#how in over four years was this what you came up with. how is the pacing this insane. how is this character treatment ok.... PLEASE

[starmieknight]

Was thinking about Stan's habit of grabbing his chest when he's scared and then thought about what if he did end up having a heart attack or something after Ford came back. Like, he's been stressed for ages and now he's gotta worry about Ford potentially getting the kids into something dangerous like he did and where he's gonna go after the kids leave and what he's gonna do without the Shack.

Maybe it hits him in the middle of tour or something. Like, he's been feeling off all day and looks kinda ragged so maybe Soos is keeping close and sees him go down. At first, people think it's part of the tour or some typical Stan gag. And then he doesn't laugh or try to play it up for money. So the twins run down to the basement to get Ford.

He's kinda annoyed that his planning time's been interrupted by Stanley's antics, but the twins seem genuinely upset so he goes to check it out. And finds out Soos and Wendy called an ambulance and there really IS a problem. Then he kinda disconnects from the situation. Like, he's panicking internally but this isn't the first major medical situation he's been in. So he calmly gets the kids (Soos and Wendy included) into Stan's car and follows the ambulance to the hospital. He's the one wrangling the kids while they freak out and asking all the questions to the doctors and nurses about Stan's condition. He can't take time to worry about his brother because he's got a bunch of kids to reassure and they're all looking to him because he's the eldest person there. He's an old man with all the answers in the universe. If anyone can tell them Stan's gonna be okay, it's gonna be Mr. 12 PhDs.

Except... he doesn't.

He doesn't know anything about his brother's medical history past the age of seventeen. Dipper's the one to mention Stan's medication and Mabel knows his diet and Soos and Wendy know about his boxing hobby and work schedule. Ford has a hazy memory about Stan chewing his way out of a trunk once.

He starts thinking about how Stan's the only family he has left. Sure, the twins are there, but they don't really know each other. Shermie and his son are just over the state line in California, but they don't know who he is anymore. Stanley's been wearing his face for years and they never seemed to notice. His parents are dead. Fiddleford is 30 years in the wind.

Stanley's the only one who truly knows him. Knows about his deepest insecurities and childhood dreams. Who knows his favorite books and comic book heroes. About his first disastrous date and the kissing bot. About how badly things had gone for him and been at his doorstep only a couple of days after receiving a single postcard after 10 years of silence.

And Ford knows nothing of the man Stanley became. Stanley doesn't know how Ford has changed. How he's trying SO HARD to fix his mistakes.

And suddenly being so angry over some paltry little machine doesn't seem so important. Ford's the one who built a doomsday device.

He's still angry with Stanley taking his identity, but what does it matter if no one noticed? Sure, Stan got him a criminal record, but he made one of his own in the multiverse. Their family has always leaned to the gray side of the law.

And now they may never get the chance to know each other again. 40 years without each other and the pain of potentially losing Stanley cuts Stanford so deep he feels like he's the one dying.

So he sits in that cold hospital waiting room, four hysterical kids surrounding him, and wears a straight face while his world falls apart around him.

If you lose your parents, they call you an orphan.

If you lose your twin, they don't stop calling you a brother.

[kccisfuckingmagical]

Rivals all the way

(Nathalie Björn x Arsenal!Swedish!Reader)

Warning: none

You are a Swedish fullback.

It is almost comical how you and Nathalie always end up in rival clubs.

Djurgården is in your blood. Ever since your great grandfather’s neighbours’ second cousin Lars played for said Stockholm club, for generations, your family has been loyal supporters of the Blue Stripes (Blåränderna). So, when Djurgårdens IF knocked on your door and scouted you after playing a stellar season for your local third tier club at the age of 14, you were committed immediately. Which, of course, your amazing break in the first tier league Damallsvenskan did not happen as Djurgårdens were relegated just several months after you signed.

Yet, you still developed greatly after playing in a much more professional environment, and your role was instrumental in promoting your club back to 2016 Damallsvenskan after four years of hard work and grit, and with the obscene amount of headers you scored, placing you the 2nd most scorer for the Sweden 2nd tier league.

You had known Nathalie since youth camps, but it was during your final years at Gymnasium in Stockholm that your bond solidified despite playing for a rival club in Stockholm.

And when she moved to Rosengård in 2018, you transferred to Kopparbergs/Göteborg FC (which later merged and renamed to BK Häcken in 2021). And for the women side, it had an even more intense rivalry than your local Stockholm AIK vs Djurgårdens derby, with both teams fighting top places in Damallsvenskan.

In 2018 Damallsvenskan season, your club Göteborg came 2nd when her club Rosengård, came 3rd. In 2019, Rosengård became champions when Göteborg still ranked 2nd. And finally, in 2020, your club came first and her club came second. 2021, Nathalie transferred to Everton after half a season into the Swedish league, and your club still came second when her former club Rosengård reigned champions again. You stayed in the renamed club BK Häcken until 2022 summer window, where you have received a lucrative offer from a WSL club.

It was a newly repromoted team, the Merseyside arch-rival of Everton, the REDS, The Liverpool who wanted you after their reformation, and they were willing to make one of the most lucrative offers ever for a Swedish female footballer with guaranteed game time and an ambitious tactical talk with Matt Beard sealed the deal.

So you moved to Liverpool, and moving straight into your girlfriend of seven years’ apartment, which she cleared half of the closet, half of the sink, half of the walls, half of the shelves, half of the couch, and half of the bed.

And you filled her originally Rosengård and Everton’s blue themed (with occasional black with yellow accents of AIK) apartment with unapologetic Liverpool’s red mugs, Kopparbergs/Göteborg’s blue and white cusions, BK Häcken’s yellow and black blankets, and your very own Djurgården legend Daniel Sjölund’s signed jersey was framed upon the apartment wall amongst your jerseys from the 2020 Tokyo Olympic where you won your silver medals alongside with your national team.

It was almost comical when Nathalie’s teammates from Everton stepped foot on your now shared apartment after you moved in.

Gabby George did a double take when she moved pass the hallway, Izzy Christiansen dramatically gasped when she looked into the living room, putting her right hand over her heart, and your Swedish teammate Hanna Bennison whom Nathalie previously played with in Rosengård, looked at Nathalie like she’d committed treason.

Or maybe because she did.

Aggie Beever-Jones, the loaned Chelsea homegrown, was wheezing with laughter, “what a fucking live size Mighty Red is doing in your living room mate?”

Hanna looked at Nathalie warily, “you aren’t a secretly BK Häcken fan right? That’s a Häcken wine glass. Why does anyone need a glass with Häcken emblem on it?”

Megan Finnigan looked as though she was betrayed by her own child. When she started walking backwards, as if she was going to burst out from the front door, she spotted on her peripheral vision a new IKEA shoe shelf filled with Adidas cleats and footwear, as opposed to Nathalie’s sponsored Nike merchandise, and it finally clicked in her head.

“Are you dating an enemy, Nathalie Björn?” Megan asked cautiously.

“Not dating, I married one! Min älskling, y/n, come on out and say hello to my teammates!” Nathalie beamed at her own teammates and called out to the kitchen.

And you, who just finished your second training session with Liverpool, with wet hair and flushed pink cheeks, left your kitchen, hands balancing a giant board of sliced fruits. Nathalie grabbed Hanna and rushed to kitchen and brought back out two large jars of unsweetened lemonade, a pot of honey to self serve, and utensils to go with.

You, who were wearing a blazing red hoodie with a Liverpool crest larger than a your head, popped yourselves amongst the Blues like it was just a random Tuesday afternoon and you were all friends hanging around for a coffee, and with the same beaming smile Nathalie was having.

“Hi, enemies!” You greeted the toffees enthusiastically.

Hanna stared. “Nej, nej, nej. No ‘hi, enemies’. I helvete (in hell), since when are you married? Better question, to your mortal enemy Nati? Your biggest rival who somehow landed in your rival club again?” she exclaimed incredulously.

“Hanna, I thought we were friends!” You looked betrayed.

“Nej, only in national camps, otherwise you are my enemy. And she is your enemy too Nati!”

Nathalie was unfazed. “We married just before I decided to transfer to the blues. Couldn’t bear the idea of a longer long distance than ever. And Y/N is having my last name on her Liverpool jersey, crazy right?”

Izzy was stunned, and high-fived Nathalie, “that’s clever, one way to infiltrate into the enemies nest.”

“What do you mean mortal enemy and rival club again?” Aggie was curious.

“Oh, I was playing for Djurgårdens when she played for AIK, which was a bit like a North London derby but a Stockholm one. And when she played for Rosengård, and I played for Kopparbergs/Göteborg, and it was a bit like Arsenal—Chelsea rivalry, both gunning for the top spot.” You explained absentmindedly, cutting a grape in half to remove the seeds inside with a small fork and a paring knife.

“And out of every club there is in WSL, you chose Liverpool!?” Hanna was still very much in shock.

“That’s just football my friend.” You answered absentmindedly, popping the now peeled and deseeded half green grape into your mouth. Nathalie stole the other half with a swift motion with her fork from your plate.

Needless to say, you had been quite interrogated into the Blues despite being a Red after this small spontaneous gathering.

Fast forwards to 2024.

Nathalie Björn adjusted the collar of her new Chelsea jersey, the royal blue fabric still feeling foreign against her skin. The move to London had been a whirlwind—new teammates, new tactics, and a city that buzzed with a different energy than Stockholm or Merseyside. But one thing hadn’t changed: the way her heart still skipped when her phone buzzed with a notification from y/n.

[Min älskling]: Guess who are signing to the red side of London?

Nathalie nearly choked on her coffee.

[Blue Nathalie]: You’re joking.

[Min älskling]: Nope. They needed a left-back after Catley’s injury. Beard wasn’t happy, but… it’s a two-year deal.

Nathalie groaned, tipping her head back against the locker room bench. Of course you’d end up at Arsenal. It was almost poetic—the universe’s way of balancing the scales after she’d dared to marry a player that had been her rival ever since the beginning of her career.

"Everything alright, Björn?" Millie Bright clapped her on the shoulder, eyebrow raised.

"Fine," Nathalie muttered, locking her phone. "Just… family stuff."

Chelsea squad had acclimated to Nathalie quickly. She was sharp in training, dryly funny during film sessions, and—most importantly—unshakable in defense. She was unproblematic, and quickly found herself immersed into the squad with the help of her Swedish teammates, and ex-Everton teammate Aggie Beever-Jones.

At least until…

Two days days later, when the transfer news break out, Nathalie was halfway through her morning coffee when Aggie Beever-Jones slammed her phone onto the breakfast table.

*ARSENAL SIGN SWEDISH INTERNATIONAL Y/N BJÖRN FROM LIVERPOOL*

"Björn. Explain."

Nathalie blinked. "Explain what?"

Aggie turned her screen around. The Sky Sports notification glared back at them:

*BREAKING: Arsenal sign Swedish international Y/N Björn from Liverpool – two-year deal confirmed*

Johanna who was sitting beside Nathalie peered into the screen, blinked, and all of a sudden, bursted out with laughter. “Ooh, Iconic Y/N behaviour, just to keep the rivalry alive!”

Sam Kerr who overheard was curious. “Y/N Björn, are you two sisters or something?”

Nathalie didn’t even glance up. "Nej, Y/N is my wife."

Silence. Then—

"Your what?" Lauren James screeched.

Nathalie blinked, realizing her mistake. She’d been so used to Everton knowing, so used to the WSL’s gossip mill spinning her business, that she’d forgotten: Chelsea didn’t know.

"...So," Erin Cuthbert said, voice dangerously calm. "When were you going to tell us your wife is Arsenal's new left-back?"

Nathalie shrugged. "I thought everyone knows!”

“What the actual hell, mate?” Sam Kerr squinted. "I thought you were literal fraternal twins. You’ve got the same brunette hair, brown eyes, sharp cheekbones, long legs and the Scandinavian superiority complex. I could have sworn you both used the same blocking technique when I played against Liverpool and Everton!"

Millie was astonished. “I just thought Björn is just a common last name in Sweden?”

Nathalie took a slow slip of her coffee, “Nej, Y/N and I have been married since we were 23 years old. Come on guys, no need to make a fuss, it is really not that dramatic.”

"Not dramatic?!" Jess Carter threw her hands up. "You’re telling me you’ve been married to Arsenal’s new signing for four years and the WOSO gossip mill missed it?"

Nathalie didn’t blink. “I’m sure some fans must have speculated it, and how is it my fault when you don’t have friends from Everton or Liverpool who can share all the gossips with you? Aggie, the Swedes, most of the Scandinavian in WSL knows about us.”

Ashley Lawrence, ever the voice of reason, tilted her head. "Wait. If you married in 2020… does that mean when you were at Rosengård—"

"—y/n was at Göteborg" Guro Reiten finished, who somehow heard of the rumour but didn’t pay too much attention beforehand, amused. "And then, you were in Everton, and she was in Liverpool. Gud, Nathi. You’ve really got a type, don’t you? Rivals."

Nathalie shrugged, fighting a smirk. "What can I say? I like a challenge."

And the London derby couldn’t come soon enough.

The tunnel at Emirates Stadium hummed with pre-match tension. Nathalie was starting this match (a last-minute substitution with Millie injured) and tried to ignore the way her pulse thudded when she spotted you.

You were stretching near the Arsenal squad, your red-and-white away kit a stark contrast to Chelsea’s blues. But then you turned, caught her eye, and winked.

Nathalie bit back a smile and discretely did a finger wave to you.

“Oi, Björn!” Aggie hissed. “Quite flirting with your rival on a derby day!”

Nathalie coughed and crouched down, pretending to check her shin pads to hide her blush.

The match was brutal. Arsenal pressed high, Chelsea countered fast, and the tackles flew in like neither side remembered this was technically a non-contact sport.

At 18th minute, you overlapped down the left wing, and Nathalie flattened you with a clean but brutal shoulder charge. The crowd roared. You shoved her back when you got up. She grinned.

34th minute, Chelsea corner, you knew full well Nathalie’s airborne ability. So you kept on pushing her while her elbow kept digging into you. Your squabble got a bit too much out of hand and the ref decided to give both of you a warning. Manu pushed away the header from Aggie’s attempt and you swept it out for a Chelsea throw in.

37th minute. You tackled Nathalie cleanly when she decided to run up the field to make an offensive run. She fell and rolled over, groaning dramatically, claiming for a foul while you complained to the ref for her “diving”, and should give her a warning instead for her unsportsmanlike behaviour. You got a yellow card for talking back to the ref, and she got a yellow for time wasting.

Five minutes later, when Beth went down from a foul by Ashley Lawrence. The cameras caught you sharing a water bottle. The commentators were confused. “Are they…laughing? They were gunning for each other all day?!"

Then, in the 63rd minute, it happened.

You intercepted a pass meant for Lauren James, dribbled past two blue shirts, and went 1v1 on Nathalie. You could’ve passed. You should’ve passed. Caitlin was waiting on an overlap, Kim was not too far away. But you saw Stina was sprinting towards the back post, pace unmatched.

So, you nutmegged her. Nathalie’s face was priceless—half fury, half pride—but you were already gone, and setting a cross so perfect that Stina headed it into the net with utmost ease.

1-0 to Arsenal.

Frida, who just went off to the bench screamed in joys and jokingly told with Amanda in a hybrid of Swedish and Norwegian: “SHE’S SLEEPING ON THE COUCH TONIGHT!"

The Emirates erupted. You turned toward the Chelsea half and grinned directly at Nathalie and kissed your taped ring finger. Nathalie knew that you would probably write the cutest little N and a red heart beside it on your tape. And you turned your heel and ran towards Stina, your best friend from Swedish National Team, and pampered multiple kisses onto her head, while eyes locked directly into Nathalie.

Erin gaped. "Did she just—"

"Kiss her ring finger? And proceed to kiss our best friend just to rub it in? Yes." Nathalie deadpanned. "We’re one goal behind. Erin. Focus."

But when the final whistle blew (1-1, thanks to a last-minute Kerr’s equaliser), Nathalie didn’t high-five her own teammates just yet, and instead jogged toward the Arsenal bench—where you were substitute off at 68 minutes for Katie McCabe.

The cameras caught it all: the way you pulled her into a hug, the way she muttered something in your ear that made you laugh, the way your hands lingered just a second too long, the way you brushed her stray stand of sweaty hair off her face, and the way Guro and Frida crackling with each other, fingers pointing at you both, when you two smiled at each other a bit too much.

And the internet got hold of it.

@ReitenFans03: Nathalie Björn (Chelsea) and Y/N Björn (Arsenal) just hugged it out after the derby. Are they related?

@WOSO_Insider: Breaking: Arsenal New Defender Y/N Björn from Liverpool shares a bottle with Chelsea’s New Defender Nathalie Björn after 1-1 London derby draw.

@FootyBanter: Swedish invasion! The Björn siblings taking over London derbies!

The speculation lasted exactly 37 minutes until Hanna Bennison, ever the agent of chaos, quote-tweeted a fan account with:

@HannaBennison8 (verified): Not sisters. Married. Also, their old apartment had a life-size Liverpool Mighty Red in the living room and a set of Häcken tableware. Yes, really. No, I’m not okay.

On instagram, ChelseaFCW posted:*[Highlights of Nathalie’s tackles]*

In response, ArsenalWFC posted: *[Clip of your nutmeg on Nathalie and assist to Stina]* with a cheeky caption *Björn MAGIC 👀👀*

WOSO_Memes posted a side-by-side photos: Nathalie shouldering you to the ground vs. you side-tackling her with a shit-eating grin. Caption: *Marriage*

Then, the pièce de résistance – an old photo resurfaced, courtesy of Hanna: You and Nathalie in your first rival derby (AIK vs. Djurgården, 2015), mid-shoving match. The caption?

*Some things never change.*

Later in the evening, you posted some match photos alongside with a frame of Nathalie’s foul on you, a goal celebration with Stina, a post match moment of you and Nathalie hugging together, and lastly, a photo of you two cuddling each other under a Swedish national team blanket on your sofa, her Chelsea hoodie and your Arsenal one tangled together, a Häcken wine glass in frame, and a framed Djurgården jersey behind you, with Nathalie cuddling an Everton throw pillow and the life size Mighty Red just sitting beside you. Caption: *Another Björn vs Björn. Scoreline: 1-1. Truce until next derby.*

[erwinsvow]

being popes wife while he’s in prison means the most world shattering sex when he gets out he is not gonna stop for HOURS you really would just have to let him get it out of his system and fuck you into a coma

this actually made me like almost faint i'm not even kidding. i'm just gonna set aside the internal worry i have that nothing i write for him makes any sense or is out of character and just write about this for a minute thank you -> i wrote this like a week ago and never answered and look how far we've come so i'm gonna post it because this is the anon that started it all!!!! wherever you are thank you!!

in my perfect little world he would go to his old apartment first, before going to the house. you, his perfect little wife, would be the devoted type who came to visit him once a week, once every two weeks if you really had to. it's a really long drive but it was always worth it to you. the type who without fail asks his family if anyone wants to come with you this week. in my little au i would make her a nurse who works three on, four off and she uses those four to go visit pope, sometimes staying overnight in some hotel and then visiting again the next day before she drives home. as much as it means to pope that you would drive so long to see him week after week, i don't think he would like it. he would think it's too dangerous for you to drive eight hours by yourself, that it's dangerous to visit him when there's so many leering, unbelieving eyes that this is the wife that pope's been hiding back at home. and i think he wouldn't want you to see him like this, even though you're just moping at home, that this is the part of each week you look forward to. i don't know, maybe even after a year of marriage before he got arrested and the time you've been going to visit him, pope can't process that there is someone in his life who loves him this much. that he's not a burden, that you're not scared, that you do all of this willingly just to see him and hold his hand for a couple of hours, that you're always in tears when it's time for you to go home, that you answer his calls immediately, even if you're at work.

so you can imagine the kind of loyalty he has to you, since he's seen firsthand the kind of love you have for him. so when he gets parole, he doesn't tell you about it. doesn't want to get your hopes up like he did last time, and then he had to break the news to you over the phone and listen to you cry for the rest of the allotted time, and go back to his cell with the realization that you're still at home crying and there's nothing he can do to help you. so he keeps it quiet, drives himself home with the windows rolled down so he can hear the ocean again, thinking about the face you'll make when he's in front of you again. and fuck if it doesn't live up to every expectation he's had in his head for the last three years. the way you look in the comfort of your shared home, not just dressed up for him inside the barren prison. you're probably doing something that's part of your routine, the one he's had memorized since the two of you got together, cleaning up from breakfast and baking something since it's saturday.

you freeze when you hear the door open. pope's brothers usually tell you if they're swinging by, but they normally never come around unless they need you to stitch one of them up or something. you don't think they had any jobs planned for today, but then again, you could be wrong. but it's not loud enough to be them, you'd hear cursing and shouting and screaming if it was. a little stupidly, you step out of the kitchen towards the front door, without so much as a weapon to defend yourself. but you have this hope, that one day your husband will walk through those doors again like you haven't been living alone for the last three years.

today is the day your wish came true. and he does love your expression, wants to memorize it so it can never truly leave his mind. but what's better is when the two of you get into bed because he has no intentions of getting out of bed, because he has a lot to make up for. three missed birthdays—yours and his, three wedding anniversaries (and three other anniversaries, the first day you two met). all the times he should have been there for you when you had a bad day at work or got anxious around his family or needed him there, like when your car wouldn't start or the breaker short-circuited and the power went out. i've talked enough about pope and wifey's sex life, but same as the show, he goes to smurf's house after. someone asks him where you are. "i'll bring her by tomorrow. she couldn't walk."

EXCUSE-

[btsstraykidsateez]

A Perfect Day.-Hongjoong.(NSFW.)

Dirty talk, pussy eating, fingering, blow jobs, missionary, couch sex, unsafe sex, creampie.

After four years together, you knew that Hongjoong was the one for you. Hell, you knew that after four dates. He was just special. Compared to all the other men that had been in your life, none of them even came close to halfway of measuring up to Kim Hongjoong. Every day with him you felt luckier, more blessed. You were madly in love with him and you knew he felt the same about you in the little actions he did, the words he said. He was never ashamed to tell you or show you how he felt whether you were in the privacy of your own house or out in public.

He was the one. You were the one.

Moving from the sappy, romantic part of your relationship your mind flips to the dirty part of it. The sex that made your toes curl, thighs shake, clit throb and pussy wet all the time. He was insane in bed and you found yourself doing things you always told yourself you never would. But you found not only the best lover you ever had, but the only guy you truly felt comfortable enough with and safe enough with to try new things. He never pressured you and always told you that you could change your mind but you never did. You wanted it all with him and the further your relationship got, the dirtier and kinkier you became.

He was not only your romantic soul mate but your soul mate in all the ways that the public would never see. The safety of the house you shared the only witness to the filth that went on inside its walls.

You were currently deciding what to call in for dinner not having the energy to cook and wanting the food to be hot for Hongjoong when he returned home. You knew what he liked but you weren't sure what you were craving.

Well, you did but you knew for sure it wasn't on any menu.

It was inside your gorgeous boyfriends' pants. You were really ready for him to get home.

You had been horny for him all day and even though you've made yourself cum a few times it just wasn't enough.

You craved his mouth, fingers and cock just as you always did.

When the front door finally opened you let out a sigh of relief. Not only was he home but he was also carrying take out bags. It was as if he knew you weren't in the mood to cook and picked up food on his own time.

You walked over and greeted him with a kiss, "You are a life saver."

He smiled and put the food down before pulling you closer so he could kiss you again. You let out a content sigh into the kiss which allowed him to slide his tongue into your mouth. You groaned and grabbed his shoulders. He pulled back to place soft kisses on your jaw before moving down to your neck.

"Baby," You groan, "don't you want to eat first?"

He chuckled against your skin, "What I've been craving all day isn't in the bags."

You felt your clit throb at his words.

You lick your lips, "The food can wait. I need you."

His eyes darkened, "Is that so?"

You nod, "I've made myself cum multiple times today but it wasn't good enough. I need you."

He groaned at your words before pushing you back up against the wall. He kissed you again as if trying to steal all the breath in your lungs. He ran his hand up the loose shirt you were wearing and groaned at the feeling of your bare breasts under his hands. He wasted no time pinching and squeezing your nipples to enjoy the sounds you made against his mouth.

"Fuck." He groaned, "You sound so fucking good, baby."

You whine and arch into him, "I need to feel you against me. Our clothes are in the way."

He grins at you, "Lets get them out of the way since they bother you so much then."

It's not long before your clothes are thrown all over the kitchen and forgotten. He had pulled you into the living room and pushed you down onto the couch before kneeling on the floor in front of you.

"Spread your legs for me, baby." He ordered, "I need to see you."

You nod your head and slowly spread your legs watching the way his eyes instantly lock on your pussy. You knew your arousal would be obvious due to the fact you had been horny all day and had made yourself cum repeatedly.

"Fuck." He cussed, nails digging into your thighs, "Your pussy is so fucking pretty, baby. I'll never get tired of this sight. You're so wet, sweetheart. You want me that bad?"

You nod, "Please, baby. Want your mouth and fingers so bad."

He placed soft kisses on the inside of your thigh before moving to the other one to kiss it as well. He kept his eyes locked on you, watching the way your chest rose and fall, your nipples hard, lips open as you let out soft pants. Your face was already flushed due to your arousal. His cock hardened at it all and wanted nothing more than to bury his cock in your pussy but he was a patient man and if you wanted him to eat your pussy then by god he'd bury his face between your thighs until you couldn't take it no more.

Your breath hitched as he inched closer to your aching pussy, his warm breath fanning over your sensitive skin. You could feel the anticipation building, your body tensing with each passing second.

Finally, he reached your pussy, and he groaned deeply, his eyes never leaving yours. "You smell so fucking good, baby," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. He leaned in, his tongue tracing a slow, deliberate path up your slit. You moaned, your hips bucking slightly, seeking more contact. He chuckled against you, the vibration sending waves of pleasure through your body.

He took his time, exploring every inch of you with his tongue and lips. He sucked gently on your clit, making you gasp and grab onto his hair. He slid two fingers inside you, curling them expertly to hit that sweet spot deep within. Your back arched off the couch, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure washed over you.

"You feel so good, baby," he murmured, never stopping his ministrations. "I love how you respond to me."

Your breaths came in short, ragged gasps as he brought you closer and closer to the edge. Just as you were about to climax, he pulled back slightly, his fingers still moving inside you but his mouth now focusing on gentle kisses along your inner thighs.

"Please," you begged, your voice hoarse with need. "Don't stop, Hongjoong. I need to cum."

He looked up at you, his eyes dark with lust. "Is this what you want, baby?" he asked, his fingers moving faster, his thumb circling your clit.

"Yes," you cried out, your body trembling. "Yes, yes, yes!"

He leaned in, his mouth covering your pussy once more, his tongue and fingers working in perfect harmony. Your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing as you screamed his name. He continued to lick and suck, drawing out every last shudder of pleasure.

As you came down from your high, he stood up, his cock hard and ready. He leaned over you, his forehead resting against yours. "I love you," he whispered, his voice filled with emotion.

"I love you too," you replied, your voice soft and sated. "Now, fuck me, Hongjoong. I need you inside me."

He grinned, positioning himself at your entrance. "Your wish is my command, baby," he said, before pushing into you in one smooth stroke. You both moaned at the sensation, your bodies fitting together perfectly.

He filled you completely, his cock stretching you in the most delicious way. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside you. He groaned, his hips moving in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

"You feel so fucking good, baby," he murmured, his voice a low growl. "Your pussy is so wet. It's like it was made for me."

You moaned, your nails digging into his back. "Only for you, Hongjoong. Only for you."

He increased his pace, his hips slapping against yours. The sound of your bodies coming together filled the room, a symphony of lust and love. You could feel another orgasm building, your body tensing as he hit that perfect spot over and over again.

"Fuck, you're going to make me cum again," you panted, your voice breathless. "You feel so good, baby."

He grinned down at you, his eyes dark with desire. "Cum for me, baby. I want to feel you cum all over my cock."

His words sent you over the edge, your body convulsing as your second orgasm hit. He groaned, his own release following shortly after, filling you with his cum. He collapsed on top of you, his body slick with sweat.

After a few moments, he rolled off you, pulling you into his arms. You rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. But your desire for him was far from sated. You wanted more.

You slid down his body, your lips trailing kisses along his chest and stomach. He looked down at you, a questioning look in his eyes. You grinned, your intentions clear.

"You're not done with me yet, are you?" he asked, his voice already husky with renewed desire.

You shook your head, your hand wrapping around his already hardening cock. "Not even close, baby," you murmured, before taking him into your mouth.

He groaned, his hips bucking slightly as you took him deep, your tongue swirling around the sensitive tip. You bobbed your head, your hand working in tandem with your mouth. He tasted salty and musky, his pre-cum already leaking onto your tongue.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned, his hands fisting in your hair. "Your mouth feels so good."

You hummed in response, the vibration making him groan even louder. You could feel him hitting the back of your throat, your eyes watering slightly as you took him deeper. You pulled back, gasping for air, before diving back down, your pace quickening.

He was panting now, his hips moving in time with your mouth. "Baby, I'm close," he warned, but you didn't stop. You wanted to taste him, to feel him come undone in your mouth.

His release hit the back of your throat, his cock pulsing as he groaned your name. You swallowed every last drop, your body humming with satisfaction.

But he wasn't done with you yet. He pulled you up, his lips crashing down on yours. You could taste yourself on him, the mixture of your flavors driving you wild. He pushed you back down on the couch, his body covering yours.

"Again?" you asked, a smile playing on your lips.

He grinned, his cock already hard and ready. "Again," he confirmed, before sliding into you in one smooth stroke.

This time, he took his time, his hips moving in a slow, sensual rhythm. He kissed you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth as his cock explored your pussy. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside you.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he murmured, his voice a low growl. "I could stay like this forever."

You moaned, your body arching into his. "Forever sounds perfect, baby," you replied, your voice breathless.

He increased his pace, his hips slapping against yours. The sound of your bodies coming together filled the room, a symphony of lust and love. You could feel another orgasm building, your body tensing as he hit that perfect spot over and over again.

"You're going to make me cum again, baby," you panted, your voice breathless. "You always feel so fucking good."

He grinned down at you, his eyes dark with desire. "Cum for me, baby. I want to feel you cum all over my cock one more time."

His words sent you over the edge, your body convulsing as your orgasm hit. He groaned, his own release following, filling your pussy with more cum and making a mess of you. He collapsed on top of you, his body slick with sweat.

After a few moments of catching your breath, he rolled off you and pulled you into his arms. You rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. The room was filled with a comfortable silence, the only sounds the soft hum of the house and the distant ticking of a clock.

"You know," he said softly, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin, "I think we deserved that after a long day."

You smiled, looking up at him. "We definitely did," you agreed. "But I think the food might be getting cold."

He chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "You're right. Let's clean up and finally eat."

You both got up from the couch, your bodies still tingling with the afterglow of your lovemaking. You gathered your clothes, slowly putting them back on, stealing kisses and gentle touches as you did. He did the same, his eyes never leaving you, a soft smile playing on his lips.

Once dressed, you headed to the kitchen, hand in hand. He pulled out the takeout containers, and you both laughed at the sight of the now-lukewarm food. "Well, it's not hot anymore," you said, "but it still smells delicious."

He grinned, opening the containers and setting them on the table. "Let's heat it up. We can share a plate."

You nodded, grabbing a couple of plates and forks. As you heated the food in the microwave, you leaned against him, your head resting on his shoulder. "Thank you," you murmured.

He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close. "For what?"

"You know," you replied softly. "For everything. For being you, for loving me, for making every day feel special."

He turned to face you, his eyes filled with emotion. "I love you. More than words can express. And I always will."

You kissed him gently, your heart swelling with love. "I love you too, Hongjoong. Forever."

As the microwave beeped, signaling that the food was heated, you both laughed and turned to the table. You shared a plate, feeding each other bites of food, stealing kisses between mouthfuls. The room was filled with a warm, comfortable atmosphere, the love between you palpable.

After you finished eating, you cleaned up together, washing the dishes and putting away the leftovers. As you dried your hands, he pulled you into a hug, his chin resting on the top of your head.

"Today was perfect," you said softly.

He nodded, his arms tightening around you. "Every day with you is perfect, baby. And I can't wait to see what tomorrow brings."

You smiled, your heart full. "Neither can I."

As you turned off the lights and headed to bed, hand in hand, you knew that no matter what challenges life threw your way, you had each other. And that was all that mattered.

[easytiger-xo]

Fire Trap

pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader ❤︎

✦18+ (MDNI)✦

summary: Dean finally tells Sam what their father said to him before he died. Sam doesn't take it well—and takes off. With nowhere else to turn, Dean shows up on your doorstep. One thing leads to another, and Dean's world comes crashing down. Again.

cw: emotional distress/panic, fire-related trauma (implied), PTSD themes/aftermath, hurt/comfort, near-death experience, some angst, explicit sexual content, shower sex, soft dom!dean, unprotected p in v. (srry if i missed anything.)

wordcount: 4,344

✦ a/n: This story takes place during S2 E10, 'Haunted'. Obviously changed some things to make it work. Took a lot of inspiration from an episode of Burn Notice, where Michael thinks that Fiona is killed in a fire trap and it leads to him finally letting her in. I just needed that with Dean. I hope you enjoy! ❤︎

Now. “I said no. Just wait for me, okay?” Dean’s voice rang out over the phone—firm, protective, already laced with frustration.

“I can handle it. Looks vacant. Just a quick in and out.” You heard the sharp inhale, the beginning of another protest, but you didn’t let him finish.

You hung up.

Four days ago.

You weren’t expecting him.

It was nearly midnight when headlights swept across your window, followed by a knock—two short, one heavy. His knock. You opened the door, heart thudding, and there he stood: jaw tight, eyes glassy with something heavier than exhaustion.

You didn’t say a word. Just stepped aside and let him in, closing the door behind him like it would keep everything chasing him at bay. You hadn’t seen Dean in months. Not since he ended things with you.

Said he loved you—always would—but that it wasn’t the right time. You didn’t press him. You never did. Because you’d always understood Dean Winchester better than he wanted to be understood. And that terrified him more than anything else. So you let him go. Even though it left a bruise that never quite healed.

You knew the reason he pulled away without him having to explain. John had died. Dean was carrying the grief like a loaded shotgun, and he didn’t want it going off in your direction. He didn’t trust the version of himself that came out when he was hurting.

You missed him. But you didn’t resent him. He still called sometimes. Usually late at night. Case questions. Lore trivia. Sometimes he just wanted to hear someone who remembered who he was before all the weight. You gave him what you could. But it was never personal. Not anymore.

Until now.

He sat on your couch like the ground had finally given way beneath him, talking more than he had in years. Told you what John said about Sam before he died. Told you how badly he messed up trying to protect him. Told you how Sam took off—furious, betrayed—and didn’t look back.

“The kid jacked a car and ran off into the night,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face.

“I don’t know what to do anymore. It just feels like…” His voice cracked. And in that second, he looked younger. Lost. Like he was nineteen again and the whole world had fallen apart in front of him. You reached over and rested a hand on his knee. “I’ll help you find him.”

He looked down at your hand but didn’t pull away. He just let the silence settle around you.

Then his phone rang. Ellen. She’d seen Sam. He was headed to Lafayette, Indiana. Dean didn’t wait. He grabbed his keys. You grabbed your coat. And when the Impala roared to life, you were in the passenger seat—where you’d always belonged.

The two of you pull up outside the only motel in town—one of those faded, roadside places that hasn’t been updated since the '80s. The Impala idles beneath you. Through the open curtains of one of the ground-floor rooms, Dean spots him.

“There’s Sam,” he mutters, leaning forward against the wheel. Then his eyes narrow. “And... huh.”

You follow his gaze. A woman.

Dean’s mouth tugs into a crooked, boyish grin—the kind that’s always been your undoing. “Sam, you sly dog.”

You laugh under your breath. “Kid’s been on the run less than a week and already shacked up.”

Dean chuckles, then shifts back into gear. “Alright, let’s park outta sight and get a room. Wait this out.”

The motel room smells faintly of mildew and old cigarettes, but you’ve both stayed in worse. Dean paces back and forth, boots thudding softly against the worn carpet. “Dean, you’re gonna wear a hole in the floor.” You glance down, then smirk. “Actually, keep going. That might be an improvement.”

He doesn’t bite. Doesn’t even crack a smile. You try again. “Y’know, if Sam’s getting lucky, no reason we can’t…” You raise your brows, a playful lilt in your voice. It’s half a joke. Maybe only a quarter.

Dean pauses mid-step and looks at you, unamused. Stone-faced. You sigh and throw your hands up in surrender. “Fine. Okay. I’m gonna go grab a couple sandwiches from that shop across the street. You still like pie, right?” You don’t wait for an answer. The door clicks shut behind you before he can say a word.

The air outside is cold enough to bite. You pull your jacket tighter around you as you walk, trying to shake off the sting in your chest. He’s still not ready. Didn’t bring you here for that, even if part of you wishes that’s what this trip was. You sigh and try not to read too much into it. It’s not about you. It never really has been.

The bell above the shop door jingles as you step inside. Turkey for you. Ham for him. And cherry pie—of course. You toss in a six-pack for good measure. Something to fill the silence, if nothing else.

You’re balancing the bags as you cross the street when you spot her. The woman from Sam’s room. She’s walking away quickly, coat half-zipped, keys in hand. You pick up your pace to catch up.

Back at the room, you fumble trying not to drop everything. You’re just about to twist the doorknob when it swings open from the inside. “’Bout time,” you say, grinning.

Dean chuckles, stepping aside. “Sorry. Bathroom.” You walk in and set the bags on the desk. “Hey, I saw that girl leaving Sam’s room. He’s still in there. You want backup?”

Dean shakes his head. “No. I got it. Brother stuff.” He reaches out and takes your hand for a second. Just a second. “Thanks.” You know what he means. Not just for the food. For being here. For staying. For not pushing. You smile and nod. “Go get him.”

Dean had every intention of tearing into his little brother the second he saw him. He was ready to yell, to demand an explanation, to tell Sam just how worried sick he’d been. He knocked hard on the motel room door. A few seconds later, it creaked open. Sam stood there, clearly not expecting to see him.

“Dean?” he blinked. “Look, I know what you’re gonna say—” He held up a hand, a half-hearted peace offering.

Dean pushed past it. “No, I don’t think you do, Sam.” There was anger in his voice. Not just frustration—real anger. The kind that came from fear.

“Just—just hear me out, okay?” Before Dean could fire back, Sam started talking. Fast. Desperate to get it all out. He explained why he was there. The woman—Ava. How she’d tracked him down, said he was in danger. How she told him about a dream she’d had. One that sounded way too familiar.

A house. 5637 Monroe Street. Fire. Death.

Dean’s jaw tightened as he listened. His brain was already moving, processing the pieces. When Sam finally stopped, Dean exhaled. “Alright. Let’s go check this place out.”

Sam blinked. “Really? You’re not gonna—?”

“What?” Dean cut in. “I’m still pissed, but I get it. You need to figure this out. We’ll do it together.” What he didn’t say: the guilt was eating him alive. John’s last words, the burden of carrying that secret, letting it fester for so long—he didn’t need one more wedge between them.

“I’m gonna grab Y/N and we can—”

“Y/N is with you?” Sam interrupted, brows lifting in surprise.

Dean stopped mid-step. “Yeah, Sam. You left me high and dry, remember?” His voice was sharper than intended.

“Right. Okay.” Sam nodded, grabbing his gun from the desk, tucking it away, and following Dean out.

They stepped into the motel room to find it empty. The bags of food were untouched, still sitting on the desk. A faint chill hung in the air—quiet. Dean’s stomach dropped.

He reached for his phone, dialing your number without hesitation. It rang twice before you picked up. “Where are you?” he asked, already sensing the answer.

You were standing outside a weather-worn house, the address etched into the crooked mailbox: 5637 Monroe Street. Paint peeled from the siding. The air smelled like dust and something old.

“Oh, uh… I didn’t tell you,” you replied, a little too casually. “I talked to that girl—Ava—before she left. She told me what was going on, gave me the address. Thought I’d check it out while you were, y’know, dealing with brother stuff.”

Dean ran a hand through his hair. “I’m on my way with Sam. Do not go in there, okay?” There was a tightness in his voice now. But you were used to that—Dean always worried about you. Always would.

“I’m just gonna take a look around,” you said, balancing the phone between your shoulder and ear as you cocked your gun.

“I said no. Just wait for me, okay?” Dean’s voice rang out over the phone—firm, protective, already laced with frustration.

“I can handle it. Looks vacant. Just a quick in and out.” You heard the sharp inhale, the beginning of another protest, but you didn’t let him finish.

You hung up.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean muttered, flipping his phone shut with a snap.

He spun on his heel and strode toward the Impala, jaw clenched. Sam didn’t say a word. He just followed.

You approach the house with trained caution. This isn’t your first rodeo. You keep low, quiet, circling around until you find a broken window that hasn’t been boarded up. It groans as you slide through, landing softly inside. The place is silent, but not dead. It feels off—air too still, shadows too sharp. Someone’s been here recently.

Your senses are on high alert, scanning everything. Your eyes catch it just in time—a tripwire strung low across the floor.

Close one.

You step over it carefully, heart thudding. What you don’t see is the pressure plate beneath a scrap of old rug. You feel it the second your boot presses down.

Click. A hiss. Then the walls erupt.

Flames roar to life like they’ve been waiting for you. Gas-fed, fast, angry. You stumble back, instinct taking over, but the fire’s already crawling up the walls, licking the ceiling. Smoke fills the room in seconds. You spin, searching for an exit. You're trapped. Your lungs tighten, panic flooding your veins. You press your back to the wall as the heat surges closer.

By the time Dean pulls up, the house is a blazing inferno. He doesn’t even turn the engine off.

“NO! NO! NO!”

He’s out of the car in a heartbeat, sprinting toward the fire. Sam grabs him around the chest, holding on with everything he has. “Dean! You can’t!”

Dean thrashes, fury and fear making him wild. “LET GO, SAM!”

“Dean, there’s no way—no one could survive that!”

Dean’s voice breaks, full of something raw and desperate. “Y/N!” he screams your name again and again like it’ll bring you back. His voice rips through the night, hoarse and ragged.

Sirens wail in the distance—firetrucks.

“Dean, we have to go. Now!” Sam’s dragging him, fighting him every step of the way. Dean doesn’t stop struggling until they’re back at the car. He tears the door open, peels out, tires screaming against the pavement. He’s already calling your number. Straight to voicemail.

“Hi, you’ve reached me. Leave a message.”

“Son of a bitch!” He ends the call and dials again.

“Hi, you’ve reached me—”

Again.

“Hi—”

And again.

Every time your voice plays, it cuts deeper.

They drive up and down the stretch of road near the fire, Dean scanning every shadow, every ditch, every side street. “You got out,” he mutters. “You had to.” His grip on the wheel is white-knuckled, the phone trembling in his hand. “This can’t be happening, Sam.”

Sam watches him, heart heavy. He’s never seen Dean like this. Not even when they lost their dad. Not even when he was dying. Sam wants to say, ‘I’m sure she’s okay’, but he doesn’t.

Because what if you’re not?

Hours pass.

Rain starts to fall, soft at first, then harder. Visibility drops, and they’re forced to head back. Dean drives in silence, jaw locked, eyes dead ahead. He pulls into the motel lot, throws the Impala into park, kills the engine. The rain drums against the roof like a ticking clock. Sam opens his mouth. “Dean, I’m—”

“Don’t.” Dean’s voice is low. Icy. He steps out into the rain, the phone already to his ear again. He dials. Again. Again.

“Hi, you’ve reached me...”

He stands at the door to the room, water soaking through his jacket, pooling at his feet. He doesn’t open it right away. Just stands there, hand on the knob, staring. Terrified of what won’t be waiting for him on the other side. Finally, he breathes in deep—and steps inside.

“Hey, that you?”

Your voice cuts through the room like a thunderclap.

Dean stops cold.

He turns toward the bathroom in stunned silence as you step out, barefoot, wrapped in a worn motel robe, towel-drying your hair. You’re annoyed, totally unaware of the storm you’ve just walked into.

“Mean-ass lady at the front desk wouldn’t let me use her phone, and this dump doesn’t have any in the rooms...” you mutter, shaking your head. “That place was freaking booby-trapped, Dean. I barely got out. Dropped my damn phone jumping out a window. Whoever set that up—serious operator. Not your average monster-of-the-week.”

You keep rambling, still scrunching your damp hair in the towel, not noticing the way Dean hasn’t moved. Not noticing the way his chest is rising like he can’t catch his breath.

“I smelled like a roasted pig,” you laugh softly, tossing the towel toward the bathroom. It lands in a heap on the floor. “Had to shower or I was gonna start—Dean?”

You finally stop talking. His name leaves your lips gently, and it shatters him.

He drops his phone. It clatters to the carpet, forgotten.

In two strides, he’s in front of you. You lift your eyes and what you see stops your heart—raw emotion burning through him like gasoline on fire, and you would know. His hand rises, trembling slightly as he cups your cheek. His thumb brushes against your skin like he’s testing whether you’re flesh or a ghost.

“You didn’t think,—” you begin to whisper. Your voice is soft. Slowly understanding. But he silences you with his touch.

And then he’s kissing you.

No warning. No hesitation. Just need.

His mouth crashes into yours, all heat and desperation that makes your knees weak. His arm wraps around your waist like he’s terrified you’ll vanish if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.

It’s not soft. It’s not slow. This is a man who thought he lost you—who's still shaking from the idea of living in a world without you.

You kiss him back with equal fire, fingers digging into the back of his neck, pulling him closer. You’ve missed this. Missed him. 

He tugs at the belt of your robe, hands rough and urgent. The fabric parts easily, slipping off your shoulders and pooling at your feet. Dean steps back just a breath, eyes sweeping over you like he’s trying to memorize every inch of skin again.

“Jesus,” he whispers, voice hoarse. “You’re really here.”

You reach up, pull his mouth back to yours. “I’m here,” you murmur into the kiss. “Not going anywhere.”

He peels off his jacket, letting it fall to the floor with a heavy thump. His hands find your waist, lifting you like you weigh nothing. You gasp as your back meets the cool wall, his body pressed hard against yours.

There’s nothing gentle in the way he touches you now. It’s all adrenaline and relief, love buried in every hurried movement. His lips leave a trail of open-mouthed kisses down your neck, his hands everywhere at once—gripping your thighs, cupping your face, running over your ribs like he needs to feel your heartbeat to believe you’re alive.

You thread your fingers through his hair, gasping his name, tugging him closer. He grinds against you, groaning low in his throat.

“I thought I lost you,” he breathes against your skin. “I thought—I couldn’t—”

You cut him off with another kiss, slower this time, but no less full of fire. “You didn’t. I’m here. I’m right here, baby.”

He lifts you away from the wall, carrying you to the bed without breaking contact.

He lays you back on the mattress like he’s staking a claim—like you’re his last breath and he’s not about to waste it. The old springs groan beneath the weight of you both, but the sound is lost in the firestorm between you. 

Everything is heat, tension, the crackling charge that started building the moment he saw you step out from the bathroom.

You’re already reaching for him, tearing at his belt with shaking fingers. He meets your urgency, unbuckling it like it insulted him, then shoves his jeans and boxers down in one swift, brutal motion. His shirt clings to him, soaked through and molding to every hard-cut muscle, but he rips it off and throws it across the room like it’s in the way. Like everything is in the way.

Your eyes rake over him—freckles and scars scattered across his chest, sweat glistening in the dip of his collarbone, that perfect cock already thick, hard, and leaking for you.

“Fuck, Dean…” you breathe, lips parted, pupils blown wide.

He doesn’t give you time to linger. His hands grip your thighs and he drags you closer to him, the rough pull stealing the air from your lungs. A low, primal sound rumbles in his chest, and he stares down at you like he might devour you.

“Thinking you were in that house,” he says, voice low and cracked. “You don’t know what that did to me.”

You reach for him, legs wrapping around his waist like instinct. “I'm so sorry,” you whisper. “I'm here, I'm okay.” you reassure him again.

And that’s all it takes. He strokes himself once, twice, then presses the thick head of his cock to your entrance. There’s no teasing. No slow slide. Just need. He thrusts into you in one deep, devastating push—stretching you wide, filling you completely, until your back arches off the bed and his name punches out of your throat.

“Oh fuck—Dean!”

He curses under his breath, fingers digging into your hips like he’s anchoring himself. “Jesus, baby—I almost forgot how perfect you feel.”

He pulls back and drives into you again, setting a rhythm that’s all force and fire. The bed rocks beneath you, old springs squealing under every relentless thrust. It’s not careful. It’s not clean. It’s everything he’s been holding back—the fear, the guilt, the ache—hammered into you with every sharp, punishing snap of his hips.

You meet him thrust for thrust, your heels digging into the backs of his thighs, your hands fisting the sheets. He’s everywhere—on your skin, in your lungs. His hand curls around yours, fingers entwined, grounding himself in the fact that you’re alive, here, under him, with him.

“Harder,” you beg, voice breaking. “God, Dean—I need it. I need you.”

Your words detonate something in him.

He groans—raw, low, feral—and flips you, pulling you to your knees in a blur of motion. He plunges into you from behind, deeper now, rougher. The angle hits something sharp and bright inside you, and the moan that tears from your throat sounds wrecked.

His chest presses to your back for a moment, his breath hot on your neck. Then his arm wraps around your middle and pulls you upright, your spine arching as he holds you to him. One hand slides up your stomach, cups your breast, fingers rolling your nipple until your legs threaten to give out. The other snakes down between your thighs and finds your clit—circling tight, fast, merciless.

You’re gasping, trembling, so close it hurts. “I missed you,” you choke out, head falling back on his shoulder. “So much—needed you.”

“I know, baby,” he pants into your skin, his voice a ragged whisper. “I know. I’ve got you now.”

He fucks up into you harder, his pace brutal, fingers moving in time with each deep thrust. Your walls clench around him as the pressure builds, blinding and unstoppable. “Come for me,” he growls against your ear. “Remind me how it feels when you fall apart for me.”

And you do. You fall to pieces around him, a scream ripping from your throat as your orgasm tears through you like wildfire. Your whole body locks, trembling, shaking. He holds you through it, hips stuttering before he buries himself deep one last time, groaning your name as he spills into you, hot and thick and so much.

You collapse forward onto the bed with him still inside you, both of you trembling, slick with sweat and shaking breaths. His body covers yours, anchoring you both to the moment. His lips brush your shoulder, soft and reverent. Again. And again.

The room has gone quiet now, save for the soft rasp of Dean’s breathing. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Just clings to you like a lifeline. You run your fingers through his hair, slow and soothing, your other hand tracing soft lines down his spine. No words—just quiet comfort. A balm for the ache you know he’s still carrying in his chest.

After a long stretch of silence, he finally shifts, just enough to look at you. His face is raw, open in a way he almost never lets himself be.

“When I pulled up and saw the place burning,” he says, voice gravel-soft and cracked at the edges, “I thought… I thought that was it. I thought I was too late.”

Your heart twists, and you cradle his cheek in your palm, letting him speak.

“There wasn’t a sign of you. Just smoke and flames. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. I kept playing it over in my head—what if you’d screamed for me and I wasn’t there to hear it?”

“Dean—”

“I don’t ever wanna feel that again,” he whispers, a tremble threading through his words. “I swear to God, if I ever lose you like that—really lose you—I won’t come back from it.”

You pull him into your arms, wrapping yourself around him like armor. “You didn’t lose me,” you say, fierce and quiet. “I’m here. I got out. I’m safe. With you.”

He lets himself be held. You feel the way his body slowly starts to unwind against you, all that coiled panic bleeding out with every breath. It takes time, but eventually his head finds its place tucked against your chest, and his breathing evens. You stroke his hair until the tension fades from his muscles, until his weight grows heavier, and you realize he’s drifted off—finally, safely—against you. You stay like that for a while, your fingers ghosting over his bare back, memorizing the feel of him in sleep. 

You slip out of bed when the first faint light of morning begins to warm the sky outside the cracked blinds. The bathroom is quiet. Steam curls around you as you step into the shower, eyes closing under the gentle cascade of water. You tilt your face up, letting it wash away the sweat, the ache, the lingering adrenaline. Just breathing. Just being.

You don’t hear him come in. But you feel him.

Strong arms slide around your waist, warm and steady. His chest presses to your back, skin to skin, and you exhale softly as his mouth finds the slope of your shoulder.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” you murmur, eyes still closed.

He kisses just below your ear. “You didn’t.”

His hands move slowly over your body, reverent, unhurried. There’s no rush in the way he touches you now—just the quiet ache of love rediscovered. He turns you in his arms, your wet skin slipping against his as you face him.

His eyes lock with yours, and whatever he’s feeling—whatever’s left unspoken—he says with that look. With the way his fingers brush your cheek, the way his lips find yours, soft and aching.

He kisses you like he needs it to live.

You melt into it, letting him guide you gently back against the cool tile. His body presses to yours, his hands skimming the sides of your waist before sliding down to the curve of your hips. He lifts one of your thighs, anchoring it around his waist, and when he slides into you this time, it’s slow—achingly slow.

You gasp into his mouth, your hands gripping his shoulders. He’s deep and thick and perfect, and he fills you like he’s trying to carve himself into your soul. His forehead rests against yours, the rhythm of his thrusts gentle but steady, a slow roll of pleasure that builds in quiet, tender waves.

“I love you,” he murmurs against your lips.

You nod, breath catching, fingers threading through the damp hair at the nape of his neck. “I know. I love you too.”

He rocks into you, again and again, his hands cradling your body like you’re precious—fragile and holy. Your moans echo softly in the fogged bathroom, mixing with the hum of the water, the slide of wet skin on skin.

It’s not just sex. It’s worship. A thank-you. A promise.

And when you come, it’s with a soft cry into his mouth, your whole body trembling against him. He follows seconds later, arms tightening around you as he groans your name, his hips stuttering as he pours everything he has into you.

You stay wrapped around each other long after, letting the water cool and the world slow down. His lips never leave your skin for long—tracing your cheek, your jaw, your shoulder.

“Next time,” you murmur, brushing his wet hair back from his forehead, “don’t wait ‘til after a near-death experience to come back to me.”

Dean smiles faintly and kisses your collarbone. “Deal. But I'm not going anywhere.”

credit & links:

⟡ gif & pics from pinterest, edited by me. ⟡ dividers by easytiger-xo.

[favefandomimagines]

I Know Places 5 (r.c)

Summary: Y/N becomes suspicious of Rafe, while JJ becomes suspicious of Y/N

Taglist: @luvrclub

AN: i think this has like three or four chapter left! But I feel like their self indulgent at this point lol

Previous Part

The Pogues’ house was bustling with the usual chaotic energy that came with living under one roof. Sand trailed in from the front porch, damp towels were slung over chairs, and the faint smell of sunscreen still lingered in the air. It was home—a messy, loud, and ridiculously nosy home.

That was what made sneaking around so damn difficult.

Y/N stood in her room, hands smoothing down the fabric of her dress, trying to ignore the way her heart pounded in her chest.

She wasn’t nervous about seeing Rafe. No, she was thrilled—her entire body buzzing with anticipation at the thought of being with him again.

What had her on edge was keeping it all under wraps.

Lying wasn’t something Y/N did often, especially not to JJ or the rest of the Pogues. They were her family. But this? This was something different.

This was hers.

And while she wished she didn’t have to keep it a secret, she knew that the moment JJ found out, all hell would break loose.

Kie sat cross-legged on Y/N’s bed, watching with her usual amused expression as Y/N fussed with her earrings. “You’re like a lovesick puppy.”

Y/N turned, her lips twitching into a sheepish smile. “I know. It’s weird. A guy has never made me feel like this before.”

Kie let out a short laugh. “Yeah, that’s what’s weird. Not the fact that Rafe Cameron is the one doing it.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. She knew how it sounded. Hell, if someone had told her a year ago that she’d be sneaking around to go on dates with Rafe, she would have laughed in their face.

But here she was.

Kie leaned back on her elbows, her teasing expression softening into something more sincere. “I’m sorry you feel like you have to hide this.”

Y/N sighed, glancing down at her hands. “It’s JJ I’m worried about. You know how he is. I’m positive he’d disown me as his sister if he found out.”

Kie frowned slightly, a flicker of guilt crossing her face. “I mean… he would freak out,” she admitted. “But disown you? C’mon, Y/N. He’d never do that.”

Y/N gave her a skeptical look. “Kie, he still holds a grudge against the guy who took my sandwich in fourth grade. What do you think he’d do if he found out I was seeing his mortal enemy?”

Kie winced. “Okay, fair point.”

Silence stretched between them for a moment before Kie hesitated, then said, “Sarah wouldn’t judge you. After all, Rafe is her brother.”

“Maybe,” Y/N murmured, twisting a ring around her finger absentmindedly. “I don’t know. I’m just… scared.”

Scared of what JJ would say.

Scared of what everyone would say.

Scared that if she said it out loud, it would all fall apart.

Kie sighed, sitting up straighter. “I get it. And I won’t say anything. Just—don’t shut me out, okay?”

Y/N met her gaze, gratitude shining in her eyes. “Thank you.”

Kie grinned, nudging her with her foot. “Now, tell me—what’s the plan for this mystery date?”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “I actually have no idea. He wanted it to be a surprise.”

Kie raised an eyebrow, impressed. “Okay, I take back some of my judgment. The boy’s got game.”

Y/N chuckled, standing up. “I’m meeting him at the lighthouse.”

Kie stretched her arms over her head. “Well, have fun. And forget about all the JJ-and-Pogue drama tonight, okay? Just enjoy it.”

Y/N smiled, feeling some of the tension ease from her chest. “You’re the best.”

“I know.”

With that, Y/N grabbed her bag, took one last deep breath, and left the house—excitement bubbling beneath her skin as she headed for the lighthouse.

She had no idea what Rafe had planned.

But for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t worried about it.

||

The lighthouse stood tall against the dusky sky, its beacon flashing intermittently over the ocean, casting fleeting streaks of golden light across the water. The waves crashed rhythmically against the rocky shore, the salty air thick and humid, sticking to Y/N’s skin as she stood near the railing.

She wrapped her arms around herself, a small shiver running through her—not from the cold, but from the anticipation.

She had never waited for a guy like this before, had never cared enough to feel this kind of nervous excitement. But Rafe Cameron had changed that.

She glanced down at her phone. No message yet.

A small smile tugged at her lips. He’d be here soon.

But before she could fully settle into that thought, another voice broke the quiet.

“Hey, Y/N.”

Her spine stiffened at the sound.

She turned, her eyes landing on a figure standing just beyond the lighthouse’s glow.

Barry.

His presence was unwelcome, but not surprising.

She took him in—black eye, fresh cuts on his face, the signature smirk that she hated—and immediately rolled her eyes.

Great.

“What do you want, Barry?” Y/N asked flatly, crossing her arms.

Barry let out a low chuckle, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it with a flick of his lighter. The orange ember flared to life, casting sharp shadows across his bruised face.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he exhaled, smoke curling around his words. “Just here to meet a buyer. Didn’t think I’d run into you.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Yeah? Well, I wish you hadn’t.”

Barry let out an amused hum, taking another drag from his cigarette. His gaze flickered over her, assessing. “So… meeting Country Club?”

She clenched her jaw. He wasn’t supposed to know about that.

“What’s it to you?” she shot back, voice steady despite the slight unease crawling up her spine.

Barry smirked, tapping the ash off the end of his cigarette. “Be careful around him,” he said casually. “Rumor has it he’s made enemies of the wrong people.”

Y/N froze.

Her stomach twisted uncomfortably as Barry’s words echoed in her mind.

Enemies.

She thought about Rafe’s break-in, the way he brushed it off when she asked about it. She had pushed the thought aside, convinced herself that if it was serious, he’d tell her.

But now…

Now, doubt crept in.

Before she could press for more, the sound of an approaching truck rumbled through the quiet night.

Barry glanced toward the headlights as they approached, then smirked. “Speak of the devil.”

Rafe’s truck came to a slow stop, the engine cutting off as he stepped out.

His usual cocky smirk was absent. Instead, his face was set in a sharp, serious expression, his blue eyes locking onto Barry with immediate suspicion.

Barry, ever the instigator, gave him a lazy salute. “Later, Maybank.”

Then, with one last glance at Y/N, he turned and walked off, disappearing into the darkness.

Y/N exhaled, shaking her head. “Fucking waste of space.”

Rafe’s gaze flickered between her and Barry’s retreating form. His jaw tightened. “Was he bothering you?”

Y/N shrugged, shifting her weight. “Just Barry being Barry.”

“Stay away from him,” Rafe said immediately.

Y/N turned to face him fully, furrowing her brows. “I can handle myself, Rafe. Especially with Barry.”

“I know you can,” Rafe said, his voice softer now, his fingers flexing at his sides. “It’s just… I don’t trust him.”

Something about the way he said it made her pause.

There was something underneath those words.

Something he wasn’t saying.

But before she could push, Rafe exhaled, shaking off the tension. He reached for her hand, intertwining their fingers, grounding himself.

“Come on,” he said, giving her a small, lopsided smile. “Let’s go enjoy our date.”

Y/N hesitated for only a moment longer before nodding.

As they walked toward the truck, fingers still laced together, she couldn’t shake Barry’s warning.

Rafe had made enemies of the wrong people.

And for the first time, Y/N started to wonder just how deep his secrets went.

||

Rafe led Y/N down a narrow, overgrown path through the dunes, their hands intertwined as the sound of crashing waves filled the air. The sun hung low in the sky, casting golden hues over the sand, and Y/N couldn’t help but marvel at the scene in front of her.

They reached a small cove where the beach curved into a secluded spot, hidden from view by a rocky outcrop. The waves were rough here, the tide stronger than most places along the Outer Banks, which was why no one ever came.

But Y/N’s eyes widened when she saw what was waiting for her.

A full picnic was set up on the sand—blankets, plush pillows, a wicker basket filled with food, and a cooler with drinks. A lantern flickered beside the setup, even though the sun had yet to fully set.

“You did all this?” Y/N asked, looking up at Rafe in disbelief.

Rafe smirked, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Told you I was pulling out all the stops.”

She turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “What, trying to impress me?”

Rafe grinned. “Is it working?”

Y/N bit her lip to hide her smile. “Maybe.”

Rafe reached for her hand again, pulling her toward the picnic. They kicked off their shoes, settling onto the blanket as the salty breeze played with Y/N’s hair.

The tension of the past week—sneaking around, the secrecy, the weight of knowing she couldn’t share this with her friends—melted away as she watched Rafe pull out sandwiches, fruit, and a bottle of wine.

“You really went all out,” Y/N mused, watching as he poured them both a drink.

Rafe shrugged. “Figured if I’m gonna convince you to go on a third date with me, I have to keep setting the bar high.”

Y/N smirked. “Bold of you to assume there will be a third date.”

Rafe handed her a glass, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “There will be.”

Y/N shook her head, but she was grinning as she took a sip of wine.

As they ate, they talked—really talked.

Y/N had always been curious about Rafe’s childhood. She had grown up seeing the Cameron family from a distance, watching the way Ward Cameron carried himself like he owned the island, the way Sarah seemed so effortlessly perfect in everyone’s eyes. But Rafe? Rafe had always been different.

“Do you ever think about what it would’ve been like if things were different?” Y/N asked suddenly, her voice softer now.

Rafe looked at her, his brow furrowing slightly. “What do you mean?”

Y/N hesitated before continuing. “Like, if your dad had been different. If you and Sarah had been closer. If you had grown up… I don’t know, happier.”

Rafe exhaled a quiet chuckle, running a hand through his hair. “I think about it all the time.”

Y/N watched him carefully, noticing the way his jaw tensed.

Rafe leaned back on his elbows, staring out at the waves. “Ward was… complicated. He wanted perfection. From all of us. And I was never going to be that.”

Y/N swallowed, setting her wine glass down.

“He wanted Sarah to be the golden child. The one who got everything right. Me? I was the disappointment,” Rafe continued, his voice bitter. “And when I started screwing up, when I started proving him right… I just leaned into it.”

Y/N hesitated before reaching out, placing her hand over his. “Do you think you’d want to be back in Sarah’s life?”

Rafe was quiet for a moment. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Part of me does. Part of me thinks it’s too late.”

Y/N squeezed his hand. “It’s never too late.”

Rafe looked at her, his blue eyes filled with something unreadable.

After a long pause, he said, “You wanna know the truth?”

Y/N nodded.

“I hated JJ,” Rafe admitted, his voice raw. “Not because of the Pogue-Kook shit. But because I envied him. I envied you.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “Me?”

Rafe nodded, exhaling slowly. “I knew about your dad. I knew your childhood was shit. But you had each other. No matter how bad it got, you had someone who loved you. And then you had John B, Kie, Pope… you had family.”

His jaw clenched. “I never had that.”

Y/N’s heart ached.

She had spent her whole life thinking Rafe Cameron was just another rich kid with a perfect life. But now, sitting here with him, hearing the pain in his voice, she realized how wrong she had been.

Without thinking, she reached up, cupping his cheek. “You have me.”

Rafe inhaled sharply, like the words had physically hit him.

And then, before she could second-guess it, he leaned in.

Their lips met softly, hesitantly at first. But then, something shifted. Rafe’s hands found her waist, pulling her closer as the warmth of the moment wrapped around them.

Y/N melted into him, her fingers tangling in his hair, her heart hammering against her ribs.

When they finally pulled away, Rafe rested his forehead against hers, his breath warm against her skin.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I do.”

Y/N felt like she was floating.

For so long, she had been the outlier—the one always watching from the sidelines while her friends found love, found people who made them feel wanted.

But here, with Rafe?

She felt like someone’s first choice.

And she never wanted the feeling to end.

But as the date wound down, Y/N found herself thinking back to Barry’s words.

"Rumor has it he’s made enemies of the wrong people."

She had asked Rafe about the break-in before, and he had brushed it off. But something about Barry’s warning gnawed at her.

Rafe had enemies. That much she knew.

But how deep did it go?

She wanted to ask him again, but as she looked at him—his relaxed posture, the small smile lingering on his lips—she stopped herself.

She didn’t want to taint what they had with suspicion.

She was happy.

She felt wanted.

For once, she didn’t feel like JJ’s sister, or the second choice to her friends. She felt like herself.

So, for now, she pushed the doubt away.

But some part of her knew that it wouldn’t stay buried forever

||

JJ had spent the better part of the day pretending he wasn’t bothered.

Pretending he didn’t notice the way his sister had been slipping away lately.

Pretending he didn’t care that she had been sneaking off, coming back home with that same dazed look in her eyes, like she was keeping something from him.

But JJ wasn’t stupid.

He knew Y/N better than anyone.

And something was off.

At first, he chalked it up to stress. Running the shop, dealing with the summer Tourons, handling his bullshit on a daily basis—it was a lot.

But then he noticed the way she had been glued to her phone. The way she had started making excuses to disappear for hours at a time. The way Kie, who never kept secrets from him, had been acting weird around Y/N, like she was walking on eggshells.

Something was going on.

The house was empty when the rest of the Pogues decided to head to The Wreck for the night.

Kie had tried to get him to come along, a little too eagerly, which only made JJ more suspicious.

“Nah, I’ll catch up later,” he had said, stretching out on the couch like he had no other plans.

Kie hesitated. “You sure? Free food, my treat.”

JJ raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you offer me free food?”

Kie forced a smile. “Since I’m feeling generous.”

JJ stared at her for a long moment before shaking his head. “I’m good. I’m just gonna chill for a bit.”

He saw the flicker of hesitation in her eyes before she nodded. “Alright. See you later.”

The second the door shut behind her, JJ sat up, running a hand through his hair.

Y/N had been hiding something.

And now he had the house to himself to wait for her.

JJ sat in the dimly lit living room, bouncing his leg impatiently, flipping a lighter between his fingers. He hated this. He hated feeling like he didn’t know his sister anymore.

They had been through everything together.

Y/N was his person. His twin. His built-in best friend.

And now, she was keeping something from him.

JJ knew she had been lying about the “errands.” She had been gone all day.

What the hell was she really up to?

It was nearly 9 PM when JJ heard the sound of the front door unlocking.

He stayed completely still as Y/N stepped inside, her movements careful and quiet, like she was trying not to wake anyone up.

JJ watched as she reached for the light switch, completely oblivious to his presence.

The second the warm glow illuminated the room, her eyes landed on him.

She jumped, her hand flying to her chest. “Jesus, JJ, you scared the hell out of me.”

JJ didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

“You’ve been gone for a while.” His voice was steady, but there was an edge to it.

Y/N swallowed, her expression shifting just slightly—so slightly that most people wouldn’t catch it. But JJ did.

“I told you I was running errands,” she said, too quickly.

JJ tilted his head. “You’ve been gone all day, Y/N.”

Her posture stiffened, and JJ knew he was right. He knew she was hiding something.

“Errands don’t take that long,” he continued, his blue eyes locked onto hers. “So where were you really?”

Y/N hesitated.

It was the first real hesitation JJ had seen from her in a long time.

And it confirmed everything.

She was hiding something.

JJ leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “C’mon, Y/N. We both know you suck at lying.”

Y/N bit her lip, glancing toward the hallway like she was debating just walking away.

But JJ wasn’t letting this go.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look… if something’s wrong, you can tell me. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.”

Y/N’s lips parted slightly, and for a second—a split second—JJ thought she was going to tell him the truth.

But then she exhaled, her expression shifting into something unreadable.

“I was just busy,” she said simply. “That’s all.”

JJ’s stomach twisted.

She wasn’t telling him the truth.

He could see it in her eyes.

And that realization hit him harder than he expected.

JJ trusted Y/N more than anyone. But right now? He wasn’t sure if she still trusted him.

His jaw tightened, but he forced himself to keep his voice even. “Alright,” he said, standing up. “If you say so.”

Y/N blinked, clearly surprised that he was letting it go so easily.

JJ gave her a small, almost knowing smile.

But the thing was—he wasn’t letting it go.

Not even close.

He had every intention of figuring out what the hell was going on with his sister.

And whoever—or whatever—was pulling her away from him?

They were about to have a serious problem

[sorrowful-wallflower]

Count - @into-the-jeggyverse - 641 words

Regulus was waiting in line at the busy cafe. He got off work early and wanted to surprise James with lunch. James had been stressed lately, what with work and the anniversary of his parents' murder coming up. It had been ten years, but the wound seemed to get ripped open every year by one thing or another. Regulus was determined to help him through it, no matter how long it took. He grabbed their food ten minutes later and headed home. Regulus thought about calling to make sure James was home, but he remembered James telling him that he was taking the day off and had no plans to leave the house, so he didn't. The drive to their house seemed to stretch on and on, and Regulus started to get a feeling that something wasn't right. He hit the call button on his steering wheel, calling James' cell to only receive his voicemail. That definitely wasn't good. James never shut his phone off or let it die, even if he wasn't on call. Regulus pressed the gas pedal to the floor and weaved around the cars in front of him. When he got home, he let out a small sigh of relief. James' car was in the drive, but he still rushed into the house, forgetting the food altogether. "James?" Regulus called out as soon as he opened the door. No answer. He made his way around the house, checking every room until he got to their bedroom. The door was open, but he didn't hear anything at first. That was until a choked sob came from within, and he rushed inside to find James in the corner. His knees were to his chest, and he was pulling at his hair. "Jamie?" Regulus asked quietly, moving towards him slowly so as not to spook his boyfriend. "No, no, no, no," James muttered, but didn't seem to realise that Regulus was in the room with him. Regulus knelt in front of him, taking his hands out of his hair gently and rubbing small circles into the back of them. James was breathing hard, his hazel eyes showing fear and panic, and Regulus' heart broke for him. "Jamie, I'm here, baby." James looked up slightly, seeming to have heard him. "I need you to breathe for me, okay. Can you do that for me?" James nodded subtly. Regulus pulled James' hand and set it over his own heart as he demonstrated how he needed him to breathe. "Okay, baby. Let's breathe. I'll count and you focus on matching me." "Here we go. In, one, two, three, four, and out, one, two, three, four. Good. That's good, Jamie. Again," Regulus said easily, tapping the back of James' hand with every count. It took a while, but eventually, they got James' breathing back to normal, and he seemed to be coming back to reality. Regulus wiped the tears off his cheek before he kissed him on the temple and pulled James into his lap. James fell into him without resistance. Regulus ran his fingers through his hair as they sat in the silence. James had his eyes closed as he relaxed into the feeling. After a while, James let out a heavy sigh and slowly opened his eyes, smiling slightly when he looked up to see Regulus. "Hi, baby," Regulus whispered, smiling back at his boyfriend as he continued stroking his messy curls. "Hi." "Do you want to tell me what caused the panic attack?" Regulus asked gently. "You don't have to, but I can't help if I don't know what happened." James closed his eyes again for a minute before opening them and staring at Regulus with so much pain that he wanted to kill whoever hurt him. "He found me," James whispered as a single tear fell down his cheek again.

[atomicrebelfire]

🐅 The Tiger’s Out: Thoughts on 9-1-1, Press Cycles, and Fandom Entitlement

Watching the fandom ( ahem-Buddies-ahem) spiral over Bobby’s death this week—on Twitter, in tags, in comments—got me thinking. Not just about the storyline itself, but about how 9-1-1 has shaped its relationship with us as an audience over time.

And I say us because I’m not above it—I’m here too: spiraling, speculating, commenting, hoping, wishing, refreshing AO3. I mean, how else are we supposed to survive being canon ship fans? But it’s hard not to notice how this show, more than most, has encouraged a kind of fandom culture (ahem—Buddies—ahem) that feels increasingly intense, reactive, and exhausting.

🔹 9-1-1 is one of the only network procedurals I’ve seen that does press and postmortems for nearly every episode. (Or maybe I just didn’t follow the press this closely for other shows.) Not just premieres or finales. But like… every time someone breathes too loudly, there’s an interview explaining why.

We’ve all been conditioned to expect that—like the story isn’t done until it’s been followed by cast interviews, Instagram teases, writer commentary, and four different articles saying “here’s what really happened.”

🔹 For a while, it was fun. It felt like being invited into the process. But over time, that constant feedback loop has turned every moment into a test. Every twist feels like a betrayal. Every silence feels like a message. Every character decision becomes something fans feel owed an explanation for.

And yeah—some of the behavior has gotten out of hand (ahem—Buddies—ahem). But if we’re being honest? The show and its promo machine spent years telling us this story was a conversation, that fan feelings would be heard and reflected, that ships were part of the game. And now that the show is pivoting into heavier, messier, less “pleasing” territory?

The fallout is intense. Because people were set up to believe this was their show, too and the story is a customer service product.

But here’s the thing: You can’t spend six+ seasons feeding the tiger and then act shocked when it bites.

Yes, harassment is never okay. And I support the cast and writers drawing boundaries when things get toxic.

But this climate didn’t come out of nowhere. It was built—one postmortem, one vague ship tease, one “we hear you” at a time. And now that they’re trying to pull back, it’s clear just how hard it is to put that energy back in the bottle.

Sometimes the hardest truth is this: You can’t always untrain what you’ve taught.

And now, suddenly, we’re supposed to act like the fandom’s behavior came out of nowhere? Nah. You raised a tiger on steak and serotonin—and now it’s chewing through the walls. And the fans who are normal? Who are fine with stories evolving or ending? They’re drowned out or driven off.

[nyxofdemons]

four years for this show...

[gutsby]

Too Close for Comfort

Pairing: Joel Miller x Babysitter!Reader

Summary: You’ve been babysitting Sarah Miller forever. One day, you’re surfing the web on her dad’s computer, and you find some…unusual things in his search history.

Or, Joel likes to jerk off to your lookalike on PornHub. It’s time you showed him what the real thing is like.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Oral (m!receiving). Creampie. Mommy/Daddy Roleplay (HEAR ME OUT!!) Brief boot humping. Squirting. Perv!Joel. Breeding kink.

Note: ‘Just call me if anyone else checks in…and by anyone, I mean any swingin dick’ is a line from No Country for Old Men

Word count: 12.7k

Purple slime had been Sarah’s idea.

It was an innocent thing, really. The four-year-old had practically been bouncing on the balls of her feet, eyes wide and shining with excitement when she’d begged—‘Can we pleeeeease?!’—and who were you to tell her no?

You’d only be breaking one small rule of Joel’s, after all. One silly little admonition he’d made before leaving for work the first day you’d started babysitting for him. That had been over a year ago, and he hadn’t even sounded that serious when he’d said it. He probably wouldn’t mind if you bent the rule this one time at Sarah’s behest.

‘Don’t go in the computer room, please.’

Don’t use Joel’s desktop. Don’t rifle through any of the drawers in Joel’s office—it was a mess, but everything was in its place, according to him. Just don’t go in there.

But in exchange for Sarah agreeing to take her nap that day without protest, you’d promised to order her slime.

Purple, gooey, glittery, sticky stuff for her new collection.

You weren’t sure when the fuck putty had become the plaything of choice for kids in Pre-K, but you hadn’t been in a place to judge; whatever Sarah wanted to do, so long as it was safe for her to play with, was totally fine by you.

It was just one rule.

Surely if Mr. Miller knew how badly his daughter wanted the slime, he’d be fine with you booting up his computer once. That was what you kept telling yourself, anyway.

What kept humming through your mind as the desktop came to life and you toggled straight for Google Chrome.

Be quick, be quiet, it’s fine. It’s fine.

Purple goo—it was safe. Innocent. Completely justifiable.

What could the sweet, old, forty-something and forever polite Joel Miller possibly have to hide on this machine that made it wrong for you to buy this one simple toy?

You reached for the keyboard and inhaled a quick breath.

Then you typed one letter, and your heart nearly seized.

P…

…ornhub.com

It was the very first thing that appeared in the search bar.

You couldn’t unsee it. Instinctively, your hand clamped over your mouth, and your eyes widened. You couldn’t help but read the four URLs that immediately dropped down below the first; they were just so garishly inviting.

Hot, Naughty Babysitter gets POUNDED by her Boss!

Slutty Babysitter Gets Railed from Behind and Loves It

Big Dick Boss Gives Babysitter a Passionate Raw Fuck

‘I’ve Never Done This!’ Babysitter Deepthroats Cock

“Oh…my gosh,” you said, words muffled by your palm.

You couldn’t believe what you were seeing. It was just too bizarre, too far out of character, too unlike your boss.

The man had scarcely said ten words to you altogether that didn’t relate to your job in some way or another. He rarely ever engaged in casual confab, and he certainly wasn’t the type to flirt, or make you uncomfortable in the slightest. Frankly, in all the time you’d been babysitting, you always thought you were just…invisible to Joel Miller.

Not this. Never this.

You were still staring at the screen when you realized that you’d missed one URL title from the list. It was long.

It was the most unnerving one of all, you came to see.

Babysitter Lounging Poolside in Hot Red Bikini Gets a BIG Surprise—Her Old Boss Teaches Her How to FUCK

Your hand lowered from your face. It trembled, contemplating, before coming to rest atop the mouse.

Something about this seemed familiar. Strangely…off.

You couldn’t explain it, but your head and your heart and your hand gravitated to that one odd link in particular. You hadn’t even meant to move the mouse. Or press it with your finger. But there you went, following your instincts like some dumb, brainless ditz, and then the screen was changing. Going dark with the shift to an adult site before brightening anew with the thumbnail.

It was paused on one frame. Your jaw slackened.

The girl staring back from the scene was you.

Or looked exactly, uncannily like you anyway.

It was then that you noticed what she was wearing, too—what you guessed wouldn’t be on her body for long—and you glanced down to your own shoulder. Just like your on-screen doppelgänger, you were wearing the same bikini in a bright, cherry-red hue beneath your tank top.

You wore it under your clothes damn near every day, indulging in the Millers’ backyard pool more often than not, and even being allowed to swim there on the days Sarah had summer camp—Joel had been so obliging.

So accommodating and sweet.

You never thought he’d be seeking your fucking twin online on a porn site after watching you traipse around his property wearing it. Your gut clenched; you clicked.

“Hey, sweetheart! Everything go OK?”

The voice that rumbled through the speakers was low. Male. Vaguely paternal and with a hint of a Southern lilt.

You swallowed, knowing exactly where this was going.

You weren’t sure why you were even watching when you could already predict what would become of it. The camera panned over a body identical to yours; it landed on a face that was smiling and sweet and so like your own you almost had to question whether it might not be you after all. Had you somehow forgotten this secret porn alter ego in a bout of amnesia? You kept watching.

The girl bit her bottom lip and let out the phoniest giggle.

“Yes, sir. Perfectly fine. Do you like my new bikini?”

Be so fucking serious, you thought, critically.

Then you remembered it was porn, not an Oscar-winning film. You saw the camera tilt down to her tits, and you had to admit, she had a great rack. A bit nicer than yours.

For a beat, you wondered if Joel had thought the same.

You had to batter those thoughts away, because the next second brought a big, burly hand onto the screen. It reached for the girl with her perfect, perky breasts and it kneaded them softly. No further pretense or prelude was needed—they just jumped right in and let it happen, like this was a normal thing for a babysitter and a boss to do.

Maybe in some other universe it was. In a world where a girl your age could just smile, and bat her eyes, and let them roll back gently as a whimper crossed her lips and she begged him, ‘More, daddy, more!’ this was all okay.

The man squeezed the flesh harder. She whined, and he proceeded to push the red nylon aside and expose the whole expanse of her breast—and holy shit, even the nipple looked like yours. Your mouth opened wider, and for a moment, it was like you couldn’t breathe as you watched that old, sun-kissed hand fondle the breast of a girl who looked just like you. Who was peering up at a man who sounded almost like Joel, murmuring, ‘Attagirl.’

You’d heard your boss say that once.

It had been such a silly, off-handed thing that you doubted he even remembered saying it. But one time, you’d struggled to open the passenger door to his truck before he drove you home. Once you’d narrowly managed to pry it open and slide into your seat, he’d laughed and rumbled: ‘Attagirl.’ Your face had warmed.

Just like your cheeks were doing now, all hot and bothered and desperate to hear more. Presently, the man slid the top off of the girl’s chest, and her breasts hung freely. You could hear him groan behind the camera at the sight, and not too long after that, before he could reach to touch her tits again, she was crawling on her knees toward him. Shuffling easily and expertly across the lawn chair and undoing the belt, button, and zip of his pants in a matter of seconds. A hand smoothed over her head, and you could see her preen beneath his touch.

Before she’d even wrapped her lips around his cock, your stomach was churning. Your fingers were stirring from the mouse and moving gently—again, of their own volition, it seemed—toward the waistband of your own bottoms. It was sick, admittedly. So wrong to be wanting to touch yourself to the very same video your boss had indulged in himself, in the very same chair he had done the deed. But you couldn’t help it. Your fingers slipped under the the fabric of your shorts, then your bikini, then your throat let out the tiniest noise upon seeing a cock appear on-screen. It was abnormally large, of course.

Silently, you wondered if Joel’s might not look the same. Your stomach flipped as soon as the girl took it in her mouth, and your index and middle fingers landed on your clit. You barely needed to touch to feel a jolt of pleasure.

Her head bobbed up and down. You felt powerless to do anything else but rub. And circle. And moan the slightest bit when you saw her coat his length with her shiny spit.

You heard that your noises mirrored hers. You didn’t care. Really, it felt as though you were in a trance, and you couldn’t stop watching, or touching, until you’d had your fill. Like Mr. Miller had done himself. It was all too much.

Before you even realized it, five minutes had passed, the man and woman on-screen were shifting from oral to raw, penetrative sex, and you were nearing your peak. Right before the cock that had been lodged down the girl’s throat could slide into her wet, glistening cunt, you felt your stomach lurch. You rubbed harder, watching the fat and leaking tip of the man’s cock tease through her folds, and just as he was about to slide in and you could finally find your release…a door banged open downstairs.

You almost screamed.

As quickly as you could, you yanked your hand out of your pants and clicked out of that browser even faster. The second you heard footfalls on the steps, you scampered out of there. Half-sprinting, half-tip-toeing down the hall and toward the bathroom, before halting at the door. You made your presence known with one light stomp of your foot, pretending to be turning and walking out, and as soon as you did, Joel was right there. Staring.

Sweating.

Scrubbing at his face with one weary hand, before taking a rag and wiping it through his beard. He sighed heavily.

“Long day?” you chirped while trying to mask the panic.

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Joel answered, voice wan, “How’s my little terror? Asleep? She give ya any trouble?”

Just asked me to buy her a toy online and inadvertently led me to find your internet Spank Bank archives full of women who look like me. Other than that, it was fine.

“I put her down about an hour ago. She was great.”

You forced a smile, and Joel seemed to believe it.

“Perfect. Need me to give you a ride home?”

“No, no, you should stay here with Sar—”

“‘S’alright. Tommy’s right downstairs.”

Of course he’d brought him home.

“No, really, I can walk. It’s fine—”

“Don’t be silly. C’mon, kiddo.”

Kiddo.

Kiddo.

The man had been jerking off to the thought of you for who knows how long, and now he called you ‘kiddo’?

You hated how arousing the nickname sounded from him

You despised yourself for rubbing your clit in his office.

Most of all, you loathed the way your panties had gotten wet the last time you’d climbed into his truck and heard that word crawl off of his old, drawling tongue: ‘Attagirl.’

Reluctantly, you nodded your head. You followed him downstairs and hoped the car door wouldn’t stick again.

He had to stop.

It was no longer a matter of ‘if’ but ‘when’ his dick would lead him straight off a cliff, and today, Joel was starting to think that precipice was looking extra nice. Tempting.

Almost as inviting as the divot he could see at the small of your back, glimmering with a couple hot beads of sweat under the midafternoon sun. He swallowed.

Sarah was at camp today. You’d had the time to yourself, and the weather was blistering hot, and of course, where else would you be but his backyard? He’d told you ad nauseum, ever since you started babysitting his kid, that his pool was open to you whenever you so chose to go.

Presently, Joel wished he could revoke that invitation.

Seeing how you were flipped on your stomach, body all soft and warm and splayed out on one of his deck chairs—wearing that fucking red swimsuit, of all things—Joel was left to ogle from his office window, and inside, he felt like a certified pervert. Arguably, he was. His old, worn hands had all but glided to find his mouse as soon as he’d sat down at his desk and saw you out there, and no sooner had his cursor found Chrome than his cock started to stir. He’d wanted to watch. If not you in all your bare, sun-baked glory, then surely the woman he could see getting her throat and cunt stuffed on his screen.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

Was he really that much of a gooner he couldn’t let his kid’s babysitter lounge outside without stroking his dick?

Shit. He had the bottle of lotion in one hand and the box of tissues in the other in no time at all. He ripped three free Kleenex aside and reached for his mouse once more.

He was pissed at himself. He toggled over to the Hub with a grunt, and in no time at all, had you pulled up.

Joel liked to pretend it was you, anyway.

If he couldn’t have the sweet young thing every swinging dick in this town would’ve killed to have himself, he could rub one out to a girl exactly like you. He could fantasize.

He could skip the video to 8:53 on the dot, as he always did, and he could rub himself raw. It wouldn’t take long.

He always fast-forwarded to that exact part, without fail, because she moaned like you then. He’d never forget it.

It had almost been six months since it happened, and he still remembered that sound as clear as day. You’d been hauling your backpack off the couch in the living room, having stuffed the thing full with more school supplies than you could feasibly carry, and Joel had been in the kitchen, unseen. You’d lifted the bag with effort, and once you had, you let out a soft but audible whine. You dropped the bag back down to your feet, and when you bent to try again, you’d moaned fully. It was like the stretch had made you feel good, or something. You’d huffed and managed to get the weight slung over your back with modest success, then left, but Joel had been changed. Too quickly had he retreated to his office and swore to find any clip where a moan sounded like that.

“Please! Feels like a fucking dre-e-e-e-e-eam—oh, OH!”

Granted, the dialogue was cheesy, but the sound after it was identical to the one you’d made. Joel repeated it.

He hadn’t even noticed, but he’d already lathered his hand and cock with lotion. He was scrubbing vigorously while your twin wiggled her hips and begged her co-star to put it in, to quit teasing her pussy like that, can’t you see I’m practically dripping for you, daddy? Look at it!

Unfortunately, Joel’s head was turned the other direction—away from the screen, and toward the window—watching you where you sat out on the lawn.

He stroked harder. He groaned.

You had just turned onto your back. Your tits looked incredible. Joel reckoned they’d look even better with his dick pushed up between them, and at the thought, his mouth watered. His lips were slightly parted, and he feared he might drool. What a sight he must have been then: jaw slack, lids heavy, cock in hand, and moan after moan bubbling out of his throat. He got closer to climax.

“Gonna teach ya, honey. Teach ya how to please a man.”

It wasn’t long after that that Joel heard the girl whine in pleasure—the man behind her had notched in the first inch and told her to behave—and meanwhile, he watched your chest rise and fall, rise and fall outside. It was calm. Unlike the girl being taught how to fuck poolside, you remained untouched. Spotless. Placid and serene while your hands picked up a magazine and began flipping through it. While Joel’s orgasm crested inside him, he wondered if you’d ever want to try something like that. Roleplay. Or would it be fake at all? Had you ever been touched by a man, shown the best ways to give and receive pleasure, or was it all brand new, like it was supposed to be for the woman on his screen? Joel panted, and he fucked his hand harder. He groaned.

“Oh, daddy, it’s so big! Feels so good going inside me!”

“You love gettin’ fucked by an older man, don’t you?”

“Yes, daddy, yes! Please don’t stop—oh, OHHH!”

Joel wanted to be the only older man you had.

If he wasn’t the first, he sure as fuck could be the last. Give you all the dizzying, euphoric feelings your body deserved and stretch you open gently for the taking.

He could teach you so much, ruin you for any oth—

Shit.

What the fuck was this asshole doing here?

At the back gate, he saw his neighbor Dieter.

The man strolled across the lawn, and Joel’s orgasm receded in a blink. He was walking right over to you.

No. No, no, no. Joel released his dick from its vice grip and felt the thing twitch in indignation. Meanwhile, the sound of skin on skin continued to flood his eardrums from out of the computer speakers, where the happy babysitter-boss duo was hitting a brutal pace. The girl let out one over-the-top shriek of pleasure, and Joel clicked pause. He toggled out of the browser. Then he redirected his gaze out the office window, where his own girl was being accosted by Dieter. His blood boiled with anger.

Who did this creep think he was? The man never so much as looked Joel’s way or approached his property unless it was to ask to be ‘lent’ some booze or else ask after some friend, relative, or coworker Dieter wanted to be introduced to—he was perennially unemployed and a fuckboy bachelor to his core. The last Joel had heard, he’d spent the last year in Los Angeles, or Paris, or some other too-big city to chase his singing and acting dreams

And here he was now, hitting on his poor, defenseless babysitter. Joel wouldn’t stand for that in any world.

Though his dick was still erect, it had softened some, too. His rage facilitated that, and him shoving his length back in his jeans, zipping it up, and all but punching the desktop off made it spongier still. He walked like he was mad at the floor beneath his boots. He wasn’t sure why he was feeling so defensive—he had just been rubbing one out to the sight of you less than five minutes ago—but now wasn’t the time for thinking. He had to act.

Protect, if he had to.

What if his neighbor wanted to go for a swim, too?

Joel would drown the man with his two bare hands if he so much as reached for your bikini-clad form. He stalked loudly down the hall and searched for a less sweaty shirt to wear, then some deodorant, then a comb. He peered in the bathroom mirror and saw his black-and-grey locks all out of sorts, and for a second, he contemplated taking a shower. You’d probably be able to smell his unsatisfied desire from outside. He looked, and felt, a bit unhinged.

Joel decided he didn’t care, before plodding downstairs.

Outside, you lay in the same position he’d seen you last. Your hand was shielding your face. You were smiling.

And beside you, Dieter was grinning even bigger.

Joel made a beeline down the porch steps, then across the lawn, like his life might’ve depended on it. Scowling.

“—but getting cast in Gladiator II would’ve been wild—”

Of course Dieter was yapping about his failed acting career. Of course. Joel could hear him drone on as he approached, though he didn’t register a word of what he said. Instead, he waved a hand. He feigned a calm tone:

“Dieter! How’s it going?”

And he slowed down, too.

Just as he drew in, his neighbor volleyed a look his way. Joel couldn’t miss how his smile twitched down a little.

“Joel.”

Accepting a cordial hand in greeting.

“Doing alright, how ‘bout yourself?”

Joel nodded fine, just fine and offered some offhand remark about not having seen him since last summer, and Dieter couldn’t resist the chance to puff up and mention a school he’d been attending. Joel didn’t hear it, or give a shit. His gaze was already trained on you. Your own flitted from Dieter, to Joel, then to Dieter again, and your lips were smiling kindly enough. You seem humored.

“Mr. Bravo just got back from Berlin,” you beamed.

Then Dieter met your look and shook his head.

“Dieter, sweetie, Dieter. Or Dee, if you want.”

Joel almost wanted to vomit in his mouth.

“Germany, huh? What brings you here?”

No sense in beating around the bush.

Joel meant to ask why Dieter was here, in his backyard, with his babysitter, of course. Why the fuck he was eyeing you like that, like your tits were two Emmys and the only way to earn it himself was to stare as long, and as hard, as possible. Joel cleared his throat instinctively.

Dieter blinked and cast a glance back to him.

“Oh, here. Yeah. I, um…I just wanted to see if you had that— that—” He snapped his fingers, “That leafblower.”

Leafblower?

He was so full of shit.

“My leafblower,” Joel repeated.

It was fucking July, for crying out loud.

Evidently, his neighbor didn’t seem to care. He met Joel’s gaze with an even look, and he nodded his head.

He doubled down: “Yeah, the leafblower. I’ve had some debris pile up in my yard since I’ve been gone, y’know.”

“Are you gonna be in Austin long? Or are you going back overseas once you’ve had that casting call?” you asked.

You cocked your head with genuine curiosity. Joel grit his teeth, but he tried not to let his discontent show anyplace else on his face. A muscle might’ve jumped when he saw how smugly Dieter smirked at your intrigue.

“Oh, I’ll be here long enough, don’t you worry,” he said.

That was it.

Joel gestured to the shed in the back corner of the yard, about to tell Dieter that the leafblower was in there, go knock yourself out, when his neighbor cut in once again.

“In the meantime, maybe I’ll have you babysit for me. I hate to steal Sarah’s pal, but maybe you can split your time between my place and Joel’s. What do you think?”

You blinked a little quicker, like you weren’t quite sure what to say at first. Joel took the chance to interject.

“You don’t have any kids, Bravo,” he practically growled.

“I know. I’ve got cats, though,” Dieter just grinned back, flitting a cheeky look to you. “And you have no idea how naughty those pussycats can get while a man’s away.”

That was really all Joel could take. He didn’t even let you answer; he just pointed to the shed and made a fist with his other hand at his side. His chest was heaving breaths.

“You and her can chat when she’s off the clock, how ‘bout that? Leafblower’s in the shed. Door’s unlocked.”

His words didn’t invite protest of any kind. Dense as he was, Dieter probably sensed that he’d ticked his neighbor off with the suggestive comment to his babysitter, and he backed away, both literally and figuratively. He bid a quick, cavalier goodbye with a shit-eating grin stretching his lips, and then he went to the storage shed and left.

You were still blinking, still creasing your brows tight, by the time the back gate had slammed shut behind him. You watched after him, teeth gnawing at your cheek.

“He seemed like a funny gu—”

“What do you think you’re doin’?”

Joel’s words appeared to sting like a slap in the face. You jerked your head back to him, seeming to say, ‘What?’

“You know what. Don’t play innocent now,” Joel griped.

You continued to stare, then started to shake your head.

“Mr. Miller—”

“Don’t Mr. Miller me, either,” he snapped, far shorter than he’d ever spoken to you before. His nostrils flared, “You’re old enough to know better. You did all of that.”

“All of what?” you shot back.

“Attracted men like Dieter into my yard.”

“He’s your neighbor! What do you expect?”

Offense marred your tone. He didn’t entirely blame you.

“No, no—he never sticks his nose over here unless he sees something he wants. You were flaunting yourself.”

At that, your mouth fell open.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Miller? Are you serious?”

“Language, young lady—”

“I don’t give a shit.” You stood up from your chair. Your eyes flashed with ire. Just like his hands had before, yours curled into fists. You stood your ground with him. “You invited me to come swim here whenever I wanted to. You did that, asshole. What did you expect me to sunbathe in, army fatigues and fucking combat boots?”

Joel blinked hard at that. He didn’t like being mocked.

“Still shouldn’t be that damn skimpy. And I said lang—”

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks, dad. Don’t act like you’re mine.”

Don’t act like you’re mine.

Joel’s chest tightened. His gaze seared into yours, almost as though he were as angry as you were now, but deep down, the man only felt remorse. Resentment. Whatever rage he harbored now was reserved for himself

He shouldn’t have gone there.

He shouldn’t have masked his own jealousy with pseudo paternal scolding. He looked like a dickhead doing that.

And you weren’t shy to let him know it in the slightest.

Presently, your finger was jabbed in his face. You were planted less than two feet from where he stood, and though you were noticeably dwarfed by his size, your next words had him beat by a foot, if he’d had to guess.

“I watch your kid, Joel. I am not your daughter. If you don’t want me hanging around here in my hot red bikini, then you can just say that. But don’t blame me for him.”

Joel bristled at your words, though he wasn’t sure why. When he opened his mouth to speak again, you added:

“And don’t blame me for that, either.”

Suddenly, he realized your finger was pointed at his legs.

Or, rather, what was poking up stiff between them.

Joel’s cheeks heated up to a thousand degrees.

You’d just caught him. You’d seen his arousal.

And you were turning on your heels again.

Before Joel could even try to summon the words to his tongue, you were grabbing your things. Shoving your shoes onto your feet. And Joel had only to stand there.

Feeling stupid and inert beside you.

As you went to the back gate, he somehow managed to call that you didn’t have a car, let him drive you back.

You didn’t even dignify his words with a verbal response.

You just raised your middle finger over your shoulder.

And then the gate crashed shut behind you.

You would be walking home that day.

Two big eyes and round cheeks were all you could see.

Then, they darted beneath the covers and were gone.

“Oh no, where’d sweet Sarah go?” you wondered aloud. Sitting at the edge of the bed and pretending not to see where she’d just dipped her head under the blankets, you furrowed your brows and proceeded to pat around you.

Everywhere you felt with your hands, you completely ignored the big lump under the duvet. It was a game.

A silly one at that—hide-and-go-seek was generally best left to places where you couldn’t figure out her location in the blink of an eye. But you played along. You heard a soft giggle. You continued feeling around the twin-sized mattress like this was the most bewildering puzzle of all.

“Whe-ere’s Sarah?” you sing-songed.

You heard a shuffling of limbs, a sniffle.

Your palm tapped right by those little feet.

And as soon as you did, she screamed. At four years old, Sarah hadn’t quite mastered the art of being stealthy.

You’d cut her some slack. You always had.

Blindly passing where her body lay, you glided to the opposite side of her bed and tapped inquiringly there.

“Is she…here?” You got a pillow.

“No!” Sarah shrieked back.

Such a helpful, obliging kid. She’d make a terrible spy.

“Is she…up here?” You rapped the headboard twice.

“No!!” she squealed.

You glanced over at the clock on her nightstand. It was approaching bedtime. Taking note of this, and knowing you couldn’t keep up with the charade for much longer, you let out a sigh. You stood from the bed, looked around the room with dramatic éclat, then started to walk away.

“Okay…I guess if Sarah’s not here I’ll have to leave…”

The second you said that, Sarah threw the covers back. She jumped up in bed, and she stomped her little feet.

“No! No! I’m here! I’m here!”

You spun on your heels, eyes wide with faux surprise.

“Sarah!”

And then you rushed back over, just in time to watch her drop to the bed and flash you a wide, exuberant smile.

“Your Sarah,” she corrected.

She adored it when you called her that. Your Sarah.

You nodded your head in agreement, “My Sarah. Sorry.”

She nodded too, like she’d just reminded you of the most important thing, and then she slipped back under her covers. She let you drag the purple duvet over her frame, all the way up to her chin, and when she was all snug inside, she gave another smile. She kicked her feet again.

“Stay,” she commanded, tone still sugar-sweet.

“I will, baby. ‘Til your daddy gets back, I’ll be here.”

“I mean forever!” Sarah dragged out the last syllable, and, not yet content with the answer you’d proffered, tried swaying you again, still more emphatic, “For-ever!”

If your daddy wasn’t such an ass, I might consider it.

Instead, you smiled back at her and shook your head. You smoothed the hair away from her face, then you leaned in and kissed her forehead with a gentle peck.

“Then my family would miss me. I gotta see them.”

“Says who?” Sarah’s pout was unmistakable.

Before you could reply, she cut in again.

“You can be my family. My mommy.”

Your throat constricted at those words. You weren’t sure what to say, or how to assuage your sweet Sarah then.

Again, you were about to open your mouth to speak, when your pint-sized companion piped up again. This time, her voice was softer. Surprisingly delicate and low.

“I want you to be my mommy,” she told you quietly, “Then you’ll live here. With me and daddy. And you’ll never have to go home again and we can play all day!”

Your heart ached. You kissed the tip of her nose and turned away, momentarily, to hide the hurt on your face.

Sarah Miller deserved much more in a mother than you.

When you looked up again, her grin was big. Hopeful.

“Don’t you wanna be my mommy too?” she asked.

“‘Course I do, baby,” you answered without hesitation, “But…don’t you think your daddy should have a say too?”

Somehow, her face got even brighter.

“He will! He— he…”

Sarah trailed off a second, as if considering her words. She didn’t understand what marriage meant. You’d help.

“Your daddy,” you finished for her, speaking slow and soft as you leaned in close, “is a good man who deserves a good woman to make your mommy. Don’t you agree?”

She bit the inside of her cheek.

“Yeah, but—”

“And a mommy’s gotta be someone he really loves.”

“But he…”

She was thinking again. You could tell. You pressed on.

“He is gonna find someone great someday. He’ll love you and her to bits, and y’all will get to play together all day.”

“But he loves you!” Sarah cried, at length.

A beat.

Your breath faltered.

The girl’s words had scarcely hung in the air for more than two seconds, and their meaning hardly registered in your brain before your own were coming out fast. Certain

“Your daddy doesn’t love me, baby. I’m just his friend.”

“Yes, he does! He told me so himself!”

Again, you shook your head.

“You misunderstood him, sweetie.”

You tried to smooth her hair back again, but Sarah’s head bucked away. She scrunched up her nose in clear protest and refused to let you cradle her face until she’d spoken her piece. When she did, her voice was pleading all over:

“Daddy loves you, he told me. You can be my mommy.”

And for what seemed like the hundredth time that night, you felt your heart balloon in your chest. Your gut clenched—but not for the reasons she or you wanted it to. The truth was that you didn’t have the words to tell a four-year-old girl that her father didn’t love you like that at all, that his head and his heart were anywhere but with you, and that, if you were being honest, you were furious with him. How he could so much as hint at such nonsense was beyond you. His little girl dreamed of having a mother. It was stupid and senseless and cruel to even suggest that that woman could be you. You sighed.

But, despite your every thought and feeling to the contrary, you knew you had to soothe the girl with some small semblance of hope. Something to hold her over for the night, so she didn’t cry herself to sleep thinking that you didn’t want to be her mommy. Gently, you leaned in.

You lifted the covers back up from where they’d fallen. You tucked them snug around her torso, and you paused.

Your tone was measured and soft when you spoke next:

“I don’t know about your daddy, baby. What I do know is that I would be the luckiest lady alive to get to be your mommy, alright? I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

And you meant it. You saw one look light up her face, and every ounce of anger that had been provoked by her father was forgotten in an instant. Her grin ensured it.

“Anywhere,” she parroted back.

“Anywhere,” you said, again.

Then you kissed the crown of her head, wished her sweet dreams, cut the little light off. You left the room quietly.

It was only when you were out of there and far enough away down the hallway that your skin started to burn.

You couldn’t help it. Anger was fast to trickle back.

This feeling was only compounded when the next moment brought a sound to the landing on the stairs. You glanced over down the hall, muscles all tensing at once, and when you saw him there, it was as though your rage just bubbled over. Your jaw clenched; your stomach flipped in a way so decidedly unlike how it had done for him two days ago, in his office, and suddenly, your throat was working again. You kept your voice low this time, keen not to draw Sarah’s attention out there, but the words you used were clear. Quiet. Doubtlessly effective.

Even in the dark, you saw his brows jump when he heard:

“Joel, we need to talk.”

It had been two years since he’d had a woman in here.

Joel wished it were under any circumstances but these.

Presently, your eyes were ablaze. The two of you had just stepped into his room and shut the door behind you, and with the click of a latch, you hadn’t thought to hold it in:

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

He blinked.

Well, many things.

Joel wouldn’t have had the space to explain it all if you’d given him a week, and still, he had to say something. He blinked again, made a sound in his throat as if to clear it, then shook his head. His shoulders sagged in his jacket.

“I…I’m sorry.”

For the other day. For getting caught up in his own anger and taking it out on you. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was apologizing for now, or what he should say, but he thought it best to start there. He shrugged his jacket off and set it over the back of the nearest chair. He turned to you again, where you were standing with a warning look.

“Don’t say sorry to me,” you said. “Say sorry to Sarah.”

Sarah?

Before he could speak, you went on.

“You’re just setting her up for heartbreak, you know that? I mean how selfish— how stupid could you possibly be?”

You pursed your lips like tears might threaten if you didn’t. This caught him off guard—his daughter? What could he have said or done to hurt her in any of this?

“What are you talking about?”

“You said I’d be her mom, Joel!”

He winced. You furrowed your brows and set your mouth in a line—really trying to fight the emotion behind it—and, while all the rest of you bristled in anticipation for what was to come, Joel softened. He didn’t mean to. He didn’t want to be the guy who lost his head at the thought of seeing you cry and forget the whole reason you were upset with him in the first place, but he couldn’t help it. Though you looked like you wanted to kill him right then, Joel drew closer. He shifted toward you.

“Did— did she, uh…call you…mommy?” he said, pained.

“Yeah. And you let her believe she could,” you spat.

He hadn’t meant to do that, either. Sarah had been calling you that for a while when you weren’t around to hear, and after enough times telling her otherwise, he’d just stopped correcting her on it. Sarah wanted a mother. You were the closest thing she had, and who was he to sabotage that? At the time, he’d just wanted to…pretend.

That was a running theme he had going with you.

Right now, you didn’t seem to care about that.

You just rolled your eyes in that cool, juvenile way when you didn’t hear a response from him, and he had to bite his tongue from saying something worse. He hated when you did that. It made him remember your age—the reality of you being his kid’s babysitter and how guilty he should feel for wanting to do something more about that eyeroll.

He wasn’t your father.

You weren’t Sarah’s mother, either.

You most certainly weren’t the girl on his computer screen, as much as he would’ve liked to see you that way, and even though you were standing here in his bedroom.

That was all fantasy. Make-believe. This was his reality.

You were visibly pissed and wouldn’t budge an inch.

“Is it really so bad if she says it?” he grit out.

Your eyes widened. You scoffed.

“Of course it is, Joel!”

You backed away.

He hated seeing that, too. He hated having you move from him, not toward him, wearing that scowl on your lips as you did. His fingers twitched—itched—at his side.

“Sarah’s young. She doesn’t…mean anything by it. She’ll grow out of it soon enough. And I don’t want to hurt her.”

“You’ll hurt her even worse by not telling her the truth!” you snapped. You sounded exasperated saying it now. “We’re not a family. I’m the goddamn babysitter, and— and— you’re Sarah’s father. Act like it, for Christ’s sake.”

That set his teeth on edge.

Joel felt the urge to fight back, but narrowly refrained. He flexed his fingers, and he bit down hard to keep the vitriol at bay. Because that was exactly what fathers did. They controlled their anger; even when faced with a smart-mouthed babysitter who wore his patience out.

Even when your arms were folded over your chest in that impossibly tight, white tank, and your tits looked like they might spill from the fabric at any given moment. Joel swallowed and refocused his gaze before going on.

“Don’t tell me how to be a father.”

Something flared in your eyes.

“Why? I’m fucking right.”

“Language, young lady.”

That only seemed to irk you worse; your hands flew up.

“Yeah, well,” you started, accusing, “If we’re playing house, I might as well be allowed to say what I like.”

“We are not playing hous—”

“But you want to, right? That’s why I’m always here.”

“No, I need a—”

“Maid? Mommy?”

You paced closer. Joel’s jaw clenched.

“Obedient little housewife?” you sneered.

Your eyes were shining like two derisive pools. With every blink, you seemed to mock him more. Goad him on and beg for your reward, though you hardly knew what it was.

“C’mon, Mr. Miller,” you chided, voice low, “What is it?”

What he was, or what he’d stand to take. It wasn’t this.

“Keep runnin’ that fuckin’ mouth, I’ll show you what.”

The words flew off his tongue before he could stop them.

It was a reflex—something that had been stewing in his mind since the second you’d set foot in his room and went on provoking him. But it was wrong, of course.

He was wrong for even thinking it, much less saying it.

Now your eyes were round, and your mouth was slightly agape, and your brain was likely working a thousand miles a minute to process what had just been said.

Joel had to fix it.

“That— that ain’t—” he began, already hating himself.

To his surprise, and embarrassment, a laugh rang out.

Its sound was explosive and short. It split the air with such hot, bitter force that his words dropped off. His gaze had no choice but to remain plastered on yours.

“Oh, I bet.”

You grinned, humorless.

You didn’t appear shocked in the slightest. In fact, his remark seemed only to embolden you then, as you teased that smile wider, drew yourself closer, and tipped your chin up. You looked doubly enlivened by his last admission. Vindicated in some strange, inexplicable way. Your breaths were warm, and the swell of your breasts came to hover just inches from his chest when the last thing he needed to happen, happened between you next.

You pointed again. Joel didn’t need to look down.

“‘Don’t tell me how to be a father,’” you repeated his words from before, voice taking on a low, faux baritone.

Your amusement was clear. His cock was hard.

It seemed you’d never let the latter slip past you.

“Is that what we’re gettin’ at here, Mr. Miller?” you asked, tone now precocious. Probing, “You showing me what a great daddy you are, and me being the mommy you al—”

“No.”

Joel pushed off. He didn’t want to hear another thing.

He headed straight for the door, prepared to usher you out of it. This conversation had taken an irreparable turn.

When he reached for the handle, though, he had to stop. Your voice made him stop, echoing from the opposite end of the room. Joel turned, and he saw you on his bed.

“I’m just curious. Is that really what you meant?”

You were sitting at the foot of it, legs casually hanging off. Your look was innocent, and still more knowing than Joel could bear. The heat left to swirl in his groin nearly suffocated him below the waist, and he inhaled deeply.

“Mean what? I didn’t…mean anything.”

His touch fell from the doorknob all the same.

Your feet were swinging when he faced you completely.

“Just like you didn’t mean for Sarah to call me mommy?”

Maybe he had meant it more than he let on. He couldn’t answer. Joel felt every bit the creep he knew himself to be—decades your senior and letting you rest on his bed, soft, smooth legs kicking back and forth as he watched.

He was good at that, wasn’t he? Watching. Waiting. Aching from the comfort of his home office while he watched those filthy clips on repeat, images of you flitting through his mind at every stretch, moan, and whimper. His will was powerless to his perverted needs. He had only to defend himself against their influence by planting his feet firmly in place and refusing to move.

“You wanna teach me, though. Don’t you, daddy?”

It was as though your words reached him from another place. Somewhere deep within the recesses of his mind—his memory—and the tone of it stirred him. It was familiar, in ways you couldn’t have possibly understood. Unless you were living in his head, there was no way in hell you could’ve known what those lines meant to him.

‘Gonna teach ya, honey. Teach ya how to please a man.’

It made him ache.

Joel still wouldn’t move, but you could come to him.

He blinked once, and you were there. Off the bed. Walking to him. Down on your knees in front of him.

This had to be the work of his own sick imagination.

He groaned at just the sight of your smile, curving slow.

And then you peeled off your top, revealing the bright, nylon, cherry-red fabric he’d seen far too many times on his computer screen and off it—on you, by his pool. Joel sucked in a breath and shook his head, gaze darkening.

“Thought you didn’t wanna play mommy,” he growled.

If this was all just in his head, he could talk as he wanted.

“I don’t,” you answered him soberly. Suddenly, your chin was in his hand. Your eyes were still glistening up at him. “But you need to get this out of your system. Just once.”

Out of his system.

Joel was out of his fucking mind with desire.

“Just once?” His voice cracked as he said it.

Only one time. That was alright. Forgivable.

From what he half-believed to be a figment of his own perverted mind came the word from your lips: ‘Once.’

The next had the thumb that was cupping your chin slipping between those same lips. Still smiling while your mouth slid down to his knuckle. You sucked him gently.

And in just one glimpse, one fleeting second on that lone, thick thumb, the sight below him had every other obscene thing entrenched in his memory beat by a mile. You were better than everything else he’d seen or tried to dream up. You were real, he hoped, sliding your shiny wet lips up and down the surface of his skin, and when you pried them off, and you asked for his cock, he had no choice but to oblige. He had to rack his brain for words.

This was his babysitter, his daughter’s companion, his—

“Sweet fuckin’ girl,” he said when he first felt you there.

Before he even knew what became of his belt, buckle, and zip, the base of his cock was in your hand, and your lips were hovering precariously over the tip. Your breaths were soft and hot. Your graze drank him in with curiosity.

“Should I kiss you here, daddy?” Your mouth lowered.

“Right there, sweetie,” Joel breathed out.

He truly couldn’t believe it when the warmth of you enveloped his tip. When the first lick of your tongue came to collect the bead of precum sitting at the slit and he damn near bucked his hips up. You licked at it again.

And again. And again. And again.

You whimpered lightly, enjoying the taste.

The second you pulled your mouth away, Joel hissed.

“Baby, please—” he started, tone strained.

“What? Where does daddy want it?”

The question was so innocent.

It was clear you wanted to hear him guide you through it, as evidenced by the way your lips twitched at his hand smoothing down and over the crown of your head. Joel held it like he might never get this chance again, and, at once, his voice lowered along with it. He scarcely recognized himself with how gently he spoke then.

“Let daddy show you,” he said, “Open your mouth.”

And you did.

Your jaw fell slack, your lips split apart, and your eyes peered up with a wide and open stare. In a look, you seemed already to say that you trusted him to fill it.

No sight on a screen could’ve made him so hard.

He fed you an inch, eyes locked with yours as he did. His cock slid in another, and another, then stopped. He pulled back. The wetness and the warmth of your mouth nearly did him in, and the way you whined for more had him fisting your hair tight. Trying to keep his composure.

“That alright, honey? Feel…nice goin’ in?”

“Yes, daddy,” you hummed obediently.

Your mouth opened wider.

“More, please?”

Your tongue was flattened in a second. Joel slid back in, and his shaft was greeted by the slick, shiny cushion of the muscle underneath. He sank in. He invaded every inch of your mouth he could find, and he breathed out.

“Just like that, sweetie. Takin’ daddy so well.”

What little gurgles he heard stifled between your lips at that, spit drooling gently from either side, he only found more endearing. When he pulled back and saw strings of your spit trail after its path, he felt delirious. You were real, coating the whole throbbing length of his cock with your saliva and your precious soft whines, and you were sweet for him. Pliant for his cock. Jaw obliging and inviting and hanging wide open for him to fuck again.

He let you have it. He slid in once, grazed your throat, slid out again. He cupped your face in his hands and thumbed your cheeks. He coaxed your lips wider for him. You took it all well; you responded to every tender little directive from the man who was stuffing your mouth, ‘Faster now, atta girl’ and ‘Take daddy deeper’ and ‘Keep that pretty mouth open and those eyes on me.’ Joel was so caught up in the feel and the friction and the intimacy of every passing moment that he almost didn’t see when you started to shift your legs. Parting them.

And, right when the head of his cock had reached the back of your mouth and was teasing down your wet, open throat, he felt it fully: your whimpering plea.

You grinding your cunt against the toe of his boot, and peering up at him with eyes all wet, wide, and needy.

You rutted your hips. It looked like you couldn’t help it.

It seemed as though it were a mere spasm of the body that you couldn’t control—like his cock down your throat was too good for your sense or your oversexed mind to handle. He’d scarcely stirred in place when he felt you humping him, whines rippling down his length with every bob of your head as you keened for some kind of release.

Joel had never seen anything like it. He didn’t know what to say or do except stroke his hand over your scalp and pin you with a look. His cock twitched in your mouth.

“Is that how we ask to get fucked in this house?”

His tone surprised him with how steady it stayed.

Your mouth still full of him, you tried to shake your head.

What came next was more instinct than logical thought; Joel pulled you off his cock and onto your feet. His touch on your body was soft. He couldn’t pinpoint a reason for his being so gentle, but every second that elapsed now seemed to demand it. He was teaching you to please. There could be no better place for kindness than here.

He’d lead you to the bed and guide you down himself. He’d tell you to open your mouth and then he would kiss it, and lick inside it. Maybe spit inside it, too. He’d tug at your bikini straps, watch your breasts give way to the pressure of the pull before bouncing right back in place. He’d take off your top. Latch his mouth around a nipple, swirl his tongue across the skin, and he’d kiss you again.

Joel did all these things, and you let him. You met him with whimpers, with wide open legs, and eventually, with your feet digging into the covers beneath you, begging, ‘Daddy, please put it in.’ Your gaze was febrile as you did.

Whether you meant it, or were simply pretending for him, gave Joel pause. Just as you’d tried to yank your jean shorts down your legs, he dropped his hands to your own. He stopped them in their path. He leaned closer.

“Do you know what you and me are about to do, hm?”

His question was barbed but sweet. Testing the waters.

Were you game to keep playing house? Did you want it?

These things mattered to Joel; whether the wetness between your legs was meant for him and him alone. Whether you needed him there, like the breath in your lungs. He wouldn’t fuck you if he wasn’t. He might feel lonely at times—desperate to feel your cunt squeeze his too-old cock like your life depended on it—but he was a man who wanted to be wanted, too. An instant of clarity hit, and suddenly he was asking it, plain and in your face:

“Do you wanna do what mommies and daddies do?”

Your mouth fell slack. Again. You nodded.

Either you were the single best actress, or you wanted it. Hoping desperately for the latter, Joel kissed the side of your face. You turned your head, quickly, and captured his lips in yours instead. You pulled him down to you.

“Like this?” you murmured, words muffled against him.

You wrapped your legs around his waist and then ground your clothed lower half with his—Joel’s cock was tucked haphazardly back in his boxers, and his jeans, unzipped, hung just underneath them around his hips. He felt like a teen again, clothes thrown askew and hormones all wild.

Except he wasn’t. He was a grown man, in his own bed, with his child fast asleep down the hall. He thanked his lucky stars that their rooms were as far apart as possible, and that he no longer had to worry about the prying eyes of his mom or dad trying to catch him out after curfew. This wasn’t high school, or a night out in college, or the time a condom had split and Sarah had been conceived.

Now if he could just make sure she didn’t get a sibling…

Kidding.

“Pill,” Joel choked out, just as your legs drew him in to meet your movements, “Are— are you on the pill, or—”

Am I going to have to hit up a Texaco at 10 PM to get some rubbers and admit I haven’t gotten laid in a year?

You grinned.

“IUD.”

That works, too.

Joel probably shouldn’t have seemed so eager. He probably shouldn’t have taken your face in his hands and kissed you so hard, either. But his skin was ablaze; his eyes were wild; his limbs were molten; and his head—you didn’t want to know where it was. What he was thinking.

What he wanted to tell you while he tugged his cock back out and started working his hand up and down it. It felt too intimate, too depraved, to be spoken aloud.

Then, to his shock, you said the words yourself:

“Show me how you’d make me a mommy anyway.”

If not for protection. If not for common sense. If not for that thrumming, pulsing, warning repetition in his head: Do not get her pregnant. Do not give your kid a sibling.

But this was all pretend, wasn’t it?

Joel yanked down your shorts, practically tore them from your legs, and situated himself between them, breathing hard and fast, before he nodded his head and kissed you. With his one free hand, he held the base of his dick, and he guided it closer to your slick, puffy, aching entrance through the barrier of your red bikini. He rutted his hips.

You were bare beneath him, save for that one scrap of fabric between your lower half and his. You smiled, and you wriggled your body against his, and you drew him in. Joel groaned when he felt you slide your bottoms to the slide and let him feel, for the first time, how wet you were. How warm, inviting, and tight that cunt must be and how badly he needed it. How desperately he had to be buried inside that heat—he all but panted the words:

“Can daddy put it in?”

You spread your legs wider. You nodded.

Then he did. Without one breath of a thought to the contrary, he pushed the head of himself past the fabric, through your folds, into that wet and precious spot he’d only dreamed he’d ever feel, and he let out a full-throated moan. He felt your walls contract, heard the tender little squelch of your body making room for his length, and he damn near blew his whole load right there. You felt good.

Your chest rose with a breath, and your eyes widened.

Like you hadn’t just had him down your throat, drenched in your spit and gliding in and out: “He’s so big, daddy.”

Joel’s lips kissed your cheek. His tip kissed your cervix. You whined a little, and he pulled you in closer to him.

“I know, honey, I know,” he cooed, rocking you with the softest motions, “Ain’t that what mommy likes, though?”

Your lips parted again. A strangled whine of assent slid out, just as his hips withdrew himself back to that shiny, bulbous head, and then he fucked back in. Back and forth, back and forth, Joel sent your body bouncing with every thrust. He felt you clench, and the strokes sped up.

The bed creaked underneath. It seemed to shake the whole room. In truth, there wasn’t a thought in Joel’s head except for the ones relating to you and how good you took his cock, but somewhere, not far off, there was the instinct of a father idling too. With every stab of the headboard against the wall and every moan of yours under him he had to smother with his lips, he was reminded you two had to be quiet. He leaned in.

Grazing your ear with a stubbled chin, and fucking you gently into his bed, Joel sank his weight even lower.

“Can mommy stay real quiet for daddy? Can she try?”

From the way your eyes were glazed, he expected you to nod. And you did, just barely, heels digging in the mound of his ass and your fingers finding his sides. But then you slid a touch up his ribs; you squeezed the flesh. You let him pound your cunt for a few more precious seconds, and just when he thought that was the end of it, you tilted your head to him. Your nose bumped his, and you grinned, flashing the single most pretty, fucked-out look.

“Feels like a fucking dream, daddy,” you breathed.

Joel balked. He almost stopped right then and there.

Please! Feels like a fucking dre-e-e-e-e-eam—oh, OH!

Oh.

You couldn’t have known that.

There was no shot you knew where the fuck those words were from. Or what they meant. Joel furrowed his brow and kept rutting his hips, hands tightening in the sheets beside your head as the scene from his naughty all-time favorite film flickered briefly through his mind. No shot.

Then your legs wound around the backs of his even tighter, and your eyes were all but shining with a fresh, twisted glint. With a measured tone, you went on for him:

“He’s so big, daddy. Feels so good going inside me.”

You even mimicked her tone. Joel paled above you.

His hips stalled a moment, and your cunt hugged him tight. Your teeth nipped at his chin, playfully, and before he could even try to speak again, your lips were there.

At his ear, whispering what he’d dreaded hearing most.

“You should really clear those PornHub searches after you’re done. Or at least lock your office while I’m here.”

Joel’s thrusts stopped completely.

He was about to search for his voice again, when your walls clamped down around him, and his vision went swimming. His cock pulsed inside you, and he groaned.

Then his hips picked up; it wasn’t a conscious decision. He just needed to fuck, needed to finish, needed to see the light twinkle and burst behind your eyes while he stuffed your cunt full. It didn’t matter what you knew—your lips were curled in such a sweet, smug smile below him, there was likely no use in trying to explain himself now. Joel just gritted his teeth, and he tried smiling back. He fucked you faster, and harder, than he’d done before.

When you clawed at his back, the pace grew merciless. Every inch of the space around him, it seemed, was filled with the sounds of skin slapping skin, whimpers, and moans. As before, Joel almost didn’t recognize his voice.

‘That so?’ was all it could manage to get out at present.

With your cunt fluttering repeatedly, hips rolling with his own, and those lips letting moans spill out one after the next, it was all he could do to try to keep his composure.

Joel kissed you, and then he flipped your body around. He moved back to find the headboard and rest himself against it, got your legs straddling his, and slid you down

Down, down, down on his cock. Stretching you out. Then moving you back up again. Making you bounce in his lap and have your hands fumble to find his shoulders. You squeezed his biceps and moaned, and at the same time, his slick-smeared lower half rutted to greet yours. Your essence drenched him; he could feel it soak straight through the black-and-gray hairs at the base of his cock.

You looked perfect like this—better than any girl on camera could’ve been. Your hips rolled, and you moaned while sliding up and down on his dick, again and again. Joel felt the trembling pulse through your body and his, groaned at the grip of your cunt around him, and helped you ride him. With one hand at the small of your back and the other cupping your face, he held you close to him. Your pace quickened, and the hand at your chin made its way to your throat, to hold you firmly there.

Joel had a thumb on your pulse and his eyes raking over your writhing form when he felt compelled to talk again.

Share a truth, since all the rest was coming out anyway.

He didn’t think so much as feel it flow from there, like the blood rushing through his veins. Joel winced at a fresh influx of pleasure and let you grind on him twice more. Then he was gripping you tighter, fucking up into you harder, and he was skimming his teeth along your skin. As a knot coiled deep within his stomach, he let it out:

“Wanna cum inside this pussy, baby. Fill her up with me.”

The head of his cock struck a dizzying blow to someplace close to your cervix, and you held him tighter.

“Yeah, Mr. Miller?” You couldn’t help the teasing tone.

You fought a breathless laugh, then were forced to suck in a gasp of air just as quick; his length sheathed itself inside you completely, and Joel’s grip constricted on your throat. He kissed you. He lapped his tongue into your mouth while he fucked up into you, again and again.

You whined, and he mumbled against you, “That’s right.”

You hissed at him deep in your guts, and he went on:

“Gonna stuff her full. Make her wet and messy and drippin’ with me. Show mommy how much daddy lov—”

He cut himself short. His balls were heavy, full, and ready to paint you white, but that line was a touch too far, even now. He couldn’t say it outright and not sound like a fucking creep, no matter how deep in this roleplay you happened to be. Joel squeezed your hips and grunted.

And, for what felt like the fifteenth time that night, you surprised him. Your chin tilted to his, your lips brushed against his mouth, and you smiled, again. It was tender.

“How much does daddy love me, hm? Show me.”

Your walls clenched at the end of the last sentence, and Joel couldn’t help but groan in your mouth. His eyes lifted to yours, and in your gaze, he found anything but incredulity—you already knew what he felt, somehow.

“Sarah tell you that, too? That I love you?” he growled.

He’d said it once. At the time, he hadn’t thought he’d meant it at all, but the words just sounded so good when it came to you. Sarah had asked him if he’d wanted you to be her mommy someday, if he loved you like a daddy loves a mommy, and he’d said he did. Looking back, it hadn’t felt half as good as it did right now: peering into your eyes, feeling your warmth swallow him whole, and sensing you were nearing your climax, all because of him. It made him want to say it over again, now face-to-face.

Be it roleplay, fantasy, fixation—he needed to say it now.

“Daddy does love you,” he went on, before you could even respond. His pelvis rutted against yours, and his gaze stayed steeped in desire as he felt you grip harder, “Loves you so damn much he wants to stuff a big load in that pretty little cunt. Make you his. That alright by you?”

Your gaze went blank in an instant. Your lips twitched.

Something delectably wet, tight, and far too tempting shuddered someplace inside you, and with pride, Joel sensed the remnants of it leak out and smear his tummy. You liked that idea. Still, you seemed hesitant as your teeth snagged your bottom lip between them. You drew one steadying breath, and you slowed your movements.

“I’ve never…had that,” you admitted quietly.

Then that sticky-sweet embrace your cunt held him in got even wetter. Like your mind wasn’t fully on-board, but your body was all in. You were close, by the feel of it.

But Joel would only give what you were fully ready to take. At length, he lowered one hand to the small of your back, and his thumb rubbed at the skin. He let you feel him in only the shallowest of strokes, bouncing you softly

“Ain’t gotta be inside, then,” he murmured, assuring, “I’ll shoot this load wherever mommy tells me to go, alright?”

That made you whimper.

From there, your mind seemed to be decided all at once.

“Cum inside. I-I want it.”

Joel swallowed thickly.

“You sure, sugar? I can—”

Suddenly, your hips were stirring. They started up quicker than before, and your hand was swift to plant itself flat on his chest, as though to stabilize yourself.

“Cum. In. Me.”

It was the most decisive, and desperate, you’d sounded all night. Your gaze flitted to his, and in it, he saw a plea.

With a look like that, Joel knew he couldn’t make you wait. He wouldn’t make you wait. Trying not to smirk as he did, he leaned in and kissed you, and felt you drip more arousal as something knotted in your belly. He smoothed your hair away and delivered the gentlest thrusts from below—he knew it wouldn’t take much.

“Mama goes first,” he prodded. He felt you tense, and clench, and leak a little more down his front, and when the head of cock nicked a soft ridge, he groaned, too. “Cum for daddy now and he’ll give you his load, OK?”

Then his touch slipped between your legs. You keened.

“Daddy, I—” you hiccuped, grip tightening like a vice when his thumb found your clit and started rubbing.

Joel circled faster.

“Breathe, baby. Breathe.”

“I can’t,” you cried, “Feels too—”

Good. Your body seemed to finish for you.

It started with a pulse. Then a pinch. A trickling warmth. Joel hardly knew what else to do but keep rubbing that little pearl between your folds, even when you started to gush around his hand. It wet his tummy; it drenched all the hairs around the base of his cock, and still, he kept thumbing your clit and rocking you back and forth above him. He let you cry out and bite his shoulder while your climax tore through you, and though he knew you had to be quiet, he couldn’t help but relish the sound. He smiled

“That’s it. That’s my girl. Give it to daddy.”

And, while he also told you to keep breathing and let him have it all, he was right here—in a matter of seconds, he was slipping off, too. He couldn’t hope to try and stop it. With one more pulse of your walls, you groaned and got your wet, spent, needy hole stuffed full of him, just how you’d asked. Joel flooded your insides with his seed and kept you fucked straight down to the hilt so he wouldn’t see a drop of himself escape. He hugged you tight and heard you whine at that primal sensation, getting pumped with rope after rope of his cum, then he felt your limbs go limp. Joel kissed the side of your face. He cradled you, held you securely in place, and let the last of his spend paint your walls in a couple more gentle spurts

When it was over, he stroked your back. He sensed the aftershocks of your climax pass through your tired frame, and he made sure not to rock you too hard against him. He just wanted you to feel that he was there, if the heft of his cum and his cock still deep inside you wasn’t enough.

His head grew clearer, too. While still drawing short, ragged breaths in time, he managed to find the words that had evaded him before—what he should’ve said.

“‘M’sorry,” he mumbled into your hair.

You just nuzzled your face deeper.

“Don’t be.”

“But I—”

Then you tilted your head—enough for your gaze to meet with his, briefly, and tell him all that he needed to hear.

“You’re a good dad, Joel.”

He opened his mouth, but you were already pressing on.

“And I don’t…mind if Sarah calls me what she wants for now. I’m sure you’ll find someone great to be her mom someday, and then this whole thing won’t even matter.”

For some reason, the sound of it made Joel wince.

He couldn’t quite place the feeling, but he knew he didn’t want you thinking that. His grip constricted around you.

“No,” he muttered, indistinct. Defiant.

“No?”

You almost laughed.

It was insane, admittedly—just last night he’d been dreaming of the feel of you in the grip of his fist, wishing for nothing but his own release and a fleeting thought of your body underneath him, and here he was, doing this.

You’d said it was a one-and-done deal, and maybe it was.

But for him, maybe, it wasn’t. He’d be remiss not to try.

If you shot him down and left him to pine and meander through the manifold archives of PornHub for the rest of his horny life, that would be alright. At least he had tried.

With these thoughts thrumming through his brain, Joel was about to pull you closer and venture to speak again, when, for the second time, his words were cut short. His voice was presently supplanted by a sound that startled you both, and in a moment, he recognized what it was.

A knock.

“Da-a-a-a-a-a-addy?”

Shit.

He nearly caught a knee to the gut with how quickly you tried scrambling off his lap, limbs revived and frantic and desperate to get your clothes back on before that tiny voice could resume its speech—or get a hand to the door

“Yeah, sweetie? Give— give daddy a—” ‘Fuck!’ he cursed under his breath as he tripped over your shorts on the floor, “—a minute. I’ll be right there. Just gimme a sec.”

Joel fell. You floundered. His hand snagged the edge of the bed before he hit the ground fully, while you set off across the room to fight the strings of your bikini top and wrestle the thing on. The second you sensed that battle was lost, you grabbed your shirt instead. You were just yanking it on, and Joel was just regaining his bearings and about to chuck your shorts your way, when a voice through the door stopped the two of you cold—again.

To your horror, it was hopeful. Too sweet to be real.

“Can I sleep with you and mommy tonight?”

You could’ve soundly beat Joel’s ass with that pretty, skimpy swimsuit in your grasp and not regretted a thing, if he had to guess by the look you were flashing him now.

He didn’t blame you. His hands shot up in silent defense.

“Mommy— mommy’s not here, honey. She went home.” Joel shortly tried, and failed, to keep the pretense of innocence alive, all while dodging the first swing of your bikini’s bra at his head. He ducked; you struck a lamp.

He jumped back, a wordless grin stretching his lips as he righted that fixture fast. With one look, it seemed to say:

I’m so, so sorry, baby.

But inside his head, he couldn’t help but admit this was a little bit funny. Probably sensing this, you swung again.

“Yes, she is! I heard her,” Sarah huffed outside.

Joel was sliding up his jeans. Apologizing with his eyes and also trying not to crack an even bigger smile at you.

“Don’t be silly, Sar—”

“You’re having a sleepover!” she accused.

Well, in a manner of speaking.

Joel had just buckled his belt and redid his zip when a flash of red nylon smacked him in the face. Playfully.

You were evidently beginning to fight a grin like his, dropping the feigned indignation and pacing closer.

“Sleeping my ass—” you started in a whisper.

And you were about to chase him again, or else propose jumping from the window to get out now and save face, maybe, when Joel felt an old, familiar feeling crop up inside him. Like before, it wasn’t the kind of urge he could fight; his instincts took over, and he did it swiftly.

Admittedly, the timing was terrible—but he kissed you.

He pressed his lips to your own and relished the feeling. He grabbed both sides of your face and walked you back to the bed—the same one drenched in sweat and your release, which he’d definitely need to change in a minute—and for a fleeting moment, it was all he needed. Your mouth was on his, grinning a little and promising silently that if Sarah ever does walk in on us, I’m gonna kill you.

Against his better judgment, he pushed you back on the bed. He dropped his weight over your body and kept the kiss ongoing, feeling need surge inside for something far beyond the physical. It couldn’t be ‘one-and-done’ here.

But for now, at least, in spite of his feelings, it had to be.

Joel didn’t want to let go or stop kissing, but the next second left no room for much else, unfortunately. His daughter’s voice returned, and the words that followed proved impossible to ignore, for either one of you then.

All color drained from his face, and your eyes widened.

“I heard mommy screaming before. Is she alright?”

[retiredteabag]

Sukuna assimilating to you

Synopsis: After discovering that Sukuna has been wide awake every time you nap together, you become embarrassed around him.

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

It is a scientific fact that when we are around people we love and trust, while in a healthy relationship, the release of oxytocin makes us sleepy.

Sukuna does not need sleep. He is the king of curses, able to continuously use his technique without ever becoming exhausted. When you first suggested that his chambers were "perfect for napping", he had simply raised a brow and considered what that could possibly mean.

You are like a weak creature to him. A kitten or perhaps a rabbit. And since you are never safer than when you are in his presence, you frequently find yourself growing sleepy when you are around him.

Throughout your strange relationship with the king, something that you loved most, is that there never needs to be words exchanged between the two of you. You were both contented to sit in silence. Frequently dozing off together, or so you thought.

You caught on eventually, that he was always awake before you. That his breathing pattern never really changed. That his face never relaxed more than it would if he had simply been sitting with his eyes closed.

One morning, after having stayed the night sleeping, you mumbled to him, "How is it you're always awake before I?"

He rose a brow at you, his upper set of eyes were looking into yours, the lower staring at how you lay across his bed sheets.

"I do not know your meaning." He grumbled out.

You huffed, rolling your eyes. "You never sleep in longer than I do, one day I would like to wake up before you."

"I never sleep at all." He stated before you had even really finished your sentace.

"What?" Your breathy outburst echoed slightly in his bed chamber, "What do you mean you don't sleep?"

"I do not require such things." He turned his torso now toward you, all four eyes studying your face, you had quickly sprung up, seemingly miffed.

"So... so all this time, you've just been... laying there while I've been sleeping?"

"I suppose I have, I do not see how this matters in the slightest." "It matters because I've been... It's just been a big waste of time for you. Sukuna you should have said something." You're upset, he can tell. Your face is scrunched up, your blood is pounding in your veins. Sukuna, however, does not know what to say in this situation.

In all honesty, he figured you knew and were just including him. Did you really think he was that weak? Or could you simply not conceive of a restless existence? Whatever the answer, he had no response for you, expecting a shrug of the shoulders- you he would discover, would not so easily let go of things.

And how humiliated you were. How many HOURS had you spent sleeping with him, within his grasp, in his space for him to have been conscious the whole time? You tried thinking back, attempting to recall a time you had requested a nap when he was uninterested.

He had never uttered a word about it. Never turned you down. Sukuna was not a kind king, he rarely ever did things that were not out of necessity, and he certainly did not do things he didn't like. That, at least, was consolation. You knew he had not been suffering for your sake, but even so, it was embarrassing.

Sukuna, still, could not understand your sheepishness about the subject. He did not care to explain that time works differently for him, that his mind is not so simple as yours and does not require entertainment all the time, that he could sit still for years and not be bothered, and frequently did before you came along.

He assumed you would get over it quickly. In your time as well as his. But days passed and he rarely saw you. You took your dinner with other people of the palace and spoke with him in the most cordial manner. One night, he informed Uraume that they needed to prepare a dish suited for you, something that would entice you, and serve it to him.

He figured this would bring you crawling back to him, tail between your legs. Yet, you did not budge.

Odd.

You were wallowing. You knew it. He did not care to spend time, what? Watching you sleep? Of course, he wouldn't, but it hurt your pride, to know you had been taking up such huge chunks of time lazing about in his presence. Well, not anymore. You slept in your chamber and your chamber alone. Gone were the days of blankets on the engawa, gone were the days of resting beneath the kotatsu while laying your head in his lap, gone were the days of sharing his bed.

If ever he wished for someone to share his bed, he had a whole cast of concubines, though you knew they were never of any use to him, they were mostly just house staff with a fancy title.

The evening he finally decided enough was enough, you were in the washhouse doing laundry.

Your back was arched over a bin full of soapy water. Your hands working tirelessly on some cloth.

"Have you not circumvented me enough?" He spoke in a low and slow tone.

"Lord Sukuna." You bowed, clothing in your hands, suds up your forearms, you bent your neck as to not look at him.

"You will reply now." He raised a brow, watching your hands quietly splash in the washbin.

"Was there something you would like me to assist to?" You questioned. Your head was full of possible reasons for what the king meant by seeking you out personally.

"Do you believe that by not sleeping in my presence I would come to believe you do not require rest?" He spoke in an unserious tone, eyes unblinking.

"No, my lord." Now what was he playing at? Of course that wasn't your intention.

"Then you hide yourself from me because you no longer have time for your king, I suppose." He mused.

Oh, for heaven's sake, "No, my lord."

"I see," He bent down to look you dead in the eyes, "So, you must no longer crave my occupancy of your space. You must not desire my hand running through your hair? I suppose you have tired of staying in my chambers?" His tone remained deep but his eyes were dead serious now.

"I-" You began, but suddenly you felt the urge to cough, swallowing you tried again, "I wished not to preoccupy so much of your time."

"And you made this decision without enlightening your king."

You said nothing.

"You will eat with me tonight, you shall stay in my chambers henceforth." He rose in record speed, turning without a second glance your way, maids were staring wide-eyed at the king of curses as he halted at the entrance of the washhouse. You could not see, but there was finality in his voice.

"I wish not to waste-" You were cut off by Sukunas voice, his broad back still facing you.

"Your wishes do not interest me now, so it seems. It is my wish for you to spend your time with me." His steps resounded through the compound, your face slack.

The maids smirked, and with shocked faces, side-eyed one another. A couple entered the washhouse giving you big open-mouthed smiles, and patted your shoulder as they passed.

That night Uraume made something you would go on to beg them to make for years to come. And when Sukuna pulled you prone from your seated position on his bed, he took a firm fingertip and stroked the space between your eyes, one of his enormous hands encircling your skull and massaging your temples with his thumb and ring fingers. He traced the bridge of your nose to your forehead, the way you would stroke a cat.

Perhaps he thought this would induce drowsiness but all it did was make you feel all floaty inside at his silliness.

And for the first time since that night, you slept alongside him. Within his embrace, and when you awoke, Sukuna's eyes were closed.

[yujisdreamgirl]

husband!nanami who is also the father of your 2 children. dated for 6 years and married for 3–you couldn’t ask for anything more.

husband!nanami who is visibly confused during a conversation he had with his colleagues.

nanami usually avoids the break room whilst it was crowded. unfortunately, on a rare day that he’s forgotten to pick up his coffee from his favourite café, he had to walk into a break room full of a bunch of his coworkers talking about their children’s birthdays. they immediately turn to nanami who was standing in the corner and involved him in the conversation.

“it’s my daughter’s birthday soon. yeah i’m probably getting her one of those dolls and shit—she’s turning 5.” the suited up man takes a sip out of his coffee.

nanami nods apprehensively, wishing to leave the room already. “that’s nice. what are you getting for your wife?” he asks.

“what?” all four of his coworkers turned to look at him, and suddenly it felt like an episode of The Voice.

“…don’t you get your wife a gift when it’s your children’s birthdays??” the only time nanami is ever confused is when he does crossword puzzles. this.. is a whole different level.

his coworkers laugh at the absurd statement, some scoff and one pats nanami on the back.

—

nanami drives back home from work but he was more quiet than usual. he would typically turn the radio on and tap his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat. the car however was dead silent.

“who doesn’t give their wife a gift..? tch.”

“do these young men even love their wives anymore? eugh.”

“y/n always seems really happy when i give her gifts on the girls’ birthday.. i can’t imagine not giving her any.”

—

he arrives home and parks in the garage, sighing and cracking his back before bursting through the door.

“i’m h—” before he could finish his sentence, his 3-year-old twin girls came running to hug him.

“daddy! daddy! you’re home!” they giggle and cling onto his legs as nanami leans over to place his hand on your back and kiss your lips. “hello my darlings,” he smiles.

“you’re home early.”

“just missed my girls a lot.”

—

it’s 11pm. the kids are asleep and you’ve done your skincare, the night lamp on as you lay in bed with your husband.

as you snuggle under the sheets, you suddenly feel big arms snake around your torso. you giggle and pull them closer to you before deciding to turn around and face the man beside you. you lay your head on his chest and he immediately caresses your back.

“my love?” nanami speaks up.

“yeeeees?” you sing. he holds you tighter now, before uttering: “you know how i give you a gift for the girls’ birthday?”

you smile softly at the memory—how could you forget? every birthday for three years, he always manages to surprise you with a gift. he treasures the day dearly. it’s your daughters’ birthday but it’s your birth-day.

“i just found out that not every father does that. at least.. my coworkers don’t.” you look up at him now, seeing his scrunched eyebrows and solemn pout—you can already tell it bothers him. “it’s absurd, isn’t it? what do you think?”

you hum, your eyes never leaving his expression. “to be honest, i’ve never witnessed someone do what you do. it’s not exactly common practice,”

nanami sighs, “i guess you’re right. i just love you so much, you know? i’ll keep showing my appreciation on the day that means a lot to me, to us. it’s the day we became a family and i.. i want to make sure you know how important you are, too.” his voice is soft, as though he's been carrying this thought for a while. you blink, the weight of his words settling in your chest. he doesn't say it often, but when he does, it’s clear he means every syllable.

a small laugh escapes you, touched by his sincerity. “i know, baby. and i’m thankful for it, for you.”

he presses a kiss to your forehead, his arms tightening around you as if he’s trying to hold on to the moment. “me too, darling. more than you’ll ever know.”

͙͘͡★ dividers by @bernardsbendystraws & @cafekitsune 👔

[madamechrissy]

Just Friends!?

-Art in the banner from nek0zuu_ on X-

Pairings- Former Nerd! Gojo and popular F! reader

Summary - Satoru Gojo was the biggest nerd EVER in high school with you, next door neighbors, study buddies, you were the best friends in the world. Never having the courage to ask you -the 'popular girl' out- you never knew he felt for you. He ended up leaving town, moving to the big city of LA- getting famous with a modeling career, and lost touch with everyone from his old life. While you're working the family pub to help out your parents, years later, he finally comes back to visit, just to have you making his drink. Everything about him is different, aside from those pretty blue eyes and the sweet grin. You feel he's so accomplished now, and you're just a small town girl, but little do you know, you've never left his mind.

Warnings - Will be explicit and smutty (it's me!?) Nerdjo turned famous and cocky, but he's still just a Nerdjo deep down hehe- his chap, mentions of sex/getting turned on, Gojo being an ass tbh, welcome back Jock Sukuna and say hi to bitchy model Samantha lol, some angst and mutual pining, lots of feelings

Based HEAVILY on the 2005 Rom com Just Friends - part of my amazinggg moot @indiewritesxoxo's Friday night flicks! 🌙

<<<Part One - Masterlist - Part Three>>>

Part Two

Your POV

It was odd, being back in your hometown after years of living on your own, but when your family needed help with their bar, and with student loans piling up -  teaching did not pay very well - you couldn’t help but come back home for a bit. The shifts at the hometown bar helped, and staying with your parents for just a few months was definitely a life saver.

It’s not exactly where you saw yourself, teaching lay offs all over, now you have a preschool class here and you love it, but it’s definitely not enough to cover everything. You feel so… just upset, that you’re back here at your first job, grabbing beers for familiar faces, people who never left their hometown, and some that have, but came back like you did.

Despite it being Spring, it was freezing where you lived, some cold spurt that brought on snow in March, so many of the town were curling up by the roaring fire, bundled up laughing and drinking to stay warm. The bar had quite a cozy atmosphere, it reminded you of home, truly, you grew up here, from bussing tables and cleaning to serving drinks.

“Hey love, you look amazing.” You see Suguru and Shoko then, Shoko has a cigarette between her fingers, a familiar smile that makes you beam, as you come out from behind the bar, hugging them both.

“I missed you two oh goodness!” You receive a kiss on each cheek from them, as you hug them together.

“We heard you were back in town, how have you been?” Suguru asks softly, you sigh a bit, peering up at the tall man.

“I can’t believe I’m back here. Layoffs.” They frown then. “I heard you all run a whole dentist office!?”

“Sugu is a hot dentist.” Shoko teases, and he smirks a bit.

“Shoko runs the clinic attached to it. She outranks me.”

“Always.” You laugh with the two of them, hands on their shoulders now.

“I’m so proud of you two, what? Doctors, I can't believe that.”

“Hey now, teaching is important.” Shoko brushes your hair back softly, earning your flushed cheeks at her praise.

“They definitely don’t make enough.” Suguru says, earning your sigh.

“You’re telling me. Let me get you all drinks!” You eagerly bounce back, mixing them up drinks, Shoko loves a lemon drop from what you remember, and Suguru always enjoyed a rum and coke.

“You remember!” Shoko winks as you hand her the pretty drink, garnishing it with a little lemon swirl and grinning. The noise of the bar fills your ears, as you lean across the polished bar table, glinting under the soft lights overhead.

“Of course I remember. Gosh, it’s been four years since I’ve seen you all I think.” You all start catching up, but of course it starts to get busier, and you begin to take care of all the customers as Suguru and Shoko start tossing darts at the black and red circled board.

You smile at them, they’d always been the perfect couple, making that longing fill you too much. You fully expected to be married with kids by now, sure it was quite a homey little dream, that white picket fence, maybe two kids and some cute golden retriever, but that’s what you always dreamed of. Unfortunately, your bad taste and men did not end in high school.

“Speak of the devil…” You murmur nervously, when you see him, Ryomen Sukuna looking just as good if not better than high school, he still wears his damn letterman’s jacket from college, where he’d become an all star player, you hear now he’s even going pro.

What’s he doing back home?

He grins over now, red eyes sharp as ever, and you fully anticipate him bothering you, saying something pervy, as he walks across the crowded bar, stopping to talk to almost everyone, he was quite a name here. The only person more famous from your little town - there is a population of fourteen thousand and perhaps four stop lights- was Satoru Gojo.

You’d seen him on the damn cat walk, recently he was on the cover of Vogue, him and some other really famous model, this little smirk on his face that just doesn’t fit the boy you knew. If you thought he was cut before, his body was damn near godly, so perfect it was intimidating, and he’d only gotten prettier, not that Satoru wasn’t always so pretty.

He just didn’t know it then.

You think of him sometimes, hurt initially back when summer break hit after high school, and he refused all your calls, he refused to see or talk to anyone when you all lived so fucking close. You tried everything you could, feeling awful because it was your party and you didn’t know, could you have done more? Could you have shoved everyone out?

You were fully planning to if he’d just given you a moment. Your yearbook to this day is something you cherish, and reading his sweet words over and over, he’d taken over an entire page, with words of love you’ve never felt before. But to say it was all ‘a joke’ and leaving, never accepting a friend request, shit he didn’t even talk to Suguru or Shoko, his other best friends.

Satoru never spoke of his hometown in interviews, and when you saw his mom recently, you learned he’s never come home. You know things were hard on him, brutal even, but you wish he knew just how much you loved him, cared for him, sure it was more of a beautiful friendship, but you also were attracted to him, though you were scared to ruin that friendship.

If he just gave you a damn moment.

A friendship you built your entire life demolished, and you miss him even now, you miss the quiet mornings you two would study at the library, you miss the cup of coffee he’d have for you every morning. You missed the little sleepovers, playing pokemon games together, battling it out on the Wii, the amount of things the two of you shared, gone in a moment.

Sukuna leans across the bar, shaking you out of your reverie, his familiar, arrogant smirk just a little softer as his ruby eyes drape down your body, you’re just in some jeans and a polo, nothing too sexy for the family bar here. But he seems to take pleasure in every slow inch, murmuring your name.

“Look at you, even hotter than high school, shit.” You heat up a bit under his gaze, tilting your head and running your hand across your neck.

“Thank you, Sukuna. You look good too.” You earn his wide grin, as he swipes a hand through his pink hair, snowflakes melting just a bit as he leans his hip against the bar now.

“I’ve wondered how you were doing, aren’t you a teacher?”

“I am, but… layoffs.” Sukuna frowns a bit. “I’m teaching preschool here for now, but it’s…”

“They don’t pay shit.” On this, everyone agrees,

“Mmhmm, but it’s my passion. So here I am, working the student loans off.” You wink at him, and he softens then, resting his elbow on the bar, a hand in his chin.

“So pretty you shouldn’t be working.”

“Oh… no. Not at all.” You clear your throat, something is so different about him, he’s not the asshole you remember, or so it seems. “But just temporary, I’m finishing up a couple classes to teach higher education.”

“You always were smart, you’ll do well.”

“Oh… thank you, Sukuna.”

“Used to call me Kuna you know.” You giggle now, easing a bit, even under his gaze, which keeps darting down your body. “God you haven’t changed a bit.”

“Say that to the freshman fifteen that never left.” Sukuna chuckles then, when you turn and bend over, grabbing a beer.

“Went to your nice ass-”

“Sukuna!” You glare behind yourself, and he’s chuckling. “Here I was thinking you were all sweet.”

“I am sweet, thank you. Shit I’d love to catch up sometime?” You hand him his beer, sighing then.

“I don’t know…”

“Lunch or something?”

Satoru’s POV

Satoru’s stepping into the bustling bar with the most annoying model ever, cock hungry too, who’s clinging to his arm, looking at the little bar in disgust, while he eyes the familiar surroundings. He scoffs as he sees Sukuna’s letterman jacket, so pretentious really, and eyes everyone around, surely… your parents still run this place, he wonders, do you ever come visit?

“It’s so… quaint.” Comes Samantha’s voice next to him, running her fingers along the dusty bar, grimacing, she’s as tall as Satoru in her heels, perhaps one of the few women who he doesn’t tower over. All models were pretty tall, but typically he still had a couple inches, but Samantha was the best in her field, and maybe longer legs than Satoru Gojo himself.

“Yeah, I guess compared to LA.” He murmurs, the surroundings oddly comforting, despite how much he thought he’d hate it here. Something about shivering in the cold and then coming to this warm, bustling bar was…

Homey.

It gnaws at him, as people recognize him, and they begin to all come up, many who used to pick on him. He clings to that pretty model of his tighter, putting on a bright grin and lowering his black Gucci shades, the two of them are decked out in Saint Laurent and looking like a million bucks. Even in public, you had to make sure you were dressed to kill.

“Holy shit…” Satoru sees Suguru and Shoko then, their mouths drop as they come up to him. He's spoken to them a little here and there, but overwhelmingly has not said much since college was over. “Look at you two!”

“Look at you, all preening like a peacock.” Shoko rolls her dark eyes, sipping on a drink as she assesses him and his ‘girl’ who is clinging to him, laughing far too fake to ever be taken for as genuine, grating on his nerves.

“How cute, townies!” Samantha says, tossing blonde hair back, and Satoru scowls over at her.

“Who’s the snob?” Suguru asks boldly, making her gasp as Satoru’s muffling his laughter.

“Be nice.” Satoru warns, hands in the pockets of his red dress pants, a ruby so bright and bold it’s ridiculous for a place where people wear jeans and flannels.

“They’re not nice, Gojo. I don’t like it here!” She’s stomping her feet, and Satoru sighs, shaking his head.

“Go get a drink, hmm?” He turns her and smacks her ass, she cringes then.

“Myself!?”

“Become immersed in the small town, it’ll be good publicity, sweets.” He winks as she pouts and saunters off, ignoring the men and at one point hissing at one.

“She’s on drugs or…” Suguru trails off, and Satoru snorts.

“She’s definitely on a good Adderall / Xani combo. Shit… I missed you guys.” He ruffles Shoko’s hair, and shoves at Suguru good naturedly, Suguru smiles a bit, dark hair even longer than Satoru remembers.

“Sure you did. Come back to visit?”

“Uh… no.” He peers at his phone, sighing now. “Our suite for whatever reason isn’t available, I was stopping here and going to call Mom, since I have no reception whatsoever.”

“Why would you bring her to your mom’s, doesn’t she suffer enough with you as her kid?” Shoko earns Satoru sticking his tongue out, picking up the phone and dialing.

“Toru, sweetie!” Satoru sighs, he loves his mom, but to this day she really treats him like a child, even now.

“Hey mom, cool if I stay a few nights? I have a modeling-”

“You’re coming home!?” Satoru winces, pulling back the phone as Suguru and Shoko laugh.

“Yeah, if it’s-”

“I’ll make your favorite, baby, triple stack pancakes with sundae-”

“No, no, too many carbs.” He hears his mom’s sigh of disappointment, and clenches his jaw just a bit, looking over to see Samantha taking pictures of herself on her fancy phone, throwing up a pose now. “I guess yeah, I’ll eat pancakes.”

“My baby, oh I can’t wait, let me get started now!” His mom hangs up, and he can’t help but feel that fondness, the emptiness he’s had for so long just the tiniest bit filled by her voice.

“She’s excited.” He muses, sighing then. “I need a drink.”

Suguru and Shoko eye each other, and Satoru’s blue eyes narrow, studying their odd expressions. “Yes, you should, bartender she’s amazing.” Shoko’s smiling, and Satoru’s lips purse a bit.

“Hmm, guess I’ll see. I’ll be back.” He pats their shoulders again, heading over and passing more and more familiar faces, gosh none of them left, huh?

He leans against the bar, poking around on his phone as he hears Sukuna, asking then - 

“Lunch sometime?”

He snorts, eyeing the tall, big man who used to torment him, now eye to eye with him, and damn near his size. Sukuna blinks in surprise a bit when Satoru eyes him with humor.

“Lunch is friendzone territory, ouch.” Sukuna glares now, fists clenching on the bar, and that’s when…

You see him.

Satoru Gojo.

“Maybe I like lunch.” Your voice shocks him then, he eyes you, wide blue eyes going to the face of the girl he loved.

Your face.

You’re so pretty it makes his heart thud out of his fucking chest, you’re just like you were, maybe a bit more mature looking now, but god it was like a blast from his past, the ultimate memory of you couldn’t compare. You’re so beautiful, this fucking glow around you still, that comfort he has been craving hitting him in one instant, as he just stands there.

Satoru Gojo, who got whatever girl he wanted, was just standing there, staring at you, with his lips parted, you are heating up under his scrutiny, unsure of just what he was thinking, biting that lower lip a bit and shifting. He notices now, that you’re not fawning over him, drooling, like women did, if anything you’re glaring just a bit, your jaw set.

“I… you… here…” He can’t compute a fucking word - stupid, stupid - why did you reduce him to pathetic again, after all these years!?

“Yes, I work here again. I know, it’s not what I imagined either.” Your soft, devastated words attack him, making him feel like you punched him right in the gut, as Sukuna raises a brow at Satoru.

“Friend zone, did you just say that?” Satoru’s sputtering now, before clearing his throat, shutting his eyes and taking a breath.

He’s not some ‘nerd’ anymore.

He’s Satoru Fucking Gojo.

He smirks and leans against the bar, eyeing you slowly, pulling off pretentious shades that make you miss his tortoiseshell glasses. But when those piercing, swirling blue eyes hit you, trailing like Sukuna’s had, you feel so shy suddenly, so nervous around him, after so long. Surely he was looking down at you, surely he was so high and mighty that your life seemed sad to him.

You stand a little straighter now, while the two men, who have changed so much, both eye you, a blast from fucking high school if you ever saw one. “Look at you…” He murmurs your name softly, like a caress- shit his voice is deeper, it’s so sure, so cocky and conceited, not the sweet boy you miss. “You look great.”

“Thanks, so do you.” You manage softly, he’s in some suit worth as much as your year of work you’re sure, open with a vest showing of chest muscles, fuck he has red silk gloves, it’s so ridiculous you almost laugh.

He’s gorgeous but…

Who is he really?

“Working here again, huh?” He means it to be casual, but the way it comes off makes you straighten your shoulders, as Sukuna winces.

“All that money, all those women and you never learned.” Satoru scowls at Sukuna now, while you turn away, giving him a view of a body he’s dreamed of, fuck you’re even sexier now, those jeans sitting just right, is none of you not perfect, not beautiful?

“What can I get you, Gojo?” You ask after grabbing another beer for Sukuna, who takes it with a smile, and he tenses at that.

Gojo.

When did you ever call him anything but ‘Toru’?

But, you all are literally strangers now.

“Martini.” He says, earning Sukuna’s snort, Satoru’s scowl heads his direction once again as you start to get the ingredients together, shaking it up in the gold shaker like a pro.

“Little bitch drink.”

“Beer is disgusting, fuck that.”

Sukuna glares as he sips the drink, and you pour Satoru his martini, garnishing it and giving a small smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. “One martini.”

“Thanks, sweetheart.” You falter, at his soft voice, at the way he says everything as if it were some caress.

“You’re welcome.” He hands you far too much money then, making you blink. “It’s only ten bucks.”

“Keep the rest, love.” He winks now, and you feel your face heating up, did he think you needed it so badly? Does he pity you?

Does he care?

“Thanks… um, sure on lunch, Sukuna.” Satoru’s teeth clench, like watching history repeat itself. “Even if it’s ‘friend zone’ I’m fine with meeting up.”

“Perfect, here’s my number…” He writes it right on one of the pretty white napkins, and you take it carefully. “I’ll be in town all week.”

“Alright, sounds good.” Sukuna tips you, not the exorbitant fifty dollars Satoru just handed you, but a twenty, with a little nod of his head, as he passes Satoru now, and Samantha comes right up to him.

“Oh look at you, all star for the-” She’s flirting but Sukuna ignores her, winking at you and making you want to giggle, but you barely hold it in. “So rude! Gojo, can we please leave this shitty little bar?”

You scowl right up at the tall, beautiful model who pouts over at Satoru, clinging to his arm, he stiffens, but you see it, clearly they’re… together. “The ‘shitty little bar’ is owned by my family. And you are more than welcome to leave.”

“Oooh, you’re feisty.” She’s giggling psychotically, using her hand to make a clawing motion. “Rawr!”

“The fuck…” You shake your head, sighing as you set back to work, Samantha’s hands running down Satoru’s chest, irritating him to no end.

All he can see is you, and you’re just turning away, the girl he…

He left.

He left you.

No word, no goodbye, and he thought maybe it wouldn’t feel like this, maybe after eight years and endless women in his bed, he could stop feeling like this, stop the love he had. He tried to chalk it up to puppy love, you were the nicest person to him, of course he developed feelings, right?

Wrong.

He watches as you head out from behind the bar as Samantha’s going on and on about some Instagram post, downing the rest of his martini. “We’ll leave in a minute, go wait in the car.”

“I can’t believe we don’t even have a driver, ugh!” Satoru blinks at her, turning her now, watching as you stop and talk to Suguru and Shoko, smiling so sweet, lighting up the whole fucking room.

“I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Oh fine but…” She drags him down by his tie, whispering in his ear then- “I can suck you while you drive.”

What would once excite him doesn’t compute, he just nods and pushes the crazy woman to the entrance of the bar. “Sure whatever.”

“No pictures, please.” She throws on her sunglasses, as curious people wonder just what this woman is talking about, and Satoru feels your eyes on him then, his catch yours across the room. He watches you tense, as he steps closer, and Shoko and Suguru depart, giving you both one moment.

“Hi.” He manages to say, and for once, the pretentious rich model reminds you of him, the boy you grew up with, the one you miss so badly it feels like he’s a dream.

“Hi.” Your soft voice ends him, you’re shifting side to side, Satoru towers over you, making you feel so small then, as he presses a hand against the wall over your head, tilting your chin up with his other hand. Your eyes go wide then, breath catching, heart hammering.

“I’d love to catch up, I am here for a few days, I’ll be at mom’s.” You blink a bit then, looking down, gently taking his hand off your chin by his wrist, the contact making you both pause. For a moment he pictures it, kissing you, making every move he failed at in high school, taking your lips over.

He pictures so much, up to and including you under him, shit maybe now he’d have a chance with a girl like you, maybe he could taste your sweetness, could inhale that vanilla body spray you somehow wear eight years later. Could show you pleasure he bets you never got before, cock aching just being in your presence, he has to will it to go down.

“Your mom, I just saw her.” You ease his hand down, back resting against the wall just a bit, hair falling across your shoulders, you gasp when he brushes it back, another move he had tried and failed at back then.

That night should have been his first kiss.

You should have been his first everything, fuck.

“Could we do dinner or drinks?” His tone reminds you of what he said earlier, so you smile, a little mean glint in your eye.

“Maybe lunch.”

“Lunch!?” He’s glaring, thin white brows lowered, and you giggle.

“Coffee?”

Shit.

“Or is that too ‘friend zone’ for you, Gojo.” Satoru blinks a bit, hand falling, barely brushing your shoulder when it falls, you try to ignore how good it feels, he tries to act nonchalant, not like the fucking world is faded, aside from you. That the entire bar is just an echo, it’s just you.

And you’re furious, he can feel it. “No, no I mean it’s fine. If you want… coffee we can do coffee.” He can’t believe he’s saying this, he brushes his white locks back, winking down then. “We can do whatever you want.”

“Uh huh. Well, coffee then, if you want to catch up I’m surprised, considering it all though.” Satoru’s jaw clenches just a bit.

“I’d like to catch up.” You soften at his first vulnerable statement, the first thing that feels real. “How about in the morning, are you staying nearby?”

“I’m living with my parents for a couple months.” He frowns at that, you suddenly feel so insecure, a rich model right in front of you, just as he said that day- that he’d make it, and you all…

Would just burn out.

Maybe you did.

“Oh, you are, is something wrong?”

“Helping them a bit, big teacher layoffs nationwide.”

“You teach?” His smile is finally genuine, as you nod, so shyly, his shoulders relax, as his hands slip in his pockets once more. “You always wanted to.” Your eyes shoot up to his now, swirling beautiful blue, a hint of the sweet boy you adored.

“You remember?”

“How couldn’t I…”

“I figured you forgot us all.” Satoru gulps down the guilt, as you manage to pull yourself together, sighing. “Come by my parents in the morning, if you remember where they are.”

“How can I forget, it’s across the street.”

“All right then… I look forward to it.” He awkwardly leans down, as you wrap a friendly arm around his waist, inhaling his cologne, much different than the boy who wore axe body spray and always sucked on lifesavers. His hard body against your much softer one feels a little too good, when he rests his chin on your head.

Nothing has ever felt better than holding you in his arms.

Memories swirl for the both of you, but it’s different, Satoru seems like some bold and pretentious stranger, but for a moment you remember. You remember crying in his arms, over this breakup or that, you remember his sweet hugs during study sessions, you remember laughing and watching the dumbest movies. You exhale just a bit, as a big hand presses the small of your back.

Satoru missed you.

He doesn’t say it, he can’t say anything, pulling back and looking at you then, hand coming to cup your face, opening his mouth to speak when Samantha starts shouting “I’m bored Gojo! I’m so bored!”

The entire bar turns her direction, you fall back a bit, as Gojo internally curses, seeing the brat that is his partner crossing her arms in that fur coat. “I’m coming okay, shit!”

“Your girlfriend is bored.” You’re giggling then, you can’t help it, covering your face as Samantha glares.

“Not my girlfriend, jesus. Um… okay, the morning.” You nod, walking off now, past Samantha, who hisses at you like the psychotic bitch she is, making Satoru grimace with Suguru and Shoko walk up to Satoru.

“You fucked that intro up.” Suguru says, snorting as he puts his arm around Shoko’s waist, and she’s laughing.

“Fucked it up bad.”

“Oh like you’re any help.” They just shake their head, eyeing Satoru’s screaming model bestie.

“See you in eight more years.” Suguru’s words sting, as Satoru feels it then, the guilt eating away at him, but Samantha won’t shut up long enough for him to process, he drags her out into the cold, chilled air, seeing you climbing up into what appears to be your SUV, your eyes flicker to him for just a moment, before you shut the door.

“You like townies hmm? Can’t stop eye fucking girl next door.” Satoru’s eyes make even Samantha falter then.

“Who I like is none of your fucking concern. In.” He plops down in the rental, an audi of course, god forbid Satoru Gojo or Samantha would be seen in anything less, on that they are the same.

“You’re so cranky, she’s hot, just… gives those girl next door vibes.”

“Yeah well, she was the girl next door for me. Almost.” He feels her hand now, trailing over his thigh, she leans over and laughs in his ear, making him cringe. “How’d I get stuck with-”

“Let me make you feel so good, should I suck little Gojo?”

“Little Gojo!? It’s not little, Samantha.” He shoves her off, and she pouts again, crossing her arms.

“How’d I get stuck with you is the question, no fun. Now we have to go stay in poorville.”

“It’s the fucking suberbs.”

“Poor. Poor. Poor. Boring, boring.” Satoru almost pushes her out of the goddamn car, no blow job would be worth it, even if it would shut her up for a moment, even if his cock twitches thinking of you.

He pulls up to his home, his mother already has it opened when he walks up, hugging him tightly, kissing his face all over and making him wince. “Mom…”

“My baby, I never thought you’d come home.” She’s got tears in her pretty blue eyes, she visits LA once a year or more, but now the way tears fall from eyes that match his wracks him with guilt.

He could have come back at least once, right?

No, no he couldn’t.

“And this is…”

“Samantha.” She shakes his mom’s hand, tossing back long blonde locks and smiling. “You have such a quaint little home.”

Satoru’s mom blinks rapidly, brows together, this wasn’t a small home, it was four stories and lovely, left to them from Satoru’s dad, but he supposes to a rich, spoiled brat like Samantha, it’s ‘quaint’. “Um, thank you, and you’re staying too?”

“Unfortunately.” Satoru’s mom raises her brows, as Samantha clings to Satoru once again, grinning.

“I get to meet the mom, huh? I’m so special-”

“Let’s eat.”

Satoru finally leaves a snoring, annoying model brat Samantha alone in the guest room, when he walks inside his childhood room, frozen. Time has been frozen, his mother hasn’t changed a single fucking thing, up to and including pictures of you and him all over the walls. He gulps down his emotions, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click, undressing carefully.

He sees his old nerdy ass sweater, one you’d gotten him, still folded on his desk, like he never left. His fingers brush the fabric, as he stares at his reflection, feeling like he’s a ghost in his own room. The connections start to build, the mirror he kissed that night, the endless photos and mementos he kept. He eyes that box now, opening a letter carefully, crumbled and faded ink.

My Toru, I hope you have the best day, I can’t wait for the movies!

Toru, can you believe how the year has flown by!?

Do you want to go bowling Y or N

Your new glasses are so cute I love them!

Bad day today, sorry I’m quiet.

Tears fall down his cheeks, he only notices when the blotches form on the ink, all the times you’d write to him every day, passing little notes in class with hearts all over them, brightening his day. He’d kept every single fucking one, and there were so, so many in this tin box, stuffed inside like all of his fucking feelings.

He wipes his eyes quickly, shaking it off, pulling out his luggage with his own clothes and getting dressed in sweats for the night, curiously pushing on the cd left in the player, sighing then. Your favorite song, it’s that mixed CD he was making you, the one he never gave you. Satoru quickly turns it off, the button a resounding click, walking to the corkboard littered with you.

Knock knock knock.

“Come in, mom.” She does just that, peeking her pretty face, still so young looking, so sweet as she smiles at him. “You didn’t change any of it.”

“No, I always hoped you’d come back, at least for a day.” She walks up to Satoru now, seeing the photos he’s staring at now, Satoru and you sipping a milkshake together with two straws, in the middle of a diner. “You two were so sweet, she’s back in town you know.”

“I know… I’m seeing her in the morning.” His mom’s eyes light up, and he laughs a bit. “Don’t get excited, my life isn’t here mom.”

“Part of it will always be.” She cups his face, smiling up at him. “I hope you have fun with her, she has kept in touch all these years you know.”

“She has?”

“Yes, she… misses you. She asks about you when she visits town.” Satoru blinks back emotion, turning away now, clearing his throat.

You asked about him after all this? After he'd gone out of your life for good? What if he just heard you out, what if he…

“I’m tired, mom.” Mrs. Gojo nods, a hand on his back for a moment.

“Good night, Toru.”

“Night.” He lays in his bed, phone blowing up, his agent with details, a coordinator for the show, friends from LA teasing him on having to come back home, but he quickly turns it off, holding a photo of you, the only one he brought.

He gently touches it, sighing, wondering…

Will you like him now, could he be good enough?

While you lay in bed, tossing, turning, fuming damn near at Satoru Gojo’s audacity, sitting up finally, putting on Satoru’s favorite song, on that mixed CD you had been making him, before he disappeared. Your childhood room is the same as it always was, littered with photos of you and Satoru, your best friend that just disappeared, and came back a different person.

You touch a photo, one where he’s grinning so big with his cute little braces, holding up a science award, and you’re so overcome with emotion you have to hold back your tears, touching the polaroid gently. Was that boy in there somewhere, the boy you knew, the one who deserved the world - he seemingly got it of course.

Would he find you so boring? He hung out with celebrities, he walked runways, he’s clearly got a beautiful - batshit insane but- girl on his arm. Was it some pity, did he feel bad you were in a little bar? Your mind can’t handle it all, as you plop down in your childhood bed, mind racing.

Who was Satoru Gojo now?

Ah why'd I tear up when Satoru goes home? Next part we see just how coffee goes lol

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[ketchuppee]

During the 2008 recession, my aunt lost her job. Her, her partner, and my three cousins moved across the country to stay with us while they got back on their feet. My house turned from a family of four to a family of nine overnight, complete with three dogs and five cats between us.

It took a few years for them to get a place of their own, but after a few rentals and apartments, they now own a split level ranch in a town nearby. I’ve lost track of how many coworkers and friends have stayed with them when they were in a tight spot. A mother and son getting out of an abusive relationship, a divorcee trying to stay local for his kids while they work out a custody agreement, you name it. My aunt and uncle knew first hand what that kindness meant, and always find space for someone who needed it, the way my parents had for them.

That same aunt and uncle visited me in [redacted] city last year. They are prolific drinkers, so we spent most of the day bar hopping. As we wandered the city, any time we passed a homeless person, my uncle would pull out a fresh cigarette and ask them if they had a light. Regardless of if they had a lighter on hand or not, he offered them a few bucks in exchange, which he explained to me after was because he felt it would be easier for them to accept in exchange for a service, no matter how small.

I work for a company that produces a lot of fabric waste. Every few weeks, I bring two big black trash bags full of discarded material over to a woman who works down the hall. She distributes them to local churches, quilting clubs, and teachers who can use them for crafts. She’s currently in the process of working with our building to set up a recycling program for the smaller pieces of fabric that are harder to find use for.

One of my best friends gives monthly donations to four or five local organizations. She’s fortunate enough to have a tech job that gives her a good salary, and she knows that a recurring donation is more valuable to a non-profit because they can rely on that money month after month, and can plan ways to stretch that dollar for maximum impact. One of those organizations is a native plant trust, and once she’s out of her apartment complex and in a home with a yard, she has plans to convert it into a haven of local flora.

My partner works for a company that is working to help regulate crypto and hold the current bad actors in the space accountable for their actions. We unfortunately live in a time where technology develops far too fast for bureaucracy to keep up with, but just because people use a technology for ill gain doesn’t mean the technology itself is bad. The blockchain is something that she finds fascinating and powerful, and she is using her degree and her expertise to turn it into a tool for good.

I knew someone who always had a bag of treats in their purse, on the odd chance they came across a stray cat or dog, they had something to offer them.

I follow artists who post about every local election they know of, because they know their platform gives them more reach than the average person, and that they can leverage that platform to encourage people to vote in elections that get less attention, but in many ways have more impact on the direction our country is going to go.

All of this to say, there’s more than one way to do good in the world. Social media leads us to believe that the loudest, the most vocal, the most prolific poster is the most virtuous, but they are only a piece of the puzzle. (And if virtue for virtues sake is your end goal, you’ve already lost, but that’s a different post). Community is built of people leveraging their privileges to help those without them. We need people doing all of those things and more, because no individual can or should do all of it. You would be stretched too thin, your efforts valiant, but less effective in your ambition.

None of this is to encourage inaction. Identify your unique strengths, skills, and privileges, and put them to use. Determine what causes are important to you, and commit to doing what you can to help them. Collective action is how change is made, but don’t forget that we need diversity in actions taken.

[slapmeshigaraki]

⭒˚‧ ⭒ཐིཋྀ "Only nice girls get treats." ཐིཋྀ⭒ ‧˚⭒

♡ warnings: caleb x fem!reader, (18+ mdni), reader is insecure, fingering, dirty talk, pussy eating, begging, crying, dumbification, heavy praise, denial, spit, finger sucking, hair pulling, pussy slapping, mirror

♡ a/n: little treat for the middle of the week. been working on this one for a while so it got a little long,, so sorry. finished this instead of writing my research paper,, butttttt i love writing for caleb so i hope u enjoy xx

You're taking a lot longer than usual to get ready. Nothing seems to be fitting right, every outfit looking worse than the last. Maybe you should just stay home tonight, or maybe, you Caleb needs to remind you just how beautiful his girl is.

“Hey, did you need me to iron something for you? I was gonna’ do my shirt, so—” You listened, turning towards the bathroom door as the honeyed voice came to a halt. There he was, leaning against the wooden door frame, muscled torso on full display, dog tag draped around his neck and glistening in the dim lighting, a white collared dress shirt draped over his shoulder. His pants were held up by a fine leather belt that hung loosely around his hips, the buckle undone. The smell of his cologne wrapped around you, notes of cedarwood and lavender softly calming your otherwise hectic state. The bathroom was a mess, makeup brushes strewn about on the marble countertop, clothes and bras and panties thrown in the corner, heels that didn't match were all over the floor, making for a minefield of a space that you'd been moving around for the last two hours.

“No, I’m good. Thanks.” His brow furrowed at the abnormally dry response, violet eyes studying you as you frantically hurried around the small space, makeup and hair both half done. The dress that he’d seen you in only five minutes earlier was balled up near a pile of purses on the tiled floor now, your skin only covered by a matching black lace set. He was almost drooling at the sight, opting to bite his full bottom lip to keep himself from doing so.

“Everything okay, baby?” His tone was cautious, testing the temperature of the water. You didn’t bother to meet his gaze, too busy wracking your brain to put together a different outfit—or maybe you needed to change your hair? Should you even bother going at all? Maybe you should suddenly pretend to have a stomachache.

“I’m fine, just rushed.” Another short answer.

“There’s no rush, sugar. They can’t start without us after all.” You gave him a soft laugh, brushing off the comment, but he was right. This night was about him after all—a ceremony awarding him for his accomplishments with the fleet this past year. He’d been going over his speech with you tirelessly every day for the last week, picking apart every line one by one until it was perfect. This was Caleb’s night, so why were you the one feeling so much pressure?

“Hey, look at me for a second.” You did, eyes meeting his in the mirror as you ran another coat of red lipstick over your bottom lip, suddenly questioning the color.

“You can tell me if something's wrong ya’ know. We don’t have to go.” You shook your head in dismissal, breaking the eye contact that was quickly making something well up in your chest, tears stinging in the corner of your eyes against your will.

“Of course we have to go, Caleb. I’m going—I want to go, I’m just trying to hurry up.”

“What was wrong with the last dress? Or the four before that?” He wasn’t teasing but genuinely asking you as he searched for your attention in the mirror again, to no avail. A single tear fell from your eye, effortlessly ruining your makeup, a line of foundation erased as you tried not to let anymore escape.

“They just weren’t right. Nothing is fitting right for some reason.” He wasted no time moving over to you, shirt falling to the floor in the process, but he didn’t care. His eyes were locked on you, noticing the way your face slowly crumpled, head hanging as if there was a thousand-pound weight holding you down.

“Don’t cry, baby. Hey, hey, shh…” His arms wrapped around you, toned chest pressing into your back, the warmth of his skin inescapable as he held you as tightly as he could. Your body gently shook against him as you let the tears fall freely now, the thought of ruining Caleb’s night making your heart even heavier.

“You could wear a burlap sack and you’d still be the most beautiful thing in any room, you know that, right? Why are you being so mean to my pretty girl, hm?” His soft palm snaked it’s way across your chest and neck, cupping your wet cheek, sticking your skin to his. He gently guiding your chin up, your reflection staring back at his now.

“Tell me what you didn’t like about the pink dress.” You subconsciously shrunk against him at the question, the visual of your bare skin against him, only covered by the thin pieces of fabric sending shivers down your spine. The little hairs on the back of your neck stood up, ears growing hot—you were so vulnerable like this.

“Be honest with me this time. Please,” he said, voice thick and syrupy like molasses, almost like he was begging as he craned his head down, resting his chin in the crook of your neck and pressing a feather-light kiss to your face.

“My- my shoulders…they looked too wide in it.” His eyes grew big at the confession before they shifted down in the mirror, locking onto your shoulders. He left another kiss on your cheek, then your jaw, next your neck, trailing them across your collar bone before his full lips finally lingered against the back of your shoulder. Your head slowly fell again, before you heard his voice,

“Don’t look away, sugar.”  You watched his slender fingers graze across your skin, faintly dancing over your shoulder blades along with his lips which were still peppering kissing over your frame. Your breath hitched at the sight of his body against yours, his tall and muscular physique towering over you, making you look so fragile in his grasp.

“What was wrong with the red outfit, hm? I think I liked that one the best.” Your eyes rolled at the question which Caleb caught in the mirror. You hated the way you looked in the red dress. The outfit accentuating every curve, the short length hugging your thighs just a little too tightly. You felt so… naked in that dress—every flaw you’d seen in the mirror on full display in that gown.

“My body just doesn’t look good in it.”

“Your body looks amazing in anything. If I didn’t think I’d want to break the bones of any man that looked, I’d suggest you go just like this.” His eyes were not the same when they met yours this time. They were dark, pupils enlarged, darkening his irises. He looked hungry at the sight of you, like a vampire that hadn’t fed in weeks. His lips watered at the thought of devouring you, getting to see sweat glistening on your bare chest, nipples hardened under his rough fingertips, back arched as he pressed himself into you. The thing he loved the most though was your faces, your bottom lip almost bleeding from how hard your teeth grinded against it as you tried to silence your moans, tears welling up at the corners of your eyes that were desperate to escape once he hit just the right spot inside of your soft walls. Your face and body were the things he dreamed about in his sleep, but they were also what would keep him up at night while you were away. They were the things that made him fist his cock, eyes shut tight as he pictured the artwork known as his girl. He was ravenous for you—always, so why couldn’t you see what he did? Why didn’t the lamb understand what made the lion so hungry for it; what made him hunt day and night just for a taste.

You couldn’t help but notice the way his clothed cock hardened against you. He didn’t grind into you like you wanted, his focus instead on getting his fingers on every inch of you. Your gaze fell again, embarrassment heating your cheeks at the sight of his digits languidly sliding underneath the cups of your bra.

“I won’t tell you again. Look up.” You did. You core grew wetter, dampening the fabric of your panties at the contact.

“You know…” His free hand ghosted over your spine, causing you to shiver at his touch as he unclasped your bra, freeing your flesh. A small moan escaped his lips at the reveal, his fingers quickly found your breasts, large hands cupping them, much to his enjoyment.

“I’d kill anyone who talked bad about you. I would never let anyone speak about my girl the way that you do.” A harsh pinch to your nipple forced your chest to push out towards the mirror, your perfect French manicure gripping the edge of the marble countertop. The sight was absolutely sinful.

“So why do you think that you should be the exception, huh? Do you think you’re above the rules?” Caleb rolled your sensitive nipples between his fingers, reveling in the way you writhed beneath his touch.

“No…” You whined, head slowly falling forward at the sensation, you body going limp against his.

“No? Apologize then.” His voice was harsh suddenly, as you felt your muscles give way, gaze being forced back to the mirror against your will as he used his evol against you. He did say he wouldn’t ask again, instead, he would make you look.

“I-I’m sorry,” It was barely audible, strained out between your soft moans as you pushed your ass against the man behind you, unabashedly wanted to feel some sort of friction between your thighs.

“No no no, not to me. Apologize to my baby, hm?  Look at her and say you’re sorry for being mean.” You tried to turn your head away at the humiliating request, but it was no use, you were practically immobilized between his arms. You looked at yourself in the mirror, body laid bare, chest heaving, ass grinding against Caleb like a bitch in heat.

“I’m sorry for being mean.”

“Aww how nice. See I knew you could be sweet. You always listen so well, my obedient pretty girl.” His right hand left your chest feeling cold as his middle and index fingers found themselves pressed against your lips.

“Get 'em wet for me, baby. Go ahead, it’s okay.” So you listen—you let your lips part, sucking his fingers between them, running your tongue in circles around his knuckles as he slides them in and out of your mouth. “Fuck… you look so good.”

“You want my fingers somewhere else? Been grinding this pussy against me like you need something. Do you want me to make you feel good, hm? Will that make my pretty girl stop crying?” He was mocking you, reveling in the way you squirmed against him as he pressed your hips into the counter.

“Caleb… please,” You said, words muffled by his thick fingers pushing down against your tongue, your saliva dripping halfway down his arm at this point.

“But you’re so mean, baby. Only nice girls get treats. Are you gonna be nice from now on? Gonna' treat my pretty girl better?” He watched as your reflection nodded up and down, pretty little eyes closed tightly, nose scrunched up like a bunny. He was in awe at this sight—he almost wanted to give you your reward without making you work for it...almost.

“Answer me, baby. C’mon, be good for me… please,” His words were strained, like he was getting off just as much as you were without him even being touched. It made your knees buckle a little beneath you, forcing your limp fingers to grip around his forearm, desperately searching for some stability.

“Yes yes I’ll be nice. I promise. Just touch me please.” With that, he pulled his fingers out of your mouth, your spit glistening around his digits as they traveled slowly down your body, leaving you painted in your own wetness.

“You have the most beautiful body I’ve ever seen, you know that?” He pressed a soft kiss to your neck as his wet fingers slid beneath the waistband of your panties.

“Fuck this pussy’s so wet already. I can feel your little clit’s already excited, she’s so swollen. Aw, does it hurt, baby?” His muscled thigh forced its way between your legs, spreading them wider as his fingers lightly toyed with your most sensitive spot, soaked fingers rubbing on each side of your clit. Your hole clenched around nothing, juices spilling out against the fabric, desperately wanting to be filled—hungry.

“Look so pretty when you don’t get what you want though. Maybe this is all you should get, huh? After all, mean girls shouldn’t be rewarded, should they?” You squirmed even more at his words, trying to force his fingers to move faster or press against you harder—something. Caleb was having none of it though, his big hand gripping your waist, pinning you still. Whines fell from between your lips at the denial.

“Didn’t you just say you would be good? Were you lying to me again or does this messy hole between your legs make it so you can’t think straight? Don’t tell me my fingers barely touching you makes you this dumb, sugar. That’s cute… but a little pathetic, don’t you think?” He sloppily kissed your skin between words, teeth nipping against the flesh, tongue lapping at your wounds only to bite into you again.

“I guess you can’t think. Is that it? You need me to tell you what to do, hm?” You nodded uncontrollably, that heavy weight moving your muscles against your will once again.

“My pretty girl with the sloppy cunt. Say it.” His thumb found your clit now, hovering over it, just barely touching the aching button… but it wasn’t enough. It wouldn’t be enough until you did what he told you to.

“Caleb please…”

“No more whining. If you’re not saying what I told you to then you shouldn’t be speaking at all. Say you’re my pretty girl.” He freed your waist, certain that you wouldn’t disobey when he had you like this—so pliable. His hand made it’s way to your half-undone hair now, gripping it, as he pushed your face closer to the mirror, your body bent over the sink, reflection painfully close.

You said it… but not the way he wanted you to. Your eyes were on him, words barely audible, attitude palpable through the statement. Without warning the warmth of his fingers on your cunt was quickly gone as he slipped his fingers out of your panties to deliver a swift slap to your clit over the fabric. You screamed out at the painful sensation, which only resulted in another smack against your cunt.

“Do it the right way. Look at my girl while you tell her she’s pretty and mean it.”  You looked at your reflection, chest bare, sweat staining your skin, hair messy from the way Caleb’s fingers gripped it forcing you not to look away. Your eyes were glazed over, lipstick smudged onto your chin—you were a mess, but you said it.

“I- I’m your pretty girl.” Not even a second passed after the words left your lips before Caleb slid the crotch of your panties to the side, fingers pressing all the way against you now. His middle finger, still wet from the impromptu blowjob you’d given it, made it’s way into your tight hole inch by inch.

“See what happens when you’re not a fucking brat? Don’t you know that only good girls get what they want?” You nodded, your head feeling fuzzy as his thick finger forced itself between your walls, its length allowing him to brush against your g-spot with hardly any effort.

“Say it again.” You did, looking yourself in the eyes once more.

“That’s right. You’re my pretty girl who listens so well. My god you are fucking prefect.” You were rewarded with another finger amongst the praise, but he hadn’t touched your clit again. He knew that the second he did, you would fall apart in his arms. He just wasn’t quite done playing with you yet.

“Aw my baby gets so fucking dumb when her holes get filled. How cute… you having trouble with your words again? What is it, sugar? Come on, tell me, you can do it.” His lips were so close to your ear as he spoke, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine. His tone was sweet, slightly higher in pitch, as if he were calling out for a stray dog to come eat a treat out of his palm. The condescending sound made you whine out once again, just like a puppy would.

“Aww am I not giving you what you want? Am I being mean to you?” His fingers quickened as he watched you pant, your palms flattened out against the mirror as he rocked you back and forth against his hand.

“Caleb please touch me.”

“I’m already touching you silly girl? What is it, did you want a kiss?” The thought of getting to feel his lips on yours as his fingers fucked harder into you, his tongue lapping at yours, brought more tears to your eyes.

“Yes. Please ‘wanna kiss so bad.” He pushed your head closer to your reflection, until your lips were only a millimeter from the mirror,

“Go on then. Give her a kiss—such a pretty girl deserves a kiss.” His cock ached in his pants against you as he watched it—the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen so desperate for his fingers that she was kissing herself in the mirror just because he’d said so.

“Goood girl. Good job being so sweet. Tell her you’re sorry again for hurting her feelings.” His thumb finally nudged against your clit again, slowly rubbing small little circles around it. The stimulation made you cry once more as he found just the right rhythm to keep you on the edge as apologies flowed from your lips.

“You must be getting close, beautiful. This little pussy is grippin’ on my fingers so tight. She doesn’t wanna let me go. Do you need to cum, baby?”

“Yes yes wanna cum so bad for you.”

“Aw I know I know. It’s okay. I’ll stop being mean to you since you’ve been so sweet. Tell me where you wanna cum, sugar.” The question only made you squeeze him tighter, your sloppy hole clenching and spasming around his fingers and you pressed your lips to the mirror once more, leaving little red kiss marks all over the reflection of your face. Your hips free now, you pushed into his cock again, grinding against the fabric of his pants, leaving an even bigger wet spot than before.

“No no no, you can’t have my cock. This is about you, just wanna make you feel good, yeah?” You whined louder at the denial, your voice trembling as you shook from your sobs.

“Don’t cry anymore, baby. I’ll do you one better yeah?” He pulled his fingers out of you slowly, despite the fight your hole tried to put up in keeping him inside. His hand’s grip on your hair was gone, but not before he used it to force you to turn towards him for the first time. He lowered himself to his knees, rough hands gently grabbing your thigh as he placed it over his shoulder.

“You are a fucking goddess,” he whispered as he brought his mouth between your legs, placing tiny kisses on the inside of your thighs. “Shouldn’t I pay my respects?” He wasted no more time getting his tongue on your cunt, pushing your lips apart as he savored your juices in his mouth. Your fingers tangled into his hair now, pushing your hips into his face as he gripped your thigh even tighter making you moan out at the mix of pain and pleasure. You were already so close, the feeling of Caleb suckling on your puffy clit, the rhythm just how he knew you liked it, made you beg to cum once more in no time.

“So fucking gorgeous, grinding on my tongue. Go on, say it one more time for me. Say you’re my pretty girl. Say you’ll never be mean to yourself again and I’ll let you cum for me.” He looked up at you as the words spilled out of your mouth just like he said, the look on your face intoxicating as you screamed out his name.

“Gooood girl you can cum for me. C'mon pretty girl, cum in my mouth, it’s okay. You earned it.” He held you still, tongue continuing to harass your poor little clit as you writhed above him. Your legs gave out, quivering as he continued to lick up the mess you’d made.

“Don’t worry, baby. I got you. Keep cumming for me, let it all out,” he said, voice sweet once again as he steadied you with his hands and you rode out the rest of your orgasm.

“You did so good. I’m so proud of you.” He pressed one more kiss to your clit, as you finished coming down, your body finally feeling steady in his arms. He stood up, towering over you once again, face wet with your juices as he held your fingers between his. His other hand cupped your face, thumb softly wiping away your tears.

“I love you more than anything and I want you to know that you have nothing to be insecure about. Even if you’re not feeling your best, you can always talk to me and I’ll remind you of just how beautiful you are. Okay?” You nodded, looking up at him with big eyes, your heart hurting in your chest from how full it felt in that moment.

“I love you, Caleb.”

“I can tell because you let me ruin your makeup when we only have…” He glanced over at my phone on the countertop, “thirty minutes before the car gets here.”

“Thirty minutes?” You shouted out, pushing against Caleb’s chest.

“You’ll be fine. I’ll make them wait,” he said, reaching down to pick up the white dress shirt that had been previously discarded onto the floor. 

“And hey, put on that red dress. I’ll need something pretty to look at while everyone else is droning on about how great I am.” You rolled your eyes, letting out a laugh that perfectly harmonized with his as you threw the balled up dress towards him.

“Now you’ll have to iron them both.” He hummed in acceptance, violet irises glimmering at the sight of you.

“Anything for you, gorgeous.”

[simpforboys]

surprise!

drew starkey x fem!singer!reader

summary: ever since the reader started blowing up, all the interviews and promotions that would ask her who her celebrity crush is, she always had the same answer. so when Jimmy Fallon invites her on his show, he might have a surprise in store…

warnings: fluff!! second hand embarrassment, reader gushes about Drew, she’s just a fangirl at heart

‘perfume’ by del water gap mentioned <3

part two , part three, part four

2020

“Who’s your celebrity crush?”

“Drew Starkey, he plays Rafe in Outer Banks.”

“Do you have a celebrity crush?

“Yeah, Drew Starkey from Outer Banks.”

“Are there any people you would hope to collab with or meet?”

“Definitely Drew Starkey from Outer Banks.”

2021

“Last year you said multiple times Drew Starkey is your celebrity crush, is this still true?”

“Yeah, he’s still my main one.”

“Are there any guys you’re interested in?”

“My dream guy is Drew Starkey, if that’s what you mean.”

“What’s your type in a man?”

“Umm… probably Drew Starkey.”

2022

“Update us on all the boy drama! Anyone interesting?”

“Just waiting for Drew Starkey.”

“You look stunning! Are you here with anyone tonight?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Your crush around Drew Starkey, is that still a thing?”

“It still is… have you seen his new movie ‘Hellraiser’?”

2023

“Your new EP just released, are any of the songs about Drew Starkey?”

“Not on this one, no. Maybe the next one.”

“Are you seeing anyone? Has Drew Starkey called?”

“No, not yet. Maybe next year.”

“Have you seen season three of ‘Outer Banks’ yet?”

“Yes, oh my god! Drew looked so good.”

2024

“Your new song ‘Perfume’ is an absolute hit! Is it about Drew Starkey?”

“Omg, no, but it should’ve been.”

“You’ve quickly risen to fame! Has Drew Starkey noticed you yet?”

“Unfortunately, no. He’s probably hiding.”

Ever since your career started, in every single interview you get the question regarding celebrity crushes, the answer was always the same.

Drew Starkey.

It became a known meme revolving you and your fans, along with the media. Practically every interview just loved to teased you about your known celebrity crush.

Your popularity rose more in 2023 to 2024, so, when Jimmy Fallon reached out to you to have you on his show, your agency immediately agreed.

Standing behind the curtain wearing a tight brown suit, the pants wide-leg. Black boots were your choice of footwear, your makeup done perfectly to match the outfit.

“Ladies and gentlemen, bring your hands together for Y/n L/n!”

When Jimmy announced your name, you came out from behind the curtain, a big smile on your face as you waved to the audience.

Shaking hands and hugging some of the crew members before you finally hugged Jimmy, settling down in the blue chair.

“How are you doing tonight?” Jimmy asks with a warm smile.

“I’m doing good! Pretty nervous to be honest, this is my first talkshow.” You answered sincerely.

The audience clapped and Jimmy sunk back in his seat a little more.

“Well, I’m glad to be your first one! So, your new song ‘Perfume’ recently came out, congratulations on 200 million streams.”

“Thank you so much, really.” Your hands were shaking as you fidgeted with the brown fabric on your knee, one leg crossed over the other.

“So, you’ve been singing since 2020?” Jimmy asks.

“Yeah, I started posting videos on Tik Tok but my career really took off at the end of 2023 and now here we are.” You smile, the whole experience still so surreal.

“Your voice is phenomenal, seriously. I’ll need to have you come back and sing on the show for us.” Jimmy says, causing the audience to erupt into cheers.

You laughed a little, nodding your head. “Of course, anytime.”

Jimmy continued to talk to you for a few more minutes about your career, the conversation flowing smoothly as you cracked some nervous jokes.

“So, I have to ask, Y/n. Since your career began you’ve said your celebrity crush is Drew Starkey, can you tell us more about this?”

You felt your face get a little warm as you shifted in your seat, an anxious smile on your lips.

“I dunno, I guess I’ve just always found him attractive. He’s insanely talented and just seems like a very genuine soul.” You say sheepishly, avoiding looking at the camera.

“He’s also becoming more and more popular right now, with season four of ‘Outer Banks’ that came out in October and November along with his new movie ‘Queer’.” Jimmy adds on.

“Yeah, I’m a pretty big fan so I’ve been following along with it. I’m very proud of him, in like a supportive-fan way.” You say, making the audience laugh at the last part.

You were completely oblivious to Jimmy looking behind you, motioning with his hand underneath his desk.

“So it’s not just his looks?” Jimmy teases.

“I mean, he’s a very beautiful man. He looks good with any haircut especially that mullet he had last year — and oh my god, he just looked so good in season four of ‘Outer Banks.’ Plus he has these big biceps that just bulge out of any shirt.”

You hadn’t even realized you were gushing over your celebrity crush until you finally caught yourself, hearing the audience laughing.

“Oh, gosh. You are really into him, huh?” Jimmy teases.

“What would you do if he was standing right behind you?” The host asks.

If you weren’t so nervous from being on a national talkshow you probably would’ve understood his message.

But your brain caused you to miss it, being as oblivious as ever.

“Probably pass out.” You answered, hearing the audience giggle more. Jimmy had an amused grin on his face.

“Please don’t pass out.”

Your posture immediately straightened, body tense as you stood up from the seat.

Turning around, your heart dropped to your stomach when you saw Drew fucking Starkey standing there.

The audience’s laughter grew as well as Jimmy’s, clearly satisfied with the surprise.

Your hands went to cover your mouth, face feeling hot like you had a fever. You just gushed about this man practically to his face.

“Hi, Y/n. I’m Drew.”

You couldn’t respond, just in pure shock as you stare at the tall man.

Drew also looked a little sheepish, his cheeks pink as he grinned at you.

“Did you— did you hear everything?” You finally managed to choke out.

“Maybe.” Drew chuckled, scratching the side of his neck.

“How do you feel after hearing all that, Drew?” Jimmy chuckles.

“I’m honored,” Drew replies.

You hated the way he fucking said that and the way you understood that reference.

Drew held his hand out for you to shake, but your heart was beating too fast and your brain was turning into nervous mush that you just embarrassed yourself in front of your dream man.

“Are you going to shake his hand? Hug him?” Jimmy chuckled.

“I’m… scared.” You murmured, the audience swooning and giggling over your shyness.

“Can I hug you?” Drew asked.

Stunned, your head slowly nodded. His strong arms wrapped around your body, your forehead resting against his shoulder.

You couldn’t even hug him back properly, just too much in shock. He smelt like cologne and it made your knees weak.

“I love your new song, by the way.” Drew murmured softly in your ear.

“Yeah?” You whisper, feeling like an idiot for the way you were reacting in front of him.

Drew just nods and hums, soothingly caressing your back in an effort to calm you down.

“Ladies and gentlemen, give it up one last time for Y/n L/n and Drew Starkey!” Jimmy has to end the segment.

The audience cheers as Drew continues to embrace you.

He had known about you for the last few months, having a few of your songs in his playlists.

He was just constantly busy so he never really got the chance to reach out, but when Jimmy’s team contacted him about surprising you on the show, he was excited.

And nervous.

“Sorry about surprising you like that.” Jimmy comes over, causing you and Drew to finally pull away.

“You gave me trust issues for talkshows now.” You said jokingly, finally calming down a bit.

Drew and Jimmy both laughed softly.

The film crew told you and Drew that the commercial break would be ending soon so to step off stage.

You did your signature on the wall dedicated to Jimmy’s guests, feeling familiar blue eyes gazing at you.

After thanking each crew member and shaking hands or hugging, an assistant pointed you and Drew towards where a car will take you both back to your perspective hotels.

“You ready?” Drew asked you.

You nodded, feeling nervous due to the fact that you were about to be alone in the back of a car with your celebrity crush, other than the driver in the front.

Drew opened the door for you as you climbed in, hyperaware of how he slid in behind you onto the leather seat.

It was quiet for a few moments, you nervously fidgeting with the rings on your fingers.

“So… you like my new song?”

You finally manage to choke out.

Drew smiled softly, turning his head to look at you. He was still a little flustered at everything that happened, but also very amused.

“I do, yeah. Are you going to shoot a music video for it?” Drew asked.

You nod, making eye contact with him.

“Yeah, my idea is to tell a story about these two lovers who move to like a quieter part, I was thinking either the forest or a desert, that live in poorer conditions but are completely happy and content because they have each other. I want it to be full of love, so kissing, affection, a sex scene.”

You rambled on to him, your eyes falling to your hands as you played with your rings.

“Oh, wow. That sounds cool as fuck.” Drew murmured, also watching your hands fidget. He thought it was cute.

“I’ve had the idea in my head for a few years, actually. I started writing ‘Perfume’ in like… 2021? So, I just want everything to be perfect.”

You added on, looking back at him. He had his left leg crossed over his knee, his body language towards you.

“Well… if you need a male costar, I would love to do it.” He gave you a smile.

A small grin curled onto your lips, stomach hurting at realization of what he just implied.

“Yeah?”

He nodded, licking his lips.

“Mhm. I told you, I love the song. Plus, your idea sounds amazing, and if you want me to, I would love to be apart of it.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat when it finally hit you that Drew fucking Starkey wanted to be your on-screen lover.

“You’re not just fucking with me, right?”

You had to ask, blurting it out of your nervous mouth.

Drew just snorted, shaking his head in amusement. “No, I’m not.”

“Okay… I’ll have my manager reach out to your’s about details for when we start shooting. I appreciate it a lot.”

You were unaware the car finally came to a stop, parked outside your hotel, fans and security guards waiting for you.

“Yeah, I’ll definitely be there. Have a good night, Y/n.”

Drew smiled at you, your heart fluttering.

“You too, Drew.”

You got out of the car, letting the security guards guide you inside the hotel. You tried your best to take photos or sign autographs for your dedicated fans, something Drew admired as he watched from the back of the SUV.

By the time you finally got back into your hotel room and kicked off your boots, you started taking off your jewelry.

Flopping down onto the bed, you grabbed your phone.

It felt like your heart dropped to your stomach when one notification specifically caught your eye.

@/drewstarkey started following you back