a moment, you feel a flicker of shame, but it’s quickly overshadowed by the warmth of his concern.

Joel pulls his phone out slowly, his movements deliberate. You watch, your heart pounding in your chest as he unlocks it and starts typing. “What are you doing?” you ask nervously, already suspecting the answer but hoping you’re wrong.

“Gonna see for myself,” he mutters, his tone clipped but calm, though the look in his eyes betrays a mix of curiosity and something darker—something you’re not sure you want to face right now.

Your stomach churns as he taps a few buttons, and then his jaw tightens visibly. He’s found you. The first photo on your profile is slightly revealing—not explicit, but enough to make an impact. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard, his eyes lingering on the image longer than you expected.

You see his grip tighten on the phone, and the air between you shifts. The tension is palpable. Joel doesn’t say anything for a moment, his gaze still locked on the screen. When he finally does speak, his voice is low and strained.

“This what you’ve been up to?” he asks, not looking at you yet. There’s no anger in his tone, just something raw and conflicted, like he’s trying to process the sight in front of him.

You fidget, your cheeks burning. “I told you it’s just a distraction,” you say, your voice defensive but shaky. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

Joel’s lips press into a thin line as he sets the phone down on the table, face down, but you can see the way his jaw clenches, the way his hand rests on the table as if he’s trying to steady himself. His gaze finally lifts to meet yours, and you can see the storm brewing in his eyes—equal parts frustration, concern, and something deeper that sends a shiver down your spine.

“You don’t need to do this,” he says, his voice rough, almost a growl. His hand curls into a fist on the table, as if he’s holding back more than words. “You don’t need them.” His eyes bore into yours, his meaning clear.

The heat between you intensifies, and you’re caught in the charged silence, unsure of how to respond. Joel’s words hang heavy in the air, and the way he looks at you makes it hard to breathe. For a fleeting moment, you wonder if this is the breaking point—or the moment where everything changes.

Joel’s gaze doesn’t waver as his words cut through the silence. “I’m right here, darlin’,” he says, his voice low and steady, though there’s an unmistakable edge of jealousy, maybe even possessiveness, lacing his tone. His words send a shiver down your spine, and you can feel the weight of his attention settle heavily on you.

Your breath catches, the air between you growing thicker by the second. His fingers drum once against the table, a small but telling sign of his restraint. “You don’t need strangers looking at you like that. You don’t need them,” he continues, his voice softening just slightly, though his eyes remain locked on yours. “You’ve got me.”

You swallow hard, your pulse racing as his words sink in. His expression is serious, intense, and the way he looks at you sends heat rushing through your veins. You can feel the frustration behind his words, but also the care—the raw, unfiltered way he’s trying to tell you that you’re enough without all of this.

“I…” you start, but your voice falters. The way he’s looking at you, with both concern and something deeper, leaves you at a loss for words. “It’s not like that,” you finally manage, though even you’re not sure what you mean.

Joel leans in slightly, his gaze unwavering. “Then what is it?” he asks, his voice still low but carrying a gravity that makes your chest tighten. “’Cause from where I’m sittin’, it looks like you’re searchin’ for somethin’ you already have.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you’re not sure if it’s the jealousy in his tone or the sincerity in his eyes that affects you more. All you know is that the space between you feels charged, like something is about to break—and you’re not sure if it’s you, him, or the fragile line you’ve both been tiptoeing around.

Joel stands over you, his presence towering and commanding, his jaw set as his eyes bore into yours. “Get up,” he says, his voice low but firm. The weight of his tone leaves no room for argument.

You blink up at him, confused and a little flustered. “What?” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper.

His gaze doesn’t waver, the intensity in his eyes sending a rush of heat through your chest. “Don’t make me ask you again,” he says, the authority in his tone sending a shiver down your spine.

Your breath catches as you slowly stand, unsure of what’s happening but unable to resist the magnetic pull of his presence. Before you can ask another question, Joel places a hand at the small of your back, guiding you firmly but not roughly down the hallway. His movements are deliberate, leaving no room for hesitation.

He pushes the door to his room open with his free hand, stepping inside and turning to face you as you follow. The room feels smaller, the air thicker, with him standing so close. He closes the door behind you, the soft click of the latch sounding impossibly loud in the quiet.

You turn to him, your heart pounding in your chest. “Joel, what—?”

But before you can finish, he steps closer, his gaze locked on yours with a mix of frustration and something deeper—something that leaves you breathless.

“You wanna know what I think?” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. “I think you’re too used to lookin’ for what you need in all the wrong places. But I’m tellin’ you now…” His hand brushes your arm, his touch firm but gentle. “You don’t need any of that. You don’t need them. You’ve got me.”

His words hang heavy in the air, and the way he’s looking at you—possessive, protective, and full of emotion—leaves you speechless. You’re standing so close now, the tension between you almost unbearable, and you realize with startling clarity that this moment is going to change everything.

Your back presses against the cool surface of the door as Joel steps closer, his movements firm and deliberate. Your breath catches in your throat, heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst. The intensity in his eyes leaves no room for doubt-this is happening, and there's no turning back.

Before you can even process the moment, his lips crash against yours, hard and demanding. The kiss is overwhelming, a mix of frustration, need, and emotions that have been building for far too long. His hands grip your hips, pinning you gently but firmly in place as if he's afraid you might slip away.

You gasp against his mouth, your hands instinctively finding their way to his chest, feeling the warmth of him through his shirt. His kiss deepens, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head, keeping you close. It's as if every ounce of restraint he's held onto has snapped, and now all that's left is raw, unfiltered desire.

Your mind races, a thousand thoughts colliding at once-Is this real? Is this okay? What happens after this?—but they all dissolve under the weight of his kiss. All you can focus on is the feel of him, the heat radiating between you, and the way his lips move against yours like he's been holding back for far too long.

He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breathing heavy as he whispers, "Tell me you want this." His voice is low, rough, and laced with vulnerability, as if he needs to hear you say it before he lets himself fall any further.

Your chest heaves as you stare into his eyes, raw and searching. You don't hesitate. "I do," you whisper, the words trembling but full of certainty. "I want this, Joel."

That's all he needs. His lips are on yours again, his hands exploring with a newfound confidence, and you lose yourself in the moment, the world outside the room fading away.

Joel's breath hitches as his hand slips beneath your shirt, his fingers brushing against your bare skin. His touch is warm, rough yet tender, and it sends a shiver through your entire body. He pauses for a moment, as if grounding himself, and then he whispers, almost like he's losing control, "Fuck."

The word is low, raw, and filled with more than just desire-it's the weight of everything between you, the tension that's been building, finally breaking free. His hand settles on your waist, pulling you closer as his lips press harder against yours, his movements growing more confident, more purposeful.

You let out a soft gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders as your head tilts back against the door. Joel takes the opportunity to trail kisses down your jaw, his stubble scraping your skin in a way that leaves you breathless. His other hand comes up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek as if to reassure you that he's still here, still in control even as the moment spirals deeper.

"Is this okay?" he murmurs against your skin, his voice thick with restraint, but his hand doesn't stop, his touch trailing higher. His question hangs in the air, laced with an urgency that makes your pulse race.

You nod, your voice barely audible as you whisper, "Yes. It's okay."

That's all he needs. Joel's lips find yours again, and the intensity between you ignites, leaving no room for second thoughts. The room feels smaller, the air heavier, as the two of you give in completely to the magnetic pull that's been drawing you together for so long.

Joel pulls back slightly, his lips still hovering close to yours, his hand steady on your waist. His eyes lock onto yours, dark and intense, filled with emotion that’s impossible to ignore. His voice is low, gravelly, but firm as he says, “Delete your account.”

The words catch you off guard, pulling you out of the haze of the moment. You blink up at him, your breathing still unsteady. “What?” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

“Delete it,” he repeats, his tone unyielding but not unkind. “You don’t need it. You don’t need them.” His hand cups your face, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek as his eyes search yours. “I’m not gonna stand by and watch you give pieces of yourself to people who don’t deserve it.”

The weight of his words settles heavily in the room, the intensity of his gaze pinning you in place. You feel a rush of emotions—embarrassment, confusion, but also something deeper, something that stirs at the core of you. He’s not just asking you to delete the account; he’s asking for you to trust him, to let him be the one who sees you fully.

“Joel…” you start, unsure of what to say. Your heart is racing, and you’re not sure if it’s from the kiss, his demand, or the vulnerability of the moment.

He leans closer, his forehead resting against yours. “Please,” he murmurs, softer this time. “Just… let it go. I’ll give you all the attention you need. I’ll give you more than you’ve ever had. Just trust me.”

You swallow hard, the sincerity in his voice shaking something loose inside you. The thought of deleting the account feels bigger than it should, but looking at him now—feeling the intensity of his care—you start to wonder if maybe he’s right. Maybe this is what you really need.

You hesitate, your voice trembling as you ask, “What about… Sarah?”

Joel’s jaw tightens, his hand dropping to his side as he takes a step back, exhaling heavily. He looks away for a moment, running a hand through his hair as though he’s searching for the right words. When his eyes meet yours again, they’re filled with a mixture of determination and vulnerability.

“I know, baby,” he says softly, his voice rough with emotion. “I’ve thought about her. Hell, I’ve thought about nothin’ else some nights. But…” He trails off, his hands balling into fists briefly before he forces himself to relax. “I can’t pretend anymore. I can’t keep actin’ like this isn’t real. Like I don’t… need you.”

His words hit you like a tidal wave, leaving you breathless. You can see the weight of his decision etched into every line of his face, the way his shoulders are tense, his jaw still tight.

“She’s gonna have to accept it,” he says firmly, stepping closer to you again. His hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin as if he’s trying to reassure both you and himself. “I’ll talk to her, explain everything. But I can’t lose this. I can’t lose you.”

You feel a lump rise in your throat, your heart pounding as his words sink in. The enormity of what he’s saying—what this means for you, for him, for Sarah—feels overwhelming, but there’s also a strange comfort in the certainty in his voice.

You lean into his touch, your hand covering his as you whisper, “Are you sure? About this? About me?”

Joel’s gaze softens, and he nods, his voice steady as he replies, “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

The silence that follows feels heavy yet electric, and you realize that whatever comes next, there’s no going back. This is real, and Joel is standing here, ready to face it with you.

Your phone buzzes on the table, breaking the tension in the room. You glance down and see your dad’s name lighting up the screen. A groan escapes your lips as you pick it up reluctantly, already anticipating the conversation.

“Hello?” you answer, your voice tight with annoyance.

“Hey, sweetheart,” your dad says, his tone casual, almost too cheerful. “Listen, I was wondering if you could do me a favor. Linda’s been wanting some wine, and I didn’t have time to grab a bottle. Could you pick one up on your way home?”

You close your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose as frustration bubbles inside you. Of course it’s for Linda. You take a deep breath, trying to keep your tone civil. “Really, Dad? You couldn’t pick it up yourself?”

There’s a pause on the other end, as if he’s taken aback by your response. “I would, but I’ve got my hands full with a few things here,” he says, his excuse feeling flimsy.

You groan louder this time, not bothering to hide your irritation. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll get it.”

“Thanks, kiddo,” he says, completely missing your tone. “I owe you one.”

You hang up without another word, tossing your phone onto the table and leaning back against the door with a huff. Joel, who had been watching you closely, raises an eyebrow.

“Everything alright?” he asks, though the look on your face clearly answers his question.

“My dad,” you mutter, rubbing your temples. “He wants me to pick up wine. For Linda.”

Joel’s jaw tightens slightly, but he stays quiet for a moment before speaking. “You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to,” he says softly, his voice carrying a note of protectiveness.

You shake your head, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “If I don’t, he’ll just guilt-trip me later. It’s easier to just get it over with.”

Joel frowns, his hand resting on the table as if he’s debating whether to say more. “You deserve better than that,” he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper.

His words make your heart ache, and for a moment, you feel a strange mix of gratitude and guilt. “I know,” you say quietly, glancing at him. “But it’s not worth the fight.”

Joel doesn’t look convinced, but he nods anyway, his eyes softening as he studies your expression. “Let me take you,” he offers, his voice steady. “We’ll grab the wine and get you home. You don’t need to deal with this alone.”

You nod, grateful for his support, even if the situation feels like one more burden to carry. Together, you get up, the earlier tension between you replaced by a quiet understanding. Joel doesn’t press you for more, but his presence is enough to make the task feel a little less heavy.

“Thanks, Joel,” you say softly, glancing up at him. Your voice carries a mixture of exhaustion and gratitude, and for a moment, you feel a flicker of relief just having him here.

Joel looks at you, his expression gentle but firm. “You don’t gotta thank me, darlin’,” he says, his voice low and steady. “I’m here for you. Always.”

you nod, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the weight of the situation. Without another word, the two of you head toward the door, his presence beside you grounding you in a way you didn’t know you needed.

As he opens the truck door for you, you climb in, feeling a little lighter. Joel’s quiet strength, his unwavering support—it’s more than you ever expected, and right now, it’s everything.

-

You walk through the aisles of the closest Metro, scanning the shelves of white wine with a sigh. There are dozens of options—Chardonnay, Sauvignon Blanc, Pinot Grigio—and you have no idea which one Linda prefers.

“Of course, he didn’t specify,” you mutter under your breath, running a hand through your hair. “This is just great.”

Joel lingers nearby, leaning casually against a display of sparkling water, watching you with a faint smirk. “What’s the hold-up?” he asks, his voice calm but teasing.

You glance over at him, rolling your eyes. “He didn’t say what kind she wanted,” you say, gesturing toward the endless rows of bottles. “I could grab something random, but knowing my dad, if it’s not exactly what she likes, it’ll somehow be my fault.”

Joel straightens up, walking over to you with his hands tucked into his jacket pockets. He looks over the options, then shrugs. “Wine’s wine, right? Just grab one that looks fancy. She won’t know the difference.”

You huff a small laugh despite yourself, reaching for a mid-priced bottle of Pinot Grigio. “I guess this’ll have to do,” you say, holding it up for Joel to see. “Think it’s fancy enough?”

Joel leans in to inspect the label, his face serious, before giving you a small nod. “Looks good to me,” he says. Then, his lips twitch into a faint smile. “Bet it’ll do the trick.”

You toss the bottle into your basket with a sigh of relief, glancing at Joel as the two of you head to the checkout. “Thanks for coming with me,” you say, your voice softer now.

Joel glances over, his expression serious but kind. “Told you, darlin’. You don’t have to deal with this stuff alone.”

His words make your chest tighten again, but in a good way this time. As the cashier rings up the bottle and you swipe your card, you can’t help but feel a little lighter knowing he’s here. Even if the task was mundane, having Joel by your side made it feel a little more bearable.

Joel pulls up in front of your house, the truck rumbling softly as it idles. You stare out the window at the familiar sight of the place that used to feel like home, now just a reminder of everything that’s fallen apart. The thought of going inside makes your stomach churn—your dad, Linda, the weight of it all pressing down on you.

Joel glances at you, noticing your hesitation. His hands rest on the steering wheel, his brow furrowing slightly. “You okay?” he asks, his voice calm but carrying a hint of worry.

You shake your head, avoiding his gaze. “I don’t want to go in,” you admit, barely above a whisper. “I can’t… not yet.”

Joel leans back in his seat, letting out a quiet sigh. He doesn’t push you to explain, doesn’t try to fix it—he just sits there with you, the quiet hum of the truck filling the silence.

“You want to go somewhere else?” he asks after a moment, his tone careful.

You think about it, your fingers tightening around the bottle of wine in your lap. “No,” you say finally, your voice trembling. “I just… I need a minute.”

Joel nods, settling deeper into his seat, as if telling you he’s not going anywhere. The weight of his steady presence keeps you grounded, even as the house looms like a shadow in front of you.

“I hate it,” you mutter, staring down at your hands. “I hate how everything’s so different. How it doesn’t feel like home anymore.”

Joel’s jaw tightens briefly, his gaze softening as he looks at you. He doesn’t try to say the perfect thing or offer hollow reassurances. Instead, he just reaches over and places his hand lightly on yours, the warmth of his touch grounding you more than words ever could.

For a moment, you let yourself just sit there, your hand beneath his, the world outside the truck fading into the background. Finally, you take a deep breath, your voice steadier now. “Thanks for staying with me,” you say softly.

Joel’s lips quirk into a small, almost imperceptible smile. “Always,” he says simply, the word carrying more weight than it should.

You glance at the house again, knowing you’ll have to face it eventually. But for now, just sitting here with Joel is enough.

As you sit there, staring at the house, lost in thought, Joel shifts beside you. You feel the truck’s seat creak slightly, and before you can react, he leans over and presses a quick, gentle kiss to your forehead.

The gesture is so soft, so unexpected, that it sends a wave of warmth through you, momentarily easing the tension that’s been gripping your chest all night. You close your eyes, letting yourself savor the tenderness of the moment.

When he pulls back, Joel clears his throat and rests one hand on the steering wheel, his other drumming lightly against his thigh. “You’ll get through this,” he says quietly, his voice steady but carrying a hint of emotion. “You’re tougher than you give yourself credit for.”

You glance at him, the corner of your lips tugging up into the faintest smile. “Thanks, Joel,” you say softly, your voice filled with gratitude that you don’t even know how to fully express.

He nods, looking back out the windshield, his jaw working as though he wants to say something more but decides against it. Instead, the quiet between you feels comfortable—like he’s offering you the space to feel whatever you need without pressure or expectation.

Finally, with a deep breath, you nod toward the house. “I guess I should go in.”

Joel looks at you, his eyes filled with a mix of concern and reassurance. “If you need anything… you know where to find me,” he says simply.

You nod again, opening the door and stepping out into the cool night air. As you walk toward the house, the weight on your shoulders feels a little lighter, Joel’s small gesture lingering in your mind like a steady flame in the dark.

Joel’s grip on the steering wheel tightens as he watches you walk toward the house, the light from the porch casting a soft glow on you. He knows he shouldn’t stare, but he can’t help himself. There’s a pull he can’t ignore, a longing that’s been growing stronger every time he’s near you.

As the door closes behind you, Joel leans back in his seat, exhaling a slow, heavy breath. His mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, but one keeps coming back to haunt him: How would your dad feel about this?

The thought makes his stomach churn. His best friend—someone he’s known for years, trusted, shared countless moments with—would probably see this as a betrayal. Joel rubs his hands over his face, letting out a quiet groan. It’s wrong, he thinks, but the idea of staying away from you feels just as impossible.

He thinks about your dad, how distant he’s been since your mom passed, how he left you to navigate the weight of grief alone. Joel had stepped in to help, at first out of care and responsibility, but somewhere along the line, it became more.

When did it happen? he wonders. Was it the first time you leaned on him for comfort? The way you looked at him like he was the only person who understood? Or maybe it was just the quiet moments, the unspoken connection between you two that had grown into something neither of you could ignore.

He sighs, gripping the wheel tighter. I shouldn’t feel this way. But I do.

The headlights from a passing car snap him out of his thoughts. Joel shakes his head, putting the truck in gear and pulling away from the curb. As he drives home, he can’t stop replaying the look in your eyes, the soft smile you gave him before you stepped inside.

Whatever this is—whatever it’s becoming—he knows it’s only going to get harder to keep it hidden. And he’s not sure how much longer he can pretend it doesn’t exist.

•

As you step inside the house, the faint smell of Linda’s perfume and the hum of the TV hit you immediately. Your dad’s voice booms from the living room before you even have a chance to put the wine bottle down.

“Ah, look who’s here! Our hero,” he says, grinning as he gets up from the couch and strides toward you. He notices you glancing back at the door, and his expression shifts slightly. “Was that Joel? He gave you a ride home?”

You hesitate for a moment, your fingers tightening around the wine bottle. “Yeah,” you say finally, keeping your tone casual. “I ran into him at the store. He offered.”

Your dad chuckles, reaching for the bottle and taking it from your hands. “Well, that’s Joel for ya. Always helping out,” he says, his tone light, but there’s a subtle flicker of curiosity in his eyes. “You two seem to be spending a lot of time together lately.”

Your stomach twists at his comment, but you force a shrug, trying to play it off. “He’s just been… there, you know? With everything going on.”

Your dad nods, his smile softening. “Yeah, Joel’s a good guy,” he says, placing the wine on the counter. “Always knew I could count on him.”

You swallow hard, the weight of his words settling in your chest. “Yeah,” you mutter, avoiding his gaze. “He’s a good guy.”

Your dad doesn’t seem to notice your discomfort. He picks up the wine and starts fumbling with the corkscrew, already calling out to Linda to let her know her request has been fulfilled. You take the opportunity to slip past him, heading toward your room before he can ask any more questions.

Closing the door behind you, you lean against it, exhaling a shaky breath. Your dad’s casual words replay in your mind, and you can’t help but wonder how he’d react if he knew the truth—if he knew how complicated things had become between you and Joel.

Pushing the thought aside, you sink onto your bed, the soft buzz of the evening still lingering. Joel’s words, his touch, his kiss—they all feel like a distant yet vivid dream. But the reality outside your room is far more complicated, and you’re not sure how long you can keep the two from colliding.

A/N: If you read this far then ty lol.. I’m so inconsistent with the lengths I make the chapters.

This was sooo long I skimmed it over briefly so if you see any mistakes.. ✨ no you don’t ✨

[superbat-lmao]

Scene 6

“You want me to join you?”

”What? No, we’re just offering back up.”

”We?”

”Me and an associate.”

”Why isn’t your associate here?”

”He prefers anonymity. Also, he won the draw last time so he let me have this one.”

”You bet on being the one to approach me?”

”The both of you, yes.”

”Why?”

”Have you spoken to Harley recently?”

”That was him?”

”Yes.”

”Not very anonymous.”

”Yes, well, sometimes he dislikes being cooped up and likes to stretch his legs. Also, that particular brand of crazy is up his alley.”

”And my brand is up yours?”

”In a manor of speaking. I was dunked in a lazarus pit. Something I’d thank you not to share.”

”I don’t know what that is.”

”Something that heightens your emotions as the cost of healing you. It can be volatile. Uncontrollable.”

”You think I need to be controlled?”

”No. But it’s the closest I’ll be to being different people.”

”I don’t want to talk about him.”

”Okay.”

”So you get angry.”

”I tried to kill my father and brother after training with assassins.”

”But they’re still alive?”

”Changed my mind.”

”Harley said your friend knew things he shouldn’t and stabbed himself with a fork.”

”Ah. Well, like I said, his particular brand of crazy is different from mine. I can call him if there’s specific intel or details about yourself you’d like to hear. I’m not stabbing myself though.”

”Why approach me like this?”

”Well, we have a mutual friend that I kinda owe a favor. Of a sort.”

”And helping me would be that favor?”

”Not exactly. He doesn’t know how to help you. That’s his problem, thinking there something he can do. When I came back from my training, there wouldn’t have been anything my father could have done. Not the way he was thinking. Tried to have me locked up at one point, but that doesn’t help either.”

”I still don’t know what you want.”

”I want you, either of you, to call me. If you need something. Intel, guns, lunch, a hit, opposing arguments, book recommendations.”

”How does this benefit you?”

”It doesn’t. But I would be willing to try to understand. That’s it.”

”Because of a mutual friend.”

”Because I have killed people. Because I have changed my mind about killing other people. Because some days all I see is green and when I wake up I’ve shredded the couch cushions in half or shattered a counter top. And there isn’t much anyone can do about it. Because when I came back from my training, people tried to convince me there was something wrong with me, but I was just different. I wasn’t who they remembered and I could never be him again. I crossed all their lines. And some of my own. I didn’t know how to stop or if I wanted to. And I didn’t want to, but I had to learn how to deal with it all. And it sucked. There was something wrong with me, but not in the way they thought.”

”Are you sure you won’t change your mind about the fork?”

”People still care about you, Harvey. They could care about him too, but they don’t know how. They are going to make so many mistakes before they figure it out.”

”You’re getting the check.”

”Sure. If you’re really so upset about it I’ll flip you about the fork thing.”

A startled laugh.

”Usually people are too scared to joke about that.”

”Their loss.”

There’s a glint of metal and the clap of a hand.

”Your lucky day.”

”I’ll drop by next week with some intel.”

”I’ll bring a fork.”

Outtakes below!

“I’ll never live that down, huh?”

“Not in this universe you won’t.”

“Seriously though, offering the coin flip?”

“He has his coping mechanisms and I had mine. Could be worse.”

“Yeah could be an adult built like a linebacker dressed up in the Robin suit, scaly panties and all.”

Jason wraps his arm around Tim’s shoulders, weathers the attempts to remove it, and gives him a noogie so hard the kid’s head might bruise.

“Oh fuck you, if I’d seriously been trying to kill you, you’d be dead.”

“Uh huh, look as fun as it is reminiscing about you beating me up, I’ve got other things to do.”

“Like putting a spoon through your hand?”

“Oh shut up.”

Tim and Jason AU

Scene 1

Jason makes it look like he’s doing something shady on a nearby roof, something that Tim thinks the Bats would want to hear about. And only Tim notices. He wants to be useful.

He starts to follow Jason and there are some mechanical closets on the top of the roof, and Jason is being very obvious in his direction, so when Tim turns a corner he isn’t expecting Jason to be behind him suddenly.

He’s not dressed in any sort of identifiable style, definitely not League or gang affiliated and not a mask. Tim doesn’t scream and Jason picks him up by his jacket and shakes him in minor frustration.

“I swear you had better instincts than this. Seriously kid, tell me you’re not this reckless. I’m surprised the Bats haven’t already had to clean you off pavement.”

“What are you doing up here?”

“Bzzt, wrong question. Actually, no questions, you shouldn’t be up here and following a shady guy in the dark.”

“What’s the right question?”

“What am I gonna do with you?”

Tim freezes, maybe sinking in a bit how stupid that was but the guys seems to be asking himself more than telling Tim that was the question.

“That’s the right question?”

“What? Yes, if your cover’s blown it’s important to assess how you’ll be appraised and know what the person will do with you. Also called a secondary cover or ploy. Always make sure you have a plausible reason for where being somewhere you shouldn’t be. And if you can’t, have a quick escape.”

“Why would you tell me that?”

“Second tip kid, the questions you ask a suspect inform on what information you have. Don’t get too close to the topic you’re most interested in or you’ll give yourself away.”

“A suspect?”

“How else would you describe me?”

The guy’s grip changes and Tim feels something sharp prick his neck. He feels true panic and hears vaguely, “control your response next time because adrenaline makes your heart spread a sedative in your blood stream faster if you’re panicked. You’ll thank me later, kid.”

When Tim wakes up, it’s to two gloved fingers pressed beneath his jaw. Checking his pulse He can’t get his eyes open yet, but he can hear voices.

(Jason tied Tim up, lit the batsignal, and left a flash drive pinned to Tim’s chest. It explains his home situation, how long he’s been following the Bats, and that he knows their identities.)

*Scenes from a fic I’ll probably never write. Mostly just notes app things. Outtakes below the cut.

“Seriously?! The Batsignal?!

“It was that or leave you in the cave for Alfred, and the Batsignal was less confrontational.”

“And lazy, what, you couldn’t wipe the feed?”

“I can wipe the batcomputer faster than you, I’ve been hiding shit from Bruce since before you were in spandex. But tipping our hand that early? You’re not usually this stupid, Timmy.”

“Just shocked by your self control by not picking the most nuclear option.”

“The most nuclear option would have been holding you hostage and having a good ol’ fashioned stand off with the Bat. Maybe mail him your spleen as motivation.”

“Fuck you. I already took care of Ra’s - he’ll keep his spleen this time.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it.”

[olivers-cocoapuffs]

I saw one of those videos that are like “POV you’re the Barty crouch jr of your friend group” which is fine. It’s fun, even. But the last slide was “you’ll grow up to be an alcoholic” and what the FUCK guys?? That’s not fun or quirky or mysterious, it’s a serious thing that people genuinely struggle with. It’s not an “aesthetic” it can legitimately tear people’s lives apart

[donnatroyyyy]

Batman has/had some kind of miscommunication going on with every single one of his kids. The bat family is just one big miscommunication trope after the other.

[milo-is-rambling]

My mother really out here telling me “you just make all the plans for driving and I’ll work around that” and then a couple days later once I’ve made plans and talked to people about shit she’s like hey actually you should come up a day earlier so you can get your grandparents (who are practically falling apart mentally and physically and my grandfather pisses himself and if he pees in the car that I am both sleeping and driving in I will be upset!!!) in the middle of Maine and drive them to New Hampshire for me bc I will be too tired from getting a three hour flight to go drive them :’( AS IF IM NOT DRIVING SIX HOURS OR MORE EVERY DAY FOR A WEEK HELLO??? YOU CANT DRIVE FIVE HOURS AFTER SLEEPING THE WHOLE TIME ON A THREE HOUR FLIGHT LIKE I KNOW ITS CRAMPED AND MISERABLE BUT YOU’RE GOING TO GO FROM A PLANE TO A NICE RENTAL CAR VS ME SLEEPING IN THE FUCKING TRUNK FOR A WEEK LIKE GIRL WHAT YOU ALREADY TOLD ME TO PLAN EVERYTHING AND NOW YOU’RE MOVING SHIT AROUND AND SHES ALL LIKE “well your aunt is gonna be visiting on the 11th so I have to get a flight on the 12th and then graduation is on the 13th early in the morning so I just won’t have time to go get them” LIKE GIRL THIS IS THE SAME AUNT THAT IS COMING TO OUR HOUSE FOR ONE SINGULAR DAY AND THEN WE WILL SEE HER AGAIN IN NEW HAMPSHIRE WHILE WE ARE ON OUR TRIP LIKE YOU LITERALLY TOLD ME “oh don’t worry about missing her we’re gonna do the graduation party at her house when we’re up north” AND THEN YOU WONT SHIFT YOUR PLANS ONE DAY TO FIX ALL OF THE SCHEDULING CONFLICTS BUT YOU WANT ME TO TWEAK A WHOLE WEEK OF DRIVING PLANS BACK A DAY TO MAKE IT MORE CONVENIENT FOR YOU and also I simply don’t want to. Also the garbage truck just passed bc I slept in and I don’t think we got the garbage out and I know we definitely didn’t get the trash from my room or bathroom out of the house and so now moms gonna be pissed at me for that god fuck this is so infuriating I am not planning a trip while on my period ever again I want to bite my mothers head off for even suggesting an alternate plan what is wrong with me I am such a bitch what the fuck no wonder she fucking hates me okay I am going back to bed she can figure this shit out later when she’s not slamming doors and yelling about work

[orbitganymede]

baby daddy simon who dated you for a year before you got pregnant, you’d gone through most of the pregnancy alone, him being deployed 3 weeks after you found out and gone until the very last month of it. the both of you had tried at keeping the relationship together, but the distance and loneliness got to you, you’d been fine when it was just you but now with baby, you can’t let the father go in and out of their life. he wasn’t very happy with the decision to end your relationship, in his mind you were together forever now, tied together by this beautiful thing you two created, he didn’t even want children before you told him you were expecting but his whole world view changed when he realized that he not only had you to protect but a baby as well.

but you’d moved out against his wishes, finding a small flat you like and making it home for you and baby. he would come over sometimes, when he could, and spend some time with baby but honestly he felt more like some glorified uncle, would be convinced he was nothing to this child until he saw those brown eyes staring back at him, the ones that are so completely his, and he comes to the conclusion that this isn’t gonna work.

he starts small, coming over once a week instead of every other weekend, takes the two of you out for dinner instead of letting you cook or ordering in. stays late enough that you offer him the spare bed in the guest room, even with the distance you’ve put between yourselves, you can’t help but care for him, knowing nobody else will.

then he puts more pressure on you, making sure you see just how valuable he is, taking night shift feedings and waking up early with baby when they’re fussy. he offers to take baby for the night so you can go out with your friends, do things you haven’t been able to since baby’s arrival, even pays for a spa day for you to really relax. he stocks your fridge, full of the snacks you love and a bottle of wine for the hard nights. he buys and sets up new decor in the house, finally gets you the pretty white vanity and a new washing machine that doesn’t squeak. he really just does what he considers ‘husband duties’, things that he should have been doing this whole time.

and when you don’t budge on the separation, he goes nuclear, “no, love, i haven’t seen your birth control pills”, “look how cute this baby is, remember when ours was that small, sweetheart”, “you’re so stressed darling, let me help you” which basically means you end up getting rawdogged within an inch of your life, condom long forgotten, one of simons hands held over your mouth to muffle the sounds you’re making. he just hopes he’d tracked your cycle right, that you’re actually ovulating, because you can’t possible refuse his ring after having two of his babies right? you wouldn’t do that to him, would you pet?

[gor3sigil]

Before starting T, when I socially transitionned, I was surrounded by radical feminists who saw masculinity as gross and inherently evil, something to avoid, something to make fun of, something to destroy. The other transmascs in my friend group, sometimes, told me that they didn’t knew if they really were non-binary or if they just were scared shitless of saying “I am a man”. Because they saw this as a betrayal to their younger self who had been SAd and abused.

I saw many of my masc friends and trans men around me hate themselves, not outing themselves as men because it would imply so so much, it was like opening the Pandora Box. Even when we were just together, talking about our masculinity was always coated with bits like “I know we’re the privileged ones but…”, “I don’t want to sound like I have it bad but…”, “Women obviously have it worse, but last time…” and we were talking about terrible traumas we experienced while taking all the precautions in the world in the case the walls were a crowd of people in disguise waiting to get us if we didn’t downplay the violence we faced, or like crying and being upset and being traumatized and afraid and scared and to say it out loud would make us throw up the needles we were forced to swallow every second of every day living in our skin.

Most of us weren’t on T yet, some of us were catcalled every day and harassed in the streets or in abusive relationships nobody seemed to care to help them get out of because they were “strong enough” to do it by themselves.

I was using the gender swap face app and cried for ours when I saw my father looking back at me through the screen. The idea of transforming, of shedding into a body that would deprive me of love, tenderness, and safety, was absolutely terrifying. I knew I couldn’t stay in this body any longer because it wasn’t mine, but I also knew that if I was going to look like my dad, my brother, my abusers, it would be so much worse.

5 years later and I’m almost 2 years on T, and almost 2 months post top surgery.

I ditched my previous group of friends. I was bullied out of my local trans community. But let me tell you how free I am.

I was scared that T would break my singing voice: it made it sound more alive than ever.

I was scared that T would make me less attractive: it made me find myself hot for the first time in my life.

I was scared that T would make me gain weight: it did. But the weight I put on is not the weight I used to put on by binging and eating my body until I forgot that it even existed. It’s the weight of my body belonging to me, little by little. The wolf hunger for life.

I won’t tell you the same story I see everywhere, the one that goes “I started going to the gym 8 times a week, I put on some muscles, I started a diet and now I look like an action film actor”, in fact if you took pictures of me from 5 years ago vs now I’d just have more acne, I’d have longer hair and still look like I don’t know what to do with myself when I take selfies.

But the sparkle in my eyes, my smile, tell the whole story way better than this long ass stream of words could ever.

I want to say some things that I wish someone told me before starting medically transitionning.

It’s okay to take your time. It’s your body, it’s your journey, if you don’t feel comfortable taking full doses and want to go slow, the only voice you need to listen to is your own. Do what feels right.

If you feel overwhelmed, it’s okay to take a break, it’s okay to ask for support.

Trans people are holy. Everyone is. You didn’t lose your angel wings when you came out because you want to be masculine. You are not excluded from the joy of existence, from being proud of yourself, from being sad, from being scared, from being angry. The emotions and feelings you allowed yourself to feel while processing what you experienced when you grew up as a girl and was seen as a woman are still as valid as before. Nobody can take that from you. If someone tries to, don’t let them.

It’s perfectly normal to grieve some things you were and had before you started to transition, like your high soprano voice or even your chest. Hatching is painful. You can find comfort in things that don’t feel right, so making the decision to change can be incredibly scary and weird and you deserve to be heard and supported through this. Wanting top surgery doesn’t make the surgery less intense, less terrifying, less painful to recover from. When it becomes too much you have the right to take a break and take some deep breaths before going on.

You don’t have to have a radical, 180° change for your transition to be acceptable or valid or worthy of praise. Look at how far you’ve come already. It doesn’t have to show, you’re not made to be a spectacle, you’re human and it is your journey.

Oh, and last thing, you know when some people say “Oh this trans person has to grow out of the cringy phase where you think that you can write essays about being trans or transitionning or just their experience because it’s weird” ? If you ever hear this or see this online, remember all the people whose writing you read and, even if they were not professional writers, helped you more than any theorists did ? If you want to write, do it. It won’t be a waste. It can help people. Or it won’t, and even then, if it helped you, that’s enough.

Love every of my trans siblings, take care of yourselves. You deserve the world.

[hoshigray]

𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐬, 𝐒𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐓𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐬 | toji fushiguro

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Your ex-husband bringing the kids over for trick-or-treating is one thing; him wanting to spend the night at your place is another. But it's just for the night. There's no way one night can rekindle some old feelings...right?

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: ex-husband! Toji x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - the reader is around their mid-30s - Tsumiki (age 11) and Megumi (age 9) - mutual pining - kissing/makeout sessions - unprotected sex - Daddy kink - breast sucking + nipple play - fingering (f! receiving) - oral (f! receiving) - spooning + mating press - cervix fucking - breeding kink - praise - clitoral play (pressing and grinding) - pet names (baby, good girl, mama, princess, sweetie, sweet thing) - you and Toji have been divorced for five years - cameos: Gojo, Utahime and Mei Mei - mention of drool/spit and tears - humor bc I'm [not] funny.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.6k (....dawg.)

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: happy Halloween, everyone!! so, randomly missed writing ex-husband! toji bc it's lowkey my favorite, soooo yeah, this is what we're doing to celebrate the end of the month! anywho, happy October, beautiful ppl, and tysm for reading my works!! Alsooo, ty for 2.8k!!!

“Trick-or-treat!!”

“Gasp—Oh my goodness!” 

“We came to celebrate Halloween! Also, Megumi forgot his toothbrush here again.”

Opening your door to children at the sunset of Halloween day isn’t out of the ordinary or anything special. However, it’s always a pleasant surprise when it’s two kids you hold dear to your heart. You greet them with a hug, two siblings you know too well to say you’re acquainted with. If anything, you’re practically family. 

The raven-haired brother, referred to as Megumi, speaks up. “It’s not my fault! Dad was rushing me last time.”

“Because you had to bring your stuffed animals last time, holding us back for your baseball practice.” Tsumiki, the older sister, snapped back. The two argue amongst themselves in front of you as you try to mediate. It’s no avail until another voice comes to the fray.

“All right, chill out, you two.” The voice belonged to the person approaching the porch stairs, your eyesight capturing the familiar figure walking up with two duffle bags. The one standing tall before you was the father of the children, Toji Fushiguro. Who’s also known as your one and only former husband. “Get inside and finish y’r homework, or else we’re goin’ back home.” 

The siblings stop bickering and head inside, taking off their shoes at the foyer and walking upstairs. Now that they’re gone, you turn to the man with the jet-black hair, his viridian orbs focused on you. The weather was chilly, so the man wore his usual dark denim jacket over his plain black sweatshirt, matching his jeans. “You look good, big guy. What’s in the bags?”

He greets you with a curled lip, and the scar on the side of his lip lifts. “Picked them up from their after-school sports, so it’s their sports gear and costumes for tonight. Mind helpin’ me here?” 

“Hmmm,” you merge your facial expressions to that of faux pondering, turning your back to Toji. “Nah, can’t. Got dinner to finish making.”

“Hmph, should’ve known.” He makes his way through between you and the front door. “Wouldn’t wanna break your pretty nails carrying heavy shit, huh, princess?” 

You glare at him using the nickname, hating his patronizing gaze. “From what I remembered, you would never let me carry the heavy stuff because you thought I was too fragile and easy to break. So how about that, Mr. Knight in Shining Armor?”

“Really? I don’t remember sayin’ all that before. You must’ve put me in a spell.” 

“Probably, I’ve been told I’m quite cute~.”

“Mmm, nah, more like an old hag of a witch.” Toji barks a laugh at your offended reaction, and he immediately ducks and heads for the stairs when you throw a sandal at him.

“At the very least, say I’m a cute witch, fucker.” You say the final word under your breath, grabbing the sandal you threw and heading back to the kitchen.

To say you and Toji were acquainted with one another would be the biggest understatement of the century. The two of you met a decade ago, fell madly in love, and married within a year of the relationship. When you tied the knot, Tsumiki had to have been two years old, and Megumi just turned one year old. You two had been together for four years after that, and you could confidently say those were one of [if not THE] best years of your life. You often second-guessed yourself being in a relationship with someone who had children, fearing that they wouldn’t like you or ignore you.

However, those worries were blown right away as the days went by. Every time you spent time with the children brought you three closer than ever; it was to the point that they saw you as their mother. How sweet! And there’s no denying that Toji loved you. The man would break someone’s nose for you  — yes, it happened before, and it wasn’t pretty — for you were his sweet little thing that kept him going.  

Well, if it was so great, why the divorce? Let’s just say you weren’t Toji’s first love. That title would have to be awarded to the Megumi’s mother. Even in her unfortunate passing, you can tell that Toji loved that woman like no other. It didn’t make you jealous or anything, seeing the man you love still mourn for a dead woman. Hell, you’d probably do the same if you were him. But, you can’t lie; it felt like you were cast over a “shadow” when it came to her influence. It was damn near suffocating to bear, especially in those four years of marriage. So, for your sake and his aching heart, you pulled him aside and suggested a divorce. And Toji didn’t fight you on the proposition, signing the papers and setting you free from the thick air.

Although things ended between you two, that didn’t mean things stopped being what they were. If anything, it was as if nothing happened at all. Even if you still don’t live under the same roof, you still make time to hang with the Fushiguros, whether invited to some occasion or exchange phone calls or texts to check up on them. Even now, five years after your separation, it warms your heart knowing that you get to interact with the people you care about. 

There are moments you find yourself missing living under the same roof with all three of them and living alone can be pretty lonely. But all in all, as long as they’re comfortable and trust you enough to be around, there’s no need to change things up again. Like right now — the four of you sit at the dinner table eating before the kids go off trick-or-treating.

“Are you going to trick-or-treat with us, Y/n?” The brown-haired child sitting next to you asks while finishing up her dinner. 

“Sorry, not this time, gotta be at a Zoom meeting for my job in a few minutes. But I do have someone else to take my place. Gojo will be here at around—Why are you two making that face?” You stop mid-sentence to notice Megumi and Toji at the other side of the table, displaying disgusted facial expressions at the mention of the white-haired other’s name.

“Why him?” They said in unison.

“Why not??” You question their irritation.

“He’s so annoying…” Again, in unison. Proof enough that they’re father and son.

You sigh as you get up to take your plate to the sink. “Oh, come on, you two, it’s not like he’ll be with you guys the entire night. He has a party at a friend’s he’s going to later.” 

“Isn’t he too old to trick-or-treat?” Tsumiki questions, noting that Gojo is way past his undergraduate years. 

“He is, but whatever gets that prick any free sweets,” Toji answers his daughter before getting up to put his dish in the sink. 

You exit the kitchen, head into the living room, and sit on the couch. The laptop you had placed there was ready to open and unlock, and you clicked on applications and windows to look through before your meeting started in the next three to two minutes. He should be here about—

DING-DONG!!

Now.

Right on cue, you motion for Toji to grab the front door, and he follows your command. “Kids, Gojo’s here!” You shout out to the two kids who still sit at the table. “When you’re done eating, you can go upstairs and put your costumes on. But whoever finishes last has to do the dishes.” You can hear commotion from the table as the brunette rushes to put her dish in the sink and dash for the stairs. Megumi groans to himself; you giggle when you hear him mutter an “Aww man…”

You pull out your headphones to connect to your laptop, put them in their respective ears, and prepare yourself for the meeting. Ignoring the faint passive-aggressive tones of your ex-husband when greeting Gojo at the door…

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Your eyes flutter open, noticing the lighting change around the living room. The orange sunlight no longer decorated the space, substituted with the gradual darkness that overtakes you. The only source of light you can figure out is the flashing from the television screen.

Aside from the TV, there are no other signs of life. There aren’t any signs of Tsumiki or Megumi around playing or causing a raucous. It could only mean the two are still trick-or-treating with Gojo. 

One blink, two blinks. I must’ve fallen asleep after the meeting… You hum while sinking to the couch, burying your face into the pillow. 

But…since when did your pillow act like it was breathing with a heartbeat? And…I smelt that cologne before…How?

“Ya awake now?”

You raise your head, realizing you are not lying on your couch. Technically, you were; however, you were lying on something else on the furniture with you – more like someone. 

It’s then you realize that you were lying on Toji during your entire slumber, him leaning on the end of the couch, one leg spread to make room for you to sleep on him while you sit on the other. And you can guess that you had your head on his chest, snuggling up to his warm figure. He looks at you with his green eyes now darkened by the room, yet you can see their glow from the television light. And that small smile he gives you, the scar on the right side of his lip lifted upward. The familiar butterflies in your stomach flutter like before. Like old times sake…That must be embarrassing, huh?

You frantically try to get off of him, “Sorry about that, I thought—“

“No, no,” Toji places a stern hand on your back, keeping you from moving further. “You were comfortable.” 

You stare at him for a few seconds until your face contours to a look, and a smile starts to creep up while you situate yourself back to your original position, pressing your face back on his chest to listen to the beats of his heart again. “I recall having this couch all to myself not too long ago, so where’d you come from?”

“Well, I wanted to watch some sports highlights, but I figured you’d kick my ass if I pulled you off and had you sleep on the floor instead.” With the click of your tongue, he chortles. You bet your ass I would. “So, I decided to have ya sleep on me while I watch TV.”

“What’s wrong with the other side of the couch? It’s quite vacant and enough for a big guy like you.” 

“True,” his hand rubs circles on your back, an old habit he did when he used to have you like this. “But then I’d be lonely.” 

You titter. “That’s big for someone who said he thrives on being alone.”

“I thrive being alone when I’m working.” You’re glad he can’t see your eyes roll; he’d probably grab you by the cheeks like a child. “Besides, why would I wanna be alone when I have you for myself.”

And there it is, your cheeks begin to warm up. Or was it because you’re so close to him that his heat is transferring to you? That’s probably it, yeah. Let’s change the subject…”How long was I out for? I remember the kids left around 7:30-ish.”

“Mmm, it’s going to eleven right now.”

Three and a half hours? Damn. “It’s past their bedtime.”

Toji scoffs. The abrupt motion of his chest rising is satisfying in a way that makes you even more comfortable. “You still think they’re gonna sleep with all that sweet shit they got?” He snickers some more as you shake your head.

“They know better. When you guys get home, be sure to put their candy bags on the top shelf of the closet for the morning.” 

“Still traumatized from that one time?” 

“Uhhh, yes??” The memory flashes to you for a quick moment, but the dread from before still haunts you. Megumi was six years old and Tsumiki seven, returning home from trick-or-treating and immediately tasting their labor from that night. However, what you didn’t expect was for them both to eat almost half their bags. Let’s just say, thanks to their sugar rushes, they didn’t drop dead until the hour hand touched two of the morning. “Unless it’s the weekend, never again.”

The way the older man chuckles is so therapeutic — it nearly makes you want to fall asleep again. “You weren’t the one chasin' Megumi all over the place tryin' to get him to sleep. Little squirt gets his speed from me.”

“Awww, poor you~” You can sense the glare as you respond in a condescending, sing-song tune. “You and him are always butting heads. Like father, like son.”

“Tch, hate that sayin’ so fuckin’ much.”

“Why? ‘Because it’s true?”

“Shut up.” The hand he used to rest his head comes down to pinch your nose. You wriggle out of his hold with giggles, but he happily keeps you grounded to him with his stronghold and a leg wrapped around to prevent yours from moving. “He only listens to you. Such a sweet lil’ baby to you, huh? Puttin’ my own son against me.”

More giggles prompt out of tiny guilt, and you bring up a hand to rub on his chest. “He’s such a bright boy now. Growing up so big and fast.”

“Miki, too. That girl is way too smart fr' me to catch up. And she’s becoming so kind and strong, crazy to think she made me play teacups when she could barely go down the stairs by herself.” Toji hums, the vibrations felt on the pads of your fingers. “Think she gets that from you.” 

You shook your head. “They’re your babies. They do amazing things because they have a big guy like you to catch them if they ever fall.”

“Hmm, fair…But let’s not pretend I’m the best dad in the world. Fuck, never in my life did I think I’d be a dad, especially with two kids. I didn’t know shit back then — still! I still don’t know shit.” You don’t say anything, just listening to him voice his thoughts to you. Because he knows you’d listen – you always do. “If you weren’t there for them, I don’t think they’d be shining like this. Y’re definitely the thing that brought us up together. They look up to you so much. Ya did so well with them.”

Nodding aimlessly, his black sweatshirt grazing on your cheek. “Thank you. Same to you. Didn’t do so bad yourself, big guy.”

“Mmm.”

Nothing is said between you two after that. The only thing that makes noise is the voices coming from the television. The volume lowered, an initiative you could guess from Toji wanting you to get some rest. The silence was too awkward that it might torture some, but it was fine where it was. There was no need to change it, especially when you were comfortable in each other’s embrace.

That is, until Toji asks, “Do you miss it?” The rubs on your back go slower, his fingertips drawing a ticklish sensation.

“Of course I do. All the time.” You answer honestly, turning your head to rest your chin on him. Your eyes glimpse directly at his, giving him a tiny grin. “Why ask? I know the kids miss me being around; what about you? Miss me nagging and putting you to work all the time?”

He sneers at your comment. “Every day.”

It was such a simple answer, yet it had the power to wipe that smirk right off your face. Your eyes locked in his sight, and your heart tuning to an irregular rhythm. Oh, come on, Y/n, get a grip! “Ahem—Toji, I hope you know that I never stopped missing everything we had — I never will. Those years that we shared were probably the best I’ve had. We had happy moments, others sad, of course. But, God, do I miss it all. I miss it so much. I miss having you guys here. Miki and Gumi and—“

“Me?” Good Lord, if this man doesn’t stop looking at you with those goddamn eyes of his, such captivating orbs that say more than he lets on. Your breath hitches, and so does the hand on your back. “Hmm? Ya miss me, baby?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Why’d you have to call me that? And it gets worse when he places his free hand on your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin while the forefinger teases the lobe and tragus of your ear. Goddammnit…

“...Yes,” your voice was down a whisper, which could easily be mistaken with the television. But you know Toji heard you, loud and clear. “Especially you, Toji.” You said it. The words that he wanted to hear from you. They felt so forbidden to say, yet it was the truth. You avert your gaze away from him. But you knew that wouldn’t work, not right now. Toji taps your cheek with his thumb, and your eyes sheepishly return to his.

He doesn’t say anything, and that makes your heart beat at an unbearable rate. It’s all you can hear when you stare into his deep emerald eyes, the sound of it ringing your eardrums as if you could puke. Your throat running dry, so you gulp to ease the uncomfortable bob. If something could just happen to end this anxious torture, that would be great. 

And then your prayers get answered: something does happen. Toji slowly brings his face closer to yours — your body goes rigid, and you instantly face away before the inevitable happens. No, I didn’t mean that!

“Aht aht, don’t do that, baby.” His hand slithers from your cheek to your chin, forcing you to face straight at him. “Lemme see you.”

“Toji, wait,” your voice travels out in a shaky breath. “We shouldn’t be doing this. We can’t cross this line anymore.”

He listens to your pleas, but his body does otherwise. Placing a gentle kiss on your forehead while the hand on your back snakes downward. “Why not?” His gruff voice dialed down to a whisper.

“Because—Mmmm…” Toji interrupts you by licking the helix of your ear. Oh, you slick bastard. “We’re supposed to be done…” 

“That’s not stoppin’ me from takin’ care of my sweet thing.” Jesus Christ, you almost melted from the way he whispered that to your ear. He’s pulling out all the same old tricks, and it gets more hellish by the second as you try not to give in. “So, y're gonna let me take care of you like I always do, right, mama?”

Both his hands now rest on your ass, groping it while your hips sway as if they have a mind of their own. The leg between yours comes up slightly, making you ride on it. The heat on your cheeks has already blossomed to your ears, making it hard to think straight. Gripping his sweatshirt, your hips ride his thigh to ease the throbbing sensation that grows with every motion. Good God, you shouldn’t be doing this. You know you shouldn’t be doing this. However, it’s been so long that you felt wanted like this — wanted by him. It’s all the same – his voice, his hands, his words, his body, and the names he calls – yet here you are turning into putty. 

“Haaahh, Mmmfff…Toji, please,” Toji withdraws his face from your shoulder, leaving him to examine your expression. You must look so dumb right now, with your hooded eyes and shivering lips. But, at this point, do you even care? “Please…Treat me right.”

One moment, you see his gaze narrow with a devious glint. Next, you’re taken aback when Toji slams his lips on yours, kissing and sucking your bottom lip until you give him access. With a moan, you open your mouth for him and sink deeper into the kiss. Your hands come around his neck, keeping him focused on you and you alone. Not that he would have it any other way.

His strong hands continue to knead your asscheeks while you hump and grind on his thigh. Nibbling on your lip, you whimper helplessly for him. It strokes his ego, knowing he’s making you like this, the fucking bastard. He takes in your tiny cries happily, shoving his tongue to play with yours. You give in to him, almost losing your balance riding his thigh, yet Toji’s lips never leave yours.

You break the kiss to get an imperative breath, panting loudly and sweetly for him as Toji kisses and licks your ear. The sounds make your lower region twitch. “Hnnmm, fuck…That’s my girl. So fuckin’ good fr’ me always, Y/n…” You can feel him slide a hand up to the hem of your leggings, forcing it inside for his thick fingers to brush up on the bare flesh of your butt. You gasp sharply. Him squeezing your butt has you biting down on his sweatshirt. “—Hahhh, Oh God, Toji,” With every squeeze, he inches closer to your panty-covered chasm, where you know he’d find a damp spot. Please touch me. Please, please, plea—

CLACK-CLINK!!

The two of you are frozen stiff when you hear the sound of the door opening and closing, the foyer lights turned on. “Alright~, we got you guys home. See ya later!” That was Gojo’s voice, indicating everyone was finally back from trick-or-treating. This means that Tsumiki and Megumi are about to see you on top of their father, his hand in your leggings and smacking lips with yours. Your eyes shoot wide with horror — immediately remove yourself from Toji and stand up from the couch to pull your bottoms up. You barely had the chance to peek at Toji because the kids already run to the living room to find you two.

“Y/n, Y/n, look!” The brunette was the first to greet you with her adorable pink Barbie cowgirl costume. She and her brother, dressed as Sasuke Uchiha, cheerfully showcased their pillowcases full of candy. “Look at all this candy we got!”

“Wooow, you guys really went on a haul,” you can only hope they can’t see you sweating bullets through your fake reaction. “Wh–Where’s Gojo?” 

“He dropped us off here a few seconds ago and left for the party,” The raven-haired boy answered while scanning his pillowcase.

You only nod along until you frantically wipe your mouth, realizing the tiny trail of spit from the corner of your mouth. “Umm—Ahem, well then, I’m glad you two got all that candy. Now, let’s hurry up and get you guys home so you can get ready for school tomorrow!” 

But the children didn’t move an inch. Actually, they looked like they were going to tell you something. You lift a brow. Oh no, they’re going to look at each other. They looked at each other and then glanced back at you. Oh, God, no. “Uhhh, Y/n, we were thinking.” Big sister Tsumiki is always the one who asks the following question. “Can we stay over?”

You inhale a massive breath, yet you do your best not to exhale a heavy sigh. “Kids, you promised to keep the overnight stays to three at max per month. This will be the fifth!” 

“Yeah, but it’s dark out. Plus, it’s way past our bedtime.” The younger chimes in with a tiny pout. “We’ll be asleep by the time Dad gets us home.”

And here comes Tsumiki with the tag-team response to add on. “And that means he’ll have to make continuous trips back and forth from the car. Picking me and Megumi up, getting our bookbags, the bags full of candy, the whole thing! We already packed up our PJs just in case.” 

You stood there staring at the two in astonishment. There’s no way they thoroughly planned this out. There’s just no way… And to make it worse, they were making valid arguments. You open your mouth to say something, but the two give the best puppy eyes they can. The wave of guilt hits like a train, internally cringing. You turn to Toji, who still sits on the couch, and the motherfucker only gives you a shrug. Wow, what a helpful father he is.

You groan into your hands, shaking your head while looking at the kids who wait for your verdict. “…Alright, you can stay as long as you PROMISE to put those candy bags in my bedroom closet. Deal?” The happy smiles and aggressive head shakes should answer your question. “Good, now go ahead and take your showers before you head for bed.” They rushed to the stairs by the time you finished that sentence, so enthusiastic about staying the night at your house, and you can’t help but smile hearing their footsteps run up the stairs. 

With that being said, you turn to the older man again. Your brows are trenched down, but your smile is still present. “So, you legit just sat there and let those two tag-team me like that? In my own house?”

Another shrug with a dumb smirk on his handsome face. “Told you: too smart fr’ me to catch up.” You shake your head before exiting to get the kids and guest rooms ready, leaving him with the television. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The midnight hour has finally danced its way into the darkness of the night. Halloween is finally over, and the month of October is no more. The pitter-patter sound of the rain cleanses the neighborhood of its merits and festivities that partook hours ago, ready for a new phase of the year to take over.

After having the guest room ready with sheets and sleepwear for Toji and kissing the kids goodnight, you rinse your stress off with a nice shower and put on your pajamas to get ready for bed. After you turn the lights off, you drape the comforter over your figure as your body sinks with the cozy sheets and pillowcase. Your eyes close while focusing on the curtains of your window, the only light piercing inside being the lampposts by the street. 

…Well, at least that’s what’s supposed to happen. But that’s not the case because you’re not the only one lying comfortably on your mattress. Instead, Toji is here with you, in your room, on your bed, his chest to your back, and his hand roaming inside your oversized shirt. Your lips are now connected with his, sharing your erotic moans with his enticing groans, and you get a little louder as his fingers cup and play with your breast.

“Mmphh…Ahhhh, I thought I told you you’re sleeping in the guest room—Nmmff!” He tweezes your nipple with his forefinger and thumb roughly.  

“And I thought you’d be smart enough to know that wasn’t gonna happen.” Toji kisses the crook of your neck, drawing near your ear for him to whisper. “Besides, look at you. Still sleepin’ with no underwear on?”

“Hmph, only when I have a man around the house.” That answer got you another rough tweak on your nip and a purposeful gnaw to your ear. You knew he’d react like that, never liking the mention of another man leaving your mouth – especially during an intimate time like this.

“That so? What man you know that can handle all this?” Toji then moves from his side to be between your legs, pulling up your shirt to fully expose your chest. And your breathe hitches while his free hand travels down your abdomen to your bottoms.

“Ahhhh, no one. Just you...” You look at him with half-lidded eyes, taking in his reaction to what you said. The salacious grin on his face becoming broader should entail that he greatly loved that retort.

He brings his face to your other unattended nipple, “Good answer, princess.” The nub of your breast enters his mouth, and the wet warmth of his tongue greets it with lapped motions and grazes from his teeth. Despite that, it doesn’t distract you from the fact your bottoms are pulled down with ease and are thrown to the bedroom floor, leaving your cunt out for him, your erotic fluids seeping and glistening from the outside lights. 

Toji plays with your folds until he can stuff his pointer finger into your chasm, the insertion resulting in your body’s jolt. It’s been a long while since you had his thick digit inside you, playing and scraping the inner walls to evoke whimpers. God, it felt so good, this satisfying feeling returning to awaken your body to his touch. He interacts with your body as if he’s the only person who knows how to get you going – and it’s the truth. No one can put you in a blissful haze quicker than this man. And you’d prefer to keep it that way. 

The addition of his middle finger into your leaky entrance startles you, the thick digit making its way in with such vigor that he uses both fingers to scrape the velvety texture of your walls. Your eyes are now screwed shut at the growing commotion between your thighs, and the heat within your body flourishing all around gets to your head. “—Khmm, Oh fuuck, Toji. Please, don’t stop.” 

With a soft ‘pop’ noise from his lips, Toji replies to your demands. “I’m sorry, what’s my name again?” You giggle with trenched brows. Of course, how could I forget?

“Nmmph, D-Daddy, pleaseee, I’m so clo—Ahhhann!!” He puts his thumb to your clit, grinding down on it unexpectedly. “I wanna cum, pleaseee…”

“Hmmm, good girl,” he teased, laying down kisses, nibbling on the skin of your stomach and inner thighs until he arrives at your leaking slit. Your body jerks up from the bed when you feel the cold, wet muscle slowly lick on your clitoris before ravaging your folds. The sounds of his mouth on your cunt are so lewd to the ear, slurping noises from his lips with the lapping motions of his tongue claiming your come are too much for you. And when he uses his hand to swipe and pinch your clit? Oh, it’s a wrap. Your release comes out without control, biting down on your bottom lip to make sure your cries don’t leave this space for the kids to hear. Their room is on the other side down the hall; tonight isn’t the night for too many risks.

When your trembling body calms down and subsides, Toji withdraws his face from between your thighs. Your essence paints his mouth, and he wipes his chin clean while licking the remnants that coat his scarred lips. “Hmph, missed tastin’ you like that.” You open your eyes when your high finally evades you, watching your ex-husband pull down his sweats. His erection springs out and hits his stomach, your mind going rampant with thoughts as you ogle at his freed limb. Shit, it’s been so long. Will that shit even fit me again?

“Don’t think it’ll fit, baby?” Damn him, he loves teasing you. Toji then discards his black wife-beater, at long last revealing his well-built, brawny physique that has you drooling for him. He uses his hands to maneuver your legs—your knees pushed to your chest as your legs propped up on his shoulders. A position you’re all too familiar with. Your eyes don’t leave Toji’s cock as he aligns his cock to your slick-coated folds. “Take some breaths fr’ me, sweetie. Can’t take care of you when you’re all tense.”

You take up on his advice and begin taking deep breaths, reminding yourself to maintain the steady pattern as he pushes the tip of his dick between the lips of your cunt. Every inhale is where he nudges into the hole of your inner cavern, and every exhale gives you time to breathe out the pain that comes in for a split second. This carries on until the cockhead wedges itself perfectly into your vagina, along with the inches of his girth that stretches until the base kisses your lips, the tip of him kissing your cervix. Tears swell up in your eyes, taking more deep breaths to prepare yourself for what’s about to come. 

“Oooh fuuuck…Heh, yeah, that’s my baby right there. Fittin’ so perfect fr’ me, mama…” He puts his weight on you, keeping your figure unmoving under his bow. 

“Nmmmf, Daddyyy,” you’re forced to take in all of him, and drool trails down your lips with no hope of taking care of it. “…I’m so full, you’re too much…”

“I know, sweetie, I know.” He wipes your spit after kissing your forehead. How gentle compared to what you’re about to go through. “Gonna move now.” His thrusts start slow for the two of you to adjust to each other; the feeling of his length’s veins coming in and out of your chasm is so euphoric, and the kisses to your cervix want your body to writhe and squirm. But you’re bent into this position for a reason: forced to submit to him no matter what. So you do just that.

Yet your horny haze gets more potent once he picks up the pace, rutting into you with increased speed. Your slit, still sensitive from earlier, gets overstimulated with the constant grazes on your gummy walls and jabs to your tender cervix. It takes everything in your power not to come so early.

“—Hahhhh, Nmmph. Oh, shit, shit, shit…” Toji groans above you, the thrusts of his pelvis increase to an irregular rhythm, grinding deep into your cunt to the point of uncontrollable babbles escaping your lips. His bullying on your insides results in you gripping his length hard, causing the older man to hiss and moan at your contractions. “—Ohhhfuuuckk!! Jesus Christ, baby. Y’re gonna make me go crazy.” 

As if that wasn’t already happening now that he pistons his cock into your wetness, your brain turning into mush from the onslaught of ruts to your puffy wet chasm. Tears stream down your face, and more drool follows down with more precise hits to your delicate canal. The pounding in your head makes it hard to think of anything else, the squelching noises and paps of Toji’s balls hitting your cunt making it worse. 

“D-Daddyyy, I’m—Ohoooo!! Oh, Jesus, ohhhshit!” You can’t formulate a proper sentence, too engulfed with the electrifying sensations coursing through your body. 

“Damn, you feel too fucking good—Hnngh!!” Toji places his forehead on yours, resting his entire weight on you while his hips have a mind of their own. “‘Bout to make me knock you up…”

Oh, good Lord. The mere thought of having a child is the last thing that should be on your mind. But in a time like this, who in their right mind would be thinking straight? “Nnnfff! Oh God, pleaseee, fill me up, Daddyy!” Green eyes narrow with trenched brows. “—Pleasepleasepleaseee!! I want you to fill me up so bad, I want it, I want—Hyaaaaa!!” 

How can he deny your desperate, teary pleas when you’re urging him on like this? “Heh, you’re so fuckin’ sexy, mama.” Toji captures your lips with his, your mewls taken by him as you sink further into your pleasurable thrill.

Sporadic thrusts of his pelvis produce more raunchy noises in the joining of your sexes, his heavy balls smacking on your cunt as he drives the base of his cock straight into you. Your slit is now a puffy mess, come and slick form a soapy mess that Toji now harbors a milky ring around his girth. A few rushed, sloppy thrusts heighten your high once more, and then Toji presses his pelvis down to the hilt on one final, harsh thrust, unloading his seed into your aching folds. And your climax follows in a few seconds, the walls of your cunt fluttering on his pulsating dick as your essence soaks him. Your muffled shrieks are received by him, quivering under him until the aftershocks wash through your body. 

Once you two breathe at a steady tempo and the nerves of your sweaty bodies fall still, the kiss is broken with heavy pants and a string of spit that links you two together. Toji buries his face between your neck and shoulder, licking and kissing your skin as you’re allowed time to experience your clarity.

“Hmmm…You know I’m not done yet, princess.” Toji mumbles to your ear before stationing your legs off his shoulders for them to rest.

“Yeah, I know, big guy.” You tease him with a breathless laugh, kissing him on the temple. “Always wanting more…”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“…So, you’re telling me you had your ex-husband spend the night? Not just the kids?”

“Yup, that’s what happened.” 

This morning was different from your usual routine – well, you can’t say it’s different if you have done it before, huh? After five years of divorce, you thought you’d be so used to waking up and getting ready for work without worrying about others. However, this morning proves otherwise.

It felt natural walking into the kids’ room and lightly shaking them awake, telling them to get ready while you whip up something quick for them to eat as Toji showers (using your bathroom, by the way). Watching the kids run down the stairs and eat breakfast puts a smile on your face, reminiscing about the good old days when they were younger and teenier. It sometimes feels surreal doing the same thing for them now that they’re getting older and taller. But seeing them bicker and interact with each other in your presence never fails to warm your heart.

When Toji’s finished freshening up and loading his kids’ stuff in his truck, it’s time to bid them farewell for their departure for school. You give them final touch-ups on their hair and outfits, reminding them to be safe and not get into trouble (especially Megumi, now that the boy’s been getting into fights). And before they rush to the car, you hug them and give each a kiss on the cheek. Here is where the warm feeling inside your heart begins to deteriorate, not wanting to let them go. Yet, for their sake – and education – you release them and hope for the best.

The last to leave was Toji, who came from the kitchen to the front door with a paper plate wrapped in foil in one hand. His name is written boldly by a black Sharpie. “This fr' me?” 

“No, it’s for Shiu Kong, for dealing with you all the time.” You stick your tongue out at Toji as he glares at you, not even moving out of the way while he exits through the door. “You better eat that when you get to work, you have a terrible habit of skipping lunch.” 

“Whatever ya say, mom.” He pesters you with the title, knowing you’re technically not a mother anymore. Yet it only makes you smile knowing he notices your maternal side. 

“Don’t forget to text me when Tsumiki’s soccer game is next week.” You watch him go down the porch stairs. 

“Will do.”He whistles. 

“And Toji?”

The man stops walking to turn to you, his forest green eyes fixed on you so quickly that you almost forget what you want to say. Or what you wanted to do. You place your fingers on your lips and blow a kiss with an outward gesture. It was an old habit you did whenever he left, something you can’t seem to get out of practice with. It’s embroidered in your mind at this point. 

And when he catches the kiss with his free hand and places it on his chest, it makes your heart skip a beat. Toji grins, “I’ll be damned if that was fr' Shiu, too.”

You snicker with a shaken head. “Drive safe, Toji.” Closing the front door, you stand there for a while. Your smile doesn’t falter; it gets bigger as you replay the moment instead. Thinking about him, hearing him, seeing him, it all drives you crazy. And that’s a good thing…right?

“I don’t know, sounds like you still kinda care about the guy.” 

“Of course I do,” So here you are, sitting in your living room enjoying the rays of the sunset decorating the space, in a video call with your best friends, Utahime and Mei Mei. You reply to the former’s comment. “Just because I don’t have the ring on my finger doesn’t mean I shouldn’t care about him. I mean, he’s the father of two lovely children.”

“Shoot, you’re better than me, then.” The dark-haired woman admits. “But you’re kinda proving my point, Y/n. Even when you don’t have the ring on, you two act like the same old couple, and it’s definitely not just for the kids’ sake. Let’s be real here.” 

You try to interject, but the pale-blue-haired other, Mei Mei, intervenes, “I agree. It’s one thing if you let the children stay over, but he also wanted to spend the night. Sure, he could’ve been tired from driving all day and such. However, if you’re still seeing a man for the last five years – while legally unbound – and he says he wants to spend the night under your roof, which is rare, that should ring some bells at least.”

“I know, it did…” you nod along with what your friend is saying, throwing your head back with a heavy sigh. “But it’s not like he’s never spent the night here before, nor is he banished from stepping inside.” 

“Oh? Then why is this time different from the others?”

Utahime jumps in after Mei Mei’s chirp. “Yeah, you’re telling us about all these nostalgic lovey-dovey feelings as if you’re falling in love with him all over again. What, did you two have sex or something?” 

An open mouth, yet no words come out, leaving you in a predicament. You could’ve just lied or swerved the subject to something else. But you didn’t. And the two women on the screen lift their brows with hooded eyes, a look meaning a thousand words. You couldn’t even explain yourself either because a sudden knock on your door captured the attention of all three of you. 

You stand up and walk towards the door, your friends still on call on the phone at hand. Opening the door, you’re almost stunned to see in front of you. Tsumiki and Megumi with nervous smiles, and their father at the car collecting the same duffles bags from last night. You’re kidding.

“Hey, kids.” The two of them gulped from not calling them by their names. You bring up the phone to face the screen to them. “Say hello to Auntie Mei Mei and Utahime.” The women on the line smile and wave at the children, who sheepishly wave back.

“Hi, aunties.” Megumi greets them, and then his eyes drift back to you. “So, Y/n—“

“What did you forget this time?” Straight to the point, no room for excuses.

“It was Miki this time! She forgot her soccer cleats.” The older sibling gawks at her younger brother for calling her out.

“Tsumiki, I know you have cleats at home.”

“I do, but these are special! You bought them for my birthday, and I’ve been wearing them to every game ever since! So, I was scared when I couldn’t find them at home.” The brunette was quick to defend her stand. “Also, Dad doesn’t feel like driving up here and then back. So…can we…”

You close your eyes and bring the phone to your face to shield your vexation. Twice in a row, the sixth time this month. You can hear the giggles of your friends from the other side of the phone, adding more fuel to the fire. You don’t look up until you hear heavy footsteps on the porch, seeing Toji holding both duffle bags with a hand and shoulder. He stares at you as you stare at him, a silent conversation on how to handle this situation. And when he shrugs with lifted brows, you realize it’s no use and release the long-awaited sigh.

“….If I see one more thing being left behind here, you guys can’t come back till December, understand?” It wasn’t anything serious, but enough for the kids to know you weren’t joking. They nod their heads in unison while you roll your eyes. “Okay, get in here.” They rushed inside with gleeful laughs, the shuffling of their backpacks following along with them. Your eyes then drift to Toji as he walks up to you. “Did you forget something here, too?”

“Yeah,” you lift a brow when he drops Megumi’s bag to the floor. Before you can register his hand on your chin, you squeak when he brings his lips to yours. It lasted for seconds, but the kiss was sweet and tender, sucking on your lip before letting go with a playful bite. “Meant to give you that when you woke up. Thanks fr' the food, mama.” 

Toji picks the bag up and walks inside your home to put the bags in the rooms, leaving you standing on the porch with an astounded expression. You couldn’t appropriately calibrate your thoughts until you heard faint laughs from the phone. Then, you realize your best friends witnessed the entire scene that transpired. 

Utahime, with the slyest leer, was the first to say something. “Oh yeah, he laid that pipe on you good, without a doubt.”

“Mhmm,” Mei Mei agrees with a chuckle. “And I'm guessing he’s gonna do it again tonight. Isn’t that right, Y/n?”

You end the video call with a heated face. “Sh-Shut your damn mouths!!” Again, you groan into your hands before returning inside. Thank God I still have those birth control pills...

♱ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2023 – reblogs + comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ header art by rororogi mogera + dividers by the amazing @/cafekitsune!!

[gyudons]

despicable

updates as of 22 oct

Travis Dermott knew that he would draw attention with his actions in the Coyotes’ home opener against the Anaheim Ducks at Mullett Arena on Saturday. The Arizona defenseman just hoped that the spotlight might shine on the issue that he was addressing, not on him.

“You don’t really want to go against rules that are put in place by your employer, but there’s some people who took some positive things from it,” Dermott said. “That’s kind of what I’m looking to impact.

“You want to have everyone feel included and that’s something that I have felt passionate about for a long time in my career. It’s not like I just just jumped on this train. It’s something that I’ve felt has been lacking in the hockey community for a while. I feel like we need supporters of a movement like this; to have everyone feel included and really to beat home the idea that hockey is for everyone.”

“I won’t lie,” said Dermott, who is playing on a one-year, two-way contract. “From the outside, it’s easy to see that I’m putting my career on the line for something. I definitely went through some emotional ups and downs that night, not regretting anything by any means, but I’d love to have maybe done a couple of steps a little different by making sure that everyone was aware of what was going on before I did it.

“I don’t want to put my teammates or my coaches or my GMs or the equipment managers in any kind of bad light when it’s their job to kind of look out for something like this happening. It was definitely something that I did just by myself and was prepared to kind of deal with whatever repercussions the league decides to push towards that. I’m not going to back off and say that this battle is won, but we’re going to find better ways to do it.”

As Dermott noted, LGBTQ+ inclusion is an issue that he has supported for a long time. Without getting into specifics, Dermott said the issue is personal for him because it impacts people close to him.

“I’d be lying if I said I haven’t shed tears about this on multiple occasions,” he said. “So yeah, it’s something I’m definitely very passionate about.

“I’ve met a lot of people that from the outside, it looks like they have everything going right in their life and they have a smile on their face every time they talk to you. But sometimes when we get closer to people and get comfortable enough for them to open up to you, you can see that there’s some pretty dark stuff happening to some good people. It doesn’t take too many times encountering something like that for it to really change someone.

“I’ve been blessed to have some of those opportunities put in front of me to really change my view of what being a good person means; what being a good father and a good example and role model means going forward. You really see how people are hurting and it’s because of a system that maybe no one’s intentionally trying to be malicious about, but until you’ve really had that first-person experience seeing people hurting from it right in front of you, it’s tough to kind of take steps.”

It would be a surprise if the league handed down any sort of punishment. The optics alone would add to the public relations damage that the original ban created. Even so, Dermott reiterated his desire to bring the entire franchise into the fold before he takes similar actions in the future, but he also made it clear that he will not be silenced on the topic.

“It’s not like I’m shutting up and going away,” he said. “I know more questions are going to be coming. We’re just going to be as prepared as we can be to just spread love. That’s the thing. It’s gay pride that we’re talking about, but it could be men’s health. It could be any war. It’s just wanting world peace. Everyone’s got to love each other a little bit more.

“Like my parents said growing up, ‘How awesome would it be to be the guy that people look up to?’ That’s what really hit home when I was a kid, especially from my mom. You want to grow up and be that guy. You want to be the guy that’s having the impact on kids like NHL players had on you. If they had been racist or bigoted, that’s going to have an effect on you.

“With how many eyes are on us, especially with the young kids coming up in the new generation, you want to put as much positive love into their brain as you can. You want them to see that it’s not just being taught or coming from maybe their parents at home. They need to see it in the public eye for it to really make an effect.”

[fushitoru]

all i want for christmas is you! a gojo satoru fic

pairing ⸺ bf!gojo x reader

summary ⸺ after a well needed rest from the kids, you and your boyfriend focus on baking christmas cookies for your pta responsibilities. however, it ends up taking a naughty twist when satoru finds out the surprise you've planned out for him.

warnings ⸺ FLUFF, smut in the form of fingering and p i v sex, reader has a vagina, fem reader implied, some jealousy, but mostly crack, pta cookie baking for megumi, very domestic, not edited, “good girl,” teasing, use of pet names like “baby,” gojo is a warning in himself

a/n hbd to my husband and loml 😚😚 i hope you guys enjoy this it kind of made me realize only long fics heal my soul but this is anticipation of holidays :33

general masterlist

You sometimes did not know what to do with Satoru.

When he told you to come over to make Christmas cookies that are part of his PTA commitments for Megumi, you really didn’t expect him to come out of his room with that sweater on. It’s an ugly sweater—so he’s got the holiday spirit nailed down—that has printed “BIG PACKAGE JUST FOR YOU.” Below it, a cartoon Santa stood pantsless, strategically holding a neatly wrapped gift box over his crotch.

You give him a look as he comes out to join you in the kitchen. “Please don’t tell me you wore that in front of Tsumiki and Megumi.”

He has the gall to look offended as he puts on his even stupider “Your opinion wasn’t on the recipe” apron. “Of course, what kind of father do you think I am?”

You sigh, moving to put in the last of the dry ingredients. “I saw Megumi watching Breaking Bad on his iPad last week.”

“What?” he gasps dramatically as he pauses while moving for the fridge. “I swear I downloaded Youtube Kids!”

Look, Satoru is a good dad. Foster-dad. Whatever. He’s been taking care of Megumi and Tsumiki for ages now, ever since that incident happened, and he’s been doing his best. But, unfortunately, his adult life and burdens and responsibilities cause him sometimes to be a absent father. He makes up for it—goes shopping with Tsumiki for her clothes, spends quality time with Megumi.

One thing he’d never miss, however, are those PTA meetings.

He is the PTA mom final boss. No matter what event is being held, he’s going to go all out. You don’t miss the smirk he gives to Karen everytime he brings an even bigger cookie platter for Megumi’s homeroom than she did for her son Sam’s, nor the sassy pursed lips as he donates artist-grade markers from Michael’s instead of Mia’s cheap ones from Walmart.

Yea, he is just petty like that, but it’s always the moms whose sons have gotten into fights with Megumi that he outdoes everytime. You know better than to question his peculiar form of revenge.

“I think that means he found a way to break through the parental controls. He’s definitely your kid,” you reply with a bit of mirth in your voice. Then, you quickly move to intercept Satoru’s journey to get the eggs as soon as you notice a miniscule movement of his. You were not about to let Satoru force another trip to Whole Foods with the clumsiness you’re all too familiar with in your five years of dating.

Grabbing the eggs before he can, you turn around to find him staring at you, a dazzled look on his face.

“What?” you ask, already smirking. The view of the outfit you’d worn today had been obscured by the apron when he first came in, but when you moved to get the eggs in front of him, he definitely got a view of your ass in your tiny red skirt and fuzzy, festive top.

“Why the hell are you wearing a sexy Mrs. Claus outfit?”

“I was thinking we’d watch Christmas movies and chill today after the cookies!” you exclaim, just as Satoru interrupts with, “We’re baking cookies for children, you freak.”

The room went dead silent.

Your cheerful smile dropped instantly. Meanwhile, Satoru’s face lit up like he’s just won the lottery, full of pure glee.

Both of you shout at the same time, “What?”

You slam the eggs down onto the counter with just enough force to make him flinch, narrowing your eyes at him. “Excuse me? Did you just call me a freak?”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” he yelped, backpedaling so fast you were surprised he didn’t trip over his own feet. “It’s just—” He gestured wildly at you. “—that outfit is… is…”

“Is what?” you demand, crossing your arms and daring him to dig himself deeper.

“Babe,” he starts to whine, apologetic like a wet dog and padding his way back over to you while pulling you in for a back hug. “It’s hot, okay? Don’t get me wrong, it’s driving me crazy. I’m trying to focus on cookies, and you’re over here looking like every Christmas fantasy I didn’t know I had.”

“Get off me,” you grumble, shooting him a glare as you try to shake him off. “You are not touching these cookies. Sit on the couch.”

He yelps as you slap his hand. “Babe, but I’ll just be reinforcing the patriarchy if I let you stay and do all the work in the kitchen.” Then, he moves closer to your ear like the chronically online loser he is and whispers, “6’ 3’’ btw.”

“Go away!” you shriek, waving him off. This process would indeed be two times faster if Satoru was on his couch. There wasn’t any rush, but you’d really appreciate getting to the dicking-down part of tonight after much appreciated privacy from the kids for the first time in forever. You take a mental note to thank Yuji’s grandpa and Nobara’s grandmother with extra cookies for the sleepover as you shoo your boyfriend to the couch.

You get back to work on the wet ingredients by cracking the eggs, but not before you hear a “I’ll be reflecting on the systematic oppression women face in the workforce.”

Pulling off the oven mitts on your hands, you wash your hand but not without sneaking a peek over the kitchen counter. You were locked in on the cookies, paying no mind to Satoru’s existential bemoaning, and now that you’re done, you can’t wait for the fun part of tonight.

After waiting a few minutes and checking and rechecking the cookies to make sure they’re done, you set them aside to cool and make sure to turn off the oven. Tonight, you were determined to get that big fucking package Santa owed you, and your boyfriend was going to be the one to deliver it.

As you walk out, you know the strat you’re going to use: innocently suggest a Christmas movie to watch, snuggle close to him, and he’ll fall into the trap you set for him like a bear towards honey. You know your boyfriend all too well, and today, you were feeling coy.

He’s stretched out on the couch, scrolling on his phone, his posture as awful as ever. But the second he hears your footsteps, his head snaps up. His eyes immediately dart to the movement of your bare legs, lingering on the tiny red skirt you’re still wearing, before slowly traveling back up to your chest. Wow. He really wasn’t making this difficult.

You plop down next to him while grabbing the remote, pulling up Netflix. “What movie should we watch today?”

He blinks, clearly distracted. “We’re watching a movie?”

The Princess Switch catches in the side of your eye as you scroll through the options. Without looking at him, you answer, “Yes? What else were we going to do?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he drawls, his voice already dipping into that teasing tone you know so well. “Maybe something that doesn’t involve Vanessa Hudgens playing herself two times.”

You roll your eyes, nudging his shoulder with your own. “Don’t knock it till you try it, Mr. Holiday Spirit.”

His gaze doesn’t leave you, though, and when you finally glance at him, his expression has shifted. He’s not teasing anymore. His eyes are a little darker, his lips twitching like he’s holding back a grin. “What?” you ask, already smirking.

“Nothing,” he says, his voice lower now. “Just... you look really good in that outfit.”

Your cheeks heat, but you play it off with a laugh. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Satoru.”

“Won’t it?” he murmurs, leaning a little closer, his hand brushing against your knee. The heat of his palm lingers even after he pulls it away, and you feel your heart skip a beat.

You’re about to respond—something witty, something to keep the banter going—but then his hand moves again, this time resting firmly on your thigh. “You’re really going to make me sit through a Christmas movie when you look like that?” he asks, his voice a low rumble.

Your breath hitches, and you can’t help the way your body reacts, leaning just a fraction closer to him. “What would you rather do?” you challenge, your voice softer now.

His gaze dips to your lips, and that’s all the invitation he needs. In a second, he’s closing the distance, his mouth pressing against yours in a kiss that’s anything but sweet. It’s hungry and demanding, like he’s been waiting for this all day, and when his hand slides higher up your thigh, you realize you’ve completely forgotten about the movie and the preview playing. Satoru, clearly a little annoyed judging by the pout on his face, moves to close the preview featuring Vanessa Hudgens’ obnoxious British accent and then the room is silent except for the wet sounds of your sloppy kissing.

When you’ve both made out for a while—now with you on his lap—you both pull back with fastened breaths, looking at each other’s glistening lips. Finally, from Satoru comes out a, “That. I wanted to do that.”

Maybe it’s the attention whore in you always looking to rile up Satoru and get his affection, but you couldn’t refrain from blurting out a “Are you sure you wanted to do this with me, or would Linda have sufficed?”

At the scrunch of Satoru’s nose, his face practically spells out a Who the fuck is Linda? “You know, the one that gets really friendly with you when I’m going to the bathroom at those PTA meetings.”

Satoru sometimes did not know what to do with you.

Here he is, trying to make out with you when you’re looking like that, makeup done perfectly and looking beautiful as always. He hasn’t gotten laid with you in a hot minute, and here you are, picking at him. He has no fucking clue who Linda is, but what he does know is that you’re really cute when you get jealous. “Yeah?” he teases, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his fingers lingering against your cheek. His grin is maddeningly smug, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “Linda sounds nice. Should I call her up?”

Your jaw drops, but the sharp retort forming in your head is lost when his hand slides from your cheek to your neck, his thumb brushing lightly along your jawline. He leans closer, his breath warm against your skin. “You know,” he continues, his voice a low murmur, “if you’re jealous, you could just say so.”

“I’m not jealous,” you shoot back, your voice unconvincing even to yourself. You shift under his gaze, trying to keep up the façade, but it’s hard when his lips hover so close to yours.

Satoru’s grin widens. “No? Then why are you bringing up some imaginary PTA Linda when I’m clearly only interested in you?” His lips press against the corner of your mouth, a slow, deliberate kiss that makes your breath catch.

“You’re clearly only interested in being annoying,” you quip, but the words lack their usual bite as his hand slips lower, trailing down your side until it rests on your bare thigh. His touch is firm, possessive, and it sends a shiver through you.

“Annoying?” he echoes, his tone mock-offended. “That’s a big word for someone who just ruined a perfectly good makeout session to talk about Linda.”

You glare at him, but the effect is ruined when his thumb begins tracing lazy circles on your thigh. “I didn’t ruin anything,” you argue weakly.

“Didn’t you?” He dips his head, his lips brushing against the sensitive spot just below your ear. “Because now, instead of kissing you like I want to, I’m stuck reassuring you that Linda doesn’t stand a chance against my very sexy, very jealous girlfriend.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, but it turns into a soft gasp as his teeth graze your skin, his tongue soothing the faint sting. “You’re insufferable,” you mutter, but your hands betray you, tangling in his hair and tugging him closer.

“Mm, but you like it,” he murmurs, his lips trailing down your neck. His free hand slides higher, skimming under the hem of your skirt, his fingers teasing against the soft skin of your hip. “Admit it.”

“Shut up,” you manage, though your voice is breathless now. He’s too close, his scent overwhelming, his touch setting your nerves on fire. When his hand tightens on your thigh and he pulls you closer, you give in, letting him capture your lips in a kiss that’s all desperation.

Linda, whoever she may be, is long forgotten as Satoru kisses you like he’s trying to make up for every second you’ve spent apart. His hands roam, his touch firm and confident, and when he pulls back just enough to murmur against your lips, “You’re all I want,” you believe him completely.

A breathless “Satoru” leaves your lips as he gently–but hurriedly–lowers you down to lay on the couch while he bends over you, inching down the hem of your top to bury his head in your tits. “Oh my god,” he groaned. “I missed my girls.” He starts to leaves rough kisses, an occasional bite and suck, and then stops. Takes in a deep breath. “Wow, you smell good babe.”

You look at him, flustered. “Stop smelling my tits, oh my god.” For good measure, you grab his hair to bury his face against your breasts once more.

“No,” smooch, “it’s,” smooch, “smelling good. Like the new holiday scents from Bath and Body Works.” He then abandons your chest to kiss his way down your body, sliding your skirt down as he kisses around the edge of your panties. “I’ve missed her, too.”

Despite yourself, you moan, spreading your legs to give him full access. He takes it enthusiastically, giving you a little kiss in your middle. Then, his eyes don’t leave yours as he uses his teeth to pull your panties down, slowly and sultry. Your pussy leaks even more, and the motherfucker notices, because there’s a faint smirk on his face as he hones back in your wetness, running his fingers to spread your slick. “Wow, my girl must have been sooo pent up,” he croons, eyes not leaving your hole and the way it clenched every time he spoke. “My good girl is soo desperate.”

Without missing a beat, you sneakily reply, “Don’t call me that, that’s so corny oh my god—-“ You’re interrupted with your own gasp as he enters a finger in. When he finally curls it, hitting your g-spot dead on, you suck in your breath. You really missed this.

“Oh, really?” He giggles, clearly amused by you trying to rile him up. “If my baby doesn’t like being called a good girl then why is she clenching so hard on my—“ thrust— “fingers?”

And suddenly the feminist in you leaves as his big, thick fingers ram into you faster than ever, and you start squealing like the slut you are for your incredibly hot boyfriend who’s equally as much of a slut for you, judging based on the rock hard erection against your thigh. Take that, Linda.

You’re in a daze of pleasure, too fucked out to notice Gojo wrenching down his sweats to pull out his throbbing cock, to pump it to full mast. It’s only when he rips his finger away from your cavern that you start to whimper, clawing at his arms to continue fingering you.

And he starts cooing, giving you a small kiss on your cheek as he aligns his dick with your pussy. “I know baby, I know,” and he groans as the soft, wet heat of your pussy grips on him hard as he pushes in. It’s not long before he starts thrusting, wiping your tears while driving in even faster. “Wow, good fucking pussy.”

“Satoru,” you whine, but you don’t even know for what. You were close enough when he was fingering you, but now you’re steadily approaching your climax. But Satoru, who’s attuned to what your body needs, readjusts himself to go even deeper.

It’s when you gasp loudly that a glint lights up in his eyes. “That’s the spot, isn’t it?” He drives into that spot like a jackhammer, savoring in your little squeals and moans of his name, until finally, he feels you climax.

“Oh my god,” you says breathlessly as your orgasm takes over you, convulsing while Satoru doesn’t let up, continuing his pace until his hips become more sloppy. After a few off rhythm thrusts, he comes in you, collapsing on top of you.

He’s breathing heavily from exertion, and you run your nails on his back and hair gently. You both bask in the glow of your orgasm. Of course, that is until Satoru perks his head up. “Do you think I can eat that kid Martin’s cookie? Megumi told me he doesn’t like him and that he’s annoying—-OWWW, what was that for?”