#finally drew something again though!!!

[pillowenvelopchair]

I think shes neat

(@un-local ‘s tarnished from her fic Still Waters Run Deep go check it out!!)

[machabre]

[flowerakatsuka]

" just know that i'm always here for you, okay? "

i'm finally finishing up my s2 rewatch and getting to the 24th episode awoke a beast in me. so i wanted to make a fake screenshot based on some of their lore that takes place during that episode. i think they'd end up having a heart-to-heart moment since kuroba went through similar struggles after their grandfather's own hospitalization...

also have a bonus doodle bc i need to even out the balance between serious & goofy with these two.

[zylphiacrowley]

🐇

[knockknockitsnickels]

WE DID IT!!!!!!!! Excellent work everyone 😎 Thank you fellow Sulemio fans for a great week, I have had a ton of fun reading up on bits of trivia and official art which I didn't know about before this poll! May all blessings find their way to you🫡And happy Suletta Sunday!

Tumblr Top Ships Bracket - FINALS

This poll is a celebration of fandom and fandom history; we're aware that there are certain issues with many of the listed pairings and sources, but they are a part of that history. Please do not take this as an endorsement, and refrain from harassment.

[monstersholygrail]

A Second Wave

Shark Hybrid bf x fem!reader—soft sex, multiple orgasms, marking, two cocks, fingering, double penetration, praise, creampie, aftercare, and cum play

Imagine a Shark Hybrid bf having decided to take you as his mate. You're his first ever human mate. Sure, he's been with other merpeople in the past, just passing flings he couldn't really care about. It was you who caught his attention from the very first moment you two locked eyes. And it was you who drew him in with your sweet laughs and your sweeter smell.

But he had no idea what it was like to have a human mate. He didn't know what you were used to or what you'd think about the very clear differences between him and human men. So as not to overwhelm you, when the time came for you to finally lay with him and bare your beautiful plump frame to his grateful eyes, he only revealed one of his dicks.

He watches you carefully, looking over your reaction closely. If you seemed confused then perhaps human men had two cocks as well and he'd release his second one. But no, you didn't look confused, only wildly excited with a faint glimmer of concern for if his hefty size would fit into your tight cunt.

A part of him is of course thrilled that you're laying beneath him practically drooling over his massive length, but another part of him is scared about how you'll react when he reveals his second cock to you that he's been told is even thicker than the first. Especially as it seems only one dick is normal for human males.

When he finally sinks into your warmth it's everything he's been imagining. Even with only one of his cocks inside of you it's the best sex he's ever had. The intimacy of the moment unmatched as his clawed hands trace over your curves.

You just feel so good and warm, he wants to give you all of him. He grabs handfuls of you, his hands sinking into your softness as he helps slam you down harder on his cock.

While he continues to lose himself your sweet cunt, he can't completely ignore that small nagging voice in the back of his head. A whispering voice telling him that he could give you even more, make your pleasure greater. All he had to do was let out his other cock. But his fear quickly silenced it and he just starts pounding into even harder, eager to make you feel good.

He knows he can't keep it a secret though. It wouldn't be fair to you or him. So a few days after that special night you two spent together, he sits you down, telling you he has something important to talk about. Not realizing that for humans that sentence can create a lot of anxiety.

You being the wonderful mate that you are asks him what's wrong. Being as before you he's never had a human mate, he has no idea how to put this. So he figures the best way is to just get it over with and blurt it out.

The silence stretches awkwardly after he does, neither of you knowing what to say.

"What?" You ask in your shock. He swallows down his nerves.

"I have another cock. One l've been hiding encase it was too much for you."

Again, the silence stretches. Shark Hybrid bf fears the worst, internally terrified that he's about to lose you. That you'll be scared or upset. That now that you know you may not want him.

"Can I see it?" Is what you finally say, shocking him. He whips his head around to look at you, jaw dropped.

His cocks twitch in his tail at your words and his Addams apple bobs but he nods in agreement, a spark of hopeful arousal shooting through him. It enough to have one of his cocks pop through the slit of his tail. A brief hesitation has him holding back for only a second before he looks into your eyes and sees only acceptance.

A long sigh of pleasure leaves him as he finally releases his second cock from his slit. His eyes never leave you as your own trail down his body and they widen once they reach his lengths. The second one indeed being thicker than the first. Both equally impressive in their length. Your bf waits with bated breath for you to say something- anything.

"H-how would they fit?" You whisper in awe, your hand tentatively reaching out to touch one.

Shark Hybrid bf groans, his head falling back as his cocks twitch at your slight touch. The second one was always more sensitive than the first. He takes a moment to catch his breath.

"There's many ways we could mate. But I could, uh, mmph, stretch you. Fit them both inside your pretty little hole. F-feel how wide you can stretch f'me."

You both moan at the image his words paint in your heads and before you know it you're slowing riding his first cock, his hips swiveling and mixing up your insides as he stretches you on his girth. You're a dripping mess, your arousal dribbling down his dick and making a mess of your joined hips. The anticipation fueling you just as much as his hard cock inside you is.

Shark Hybrid bf can feel how perfectly you're wrapped around him and he has to gather his strength to hold back his release. When your cunt flutters around him, clearly begging for more, his hand slips between your bodies, and his fingers gently push in, brushing against your walls and his cock at the same time causing you both to gasp.

He works on stretching you even wider, not willing to risk you getting hurt over this. Making sure everything is properly lubricated, leaving the two of you absolutely soaked. It was wet and filthy but so fucking hot. Each finger he adds in, pumping them in tandem with his length as your body relaxing further and further.

By the time you're finally ready for his second cock you're a fucked out mess, your head all spacey as you sag against your bfs chest. But the second you feel his second tip press against your entrance it's like you get a second wind, your mind and body coming to life.

Long pleasurable mewls echo off the walls as your bf slides his second cock deep inside you with the first. Your pussy almost unbearably full of him. For a moment you fear you'll burst in half, his sizes threatening to break you into two.

Almost as if sensing your worries your bf settles down inside of you, letting you adjust and calm down to. His hands caress your sides, massaging your fat with an unparalleled reverence.

He whispers soft words of praise in your hear, telling you how good you feel, how well you're taking him, and how you're the best mate he could've ever hoped for. And with his hands now free he doesn't hesitate to bring a couple of fingers up to rub soft circles into your clit, causing you to more easily relax against the intrusion.

You make the first move when you're ready, surprising your bf yet again as you start to ride his dicks. A low growl you've never heard from him before tears through his throat and his claws tighten on your waist. And before you know it you're bouncing on cocks at a frenzied pace, each glide pushes along your throbbing walls, making you crazy for him.

As much as he tries Shark Hybrid bf can't find it in himself to slow down. The stimulation of your perfect sopping pussy and the way his dicks rub together inside you send him spiraling, a feral need taking over him. He fucks into you with abandon, barreling you both into an unimaginable release.

And when you finally cum you swear for a moment you black out, the pleasure far too intense for your poor human body to handle. But your bf keeps fucking you through it, making you cum even harder till it's gushing out of you in a steady stream. The intensity of it all sends you clamping down on both his cocks and with a few more thrusts your bf cums right along with you.

You don't know what to expect when he finally does cum inside you but you didn't realize that double the cocks meant double the cum. His release doesn't seem to end as he shoots endless streams of cum deep inside you, stuffing you till you're overflowing with his release and your belly distends more and more.

When he carefully slips his lengths out of you, his cum spills out of you like a current. A satisfied grin rests on your bf's lips as he watches and his hand leaves your swollen sensitive clit to caress your stomach. After a moment he pushes on it gently and his grin grows wider as more and more spills out onto the ground beneath you, making an even bigger mess.

He swears to himself then and there that there is nothing better than having a pretty human mate like you.

[kiyoomiee]

part one. part two. part three. part four.

boxer!sukuna who’s a menace in and out of the ring. Even with a bit of blood on his face, he didn’t hesitate to wink and point a finger at you when they finally announced that he’s the champion for match.

He didn’t even bother to wait for his heavyweight championship belt, he got out of the ring and went straight to where you were.

boxer!sukuna who forgets that all eyes were on him as he lifted you up and hugged you. The Sukuna, letting everyone see this side of him all because of you.

“I’m so proud of you ‘kuna.” You buried your face on his neck. You were avoiding the blinding lights of camera flashes, getting all red and shy under Sukuna’s hold.

“Sukuna! How do you feel now that you’ve won the championship again?”

“How did you prepare yourself for this season?”

“Are you in a relationship?”

“Sukuna! Tell us something about her!”

The reporters threw questions left and right. But Sukuna only smiled, his eyes still locked on you.

“She’s the girl I’ve been obsessed with for so long, and I plan to make her mine.”

boxer!sukuna who can’t get his hands off of you during his celebratory dinner party. His large palm alternated between touching your thigh and your waist, grinning as he saw you blush.

“Stop it Ryo.” You whispered against his ear when his fingers crept up higher on your thigh.

“Ryo? That’s a new one baby.” Fuck, he loves it when you give him nicknames.

“You’re drunk aren’t you? You’re gonna forget about this in the morning.”

“Not drunk, ‘m just so in love with you.” You saw how his pupils dilated as he stared at your lips.

Weirdly enough, he hasn’t initiated anything more and always stuck with touching you even during your date with him.

You can’t get that day out of your head. Sukuna spared no expense just to make everything perfect. He even reserved an entire restaurant just so he could have you all to himself that night.

“Sukuna, why haven’t you tried to kiss me yet?” You asked as your eyes went from his eyes down to his lips.

Noticing your little act, he licked his lower lip before he answered-

“Because it won’t end with just kissing. Plus, I’m trying to be respectful until you get comfortable with me.” His ears turned red as he looked away.

You did it. You had the Ryōmen Sukuna shy and flustered under your gaze.

“So you don’t want to kiss me?” He looked back at you with a scowl.

“Fuck baby, are you kidding? I wanted to kiss you since the day we met.”

“Hmm, should I let you kiss me though?” You drew circles on his thigh using your nails to tease him.

His hand touched your chin while his other arm captures your waist to pull you closer against him. Then he does something you’d never expect, he begs.

“Please let me kiss you, baby. Been wanting it for so long.”

With your nod of approval, he wasted no time and went straight in. Finally, feeling your lips against his made him groan. You gasped when you felt his hand on your thigh, trying to find the outline of your panties as a payback for teasing him. He used that chance to dive his tongue in your mouth.

Your body felt hot all over. Giving into his touch, you wrapped your arms around his neck as you kissed him back. How you managed to fight back your desire for him for so long, you’d never know.

It was clear that Sukuna savored the feeling of your lips against his so much, that you had to push against his chest just so you could breath.

“Damn you Sukuna, let me breathe.” You panted against him.

Not listening to your words, he gives you a peck one more time and finishes with a chaste kiss against the pulse point under your ear.

“We need to leave.” The urgency in his tone left you confused.

“What? Why?”

“It’s your fault baby. I tried to warn you that it won’t end with a kiss.”

“But it’s your party, we can’t just leave!”

“Trust me, we have to leave or I’ll fucking come in my pants. Plus, the paparazzi already has enough pictures of us kissing.” You were sure the two of you will be in front of the headlines once again.

“But I like kissing you.” You pouted.

“Then let’s go home right now baby. You’ll love me after you spend the night in my bed.”

[odorefal]

◟♡ ˒ ʾʾ sukuna ryomen wasn’t used to feeling guilty, but the moment he saw the hurt flash in your eyes when you guys got into a pretty heated argument, he knew he had taken things too far.

the way his own sharp tongue had driven you to silence.

you made him weak. he had always thought vulnerability was pathetic, yet here he was, fists clenched as he watched you step away, regretting every sharp word he had thrown at you.

he vowed to never let those pathetic tears clouding your eyes ever again.

the sight of you curled beneath the blanket, your shoulders trembling with suppressed sobs, made him pause. sukuna’s brows drew together as he opened his mouth, but the words failed him.

his pride made it difficult, but eventually, he managed to whisper, “i didn’t mean it.” the raw sincerity in his voice was enough to make your heart ache. however, your fingers toyed with the hem of your sleeve, any excuse to ignore the weight of his presence beside you.

when you refused to look at him, he simply grabbed you and settled you into his lap, resting his chin on your head with a quiet sigh and shifted, pressing you flush against his chest, the steady thump of his heartbeat pulsed under your touch.

his fingers twitched at his sides before he hesitantly reached out, brushing a stray tear from your cheek with his thumb, his usual arrogance nowhere to be found.

finally, he muttered, “...i shouldn’t have said that,” voice low but sincere. another sighed and he leaned in, pressing a firm yet lingering kiss to your forehead. his palm remained on your waist, as though savoring the contact

sukuna didn’t say anything. he just looked at you — eyes laced with regret and a depth of emotion words could never capture.

sukuna had held many things in his life — power, destruction, fear. but this? this quiet, fragile thing between you, where silence spoke louder than words, where his grip on you felt more like an anchor than a restraint; this was something else entirely.

and for once, he didn’t know whether to embrace it or run from it. by silently saying, i don’t want to lose you.

after cupping your face and pressing a lingering kiss against your lips, sukuna’s voice dropped to a low murmur, rough yet laced with something almost uncertain.

“does this mean i'm forgiven?”

it wasn’t teasing, nor was it smug; just quiet, almost reluctant, as if he wasn’t sure he deserved it.

“no,” you replied with a cheeky grin.

“tch. brat.” his grip on your face tightened slightly; not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you who you were dealing with. then, without warning, he kissed you again, deeper this time, as if daring you to say it again.

when he pulled back, a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “try saying that again, darling.”

[pearlymel]

Absolute Zeal

Sum. It was finally your turn to take care of your boyfriend, until everything twists around and you both end up a mess.

Warnings. NSFW, smut, fem reader, whiney zayne yes, unprotected sex, rough sex kinda, fluff. 2.2k words.

Notes. my exams are not stopping me (yet) from releasing yet another feral zayne.

Your boyfriend was absolutely out of it.

It wasn't long before Zayne noticed the effects of the chocolate, a slow warmth coursing through his veins, a slight sluggishness creeping into his movements.

He grinned lazily at you as you helped him outside, a slight wobble to his step. You were struggling, sure. But you kept up the tough act.

The cool air outside seemed to help clear his head a bit, but he was still far from sober, "my hero," he said, his voice still slightly slurred, "taking me home in my... slightly tipsy state. You're too kind.”

“Mhm, careful as you get in.” you instruct and Zayne obliges as he stumbled into the taxi, slumping against the back seat, trying to steady himself.

His gaze remained fixed on you as you climbed into the taxi after him. His eyes roamed over your face, “thank you," he murmured, "for taking care of me tonight.”

A hand smoothens to his cheek, up to his hair to comb it with your fingers before you tilt your head to peck his cheek, your hand encouraging him to rest on your shoulder.

He closed his eyes, a contented sigh escaping him, feeling safe and cared for in your presence.

…

“wake up, honey.” you whisper into Zayne's ear to wake him up from his light slumber. His eyes blinking slowly to get back to his senses.

He leaned against you heavily, allowing you to guide him out of the taxi, a quiet murmur of thanks escaping him.

The taxi driver watched the whole interaction silently after you payed him. ah, the young. "I miss my wife." He sighed to himself before driving off.

Meanwhile, you were pitifully watching Zayne entering the wrong passcode to his own home.

His fingers fumbled against the keypad as he tried to input his passcode, his normally steady hands betraying his current inebriated state. He let out a frustrated grunt, his brows furrowing in concentration as he tried again.

"Just... need to get this thing right..."

"Let the person who actually remembers the passcode of your home to enter it." you successfully entered the passcode, the lock clicking open with a satisfying sound.

Zayne let himself be led onto the plush couch by you after taking off his coat for more movement, a deep sigh escaping him as though he were sinking into heaven itself.

He let his eyes close briefly, revelling in the comfort of the soft cushions. He cracked one eye open lazily, a soft chuckle escaping him as he watched you fuss over his coat, gently removing it and draping it on the back of a nearby chair.

And with a gentle tug, he pulled you down onto the couch with him, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close.

You frown, “i should go get the hangover medicine—”

But his arm tightened around your waist in protest, pulling you closer to him before you could move. "No need," he shook his head, his voice huskier now. "Stay with me," he whispered, his voice low, filled with a yearning that went beyond simple physical attraction.

"After i get the medicine, hm? You'll regret it later," though he seemed too insistent. You couldn't budge, even when he was drunk, his strength was impressive.

Zayne groaned softly, his grip on you unrelenting. He rested his head on your shoulder, his face nuzzling against your neck, "later,"

"how much more?" you ask, your fingers tracing his jawline to sort of soothe him.

He drew in a slow, steady breath, his body relaxing against you. "Just a moment more like this."

Zayne leaned into your touch, his head slightly tilting as though seeking more of your caress. His arm around your waist remained securely wrapped, holding you close, holding you like you were a precious treasure, something to be cherished.

You continue caressing his skin, moving down to his messed up buttons and tie, making him flutter his eyes shut.

Despite the alcohol, a part of him was still very much aware, very much receptive to your touch. The way you undressed him, unbuttoning his shirt to help him breathe better, felt like a gentle, loving caress.

This is no good. “On a second thought, I'll just shower," he said, attempting to smooth out his disheveled hair. "A shower will help clear my head.” Zayne stood up after taking his arms away from your body, a bit unsteady on his feet, but adamant to make it to the shower on his own. He staggered slightly, leaning against the nearest wall for support.

…

You head to Zayne's study room in the meantime to explore it a bit out of curiosity while the shower is running in the background. Your fingertips brushed over the snowman displayed on the desk neatly which makes your lips curve.

It was not long after until you hear him in the living room, opening his laptop to answer an urgent call. Listening to him speak a few words. Even in this state, Dr Zayne is working hard.

Once the call ends, you show yourself from your hiding spot, “Even Dr Zayne's showers are hurried.” you comment in amusement.

Zayne's lips quirked into a wry smile as he acknowledged your observation. "In my profession, efficiency is key," he replied, “but," he added, his tone softening slightly as he drew closer, "I can assure you, I wasn't rushing for anyone else but you." He reached out to tenderly cup your cheek, his touch gentle but firm.

“It seems that.. The shower did not clear your head.”

"I suppose," he murmured, "you're quite intoxicating even without the alcohol.”

Zayne's next sudden advance caught you by surprise.

The unexpected aggression of pulling your arm towards him made you gasp. But as his lips pressed hard against yours, a surprised sound escaping your lips before you clung to him tightly, your arms wrapping around his neck as you returned the kiss, matching his hunger with your own.

Your fingers tangled in his hair while his hands cupped your cheeks, pushing you back until you were stumbling against his desk where he caught you in time to prevent you from completely losing your balance.

His glasses steamed slightly with each gasping breath. He looked down at you once your lips part, his eyes darkening until your fingers nudged at his glasses which tipped them over slightly, yet Zayne impatiently brushed aside your hand's attempt to fix his glasses and instead took his glasses off in one swift motion.

Hot.

His lips sought yours once more, his kiss hungrier, more urgent than before as he pushed you back against his desk. The sound of books and papers scattering echoed and falling with a loud thud that you couldn't seem to care about for now.

His lips traced a path down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin there, and your chew slightly on your lower lip. His teeth nip along your collarbone, his tongue soothing the slight sting, then repeating the action again and again.

This won't do.

"… You're drunk," you bluntly state, trying to stand from the desk to walk towards the drawer, "I'm getting the hangover medicine—"

His hands darted out to grab your wrists, gently yet firmly, preventing you from moving any further, “please." His grip on your wrists remained steady, his thumbs stroking the insides of your wrists as he leaned against your chest as if you just rejected him.

“I never let myself touch alcohol,” he breathed heavily, and that's when you recognize the slight snowflakes surrounding you both.

“But for you, I broke that rule. Because of you, everything is spiraling out of control...”

…

Zayne kicked open his bedroom door, the force of it slamming against the wall and bouncing back slightly. Without breaking the heated kiss, he carried you to his king-sized bed, the plush comforter and silken sheets welcoming as he lays you down gently.

His hands were almost shaking when he pulled your top off and tossed it carelessly to the floor. His fingertips traced the swell of your breasts, the delicate curves, before cupping them gently.

He dipped his head, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat before he's almost whimpering while rubbing his cheek against your cleavage, the warmth seeping through your skin and it's impossibly hard to stop the soft moans when his fingertips brush mindlessly along your nipples.

You were both almost a panting mess when his hands slid down to your hips, gripping them tightly as he ground his own against yours. Even through the fabric of his pants, you could feel the evidence of his arousal, the hard length of him pressing and rubbing against your clothed cunt with such hurry.

"Wrap your legs around me," he commanded, his voice low, almost raspy before he's kissing you messily, all tongue and teeth clashing together combined with his quiet whines when he continues rutting into you.

His body shifts, an arm extending towards the drawer but you stop himself from taking anything out, grabbing his hand and intertwining your fingers together instead.

He feels dizzy, and his hand squeezes yours before his other hand reaches for a pillow to place underneath your hips.

comfort comes first before he starts pounding into you.

Everything was gone. your panties, his belt and boxers all discarded away from his sight while he whispers your name as he grips his shaft to push his already leaking tip into your cunt to take whole.

“O-oh zayne—” A long, drawn-out moan spilled from your lips as Zayne filled you completely, stretching you around his hard, throbbing length. Your back arched off the bed, pressing your chest flush against his own, fingers digging into the muscular expanse of his back.

He was feral. He began to move, pulling nearly all the way out before slamming back in, setting a rough, fast paced.

The bed creaked beneath you, the headboard slamming against the wall with each thrust, and your eyes roll all the way back as whines combined with his heavy breaths and whimpers fill the air.

“A-ah, fuck, honey—” was all you managed to spill out before he's thrusting into you harder when he felt every clench and flutter around his aching cock, the velvet heat driving him to new heights of ecstasy.

“Zayne, zayne, zayne!” you chant in repeat breathlessly, his lips tries to connect with yours when he also feels his impending release drawing too close.

“Y-your zayne is here—” he practically breathes out as he manages to peck your lips, “Mmhn c-coming—” Zayne tries to muffle his whines against your skin when his hips jerked erratically as he emptied himself inside you, wave after wave of searing hot seed spilling into you.

The feeling of Zayne's thick, pulsing cock throbbing and twitching within you made you cum instantly. Your walls clamped down around him like a vice as you rode out your shared climax, hips continuing to rock slowly into you before coming to a halt.

For a moment, there was silence, broken only by the sound of your shared breaths, the rustle of sheets, the soft thump of his heart against yours.

…

You woke up in Zayne's bed, wrapped in his arms, a soft, contented sigh escaping you as you shifted slightly, feeling his warmth against your back.

The sunlight streamed in through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. As you turned to face him, you see zayne breathe peacefully, and it brings a faint smile to your face.

He looked younger, almost boyish in sleep, his lashes casting delicate shadows on his cheeks.

His eyelashes are really long. you think, fingertips brushing over his eyelids delicately.

Zayne's eyelids soon fluttered at the light touch of your fingers, and a low, appreciative hum escaped him. He leaned into your touch, seeking more of your warmth and comfort.

Slowly, his eyes opened, a sleepy, warm look in them as he regarded you with a slow, drowsy smile. "Good morning, love,"

[simpforboys]

Surprise! (3)

Drew Starkey x fem!singer!reader

Summary: reader and Drew celebrate the release of the ‘Perfume’ music video!

Warnings: fluff, smut, oral (f receiving), praise, swearing, male masturbation, dirty talk, missionary position, sex on couch, daddy kink, protective piv sex, boob worship (?), drinking wine, fangirling

Part one, part two, part four

taglist is full :(

Two weeks had went by.

Two long, busy weeks of you not hearing much from Drew, other than the promotions and photo stills you would send him.

It was finally the release day, and within 18 hours, the video had already reached 200 million views.

You were currently sitting on your light grey couch, flicking through Netflix movies when your phone buzzed with a notification.

Drew Starkey: Hey, congrats on the success of the video. I’m still very honored you wanted me to he apart of it. You still down to celebrate?

Oh.

In all honesty you were expecting Drew to stop talking to you after the shoot.

But within those two weeks, you were both extremely busy, so reaching out was hard.

That didn’t mean you two didn’t text at all, it was just two or three messages a day.

Drew was notorious for being a bad texter, not to mention how filled up his schedule was.

So you never took it to heart. Or, at least tried.

But seeing the notification that he actually still wanted to hang out, wanted to celebrate with you…

Your User: hi, thank you so much! i’m still so happy and grateful you said yes <33

Your User: and yes i’m still down to celebrate!! when are you free?

Maybe the double texting was too much, but you were already a glass of wine in, and texting your celebrity crush.

To your surprise, he replied pretty quickly.

Drew Starkey: I’m actually free rn surprisingly, are you?

Oh.

You were in fact free, but ready was the better question.

No, you were not ready to see Drew fucking Starkey, especially looking like how you were currently dressed.

Only wearing sweatpants, a shirt that is three sizes too big, fuzzy socks, and no bra was not exactly presentable to meet the love of your life.

Your User: yes, but i look absolutely horrible rn

Again, another quick response.

Drew Starkey: I doubt that. Can I come see you?

You typed out a message.

Your User: CNEOSHWOSHEODNEOWHSOWBSIFBEOSBAJDBDKDHOSBSKSBDJSHS😜✊👍😜🤭🔥🫶😩

That was what you really wanted to reply with, but instead went for something more nonchalant.

Your User: yeah, you want my address?

It was never good to share your address to anyone online, especially after only meeting in person twice.

But it was Drew Starkey. You would send anything to that man, no questions asked.

Drew Starkey: Yes please

You had spent the last 30 minutes frantically cleaning your apartment. Not that it was a complete mess, but you did want it to be cleaner than what it was.

A soft knock on your door was heard, heart pounding in your chest, hands shaking with nervousness.

Peeking through the peephole, seeing his familiar face was enough to make you almost back out.

Why did you have to be so fucking nervous? He was just a man.

Your fingers unlocked the door, opening it gently.

“Hey, Y/n.” Drew smiled warmly at you, holding a bouquet of flowers.

“Hi… come on in.” You grinned back, trying to hide the feeling in your chest.

Drew’s long legs guide him inside the apartment and he takes a second to look around.

It was cozy, and definitely you.

“I got these f’you.” He hums, holding out the flowers.

“Oh, these are my favorite flowers, Drew… you didn’t have to do that.” You awed, taking the bouquet as he practically handed it to you.

He knew they were your favorite flowers. He might have looked up y/n l/n’s favorite flower onto Google. Not that he would ever admit that, though.

“Really? Damn, lucky pick, I guess.” He chuckled, scratching the side of his neck a little sheepishly.

Putting the flowers in a vase, you realized that he was wearing sweats and a hoodie. It was 10:23pm on a Friday, and clearly you two were appreciating a night off.

It made you feel better about your outfit.

“Do you want anything to eat or drink? I have white or red wine, beer, vodka, soda, water…” You trailed off your options.

“What’re you drinking?” He hummed.

You nodded over to the coffee table, an open bottle of wine with a half filled glass on it.

“Wine.”

“I’ll just have some of that, then.” Drew murmurs.

You grabbed another wine glass and walked over to the couch, hearing his feet behind you.

Sitting down on the couch, you got all comfortable underneath the blanket again, then reached over to pour him a glass of wine.

“Cheers, to the success of ‘Perfume’, and to you.” Drew says softly, holding his glass out for you to clink.

Feeling your face grow a bit warm, you tapped your glass with his.

“Cheers to you being amazing.” You took a sip of the wine, your eyes locked onto his blue ones.

“You have a nice apartment, by the way. Forgot to say that.” He hums.

“Thank you, I wanted to make it as cozy as possible for those rare times I am at home.” You explain.

"Yeah, I get that. Life nowadays is just so hectic." He agrees, blue eyes trailing over your face, as if committing each feature to memory.

"Well, yeah. You're all big and famous now," you tease.

He chuckles sheepishly, his large hand running along the back of his head.

"You have any big plans coming up?" He asked you.

"Yeah, actually. I'm supposed to be preforming at the iHeartRadio Jingle Ball festival in a week," you nod.

"Really? Damn. That beats me, then." He joked.

"What do you have coming up?" You questioned.

"Variety is going to have Harris Dickinson and I do that Actors on Actors interview thing."

"Yeah? That sounds fun," you hummed.

The two of you spent an hour and a half talking about life, success, and just got to know each other.

You both finished the bottle of wine and were now onto your second bottle, the two of you tipsy as you giggled on the couch.

Your body felt warm and you weren't completely sure if it was from the alcohol or the fact that a beautiful man was sitting a foot away from you on your own couch.

Drew felt the same, and one specific joke you made had him laughing a little too hard. His eyes creased in the corner as he smiled, those pretty dimples on display.

But when his large hand went to rest on your knee, the wine in your system completely fought off your anxiety, making you more relaxed.

You found yourself leaning into his touch, your hand resting atop of his.

"Your laugh is so cute, Drew," you murmured.

"Yeah? You're cute," he responded.

You bit your lip, eyes locked onto his. "Is that the alcohol talking or you?"

He grinned, shaking his head.

"That's me talking."

Oh.

"You're sweet..." you trailed off, trying to ignore how butterflies filled your belly.

He just hummed, a comfortable, tension-filled silence falling between you two.

"So, you really had a crush on me for four years?" He teased, squeezing your knee a little.

"Oh, god. We're back at this now, huh?" You grumbled in embarrassment, although there was no real malice behind your tone.

He smirked, licking his lips. "We never left it."

"I certainly did."

"Yeah? You don't have a crush on me anymore?" He murmured, the playful tone in his voice making your stomach turn more.

"I didn't say that...." you trailed off, picking at the extra skin near your nails.

His eyes trail over your form again, taking in every inch of you he can see that's not hidden by the blanket on your lap.

"Hm? Sorry, I didn't hear you."

You rolled your eyes, face hot. "I'm sure you didn't."

He laughed, scooting a little closer to you so your legs were touching.

"'m just fucking with you," he said softly.

"I know..." you glanced over at him, eyes instinctively falling down to his pretty lips.

It had been too long since you felt them on you.

Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the boost of confidence Drew had gotten, but he slowly leaned in, his free hand going to run his index finger and thumb on your chin.

"Is this okay?" He asked quietly.

"Yeah... yes..." you breathed out shakily, heart racing.

He hummed, gently connecting your lips to his own.

Feeling that familiar, addictive spark when his skin touched yours. You immediately kissed back, your left hand going to cup his jaw.

Kissing. You were kissing Drew fucking Starkey. And it wasn't for work, wasn't for cameras. He kissed you first.

Within moments, he was laying you back on the light grey couch, the fluffy blanket being left abandoned on the floor.

His tongue was in your mouth, sculpted body hovering over yours. Your thighs were spread for him to nestle in between, left hand still cupping his strong jaw, right hand in that soft brown hair.

On instinct you pulled a little on the strands, making him grunt into your mouth. He disconnected your lips, trailing sloppy, needy kisses down your jaw and neck.

Chests pressed together, it was as if you two couldn't get any closer.

"Mhmm... Drew..." you whimpered softly when he nipped at the skin of your pulse point.

"Yeah? That feel nice, sweet girl?" He murmured, voice muffled from his attention on your neck.

You nodded, legs squeezing him in between your body.

"Can I take your shirt off, baby?" He asked, not wanting to do anything you weren't desiring.

"Please.." you breathed out, heart racing, stomach flipping.

His large hand slipped the oversized fabric off and over your head, a small whine leaving him when he saw your pretty tits.

"Fuck, Y/n... you been hiding these from me?" He mumbled teasingly, continuing his line of kisses and nibbles down your collarbone, in between the valley of your breasts.

"All you needed to do was ask," you panted. Your back instinctively arched up, your chest needing some attention from his warm mouth.

He groaned at your answer, moving slightly down your body until he was eye level with your hard nipples. He swirled his tongue around the bud, blue eyes locked on your face when he sucked your nipple into his mouth.

Your body jolted a little, making him hold your side with his left hand, his right hand massaging the other stiffened bud.

He switched sides after a few moments, relishing in the sounds of your pretty moans and pants.

But something else was throbbing and aching, desperately needing his attention.

"Drew," you whined.

"Hmm?" He hummed, still worshipping your boobs.

"Need you."

"Yeah?" He cooed, reluctantly disconnecting his mouth from your right nipple as he continued to kiss down your stomach.

You nod, breathing short and needy. He got to the waistband of your sweatpants, looking back up at you.

"You can take those off too." You gave permission, already knowing what the man was going to ask.

He wasted no time in slipping the fabric down your legs, readjusting so his face was in between your spread thighs.

"Look how you ruined these panties, pretty girl... you're so needy f'me, huh?" He murmured softly.

All you could do was whine when he pressed a tender kiss to your clothed clit, the fabric absolutely soaked. It had been way too long since you'd had sex.

His large hand slid the fabric down your thighs, leaving you completely bare for him.

"So beautiful, baby. So beautiful..." he muttered, talking more to himself than you.

Your legs twitched when he flicked his tongue against your clit, hands digging in his hair.

"Drew--"

"I know, baby. Let daddy eat this pretty pussy, yeah? Just sit back and relax."

A needy whimper left your mouth, but you didn't respond. Not that you could, as he licked a stripe from your pulsating hole to the top of your clit.

He hoisted your thighs over his broad shoulders, moaning a little at your taste. His movements became more eager, beginning to lap at your cunt like a starved man.

Right hand in his hair, left hand gripping the couch. Your eyes rolled back, hips bucking up towards his face.

He made a grunt directly into your clit, another jolt of pleasure going into your body.

"Daddy... fuck..."

His piercing blue eyes were feeding off of your facial expressions, his cock throbbing in his own sweats.

He slipped two fingers into your cunt, focusing his mouth on your clit. His left hand slid down his own pants, beginning to palm his cock through his boxers.

"Yeah? Is daddy making you feel good, sweet girl?" He coos, whining a little as his own hips buck on the couch, desperate for more friction.

His noise and hips bucking made your cunt clench around his fingers, as if trying to pull him in deeper.

The knot in your stomach was already forming, almost embarrassing how quickly he turned you into a mess.

Legs trembling over his shoulders, hips rocking against his face and chin. You couldn't even announce you were coming, mind fuzzy from the pleasure.

He hummed when he noticed you releasing, continuing to lap up all your juices as he came in his pants.

When your body calmed down, he pulled away from your pussy and kneeled in between your legs.

He peeled his own hoodie off, revealing that perfect, toned body of his again. Your eyes drank in the sight, licking your lips.

“You’re so hot, Drew…” you murmured.

His ears were ringing, need coursing through his veins as he slipped off his sweats and boxers.

You had to physically hold back a gasp when you saw his cock for the first time.

People had always written it differently in all those guilty pleasure Rafe Cameron fanfics you would read when you couldn’t sleep.

But seeing it in person was just a whole new experience.

It was long and thick, which was to be expected. The man radiated big dick energy.

Pretty mushroom tip that was still leaking, his pubic hair slightly fuzzy as if he hadn’t shaved it in a week.

“Holy shit…”

“Mhm? Better than you imagined?” He asked teasingly, a smirk on his face as he grabbed a condom from his wallet.

You couldn’t help but playfully roll your eyes, a small snicker leaving you.

He rolled the condom onto his shaft, moving to hover over you again.

“Are you sure you want this, Y/n?” He asked softly, eyes gazing intently into yours.

“Yes… please fuck me, daddy.”

He let out a small groan, nestling himself in between your thighs. He used a long, strong arm to grab a couch pillow and tuck it under your hips.

You watched as he teasingly slid his head up and down your slit, tapping it against your throbbing bundle of nerves.

“Don’t tease me, please,” you beg.

Your pretty begging weakened his resolve as he slowly slid into you.

Whimpers and noises of pleasure left the both of you at the feeling, a course of energy being shared within your two bodies.

He kept pushing until he was all the way inside, giving you a moment to adjust as he captured your lips in his.

Your hands roamed over his biceps and back, loving the way the muscles flex against your palms. His skin was burning, adding to the electric feel.

When he felt you stop tensing around him, he began to slowly pull back, before pushing in, creating a delicious rhythm.

“Fuck… you feel so fuckin’ good, baby.” He moaned.

Your legs tightened around his hips, a noise leaving you as he rubbed right against that spongy spot.

“So deep, Drew… can feel you so deep,” you whined in between breaths.

“Yeah? You take this dick so good, pretty girl.”

His movements were getting a little rougher with every minute passing, both of you needing this.

Your crush on him for four years, the sexual tension you shared in the music video, the chemistry when you first met him on The Tonight Show.

It was all so surreal and felt like you were living straight out of a fanfic or dream.

His head dropped down to your chest, clearly having a thing for your hardened nipples as he nibbled gently.

Maybe one day Drew would fuck you without the condom and be able to feel your warm, velvety walls squeezing him without the protection.

He could dream.

“Shit, shit, shit.” You swore, the pillow under your hips allowing for his tip to kiss your cervix with every thrust.

“Mhm, yeah. Good girl.” He praised breathlessly, feeling a little lightheaded from everything.

The couch creaked a little beneath you two, your nails digging into his back.

He was already close, eyes fluttered shut as he lifted his head to press a kiss to your forehead.

His calloused thumb went to rub your clit, making your legs twitch around his sculpted hips.

Your cunt squeezed around his cock, your belly on fire with your building orgasm.

“You gonna cum f’me, sweet girl?” He choked out, hips snapping against yours.

“Y-yes!” You squeak, mind hazy, body trembling.

“Yeah… that’s it… let me feel you…”

His breathy words, deep penetration, and touch on your clit sent you over the edge again.

You moaned loudly, clinging onto his body as he talked you through your orgasm.

He was also talking himself through it, feeling his cock twitch as he spilled his seed into the condom.

His body was still against yours, both of you catching your breaths from the intensity.

He pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead again, his chest rising and falling.

“You okay?” He asked you softly.

“Mhm… ‘m good…”

You kissed his lips again, more gently this time. His nose brushed against yours when he pulled away, lips connecting to your cheek.

He reluctantly slid out of you, kneeling between your legs again as his blue eyes gazed down at your cunt.

“Did you bring any more condoms?” You ask after a few moments.

He looks at your face, then reaches over to grab his wallet. He pulls out two more condom wrappers.

You grinned, licking your lips.

“So are we going two more rounds or what?”

tags!!

@slut4you @sweetlike-sugarplum @snowtargaryen @fastlovela @christinechickiee @ahgrace6 @evermorx89 @loren8818181 @eddiemuns0nl0ver @sophiesmovingcastle5 @chimchimjiminie16 @amel1ee @reader1402 @tqd4455 @rxeae @caraxes-syrax @shrimpybbq @drewstarkeysbabe @rafeswhoooreee @meropeeonmee @rafeluvrr @marvelahsobx @raeven-marie43 @fallout-girl219 @brendazzlingg @10ava01 @secretsideofbree @drewstarrrkey @p0gue420 @gibson-g1rl @kiiyomei @spiderstyles04 @sexualparkour @vinaluvsu @domainexpandme @mariadu2 @toterry @taliawz @always-reading @angvl3tears @iloveoldermenn @aesthetic-lyss @lover-girl-estxx @cadhlabear @kaiparkerwifes @herbookgarden @luvleyshif4 @caraxes-syrax @mymultiveres @reader1402 @dinnodallas @darkreymbow @vinaluvsu @sarahskywalker-amidala @christinechickiee @hoelesslyt @tincanhat @scenesofobx @james-bucky-barnackle @angvl3tears @belledawnidk @millietozier @vrsluts @chimmysoftpaws @brathwaite444 @urmanicpixieangelgirl

[vampmira]

open up what you got in your mind to me. [pt.2 – saja boys.]

they've never met someone like you — a mortal who almost knew them .. better than they knew themselves. for the boys, it's annoyingly intriguing. for the girls, it's comforting.

paring(s): huntrix & saja boys x demon expert!gn!reader

warning(s:) EVERYTHING IN HERE IS A PART TWO TO THIS !! some movie changes, probably effected lore that makes no sense for the sake of the narrative, a little angst at the beginning

request | tags: @blueberrysquire @akariis4snowball @j0ykill

a/n: this is part 2 !! i had sooo many ideas for huntrix that i had to make another part for the saja boys so that it wasn't so long . this part isn't as good but i liked it so ☆☆☆

that night huntrix defeated gwima was a blur. all you remember was the zombie mob of fans, half of the fight, and the use of your aura vision to raise the saja boys above the honmoon before it glimmered in gold. jinu, who gave his newly found soul for rumi, was practically reincarnated through her sword – standing in front of her post-concert, arms open for her to fall into with tears from the both of them. everyone else? well, they felt lost.

the saja boys weren't sure what to do anymore. jinu was overjoyed, of course, but the boys knew nothing more beyond gwima and their mission. they didn't care much about music, nor their fans – which huntrix still couldn't wrap their minds around – and it's not like they had secret human hobbies. they never had time for that. until now.

post-gwima, they stayed in an apartment near the huntrix penthouse, trying to figure out their new lives. for the most part, they spent most of their time under your watch – to make sure they didn't go cause chaos – but also .. under your study.

you were weird to them

they weren't used to someone other than them.. knowing them

their capabilities, their knowledge, their origins.

actually jinu found your extensive understanding of what he is to be kind of comforting

he noticed how you never really drooled over them

you'd stare, sure, but in the same way an art critic would stare at a painted blue canvas with a smeared red dot in the middle

he felt like that red dot – unexplained but you somehow understood

when he told you about his past, it was a lot for him – talking about his cruel choice

but you.. didn't judge him.

in fact, you wrote it down in your notebook immediately, the one you never let the boys get too close to

he accepted you into his life when he entertained your interest in his history

unlike him, however, the other boys were uninterested

at first anyway

thank jinu for getting them to talk to you btw

it took a little bit of convincing – telling them that you wanted to give them something more than just gwima

even though they didn't want it ...

REGARDLESS they hang out around the penthouse

because they're no longer saja boys (uninterested and unsupported by any demon staff anymore)

they really had nothing to do but mildly annoy your personal space

including being the center of your attention when the girls are out

mira gave you one rule, "living room and bathroom. only." and you've succeeded so far. abby and romance were talking by the large scale windows, mystery was playing some game with baby (and obviously winning), and jinu sat in the middle of the couch, watching whatever movie rumi put on for him. you sat beside him, sketching in your one and only personal researcher book. your pencil drew out what you felt like was the final line in mystery's hair ... before you huffed, erasing it, and trying again.

that was... until the littlest demon startled you.

"mystery, they're drawing you." bored of his game, baby peered over your shoulder, only passively curious and really wanting to mess with you. heads turned at your exposure to the room, especially jinu, who looked over your other shoulder at the sketch you did of him earlier.

"you're.. sketching us?" the direct ask made you a bit nervous, especially being under so many eyes. (kind of. mystery was more just.. generally facing your direction.) "'weakness.. chest?' are you taking notes on us?" you stood up, nearly defensive, turning around to face the couch trio.

"if it weren't for your old friends, i wouldn't have to write it all down again." the boys went quiet, remembering the origin of your knowledge and powers. "i'm just.. tired of keeping it all inside. i need to get it out somewhere."

romance, true to his name, leaned over your shoulder, putting you both in a proximity much closer than you've ever had to experience before.

"then why don't we do something.. a little more fun .. to help you get it all out?"

normally sentences like that from him sound way more suggestive than he means them to be

but this time he came up with an actual solution to release your closed up, ready-to-pop-out-of-your-skin knowledge

they gave you a one way trip to infodump station ! an interview !

they wanted to learn more about you anyways

their fellow demons down below were the ones to wipe out your ancestors

not them

and they make sure you know it too

but they can't help but feel .. a little, tiny bit bad that you're now just a living library

a time capsule, holding onto so much information that you're about to burst 24/7

they had never met a researcher honestly

you intrigued them as much as they did for you

how much did you really know ?? did you know anything or is all this antsy behavior a ploy to make it look like you knew everything when you really knew nothing ??

their disguises were perfectly created to make every little fan fall for their attractiveness the second they looked at the boys

but you never drooled at them or had your eyes pop out of your head

you just always... stared. processing. tracing mindfully.

they didn't know what you were really abut. but they were about to find out. and really test your persona.

romance sat relaced in a chair as you circled him, pencil taking note of everything you noticed. how his markings were sharp, not rounded like rivers, how his skin was cooled, not burning hot. all things you already knew, but you found small comfort in knowing not much changed. you took a deep breath around his hair, nose scrunching up. he smiled, taking your cheek in his hand.

"new cologne." his voice was smooth, gentle. traditionally alluring. "just for you. do you like it?" he turned up his flirtatiousness, pulling you in closely, testing the waters of your focus.. before you turned away to start writing, completely uneffected.

"so many generations and you guys still smell like flames.." you mumbled to yourself.

"would you rather we smell like bubblegum?" baby tried to sass you, but you were too focused on the sharpness of his teeth to care. you stepped towards him, eyes widened.

"can demons still tear apart brick with the force of their canines?" you asked, rather close to his face. for a moment, he almost felt like the flustered one.

"yes..? no? i-i don't know." he crossed his arms, childishly. "i don't go around biting bricks." you jot it down still as you move towards abby. he's deeply relaxed, leaning back on the couch, comfortable shirt riding up to expose his famously toned abs. your eyes trail off of your notebook and they think.. they've got you.

"like what you see?" he teases. "you can touch them, you know." a bold move that brings you closer, nails tracing his skin. they're almost disappointed that abby is the one who stole your attention.. before they realize you're attention isn't stolen at all. you're drawing his markings with careful detail.

"where did yours come from? rumi's started forming on her arm when she was a kid, but they haven't reached her stomach yet. they grow with time, right? how old would that make you then..?" you dissolve into mutters they can barely decipher. "oh!! mystery!" he almost jumps behind the couch when you race over to him, making jinu laugh from the sidelines of their attempts to flirt with you. "i've never seen a demon sparkle! that's new.. is that just you? or is there a whole subspecies of sparkling demons? or is it your human disguise..?" your questions nearly overwhelm him, enough to make him forget how he's supposed to flirt with you, but romance pulls you away, whispering in your ear.

"it's not just him." he smiles, hand on your shoulder. "you're sparkling, too, sweetheart." if anyone could fluster anyone, it'd be him, even if it takes two rounds. his thumb runs against your chin. "you look so cute in this lighting, like a rose."

"speaking of which, what's the flora like down there? are there any? do they eat demons or are they like.. regular flowers? we knew more of demons than of gwima's realm. did they smell? i bet they might have.. would it be nostalgic or torturing?"

the boys share a look, and sigh. you went off into high speed muttering again.

you really were everything you said

uninterested in their flirts and more in knowledge

that almost made them like you more..

in the following times after the interview, they greeted you a bit more casually – sometimes cheerfully, asking if you had any new drawings or trivia you wanted to get off your chest

how did you . tame them !? does the whole hard to get thing actually work !?

it confused the girls wildly

but to see them adjusting to being here through someone who actually understood them instead of lying around, empty and lost, was a pick-me-up in the mornings

one morning, after being delivered a coffee, handsigned by the boys, you felt something click in your head, a sensation you had never felt before, and reached to put it in your notebook immediately

"demons, when properly befriended, like to be understood. they brought me coffee. do demons like coffee??"

[spencersmopbucket]

A Daddy's Girl | Stack Moore

Pairing: Elias 'Stack' Moore x Reader Summary: You're just Stack's type — feisty, strong willed, and damn pretty. Only thing is.. You won't give Stack the time of day on account of your daddy.

Your upbringing was a lil' different than girls your age. It was 1932 — you were nineteen, having grown up on your daddy's ranch. Instead of white cotton dresses, neatly combed hair, and puppies, you were raised wearing stained skirts, your hair wild and curly, riding horses and rejecting every boy that dared come near you.

Mama died when you were real young — too young to remember her face without staring at a photograph. Daddy did his best, though. He didn’t much care for you doing "girl’s work" when there were fence posts to mend and cattle to brand. So he raised you like he would’ve raised a son: rough around the edges, stubborn as a mule, and twice as fast with a rifle. By thirteen, you were driving the wagon solo into town. By sixteen, you could outshoot most men at the fair. And by nineteen, most folks knew better than to speak to you sideways.

Still, no matter how tough you acted, there was something that always drew in men. It was a competition almost. Any time you walked home from the schoolhouse at age 16, you heard them talkin'. The boys. Betting on who could secure a kiss first, maybe a date.

"First one to kiss the farmer’s daughter gets braggin’ rights for life," one of ‘em would say, real cocky. Like you were a trophy instead of a person.

But you weren’t some daisy to be picked. You were wild thistle — sharp, stubborn, and grown in hard soil.

None of those boys ever made it past your front gate. One tried and ended up limping back home with a busted lip and a bruised ego. After that, they mostly kept their distance. Called you a spitfire. A man’s girl. Trouble wrapped in curls and sunburn.

And maybe they were right.

You didn’t care much for dresses, or dancing, or sitting pretty at socials. You cared about the land, about your daddy, about making it through the droughts and the hard winters. You were proud of the calluses on your hands and the dirt under your nails. You knew how to clean a gun, break a horse, and break a man’s nose if need be. You didn’t need anyone — and that scared the hell out of every suitor that came sniffin’.

Until Stack Moore.

He was the opposite of his brother, though they were both law breakers. They'd come back into town like a storm, claiming it back again when they got sick of being men of war or taking over Chicago. They brought money, they brought booze, and they regained the enemies they'd always had before.

Your daddy knew exactly what type the Smokestack twins were. That's why he was so put out the day Stack spoke to you.

It was hotter than hell that afternoon, the kind of heat that made the air shimmer off the dirt road. You were hitchin’ the mule to the wagon outside the general store, sweat rollin’ down your spine, dust clingin’ to your boots. Stack leaned against a post with a matchstick between his teeth, lookin’ like the devil dressed in Sunday black — suspenders off his shoulders, shirt unbuttoned just enough to make your throat go dry.

"Need a hand, sweetheart?" he drawled.

You didn’t answer him. Just wiped your brow and kept workin’, jaw tight, heart louder than it oughta been. You felt his eyes on you like heat from a fire. That was the first time he spoke to you.

You grunted, finally getting it hitched, before glancing up at Stack with irritated (and curious, though you wouldn't admit it) eyes.

"I got it. Somethin' I can help you with, Stack?" You responded coldly. In a moment, your daddy would be coming out of the store. He wouldn't take kindly to Stack chatting you up.

Stack smirked, slow and easy, like he had all the time in the world and not a care who saw him spending it on you. That matchstick rolled between his teeth as he looked you over, not lewd, not disrespectful — but bold. Real bold.

"Nah, darlin’. Just figured I’d say howdy," he said, voice molasses-smooth with that slick edge he and his brother hadn’t lost, even after years in the city. "Hard not to, when you’re standin’ there lookin’ like trouble in a skirt."

You narrowed your eyes. "Keep talkin’ like that, and you’ll find yourself wearin’ that matchstick in your eye."

He laughed — a warm, low sound that made something flutter deep in your belly, though you kept your scowl firm. He liked that. You could tell. The way his head tilted slightly, his eyes sharpened like he was memorizing the way your mouth twitched when you were pissed.

"I like a woman who bites," he said.

You opened your mouth to fire back, but the screen door of the store slapped shut behind you. Daddy stepped out with his purchase — a sack of flour and a bottle of tonic. His boots hit the porch with that heavy rhythm that always said someone was about to get corrected.

Stack’s smirk didn’t fade, but he straightened up. He tipped his hat slow and easy, like he wasn’t worried one bit about the man standing between him and a shallow grave.

"Afternoon, Mr. L/N," Stack said, polite as a preacher.

Your daddy didn’t respond. Just stared Stack down, eyes like steel under the brim of his weather-beaten hat. You could feel the tension crackling in the air, thick and dangerous.

"You got business here?" your daddy asked, voice flat.

"Just admirin’ the view," Stack replied, not looking away from him — but the weight of his words sat heavy between you and your daddy. Like a line drawn in the dust.

You cleared your throat, loud enough to break the moment. "We done here, Daddy?"

Your father gave Stack one more look — the kind that could kill a lesser man — before nodding to you. "Yeah. Let’s get home. Storm’s comin’."

You climbed into the wagon without another word, trying not to think about how your skin still tingled from Stack’s gaze. As the mule started off, you glanced back once, just once — and saw him watching you, arms crossed, eyes lit up like he’d just spotted a gold vein in a rock.

It was the first time Stack Moore spoke to you. And the last time you knew peace for a long while.

When you got home, Daddy cleared his throat awkwardly, cleaning his gun in the common room of the house.

"Y/N." He called to you from where you stood in the kitchen.

You paused, hands deep in the dish basin, the soapy water stinging a nick on your finger you hadn’t noticed ‘til now. His voice was gruff, but there was something under it — something tight. Wary. Protective in that way only a father could be when he knew his daughter had just caught the eye of a wildfire in a man’s body.

"Yes, sir?" you called back, wiping your hands on a dish rag as you stepped through the archway into the common room.

He didn’t look up right away. Just kept running the cloth over the barrel of his Winchester with a quiet, deliberate focus. You could tell he was turning something over in his head, chewing on it like a dog with a bone.

"Stack Moore," he finally said, like the name tasted bad. "You stay away from him."

You blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness.

"Didn’t plan on inviting him for supper," you muttered, crossing your arms.

Daddy looked up then — sharp and dead serious. "I ain’t jokin’, girl. That boy’s got blood on his hands and more comin’. His kind don’t leave nothin’ but ruin behind."

You didn’t say anything. Mostly ‘cause you weren’t sure what you wanted to say. It was the first time a man had looked at you like you were a woman and not just the farmer’s wild daughter in scuffed boots. And maybe that was dangerous. Maybe Daddy was right. But maybe you didn’t give a damn.

"I know you think you’re grown,” he went on, his voice softening a bit, “but there’s men out there who take one look at a girl like you and see a challenge. Not a future. Stack Moore’s one of ‘em."

You swallowed, throat dry. "I’m not stupid."

"I didn’t say you were. I said he’s trouble. And I’ll be damned if I let him put you in harm’s way."

Silence hung between you. Thick as molasses. You could hear the wind picking up outside, dust scratching against the shutters. Storm was comin’, alright. But it wasn’t just in the sky.

You finally nodded. "I hear you."

He held your eyes for a long moment.

"You're better off with that Boone. If you really hafta marry. He's a nice boy and ain't gonna put you out when he has his fill."

Boone was a ranch hand your daddy had hired. He wasn't unattractive, no. He was tall, strong, worked with a smile and never complained. His parents were respectful and they were fans of how your daddy did business. Boone was who you should've been with, if you gave any man a chance.

He'd been pining after you since the two of you were sixteen.

You rolled your eyes, smirking in amusement.

"You like Boone so much, why ain't you marryin' him?"

Daddy’s face went dark, like you'd just knocked over a beehive.

"I’m your father. I make the calls ‘round here."

I folded my arms and leaned against the table, matching his glare. "Ain’t no law says I gotta marry the man you pick."

He set the gun down with a heavy thud. "It ain’t about law, girl. It’s about keepin’ you safe. Boone’s steady. He don’t bring trouble like those Moore boys."

You groaned.

"I ain’t sayin’ I’m takin’ up with Stack. But don’t reckon I’m gonna be Boone’s bride just ‘cause you want it."

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "You’re stubborn as a mule, just like your mama."

You knew that was the final word.

But that night, long after the lights were out and the crickets had taken over the silence, you found yourself sittin’ on the edge of your bed, fingers twitchin’, heart restless. Because even though you’d said you understood, and even though you knew what kind of man Stack Moore was…

You also knew you weren’t the kind of girl who turned her head away from fire.

Your friend Lizzie had to beg you to go out.

"I swear, Y/N, one night won’t kill you," she said, tugging at your arm as you rolled your eyes. "You need to dance. Laugh. Hell, even just drink something that ain’t water or dust."

You weren’t exactly the type for blues clubs or lipstick-stained whiskey glasses, but Lizzie had that kind of persistence that wore you down like river water over stone. So by the time the sun dipped low and the sky bled pink, you were dressed — not dolled up like the city girls, but enough to turn a few heads in town: a dark skirt that hugged your hips, boots polished cleaner than usual, and your wild curls pinned just enough to look like you tried.

Club Juke was loud, smoky, and packed to the rafters. Lights glowed like sin on velvet, blues players' moaned from the corner stage, and the air buzzed with liquor and secrets. You followed Lizzie in, your fingers hooked into the belt loop of her dress, and tried not to flinch when a man brushed too close or looked too long.

You made it to the bar and ordered something you didn’t even hear over the noise — some whiskey drink served in a chipped glass. Lizzie had already pulled a fella onto the dance floor, leaving you with a half-sip of burn down your throat and the sudden awareness that someone was watching you.

You didn’t have to look far.

There he was. Stack.

Sitting in a corner booth like he owned the place (because he did), sleeves rolled, collar unbuttoned, smoke from a lit cigar curling around his jaw. His eyes were on you, unmoving. He didn’t smile. Didn’t wave. Just looked like he’d found exactly what he came here for.

Your pulse jumped. Damn it all.

You turned back to the bar, heart thudding. Maybe if you ignored him, he’d —

A warm voice slid in behind your ear like a sin on Sunday morning.

"Well now," Stack drawled, low and slow, "ain’t you a sight. Didn’t expect to see you in a place like this."

You didn’t turn around. Just took another sip of your drink, ignoring the heat rolling off him in waves.

"Didn’t come for you," you said coolly.

He chuckled. "Maybe not. But I figure fate don’t give a damn."

He moved beside you, close enough that your elbows brushed. You could smell leather, smoke, and something sharper — danger, maybe. He rested his forearms on the bar and nodded to the bartender.

"Two of whatever she’s drinkin’."

You shot him a glare. "What’re you doin’, Stack?"

He looked at you then — really looked — and for a moment, the noise of the club faded under his steady gaze.

"Tryin’ to figure out why a girl raised to fear me keeps lookin’ like she’s itchin’ to find out what makes me so damn interesting."

You swallowed.

Then, you fixed the usual glare back onto your face.

"Well, what the hell makes me so interesting? Everyone with a dick in this town can't look away."

Stack barked a quiet laugh, low and raspy, like he wasn’t expecting you to come back that sharp — but damn if he didn’t like it. He leaned in just a hair closer, eyes flicking from your mouth to your eyes and back again, that grin of his growing just a little wider, a little darker.

"What makes you interesting?" he echoed, voice like smoke. "You walk into a room like you own the land under everyone’s feet. You don’t smile unless you mean it, and you don’t flinch at a man like me." He tilted his head, still watching you. "That kinda thing makes folks look. Makes ‘em wonder."

You crossed your arms, hip cocked, not letting him get the upper hand. "You mean it makes ‘em bet. Run their mouths. Act like they got a chance."

Stack shrugged. "Let ‘em. Boys bet. Men watch. I’m just here enjoyin’ the view."

You scoffed. "You’re all the same."

His expression shifted then — just a flicker of something deeper beneath the charm. He leaned in again, but this time his voice dropped lower, real low, just for you.

"No, darlin’. If I were like them, I’d already be braggin’ about what I could do to you. Not sittin’ here waitin’ to see what you’ll let me do."

That shut you up for a second. Long enough for the air between you to grow thick and heavy.

Before you could fire back, the music kicked into a new number — a slow, sultry blues rhythm that rolled across the club like honey.

Stack held out a hand. "Dance with me."

You looked at his hand like it might bite you.

"I don’t dance."

He smirked. "Then just stand close and sway. I promise I bite softer than I look."

You stared at him, heart thudding somewhere stupid.

And then, without knowing why, you placed your hand in his.

His palm was warm. His grip was gentle. And your daddy’s voice was nowhere in your head when Stack pulled you onto the floor like he’d been waitin’ his whole damn life for this.

The floor didn’t feel real under your boots.

Stack's hand rested firm against the small of your back, pulling you close — but not too close. Just enough to feel the heat rollin' off him in waves, enough to smell the faint scent of whiskey and smoke on his collar. Your fingers hovered just barely on his shoulder, stiff at first, like you were afraid of giving in.

"You’re stiff as a fence post," he murmured against your temple, voice rough and warm. "Ain’t nobody lookin’ to bite."

"You just told me you were," you shot back, eyes narrowing even as you swayed to the rhythm.

That earned a quiet chuckle from him — one that rumbled in his chest and traveled straight through you.

The music curled around the two of you like a fog, blues guitar crooning through the haze of cigar smoke and perfume. Other dancers swayed nearby, but none quite like you and Stack. You moved like magnets pulling in, fighting it, pulling in again. A war with no guns — just glances, breath, and the occasional accidental brush of leg against leg.

His thumb stroked a small, deliberate circle at the back of your waist. You stiffened — just slightly — and he caught it.

"You alright, spitfire?" he asked, voice a low purr. "Ain’t used to men touchin’ you, or just not used to likin’ it?"

You glared up at him, lips parting to throw fire — but the words got stuck somewhere between your pride and the warmth blooming beneath your ribs.

"…You think just ‘cause you talk smooth, I’m gonna fall at your feet?" you finally snapped.

Stack leaned in, close enough that his breath kissed the edge of your jaw.

"No," he said. "I think you’ll fight me every inch of the way. And I like a fight."

The tension snapped taut between you, so tight it hummed. His hand slid just a breath lower on your back. Your fingers curled tighter into his shirt. You weren’t smiling, but you weren’t pulling away, either.

"I ain’t your conquest," you muttered.

"No," Stack said, eyes locked to yours like a vow. "You’re the kind of woman a man earns. Or dies tryin’."

The music slowed to a crawl. The last long note of a saxophone kissed the silence.

Neither of you moved.

You didn’t know who leaned in first — but suddenly your face was inches from his. Lips barely apart. Breath tangled.

"Lord.. If you ain't the devil."

His mouth curved just slightly — not a smile, not quite — something darker. Hungrier.

"Then what’s that make you, sweetheart?" he murmured, breath brushing your lips. "The lamb wanderin’ into the fire… or the flame that keeps draggin’ me back to hell?"

You blinked up at him, your heart thudding so loud you swore the whole club could hear it.

Everything inside you screamed to pull away — to do what you’d always done when boys got too close, when their hands wandered and their eyes lingered too long. But Stack wasn’t like those boys. He didn’t leer. He didn’t plead.

He waited.

Like a man sure of the storm and patient enough to let it come to him.

Your voice came low. Dangerous.

"I ain’t no lamb. And I sure as hell ain’t chasin’ you."

He laughed — a quiet, genuine sound that rolled through his chest.

"No," he said again, like he was committing it to memory. "I'm chasin' you, baby."

Then his hand slid up — not low, not greedy — just firm and reverent, fingers skimming the side of your jaw like he was feeling the edges of something sacred.

"And I’m tellin’ you now," he added, voice dropping like molasses in your ear. "You keep lookin’ at me like that… I will find out what you taste like when you stop pretending you hate me."

Before you could bite back, before you could even think, the club doors burst open again —

And Boone’s voice came, loud and panicked: "Y/N! What the hell are you doin’?!"

The spell shattered.

You jerked back like burned, your spine stiffening, eyes snapping toward the entrance.

Boone’s chest heaved, face red and soaked in sweat. Eyes darted from you to Stack, and the rage built fast — like a match tossed in dry brush.

Stack turned lazily toward him, jaw twitching. The charming smirk faded into something else. Something sharp.

"You know," he said, stepping just slightly in front of you, “if he was any kinda gentleman, he wouldn't swear at a lady."

Boone didn’t flinch. Just pointed a finger, shaking with fury. "Your daddy’s gonna hear ‘bout this. And when he does, he’ll bury that bastard himself."

Your breath caught.

"Boone, it's—"

"Oh hell no. This ends now."

You stiffened, pulling away from Stack slightly. A glare rose to your face.

"You think you control anything I do? You're daddy's ranch hand, you ain't his informant, and you definitely ain't my husband, so I don't reckon you should be telling me what ends now."

Boone's jaw dropped.

"You know this is against his damn wishes. He wants you with me, not with Stack Moore."

Stack smiled, his gold grill glinting in the light of the juke.

"She don't want you, Boone Jones. Hell," he snorted, stepping forward. "She don't even really want me. I suggest you get to movin' before my brother and I toss you out this juke."

Boone’s eyes flashed, muscles tightening like coiled steel. "You got a real mouth on you, Stack. But don’t think for a second I’m scared of you or your brother."

He stepped forward, the heat between them crackling like a storm about to break.

You swallowed hard, heart pounding. The tension was thick enough to slice through, and neither man was backing down.

Stack’s grin twisted, teeth flashing like daggers. "Well then, looks like we got ourselves a showdown. You ready to back that up, Boone?"

Boone faltered for a moment. He spotted the gun on Stack's hip, glinting under his jacket. He was torn. But eventually, he turned away from the two of you.

"Get home, Y/N. I'm warnin' you. Your daddy'll be out lookin' for you soon as I tell him this shit."

With that, Boone spat on the floor and walked out.

The jukebox sputtered a slow country tune as Boone’s heavy footsteps faded into the night. Stack turned to you, smirking like he’d just won a war without firing a shot.

"Well, looks like the ranch hand knows when to fold ‘em."

You stood frozen, the weight of Boone’s warning settling deep in your chest.

Stack’s voice softened, almost mockingly gentle. "Now, tell me… what’re you gonna do with all this heat you’re sittin’ on?"

Your eyes burned with quiet defiance, but inside, a storm was brewing — one that wouldn’t be settled so easily.

Without another word, the defiance and want burning in your chest boiled over. You pulled Elias Moore into a crushing kiss, ruffling his suit jacket.

Stack’s smirk faltered for just a heartbeat, a flicker of surprise flashing behind his gold teeth. His hand lifted slowly, fingers brushing the side of your jaw with a teasing, deliberate lightness that sent a shiver down your spine. His voice dropped, low and dangerous, like a velvet promise edged with steel.

"Careful, baby. You’re playin’ with fire."

But you didn’t pull away. Instead, your breath hitched, and your heartbeat thundered in your ears like a wild stallion breaking free. The air between you thickened, charged with a heat that wasn’t just from the summer night or the sticky tension in the jukebox’s flickering neon glow. It was raw, electric, and impossible to ignore.

Your fingers curled into the lapel of his jacket, tugging him closer, hungry for the heat that radiated off his body. The scent of leather, musk, and something uniquely Stack invaded your senses. Your lips pressed harder against his, demanding more, needing more. His hands found your waist, strong and possessive, pulling you flush against him until there was no space left — only the desperate dance of two bodies claiming their own wild territory.

His mouth moved over yours with fierce intention, teasing and tasting, trailing a path of fire down your neck. You arched against him, breath mingling, every nerve alight. The weight of Boone’s warning dissolved somewhere in the back of your mind, drowned out by the thunderous storm between you and Stack.

Stack’s voice, rough and low, was a whisper against your skin. "You gonna be my woman. One way or another."

His hands slid lower, fingers digging into the curve of your hips, grounding you even as your pulse raced with reckless abandon. You tugged at the buttons of his shirt, exposing the warm skin beneath, your nails grazing, marking. Every touch was a challenge, every breath a promise.

Your lips parted in a silent plea, and Stack answered, his tongue tracing the line of your jaw, down to the swell of your collarbone. The heat in your chest ignited into a blaze, scorching and sweet. It wasn’t just passion — it was war, desire, defiance, and something dangerously close to surrender.

The air thickened, charged and heavy with all the words neither of you dared say. His fingers tightened on your hips, pulling you impossibly closer, as if he wanted to press you into him and make sure you couldn’t slip away. Your hands trembled slightly, caught between the urge to push him away and the desperate craving to keep this fire alive.

Stack’s breath hitched as his mouth dipped lower, kissing the hollow at your throat, leaving a trail of heat that seared through your skin. Your fingers tangled in the coarse fabric of his shirt, dragging it open just enough to feel the steady thump of his heart beneath your touch. Every beat was a promise, wild and relentless.

That night, you thought you'd be in wicked trouble with your daddy.

You got home and he was sitting in his chair, rifle by his side. There was no glare. No anger. No fight. Just disappointment.

His eyes met yours — quiet, heavy, like the weight of every unspoken word between you.

"Boone stopped by. Said you was almost kissin' Stack in the back of his juke joint. That the truth?"

You froze in the doorway, the screen creaking shut behind you. Your boots felt heavy against the floorboards.

"Is that the truth? I won't ask again." he asked again, voice like gravel and smoke, worn down from years of silence that meant more than shouting ever could.

You swallowed, but your throat was dry. "Yes, sir."

Your daddy looked away then, toward the window. The moonlight spilled across the hardwood like spilled milk, cold and pale. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t even shift in his chair.

“Didn’t raise you to chase heat just ‘cause it burns bright.”

You stepped further inside, your heart thudding in your chest. “It ain’t just heat.”

He turned back to you, slow and steady, the way storms roll in without hurry. "That boy’s trouble, Y/N. His people bring it like flies bring rot. You think Stack Moore gives a damn about you come winter? When the crops are dry and the nights are long?"

“I ain’t askin’ for your blessing,” you said, quietly. “But I ain’t askin’ for forgiveness, either.”

His jaw worked, clenched and tight. The rifle stayed at his side, but his hands curled on the armrests like he was gripping the weight of every fear a father could carry.

"You know I’d ride to hell for you, girl." "I know."

A beat. A breath. The porch creaked under the weight of the wind.

"Then don’t make me bury you for someone who wouldn’t ride back. If you think Stack Moore is worth it, I can't stop ya," he asserted wisely. "But he better be. Because if a single tear drops to this floor and he's responsible for it, I'm buryin' him. And his brother."

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t let it show.

He wasn’t threatening. He was promising.

That old chair creaked as he leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees, eyes pinning you like a hawk pins its prey.

"You understand me, girl?" His voice was low, but there was thunder in it — a quiet kind of rage built on love and fear and the kind of heartbreak only a father can carry.

You nodded, chin up even though your chest was tight. "I understand."

He let out a long breath through his nose, like he’d been holding it for years.

"Then go on to bed. And think real hard ‘bout the kind of man you’re givin’ your name to. 'Cause once you do… you don't get to take it back."

You stood there for a moment longer — the screen door groaning open behind you again, the wind pushing against your back like even the night was trying to warn you.

But you didn’t look back.

The next day, Stack stopped by the ranch, as if he was askin' for a gun to go off towards his head. You were out back, tending to the horses, brushing your favorite tenderly.

The horse, Annie was her name, blew air out of her nose, as if she knew trouble was approaching. You cooed at her.

"Settle down, pretty girl. Ain't nothin' comin' to get you."

But even as you said it, your eyes flicked toward the dust trail creeping down the long dirt drive — slow and deliberate. A dark car. Stack’s.

Annie shifted under your hand, hooves stamping once against the earth. You didn’t blame her. You felt the same tight pull in your chest. That mix of anger and ache, nerves and want, all tangled together like barbed wire.

Stack stepped out like he owned the goddamn world. Boots still dirty from whatever hellhole he'd walked through last, and that cocky tilt to his mouth like he'd slept just fine while the storm he stirred brewed all night long.

He spotted you in the paddock, and his smirk deepened like he’d expected a bullet and got a welcome mat instead.

You didn’t wave. Didn’t call out.

Just kept brushing Annie’s side like you weren’t burning from the inside out.

Stack leaned on the fence, one arm slung over the top rail, eyes fixed on you like you were the only thing that ever moved slow in his world.

"You didn’t call," he said, voice low and teasing. "Thought maybe Boone talked you outta me."

You looked up then, slow and measured.

"No one talks me outta anything, Stack. Least of all a man who runs when daddy’s rifle’s on the porch."

That knocked the smirk clean off his face for a second. Then he chuckled — slow, deep.

"Figured I’d come back ‘round today. Let your old man know I ain’t runnin’. I’m standin’."

You shook your head, a bitter little smile tugging at your lips.

"He already knows. Question is… do you?"

Stack’s jaw twitched. His eyes dropped to your hands on the horse — the way they moved, firm but gentle. Like you could break things and fix them all the same.

He straightened off the fence.

"I ain’t scared of your daddy," he said. "And I ain't here for a quick trip to the sheets. You're the typa woman worth marryin'."

You froze.

Annie huffed beside you, but you barely heard her over the rush of blood in your ears. Stack’s words hit you like a hammer to the ribs — not because you didn’t believe him, but because deep down… maybe you did.

Still, you kept your hands busy, brushing through Annie’s mane like she was the only thing keeping you grounded.

"You don’t even know what marryin’ me means, Stack Moore," you said quietly. "It ain’t just Sunday dresses and kissin’ under porch lights. It’s long winters and hard land and family that don’t forget where you came from."

He stepped into the paddock without asking, boots crunching over the straw and dirt. That alone told you something — Stack had never waited for an invitation in his life.

"I know it won’t be easy," he said, stopping just a few feet from you. "I know your daddy don’t think I’m good enough. Hell, maybe I ain’t. But I know this — I’d rather fight every damn day for your heart than spend a single one without it."

Your hand paused on Annie’s shoulder. For the first time, you looked at him — really looked.

There was no grin now. No sharp teeth. Just a man, standing there with his scars and swagger stripped down to something real.

"You’re serious," you said, more to yourself than him.

"I’ve been in fights I ain’t walked away from. I’ve stared down the barrel more times than I can count. But you?" He stepped closer, voice low and steady. "You’re the first thing that’s ever made me scared to lose."

Your chest tightened.

Goddamn him.

Because you wanted to believe it. Wanted to throw your arms around him, take him in the barn, and kiss the past right off his mouth. But you’d learned too young that want didn’t make a man stay. Promises were easy when the sun was out — it was the nights that told the truth.

So you swallowed hard and said the only thing you could.

"Then don’t say you want me, Stack. Show me."

His eyes flickered, something fierce and warm lighting in them.

"I intend to, darlin’," he said. "Every damn day. Starting now."

And when he reached for your hand, you let him take it. Just for a moment.

Just long enough to remember how it felt.

He raised it to his mouth. Kissed it gently, if Stack Moore was even capable of being gentle.

"Now.. Take me inside to see your daddy. I'm sure we can find somethin' to agree on. Gotta get along before I ask for the blessin'."

You snorted, tying Annie up and kicking his boot with your own.

"It ain't that easy. You've got to court me before you marry me, and even then, you gotta impress daddy."

Stack chuckled low in his chest, the sound rich like molasses and twice as thick with trouble.

"Darlin’, I didn’t think anything about you would be easy," he said, falling in step beside you as you started toward the house. "Hell, if you were, I wouldn’t be out here riskin’ a shotgun sermon and a boot up my ass."

You cut him a sideways glance, amused despite yourself. "You’ll get more than a boot if you don’t stop runnin’ that mouth."

He grinned, flashing that infamous gold tooth like a warning sign. "That mouth’s gonna be the reason you marry me, just you wait."

You stopped at the bottom of the steps, boots crunching in the dirt. Stack did too, waiting for your lead. Waiting, you realized, for your say-so — and that was rare.

"You serious about this?" you asked, voice lower now. No teasing. No fire. Just the honest question of a woman who knew how easily hearts cracked under pressure.

He nodded once. No swagger this time. Just steel and heat.

"I want a wife. I want babies. I wanna hang my guns up until I need 'em. And I want you. So, little lady, let's go."

You held in a tear, the only tear that had ever developed in your cold e/c eyes since mama died. Then, you willingly threaded your fingers into Stack's and tugged him towards the house.

[blkkizzat]

PU$$Y GOT MORE M⛧RDERS THAN SHIBUYA.ᐟ 𝐌⛧𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑#𝟔 — 𝐍𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢, 𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨

⛧ 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡: nov 28th, 5:47 pm ⛧ 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡: thanksgiving speech + heavy innuendo + dirty talk + bathroom sex + fellatio/blow job + backshots + pussy smacks + brat taming + brat!reader + dom!nanami + nanami has a lil' sadistic streak when it comes to payback ⛧ 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐬: 9078 (5k of it is pure smut khfjhdrfrdgjhf)

𝐧𝐧𝐧 𝐦.𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

How does the saying go again? Play with fire, get burned?

Well, when it came to mischief, you weren’t just playing with fire—you were a regular pyromaniac. 

And poor Nanami? 

He was the one whose patience kept getting scorched time and again.

Case in point: right now.

With feigned innocence, you stretch across the dining room table to set down a china plate. A mundane act by anyone else's standards—except you’re braless under your loose sweater dress, and the moment you lean forward, your pert nipples peek through the gaping neckline, jiggling carelessly right in Nanami’s direct line of sight.

Nanami, of course, pretends not to notice. Attempting to hold himself to his signature stoicism as to not reward your slutty antics. Yet, Nanami’s hands give him away, hesitating mid-fold as the napkin fumbles through his fingers.

The result: a sagging, lopsided swan. 

A far cry from the pristine little flock he’d already created.

With a sharp exhale, Nanami quietly undoes his work and begins again, a clear scowl tugging at his lips.

He should by all accounts be happy, it’s Thanksgiving. 

Yet today also makes it Day 28 of the cursed No Nut November bet.

All month, your playful taunts, pretty pouts and cutesy whines have been tortuously chipping away at Nanami’s resolution to remain firm in not fucking you. Although it’s really no surprise to Nanami how bratty you could get when you went too long without a good dicking to remind you to behave—and for that, Nanami continues to lament letting Gojo rope him into the bet in the first place. 

Not that Nanami particularly cared for any bets, he did however have a petty streak towards Gojo’s antics. Nanami couldn’t resist this particular challenge. After all, if there was one thing Nanami could undoubtedly best the so-called infinite strongest in—it was self-restraint.

Something Gojo has in laughably short supply, so it would be an easy win.

And it had been. Gojo folded within the first 72 hrs.

The satisfaction that came with besting Gojo had been short-lived. What really had kept Nanami going all this time is his more sadistic side relishing in how desperate you’ve been for him all month. 

You, his perfect lil’ slut—you had zero false illusions of pride, especially when it came to getting your sweet lil’ pussy pounded. At the mere mention of your involuntary participation in the month you quickly unraveled like an addict from just the thought of having dick withdrawals. As such, dealing with your horny desperation has been a whole other beast of its own.

A few times Nanami had nearly caved too as he found himself fighting against his more debased animalistic urges that would arise. 

You’re his weakness after all and it’s far too easy to be enamored by you. 

Especially when you would rub your thick thighs together—your plush skin sliding against whatever scandalous lingerie you’d be wearing, splayed out on whatever surface was the closest—bed, counter, sofa, floor— wet pussy on display and  all while cooing for him to reconsider. 

You would beg so sweetly for Nanami to touch you, to stretch your pretty pussy out just a little bit with the fat head of his tip—yet to his own maddening torment, Nanami held firmly and refused. 

Your charms had finally met their match. 

For every ounce of brat you possess, Nanami has pounds of stubbornness to counter. Nanami would have thought though as the end of the month drew closer, you’d be able to hold on knowing you’d made it this far. 

Yet contrary to his hopes, you’d only ramped up your teasing to practically insufferable levels. 

All of which is particularly bothersome to Nanami right now seeing as your entire family is in Japan to visit you for Thanksgiving this year. 

Much to Nanami’s chagrin, even your family’s presence is not enough to deter your lewd stunts—if anything you take it up a notch, slyly using your family as a shield from his reprimand. 

Your family, of course, doesn’t think of you as anything less than an angel, your shameless behaviors going undetected to all but him.  

Like the time you insisted on stopping for ice cream crepes after taking your family out for lunch despite the near-freezing temperatures. The chill didn’t faze you one bit as you messily devoured the treat. When your relatives weren’t looking, you made a show of deep throating your pristinely manicured fingers—in slow, exaggerated motions, like you were devouring something far filthier than just the frozen sweet cream flavor you had purposely let drip down to your palms.

The bitter chill also never stopped you from flouncing around the city in the shortest of mini skirts. Your legs would be comfortably wrapped in thick, form-hugging thigh-highs—another one of Nanami’s undeniable weaknesses. 

You knew that though, and as expected you made sure to tease him whenever you got the tiniest chance. Exampled by your flashing him glimpses of your crotchless panties during a casual family trip to the local Daiso for souvenirs.

Despite the warmth indoors, Nanami was forced to uncomfortably pull his thick wool coat tighter around himself. The last thing he needed was to be seen with his arousal leading ahead of him because you feigned sudden interest in every item on the lower shelves. Every time something new caught your eye you’d bend over just enough to offer him, and only him, the perfect view of your smooth, bare cunt— the glistening flesh plumping out between your thighs as if your pussy lips would have blown him a wet kiss at any moment.

The sight almost broke him.

Nanami had to dig for newfound strength in order not to push you up against the shelves that day. Public indecency charges be damned, Nanami would have given almost anything in that moment to spank your naughty cunny red for rebelling against him to these extremes. Then of course, he’d bury his aching cock into that tight lil’ cunt of yours, already pulsing and soaked, just so ready to be punished.

Worst of all though, was the constant weight of his arousal resting heavy between his thick, muscular thighs, growing unbearable with each one of your taunts. Nonetheless Nanami endured it—and his blue balls—if only to teach you that haughty lil’ brats couldn’t get their way. 

Now it was deeper than the bet with Gojo even, this was on principle.

Two more days.

In just two more days it be December, your family would be gone and Nanami could finally fuck you into the slobbery, sated stupor you’d been fiending for all month. 

Nanami sighs again, looking up to see you already staring at him, smiling sweetly like you weren’t the embodiment of Lilith herself. 

You only giggle at him.

Patience is Nanami’s virtue, not yours. Surely destined for the naughty list this year, you and those venus like curves of yours are driving him to insanity—and you knew that.

All according to plan! 

“Ken~to~~”

Your sing-song lilt not only grabs his attention but the attention of his cock as well, to his utter dismay the dull throb in Nanami’s pants responds before he can.

“Whatcha thinking so hard about, babe…?” 

Well, he certainly couldn’t answer honestly.  

No way in hell Nanami was going to admit he was vividly picturing how satisfying it would be to rip your sweater dress down the middle in two. He’d spread you out until your thighs trembled from the ache, plating your sassy lil’ pussy right next to the crystal centerpiece in the middle of the table before devouring you whole. 

That’s the true feast Nanami wanted—fuck the turkey.

Instead, Nanami tiredly shakes his head as if to say ‘not much at all’.  

“I meannnnn, it must be something pretty intense because you’re ignoring the timer for the turkey right now, it's been going off for over a minute.”  

Oh fuck—the actual turkey! 

Nanami couldn’t burn it, not the turkey he’d spent 10 hours basting with meticulous care. Nanami being the amazing partner he is, followed your Nana’s recipe to the letter so your family could spend the little time they had visiting Tokyo sightseeing and not in the kitchen. 

You smirk as you bide your time, all while listening to Nanami quietly cursing as he fusses to himself the entire way to the kitchen.

Breaking Nanami before the end of the month has become your personal mission and you took that seriously. Even with all his saintly restraint you reasoned that Nanami was still just a man of flesh and blood.

He had to have a breaking point somewhere.

And when he finally snapped… well, you weren’t dumb, knew that wouldn’t bode well for you.

But wasn’t that the thrill? 

The anticipation of pushing him off the very edge of his limits, of coaxing out the strict, authoritative side to him—the side he only let loose when he was truly fed up with you? 

You’d wind your A-type boyfriend up so much today that the second your family left back to their hotel for the night he’d have no choice but to release all his frustrations out on your ass—literally. 

For now, you return to setting the table. Your parents and older family members would be back from their shopping trip and your cousins back from the walk—and then, your little plan could finally unfold.

Sure enough, it isn’t long before the front door swings open, laughter and the crinkle of shopping bags flooding in to announce their return. Your cousins also return, eyes a bit redder but thanks to raiding your bathroom cabinets for eye drops, your family none the wiser. In no time, the dining table is brimming with your Thanksgiving favorites.

And unlike the wonky napkin swans, Nanami executes each dish with the precision of a seasoned chef, as if these recipes had been his own all along. The rich aroma of roasted turkey, buttery stuffing, and stewed collards lures the rest of your family into the dining room as everyone settles to eat.

Out of respect, you let your parents take the seats at the heads of the table and intentionally save the seat beside you for Nanami. But when he pointedly chooses the chair diagonally across from you instead, your pout is impossible to hide.

Nanami’s gaze snaps to yours, and he offers the faintest smirk—as if to say he knows better.

At best? 

If he sat across from you you’d tease him under the table, playing footsie. Your delicate feet gliding along the rim of his socks, tickling his ankle and testing just how composed he could really be.

At worst? 

Well, if he sat next to you and your shamelessness got the better of you, you might just get bold enough to slip your hand into his lap and onto his cock—breaking any boundaries of your already reckless antics. 

The idea of being jerked off under the table, in front of your entire family, just because you were too much of a cock-hungry slut to wait?

Nanami refuses to entertain it.

Because knowing you? 

The likelihood of getting caught wasn’t an "if." It was a "when" and there simply isn’t enough therapy or meditative prayer in the world for Nanami to be able to recover from that.

Nanami tries to hold back his glower, while you flash him a saccharine smile musing at how this works in your favor.

This time your stubbornly patient boyfriend needed to think a little bigger if he wanted to stop you. 

Footsie and grabbing at him? Ha! That was child’s play. 

Far too predictable and too much of a risk with your family here, even for you. 

To be honest, with what you did have planned though you could savor his expressions better across from him than next to him. Nanami actually did exactly what you wanted him too—he didn’t need to know that though. 

Thus, enacting your grand plan begins when you speak up once everyone is seated, cheerfully announcing that you’d be the one giving the Thanksgiving speech this year. 

Your family of course delightfully agrees. 

Ever composed, Nanami remains stoic—yet the slightest twitch of his brow betrays his exasperation. 

He’s not stupid. He knows you are up to something. But here? Now?

The unspoken reprimand of ‘this is not the time’ radiates off him in controlled waves, but that only fuels your misbehavior.

Clearing your throat, your smile curls just sweetly as the marshmallow fluffed candied-yams that are steaming on the table. 

“I just want to say how thankful I am for us all to be here—Mom, Dad, Grandma, Auntie, Uncle, all my dear cousins. I'm so thankful you all could finally make it to Japan!  And of course, I’m so very thankful my sweet Kento could finally get away from his busy job this year to celebrate with us!”

Shooting Nanami a demure look, your eyes dance with devilment yet your tone is angelic. 

Nanami’s gaze sharpens just a fraction, his jaw tightening in silent warning although his lips are composed into a polite smile that says ‘you wouldn’t dare’. 

Oh, but you absolutely would! 

You revel in the tension, in the silent promise that later tonight—when your family is safely back at their hotel—you’ll be paying for this in full.

All according to plan of course~!

"Again, thanks are due to my Kento, for volunteering to cook most of the dishes and for following Nana's recipes so closely! The dressing smells divine, and honestly, I’m amazed by how much you managed to stuff into that bird. But then again, you’ve always been so good at making things fit, Ken.”

Your parents, aunts, and uncles remain blissfully unaware of the roguish double meaning laced in your words, offering nothing but approving smiles and nods. 

Your cousins, however—the ones closest to your age—are all high off their asses and catch on instantly. Some have to bite their lips to suppress giggles, while others shake their heads in mock disapproval, faint smirks betraying their amusement.

Nanami’s fingers flex subtly around the armrest of his dining chair, his smile dips ever-so-slightly as his dark cocoa eyes meet yours, piercing and questioning.

Are you seriously doing this to him right now—and are your cousins actually high!?

Dear God.

Your lashes flutter innocently at Nanami, like butter wouldn’t melt in that hot sinful little mouth of yours as you continue.

“Speaking of the turkey, you really took your time preparing her and so thoroughly. Just basting her in her juices for hours! She looks so good—sooo succulent and moist… She’s just dripping."

Nanami’s hand lifts to adjust his glasses—a calculated effort to distract from the faint flush creeping up his neck. His fingers pinch the bridge of his nose briefly, trying to quietly suffer through the absolute depravity spilling from you.

Across the table, one of your cousins bites down on their lips, muzzling their laughter. Another abruptly ducks under the table, allegedly retrieving a dropped napkin, though it’s painfully obvious to everyone in the know they’re just extra baked and trying not to completely lose their cool.

Nanami sends a pointed, pleading glance at each one of your cousins, his cocoa eyes practically screaming at them to keep their shit together. 

But that only makes it worse,  their sniggers becoming audible and earning reprimanding glances from the elders at the table who thought it was rude they were interrupting your lovely speech.

"Oh, and let’s not forget the mac and cheese—the true star of the table! Kento baby, you really outdid yourself. It looks so rich, so creamy… has that perfect gooey squelch when you stir it up." 

You hum, deliberately dragging out each syllable before shifting your attention elsewhere on the table. 

"Mmm, and the ham? Perfectly pink, with that honey glaze oozing so invitingly between the folds. Doesn’t it just make you want to slide your *ahem* fork, right in?"

Nanami exhales slowly, the tension carved into his handsome features intensifying.

Around the table, your high ass cousins are seconds away from crumbling, somehow though holding it in for Nanami’s sake. 

The youngest one cracks first as they start violently choking on their water they took a sip of, prompting your aunt to firmly pat their back. 

And you?

Oh, you're reveling in every second of this masterpiece—the scandalous spectacle you've written, directed, and are now starring as the lead slut yourself as you prepare for your finale.

"Anyway, I’m rambling now. Wouldn’t want all the yummy food Ken cooked to get cold…"

Wrapping up your x-rated Thanksgiving speech, you decide to end it with a bang.

"So I’ll just end it by saying that Kento has such a knack for taking care of everything, as you all can see. He always spoils me, and he cooks for me regularly too which is why I had so much faith he could pull this off in the first place…" 

Turning towards Nanami you smile brightly.

“...Kento always keeps me full with his yummy meals—and hopefully with his kids someday too!"

That last remark sends your cousins over the edge, howling their laughter bursts out now that they finally have an excuse to do so openly. 

To the rest of your family, it’s cheeky fun—oh just you playfully pressuring Nanami, your boyfriend of 3 years into starting a family.

Your parents and older relatives even chuckle along too.

“Sweetie! Don’t embarrass poor Nanami like that, let him take his time—oh, look, now you’ve got his ears all red!” 

Your mom softly chides you and you’re giggling innocently as if you’ve hadn’t just turned Thanksgiving grace into an impromptu smut reading.

“Poor mans, looks like he’s about to pass out.” 

Your uncle shakes his head, clearly unimpressed with your brazen attempt to push kids on Nanami—especially when you’re both still unmarried. He casts Nanami a knowing, sympathetic look, the kind that silently says, ‘I’ve been there, brother.’

Nanami, ever composed, simply returns a curt nod in acknowledgment.

To his credit, Nanami isn’t anywhere close to losing consciousness, but his anger? 

The tension radiating off of him?

That’s a different story entirely.

Nanami’s cursed energy fluctuates in restrained waves, betraying the quiet storm beneath his civil smiles. His sanity is hanging by a thread, and though he maintains perfect decorum, as he diligently carves and serves the turkey, you—and only you—can sense the static hum of his furry crackling just beneath the surface.

While the mood quickly settles for your family as dinner is served, the hairs on the back of your neck remain standing at full attention.

The food is, of course, delicious—Nanami never misses when it comes to executing a perfect meal. But you barely taste anything, too on edge from the weight of his stifled fury pressing against your senses to fully enjoy your plate. 

On one hand you’re positively ecstatic, you know you’ve succeeded in pushing Nanami past his limits—yet on the other, you still can’t help but feel a chill for the utter bloodlust you sense in his energy. 

Such malice you’d only felt him direct at curses before.

And so as your cousins gossip beside you, spilling all the tea about the drama and happenings back home, their words don’t register over the buzzing tension sitting right across from you. 

However, by the time dinner winds down, Nanami at least outwardly appears much more at ease. 

His posture has relaxed, his tone is as smooth as ever, and even his cursed energy has seemingly leveled out. Nanami engages effortlessly with your family, charming your parents with thoughtful anecdotes eliciting genuine laughter from them—because of course he does. 

Nanami is the perfect partner after all. 

But you know Kento too well.

The minuscule, erratic twitch in his fingers, the hardly perceptible grind of his teeth—it’s enough to tell you the truth.

He’s still pissed. Livid, even.

And later tonight?

You’re so getting fucked for this!

Perfect right? 

Your plan went off without a hitch! 

Then why do you still feel like you took it too far and your impending doom is at hand? 

You’d never seen him this irritated at anything before, even after he had a week long mission with Gojo.

Fuck…Did your cousins have any weed left over? Likely not…

On second thought, maybe you should go back to the hotel with your family tonight.

You’d never pulled a stunt quite like that before, so it could give Nanami a chance to cool off and you could spend more time with your family. Sure, you wanted him to fuck you but you also needed to be able to get out of bed tomorrow as you still had to play tour guide to your family.

Avoiding being alone with Nanami seemed like a solid plan.

However, the universe is clearly working against you, wanting you to lay in the smutty bed of trouble you made for yourself.

“Sweetie, go help Nanami put the pies in the oven.”

Your mother’s voice disrupts the chatter of your thoughts like a bucket of cold water to the face.

Shit.

You gulp, dropping your fork to clatter onto your plate as your eyes flicker toward Nanami. 

You knew he wouldn’t try anything with your family in the house, but the idea of facing his simmering rage in the kitchen? 

Yeah, that’s far from ideal.

“Oh, Momma, I’m still catching up with my cousins though! Ken doesn’t need my help!”

You plaster on your cutest pout, puffing your cheeks as you loop arms with your favorite cousin—your shameless co-conspirator, the one who gave you the idea for your lewd monologue in the first place.

Your mother arches a brow, unimpressed.

“Young lady, I wasn’t asking, now was I?”

You deflate, instantly resigning to your mother.

“No, ma’am.”

“That’s what I thought! Now, help your man if you want that ring and babies, sweetie—Nanami doesn’t want a lazy wife! G’on!”

You sigh, defeated. You should have known the cute puppy-dog pout wouldn’t work on the very person you learned it from.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Nanami chuckles, clearly entertained. 

No matter how much of a brat you are with him, your mother has you in check with a single look. 

Still, Nanami clearly did have some authority over you as you visibly flinch the moment he stands and walks around the table to you. Taking your hand firmly, he pulls you to your feet with an air of finality as you try not to gulp.

“Of course, we’re on it, ma’am—or should I call you ‘mom’ now?”

Nanami’s voice is welcoming and warm—endearing enough to make your family chuckle again as he clearly has them eating out of the palm of his hand. 

But the pressure tightening around your wrist? 

That promises a very different Nanami once you’re alone.

Your stomach twists. The short walk to the kitchen suddenly feels like you’re being led to a firing squad. 

Yet, once inside, Nanami does something unexpected. 

He ignores you entirely.

Somehow the silence is worse.

Sulking, you plop onto one of the stools at the kitchen island as Nanami moves around his kitchen like you aren’t even there. 

Like a child in time out.

You both know damn well he doesn’t need your help. The pies are already prepped, perfectly assembled—apple, pecan, and sweet potato, each looking like they belong on the cover of Southern Living magazine.

Worse still, you can’t leave—not unless you want to risk another tongue lashing from your mother. 

Sighing, cross your arms as you pout and you kick your feet impatiently like an actual toddler would.

This sucks!

After a few more agonizing minutes you can’t stand the tension any longer as you push off the stool in a huff.

“I’m going to the bathroom!” 

Breaking unbearable silence with your announcement you bristle slightly as Nanami doesn’t even acknowledge you. 

Not a glance, not a nod—nothing.

Rolling your eyes, you slip out of the kitchen. You’re careful to avoid the dining room and your family as you make your way to the hallway bathroom. At least here you can breathe without the thick tension suffocating you.

Humming a soft tune, you scroll through your socials with one hand while the other carefully touches up your mascara in the mirror. The bathroom—really more of a powder room without so much as a shower—was small, but just secluded enough to serve as your personal hideout for now.

Fixing your makeup and catching up on the latest celeb drama blogs, it’s a decent escape.

For all of three minutes until the door knob twists.

“It’s occupied! Geez, can’t a girl get some privac—”

Your complaints are cut short as you choke over your words. 

“K-K-Kento!”

You’d expected it to be one of your cousins barging in or maybe even your nosey ass aunt, who had zero respect for boundaries.

But Nanami?!

Nanami’s broad imposing frame fills the doorway before he moves inside, shutting it behind him without a word.

Click. 

The sound of the lock clicking in place is synchronous to your audible gulp.

“K-Ken! W-What are yo—”

But Nanami moves faster than you can finish speaking. 

His hand clamps firmly over your mouth as his other muscular arm bands around your waist, pinning you between him and the sink.

Nanami has you in his grasp now, ironclad and inescapable.

"Shhhhh, just shut those filthy little lips of yours for once, my love…"

Nanami's deep, velvety baritone drips with sinister intent.

"...you've already said more than fucking enough tonight, yes?"

A shiver rolls down your spine. 

Oh, you’re so fucked!

You freeze up entirely as you are caught in a state of panic and growing arousal. 

You wanted this—you had begged for this treatment all month. 

But not here and certainly not right now!

Especially not while your entire family is just in earshot across the hall!

Yet your body is never fully yours when Nanami touches you. Despite your mind's protest, your back arches instinctively as Nanami—completely indifferent to anyone else in his home—smashes himself even closer against you.

That's when you feel it—his stiff, heavy erection, nudging petulantly against the swell of your ass. 

Even through Nanami’s thick wool of his slacks, you can feel the fiery heat radiating from him. The outline of his cock is thick and unforgiving as it nestles between your rear cheeks.

This was all happening so fast?!

Your eyes widen, tears dusting your lashes when you meet his own in the mirror, pleading with him. 

But if you thought your feminine appeals would soften him this time, you were sorely mistaken. 

If anything, it only spurs Nanami on, wanting to punish you for that manipulative nature of yours that had subdued him more often that he wanted to admit.

“You’re such a good girl for your mother, sweetheart…” 

Nanami purrs, his lips dragging down the column of your neck.

“...and yet so disobedient for Daddy.”

Your small, helpless whimpers are muffled into Nanami’s hand as your thighs squeeze together. Heat simmers low in your belly, ignited by Nanami’s weighted words overflowing with authority as he’s clearly not referring to your actual father—just mere feet away in the next room.

Nanami’s arm around your waist slackens just enough to let his brawny hand roam free, his fingers splaying possessively over your body and drawing out more submissive whines from you.

Head swimming, your shaky breaths draw in Nanami’s scent—his natural musk tangled with the rich notes of his woody cologne. Cedar, myrrh, and a faint whisper of smoked vanilla saturate your senses, leaving you lightheaded, dizzy with need, and aching for more despite the dangerous proximity of your family just beyond the door.

“All because this troublesome lil’ pussy can’t even go a mere month without my cock inside her, hm?” 

Nanami’s smirks at your quivering under the weight of his wicked words as his fingers graze the waistband of your panties. 

To be honest he was surprised given your antics you’d even bothered to put them on today.

You really must not have thought he’d be the one to escalate the situation. 

Yet, a man could only be pushed so far…

“You were a virgin when we met, remember? Who knew I would unleash such a greedy n’ spoiled lil’ slut.”

You don't even get the chance to protest—not that you even had a leg to stand on—before Nanami’s hand presses his thumb past your plush lips, pinning your tongue down and robbing you of any ability to speak. Your moist, wriggling tongue squirms helplessly against his digit, a low hiss escaping him as the pressure of his cock grinds harder into the curve of your ass through the strained fabric of his slacks.

At the same time, Nanami’s other hand dips beneath the fabric of your panties, his skilled fingers parting the moist swampy folds of your cunt.

The goan that escapes Nanami is visceral when he feels the slippery evidence of just how fucking drenched you are for him.

“Oh, sweetheart…” 

Before you can even process what’s happening your dress is bunched around your hips as his thick thigh slots between your legs. Writhing, you shake your head frantically as Nanami forces you to ride his thigh. 

"S-Stowp! Mmfph—muh fampfy, K-Kem!"

Your garbled protest earns you a sadistic chuckle from him. 

"Your family? You want me to stop because of your family, princess?" 

Nanami hums thoughtfully, as if weighing the idea—yet still grinds his thigh harder against your damp core. He swaps the thumb silencing you for three thick fingers, stuffing them past your lips to muffle the desperate sounds spilling from your throat.

"No, that vulgar mouth up here didn’t mind being such a shameless cockteasing slut in front of your family. She’s racked up quite the tab of misbehavior. Why should this one down here—" 

Nanami’s fingertips glide past your fluttering entrance, submerging into your soaked heat, stroking against that spongy spot that never fails to curl your toes.

“—mind finally cashing me out?”

A broken moan dies in your throat, gagged by Nanami’s thick fingers in your mouth all due to his fingers in your pussy methodically dragging along your soppy, pulsing walls to gather every trace of your need before finally withdrawing his hand. 

"See, my love? How she's unabashedly drooling…" 

Strings of your silky gossamer arousal web between his fingers, glistening even in the dull bathroom light as he displays them before your face.

"This is exactly what your naughty lil’ pussy has been begging for all month."

Your mind drifts into a hazy abyss, the raw need between your thighs consuming you entirely. 

Everything else—the scandal of your family being in the house, the risk of them hearing you and getting caught, even your own better judgment—it all begins to fade away.

“Sorry, my dear…I’m afraid you can’t have your slutty cake and eat it too this time.” 

Nanami husks the words against your skin, inhaling deeply to bask in the scent of your arousal lingering on his fingers before daring to taste it himself—consuming every sinful, decadent drop.

“My sweet girl has been a fucking cockteasing menace all month. You’ve succeeded in breaking me, now it’s time to reap your consequences…”

Your protests are audible even through his slobber coated fingers as his words ignite goosebumps over your skin.

“Aht-Aht-Aht…”

Nanami admonishes you.

 “...you begged, manipulated and schemed for this. You’ll take Daddy’s cock now, exactly how he gives it to you or you will go another week without it. Your choice, love.”

The muffled cry you release is loud and needy. Your eyes are like saucers and your body trembles at Nanami’s very real threat. Yet Nanami just brings his face down to smoosh against your cheek, piercing you with those unwavering cocoa eyes of his that meet yours in the mirror once more.

“This silly month might be over in two days but that doesn’t mean your naughty lil’ pussy will get fucked anytime soon, sweet girl. Not if she doesn’t take it for Daddy now…”

Thick tears spill down your cheeks, wetting Nanami’s hand as the oppressive tension in the tiny powder room grows suffocating. You'd get what you wanted, alright—

Nanami would break No Nut November and fuck you stupid—

—but only on his terms.

Anticipation and dread knot tighter in your belly, a dizzying cocktail of fear and excitement. You’re in no position to stall now, and Nanami’s patience has long since rotted away.

"Can’t decide?" 

Nanami drawls, voice dark with amusement. 

"Then we'll defer to the lewd lil’ brat between your legs, hm?"

Without another word, Nanami hooks two fingers into the gusset of your soaked panties. The lace gives a pitiful snap as he rips them clean off, stuffing the ruined fabric into his pocket like a prize. Before you can catch your breath from the shock of it, his hand slaps harshly against your drenched pussy—an obscene, wet crack that ricochets off the cramped bathroom walls.

You jolt forward with a sharp, broken whimper, your thighs quivering as the sting melts deliciously into heat. Nanami just watches in the mirror, his lips curling into a wicked smirk as he drinks in the sight of you coming undone from just a single strike.

Now bare, the cool air brings a chill to your exposed, leaking cunt.

SMACK

Another sharp slap lands against your throbbing cunt and your knees almost buckle from the pleasureful sting. 

Nanami hums in satisfaction, his fingers dipping lower to ghost over the sticky mess leaking out from your twitching hole.

“Looks like she’s already made the decision for you, princess. That’s two against one.”

You flinch as you feel his cock pulse in between your cheeks—impatient, demanding, aching to be acknowledged. 

Nanami’s own body is thrumming with need, to bury himself to the hilt, to fuck you so deep his cock kisses your cervix, the force of his hips so powerful they’d leave their imprint on your skin soft skin even the next day.

“…I stand corrected, make that three against one.”

And so your fate is sealed—which is how you ended up in this position now—squatting before Nanami on the bathroom floor, staring up at him as he looms above you. Your bottom lip catches between your teeth in nervous anticipation as you watch his practiced fingers work his belt open, the slow, torturous pace makes your pussy clench.

“I really should put you over my knee for a proper spanking, princess.” 

Namani’s belt buckle clinks, as he undoes his zipper and he slides his slacks down just enough that his cock springs free—flushed red, and already dribbling beads of pre down his large veiny shaft.

“But we can save that for after your family leaves—at the very least.”

The metaphorical hearts in your eyes drown out the implications of any further punishment later. You just nod dumbly, too transfixed by the primal scent wafting off his cock as it stands proudly, heavy and imposing, bobbing directly above your face. 

Oh, you’ve missed it bad. 

You don’t know how you survived this entire time without it.

“Open.”

Finally obedient for the first time all month, you don’t protest or pout. You simply part your lips wide, presenting your tongue without hesitation.

Three times—Nanami’s weepy tip taps against your tongue, smearing precum across the soft bumpy surface and you are keening at the familiar, salty taste. 

Biting back a groan, Nanami’s eyes momentarily flutter shut. 

Reveling in the comforting pleasure of your tongue against his sensitive tip. 

When Nanami finally opens his eyes again it takes everything in him not to spill himself right there, utterly ruin that pretty face of yours before he even gets started. Nanami tightens his grip around the base of his shaft because fuck—you look absolutely destroyed already, your glazed-over eyes locked onto his cock as though it were a holy relic. 

Awe-stricken, mesmerized, your mouth opens wider, wordlessly inviting him to sheath himself inside fully and return to the cozy confines of your throat—a place he’d been aching to bury himself in for weeks.

My God, you’d really be the end of him one of these days.

“We don’t have much time to spare. Be a good girl and prep her for me, won’t you sweetheart?” 

The raw desperation bleeding into Nanami’s voice goes unnoticed by you, too lost in your own pleasure to realize just how close he is to completely snapping. Your plump lips closing around his swollen cockhead as your tongue flicks sharply before flattening over the tender slit.

Of course, you don’t neglect yourself either—one hand wrapping around his girth to guide him deeper into your mouth’s wet molten cavern—the other snakes between your legs to your exposed pussy that is already eagerly leaking droplets onto the tiled floor. 

Your fingers feel good of course, but they aren’t enough—truly, nothing has been since Nanami put you through the trials of NNN this month. But now with his cock cradled between your lips, knowing he’d soon be inside your pussy causes her to tingle even from your own touch this time. You don’t hesitate to sink them deeper inside your slippery cunt, pumping yourself frantically, so riled up by the sounds of Nanami’s suppressed hisses and the vulgar slurps of you sucking him off.

It’s been a whole month since you’ve had him in your mouth and thankfully, you haven’t lost your touch or your practically non-existent gag reflex—not by a longshot. 

As a further testament to your skill, Nanami threads his fingers through your hair, guiding your movements as he rolls his hips forward in a slow, greedy thrust. His lust-darkened eyes remain locked onto your lips, transfixed by the way they stretch obscenely to accommodate him. 

The salacious sight driving him past limits for the nth time tonight, Nanami presses your head down until your nose nestles into the neatly trimmed hairs at his base. He’s so deep in your throat his length is nudging past your tonsils. 

You moan wantonly, throat stretched out so obediently around his cock as Nanami’s palm closes firmly around your neck. His fingers flex, savoring the way he can feel the thick outline of himself bulging through your tender skin, the vibrations of your desperate whimpers rippling straight up his shaft.

Instinctively, your throat tightens even more, eliciting another sharp hiss of approval from him. You feel the heavy, pulsing vein along the underside of his shaft pressing deliciously against your vocal cords—a clear reminder of how badly he's missed this. 

Yet before you can fully appreciate the exquisite stretch, Nanami’s composure shatters completely.

Using your mouth as a fleshlight, Nanami tips his head back, letting go.

Who the fuck cares that he technically caved to your bratty whims? 

That this wouldn’t teach your slutty lil’ cunt a single lesson about behaving in the long run? 

If anything, it only meant he’d have to keep fucking you nice and sweet all over again, something that he’d gladly do over again if the delayed release felt this good everytime.

"Such a good little slut for Daddy, aren’t you? You can’t help but to crave my cock, hm princess?"

More groaning pulsations around his cock are the only answers you are capable of at the moment and of course that encourages more hushed curses to roll off Nanami’s tongue. The tight, punishing hold he has on you, keeps you in place. 

Fortunately, this allows you to lower the hand that isn’t feverishly scissoring your pussy, loosening your tight walls for her long awaited turn, to rub your neglected lil’ clit. Your thighs shake from the burn of squatting and your tear smeared mascara burns your vision—but you don’t care. For the first time in a month you were about to be successful in making yourself cum.

So close m’gawd—m’gonna cum!

You can nearly taste the suffocating pleasure building, hurling you steadily to your peak—and yet abruptly, Nanami pulls out—because he can’t afford to cum now. 

Not in your throat at least.

The action leaves you choking, gasping for air as spit and pre-cum are splattered across your chin. Your hands instinctively ripped away from your pussy, thwarting your impending orgasm as you have to catch yourself from completely falling over.

"Hands on the sink." 

The command is gruff, the strain evident in Nanami’s voice—but you’re still the bigger mess by far.

You nod obediently, though your legs tremble so badly they nearly give out beneath you. Nanami has no patience left to spare. Gripping you roughly, he yanks you upright, a resounding smack landing on your ass before he turns you toward the mirror with a force that leaves your head spinning. You collapse against the sink, elbows bracing against the cold porcelain, panting and gasping as your chest heaves—desperately trying to catch up with the ruthless pace he’s setting.

“No, absolutely not—."

Nanami lifts you upright against him again, grabbing your jaw and tilting your flushed, tear-streaked face up to the mirror.

"—you must look at me while I fuck you, my sweet girl. Look at whose cock you’ve been dying to slut yourself for.”

Nanami’s girth prods against your soaked entrance that’s already fluttering, hungry to have him plunged inside you. Yet you still can’t help as your heart races knowing that after nearly a month of waiting, you’d be lucky to be able to walk after this—fuck you really didn’t think this through when you deviously planned to break his ‘No Nut November’!

Yet there's no more time for thinking as with a snap of Nanami’s hips, the stretch is instant, intrusively overwhelming as Nanami bottoms out with one sharp thrust into your guts. Your lungs deflate, all the air pushed out as you can feel his cursed energy tentatively radiating off of him. 

You’re so full your tummy can’t even flex and this time it’s your own hands this time that have to fly to your mouth to keep your cries in as Nanami does not give you a single moment to adjust, his hard length ripping through you and smashing against your womb.

“My girl thought she was being cute out there, hm? Showing off like that?” 

Nanami growls through gritted teeth, his hips slapping against yours with an unforgiving force bolstered ever so slightly by his cursed energy. The rhythmic slaps of skin meeting skin and wet squeaks from your oozing core echo off the walls like a drumline.

You can hardly see Nanami now through your bleary, tear-filled eyes but he looks more like a wild animal than your perfectly composed boyfriend in this state. Nanami had never fucked you with this curse energy activated so the feeling was sensational as you felt his cock pierce through every nerve of your body.

“C’mon, my sweet slutty girl, no words now that Daddy is stuffing you better than the Thanksgiving turkey?” 

Nanami’s fingers dig into your shoulder keeping you upright as he pistons into you harder, deeper—right against the sweet spot that has your eyes rolling back into your head and you forgetting your very name. His other palm slides to your stomach to feel the thick bulge of his cock filling you and press down forcibly moving your hips back to meet his bruising thrusts when your body can no longer do anything more but take it.

You can feel the sensuous pressure building quickly within you, so full, so ready to explode and gush all over Namani’s length drilling into you. 

Mmmm, good god yessss! 

You are finally getting your nut. 

Nothing else mattered. Your face contorts in your aching pleasure behind your hands.

You’re almost there.

Nanami is growling into your neck, feeling your imminent release. 

“Don’t tell me my slutty girl is already abou—”

“Huh, Is this the bathroom? Sweetie, are you in there? Where’s Nanami?”

Your mom’s voice crashes through the filthy haze like a gunshot, and pure panic rockets up your spine. The tiny bathroom spins around you, Nanami still buried deep inside, your heart lurching so violently you almost faint.

Approaching the door, she hastily knocks.

Fuck!

Your eyes widen in horror but Nanami doesn’t flinch. 

This was your punishment after all and your consequence to bear. 

Though Nanami does slow the feverish pace, that mere moments ago had the sounds of your flesh ringing off the walls, his hips never still completely. 

Instead, his movements grow more deliberate, more precise. 

With a commanding grip on your waist and hips, his cock grinds methodically against your cervix, each rotation of his pelvis powerful and calculated.

God, you swear you can feel his cock grinding up into your fucking ribs…

“Go on, answer her…” 

Nanami goads you with low raspy whispers. Once he guides your body into a rhythm, his hands lazily wander up to pull your sweater dress completely down in the front and tweak your nipples.

Damn him! But— FUCK, if it doesn’t feel so, so good.

The well of drool you were holding in spills through your hands to dribble down your wrists

“These naughty fuckin’ lips had no problem mouthing off at the dinner table, whats wrong now sweetheart?”

What was wrong was Nanami slowly churning your core into liquified mush with his torturous strokes scraping against your womb. 

This pace was somehow even more brutal than before.

But your mom now jiggling the door knob snaps your attention back to the urgent reality of the situation.

“Are you okay in there, honey?”

No you weren’t okay! 

Nanami was driving you to insanity. You needed more. 

This wasn't enough to make you cum, only keep you dangerously on the edge of it while your body screamed for release.

But you had to answer your mother, she is totally the type to beat down the door and then your dad might force Nanami into a shotgun wedding right here and now, roping your uncle in to officiate. (That idea did make you giggle but that ultimately was NOT how you wanted to get married to Nanami!)

“Umm, er—AH! Hah, I, uh, um… jus’ ate t-too much momma, m’s-sick…shiiiit.”

You nearly bite a chunk out of your tongue as Nanami's hand leaves your waist to draw slow agonizing circles around your clit in perfect sync with his grinding while the other lazily flicks your nipples.

“Oh no sweetie, you need me to come in there to help you, pooh?”

“N-NO! Nnngh!”

You said that a bit hastily, trying to recover. 

You had to convince your mom you were fine. Well fine enough she'd be persuaded to leave you alone.

“Mmm, n-no, Momma, m-ma’am, I-I just need a minute…I-I’ll be out!”

“Okay, well I’m just a holler away, if you do…”

Thank fuck…

“Oh, and one more thing?”

God what now?! Let it end please...

Rolling your eyes in exasperation you exhale through your teeth, keeping your shit together somehow. The irony was not lost on you—now knowing exactly how Nanami felt at the dinner table.

“Y-Yes m-ma’am?”

“You never told me where Nanami ran off too, I couldn’t find him in the kitchen.”

Gnawing on your inner cheek you suppress a needy moan as Nanami takes to placing nuzzling kisses into the crook of your neck.

“The s-store! I t-think he went to the store, Mom… U-Uh, for the pies. Y-Yeah, um, to make w-whipped cream!”

It was the first excuse that popped into your head—and thankfully, it was enough. With not much more fuss from her, you finally hear your mom’s footsteps retreating back down the hall, her worries laid to rest for now.

Moreover, your lies also earn you dark chuckles from Nanami, who couldn’t help but breathe filthy praises in your ear. Relentlessly taunting you with what your mother might say if she knew she'd raised such a naughty, deceitful lil’ slut.

“Whipped cream, hm? When did my sweet girl turn into such an underhanded brat?”

You manage to twist just enough to throw a pout over your shoulder at Nanami—only to find him watching you with a rare shit-eating grin stretching across his usually stoic features.

“Something wrong, my love?”

You can't take this teasing any longer—it's downright villainous—and with a sob of frustration, you snap, squirming and cooing for him to finally give you what you want.

“Pwease, K-Ken, m’sorry, *sniff* I won’t act up anymore. *sniff* I promise.”

There she is. 

There’s his good girl that’s been hiding all along under that slutty Hyde-like brat.

Nanami hums, pleased with the turn of events. All the sass in you temporarily melting away.

“F-Forgive me…please, s-sir?”

Sir.

Oh you little minx. 

If hearing you call him Daddy thrilled the dom in Nanami, then hearing you whimper sir—so soft, so desperate—nearly drove him feral. He knew he'd broken you the moment the brat in you crumbled enough to say it without a hint of defiance or sarcasm.

“If I finally make this slutty lil’ cunt cum...are you going to take all of Daddy’s in your pretty pussy like a good girl?” 

You nod whispering through your sniffles.

“And when we return to the living room you will continue to act like the respectable young lady that Daddy trained you to be?”

You’re bobbing your head in affirmation but Nanami needs to hear it again, hear you call him that delicious little word from your lips once more.

“Words, babydoll.”

“Y-Yes, sir! I-I’ll be so good for you… I-I’ll—”

However, Nanami hushes you with a soft murmur, pressing a tender kiss to your cheek, his voice smoothing into a warm, calming lull.

“I know you will doll. I want you to let it all go, everything you've been holding for me all month—I’ve got you sweetheart.”

And it hasn’t been just you holding it, not by a long shot.

Nanami’s brow prespires as his muscles tremble from the sheer restraint he’s been holding onto all month—restraint he’s finally ready to cast aside. He delights in the way your body quivers, hunched and pliant beneath him, before snapping his hips forward and resuming the merciless pace that had you falling apart earlier.

You sob in raw relief, the sound abruptly cut off as Nanami’s hand tightens around your throat—firm but careful—silencing you while your fingers scramble for purchase against the sink, clinging to it like a lifeline as the rough pads of his fingers feverishly strum over your clit.

“I thought my sweet girl wanted to cum, hm? So then cum for me.” 

Nanami’s voice is all silk and sin, his cock pulsing deep inside your creamy cunt. 

However, twice now you’ve been edged and you think you might just combust on the spot if for some godforsaken reason it happens a third time. 

You can’t even form a coherent sound to respond to him though—your body strung so tightly—buzzing with a frantic cocktail of need, paranoia, and overstimulation. 

You wanna let go so bad. 

When the coil inside you finally snaps, your sweet, celestial orgasm crashes down in violent, shuddering waves, that has Nanami’s hand returning to your mouth in order to suppress it enough not to draw attention.

When the coil inside you finally snaps, pleasure detonates through your body in wild, celestial bursts—so fierce Nanami has to slap his hand back over your mouth to smother the desperate, lewd sounds lest you draw more attention.

Growling in response to your convulsing grip on his cock, Nanami, drives one more hard slam of his hips into your ass as thick, molten ropes of cum spill into you, painting your insides white.He doesn’t stop—rubbing cruelly slow circles into your swollen clit with the pads of his fingers, forcing every last aftershock to wrack your body while he stays sheathed inside you.

A feral growl rumbles from Nanami's chest as your spasming walls clamp down around him. With a final, punishing thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, spilling thick, molten ropes of cum deep inside you—painting your insides completely white. He doesn’t relent there, the rough pads of his fingers working merciless circles over your swollen clit, wringing every last shudder and twitch from your overstimulated body as he stays locked inside you, refusing to let a single drop go to waste.

Nanami is claiming you from the inside out—filling you so completely it almost hurts—and fuck, if the way your abused, sloppy pussy kept milking him didn’t make him want to start all over again.

The urgency of your current situation is momentarily forgotten as Nanami relishes every helpless flutter of your cunt around him—along every obscene, wet squelch of his cum sloshing inside your womb. 

It's addicting. Dangerously so.

Nanami almost regrets having nearly spent an entire month without it. Yet now that he’d broken ‘No Nut November’ he wasn’t about to let up on you anytime soon—you were still owed that spanking later tonight after all.

Nevertheless after a minute Nanami does pull out, albeit reluctantly. 

Grabbing a spare hand towel, he dampens it with cool water, and gives you a few through swipes—dragging it over your trembling thighs, sticky tummy, and the flushed rise of your chest. 

Nanami doesn’t bother wiping between your legs, letting the thick mess of his cum drip down your inner thighs unchecked, hidden under the hem of your dress as he tugs it roughly back into place. 

Also part of your punishment. By the time he’s done, you almost look innocent—if not for the way your frizzy hair clings to your temples and the slightly dazed flush about your face.

It would have to be good enough—for now at least—especially since Nanami is always the one stuck covering for your half-baked lies.

“Now, quickly grab your shoes and we’ll slip out the back.” 

You simply blink at him, still a bit out of it from the first actually satisfying orgasm you had all month.

“Huh? Why?” 

Nanami’s smirk is devious as he clicks his belt into place. 

“Darling, you told your mother I went to the store to buy whipped cream for the pies.”

“So?”

Nanami’s grin turns wolfish, clearly amused as the brat he spent so long fucking into submission claws her way right back to the surface.

“So sweet girl, we can’t exactly serve them the cream I just made inside of you, now can we, princess?”

Goddamnit. You’re pouting, realizing how your mouth has talked you into all sorts of problems today. 

“Now hurry along, my love. Oh, and you better keep those thighs of yours closed tight—I don’t think aisle 5 is equipped to clean up that kind of creamy spill.”

blkkizzat ©2023-2024 no ai, reposting, plagiarism nor translation allowed.

𝐚/𝐧: so is nanami more out of pocket here for nnn than otaku!gojo was? lmfao, you decide 🤭.

comment and reblog to let me know how you liked it~~

idk why but it took me forever to get this fic in a place where I like it. I still may go back and edit it a bit again, fix any remaining errors. (I wrote so many paragraphs like 3x over that there might be repeating lines im so sorry I tried to delete them all).

last up but definitely not least is Higuruma, Hiromi (comment on m.list for tag). not sure when i will get his part out. I want to go back and work on like a handful of things but it's also like 70% done so we will see lol.

[rafecameronssl4t]

Actors on Actors || Drew Starkey x actress!reader

Summary: Actress!reader and Drew partaking in Variety's Actors on Actors!!

Warnings: not proofread sozz

Word count: 3,057 loooong one

A/n: damn I felt like I was in the interview room for this one

MASTERLIST

Drew couldn’t keep his eyes off you as the crew flitted around, prepping for the Actors on Actors interview with Variety. You were standing just a few feet away, laughing lightly at something one of the staff members had said, your head tilted back, eyes sparkling. To him, you looked utterly breathtaking—ethereal, even. Everyone knew Drew Starkey had the biggest crush on you.

He was never subtle about it, often caught in candid interviews or behind-the-scenes clips praising you, his admiration so obvious it became a running joke among his friends and colleagues. But right now, as he adjusted his mic and watched you from the corner of his eye, he wished he hadn’t been so vocal about it. His nerves were getting the best of him.

What if he said something dumb? What if you already thought he was just some lovesick fool? He swallowed hard, trying to calm the fluttering in his chest as you walked toward the set, your heels clicking softly against the floor. “Drew Starkey,” you greeted warmly, a radiant smile lighting up your features as you settled into the armchair opposite him.

You sat first, crossing your legs effortlessly, the picture of poise. “Y/n,” Drew smiled back, leaning forward slightly to kiss both of your cheeks. The casual intimacy of the gesture sent his pulse racing, but he played it cool as you let out a soft laugh, your perfume lingering faintly in the air.

“How’s it going?” he asked, his tone steady, though there was a barely perceptible edge to it—a nervous undertone that betrayed just how much this moment meant to him. His gaze lingered on yours, longer than what might be considered polite, but you didn’t seem to mind. “I’m good, and—” You paused mid-sentence as Drew suddenly leaned forward, his brows knitting together.

“Sorry—hold on,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower, softer, as his fingers reached toward the hem of your dress. “You’ve got a little something.” Before you could respond, he gently plucked a stray piece of lint from the fabric, his fingertips brushing ever so lightly against the material.

The touch was fleeting, almost inconsequential, but it sent a quiet thrill up your spine, one you quickly masked with a polite chuckle. “Oh—thanks,” you said, your voice airy as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re welcome,” Drew replied, his lips curving into a shy grin, his usual confidence momentarily replaced by something more boyish and endearing.

For a moment, you could swear his ears turned a little pink. You leaned back, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you studied him. Of course you knew Drew Starkey had a crush on you. It wasn’t exactly a secret.

But there was something undeniably flattering about it—something that made you feel just a bit lighter, a bit more self-assured. However, you'd be lying if you said you didn't have a crush on him. It was Drew Starkey after all.

Your eyes met again, and the silence between you stretched into something that felt almost electric. Both of you wore soft, bashful smiles, the moment teetering between unspoken words and playful tension. Finally, you broke into a small laugh, breaking the spell, and Drew looked away, scratching the back of his neck, his own smile lingering despite himself.

“You know,” you began, shifting slightly in your seat, “it’s kind of funny. We’ve both been at so many of the same events, but we’ve never actually talked until now.” Drew chuckled, his posture relaxing just a little. “I know, right? It’s crazy. First time was… the Glass Onion premiere, wasn’t it?”

You nodded, humming in agreement. “Yeah, I was there supporting Madelyn," Drew spoke. "Ugh, I miss Maddie," You give a small pout as Drew chuckles. “And then Immaculate, I remember standing right behind you in the photo line.” You laughed, your cheeks warming at the memory.

“Oh my god, yes! And somehow, we still didn’t even say hi.” “And then the Queer premiere a couple weeks ago,” Drew said, shaking his head in disbelief. “Right,” you said, leaning forward slightly as your laughter softened into a chuckle. “It’s wild how we’ve been orbiting around each other this whole time.”

“Crazy, huh?” Drew murmured, his voice lower now, his eyes soft as they lingered on you. The way he looked at you was different—not just admiration, but genuine warmth, curiosity, and something else you couldn’t quite place. “How’s everything been?” Drew asks, leaning back in his chair, his voice warm but tinged with curiosity, as if he genuinely wants to know every detail.

“It’s good,” you reply with a soft smile, shifting slightly in your seat. “I’m here in LA, which is nice—” Before you can finish, he interjects, his brow arching in curiosity. “You’re from New England, right?” You click your tongue playfully, tilting your head at him. “I see someone’s done their research, Mr. Starkey,” you tease, flashing him a playful wink.

Drew’s grin widens, and he throws his head back in laughter, the sound rich and easy, like he’s completely at ease for the first time since the cameras started rolling. “I had to, didn’t I? You’re not exactly an open book. I had to dig deep.” “Oh, is that so?” you challenge, your voice lilting with mock skepticism.

“Well, since you’re so curious, tell me—what do you know about New England?” you challenge, leaning forward slightly. He grins, but it’s a little sheepish. “Not much, if I’m honest. You’ll have to fill in the blanks for me. What’s it like there?” Your eyes widen in exaggerated disbelief, your hand fluttering to your chest like you’ve been insulted.

“Wait—you’ve never been? My goodness, Drew! Come with me, and I’ll show you around properly,” you say, your tone teasing but full of warmth. His smile softens, and he leans in just a little. “I’d like that very much,” he says, his voice carrying a quiet sincerity that makes your breath hitch for a fraction of a second. “Well then,” you reply with a chuckle, regaining your composure.

“I think we can organise something. You’re from North Carolina, yeah?” Drew hums in confirmation, his grin widening. “Born and raised. But I gotta admit, New England sounds pretty tempting now.” “It should,” you quip, pointing at him playfully. Then, after a beat, you lean in slightly, an amused gleam in your eye.

“Can I just say—and I’m sure you get this a lot—I’m a huge fan of Outer Banks.” Drew raises an eyebrow, his grin turning slightly bashful as he rubs the back of his neck. “Oh no, don’t tell me you’re team Pogue,” he jokes, but his eyes are fixed on you with a playful sparkle.

You snort softly, clasping your hands together in your lap. “Not quite. But I’ve gotta say, you play Rafe so convincingly. How do you approach a character like Rafe? I mean, you’re, you know… the complete opposite of him.” You chuckle, your words carrying a mix of admiration and disbelief.

Drew leans back in his chair, rubbing his chin thoughtfully before clearing his throat. “Well, Rafe is a challenge, to say the least. He’s not your typical villain. It’s easy to hate him on the surface, but if you dig deeper, he’s this broken guy with so many vulnerabilities. That’s where I try to focus—on making him human. I want people to see why he makes those awful decisions, even if they don’t agree with them. It’s all about balance.”

You nod, your expression softening as you listen. “That’s fascinating,” you say earnestly. “It’s definitely what makes him such a compelling character.” Drew smiles, but you notice something different about his gaze. He isn’t just answering your question—he’s watching you, his eyes holding a softness that makes your heart skip a beat.

Before the moment can linger too long, Drew shifts the focus back to you. “And your character in Ghosted,” he says, his voice warm and curious. “It’s so different from anything you’ve done before. How did you prepare for that role?” You smile at the question, grateful for his genuine interest.

“It was a lot of emotional work,” you admit, leaning back slightly. “She’s so different from me in so many ways. I spent a lot of time understanding her motivations, her fears, and what drives her. It’s a very internal role, so the process was… draining, to say the least. But also rewarding.” Drew’s lips curve into a soft smile as he leans forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees.

“Sounds intense,” he says, his voice quieter now. “I’ve always wondered in the film how you guys manage to keep it together when the emotions run that deep.” You shrug lightly, a thoughtful smile tugging at your lips. “It’s not easy, but that’s the beauty of the craft, isn’t it? Tapping into those emotions and channelling them into something real.”

Drew nods, his expression softening even further. There’s something unspoken in his gaze—something that lingers longer than words can express. “Yeah,” he says finally, his voice dropping just a fraction. “I get that. And for what it’s worth, I think you’re incredible. I’ve seen your work—it’s inspiring.” His words hang in the air, heavy with sincerity, and you can’t help the rush of warmth that floods your chest.

A small, genuine smile spreads across your face. “I could say the same for you,” you reply softly, your eyes meeting his. For a moment, it’s like the rest of the room fades away, leaving just the two of you, sharing something unspoken yet deeply understood. Drew shifts in his seat, leaning forward slightly, his curiosity evident. “So, let’s talk about Saltburn. You played Venetia Catton. How did you even begin to prepare for a role like that?"

You smile, the mention of Saltburn immediately bringing back memories. “Honestly, Venetia was one of the most challenging but rewarding roles I’ve ever taken on. Emerald Fennell has such a sharp, specific vision as a director, and she brought so much depth to every single character. Venetia wasn’t just the surface-level socialite that she might appear to be at first glance. She’s deeply entrenched in this world of privilege, but there’s a kind of desperation underneath it all—this need to hold it all together, to maintain this facade of control.”

Drew nods, his expression thoughtful. “I feel like Emerald has this incredible knack for creating characters who feel both larger than life and painfully real. What was it like working with her?” “Incredible,” you answer without hesitation. “Emerald is so collaborative and detail-oriented, but she also gives you the freedom to bring your own interpretation to the role. She’s this powerhouse of creativity, and you always feel like you’re in safe hands with her. She’s also hilarious—like, incredibly funny—so even on the more intense days, there was always this underlying sense of ease on set.”

Drew smiles at that, clearly invested. “And then there’s the cast. I mean, Rosamund Pike, Barry Keoghan, Jacob Elordi—they’re all such giving actors. What was it like working alongside them?” You exhale softly, recalling the dynamic energy of the cast. “It was surreal, honestly. Rosamund Pike is… well, she’s Rosamund Pike. She’s this commanding presence on set, but she’s also so warm and generous as a scene partner. Barry, on the other hand, is just a chameleon. He’s fearless in the way he approaches his craft, and watching him work was like taking a masterclass every day.”

“And Jacob?” Drew asks, his tone light but curious. “He’s been everywhere lately.” “Jacob’s amazing,” you reply with a smile. “He’s so grounded, which is kind of funny considering the larger-than-life characters he’s been playing lately. But on set, he’s just this really laid-back, thoughtful guy. We had a lot of fun with our scenes together—he brings this kind of effortless charisma that makes everything feel natural.”

Drew leans back in his chair, letting out a low whistle. “That’s a stacked team. No pressure at all, right?” You laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, no pressure whatsoever. Just casually working with some of the most talented people in the industry.” “Well, you pulled it off,” Drew says sincerely. “Venetia felt so fully realised—like, even in her silences, there was so much going on beneath the surface. It was fascinating to watch.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, his compliment catching you off guard. There’s an earnestness in his voice that makes your heart skip a beat. “So,” you say, shifting into the next topic, “you’ve played a lot of interesting characters—Rafe Cameron, of course, but also roles like Zach in The Other Zoey and the projects you’ve got coming up. Do you feel like people expect you to stick to certain kinds of roles because of how iconic Rafe has become?”

Drew’s smile fades just a little, his expression turning thoughtful. He seems to appreciate the question, his blue eyes searching yours for a moment before he answers. “Yeah, there’s definitely that expectation sometimes,” he admits. “Rafe is such a big character, and I think when people see you in one role, they assume that’s all you can do. But as actors, we want to stretch ourselves, you know? Surprise people.”

He pauses, his gaze never leaving yours. “It’s kind of like you, actually,” he adds softly. “You’ve done dramas, you’ve done comedies… you’ve proven that you’re not just one thing. I think that’s what makes people really root for you—you're versatile. You don’t let them put you in a box.” The sincerity in his tone catches you off guard, and you can feel heat rise to your cheeks again. You shift slightly in your seat, trying not to let his words completely throw you off balance.

“That’s… really nice of you to say,” you murmur, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I think that’s the beauty of what we do, right? Showing people different sides of ourselves, through the characters we play.” Drew nods, his eyes softening. “Exactly. You just said it better than I could.” You smile, letting the moment hang between you for just a beat longer than it probably should.

You adjust in your seat, leaning forward slightly as you shift the focus of the interview. “Alright, let’s talk about Queer. You play Eugene, and from everything I’ve heard, it’s such an emotionally rich and complex role. What drew you to it, Drew?" You smile as he laughs. “Honestly, it was the script. You know with it being based on William S. Burroughs’ novel, and the way it explored themes of longing, identity, and self-destruction… it was just so raw. Eugene is such a fascinating character because he’s flawed, but you can’t help but empathise with him. It felt like a challenge I couldn’t pass up.”

You nod, smiling softly. “It sounds like it required you to really dig deep emotionally. Was it intimidating stepping into a story like that?” “Completely,” Drew admits with a laugh. “But it was also the kind of role that forces you to grow as an actor. I had to be vulnerable in a way I hadn’t been before, which was scary but also freeing. And having someone like Luca Guadagnino directing—it felt like a safety net, you know? He creates such a safe, collaborative environment.”

“Luca’s brilliant,” you agree, your voice filled with admiration. “And then there’s Daniel Craig. What was your experience working with him? I mean- I remember working with him on Glass Onion and being blow away by how meticulous he is." Drew grins, a flicker of boyish excitement crossing his face. “Oh, he’s incredible. Daniel is one of those actors who’s just so present in every scene. He has this intensity, but he’s also really generous as a scene partner. He listens, reacts—he makes you feel like what you’re doing really matters.”

You smile, nodding your head, "He's also got such a great sense of humour!" Drew laughs, nodding. “Exactly! Like, he can go from delivering this super heavy, emotional scene to cracking a joke that has the entire crew in stitches. It’s such a unique balance, and it keeps the energy on set really light, even during the intense moments.”

“Do you have a favourite memory with him from filming?” you ask, genuinely curious. “There’s this one scene we did that was really emotionally charged—like, full-on tears and everything,” Drew begins, his smile softening. “After we wrapped the take, I was still kind of in that headspace, and Daniel just clapped me on the shoulder and said, ‘Well, that was bloody exhausting, wasn’t it?’ It snapped me out of it, and we both just started laughing. It was one of those moments where you realise, ‘Okay, this is heavy, but it’s also what we love to do.’”

You laugh at the image of Daniel’s bluntness, shaking your head. “That’s so him. He has a way of grounding you, doesn’t he?” “Completely,” Drew agrees. “And honestly, having him on set made me feel like I had to step up my game. He’s such a pro, and you can’t help but want to match that level of commitment.”

You tilt your head, studying him for a moment. “It sounds like Queer really pushed you as an actor, in the best way.” “It did,” Drew says earnestly. “And, you know, hearing you talk about working with Daniel—what was it like for you? I mean, I imagine Glass Onion had a very different vibe, but I’m sure he brought that same energy.”

“Oh, absolutely,” you reply. “Daniel has this way of making everyone feel like they’re part of something special. And with Glass Onion, there was this playful energy because the story is so twisty and fun, but Daniel was always so focused and intentional with every scene.” Drew leans in slightly, clearly fascinated. “Did you ever have one of those moments with him where you just stopped and thought, ‘Wow, I’m working with James Bond’?”

You laugh, nodding. “More than once! It’s impossible not to. But then you get to know him, and he’s just… Daniel. Down-to-earth, funny, and incredibly kind. It makes you forget about the whole ‘James Bond’ thing—at least for a little while.” Drew grins. “That’s good to know. I feel like we’ve both been lucky to work with him, even if I’m still a little starstruck.”

“That’s what Daniel Craig does to you, ladies and gentlemen,” you teased, your laughter light as you pointed at the camera, winking playfully. Drew’s amused chuckle followed, a soft sound that matched the warmth in your tone. The atmosphere of the interview had shifted, the playful banter between the two of you creating an easy camaraderie as the conversation drew to a close.

“Well, I think we’ve discovered we have a lot in common after all,” Drew said, his smile widening as he turned toward you. His eyes glinted with a mix of amusement and genuine appreciation. “This has been a great pairing, truly.”

Your smile softened as you met his gaze, the connection between the two of you almost palpable. “I think so too,” you responded, your voice light and sincere, a soft chuckle escaping you as your gaze lingered on him. “Very great pairing,” you added, your words more than just agreement—there was an unspoken understanding, a mutual respect that hung in the air.

Drew’s smile widened slightly at your reply, the chemistry between the two of you becoming more evident as the final moments of the interview came into focus. Despite the cameras and the public personas, there was something undeniably real in the exchange, something that hinted at more than just a professional connection.

[hxlxnaaa]

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 ─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─ 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬

★ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: it's your senior year at the aerospace academy, and over the course of nine months, your connection with caleb shifts from mere classmates and acquaintances to something deeper. but there's one problem—the girl he loves back home.

★ 𝐜𝐰/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: first person pov, non-mc reader, feminine implied reader, some connections to caleb’s 4-star tender moments, angst/hurt + no comfort, kinda long but fast paced

★ 𝐰𝐜: 11.1k

★ 𝐚/𝐧: longest fic i've written yet, go me woot woot :p i wanted to write heartbreak so here it is. pls do not have your therapist bill me, thx! anyways when caleb goes, ‘i wont get a girlfriend’ in stage observer, he sounds kinda down, right? yeah imagine hes thinking about you (the reader) in this as he says that LOL. okay, (try to) enjoy lovelies!! <3

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠, 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐬𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝!

I never believed I’d let something like this happen to me. 

Yet it crept in quietly, the way all irreversible things do. A shift so subtle I almost missed it, until I was already too deep to turn back.

It was in the lingering glances, in the way the air felt charged in the spaces between us. In the laughter that came too easily, the silences that felt safe, the moments that stretched just a little too long. It was in the way he looked at me; like maybe, for a second, he saw something more.

But love, if you can call it that, isn’t always kind. Sometimes, it’s a quiet war. A battle between logic and longing, between what’s real and what’s only ever been wishful thinking. And when the person you want is still holding onto someone else, someone they can’t seem to let go of, where does that leave you?

I swore I’d keep my balance; though gravity has a mind of its own.

August-

It was breezy, as are most August days in Skyhaven. Fumbling my fingers through my hair, desperately trying to comb through any loose strands from the wind, I tried to make myself look somewhat presentable for my first day of classes. It was senior year, and I wanted to make the most of it for once, as it felt like the past few years had been me barely passing by. 

I sat down in the lecture hall, music blaring through my headphones as I fidgeted nervously with the pen in my hand. It wasn’t long before a figure sat next to me in my peripheral, and I internally groaned.

‘You have this whole ass lecture hall with so many empty seats in this row, and you sit right next to me. Dick.’ I thought to myself.

Seeing the person tap on my desk, I glanced over to notice it was Caleb.

We had crossed paths before, orbiting the same social circles through mutual friends. Our interactions had been fleeting, exchanged pleasantries at gatherings or brief moments of conversation that never really dug beneath the surface.

His lips moved as he spoke but I didn’t hear a word he said over the sound of my music. I pulled one of the speakers off my ear, “What?”

“Well first I said ‘hey, what's up?’, then told you I’m glad to know someone in this class.” Caleb smiled, “But then I realized you weren’t listening.”

His grin was infectious. Then again, everything about him was. Caleb was a campus favorite, and for good reason; his effortless charm and magnetic charisma drew everyone in, leaving them captivated.

I smiled back, “I would’ve listened, I just couldn’t hear you.”

“Shoulda tapped you sooner then.”

We talked as more people trickled in, and conversation with him flowed effortlessly. He was almost unfairly likable, the kind of person who won people over without even trying, it was no wonder he had everyone wrapped around his finger.

“Yeah, I failed this class the first time around, so if I want to graduate this spring, I have to finally retake it,” Caleb sighed, shaking his head. “The Caleb failed a class? No way…” Gasping, I clutched my chest in mock shock. “I had no idea you were even capable of failure, Mr. Perfect.”

His lips twitched into a smile at the nickname, but his eyes betrayed him. He shrugged, “Well, I can do it this time around.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I totally didn’t realize I needed this credit.” I poked his hand resting on his desk with my pen, “We’re in this together.”

The professor was about halfway through the syllabus when Caleb started writing on my notebook. 

Do you have class after this?

I looked over at him, mouthing “No”. Not for a few hours, I wrote back. 

Hangout with me after this then

And that’s how I ended up sitting in the quad with Caleb, with the itchy grass prickling my legs and a sweating can of soda in my hand beneath the warm August sun. Yet Caleb’s presence was still warmer; my cheeks and stomach hurt from laughter, and every giggle of mine only fueled the fire of his jokes. 

As the laughter died down, Caleb leaned back on his hands, squinting up at the sky. “Man, I forgot how nice it is to just sit around like this on campus. No deadlines yet, no stress… just kinda existing.”

I took a sip of my soda, nudging his knee with mine. “You make it sound like you’re constantly suffering.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I mean, maybe a little. Gotta keep up the ‘Mr. Perfect’ image, right?”

I tilted my head, studying him. For a second, he looked almost… tired. Like there was more he wanted to say but wasn’t sure how.

“You know you don’t have to be perfect all the time, right?” I said, softer now. “You’re allowed to mess up. You’re allowed to breathe.”

He glanced at me, something flickering in his eyes—surprise, maybe. Or relief. Then, just as quickly, his signature grin returned. “Good to know I’ve got my personal cheerleader.”

I rolled my eyes, but my smile gave me away. “More like your reality check.”

“Even better.” He bumped his shoulder against mine, before laying down on the ground. The sunlight hit his eyes just right, making them glimmer like polished amethyst. With his brown hair tousled against the grass and his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a hint of skin, it wasn’t hard to see why all the girls fawned over him. When it came to looks, Caleb really did live up to the whole Mr. Perfect thing.

“What about you?” Caleb glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “What’s your kryptonite?”

I raised a brow. “Come again?”

He smirked. “Your weakness. What takes you down every time?”

I pretended to think it over, then shot him a cheeky grin. “Probably failure.”

Caleb let out a soft laugh, propping his head up on his elbow. “Alright, I’m sensing some hypocrisy here.”

“It’s not hypocrisy,” I defended, shrugging. “I just fail to take my own advice.”

He tapped his chin, feigning deep thought. “Mm, no, that just makes you a hypocrite. But hey, at least you’re self-aware, Miss perfect.”

Something between us just clicked, that unspoken feeling when you know you’re going to get along with someone. Nothing about our conversation felt forced, it unfolded with an ease that caught us both off guard. I don’t think either of us saw this coming, but somehow, it just made sense.

And so it continued; messing around with Caleb in class, then hanging out in the quad afterward. Our dynamic quickly shifted from casual acquaintances to good friends as our connection bled beyond the classroom. The progression was almost rapid; natural, but undeniable.

Conversations with him came naturally, filled with dry humor, shared ambition, and the kind of unspoken understanding that made being around each other feel easy. We started saving seats for each other without thinking, sharing notes even when we both knew we hadn’t written anything useful, and lingering just a little longer after class, stretching out the moments before we had to part ways.

Afternoons in the quad turned into grabbing coffee, which turned into late-night study sessions that often had more laughing than actual studying. It wasn’t just that we got along; we started to seek each other out, gravitating toward one another like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

It wasn’t just about sharing space; it was about the way we easily fit into each other’s lives like we had always been meant to.

I found myself opening up in ways I never had before, trusting Caleb with thoughts I usually kept locked away. And in return, he let me see past the carefully constructed walls he had built. 

I learned a lot about Caleb in our time spent together; I learned about his dreams and aspirations, his worries and fears, his home back in Linkon and how much of it still clung to him.

And her.

I learned about her.

MC; the kind of nickname all the cool girls had, lifted from their initials like it had always belonged to them. She was innocent, pretty, just the right balance of book-smart and blissfully unaware. The kind of girl who never had to try too hard because the world seemed to bend in her favor. She was perfect in that way, and maybe that’s why Caleb felt like he had to be perfect, too.

She had been his childhood friend, raised alongside him by his gran, their lives tangled together like roots beneath the same old house.

“She’s your sister?” I had asked, unsure of the dynamic.

Caleb hesitated, something unreadable flickering across his face. “No,” he said finally, his voice careful. “Not really. We just grew up together.”

She was everything to him, the quiet force that shaped him in ways he probably didn’t even realize. Everything he did, every careful step he took, was in her image. And suddenly, it all made sense.

The way Caleb kept people at arm’s length, the reason he didn’t have many real friends at the Academy. It wasn't because he didn’t want them, it was because a part of him was still anchored somewhere else; belonged to someone else.

Once, we had sat on the steps outside one of the buildings, his elbows on his knees, staring out at nothing in particular.

“You never really let people in.” I looked over at him, my statement coming out of nowhere.

He let out a short breath, almost a laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Was it that obvious?”

“I didn’t get it back then. Thought maybe you just had too many friends to be really close with any of them.”

He was quiet for a moment, then shook his head. “It wasn’t that,” he admitted. “I just… I already had MC. Growing up the way we did, it was always just us. I guess I never really learned how to need anyone else.”

I glanced at him, but his eyes stayed on the horizon, lost in something I couldn’t see.

“You still do that, you know,” I said. “Keep people just enough away.”

He swallowed hard, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Some habits don’t go away easy.”

“So why am I an exception?”

Caleb exhaled slowly, rubbing his hands together. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe because you didn’t try to push your way in. You just… stayed.”

I frowned. “That’s it?”

He shook his head, a small, almost self-conscious smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “No. It’s more than that.” He glanced at me then, something raw in his eyes. “You just understand the way I think, and nobody has before.”

A silence stretched between us, thick with things neither of us knew how to say.

“You make it sound like some big thing,” I murmured. “Like I did something special.”

He tilted his head slightly, considering me. “Maybe you did.”

His words awakened something in me, an ache settling in my chest. A quiet, gnawing feeling that signaled the start of an internal war; one I never really meant to step into, but quickly became hard to ignore. A silent competition I didn’t sign up for, but suddenly felt compelled to win. 

It wasn’t against MC, not even Caleb himself.

But against the undeniable truth that no matter how close we got, I may never be the one he chooses.

September-

I barely notice the shift at first; the way August hands things off to September, smooth and effortless, like they’ve done this a million times before. Like they were always meant to meet. It feels familiar in a way I can’t explain, like stepping into a conversation that’s already halfway finished but somehow still knowing exactly what’s being said. 

Things with Caleb had settled into a familiar rhythm. On campus, we were either together or in class, our days stitched together by shared moments. Being with him was refreshing, like the first warm breeze after a long winter, a quiet promise that brighter days were ahead. Silence with him was never awkward; it was understood. He always seemed to know what I was thinking, what I meant to say, even when I didn’t say it aloud.

I’d known Caleb for a while, but the way we grew close so quickly felt natural, like we’d been moving toward this all along. It was as if there had always been a space in my mind shaped just for him, waiting for the right moment for him to step in.

The cloudy sky above turned dark with the impending storm coming, but in a rush to meet Caleb, I had hardly noticed until I was halfway to his dorm. Cursing to myself, I silently tried to manifest the rain would hold off until I got back to my own dorm later. 

It was movie day; every Friday afternoon after Caleb and I finished with our classes for the day we would have lunch and watch a movie. He was on hosting duty this week, and his dorm was on the other side of campus. If I got caught in this rain, I’d still have a bit of a walk in the storm before I arrived. 

Almost as if laughing at me, the sky cracked with lightning and thunder rumbled, and I heard the pouring of rain before I felt it.

“Shit!” I picked up the pace, my sneakers splashing through puddles forming on the sidewalks as I started to run. Thunder booming in the sky, I mentally prepared to get struck by lightning and hoped I would be eaten by the campus birds before anyone found my body. 

Trying to take a shortcut through the grass was the worst decision I could have made, as I wasn’t even two feet from the sidewalk before I slipped, landing on my back and getting waterboarded by the sky. “Argh!” I screeched, tears of frustration welling in the corners of my eyes. I sat up, glaring at the students staring at me as they passed by with their umbrellas. 

My whole body was drenched by the time I was outside of Caleb’s; my hair, jeans, and sweater caked with mud (and probably a few stray leaves). 

Making my way upstairs, my cheeks were pink from the cold and embarrassment as everyone in the building looked at me with confusion as my clothes and hair dripped all over the floor. 

Caleb swung the door open before I could knock, something he’d do as he watched for me through the peephole in his door. Looking me up and down, the corners of his mouth twitched upward as he coughed, stifling a laugh.

He leaned against his door frame, “What happened here?”

“Shut up.” I pushed past him, annoyed but a bit guilty as I continued to drip all over his floor.

“You look like a sad wet cat,” Caleb patted my wet hair, frowning when he saw I was shivering, “a cold, sad wet cat.”

He started to rummage around the room, going through his drawers and closet, pulling out clothes. Tossing them at me, he pointed to the bathroom, “Go shower, I don’t want you all soppin’ wet on my stuff.”

I glanced at the clothes he handed me; hoodie, sweatpants…his boxers? 

“Um, Caleb-”

He shook his head, “It’s only weird if you make it weird.”

Pursing my lips together I nodded, heading into the bathroom. I called out to him, “Caleb, do you have a towel?” 

“Just use the one in there.”

Okay, we were close, but I wasn’t aware we had crossed into this land.

Peeling my clothes from my body, I threw them into a pile in the corner. I nearly moaned when the hot water hit my skin, and basked in the feeling for a bit. I stared at Caleb’s shampoo and body wash, conflicted on if I should actually use them or just try to rinse myself off the best I could.

Feeling the mud and tangles in my hair, I accepted defeat.

By the time I was done, clad in Caleb’s warm clothes with every inch of me smelling like him, it felt like he was smothering me. Like I was enveloped in one of his bear hugs.

I looked at myself in the mirror, and I felt my heart jump a bit. There was something about wearing a boy’s clothes as is, but Caleb’s clothes? 

A bit ago, I had felt the shift before I could name it. 

It’s in the way my eyes flick to my phone more often than before, in the way my chest tightens, just a little, when his name lights up my screen. It’s in the way my pulse stirs when I spot him at our usual spot in the library, twirling a pen between his fingers like he’s been waiting for me. Like he knew I’d show up (and he always did). 

And maybe that’s what unsettles me the most, not just that I notice these things, but that a part of me already expects them. Like I’ve been pavloved.

It was ignorable at first, but it’s become this nagging feeling at the back of my mind. A tugging at my heart. It’s annoying, like a mosquito buzzing in my ear that’s too quick for me to smack it away.

The feeling that I didn’t want to just be friends anymore.

Coming out of the bathroom, Caleb was already sitting on the floor in front of his bed with two cups of tea and food, and my mouth watered when I saw he made my favorite.

He smiled at me, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “You look pretty good in those.”

Heat crept up my neck, and I let out a nervous laugh. “You’re just saying that because I look like you.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Caleb nodded toward the bathroom. “Your hair’s still wet. Grab the towel.”

“It’s fine,” I shrugged. “It’s not that bad.”

He raised an eyebrow, arms crossing over his chest. “You already got caught in the rain once. Stay damp any longer, and you’ll catch a cold.” Then, with a cheeky grin, he added, “And I can’t be left alone in class. That’d be tragic.”

Rolling my eyes, I turned on my heel, grabbed the towel, and tossed it at him. “Right, of course. That’s all I am to you, entertainment in class.”

“For sure,” he said smoothly, catching the towel with ease. “Now sit.”

I sat beside him, reaching for the towel, but before I could take it, his hands found my shoulders, gently turning me away. I barely had time to protest before he took the towel himself, carefully running it through my damp hair.

“Caleb, I can do it myself—” I started, trying to shift back, but his grip was steady.

“Shush,” he murmured. “Let me help.”

I could have argued, but the warmth of his touch, the slow, deliberate way he moved, made it impossible to resist. My shoulders relaxed as he worked, the soft scratch of the towel against my scalp lulling me into stillness. Silence settled between us, easy and unspoken, the only sound the steady rhythm of rain tapping against the window. It was peaceful, grounding. For a moment, I let myself sink into it, let myself be cared for.

Before long Caleb tugged on a strand of my hair, “Okay, done.”

“Thank you” I pinched his cheek, his lips curved upwards and his eyes went soft.

“Now, what should we watch?”

“Nothing crazy, I don’t think my brain can function right now after today.”

Caleb laughed, flicking through the movies, before settling on some random cartoon. I sighed dramatically when I took a bite of the food he made, “Caleb, you’ve outdone yourself yet again.”

He looked at me mischievously before stealing a bite, and I punched his shoulder, “You have your own!”

His phone lit up and I saw the name, looking away as he picked it up to respond to the incoming texts.

MC.

A wedge of jealousy crept up my throat. It was our movie time, and here she was, almost on cue.

I always listen—really listen—when he talks about her. About how much she means to him, how she’s one of the only constants in his life. And it stings, sharper than I expect, because I want to be that constant. I don’t say it, of course. Instead, I throw myself deeper into the friendship, as if proving my place will make it true.

I laugh at his jokes a little too hard. Memorize the way he takes his coffee without meaning to. Notice the small things that make him tick, the way his expression shifts when he’s lost in thought, the songs he hums under his breath.

The internal competition I created against her wasn’t intentional, but once I noticed it, everything about it became hard to unsee.

He sets his phone down just as quickly as he picked it up, shooting me an apologetic look. “Sorry, MC just had a question about something.”

‘That stupid question could’ve waited’, I think, irritation curling in my chest. But I shove it down, nudging his shoulder with a forced smile. “S’alright. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, all good.” He settles back into the movie, but I barely hear it now. The feeling of her lingers, clinging to the space between us, and I try to shake it off.

His presence beside me soothes the sting, like a bandage over a wound, and I start to loosen up, letting my head rest against the bed. The warmth of his clothes, the comfort of a full stomach, the quiet rhythm of rain against the window; it all starts to pull me under, drowsiness settling into my bones. My eyelids grow heavy, and I barely register the way Caleb shifts beside me.

“Sleepy?” His voice is soft, almost amused.

I peek one eye open, managing a lazy smile. “A bit.”

Without a word, he moves closer, wrapping an arm around the back of my neck. His hand finds the side of my head, cradling it gently as he guides me to rest against his shoulder. The touch is careful, deliberate, something more than our usual play punches and casual grabs in a crowd. This is different. More intimate.

For a moment, I forgot about the competition. Because my head fits perfectly in the crook of his neck, and the slow, absentminded way his fingers trace shapes on my shoulder feels so easy, so natural. He watches the TV like this is nothing new, like having me this close is just the way things are meant to be. And for the first time I let myself believe, just for a second, that maybe he feels the same way about me too.

October-

There's a charge in the air alongside the change in leaves, a quiet pull I feel every time Caleb leans in a little too close or looks at me like I’m the only person in the room.

But then, there’s her.

She’s not here, but she is. Always lingering in the pauses between sentences, in the spaces Caleb leaves open without realizing it. She’s in the way his face softens when he says her name, in the light that sparks behind his eyes when he talks about her. And I hate how it makes me feel; petty, ridiculous, like I’ve stumbled into a battle I was never meant to fight.

I just can’t shake it.

Because lately, there’s been something else. An even bigger shift, subtle, but impossible to ignore. The way his hand lingers a beat too long when he passes me something, like he’s reluctant to let go. The way his gaze finds me, even in a crowded room, like I’m the only person worth looking at. The late-night texts, filled with thoughts that could have waited but never do.

Maybe I’m imagining it. Maybe I’m just reading too much into things, seeing what I want to see. But a part of me, deep down, knows he feels this too.

My phone began to ring as I was getting ready for the Senior Gala the Academy holds every year for those graduating in the spring. 

“Yes?” I already know who it is without looking.

Caleb’s voice drifts through the speaker, soft and warm. “Are you almost ready, honey?” The pet name catches me off guard, a shy smile pulling at my lips before I can stop it. He’d started using it recently, and I hadn’t dared to question it out of the fear it would stop.

He was my date tonight (as friends of course), and I was running a little behind.

“I still have to finish my makeup, do my hair, and put on my dress,” I groaned in frustration, “I’m sorry Caleb, I’m trying to go as fast as I can.”

He laughs sweetly, “Well, I’m almost there. I can help you out.”

“Help me…?”

“Yep, Captain Caleb is gonna be there to save the night. See you soon!”

The phone clicks before I can respond, and not a moment later, Caleb is strolling through my door like he owns the place. 

I turned to face him, and my breath caught in my throat. His suit was a deep navy that matched my dress, the rich fabric adorned with his pilot and aviator pins. His hair, tousled yet intentional, framed a face that always felt like home. Caleb stood there composed, sharp but still him; and there was something about the way the badges gleamed against his chest that nearly brought me to my knees.

His gaze sweeps over my desk, taking in the chaos of makeup scattered around, before pausing on my curling iron.

“Is this plugged in?” He picks it up, inspecting it.

“Caleb, you are not putting that anywhere near my head.” I instinctively flinch as he reaches for a lock of my hair.

But he’s quick, his hand firmly grasping the top of my head, holding it still. “I always helped MC with her hair. I know my way around a curling iron.”

The words land harder than he meant, and I can’t help but squint at him, a frown tugging at my lips. He misreads it, thinking I’m questioning him, and gives me a serious look.

“Trust me here.”

I let the assumption hang in the air, letting him believe my discontent is just doubt. I sigh, giving in, “Alright, but if you make me look bad for my Senior Gala, I will hate you forever.”

He starts to section my hair and I raise my brows in approval, ‘Okay, yeah,’ I think, ‘Maybe he does have this’.

Caleb’s touch is gentle as I apply my mascara and lipstick, careful not to mess me up, his hands steady as he moves around me. It doesn’t take long before he pulls back, setting the curling iron down as I finish up with the last touches of my makeup.

“We make a pretty good team, don’t we?” His hands rest on my shoulders as he leans down, chin lightly resting on the top of my head, both of us watching our reflection in the mirror.

I tilt my head, inspecting my hair with a playful smile, running my fingers through a few strands. “I suppose you did an okay job.”

He pinches the bridge of my nose, a mock scowl crossing his face. Laughing, I stand up, reaching for my dress hanging in the closet.

I headed to the bathroom, “I’ll be out in a sec.”

I slipped the dress on, the blue silk molding to my body, the delicate sleeves draping off my shoulders. It was beautiful, I was beautiful; but as I caught my reflection, doubt crept in. Would I look out of place next to Caleb? He was all polished perfection, and I was just… me. Not bad, but not him.

She would look perfect beside him.

‘No.’ I straightened my shoulders. ‘I’m Caleb’s date tonight, not her. He could have asked her, but he didn’t. He chose me. It’s just us.’

Fumbling with the zipper, I let out a frustrated breath before finally pulling the door open. “Caleb, can you help me with this?”

His head snapped up, eyes widening as a flush crept up his cheeks. “Of course.”

Caleb stepped forward, hesitating for just a moment before his fingers brushed against my back. His touch was warm, a stark contrast to the cool fabric clinging to my skin. Gently, he gathered the dress, his knuckles ghosting along my spine as he found the zipper.

I held my breath.

Slowly, he pulled it up, the quiet sound of the zipper filling the space between us. With each inch, his fingertips lingered, tracing the curve of my back, sending shivers down my arms. My skin felt hypersensitive, like every nerve was tuned to him and him alone.

When he reached the top, he didn’t step away. Instead, his fingers grazed the nape of my neck, adjusting the fabric, smoothing it into place. His breath was warm against my shoulder, his voice barely above a whisper.

“There,” he murmured. “Perfect.”

I turned slightly, just enough to catch his gaze. His eyes flickered down to my lips, then back up, as if caught in some silent battle with himself. The air between us was thick, charged, pulling me toward him.

“Thank you,” I said softly, my voice barely steady.

His hand lingered for just a second longer before he finally let go, stepping back, but not too far. Not far at all.

I turned around slowly, my heart pounding as I met his gaze. His eyes traced the length of me, starting at the hem of my dress and lingering as they traveled upward, taking in every detail before finally meeting mine.

Caleb swallowed, his lips parting slightly as if he had something to say but couldn’t quite find the words. Then, as if shaken from a spell, he smiled—soft, almost bashful.

“You look beautiful.”

His voice was quiet, reverent, like he wasn’t just saying it, but feeling it. Like the words weren’t enough to capture what he saw.

Warmth spread through me, creeping up my neck, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe. I’d spent so much time wondering if I looked right beside him, if I fit; but now, standing here, bathed in the glow of his gaze, I didn’t feel out of place.

I felt chosen.

“Hold your compliments until you’ve seen the whole look,” I teased, holding up a finger to silence him. “I still need to put on my shoes and pins.”

Caleb smirked. “Need help with those too?”

I rolled my eyes. “I think I can manage strapping on my own heels and pinning a badge to my dress, thanks.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” He plucked my heels off the dresser, twirling them lazily around his finger, his gaze practically daring me to challenge him.

I huffed but gave in, sinking into my chair. “Fine.”

Caleb knelt in front of me, his fingers warm as they wrapped around my ankle, steady but gentle as if I were something delicate. He slipped the first shoe on, fastening the strap with practiced ease.

“I can do most things myself, y’know,” I muttered, though my voice lacked its usual bite.

“I know.” His fingers lingered against my skin for a fraction too long before he reached for the second shoe. “I just like to be helpful.”

But he still wouldn’t look at me when he said it, and something about the way his voice softened made me think he wasn’t just talking about shoes.

I stood as he finished, reaching for my pins amidst the clutter of my desk and fastening them carefully over my heart. Turning to the mirror, I shifted from side to side, checking every angle, making sure everything was just right.

I glanced back at Caleb. “Are you sure I look okay?”

Without hesitation, he took my hand and lifted it into the air. “Twirl. Let me see.”

I spun for him, the silk of my dress catching the light, and when I turned back, there was something bright in his eyes, something warm, something real.

“You look more than okay,” he said, voice sure with conviction. “I promise.”

I held out my pinky. “Pinky promise?”

He grinned, hooking his finger around mine. “Pinky promise.”

“Lock it,” I reminded him, and he chuckled before pressing his thumb against mine, sealing the deal.

His fingers lingered for a second before he gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “Now come on, we’re definitely going to be late.”

When we arrived at the gala, it didn’t take long for Caleb to be swept away by a group of guys he often talked to. I lingered around, exchanging polite small talk with a few people I still considered friends. I didn’t see them much anymore, as most of my time was spent with Caleb.

“So, are you two dating?” one of the girls asked, tilting her head. “I thought he was seeing that girl from his hometown… What was her name again?”

“MC.” I said, a little too quickly.

“Right, that’s the one.”

I forced a smile. “No, we’re just good friends.”

But even as I said it, my gaze drifted to where he stood, laughing easily with his own friends, his posture loose and carefree. A quiet ache settled in my chest.

I wanted to be next to him.

But then again, I was; just not in the way they all saw. I knew him in moments no one else did, in the quiet spaces between conversations, in the unspoken gestures and late-night confessions.

And for now, that was enough. It had to be.

I excused myself from the conversation, weaving through the crowd until I reached one of the drink tables. Grabbing a glass, I slipped into the quieter halls, letting the hum of conversation and music fade behind me. The walls were lined with grand, extravagant paintings, each one demanding attention. I paused in front of a few, sipping my drink as I took them in, letting my mind settle.

I wasn’t antisocial, I could hold my own in a room full of people, I just needed a break from the carefully choreographed chaos of the ballroom. 

The rhythmic click of shoes against marble echoed through the quiet hallway, followed by a familiar, soft laugh.

“How did I know I’d find you out here?”

I hummed against the rim of my glass. “Maybe because you can read my mind.”

Caleb shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “Sometimes I wish I could.” Then, extending his hand toward me, he asked, “Dance with me?”

I glanced at his outstretched palm. “Out here?”

He tilted his head playfully. “Well, my possible mind-reading powers tell me you’d rather not go back in there.”

A slow smile spread across my face as I laced my fingers with his. “I think you might be psychic.”

The distant music from the ballroom barely reached us, muffled and softened by the grand halls, but somehow, that only made the moment feel more intimate. Caleb’s hands found my waist, warm and steady, while mine slipped around the back of his neck.

He guided us into a slow, easy rhythm. I rested my head just below his chin, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath the fabric of his suit.

We moved without words; his breath against my hair was the only thing I could focus on, like everything else had paused around us.

The world outside the two of us faded, the grand chandelier lights dimming, the chatter and laughter of the crowd becoming a distant murmur. All that remained was the softness of the moment, our steps in sync, and the quiet, unspoken connection between us.

I could feel his thumb tracing gentle patterns against my back, the touch soft in a way that wasn’t rushed. There was no need to hurry, no need to speak. We simply existed in this space, suspended between the melody and the quiet.

His fingers moved up to brush a lock of hair behind my ear, the gesture tender, almost shy. I looked up at him, and his eyes held mine, reassuring.

“You feel like home,” he murmured, so quietly I almost thought I imagined it.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. Instead, I leaned in a little closer, savoring the rhythm of our slow dance, the feeling of him holding me like this, as if the rest of the world didn’t matter at all.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Caleb tapped my shoulder lightly, pulling away just enough for the space between us to feel suddenly too wide. It wasn’t much, but the shift left a coldness in the air, and I immediately wanted to fall back into him.

“Where are you thinking?” I asked.

He pointed toward the window. “There’s a park across the street. We could go there. Away from all… this.” He gestured vaguely, as if the chaos of the gala was still buzzing around us.

I nodded without hesitation, and soon we found ourselves at the park, sitting on an old, rusty swing set. The contrast was stark; our lavish clothes against the worn, weathered metal, but I didn’t care. My dress snagged on the rust as I sat down, but I was too lost in the quiet to be bothered by it. All I wanted was this moment, the stillness, just the two of us away from everything else.

The night air wrapped around us, cool and still, with only the rhythmic creak of the swings and the occasional whisper of wind through the trees breaking the silence. It felt like we existed in a world separate from everything else, suspended in something fragile, something fleeting.

Caleb leaned back against the chain of his swing, his fingers gripping the metal tightly as he looked at me again. That look—like he could see through me, past all the walls I tried so hard to keep up. My pulse hammered in my chest under his gaze.

“You ever feel like… you don’t know where you stand with someone?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes flickered, something unreadable passing through them. “Yeah,” he said quietly, but with a certainty that made my stomach twist. “All the time.”

For a second, just a fleeting, breathless second; I wondered if he meant me.

I forced a smile, trying to ease the tension hanging between us. I nudged my swing into his, making it sway slightly. “You have a really good sense of self-restraint,” I teased, the words a shield to keep myself from feeling too much. “It’s almost a talent.”

His lips curved, but it was thin, hollow—there was something sad in it. “Is that a bad thing?”

I tilted my head, watching him. “No… well, maybe. Sometimes, I guess. I think you have a habit of depriving yourself of what you really want.”

Caleb looked down, his boot dragging against the dirt beneath him. “What if I can’t have what I want?” His voice was rougher now, lower. “What if it’s not allowed?”

I reached forward, gripping the chain of his swing, giving it a slight shake to bring his eyes back to mine. “If it’s within your reach, it’s legal, and you’re not hurting anyone, I don’t see a problem.” My breath hitched, and my chest tightened as I spoke. “If I had to guess, you’re trying to convince yourself you can’t have something.”

His exhale was shaky, and a bitter laugh barely escaped him. “Maybe, yeah.”

I saw it then—the decision in his eyes, the surrender.

And then, he moved.

Caleb leaned in first, closing the space between us with a quiet certainty that made my breath catch. I barely had time to react before his lips met mine; soft, warm, real. My fingers clenched around the swing’s chain for balance, but it didn’t matter. My whole world had already tilted.

The kiss started slow, tentative, but it didn’t stay that way for long. Caleb’s hand found my jaw, his fingers brushing my skin, grounding me as he deepened the kiss. There was no hesitation, no pulling away—only the quiet urgency of something inevitable, something long overdue.

I let myself sink into it, forget everything outside this moment. The cold night air, the weight of the past few months, the uncertainty of what came next—it all melted away as Caleb kissed me like he’d been waiting for this as long as I had.

When we finally broke apart, breathless and dazed, our foreheads nearly touching, Caleb let out a quiet, almost incredulous chuckle. His thumb brushed over my cheek, lingering there like he was memorizing the feel of me.

His eyes searched mine, and for a moment, neither of us said anything—just letting the silence settle between us like something sacred.

I tried to catch my breath, still feeling the warmth of his touch all over me. “I—uh, I didn’t think that was how tonight would go.”

“Me either,” he admitted softly.

I bit my lip, searching for something to say, but my thoughts were still tangled up in the kiss. The taste of him lingered, sweet and unfamiliar, like a song you’d heard once and couldn’t forget. The warmth of his breath was still etched into the space between us, and the silence felt heavy, like it was holding something fragile; something we both weren’t quite ready to name. I felt the words sitting at the edge of my mind, waiting, but they were lost in the echo of his touch, the weight of everything unsaid.

Caleb gently brushed a strand of hair away from my face, his touch so tender it almost felt like he was afraid to break something.

There was a quiet moment, just us sitting there, the air between us charged and delicate. Caleb’s fingers brushed along my wrist, and he gave a small, hesitant laugh.

“Is it weird to say I’m kind of glad we did this here?”

I smiled, the tension easing slightly. “Not at all. There’s something nice about having a moment that’s just ours.”

He glanced up at the dark sky, the stars scattered above us. “Yeah, it’s like we’re in our own little world. Just us.”

I took a deep breath, trying to settle the fluttering in my chest. “Then let’s not rush back. Let’s just stay here for a little longer.”

He grinned, that easy smile of his, and nodded. “I’m in.”

We swayed gently, both of us still lost in the quiet, the stillness of the park and the soft feeling that somehow, things were different now. 

Better.

November-

The moment on the swings stays with me long after it’s over, a quiet echo that pulses in the back of my mind, haunting the spaces between my thoughts. It lingers in the way Caleb reaches for my hand without thinking, in the brief touches we exchange. The kiss, though, that’s the one that lingers the longest; the warmth of him, the certainty that wrapped around me like a promise. 

He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t hold back.

I tell myself it was nothing, that it was just a rush, a fleeting spark that will eventually fade with time. 

But it doesn’t. 

Instead, it settles into the corners of me, a quiet undercurrent beneath everything else.

Everything is subtle at first, in the little things. His hand brushing against mine when we walk, his knee grazing mine when we sit side by side, the way his texts come more often now, careful and soft. When we’re together, it feels like we really have built our own little world, a space apart from everything else. And I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, it’s enough.

Though one night, I find him distant. His gaze fixed on his phone, jaw tight like he’s trying to hold something in. He barely speaks, his words sharp and short, his mind somewhere else entirely. I don’t ask, don’t press him for an answer. But I know.

It’s her.

And in that moment, something clicks.

I’m not the only one caught between two worlds. Caleb is, too.

The realization doesn’t ease the ache, it only makes it worse. Because if there’s a choice, I already know who he’ll choose.

Training’s getting harder, and graduation is only a few months away. The exhaustion is catching up to all of us, but I feel as if it's hitting me the hardest. Barely sleeping, too many long nights and even longer days, each one blending into the next until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. I can feel my body wearing down, but I keep pushing, because what else is there to do? Let myself stop and think?

Ha.

No.

Caleb notices, though. He’s just as drained as I am, but he’s still there, watching me. He always makes sure I eat, even when I don’t feel like it. Reminds me to drink water when I forget, and always seems to be there after training, hanging around like he’s making sure I don’t collapse right there on the floor.

I try not to let it mean anything, try not to read too much into it. He’s just being a friend, right?

But it’s hard to ignore the way he lingers, the way his eyes flicker with something I can’t quite place when I sway slightly on my feet, too tired to stand straight. He doesn’t say anything, but his hand is there, steady on my arm, holding me like he doesn’t want to let go.

Caleb picked me up from the Academy airport after a training flight. We were supposed to grab lunch, but when his eyes landed on my exhausted form, something in his expression softened.

“Let’s get you home, yeah?” he said, his voice gentle.

I shook my head, trying to shake off the exhaustion. “No, I’m fine. Let’s just go—” But before I could finish, my body betrayed me, and I stumbled forward, barely able to keep myself upright.

Caleb’s hand was there in an instant, steadying me by the shoulder and wrapping his arm around me like he wasn’t letting go. “I think you’d fall asleep in your food and suffocate. When was the last time you slept?”

“Yesterday… no, Tuesday? I don’t really remember.”

I threw on my coat, but Caleb’s gaze was still on me, studying me like he could see right through the act I was trying to put on.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I muttered, glaring at him. “I’m fine. Let’s hurry before we miss the bus.”

Standing outside at the bus stop, I shivered against Caleb's arm around me (that was still trying to hold me up). He asked me about my day, if I had eaten breakfast; simple questions that didn’t require much thinking on my part and patient, non-expectant responses from him. I pressed my body closer into his, trying to soak up his warmth, and maybe even share a bit of my own. 

He looked down at me and chuckled, ruffling my hair, “Just a bit longer, honey.”

And he was right, seconds later the bus pulled up. I was practically bouncing to get inside and out of this weather.

Snatching the window seat, I stuck my tongue out at Caleb as he situated himself next to me. “You’re evil, you know that right.” 

The bus was a welcomed relief from the biting cold outside, the warmth inside wrapping around me like a comforting blanket. My coat was serving as a blanket, and I don’t even remember when I drifted off, but at some point I found myself asleep on Caleb’s shoulder.

I half-awoke to him nudging me gently. “Hey, this is my dorm, let’s get off here.”

Groggily, I shook my head, struggling to form a thought. “No, s’okay, my stop is next…”

He chuckled softly, and I could hear the concern in his voice. “I don’t trust you not to fall back asleep and miss your dorm.” His fingers brushed through my hair to comb the strands away from my eyes, his touch tender as he looked at me. “Just come back up with me. You can sleep there until you’re good to go back.”

I barely had the strength to argue, so I let him lead me, sleepily leaning against him the entire way. By the time we reached his room, I was barely conscious. He helped me take off my coat and shoes, and without a second thought, I crawled onto his bed, curling up into a ball as sleep claimed me again.

When I woke, the world outside was dark, and it took a moment to realize where I was. The blanket was soft against my skin, and I noticed Caleb beside me, his face relaxed in sleep. It was the first time I’d ever seen him look so at ease, so… soft.

I felt a pang of guilt when I noticed the clock beside his bed. It was nearing one in the morning. He probably wanted to sleep, but I had taken over his space.

I started to sit up, but before I could move, an arm wrapped around my waist.

“Where are you going?” Caleb’s voice was thick with sleep, and I froze, my heart skipping a beat as I turned to see him blinking slowly up at me.

“I have to go home,” I murmured, my words barely above a whisper. I reached out, hand instinctively brushing his face, but then I stopped myself and pulled it back.

He toyed with the hem of my t-shirt, and I felt the warmth of his touch spread through me. I could feel myself melting under his proximity. “It’s too late,” he said softly, his voice almost a plea. “Just stay here.”

“Caleb—”

“Or I can walk you home,” he added, his eyes still half-closed, and he stretched as if to get up, but I placed my hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

“No, really, it’s okay.”

He smirked a little, still mischievous even through sleep. “You pick. I either walk you home, or you stay here.”

In that moment, the stillness of the night seemed to press in around us, and my heart ached. Caleb was a vice. He was dangerous.

“Okay,” I whispered, my resolve crumbling. “I’ll stay.”

The room is quiet except for Caleb’s steady breathing. The city of Skyhaven hums faintly outside, the night stretching endlessly around us. I’m awake now, but I can’t bring myself to move. Caleb’s hand rests lightly on my waist, like he’s afraid I’ll slip away if he lets go. It’s nothing, really. Just a small, almost casual touch. 

But it feels like everything. 

It sets my entire body on fire, this little contact. I shouldn’t be here, not like this, not after everything. But I don’t leave. Instead, I sink back down, letting the warmth of the blanket and his presence pull me under.

We don’t speak. There’s nothing to say. No explanations, no excuses—just this fragile moment, suspended in time, hanging between us. Caleb’s breathing evens out again, his grip loosening as sleep pulls him back under. I stay awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to the soft sounds of the night. I know this is a mistake. I know when the sun rises, when the reality of the world outside finally settles in, things will go back to how they were.

He’ll wake up, stretch, rub the sleep from his eyes, and we’ll pretend like this never happened. He’ll go back to talking about MC, and whatever this—whatever we—will remain suspended in the realm of “almosts” and “what-ifs.” But for now, in this quiet moment, I close my eyes. I let myself have this, just for tonight. Because even if it means nothing to him, it means everything to me.

Morning comes too quickly.

I stir first, blinking against the soft light filtering through the blinds. For a second, everything feels warm and comforting. Caleb’s steady breathing beside me, the weight of the blanket, the quiet hum of the city waking up outside.

Then, reality crashes back in. I shouldn’t be here. Not like this.

Carefully, I try to slip out from beneath the covers, but the moment I move, Caleb stirs. His grip tightens around my waist, pulling me closer just a little before his eyes flutter open.

He looks at me, caught between sleep and consciousness, and for a second, there’s something in his gaze; a softness that makes my breath catch in my chest. But then, he blinks, and it’s gone.

“You’re awake,” his voice is thick with sleep, raspy, and it twists something inside of me. He doesn’t let go.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “I should go.”

Caleb doesn’t respond at first. His fingers absently trace the hem of my sleeve, like he’s thinking, weighing something.

Then, finally—

“You don’t have to.”

It’s quiet. Hesitant. It feels like a confession wrapped in uncertainty.

I swallow hard. “Caleb…”

I don’t even know what I’m trying to say. I just know this, this tension, this dangerous line we’re walking, is too much.

He sits up slowly, rubbing a hand over his face, and then he looks at me. His expression is unreadable, and it makes my heart clench.

“Look,” he sighs, like this is some sort of explanation. “I know things have been… complicated.”

Complicated. That’s one way to put it.

I scoff and shake my head. “You think?”

He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

And that hurts more than it should. Because I know what I’m doing. I’m falling. I’ve been falling for so long, and I’m pretty sure I’m about to hit the ground.

“I can’t keep doing this,” I whisper, my voice barely steady.

His jaw tightens. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Something inside me cracks.

“Then stop making me feel like I’m something you have to choose.”

Silence. And that’s when I know.

He won’t say it, but I already have my answer. Because if I was ever truly an option, I wouldn’t be standing here, begging for clarity.

I nod to myself, standing up. “I need to go.”

This time, he doesn’t stop me.

December-

It hurts, it really hurts. 

My chest aches like it’s been hollowed out, and every breath feels too heavy, too sharp. My body trembles, like it’s trying to hold itself together, but it’s already unraveling. 

Is this what dying feels like? 

Is this death? 

The slow suffocation of something that was once whole? 

Or is this grief?

Endless, suffocating grief—bleeding through my veins, consuming everything I am.

I can’t tell anymore. Only that it hurts. So much. 

I don’t even know who I am anymore. 

I feel like a hollow shell.

January-

The snow falls lightly, dusting the pavement with delicate flakes as I walk across campus. The world feels quiet, wrapped in winter’s cold embrace, but inside me? There’s nothing but noise, a clamor I can’t silence. Just as fast as everything had began, it ended just as quickly. 

I didn’t expect Caleb to reach out. After everything, after the silence between us that’s stretched since November, I thought he’d let the distance settle. Let whatever we had fade into something unspoken, unresolved.

But then I got the text.

can we talk?

And because I’m weak, because no matter how much I want to convince myself I’ve moved on, I know I haven’t, so I agreed.

Now, I’m here, waiting outside the coffee shop, my breath clouding in the cold air. Caleb’s already inside, sitting by the window with his fingers curled around a paper cup. When he sees me, he gives a small, hesitant smile. He looks the same, yet it feels so foreign.

I steel myself and walk inside.

“Hey,” he says when I slide into the seat across from him.

“Hey,” I echo, my voice flat, unreadable.

We sit in silence for a moment, the weight of everything hanging between us.

He exhales, looking down at his coffee. “I hate how things have been between us.”

I don’t say anything, just let him speak.

“I miss you,” he admits, and for a moment, my heart stumbles. But before I can process it, he adds, “I don’t want to lose you, I want us to still be friends.”

Friends.

I should have expected this. Maybe I did. Maybe I’ve just been foolish enough to hope for something else.

I swallow, my fingers tightening around my cup. “Friends.”

He nods, earnest, like he doesn’t realize he’s twisting a knife into my chest. “Yeah. I mean, we were good at that, right? Before things got… complicated.”

Complicated. That word again.

I take a slow breath, trying to force the ache in my chest to quiet. Maybe this is what we need. Maybe being friends, just friends, will hurt less than losing him completely.

So I offer a small smile, one that feels forced but I try to make it real. “Yeah. We were.”

Relief flashes across his face, and something deep inside me tugs painfully. But I ignore it.

We can do this.

We have to.

“Are we okay?” he asks carefully.

I hesitate for a second, just a moment, but then I nod. “Yeah. We’re okay.”

And maybe, if I say it enough times, it’ll start to feel true.

We step outside together, the cold air biting at my skin. We walk side by side, but it’s different now. Less certain, more fragile. But for now, it’s enough. We’re still in each other’s lives. And that has to count for something.

February-

The cold of February feels different this year. It’s sharp, biting at my skin, but it’s nothing compared to the way the distance between Caleb and me has settled; thick, suffocating.

We’re friends. At least, that’s what we tell ourselves.

But every interaction feels like a shadow of what it used to be. We pass each other on campus, exchanging forced smiles, awkward pleasantries. He texts me sometimes, but the messages are clipped, casual. The playful banter, the inside jokes—we don’t have those anymore.

I’ve gotten good at pretending it doesn’t hurt. I laugh at his jokes when we’re in class together, crack a smile when he waves in passing. I tell myself that being near him, even like this, is better than nothing.

But it isn’t. It isn’t better at all.

One afternoon, after class, Caleb waits for me while I pack my things, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jacket. His eyes meet mine, but they flicker away quickly, like he’s not sure how to look at me anymore.

“Hey,” he says, his voice quieter than it used to be.

I force a smile, but it feels too tight, too stretched.

We walk together, but the silence between us is thick. We’re not really talking anymore. Not like before.

“How’s everything?” I ask, trying to fill the space with something. Anything.

Caleb shrugs, his gaze far off. “Same as usual. You know how it is.”

I don’t know how it is. Not anymore.

“And you?” he asks, almost apologetically, like he’s afraid he’ll break something if he pushes too hard.

“I’m good,” I say, too quickly. Too easily. I wish I could say something that would make it sound like we haven’t drifted so far apart. But I can’t.

The truth is, I don’t feel good. Not at all.

The rest of the walk is silent, and when we reach the place where our paths diverge, Caleb gives me a tight, awkward smile.

“Catch you later,” he says, already turning away before I can say anything else.

I watch him walk off, the weight of all the things we never said hanging between us.

It’s painful. But I swallow it down. I have to.

The days pass, and we continue this dance; one of shallow conversations, stiff smiles. Every text feels like a performance. Every interaction, a reminder that we’re no longer who we used to be.

One night, I sit at my desk, the glow of my laptop screen casting a pale light over my face. My phone vibrates on the table beside me. Caleb’s name.

I hesitate before picking it up.

hey, are you free later?

My heart skips a beat, but I force myself to respond.

Yeah, what’s up?

There’s a long pause before his next message.

i was thinking we could grab coffee. but no pressure, just thought it might be nice.

The words “just thought it might be nice” sting more than I expected. It’s so casual, so simple—like the idea of spending time together doesn’t carry any of the weight it used to.

But I can’t back out now. I can’t keep pretending that I’m not still craving his company, even if it’s not the same.

Sure, sounds good.

When we meet at our usual café, the air between us is thick. We talk, but it’s like we’re strangers, circling around the things we used to share so easily. Caleb talks about his classes, and I nod, smile at the right times, but it doesn’t feel like we’re really connecting anymore.

I tell myself it’s fine. This is what we agreed to. That being friends is better than nothing.

And no matter how many times I tell myself I’m over it, no matter how many times I remind myself that this is what I chose; it still hurts.

When we part ways that evening, Caleb gives me a small, almost apologetic smile. “I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah,” I reply, throat tight. “See you.”

I watch him leave, and I can’t help but feel like a piece of myself is slowly drifting farther away.

March-

I can’t keep doing this.

April-

The months start to feel like a slow, inevitable slide into something I can’t quite escape. The air has warmed, and the snow is nothing more than a distant memory, but the silence between Caleb and me cuts deeper than any winter chill.

We still see each other every day. We still share the same spaces, the same halls, the same class. But now, we’re nothing more than shadows of what we once were. Just two people who used to mean something to each other, now standing on opposite sides of a wide, unbridgeable gap.

We promised to be friends. We promised we’d make it work. But those promises feel empty now. There’s no joy in our interactions, no spark. Every conversation is forced, every laugh hollow. We’ve become experts at pretending, at wearing the mask of “just friends,” even though neither of us believes it for a second.

I’ve tried to move on, but when I see him, it’s like a miserable cold wave crashing over me. His eyes, once warm and inviting, are distant now; like he’s holding back something I’m not allowed to know. Even though he’s still there, still around, it feels like he’s lightyears away.

It was a Tuesday afternoon, sitting alone in the student lounge, my books spread out in front of me though not really focused on them. My phone buzzes, and I glance down at the message, already knowing who it’s from.

Caleb.

I hesitate before opening it, my fingers lingering over the screen.

i’m outside the library, want to grab coffee?

My heart skips. I want to say yes. 

I want to say yes more than anything. 

But a part of me knows how this will go. Another awkward conversation. Another round of small talk and unspoken feelings.

I’m tired. Tired of pretending things are fine when nothing is fine.

I can’t, sorry.

May-

The day is warm, but there’s a crispness in the air, the kind that signals a transition; between seasons, between chapters, between what was and what will be. The hum of excitement fills the air, the kind only a graduation ceremony can bring. Students in their uniforms mill around the venue, laughter and shouts of celebration ringing through the open space.

I move through the crowd, my diploma and badges in hand, the weight of the moment pressing down on me. I should feel proud, should feel accomplished. And I do, somewhere deep inside. But there’s something else, something heavier, lingering beneath the surface. The kind of feeling I’ve spent the past few months pushing away, convincing myself I’ve moved past.

Then, I see them.

Caleb stands a few feet away, surrounded by the floods of people. I notice he’s staring ahead into the crowd, and a girl comes crashing into him with the kind of ease that twists my stomach; MC.

She leans in, close—too close. And then, as if the universe had been waiting for the perfect moment to shatter the fragile balance I had built, she presses a kiss to his cheek. It’s celebratory, happy, and by the look on Caleb's face, just enough.

The world tilts.

For a second, the sounds around me blur into static, the conversations and cheers fading into the background. The weight of months of restraint, of quiet acceptance, of pretending I was fine, collapses all at once. The carefully built walls around my emotions crack under the force of everything I had tried so desperately to move past.

I thought I had let go. I thought I had made peace with everything that had happened. But in this moment, watching him, watching them, it all comes rushing back. The late nights, the quiet moments, the unspoken words that once sat between us. The way he once looked at me, the way he’s looking at her. The realization that, despite all my efforts, my heart had never truly stopped waiting.

I force my feet to move, to carry me past them, past the reminders of what could have been, of what wasn’t mine to hold onto anymore.

The weight in my chest is suffocating, but I refuse to stop, refuse to break—not here, not now. Because this is supposed to be a celebration, the closing of a chapter, the start of something new.

Maybe in another life, it was never a competition. Maybe in another universe, I don’t have to worry about her. In that world, I am her—running into Caleb’s arms, stealing his hat, and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Yes. In another universe, I am her.

[loserlvrss]

𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐃𝐎𝐎𝐑 十二月 yunho didn't seem to care if someone walked in 정윤호 𝑒𝓈𝓉. 𝓇𝑒𝓁𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓅 🎐 warnings: oral, squirting 597HUN drabble, smut CLICK4MORE

에이티즈─────welcome back user loserlvrss

The sound of a door opening caused your hand to fly up towards your mouth, clasping down over it. The other pushed on the head and arms, in alternation, that had been attached to your lower half for about fifteen minutes now. Your boyfriend hadn’t even gotten the rest of your clothes off before he was holding you in place, tongue fucking you into submission. 

Reality hit again, “Fuck, Yunho—wait, someone—I think someone,” You were cut off by a particularly powerful suck of your clit, almost as his way of telling you to shut the fuck up. Your head lulled back into the pillow, focusing on him for only a moment. You were trying so hard to suppress the moans he drew out of you with the circles and kisses and licks against your cunt. But, there was no doubt he was skillful. 

He didn’t care if someone walked in though; his roommates or friends or, God forbid, his family. He didn’t care, but you did. And that’s why you bit your lip, using both hands to try and pry him away from you. 

“P-please I’m gonna—I can’t,” You felt a bubbling sensation within your lower stomach, all the pleasure finally adding up. This is what he wanted from you and he was going to get it. 

He pulled you closer to his face, legs fully pressed into the creases of his arms, which caged you against his lips. He grabbed both of your wrists with his hands, locking them down. He made you stop moving, and took away your fail-safe noise control all at once. 

“Yunho…” You practically sobbed under your breath, eyes shifting to the door. What a compromising position you’d have to explain. What an embarrassing memory you’d have to suppress. You didn’t want whoever it was to see you differently, however, your boyfriend was the only one to actually see you like this. “Don-don’t make me,” 

But it was the desperate, lovesick look in his eyes that made you want the opposite when your head shifted back. It was the slight panting, and grinding hips that made you want to come undone for him. And at this rate, it seemed inevitable over your willpower. 

Nobody’s ever wanted you this bad, and frankly the thought of being caught was kind of hot. 

Your back arched against his hold suddenly, mouth threatening to fall open; the moans and whines cascading with it. Your orgasm was strong, stronger than usual, and it spasmed every muscle in your body. Your head was fuzzy, and it felt like the world was about to go dark. 

And when you came to, you barely recognized what happened. Not only did he almost get you to pass out from the intensity, but you squirted against his chin and neck as well. 

Panic set in, and you looked around through the white-dots that scattered your vision, frantically in search of whoever could’ve walked in—oh, what an even more embarrassing sight for them to see. You didn’t even care about your soaked boyfriend who was kissing your thighs, trying to calm you down. 

“Angel,” He said, trying to gather your attention, “Look at me.” 

Those familiar words awoke something primal in you, and you did as you were told. He crawled up your body, leaving kisses against the skin he could get to underneath the hoodie that had ridden up. He finally let your arms free in the process, palms coming to rest against your blushing cheeks. 

“Stop worrying,” He kissed your lips, a mix of yourself on his taste, “The door’s locked.” 

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