#i work with school age kids in a before and after school program

[stevishabitat]

👏 👏 👏

“what if kids identify with something and it ends up just being a phase-?” good. stop teaching and expecting kids (and adults honestly) to formulate permanent traits and ideas of themselves. everything in life is a phase. that doesn’t make it any less legitimate while you experience it. let people explore themselves and know it’s okay if what you think about yourself changes.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Maybe a Jack or Robby x reader who is raising her sibling(s)? The kid/teen is taken to the Pitt for whatever reason and some comforting is needed from one of our favorite new doctors? 😊😊😊

Rating: M

Warnings: Angst—a lot; Reader's half-sister has cancer; some fluff; Reader is a former medical student at the Pitt; implied age gap; mention of the death of a parent

Summary: There was nothing different, nothing new. You used to know the feeling of Robby beside you. You used to crave his attention, his approval. You felt the heat of him against your side now, as steady as it had been just a year ago.

When your mother died, the responsibility to care for your six-year-old half sister had closed in so fast. Her cancer diagnosis had hit as furiously as your mother's death, and you'd had no choice but to drop out of med school, to leave the program that you'd entered in at the Pitt.

"Hey."

"Hi—What? Why are you whispering?" Dana frowned, shaking her head as Robby beckoned her closer.

"Am I having a stroke, or seeing things, or—?" Robby nodded toward central, and Dana didn't have to turn her head to know what he was referring to.

"Her sister is in surgery. Came in half an hour ago." She broke it to him gently, and it was hardly a second before understanding washed Robby's features, his hands flexing and unflexing in the fabric of his hoodie over his arms. He took in a deep breath, raised his hand, pinched the bridge of his nose—

"Any news?"

"No. But it's early."

"She can't be back there. She doesn't work here anymore."

"No, but she knows what it's like." Dana leaned a little closer, nudged her hip against Robby's thigh. "She needs something to do. Keep her mind off of what's happening upstairs."

Robby hesitated before he nodded, raising his hand to scrub at his brow before he slid it back to his neck.

"Okay," He conceded. "Okay."

"Dr. Robby, you're needed in south fifteen."

"Yeah. On my way," He answered Perlah without a thought, glancing back toward the sound of her voice, but his eyes stayed glued to the woman at central.

"...Go on," Dana urged, "I'll keep an eye on her. She's not making decisions without input."

"Okay." He answered again, unthinking. He needed to go. There were patients that needed him—but he wondered if she needed him a little bit, too.

--

"We've got a patient coding in north two!"

You glanced back toward the yell, glanced over as the man near you scrambled out of his chair, leaving something behind.

"Take the pad!" You called back, nodding toward the desk.

He hurried back to his spot, snatching it up—and holding there.

"I, uh—Thanks."

You glanced toward him, brow furrowing.

"Sure."

"I'm Dennis Whitaker."

"Hi, Whitaker." You nodded over your shoulder. "You got somewhere to be?"

"Shit—Yes! Yeah, uh—Yes!"

You glanced after him, straightening up from the computer you'd been leaning over, folding your arms across your chest as you huffed out a laugh, watching him scurry after a few nurses and residents. You heard Dana chuckling behind you, and you couldn't help but shake your head, a smile pulling at your lips.

"Where the fuck did you find Bambi?" You asked, nodding after the medical student.

"Nebraska."

"Huh," You nodded, turning back to the board. "Tracks."

"Thoughts, feelings, opinions?"

"So sweet of you to ask like I know better."

"I don't mind a fresh set'a eyes every now and again."

"You don't need it."

"Maybe I do."

"Please," You scoffed, "You'll outlive us all."

It was a mistake to say, and your eyes darted to your phone screen where it was sitting on the desk. You shook your head, trying to shake yourself from the focus. You knew that you didn't cover well when Dana reached out, rubbing your arm gently.

"Why don't you get some air?" She offered softly. And sure, you knew that it would be for the best, but—

"The uh—" You cleared your throat. "The patient in south three should be sent up to psych."

It took a moment before Dana answered, "We called. We're waiting to hear back."

"How long has he been down here?"

'"'Bout a day and a half hours."

"Jesus," You hissed. "The fuck?"

"I know you've been away from the ED for a while. It's gotten worse." A hand between your shoulder blades, and a soft, "We need ya back."

"I can't afford it."

Your time, your money, your focus, your care—there was no part of returning to the Pitt that you could afford. Being able to return to school would mean losing your sister, and losing your sister would mean—

You turned and braced your hands on the desk in front of you, fighting to settle your churning stomach.

"...Go find somewhere quiet," Dana urged. "We've got it here."

"I really don't think I should be anywhere quiet right now."

"Could do more good than harm."

"Dana—"

"There probably isn't anyone in the chapel this time'a day. Go on."

--

It was the right suggestion to make, and you'd known it the second she'd made it. You eyed the altar with dispassionate numbness, heart thudding in your ears, eyes unfocused as you tried to take in deep breaths and steady yourself. Your phone stayed clutched in your hands, waiting—damn near praying for a vibration, a text, news.

"This seat taken?"

His voice had no right to make your heart leap into your throat, your fingers tighten further around your phone.

"Ten other pews in the place and you've gotta sit here?" You asked. You didn't turn to look, didn't nod approvingly. But that didn't stop him from stepping in and lowering to sit down beside you.

There was nothing different, nothing new. You used to know the feeling of Robby beside you. You used to crave his attention, his approval. You felt the heat of him against your side now, as steady as it had been just a year ago.

When your mother died, the responsibility to care for your six-year-old half sister had closed in so fast. Her cancer diagnosis had hit as furiously as your mother's death, and you'd had no choice but to drop out of med school, to leave the program that you'd entered in at the Pitt.

"Surprised to find you in here," He added. You shrugged a little.

"Dana's idea," You admitted. Then, before you could stop yourself, "It's where mom would be."

Robby didn't answer for a moment. You felt him shift beside you, his thigh brushing against yours, then away again.

"...You think your mom is in here now?" He asked softly. And you knew what he meant, what he was driving toward, but—

"Pretty sure we buried her in a cemetery, Robby."

"Okay—"

"Unless someone moved her and they didn't tell me—Should we check under the pews? You take left, I'll take right."

"What is it with you and sincerity, huh?"

"I'm allergic."

"What happens?"

"Oh, I swell up. Anaphylactic shock."

"Good thing you're already at the hospital."

You couldn't help but smile a bit, shaking your head.

"Were you this bad when you worked here?" He pried.

"You know, I think I was. Something about the Pitt just brings it out in me."

"...How long has she been up there?"

What about the last few things that he'd asked made him think that you wanted to answer that question? But facts were facts. And—

"An hour."

"Not bad."

"Sure," You shrugged, nodding before you couldn't help but shake your head. "You know, I never thought knowing what I know could make all'a this worse?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean—I mean when I was younger and my grandpa was in the hospital...I remember being there with him. The doctor was saying a bunch'a shit that I just didn't understand. It's one of the reasons I wanted to become a doctor, you know, to decipher what he was saying. Like learning to read hieroglyphs. But now..." You shook your head, eyes prickling with tears. "Watching Langdon and everyone work on Ellie, hearing what they were saying, reading the screens—It was worse. How could it be worse, understanding?" You slouched against the pew. "I've never wanted to be willfully ignorant before, ya know. Hearing what they were doing, just—" You tried to draw in a deep breath, failed, "Just confirmed just how fucking—" You tried to draw in another deep breath, but it caught in your throat, "How fucking bad it is." You fought to draw in another deep breath as your chest pounded, your eyes welling with tears.

Robby's arm curled around you as you folded forward, pressing the heels of your hands pressing against your eyes to stem your upset.

"She's going to be alright," He insisted, "Garcia's got her."

"Oh, good. That's good," You mumbled. "She'll hold the fact that she saved Ellie over my head forever."

"She might not."

"Oh, please. Have you met Garcia?"

Robby huffed a soft laugh, raising his hand to gently cup the back of your neck, his thumb sweeping across your nape. You let the movement soothe you the way he intended, leaning up into it.

"...Did you tell Dana to kick me out from behind central?"

"No. Why?"

"I saw you talking to her."

"You think it was about you? Self-centered much?" He knocked his knee against yours. "Maybe you should've been a doctor."

"Don't. Don't," Your huffed laugh came with a plea as you squeezed your eyes shut. Robby smoothed his hand across your shoulders, drawing you into his side. And where you would've shied from the touch a year ago, you welcomed it now, leaning heavily against him. You felt him nuzzle against your hair, rest his head against yours, draw in a deep breath. You let yourself hone in on him for a few moments—his warmth, his steadiness where you've so badly missed it, wanted it.

You drew in a deep breath, held it, sighed through your nose.

"You should get back in there," You mumbled.

"The others've got it."

"They need you."

A moment of quiet, another nuzzle against your head.

"What do you need?" He murmured. And you were tempted to fib, to tell him that you didn't need anything. But it had been so long since you'd been asked what you needed, and even longer since you were willing to be honest about your answer.

"...I don't fucking know, dude," You mumbled.

"Is that the truth?"

You startled when you felt your phone buzz in your hand, and you sat up before you could stop yourself, bringing the phone up to eye the screen and scanning the text. You opened your mouth, drawing in a deep breath for the first time in a few hours.

"What is it?"

"She's in the recovery room," You relayed. "She's in—She's in the fucking recovery room—I shouldn't be swearing in a chapel but oh my god—Oh my fucking god," You breathed, folding in on yourself.

Robby didn't let you get far as you shook, just waited, and held as the news settled.

You leaned up slowly, propping your elbows on your thighs and pressing your face into your hands.

"How long 'til you can see her?"

"Half an hour."

"Okay," He murmured, rubbing his hand over your back. "Go get some coffee in the staff room."

"Staff room is for, uh—Staff? Which I have not been for a long time."

"Cafeteria coffee isn't as good."

"I should get the full Pitt experience."

Robby chuckled softly. "You'll do better with ours."

"Maybe."

"Definitely."

You grunted, leaning back against the pew.

"You should get back," You urged again. "I'll be fine."

"...Okay," He murmured. "Keep me updated?"

"Sure." It was another moment before he stood, giving your shoulder a soft squeeze before letting go. You twisted as his footsteps faded, unable to help yourself. "Robby?"

He stopped in the doorway, and you almost crumbled as he caught your eye. You hesitated before you nodded.

"I did feel her here—Mom, I mean."

Robby gave a small smile before he nodded, too, taking a step and turning away.

You waited until he was fully out of the chapel before you let yourself crumble.

Tag list:

@missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @amneris21

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage​​​ ;  @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; 

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa​ ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; 

@thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @realwhoreforfictionalmen

 ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ;  @winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989

[satorulovebot]

so scarlet it was, maroon | chapter one

✧₊⁺ pairing — satoru gojou x journalist!reader

✧₊⁺ chapter summary — you get the chance to meet the infamous gojou satoru while working on your journalism project at suzuka circuit. what could you possibly want from him?

✧₊⁺ word count — 6.3k

✧₊⁺ warnings — nsfw (minors dni), age gap, alcohol use, mature themes, mentions of cheating, substance abuse, themes of marriage and divorce

✧₊⁺ notes — hello everyone! i asked you awhile ago on a poll which series you would like to see after cursed seas and f1 gojo won the poll and then i posted the masterlist and everyone wants it so you get it now. so here it is. and NO its not happy NEVER expect happiness from me because im allergic to it. also the reader being nosy af is inspired by me and my parents telling me i should be a journalist with how nosy i am.

series masterlist // pinterest moodboard // general masterlist

next chap. the husband and his wife

You moved to Tokyo with your family when you were younger.

You grew up in a rural part of the country, surrounded by farmers and people either ready to retire or nearing the end of their lives. Your parents hated living there, and so did you—for one, there were hardly any kids to play with, and two, as your father would say, "too many old fuckers lying around."

When you moved to Tokyo, your family decided to celebrate by taking you to a Formula 1 race. Your dad thought it would be perfect for the two of you since fixing up old cars had always been your daddy-daughter activity.

You didn’t like the idea of racing at first—the noise was too loud, and the idea of people speeding toward a black-and-white checkered line seemed ridiculous. But the moment you heard the roar of the engines and watched the lights go from red to green, you were captivated, a fascination that would stay with you for years.

When you got your first computer, you began looking up videos of F1 drivers. One day, you stumbled across a video titled “The Biggest F1 Scandals in History,” and that was when you decided you wanted to go into journalism.

You were nosy, to say the least. So, it was no surprise to your parents when you announced to them that you wanted to pursue journalism as a career. Your father reminded you how you’d always been curious, listening in on others’ conversations and keeping up with the latest school drama.

When you applied for journalism school, you were accepted into one of the top programs in the world—Sophia University. Your parents were proud that you’d made it into such a highly ranked school for journalism in Japan.

You were now in your fourth and final year at Sophia, and enjoying your journalism class. Recently, your professor assigned a project: write a story about a major pop culture figure of your choice, and for extra credit, get an interview with them. Your professor knew it was damn near impossible, but he was always optimistic that one day, someone would get that interview and he could retire in peace.

That project led you here: Suzuka Circuit, Japan's main Formula 1 track. Your chosen figure was none other than Gojou Satoru—F1's biggest driver in recent years. He was your father's favorite among the new-generation drivers, known for his string of controversies since he started on top of the persistent rumors of his heavy drug use before races.

You had managed to snag a media passs from your professor when you mentioned doing an F1 driver for your project. He was able to pull some strings to get you into the media booth, getting you a closer look at Gojou Satoru in person.

You watched the pre-race preparations closely from the media booth, your fingers hovered above your notepad as you waited for the race to start. You were determined to get a good grade on this project, and that meant adding every single detail to your report about this race.

It was about time for the drivers to gather in their garages, each wearing headsets and ready for the pre-race briefing. The briefing typically covers the race start, various pit stop scenarios, and a detailed weather report. Before each race weekend, they usually spend time in a simulator of the track they'll be racing on, preparing them for the upcoming race.

After about thirty-minutes the racers came out of their garages in their respective cars. They each line up based on the results of a quaifying session that takes place before the race, slowest qualifier in the back, fastest in the front. Gojou Satoru was at the front of the grid, which meant he was one of the qualifiers who had the fastest time.

You waited around for a little while longer turning your attention to what was happening around you. Eventually, you made your way back to the front of the media booth as the race started, ready to report.

The engines revved as each driver began preparing for the start of the race, each car vibrating on the starting grid like a beast straining at its chains. Gojou sat at the front of the lineup, his hands loose on the wheel, fingers tapping in a steady rhythm as he waited for the lights to turn green.

The roar from the grandstands faded, becoming a blur of sound as the lights ticked down: red, red, red, red… green.

He slammed the throttle, feeling the raw force of the car’s engine kick him back into his seat as he tore down the straight. Other cars jostled for position behind him, all fighting to claim the inside line into the first turn.

Through his earpiece, he heard the voice of his race engineer, Shokou, calm as ever. “Clear on turn two, you’ve got five-tenths on Hayashi. Stay tight.”

But Gojou barley heard her. The car was an extension of him, responding to his every thought, every split-second decision. He pushed down the straights, his right foot heavy on the accelerator, taking corners at speeds most drivers wouldn’t dare attempt. The sound of his tires skidding against the asphalt, the blur of the track side barriers, the lights of Tokyo reflecting off his mirrors—it all blended into a single, perfect rush.

Gojou could see the next turn ahead, a tight chicane that could send the best drivers into the barriers if they weren't careful. He braked hard, turning the wheel with perfect precision to angle the car through. He could feel the back end wobbling, but he didn't flinch, drifting perfectly as he swung back onto the racing line, gaining another second on the pack.

He could almost hear the collective gasp of the crowd in his head as he slipped through the chicane. This was his playground. Every race was a chance to remind the world why he was the best.

“Coming up on a DRS zone,” Shoko’s voice crackled in his ear, grounding him, though he was already on it

He waited for the perfect moment, watching the rear-view mirror to see the faint outline of Hayashi's car. He pressed the DRS, and his car shot forward, the drag reduction giving him a temporary speed boost that had him pulling away, putting him in the lead.

The track opened up ahead, the second sector full of wide, sweeping turns. Here was where raw speed mattered more than anything. Gojou pressed down hard on the accelerator, the engine roaring in response. He leaned forward, watching the track fly by, the white lines blurring as he focused entirely on the road ahead.

For a second, the sound in his earpiece went dead, the faint sound of static filling his ears. Then Shokou was back. “You’ve got Yoshida closing in on your tail. He’s pushing hard.”

Gojou glanced up at the mirrors, his eyes catching the bright blue and orange of Yoshida's car looming larger. The familiar thrill sparked in him. So, Yoshida thought he had a chance, did he? Well, he’d show him otherwise.

“Copy,” he muttered into his mic, eyes narrowing as he took the next corner, barley touching the brakes. He felt the tires skid but he managed to control the drift, knowing any slip would open the door for Yoshida to slip past.

He whipped into another straight, his hands steady on the wheel as he hit a top speed.

His foot didn’t so much as twitch as the engine’s roar morphed into a high-pitched scream as the car closed the distance.

The curve ahead was brutal—a tight 90-degree bend that demanded precise timing.

In a split-second decision, he did something no one expected. He braked late, his heart pounding as he cut the turn at a speed that sent the back end skidding. The tires gripped just in time, allowing him to pull out of the corner without losing traction. He could almost feel the shock reverberating as he regained control, his lead still intact.

As the laps wore on, his body moved on instinct, every gear shift, every turn becoming a single, fluid motion. One lap. Two. Three, with two pit stops between. He counted them off one by one, his mind buzzing with the pure rush of speed and the heat inside the car, barely noticing the time passing. The crowd faded into nothing, the world shrinking down to the track and his car.

The final lap. This was it.

“Box this lap if you’re in trouble,” Shokou’s voice crackled again. “Tire degradation is high.”

But Gojou’s grip on the steering wheel only tightened. His front tires were holding out—barely. It would be tight, but he could make it. He’d run this last lap on sheer determination alone if he had to.

“Negative, Shokou. I’m taking it,” he replied, and then turned off the earpiece, tuning out everything except the track and the car in front of him.

He launched into the final lap, throwing caution to the wind. Yoshida was right on his tail now, close enough that he could see the gleam of his headlights in the mirrors. But Gojou didn’t back down. He took each turn aggressively, blocking Yoshida's attempts to pass, forcing him to fall back every time.

The last chicane loomed ahead, his final obstacle before the finish line. He tightened his grip, the wheel trembling under his hands. He took the chicane fast, too fast, almost feeling the wheels lift off the ground as he flew out of the turn. The car rocked, but he held steady, pushing the pedal to the floor.

The finish line was in sight, a faint white line at the end of the straight, and with one last push, he crossed it, the checkered flag waving in his periphery as he tore past.

It was only after he’d crossed over the line that the realization hit him—he’d won.

The cheers erupted in the stands, the roar of the crowd filling his ears as he slowed down, the adrenaline still pumping through his veins. He could hear Shoko’s voice crackling back in as she shouted, “You pulled it off, you insane bastard.”

Gojou grinned, leaning back in his seat, still buzzing. He’d done it again, just as he always did.

The moment he climbed out of the cockpit, Gojou was surrounded by his team. Shokou was the first to reach him, her usually composed face split by a wide grin. She grabbed his helmet and thumped him on the shoulder hard enough so he actually felt it though the layers of his suit.

“You reckless son of a—”

“Language, Shokou,” Gojou interrupted, grinning as he yanked off his gloves, waving to the rest of the Tokyo Jujutsu Racing team that swarmed him.

“Do you know what it’s like to watch you pull stunts like that? I’m gonna need a raise after today’s heart attack,” she muttered.

“Oh, come on, Shokou. That was just a little fun.” He stretched his arms over his head. “Where’s my confetti?”

“Coming right up, your royal highness." Someone handed him a bottle of champagne, still cold and slick, and he twisted the cap, spraying a wild arc of foam that showered his team and nearby fans.

His PR manager, Nanami, clapped him on the back. “You’re insufferable."

“That’s what I’m here for,” he said, lifting the champagne bottle in a mock toast, flashing him a grin. The media’s cameras clicked and flashed, capturing every moment as his crew continued their congratulations.

The crowd pressed close against the barriers, shouting his name, waving homemade banners with scribbled slogans and his number embellished with the colors red and black. He walked closer, one arm raised, acknowledging the fans, letting their cheers fill him up, louder and louder with every step.

But as he continued walking, his gaze caught on something—or rather, someone—just beyond the crowd.

At first it was just a hint curiosity, the way your gaze was fixed on him. A bit removed from the chaos, you leaned against one of the barriers with a media pass hanging around your neck, arms folded as you watched from a distance.

Gojou slightly narrowed his eyes, holding your gaze longer than he'd held any fan's tonight, as if he was daring you to look away first.

“What the hell is that about?” he muttered under his breath, gaze moving back to Shokou for half a second.

“Hm?” Shokou followed his gaze, but her eyes slid right past you, uninterested. “Press. You’ll get used to it. Come on, they’re all waiting.”

He forced himself to break the stare, clearing his throat as Shokou ushered him toward the media pen, where a lineup of journalists waited, all armed with recorders, microphones, and notebooks.

He fielded the usual questions—how did it feel to win, what was his mindset, what was he thinking on that last turn? His answers were always the same practiced ones, words sliding out like clockwork.

“Well, Mr. Gojou, what would you say to those who believe your racing style is a little… aggressive?” one journalist asked, a little smirk on her face as if she thought she was catching him off guard.

He snorted. “They can call it what they want. I call it winning.” He shrugged. “I don’t come out here to play it safe.”

A few reporters laughed at his remark, clearly interested in what else he had to say as a fresh wave of questions started.

Somewhere behind the flashing lights, he saw you again, lingering a few feet behind the crowd of reporters with that calm gaze fixed on him. You didn’t raise a recorder or a camera, didn’t even make an effort to push closer for a question. You just… watched.

It was disconcerting.

“Gojou!” Another journalist waved a microphone his face, snapping his attention back to the current situation. “What’s the next step for you this season?”

He forced a smile, eyes briefly looking back to you before he focused on the question. “The same as always,” he said. “Push harder, get faster, and give everyone something to talk about.”

The crowd laughed again, though, he barely heard them, too focused on the strange woman staring right into his soul. The two of you locked eyes and you have him a small nod, as if acknowledging that you were in fact staring into his soul.

“Well, I think that’s enough,” Shokou said suddenly at his elbow, pulling him out of his thoughts. “They’ll have plenty of time to hound you later.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he murmured, though he let her guide him away. Still, he couldn’t help glancing back over his shoulder, hoping to catch one last glimpse of you.

But you were already gone.

Gojou slipped away from the crowd, weaving through the bustling garage and dodging the congratulatory slaps on his back, the endless rounds of handshakes, and the celebratory shouts. He ducked past a few journalists, ignoring the barrage of questions still hurled his way, his smile slipping as he finally found the door to the bathroom.

Inside, the cool, sterile silence was jarring compared to the noise outside, but he let out a sigh of relief, his heart hammering in his chest. He clicked the lock and leaned against the sink, running his hands over his face, staring at his own reflection in the mirror.

The victory high had worn off, leaving behind a familiar pressure he could not cope with. It settled on his shoulders like an old, unwelcome friend.

He hadn't realized how much tension he was carrying in his shoulders, how deeply it would itself into him when he was alone. The race had been perfect, his win flawless, but he could feel the exhaustion radiating off of him, a pulsing throb being his eyes. He clenched his jaw, glaring at himself in the mirror.

“Pull yourself together,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.

But his words fell flat, swallowed up by the silence. In the mirror, his own eyes stared back at him, tired, almost hollow.

He reached into the pocket of his racing suit, fingers brushing over the small, familiar packet hidden in the inner lining. It was a stupid habit, a reckless one really, but it was one he hadn't been able to shake, no matter how many times he tried to quit. He could practically feel the temporary relief in the palm of his hand.

He closed his eyes, running his thumb along the edge of the packet before pulling it out, setting it on the counter next to the sink. He ripped it open tapping a small line onto the smooth counter top. It was like his fingers had a mind of their own, as if it was part of his routine of suiting up or gripping the wheel.

The powder glinted under the bathroom’s harsh fluorescent lights, almost mocking him with its simplicity. Just a quick escape, just enough to take the edge off. That’s all he needed.

He leaned down, closing one nostril and inhaling sharply, feeling the sting as the powder hit his nose. He straightened his back, blinking hard, the world around him sharpening as his mind cleared. A small, humorless smile tugged at his lips.

He leaned back against the sink, tilting his head up to stare at the ceiling, feeling his heartbeat slow, the tension in his muscles fading away.

But it didn’t take long for the guilt to creep back in, that hollow feeling settling in his chest, a reminder that this wasn't the answer. He knew it. He knew exactly what he was doing to himself, how he was destroying his body from the inside out, how it could all come crashing down. And yet… here he was.

“Fucking pathetic,” he muttered to himself, his voice echoing against the tiles.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, jolting him back to reality.

“Gojou? You in there?” It was Shokou. “They’re waiting for you out here.”

He stuffed the empty packet back into his pocket, brushed the last of the substance off of the sink, and glanced in the mirror one last time to check his reflection, making sure there was no trace left of his momentary escape.

Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders, forced a smirk, and unlocked the door.

Shokou was standing there, arms crossed, her gaze scrutinizing as he stepped out. She didn’t say anything, but her judgmental eye lingered over him for a split second too long.

“You good?”

“Never better."

“Right,” she said, clearly unconvinced, but she dropped it, gesturing for him to follow her.

As the celebrations continued, Gojou weaved his way through fans and team-members alike who were still wrapped up in their post-race celebrations. He scanned the crowd, hoping to find the strange woman from earlier who he noticed had a press pass, thinking you would be here.

And then he saw you, leaning against a stack of crates near the garages, observing the current scene with the same judgmental eyes that Shokou had. The media badge hung from your neck, swaying slightly as you shifted your weight, pulling out a notebook and flipping through it, seemingly absorbed in what you were currently doing.

He cleared his throat as he approached, the echo of his footsteps giving his presence away.

You looked up, your brow raised as he came closer, a hint of intrigue flashing in your eyes.

“Looking for something?” you asked, not moving as he stopped in front of you.

“You could say that,” he replied, slipping his hands into his pockets, his gaze darted to the notebook in your hands. “I couldn’t help but notice you earlier, off in the shadows. Didn’t feel like joining the crowd?”

“Not my style.” You shrugged. “I’m not here to cheer. I’m here to report.”

“Journalist, huh?” he drawled, tilting his head. “What’s your angle?”

“The truth,” you said, a little smile pulling at your lips as you studied him. “Not everyone’s a fan of that, I know.”

“Depends on what you call the truth. But I’ve got a feeling you’ve already got your version.”

"How perceptive. I’m doing a piece on your racing career, your achievements, but… the public wants a fuller picture, don’t you think?

“Not sure I follow. Everyone knows what they need to know.”

“Not quite,” you replied, flipping through your notebook. “There’s more than just racing stats when it comes to Gojou Satoru, isn’t there?”

“Care to elaborate?”

“People say you’re… unraveling. Your recent ‘questionable decisions’ are starting to paint a different picture, don’t you think?” you said, tapping your pen against your notebook. “The accidents, the fines, the constant change in pit crews—”

“Is this some kind of witch hunt?” he interrupted. “Because I’d hate to disappoint you, princess, but I’ve heard it all.”

“Maybe so.” You leaned in a bit, meeting his stare. “But what about the whispers that aren’t out yet? The suspicions about you cheating the drug tests, your team shielding you—” You paused. “There’s a lot of money on your success, Mr. Gojou.”

“Money and racing have always gone hand-in-hand, don’t you think? You’d have a hard time finding someone out here who hasn’t bent a rule or two.”

“True enough.” You titled your head slightly. “But even the most golden careers have a way of losing their shine.”

"Tell me—do you enjoy tearing people down for a living?”

“Only if it’s warranted,” you replied unfazed. “People aren’t interested in perfect stories. They want the flaws, the dirt. It makes it all more real. At least that's what my professor believes."

“You’ve got a wicked mind, I’ll give you that. But I hope you realize you’re not the first to come sniffing around for the ‘real story’.”

A pregnant pause settles between you before you asked, “And what about her?”

A beat passed before he answered. “Who?”

“Your wife. She’s been… noticeably absent from the press circuits. And rumor has it things aren’t exactly picture-perfect between you two.”

“Rumor has it,” he repeated. “Guess you know how it is in this business. There’s always some rumor or another.”

“So it’s just a rumor, then? All the time apart, the missed events, her name suddenly missing from every headline. You’re saying there’s nothing to it?”

“People are eager to make stories out of nothing. My private life is just that—private.”

“That’s interesting,” you murmured, not looking away. “Because the most recent stories about you and her—they’re awfully detailed. People are noticing, wondering why she’s suddenly… disappeared from the scene.”

“Let them wonder. Like I said, people will talk. And it seems like you’re more interested in gossip than journalism.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Journalism is about uncovering the truth,” you countered. “But it seems like you’re more comfortable brushing things under the rug than addressing them.”

His smile returned, his carefully crafted facade sliding back into place as he straightened up, glancing away from you, clearly bored of the conversation. "Maybe someday you'll get the truth you're so desperate for, but it's not going to be today."

Before he walked away completely, he gave you one last look, his tone playful but laced with a hint of warning. “Be careful what you dig up, princess. Sometimes the truth’s more trouble than it’s worth.”

And with that, he turned his back to you, disappearing into the crowd.

Gojou returned home after the long night of celebrations had died down, the adrenaline from the race long gone, now replaced by a gnawing emptiness that felt like it might hollow him out. His penthouse was in the hear of Tokyo—a sleek, modern apartment with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the neon-drenched skyline.

As he opened the door, the soft him of the city below was drowned out by the sound of footsteps, His wife, Hana, appeared from the hallway, her arms crossed tightly across her chest, her eyes narrowed. She was dressed in a sleek black outfit, her dark hair pulled back, a looking a frustration etched onto her face.

“You’re late."

“Didn’t realize I was on a curfew,” he replied, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto a nearby chair.

“Don’t act like that.” Her eyes flashed as she followed him into the living room. “You missed the dinner with my parents again. They’ve been asking about you, wondering why you’re never around.”

“Hana, I just won a race,” he replied, exasperated. “Sorry if I wasn’t in the mood to play the doting son-in-law tonight.”

She scoffed, crossing her arms tighter. “Of course, it’s always about the race with you. Everything is about that damn career, isn’t it?”

“You knew what you were signing up for when you married me.”

“Maybe I didn’t know it would mean you disappearing for days, weeks sometimes, chasing whatever thrill you think you need to feel alive.”

“What’s your point, Hana? We’ve had this argument a hundred times.”

“The point is, Satoru,” she said, voice trembling with anger, “that you seem to care more about everything else than this marriage. I’m just a fixture in your life, something you come back to whenever you need to check a box or show face. But you’re never really here.”

He let out a harsh laugh, the bitter sound filling the apartment. "Here we go again. Hana, it’s not like you’ve been some shining example of commitment either. You’ve known what this is for months.”

“What this is?” Her voice rose, cracking slightly as she repeated his words. “What exactly is ‘this,’ Satoru? A sham? A partnership for appearances? I thought you loved me…"

“I can’t keep doing this,” she continued softly, her voice breaking. “The lying, the pretending. It’s exhausting.”

“So what do you want me to say, Hana? That I’m some perfect husband?” He gestured to himself, shaking his head with a smirk that looked almost pained. “We’re both guilty here. Let’s not act like this hasn’t been a slow-motion train wreck.”

“Fine. But do me a favor—at least act like you care when people ask. Because every time I hear some story about you, another scandal or rumor, it’s like a slap in the face. My family, my friends—everyone’s talking. They see the headlines too.”

“Fine. But do me a favor—at least act like you care when people ask. Because every time I hear some story about you, another scandal or rumor, it’s like a slap in the face. My family, my friends—everyone’s talking. They see the headlines too.”

“What do you want from me, Hana?” he asked quietly, the fight suddenly draining out of him. “You want me to pretend I’m someone I’m not?”

“I want… I wanted the man I married. The one who cared, who had dreams."

“Then maybe,” he said finally, his voice almost a whisper, “it’s time to stop pretending.”

As Gojou stood there running a hand through his hair. Hana paused, her expression shifting from something resigned to something wounded.

“And there’s one more thing."

He looked at her, brow furrowing. “Fucking Christ Hana, what now?”

“Do you think I’m stupid, Satoru?” she asked, folding her arms tightly across her chest. “I know what’s out there. The rumors. The whispers about who you’re with when you’re not here. Or maybe you think I don’t hear them.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Hana, they’re just rumors. You know how the press is—they’ll twist anything for a story.”

“Twist what, exactly? Why do they have something to twist in the first place?”

“They don’t have anything. It’s just the media looking for something to make people read. Speculation sells.”

“Right. Speculation. But funny how it’s always about you, always linked to another woman.”

“That’s because I’m under a microscope. People love to create scandals, especially with someone like me. And you know that better than anyone.”

“It’s not just them, Satoru. People talk, and it’s not just baseless gossip. I’m not naive. I hear things from people close to you, people who actually know you.”

“You really believe them? You think I’m out there, risking everything for some—” He stopped himself, biting his tongue.

“Do I? I don’t even know my own husband anymore. Maybe I should ask them. Or maybe I should ask you directly, Satoru. Are you seeing someone?”

“Why are we even doing this?”

“Because I want the truth. Just once. I deserve that much, don’t I?”

“Believe what you want, Hana. I don’t have anything else to say.”

“Then maybe that’s all I need to know.”

Gojou stormed out of his apartment, his hands clenching and unclenching as he tried to shake off his frustration. He'd had enough for one night. His heart was pounding and the last thing he wanted was to be alone with his thoughts. He needed to get out, to drown the anger with something that could at least help him forget.

The bar he found was tucked away down a dim side street in Shibuya. It wasn't anything fancy–a dark cry from the glitzy nightlife he was used to–but it was dark and quiet which was exactly what he needed. He slid onto a bar stool and motioned for a drink, not bothering to pay attention to what the bartender poured.

He sipped his drink in silence, trying to tune out the night and all the noise in his head. The alcohol burned down his throat, but it was a welcome distraction that numbed his anger and frustration. He was almost on his third drink when he noticed someone sitting in the corner of the room, hunched over a notebook, tapping her pen against her cheek in thought.

She's cute, he thought to himself. He squinted trying to get a better look at the young woman, and he immediately recognized, it was you.

Of all the places he'd expect to see you, this shitty bar wasn't one of them. You looked so absorbed in your work, like you were piecing together something for a story. Satoru's curiosity got the better of him, and he stood up carrying his drink as he made his way over to where you were sitting.

"Well, well," he said, leaning against the back of the chair across from you. “Didn’t peg you for a bar rat, but maybe I was wrong.”

Your head snapped up, and your eyes widened slightly in surprise. “Gojou Satoru. What a surprise.”

“Mind if I sit?” he asked, already taking the seat.

“Didn’t think someone like you would end up in a place like this. Celebrating?”

He gave a dry laugh, swirling the glass in his hand. “Something like that.”

“So, what are you doing here, really? Figured you’d be at a fancy cafe, writing about some important news story.”

“Maybe I am. Research is research, even if it’s in a bar. Maybe it’s you I’m writing about.”

“So I’m your new project, huh?”

“Maybe. It’s part of this little journalism course I’m doing. We’re supposed to pick a public figure and write a profile. Someone who’s got a… colorful public image.”

“Colorful, huh?” He smirked. “Guess I’m your lucky target. Hope I make an interesting subject."

“Interesting is one word for it,” you replied, a faint smirk tugging at your lips. “What’s got you so quiet tonight? I thought you’d be surrounded by fans somewhere.”

He shrugged, taking a long sip of his drink. “Not in the mood for fans tonight.”

“Tough race?”

He laughed humorlessly, shaking his head. “Not the race. Just… life, I guess.”

“So,” he said, leaning in. “tell me about this little journalism course. You planning to make a career out of stalking poor drivers like me?”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that. We’re learning how to ‘uncover the truth’—or at least, that’s what they say. So far, it’s been a lot of digging through archives and learning to ask the right questions.”

“Right questions, huh?” He arched an eyebrow. “Let’s hear one. What would you ask me, if I were your ‘colorful public figure’?”

“Alright, Gojou. How does someone at the top of their game manage to keep it all together? All the races, the publicity, the pressure… don’t you ever feel like it’s too much?”

“Honestly?” He ran a hand through his hair, glancing away. “Sometimes, yeah. It’s not as easy as it looks, being the guy everyone thinks has it all together. But people don’t care about that part. They just want the show.”

“So you put on the show.”

“Guess that’s what it comes down to.” He laughed, but it sounded hollow even to his own ears. “People don’t want to see a guy crack under pressure. They want the image.”

“But what do you want?”

No one ever asked him that, as if what he wanted didn’t matter.

“What do I want?” he repeated, a slight smirk tugging at his lips as he tried to dodge the question. “Maybe another drink.”

I’m serious. Behind all of that… what’s left?”

“Honestly? Sometimes I don’t even know anymore. It’s like I’ve been going so fast for so long, I can’t remember what it was I was chasing in the first place.”

“Maybe that’s what you need to figure out, then.”

He looked at you, and the faintest trace of a genuine smile broke through. “Maybe.”

The two of you sat in silence, and he found himself grateful for it. You didn't press or pry at him and he thought that he could just be himself, even if it was just for a little while.

“Alright,” he said finally, nudging your notebook with his finger. “So, future journalist, you really gonna write all this down? Make me sound like some tortured artist?”

You smirked. “I’ll try to be kind. Maybe I’ll even leave out the part where you go to bars alone and pretend to be mysterious.”

“Ouch,” he chuckled, holding up his drink in mock surrender. “Noted. But I expect a copy when it’s published. Autographed, obviously.”

“Obviously,” you replied, laughing as you clinked your glass against his. “But don’t expect it to be flattering.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

As the conversation continued, Gojou found himself leaning in closer. You both let the drinks keep coming, though it was less about how much alcohol you were consuming and more about the way the words spilled more easily between you two.

“So,” you asked, taking another sip of your drink, “what’s it actually like out there? Everyone sees the fame, the money, the cars, but… what’s it really like?”

He exhaled, tapping his fingers on the edge of his glass. “Honestly? It’s… intense. There’s this high to it, this adrenaline. Nothing like it. You’re pushing yourself and everyone around you to the edge," he tilted his head. “But sometimes, it feels like the line between winning and crashing out isn’t as thick as people think. You cross it once, and that’s it—you’re done.”

“Doesn’t that scare you?”

“A little. But I’m more afraid of what happens if I stop. It’s like… I don’t know what I’d be without it. Guess that sounds stupid.”

“No, it doesn’t. I get it. When something’s all you know… giving it up is like giving up a part of yourself. Scary as hell.”

“Exactly. Guess we all have our addictions, huh?”

Shit. Did he say too much?

You didn’t push, just gave him a quiet nod. “So, what’s Tokyo Jujutsu like? It's one of the toughest team on the grid, right?”

“You know it. They’re tough as hell, no room for error. And they sure as hell won’t give you a second chance if you mess up.”

“Sounds brutal."

“Yeah, maybe. I guess I like the challenge. Or maybe I just like proving people wrong.”

“Enough about me," he continued. What about you? What’s the deal with this journalism project? Are you trying to make a name for yourself by exposing all my secrets?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Believe it or not, my goal in life isn’t to ruin yours. I actually think it’s fascinating, learning what drives people, what keeps them going, even when things get messy.”

“Messy? What makes you think my life is messy?”

“Oh, please. Gojou Satoru’s life is one headline after another. You’re practically the poster boy for drama.”

He feigned a hurt expression, placing a hand over his heart. “You wound me. I’m just a guy trying to make a living, you know?”

“Right,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Just a guy who happens to have a dozen scandals and an equal number of speeding tickets.”

“Hey,” he laughed, leaning back in his chair. “I’m a professional, okay? That’s all part of the job.”

The two of you continued to chat into the night. Gojou found himself relaxing, caught up in the rare comfort of talking with someone who didn’t expect him to play a part. He could just… be.

At some point, the bartender announced last call, and Gojou glanced at you, smirking. “Guess that’s our cue.”

You stretched, gathering your notebook and tucking it under your arm. “Thanks for the, uh, ‘research material.’ It was… enlightening.”

He laughed, standing and grabbing his coat. “Anytime. But don’t go making me look like a complete asshole in your little project, alright?”

“No promises."

Outside, the air was crisp as he faint hum of city traffic the only sound as you stood together on the quiet street. Gojou slid his hands into his pockets, looking at you.

Outside, the air was crisp as the faint him of the city being the only sound as you stood together on the quiet street. Gojou slide his hands into his pockets, looking at you.

“Maybe we’ll run into each other again."

“Only if you’re brave enough to handle more questions.”

“Oh, I’m plenty brave. But we’ll see if you’re as good at digging as you think.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing as you turned to leave, throwing him a casual wave. “Goodnight, Mr. Gojou.”

“Goodnight,” he echoed, watching as you disappeared down the empty street.

In that moment he realized, he never did catch your name.

© satorulovebot 2024 please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my work.

[flawssy-227]

The Babysitter | Joel Miller x F!reader

hello :) first time writing/posting a pic in actual years (first time on this blog also). hope you enjoy. please leave some feed back!

pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader, no outbreak au! Sarah lives! slight age gap

summary: you baby sit for Joel and the two of you can't keep your hands off each other

warnings: slight age gap, dirty talk, babysitter kink, innocence kink, corruption kink, m!receiving oral, mentions of dicks... I think that's all

word count: 1.9

rating 18+

The sun had long faded in Austin, the only light in the Miller’s living room was coming from the floor lamp and the television, which was on but turned down low so you wouldn’t disturb Sarah. You had just put her to bed at Joel’s request. A short text sent to you earlier, knowing that you’d be babysitting a little longer than normal on Tuesday night.

Gonna be a late one. Sorry princess.

You’d simply given him a ‘thumbs up’, not really minding hanging out with your favorite 8 year old. Your afternoon had been wildly enjoyable with Sarah–she was way too mature for her age and it was probably inappropriate how much you considered her a friend, but whatever, you’ve had a stressful couple of weeks and she was one of the only bright spots. Well, her, and her incredibly attractive father that you sometimes hook up with.

Things with you and Joel were… how should you put it? Complicated? 

You had started babysitting for Joel and Sarah during the first semester of your Master’s program at University of Texas, just a little over a year ago. You and Sarah fell into an easy routine–you would pick her up from school, help her with her homework, and give her some of the feminine energy she was surely missing with only having Joel and her Uncle Tommy around. And you really enjoyed it. You were never one for little kids, and at her age, you were certain she would be annoying as hell to deal with, but nope, Sarah Miller was intelligent and inquisitive, albeit a little headstrong. You admired her, and really respected Joel for doing his best practically on his own.

You and Joel also fell into an easy routine. One night of staying late and sharing beers led to you face down and ass up on his couch and having one of the best orgasms of your life. You both promised each other you would quit, not wanting to complicate anything since you and Sarah had such a close bond, but you quickly broke that promise, again and again and again.

After a few months of hooking up a couple nights a week, Joel told you he was seeing someone–Tess, an age appropriate mom from Sarah’s class and he wanted to pump the brakes on whatever it was the two of you were doing. You acquiesced, begrudgingly, but it was only a few weeks later that Joel said things didn’t work out and you ended up back in his bed, on his couch, and bent over the kitchen counter.

It wasn’t serious between the two of you. You had a lot going on with wrapping up the last semester of your Public Policy Master’s, and he was busy building his business and raising his daughter. But that doesn’t mean you would be opposed to something a little more serious developing. In fact, you were pretty sure you were in love with Joel. But he definitely didn’t need to know that.

You must’ve been completely zoned out as you didn’t hear Joel’s old pickup truck pull into his driveway before he entered his living room and called your name.

“Hey princess,” he said, that deep Texas drawl that made your insides melt flowing easily from his pouty lips. “How’s Sarah?”

“Perfect, as always.” You glanced up from the couch shooting a smile his way.

God, he loved your smile.

“She helped me make dinner and then we did her homework. I deep conditioned her hair, too,” you added. “You know, you gotta take her to a salon once in a while, Joel. You know, one that knows about black hair?” You had been bugging him that the 15-in-1 monstrosity he calls shampoo he and Tommy use would not work on Sarah’s curls.

Joel smirks to himself, absolutely loving the way you care about his daughter. “I’m workin’ on it, darlin’.”

A comfortable silence hits the room and Joel goes to his fridge to grab two beers. Your gaze is back on the TV, some old episode of Law & Order playing that barely has your attention.

“Where’s Tommy?” you ask, reaching for the beer without looking at him.

“Had a date.”

“Tommy Miller has a date? Now that is surprising.” You giggle as you take a sip of your beer. Joel tracks the way your throat looks as you swallow.

He takes his time to take in what you’re wearing. A sweater that tapers around your waist perfectly and a short black skirt. You look sexy, effortless. Joel realizes you always do. Like everything you wear is custom just for you.

“Is this how you dress for work, darlin’?” He lets his large fingers play with the edge of your skirt, barely grazing over your skin. “Kinda slutty,” he adds, smirking at your surprised face.

You school your features quickly and he knows he’s screwed by the sickeningly sweet smile that graces your face. You quickly place your beer on the coffee table in front of the couch and turn to face Joel. “Me? Slutty? No, Mr. Miller, I’m a good girl.”

Joel eyes you from head to toe so slowly that you feel little bursts of heat crawling over your skin. He frowns at you playfully, groaning exaggeratedly as he takes another draw from his beer. “Don’t know about that, princess. Good girls don’t wear slutty little skirts like this to work.” His hand slides up your skirt and grazes over the damp slit of your underwear before he tugs them down your legs. The low whistle he lets out sends a chill down your spine. 

“And good girls definitely don’t wear tiny little panties like this to work.” He brings your thong to his nose, lewdly taking a deep inhale that only makes your wetness grow greater. “Dirty girl,” he sighs out. “Trying to seduce your boss?”

You moan at the sight of him, it was so debauched, so dirty, but it only made you more eager to fall into whatever role play this was. 

“No, Mr. Miller, I would never try to seduce you. I promise I’m a good girl,” you plead. You watch as he absentmindedly toys with your damp thong, running his other hand over his growing bulge. You get an idea that’s going to drive Joel wild.

“Can I show you, Mr. Miller?” you ask, earning a quirked brow from Joel. “Can I show you just how good of a girl I am?”

Joel groans at how easily you fell into this dynamic tonight, not necessarily what he had planned when he came home. He spreads his legs and pats his thighs, “Yeah baby, show me how good you can be.”

You eagerly hop off the couch, taking a throw pillow with you and placing it on the ground and kneeling on it in between his legs. You let your hands rub across the tops of his thighs and give him a wide eyed look that he would almost call innocent if he didn’t know you better. You reach for the zipper of his jeans, grazing your fingers over his bulge before you pull his hard cock out and sigh dreamily. Joel definitely had the best looking dick you’ve ever seen.

Growing impatient at your slow pace, Joel grabs the back of your head and you instinctively stick your tongue out to lick at his tip. You groan at the heady taste of precum on the bulbous head. You slowly start to jerk him off, keeping your mouth only at his tip to tease him.

“You gonna show me how good little babysitter’s suck cock, princess?” he peers down at you, watching how your eyes flutter closed at his words. 

You let out a needy whine. “Yes, Mr. Miller.”

You inhale deeply, making debauched eye contact with Joel before you take as much of him as you can down your throat. Joel was big–thick and long in a way that your friends swore you were exaggerating. You’ve taught yourself how to take him down your throat, proud that you were able to go from taking a meager 4 inches of him when you first started hooking up, to now being able to brush against his trimmed hair at the base.

You can taste the sweat from his work day on your tongue as you start to move up and down. Your cheeks hollow out to make a suction and drool is pooling from your mouth. You’re trying not to gag, but the sheer size of Joel makes it damn near impossible. He looks down at you, eyes filled with something a little more than lust as he watches you swallow his cock further into your throat. Spit bubbles are pooling at the side of your mouth and your eyes are glassy with unshed tears. He shuts his eyes tight trying to stave off his orgasm–wanting to enjoy you just a little while longer. You release him with a pop and jerk him off as you start sucking his balls.

“Are you enjoying yourself, Mr. Miller?” you ask teasingly, voice already sounding a little hoarse from the exertion.

He looks back down at you, willing himself not to cum. He hums and nods the best he can, scared words will be too much for him.

You shift on your knees, readjusting as you gear yourself up to take him again. Joel thrusts slightly into your mouth, fitting perfectly and you moan around him, the vibrations making him twitch in the back of your throat. You push him deeper into your throat and Joel places his hand on the back of your head in a way that’s less forceful, and more caring. Like he’s just reassuring you that he’s there. He’s making little grunts and moans and you can’t help but drool a mix of your spit and his precum down onto his balls.

You look up at him and see his brown eyes softly looking back down at you. Way too sweet for what you’re doing.

You’re getting sloppier and sloppier, veering towards cock drunk as Joel tells you he’s about to cum.

“Where d’ya want me, baby,” he slurs, in his own fucked out state.

You can’t let up now with Joel being so close to finishing. You bare down, deep throating him to a point that nearly makes you gag, but you will yourself to power through it. Joel starts to thrust into your warm, wet mouth before he moans a little too loud and spills his cum down your throat. 

He’s so deep you barely taste him, only letting yourself up when you feel him relax underneath you.

You both catch your breaths for a moment and after a while, Joel pulls you up from your underarms and sets you over his lap. You almost forgot you weren’t wearing any underwear as your now soaking heat is pressed over his wet cock. Even soft it’s firm and thick. 

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes heavily. Brown eyes looking down into yours before he kisses you sloppily, tasting himself on your tongue.

You smile appreciatively, dropping your head to his shoulder and smelling the remnants of his cologne from earlier in the day. You’re insanely horny now but happy nonetheless that you made him this fucked out, feeling a surge of confidence at the thought.

“So,” you start, your smile breaking the warm silence between you two, “am I a good girl?”

Joel laughs, rubbing absent minded circles on your back. He thinks he loves you. “Yeah, princess, you’re the best damn girl around.”

**if you made it this far please leave a like, comment, reblog or a dm with some feedback! I want to get back into writing so this was just me dusting off the cobwebs... ty :)

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[incognitopolls]

Where anon lives, it's common that kids age 7 and up are home alone for 2+ hours after school before their parents get home. This poll showed that most people probably weren't left home alone until at least age 10, so anon is curious how others' parents/guardians handled the gap between school getting out and parent(s) being home.

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We ask your questions anonymously so you don’t have to! Submissions are open on the 1st and 15th of the month.

[bettystonewell]

IF YOU LEAVE

Chapter 1: Pretty in Pink

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Dean Winchester x Reader

In the spring of 1988, Dean meets the girl of his dreams. He just doesn’t know it yet. 2k words

Tags: fluff, angst, young Sam and Dean, slow(ish) burn romance, childhood sweethearts, friends to lovers, 80s, 90s, season three, spans three decades, eventual smut, Rufus - crotchety at any age

@chevroletdean is celebrating 500 followers with a writing challenge! Liane made the beautiful mood-board above for me to work with. You can find more about the Milestone Celebration HERE. I’m gonna try and finish this before the 18th, but consider this chapter my piece for the challenge 😘

Next Chapter

April 1988

The first time Dean saw you was in third grade, Mrs Petersen’s class, but it wasn’t until during recess on the second day that you spoke. Your hair in pigtails, him with dirt on his knees, and a simple exchange over a juice box, because you were yet to learn how to filter.

At that point, as children often do, you didn’t think to ask for each other’s names, and when both boys walked through Bobby’s front door that afternoon, and he asked “How was school? Did you talk t’any other kids today?” He got a smile and a grunt as both boys ran up the stairs to their room.

“That great, huh?” He scratched his forehead under his cap, and went back to the kitchen to continue supper, and the hex bag he was making up for Rufus. The idjit had shown up on his doorstep earlier that day.

“I thought you didn’t have any Rugrats?” Rufus thumbed to the hall he’d come out of. A bottle of Jack in the other.

“I don’t,” Bobby said. But just as Dean didn’t realise the significance of you in his life at the time, Bobby hadn’t realised the boys in his either.

Dinner was simple that night. Bobby wasn’t a chef, but he was determined to give the Winchester boys something normal for once in their young lives. It’s why he’d enrolled them in the local school in the first place. Bought them bags and shoes. New clothes for Sammy because Dean’s hand-me-downs were far too big for the little tyke.

He’d even taken them to a barber, somewhere he never took himself, and signed Dean up for the school lunch program.

Yeah, he was growing soft. Lucky he had Rufus to point out the fact further with his outright stares and grins.

He was just doing a good deed. Looking after the future. Wasn’t that a part of being regular folk? Never mind the lady ringing up his groceries at the supermarket had frowned at him when he didn’t have a valid excuse for why they weren’t at school that day or two days before that.

Balls. That’s what it was. And he’d kick Rufus’ if he were close enough to reach with his boot.

Comments about him getting old, also balls. If Rufus was dumb enough to keep hounding him, he deserved a gun to his sack. Don’t worry ‘bout his steel caps.

He cleared his throat. Took a swig of beer and then settled his eyes on Dean. The kid was a smartass, but he was respectable, and had to open up, eventually. “So, did you learn anything today?” he asked. Tried to force a smile onto his face.

But Dean only shrugged, still defiant he should’ve been out there with his father.

“Well, what about your teacher? What’s her name?” He knew she was a she from the paperwork, Mrs Peters, or something like that. He just didn’t bother to remember in front of Rufus.

It didn’t matter though, because Dean shrugged again and shoveled another bite of meatloaf into his mouth.

Kids.

“My teacher is Miss Reeves,” young Sam piped up. Kid was smart for a four-year-old.

“Yeah? And what’d you do with her?” It’d been a long time since Bobby had graduated high school. Had no idea what kids in preschool did, besides the ABCs, he supposed. “Did you, ah,” he looked at Rufus for guidance, but the idjit had none. “Did you colour…or…sing a song?”

“I used blue, and red, and green for the grass I draws.” Sam beamed.

Okay… “That’s great, kid,” Bobby said.

Rufus downed another shot of Jack. The glass, sharp against the table when he hammered it onto the linoleum top. “Real great.” His tongue clicked. “What about you Dean? You colour, too?”

But when Dean said nothing, “Didn’t think so,” tumbled outta Rufus’ mouth.

“You could’ve given him a chance to answer.”

“Didn’t need to. He’s not gonna. Look at him.” Rufus swiped his hand out in front. His brow raised when Dean opened his mouth, though, and then he looked interested.

“I met a girl,” he said, resorting back to his former slouching when he noticed both men frozen and staring at him.

It was the loudest he’d spoken since living under Bobby’s roof. The first time he’d shown emotion other than attitude, and Bobby couldn’t help but smile. Until he thought harder about the issue.

Did he have to give these kids the bird and the bees talk, too? Hell no, he wasn’t!

His fingers scratched through his beard. That smile of his fell to a thin, pursed line. Bit of teeth spiking through the gap.

“A girl, huh? Like a girlfriend?”

“No!” Dean lost his chin to his neck. “She’s my friend, and she’s a girl.”

Simple. Obvious. Bobby felt the fool. Until he asked the all important question.

“What’s her name?”

What was your name?

Dean couldn’t answer that because he didn’t know. You were a girl, you’d been nice to him, and you didn’t like orange juice. That was the extent of it. You’d played your game after that. The one where he chased you, and you ran, much like what hunters did. Only, you weren’t a monster, and he didn’t hunt.

Not allowed to. Too young to do anything more than babysit Sammy and stay with Uncle Bobby.

He knew they weren’t related.

When he stepped into the classroom the next morning, books in hand, his eyes swept the room. No, he wasn’t interested in the US map, or the globe in the corner. He didn’t care that Mrs Petersen was scribbling sums on the board ready for the day’s lessons or for the tall boy with the extra tires whose farts created a war zone as he walked through the dust cloud.

No. He focused on you. Hair once again in pigtails, hot pink t-shirt and matching nails, which he thought little of because it was all too…girly, but then you smiled at him and his nose tingled as a result.

“Hi Dean,” you even said, and it was all he could do to not smile back as he took his seat in the row behind you and the Bat-signal drawn onto your right heel.

He needed to learn your name.

Of course, to a nine-year-old, “You like Batman?” was far more important. He asked you that when he sat down next to you at lunch that same day. The pale green plastic of his lunch-tray, just fitting in between yours and the boy’s to his left.

Your look of disgust was apparent even from your side profile, and unlike his smile, Dean couldn’t hold back his laughter when you turned. Not only did you spit out the word, “No,” but a sliver of strawberry jello came with it.

You wiped at your chin and poked your tongue out, which made him laugh harder.

“I like Michelangelo more, but my brother says he’s stupid.” Your head and eyes dropped to look under the table. “Didn’t like it when I told him the Ninja Turtles would beat Batman up.”

“Well, Leonardo might,” Dean said, and you frowned. “With his help,” he added.

His nose tingled again.

There was lots of that over the course of the week and the one that followed. Dean learned your name, and that your mom’s middle one was Mary - it only took a couple of extra days - but from the moment you bonded over your favourite cartoons, the two of you became inseparable, and Bobby was pleased.

Both Winchester boys had a chance at normal life. Well, semi-normal due to the talismans and arsenal in his basement.

And while Rufus refused to show his face again, as long as Sam and Dean lived under his roof, Bobby didn’t mind. He rather enjoyed that. But it didn’t stop other hunters and their problems from showing up on his doorstep, and on one particular Saturday morning after hearing from Bill Harvellle, he dug deep into his wallet for a couple of dollar bills and handed them to Dean.

“Why don’t you take your brother and that friend of yours to the arcade or somethin’,” he said, then narrowed his brows at the boy. “Call the house line ‘round five. Make sure it’s safe to come home.”

Dean took the money and shoved it in his front pocket. “Yes, sir.” He nodded once, and then grabbed Sammy by the hand and pulled him to the door.

The air was warm when they stepped outside. As Dean always did, he put the needs of his baby brother first, pulling off the four-year-olds jacket, then tying it ‘round his waist. He did the same with his and they were off. Sam on the handlebars of the bike Bobby had fixed up for them, Dean peddling with all his might into town.

It was hard work, and by the time they reached your house, he was out of breath, but it was worth it to feel the wind in his hair.

Cheeks puffed, neck hot and sweaty under the collar of his T-shirt, he knocked on your front door with a tight fist, and took a step back.

The dark wooden floorboards creaked underneath his sneakers. Footsteps from the other side moved closer, and he was soon met with your grinning smile and a bright pink scrunchie in your hair.

He scrunched his nose up, but that turned upside down when he saw the Ninja Turtle action figures in your hands.

“Hi Dean,” you said, peeking around him to look at Sam standing next to their bike. “You guys wanna come in and play?”

But they didn’t. Just as Bobby had suggested, Dean had other plans, and after checking in with your mom, the three of you headed to the local arcade.

Whirs. Dings. Whistles. The electronic piano jingles and a rocking soundtrack that tried its best to overcome everything else greeted you when the tinted glass doors rattled open. Lights, as far as the eye could see, of neon pinks, greens and blues and a carpet, littered with stains of mud and grass from the other kids already there, matched all that was overhead and surrounding.

Sammy clung to Dean even tighter. His little hands tugged on the base of his shirt. While on the other side of him, your face reflected the excitement hammering up his legs.

Until this stage in his young life, Dean had only been to an arcade once. The lucky timing of a classmate’s birthday party at a different school he spent all of two weeks in, well before being dumped here at Bobby’s.

That place was awesome, but this? It was awesome, too. There was just something about not being accompanied by adults that made it better.

Pacman and Donkey Kong called his name. Q-Bert, whatever the hell that was supposed to be. Space Invaders. Pin-ball and claw machines.

“Look! They have a Ninja Turtles one!” You pointed towards the back where a large machine plastered with their now fluorescent green faces stood out amongst the rest. “C’mon Sammy.” You grabbed the youngest boy’s hand and ripped him away from Dean.

“Hey, wait,” he called, but under all the noise, it was a lost cause.

With a huff, and one eye on you both at all times, Dean jogged over to the change machine by the door and swapped his money for quarters. You guys were the worst. Annoying. Impatient. Yet the way you grabbed the chair for Sam, and held it steady for him while he climbed up, had Dean’s nose buzzing again.

His nose buzzed like that every time he saw you. Playing games, eating lunch in the cafeteria. Riding your bikes through the streets of Sioux Falls, side by side, that same wind in your hair.

It’s just a shame it didn’t last long.

Never did.

Sam and Dean Winchester flew through towns as many times as there were months in the year, sometimes more. The Spring of ‘88 a rarity. Their stint at the local school and preschool, even rarer, and one soon forgotten.

Until 1997 when Dean found himself enrolling at another school in Sioux Falls.

He didn’t know the significance of that either, but he soon would. You’d make him.

Next Chapter

Am I shooting myself in the foot by releasing this part when I haven’t finished the rest? Probably, but I’m used to it. We’ll be diving into three stages in Dean and readers life in this one - up next - 1997.

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[turtleshelf]

I need more fics about the batkids school lives and from the perspective of their teachers and I need them now. Fuck it, put some of them on IEPs, I think that shit would be so good.

Give me Damian where when putting him in school, Dick and Babs have to fudge some (not completely inaccurate) diagnosis' to get him put on an IEP and in the behavior classroom so he can have social skills education literally built into his day. So that he has a small classroom setting of other kids with their own problems so he doesn't feel so singled out by his own like he would in gen ed classes. Him slowly integrating into not just American society but also into interacting with kids his own age with the safety net of the behavior classroom and teachers that are literally designed and trained for kids who lose their composure and lash out to fall back on. He's disliked or written off by most teachers as a behavior case, but there's are a few who hold a soft spot for him, he likes to gift them art.

Give me Jason on an IEP because of how much school he missed when he was homeless, being given the tools and resources to catch back up to where he should be. Show him being quiet and keeping his head down trying to catch up. The first time he gets in a fight he was defending a younger student, he cries in the office afterwards, and privately none of the staff can really blame him even if they do have to follow through with a consequence for the fight. Show him reserved and jumpy when health class moves into their unit about drugs, he comes in with Bruce the next day to talk to the principal and is excused to the office with a alternative assignments until they move onto their next unit. Teachers tend to like him, and they're always a little surprise when he gets into fights.

Give me Dick in an ELL (English Learn Language, program for students learning English) program that allows him to slow down and get a grip on the basics of the English language. Give him accommodations that translate his assignments into a language he already knows, so he doesn't have to spend hours attempting to translate his homework and then translate his answers. Show him being reserved at first, then popular and smiley and kind until something ignites his short fuse. Show his growth of the short fuse getting longer as he gets better control of his emotions and learns time and place. Teachers don't know what to make of him, sometimes it's like he's a completely different person day to day. He's got this little troublemaker smile that tilts dangerously on his lips before a fight, his teachers think he's either going to run the world or destroy it one day.

Give me Steph whose school has to go on lock out because her father who doesn't have custody shows up and attempts to check her out for the day. Give her fidget toys and break passes. Show her spitefully doing assignments for teachers that don't like her so well that they have to give her an A: "Oh you think The Great Gatsby is the best book ever written? Here's my essay on why it's the worst book ever written and should stop being taught in schools." The arguments are sound, her writing is flawless, her sources are bulletproof. Most teachers don't have much of an opinion on her, she just another popular girl to them, but there are a few that are with her during the father debacle, who saw are angry and sad and scared, who hold a soft spot for her.

Give me Tim who keeps his head down and turns his work in late on crumpled and stained papers, but it's all flawless work. He shows up after three days absent with deep circles under his eyes and a shallow smile and explanations for his absence that are just sound enough that they can't poke any real holes in them, even if most don't believe him. He's friends with the rowdy, popular kids but he's always careful to keep just to the sidelines of their trouble so he never gets taken down with them in consequences. His teachers whisper about the disorganized genius who they hope gets himself together, because he could do great things.

Give me Duke who's snarky and quick thinking, but comes in some days quiet and with a far away look on his face. His best grades are in PE and it drives his teachers crazy because he's smart enough to honor roll if he ever put the effort into his work, it just doesn't seem to interest him. Give him accommodations that he can't be cold called on in class and never has to present presentations because he doesn't do well being the center of attention. He's always fidgeting and looking at the clock like he has somewhere better to be, he disappears to the library every lunch.

Give me Cass, who nobody can seem to really pin down. She's so startlingly unobtrusive that her teachers often forget she's there until she's standing right infront of their faces. She doesn't talk and from her writing it's clear that she's not familiar with English even if she can get by. The first time anyone hears her voice, Bruce picked her up from school early and she bounces over to him calling "Dad" before giving him a hug, the office staff feel a ripple of shock travel through them as they realize that it's not that she can't talk it's that she doesn't. She gets pulled out of classes for ASL tutoring, but not speech therapy which causes a few raised eyebrows after the revelation that she is capable of speaking. She looks at people with this intensity that makes them feel like she's looking straight through them and most teachers won't admit it, but it freaks them out.

Give me batkids with preferential seating accommodations so they never have to sit somewhere they feel exposed and unsafe. Give them early transition accommodations so they're not caught in the crowded halls during passing periods. Give them phone accommodations, so they always have a direct line to Bruce/Alfred/their siblings. Give them extended test taking accommodations, because once you've literally defused a bomb or raced across the city to stop a murderous meglomaniac doing things on a time constraint is just, not good.

For angst, give them teachers/subs who "don't believe in accommodations" and put end up putting the batkids in bad situations. Give them panic attacks when their accommodations are violated.

Give me teachers gossiping about the batkids and their odd quirks in the office or during their planning period. Give me first year teachers who flounder trying to figure those kids out and veteran teachers to just can't make heads or tails of them. Teachers marveling about how they can all be so alike while sharing absolutely no DNA. It becomes common knowledge that Bruce Wayne is a little less "Brucie" than he'd like the media to believe, but hell that's his business, and he seems to be doing alright by his kids. Give me haggard parents Bruce and Dick getting called to speak with the principal, or in IEP meetings, or at parent-teacher conferences.

Idk I just feel like this is a really untapped market we could be writing for here and I love outsider pov fics so much.

[powderpinkprincess]

License [Lando Norris & twin sister!reader]

description: You hate driving. Your twin brother, Lando, tries to help you out with that.  warnings: a few bad words

When you and Lando were kids, you shared pretty much everything. You went to the same daycare group, then to the same school, and you even shared a room until the two of you turned 8. You were twins, so it just kind of worked that way.

You also fought a lot. Over stupid things mostly – whose turn it was to pick the TV show or who got more snacks, although your parents always made sure whatever you got was the exact same amount. Classic sibling stuff. Lando was already a very competitive child when he was daycare age, and he always pulled you into his mind games.

The only thing you didn’t share was his love for driving.

You tried karting when he stared, mostly because it felt weird not to. You always went to the same afternoon activities because, for your parents, it was easier to coordinate one program than two at the same time, considering that you had two sisters and a brother as well. However, your parents quickly decided to pull you out after seeing that you were sitting on the ground and crying before most of the practices, while Lando was already speeding through other kids like nothing mattered.

That whole thing about you not liking to drive never really changed, even in your twenties. Lando was a full-on Formula 1 driver by then, and you also had your driver’s license, but you barely used it. Most of the time, you just took public transport. Driving made you nervous, simple as that. You secretly blamed your childhood experiences with karting for that.

When Lando came home for summer break, you visited your parents’ house as well to spend some time with him. You hadn’t seen him for nearly three months now, as you had your own job, your own apartment, and you didn’t have the time to travel after him. Your passion was running, and you worked as a trainer. Your family has always been a very fit and sporty one.

Of course, you and Lando quickly got comfortable around each other again, and you were back to your usual routine within five minutes, arguing and teasing nonstop. At one point, he made some snarky comment about your driving, and your mom, Cisca finally had enough.

 “Lando, why don’t you take your sister for a drive?” she asked, her hands on her hips as always when she got annoyed. “You could actually help her feel more confident instead of making fun of her, don’t you think so?”

 “What? But she doesn’t even like to drive!” Lando protested immediately.

 “That’s exactly why,” Cisca sighed. “Give her a few tips. You drive for a living.”

Your eyes widened as well. “Mom, you can’t be serious. Lando barely passed his theory test. I wouldn’t trust his advice on normal roads if my life depended on it. I wouldn’t even let him outside the track!” You were exaggerating a little, but he wasn’t the brightest in the theory, that was true. He drove out of intuition, which, in his case, worked well, but you couldn’t do that. Your intuitions would drive you into the first ditch in sight.

Lando let out a scoff. “I passed the theory. Besides, I’m still a better driver than you are.”

 “Yeah, I’m sure you’re a real menace to society in a school zone,” you snorted.

He rolled his eyes at you. “Bold words from someone who breaks down in tears at roundabouts.”

 “Lando!” Cisca raised her voice a little. You always found it amusing how it was always he who got scolded. When the two of you were young, it was mostly Lando picking fights, therefore, his name became some kind of a reflex for your parents when they heard bickering.

Lando raised his hands in defeat. “Okay, fine. We can try.”

Cisca handed him the key to the older family car – not you, you noticed -, and then you followed your brother into the garage, your arms crossed.

 "You know, you don't have to be so upset," he said as he unlocked the car.

 "You do get on my nerves sometimes," you muttered.

He shrugged and went to open the driver's side door, waiting for you to get in. You grumbled in protest, but you did sit down, fastening the seatbelt and adjusting the mirrors. Lando rounded the car and sat on the passenger seat. It was a rare sight to see, considering that he disliked giving out control of his hands when it came to driving. He put on a pair of sunglasses and rolled down the window, propping his elbow out.

 “Feeling comfortable?” you scoffed.

 “As comfortable as I can get,” he grinned at you. You just shook your head at that.

The drive started off quiet. Suspiciously quiet. Lando didn’t even say anything for the first few minutes. You were hyper-aware of every movement, already regretting every life decision that led to this moment.

 “I’m not gonna bite,” he finally said, watching you intently. His snarky attitude seemed to falter a little as he noticed how nervous you were. He wasn’t a monster, after all. He didn’t wish anything bad for you.

 “You're already annoying, and we haven’t even left the street yet,” you muttered. You pulled out with all the grace of someone trying to look calm while internally screaming. Lando was surprisingly quiet again. Too quiet.

You glanced at him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Just- Didn’t think we’d make it out of there in one piece,” he said. He couldn’t resist being a little smug.

You nearly slammed the brakes right there. “Say one more thing and I swear I’m turning this into a hostage situation.”

Lando raised both hands like you were holding a weapon. “Alright, alright. No need for threats. Just drive.”

You took a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. You were constantly second-guessing your speed at every moment. Lando was a quiet observer for the first few minutes, but soon enough, the silence was broken. "You're going kinda slow," he pointed out.

 “If I go faster, I’ll crash and we’ll both die,” you mumbled under your breath.

 “Come on, at this speed here, you’re just going to break the car at worst, no one is going to die. And if you drive too slowly, that’s also dangerous,” he replied. “Just saying this because people are gonna honk soon if you don’t speed up, and you’ll freak out.”

Your grip on the steering wheel tightened, but you added some more gas.

 “There you go.” Lando shifted in his seat a little and leaned back, way too comfortable for this situation.

 “How are you not terrified sitting next to me?” you sighed.

He shrugged, a small, amused smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I have been in far riskier situations, trust me. Besides, you're a better driver than you give yourself credit for.” Lando glanced sideways at you, observing your nervous expression and your grip on the wheel.  “Relax. What are you so scared of anyway? That you’ll hit something? That you’ll break the car?”

 “Kind of both,” you bit your lip.

 "You’re being so careful, I doubt you’ll wreck the car. If you’re too nervous, though, you’ll make mistakes. You’re doing great, just don’t think about it too much." Surprisingly, his words seemed to help. You focused back on the road. The silence returned, but this time, it wasn’t uncomfortable.

You were even starting to relax as you turned onto a quieter street. Your hands were a little steadier on the wheel, Lando had backed off from his usual teasing, and for a second, it felt like maybe this whole "practice drive" thing wouldn’t be a complete disaster.

Then Lando’s voice cut through the calm.

 “Shit- Watch out!”

You barely had time to register his words. Out of nowhere, a black SUV shot out from a side street – no signal, no warning – cutting right across your lane.

You slammed the brakes instinctively, heart jumping to your throat, the tires giving a sharp screech as the car jerked to a stop just in time. Lando reached over and grabbed the wheel instinctively, helping you swerve slightly. The SUV sped off like nothing had happened, only missing you by a few centimetres.

 “Jesus Christ,” Lando breathed, whipping around to glare after it. “What the fuck is wrong with people?”

You didn’t answer. Your hands were glued to the wheel, trembling uncontrollably. Your heart pounded so hard it hurt, and before you knew it, your eyes filled with tears.

Lando looked back at you. “Hey... Y/N?”

You couldn’t speak. Your throat was too tight, and the tears came faster. You tried to blink them away, but it was useless. You were overwhelmed by the fear, the adrenaline, and the what-ifs. It all crashed down at once.

 “Okay, okay,” Lando said quickly. “Just pull over.”

With shaking hands, you guided the car to the side of the road and parked. You didn’t even turn to him. You just covered your face, shoulders starting to shake as the sobs took over.

Lando didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Then he let out a slow breath and leaned closer, lowering his voice. “You’re okay. I promise. You didn’t do anything wrong. That guy was a fucking idiot.”

You finally looked at him, eyes red, still catching your breath. “I thought we were gonna crash.”

 “But we didn’t,” Lando said. “You did everything right.”

You nodded, hiccup-crying a little, wiping your eyes with your sleeve. Lando unbuckled himself and leaned across the console to pull you into an awkward hug, patting your back. “You did great, Y/N. You’re not hurt, I’m not hurt, and even the car is fine. You were perfect, okay? I promise, it’s okay.”

 "If you didn't notice him, we would've crashed," you sniffled.

 "But you did see him in time, and you hit the brakes," Lando pointed out. "You were so quick to respond. Not many people would've reacted as fast as you did, if they would even have at all."

You sat in silence for a few minutes, Lando letting you calm down a little. After a while, you blew out some air through your mouth. "I don't want to drive home, you drive home."

Lando didn't think this was such a good idea. You were doing so well, stopping the drive with such a negative experience would definitely set you back again. Lando watched you for a moment, the tension still hanging in the air between you. He knew you were shaken, but he wasn’t about to let you give up.

 “You’re not quitting now, Y/N,” he said gently, though his voice carried a quiet firmness. “You’ve come this far, and I’m not gonna let you bail out now, okay?”

You stared at him, the exhaustion and frustration evident on your face. "But I can't do this, Lando," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

 "But you can," he insisted. "You just need to trust yourself a little more. I’m right here with you, okay? You don’t have to do it alone."

You sighed deeply, feeling the weight of his words. You hadn’t realized how much you needed that reassurance until now. For a moment, you let your eyes wander out the window, trying to steady your breath and calm the knot in your stomach.

 “Just try,” Lando said quietly, offering you a small but encouraging smile. “You’ve already done more than you think. If you need to stop, we’ll stop, but just... try.”

You swallowed hard, your mind racing with doubt, but slowly, you nodded. With shaky hands, you gripped the wheel again, the familiar feel of it grounding you.

 “I’ll try,” you whispered.

Lando nodded, giving you a reassuring look as you pulled back into traffic. When you arrived home, Lando got out of the car first, taking a deep breath and trying to shake off any remaining stress. When he saw your Mom waiting, he managed a small smile. "No casualties this time," he joked, trying to ease the potential tension.

Cisca's eyebrow twitched up in disbelief, her eyes darting from Lando to the car and finally to you. "Really? No shouting, no speeding, no cursing from your brother?"

 “He was pretty decent,” you shrugged with a smile.

Cisca looked genuinely surprised. Lando’s temper, which got him to Formula 1, wasn’t always the easiest to handle when it was between the two of you.

 “See? You raised a gentleman out of me,” Lando said with a smug smile.

Cisca just shook his head with a laugh and walked back into the living room, leaving the two of you there.

[kamospeach]

plot: tattooartist!geto wants his favorite canvas to show off his work.

content warning: oral f!receiving, choking, piv sex, fingering, praising, doggy, breeding, a lot of dirty talk

peachy's yap: placed in Tokyo, but i didn't use conversions, and i specified that when speaking about money. i wrote this before i started writing on tumblr so it might be a lil bad.

"mmm, sugu..." you moaned, trying to stop the force of his thrust with your hand.

"be a good girl and take it all for me, okay?" he groaned out, intertwining your fingers behind your back and holding your hand in place.

now, you're probably wondering how you got here. hours before the incident you and your friends sat around on your bed. you all were scrolling through pinterest, trying to help your youngest friend build the courage to get a tattoo. you had friends of all different ages, races, and types since you transferred to a school in tokyo. your college in the us had an exchange program, which you were eager to sign up for. in all honesty, you were excited to meet the famous tiktok star satoru gojo.

living in tokyo was still new to you, and you had been going to school there for a year and a half. you made a lot of friends who were from the same program as you. you were the oldest and most obvious mom of the group. you treated the others like they were fragile babies, even though some of them were only a few months younger than you. one of your friends had just recently turned 19 and had never gotten a tattoo.

"come on, tattoos aren't that bad." you stressed to your friend. you were littered with tattoos, 25 in total, so of course, it seemed like nothing to you.

"that's not fair you have so many this will be my first one." he complained, and you laughed at his nervousness.

"what about your artist that did the majority of yours? can he do it?" another one of your friends asked, and you nodded at her statement.

"yeah, he's very gentle, so it won't be bad. i'll facetime him." you said and called suguru. 

the whole time you had been in tokyo, suguru had been doing your tattoos. out of 25, he did 20 of them, which made you get closer. sometimes, he did your tattoos when you just popped up or even after hours when he was fully booked. most times, you would call him and talk while he sketched a large tattoo for you. you guys had become friends and even got some tattoos for free, small ones, of course. it was also oddly convenient since you're a major fangirl for his best friend, satoru.

"you must need something." he blurted, answering on the third ring. you giggled at his assumption, looking at the way his phone was sitting.

"you're doing a tattoo?" you asked, slightly dodging his statement.

"yes, my only appointment for the day, you need to come by?" he asked, he never passed up a chance to take your money for something he loved doing. especially getting to see your pretty face sit in his chair and the look of satisfaction on that face when he finished the tattoo. 

"my friend wants a tattoo, and i recommended you because you're not too heavy-handed." you said, throwing in a smile, and he chuckled. he looked good to you, maybe better than usual. he had on a white shirt, which was different since he usually wore dark blue or black. you couldn't see his lower half, but you suspected he had jeans or sweats on. his long hair was in the usual bun at the top and hair down in the back.

"why do i feel like you're trying to sweet talk your way into my chair, kid." he joked, and you grumbled at the 'kid' nickname. 

"i'm doing it for my friend." you reminded him.

"oh yeah? so you're not doing it for the tattoo i sent you a couple of days ago." he raised a brow, and you laughed. he had sent you a very large sketch of a dragon that he said would look good on you. he offered to do it for 300 us dollars instead of 700 as long as you modeled it for him. you swore you would promote him on all platforms since you were pretty popular.

"if you want to do it today, we can." you offered, throwing the ball in his court.

"you guys can come i should be done in 30." he laughed, and you smiled, standing as all your friends began grabbing their belongings to leave. you walked away from them, noticing he had his airpods in his ear.

"i missed you, you know." you said lowly, not trying to draw attention to yourself. he glanced at you, and his eyes showed everything he couldn't say aloud.

"i missed you too; you'll hurry and get here, yeah?" he said, making your stomach churn from the naturally seductive tone he carried.

"we're 15 minutes away, but it might be some traffic." you informed him, and he nodded understanding.

𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐩

"woah, it's nice in here." your friend said loudly, making everyone else agree. 

"sugu!" you yelled, seeing him grabbing the cash from the client. when the client left, you went to suguru, immediately hugging him tightly. 

"you act as if we haven't seen each other in months." he joked still returning the hug as enthusiastically as you.

"2 weeks is a long time." you huff, sitting in a chair next to him. all your friends followed behind you, standing at the end of the chair. your friend getting the tattoo sat in the chair and explained the idea to geto. he began to sketch as you scrolled through your instagram messages, responding to brands that wanted to work with you. before you knew it, you heard the buzz of the needle, and he began to work. "oh! sugu, i need to tell you about what happened last week."

"i'm listening." he said, yet you could tell in his voice that he was interested. he was focused, and that was when he looked the best. the right side of his lip was tucked between his teeth, and his eyes were low. the veins in his arm protruded due to his grip on the needle, and the vein in his neck that never went away was more prominent. you rested your chin on your palm as you talked to him and watched him work on your friend's arm.

"he's really good." a friend of yours complimented him, and you nodded.

"thank you." he mumbled out, still focusing on his work. after another 30 minutes, he was finished with the tattoo. it was a song lyric, so it didn't take long to finish it and wrap it up. 

"you guys don't have to wait for me; this tattoo is pretty big." you assure your friends.

"you sure? will you need a ride home? i can always come back and get you."

"i'll take her home," suguru interjected, and you smiled, nodding at my friends.

"okay then, bye, see you later!" they all said in unison, waving at you as you walked back to suguru's chair. suguru followed behind your friends to turn off the open sign and lock the door. he closed the curtains and turned off the main lights to ensure no one would assume they were open. he walked to his station and turned on the extra lights he had to brighten up the specific area.

"nobody's here today?" you asked a little late, but your mind was distracted by the white shirt he had on.

"choso only had one client, so he went to pick up yuji. yuki never came, and the other guys left early, too." he explained.

"so, where did you want to put this one?" you smile, looking down at him as he sits in his usual chair.

"your back." he said printing out parts of the pre-sketched tattoo.

"cool! i've been wanting a back tattoo it's so empty." you admit, look at his back muscles flexing as he cleaned his station. "why a white shirt today?"

"is it a crime to wear white?"

"i mean, it is when all you usually wear is dark colors." you smile, and he nods.

"laundry day." he admitted, and you chuckled.

"maybe next time i can get you to wear pink." you smirk.

"maybe not." he said blandly. suguru was an avid pink hater, and light purple came a close second. you always teased him about pink and light purple and even bought him a pink and light purple gift for his birthday (along with tons of black and dark purple gifts). 

"i'm nervous now," you said, taking off your shirt and holding your chest. you had become comfortable with being in minimal clothing around him. he was even there when you got your nipples pierced, which would make sense since he owns the place (you invited him back because you were scared).

"what happened to that kiss you promised me?" he asked, ignoring your statement as your face got hot. 2 weeks ago, geto and you had kissed for the first time. he asked for another, and you told him you would the next time you saw each other.

"you would ask that now that i'm shirtless." you roll your eyes, and he just chuckles. you walk to where he stands, and his tall frame leans down. his hands gripped your waist, bringing you closer, and he whispered in your ear.

"nothing i've never seen before." he kissed your neck under your ear, causing a shiver to run up your spine. goosebumps formed on your body as if you were cold, but his body kept you warm. the way he spoke about seeing your chest made it almost feel inappropriate, yet it was because of the body piercing.

"so lewd." you sighed as he grabbed your face, bringing it close to his.

"yeah?" he questioned.

"y-" as you began to answer, he cut you off, connecting your lips. your mouth open from speaking, let him insert his tongue in your mouth. forgetting you didn't have on a shirt, your hands went to his hair, slowly massaging his scalp. 

he moaned in the kiss from the feeling of your fingers, loving how it felt. his hands traveled from around your waist to under your breast. your tongues fought for dominance, and he inevitably won as he explored your mouth. without thinking, his thumbs began to lightly caress your nipples, which were sensitive from the piercings you had gotten not even a month ago. he pulled away, looking down at your breast that rested perfectly in his large hands.

"i'm sorry," he apologized breathlessly. he quickly moved his hands, and you tried to catch your breath.

"it's okay." you said honestly, sitting in his seat. your chest pressed against the cold leather. most of your sessions with suguru weren't sensual or sexual. to be honest, this was different for the two of you; you just couldn't deny your attraction to suguru.

"you comfortable because once i get started, you need to stay very still." he said, and you scoffed.

"i know suguru." you said as you heard him laugh. for a second, he paused, letting the soft r&b play through the speaker. you internally chuckled at him playing the shared playlist that was full of music you told him to listen to. he began to place the stencils on your back and draw with the pen to fill in the empty places. as he did these little movements, your eyes closed as partynextdoor 'no chill' played. per usual, your thoughts drifted to suguru. 

now, it hit you like a bullet train going close to a million miles an hour. those times he called while sketching and said he'd want to see you with a back tattoo. or those times he said tattoos would look good around your neck. you always frowned at the idea as he smirked, saying 'went right over your head,' and you cluelessly shrugged. his hand around your neck? he wanted to see you with an arch in your back that emphasized those tattoos? sneaky.

suguru's signature smirk as you talked about tattoos. it wasn't the only thing you had in common, but it was where he could throw in dirty jokes, and you not even notice. before you knew it, your breathing was steadied, and you had lightly dozed off. suguru noticed your breathing and removed the needle.

"hey, love, you need to wake up just in case you twitch." he said, lightly rubbing your hip near where he was working.

"mhm." you mumbled, waking up and looking at the tv that was muted but played a program that you'd never seen. two hours had passed, and you were trying not to nod off. "sugu, i'm sleepy." you told him, and he nodded. 

"we can finish it tomorrow you probably have an hour and a half left." he said, and you shook your head. 

"i have work tomorrow i can't come." you pouted look back at suguru, who nodded.

"okay, if you twitch, i'll stop, and we just gotta plan a different day." he warned you, and you tried extra hard to stay awake. "what has you so tired anyways?"

"had three classes today from 7 to 2." you explained, and he nodded. 

"and how are you doing in those?"

"i'm doing good, i promise, just stressed. this is making it better." you tell him, knowing he acts like your father when it comes to your grades. he chuckles, and he works diligently on the tattoo. although you did nod off a few times, you were still enough for him to finish the tattoo all in one day. 

"maschocist?" he asked, joking, and you laughed.

"a little." you played along.

"you did good, love." he said, and the butterflies erupted in your stomach.

"t-thank you." you stuttered, immediately embarrassing yourself.

"thank you because i did your tattoo or because i praised you?" he questioned, reaching a hand out for you to stand as your legs felt weak from sitting for such a long time (and definitely not because his voice was hot). he kept his hand in yours, and you both walked to the mirror to see what he had done.

"maybe both." you shrugged, turning around and looking at your back in the mirror. "sugu..." you gasped, looking at the tattoo that was beyond the word beautiful. 

"do you like it?" he looked up at you, and your jaw dropped.

"like it? i love it." you say as he laughs.

"you always make me feel good about my work, " he says, wrapping his arms around your waist as you look up at him. you look at his face, caught in its beauty, as he waits for your response. his teeth play with the hoop of his side labret piercing on his plump lip.

"people must tell you all the time how good your work is." you say and he smirks at your assumption.

"sure they do, but your opinion matters the most." he says as you begin to realize he's leaning into you. you summon all the positive self-talk you can to reassure yourself that you can handle this without embarrassing yourself. like you figured his lips crashed onto yours and the two of you began to kiss vigorously. your teeth touched here and there and his tongue was exploring your mouth all in a matter of seconds.

"sugu..." you hum as his lips leave your mouth and attack your neck. he began to lightly bite and suck at your neck as you let out a light moan from the feeling of his lips.

"yes, y/n?" he says, and you sigh at the feeling of his lips. "show me how much you love my work, baby. show it off to me, hm?" he says, and your heart begins to flutter at his words. his voice was smooth like silk and his words were sensual.

"okay." you say lowly letting go of your chest and putting your hands in his hair. it was your favorite place to put your hands, to busy yourself, and hearing his groans was music to your ears.

"this is what you want right?" he asks leaning back to look you in your eyes.

"yes, i want you, suguru." without a second word, he picked you up and placed you on the chair you had previously sat on. your hands quickly went to his belt to open it.

"slow down, let me please you." he whispered in your ear as he removed your hands from his belt. his hands slowly grazed your sides his fingers leaving goosebumps in their wake. he slipped his hand slipped into your shorts pressing your covered clit. your breathing became ragged, and you whimpered in his ear. he slowly rubbed your clit barely putting any pressure just enough for you to know his fingers were there and moving.

"sugu please." you begged looking him in his eyes and he smirked at your begging state.

"please, what?" he asked as your head began to spin. you didn't even know what you wanted from him at this point. you just knew that you wanted him.

"i... i" you started still lost in your words.

"you what, baby? you want me to touch that needy pussy for real?" he hummed, and just from the words, your hip bucked at his hands needing to feel him.

"yes, please touch me, suguru." you asked, and he smiled at you, finally being able to ask for what you wanted. he finally put his hands inside your thin undergarments, pressing his cold fingers directly on your warm cunt. you're insanely wet and would be dripping if your juices weren't restrained. his middle finger grazed over your core seemingly testing to see how aroused you were for him.

"you're so wet for me." he breathes out as he slips his middle finger in you without warning. you moan at the simple girth of his thick and long digits. he skillfully maneuvers his fingers as your cunt squelches. the only sounds in the tattoo studio are you and suguru's heavy breathing combined with the sloshing sounds of your juices. 

"fuck..." you moan throwing your head back and enjoying the pleasure that suguru was giving. although you imagined having him all for yourself taking his big dick up your tight virgin-like cunt. you never imagined it would feel this good just from one of his fingers.

"you can take another finger for me, right?" he asked, not awaiting an answer he added another finger searching for that rough and spongy spot in you. once he found that spot, he continued to simulate, rub, and push on that spot as you clenched around his fingers. he removed his fingers once he could feel you even getting slightly close to finishing. 

"hah... hey," you huff as a pout immediately finds its way to your face. without saying a word he put his fingers to his lips. he licked your essence off his fingers while maintaining that almost unbearable eye contact with you. "suguru..." you tried to warn him but it mainly came out in a whisper.

"i want you to cum on my dick not my fingers." he whispers as he leans down to suck on your right breast. you moaned loudly at the feeling since your nipple was still sensitive from the piercing. he rolled your left nipple between his fingers and massaged your tits. he let off with a 'pop!' switching to the left before repeating the process of giving your other nipple attention. once he felt he was done, he began to unbutton your pants.  seeing that as a green light, you rush to remove his shirt. "you can't be in that big of a rush." he teases.

"i been waiting a long time for this." you admit to crashing your lips to his so he can feel your urgency. he eventually gave up trying the slow approach and hastily helped you strip down. after you had finally got him to just his boxers you lightly pulled at the band and he smiled. "i can do it?" you asked shyly and he laughed.

"go ahead." with his permission, you pulled down his boxers, watching as his girthy dick slaps his stomach. he was unbelievably hard; his tip was bright red and dripping precum. you couldn't take your eyes off of it as you shamelessly stare at his throbbing dick in fear. "you ready?"

"yes." you squeaked, and he smirked, grabbing your legs and lifting them to your chest. unexpectedly, he leaned down, sending one singular lick to your soaking wet lips. your legs begin to tremble at the feeling while suguru sends kitty licks, purposely ignoring your clit. "suguruuu..." you whine, and he stands up, smiling as his lips glisten from the juices. 

"i got you." he says, putting his hands up to your mouth. "spit." knowing you were getting closer to the goal, you immediately spit in his hand. he begins to jerk himself with your spit eyes rolling to the back of his head from the feeling. 

he had to snap himself out of it, remembering that this was real he wasn't dreaming of you. he could really fuck you and feel the way your warm cunt feels around him. you both being too intoxicated by each other's scent threw caution to the wind and didn't even think of using a condom. he lines his dick up with your entrance slapping his tip on your clit a few times before slowly pushing his way in.

"oh my..." you both gasp in unison at the feeling, his head is pressed against yours as he continues to push his way into you. he had you in a mating press as he tried not to put his full weight on you. he filled you up perfectly you felt full and stuffed just from half of him. he continued to push himself into you until he completely bottomed out. you both took a second he was allowing you to adjust while he tried to not nut already. your breathing was matched and you both looked each other in the eye.

in. out.

in. out.

in. out.

in. 

and suguru slammed into you as you took a deep breath, knocking all the wind out of you. he smirked as you gasped for air, and he continued with his bullied thrust. he pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in not even letting you catch your breath again.

"you hear that? you hear how wet you are for me." he whispered in your ear as you babbled out 'yes, yes, yes, yes' in response. your moans were loud and echoed around the tattoo shop. he leans up and begins to speed up his pace both hands on the back of your knees pressing them closer and closer to your chest as his thrust begins to get more and more ruthless. 

"s...s...s..." you tried to speak but you were so cock drunk you couldn't even get the words out. you were embarrassed and you couldn't even look at suguru who gripped your jaw roughly turning you to face him again. 

"spit it out." he says in a mocking tone, and you roll your eyes at him. "you want to roll your eyes?" he asked as you ignored him, gripping his forearm tightly at the pleasure. "answer me." he spat, and you whined shaking your head.

"no!" you moan out as he hit that perfect spot in you that had you almost ready to come undone. he rapidly pounded into you so hard that you felt the pressure in your chest. it almost felt as if his cockhead was poking at your heart begging you to love him and his dick. 

"can i leave marks?" he asked, remembering all those times you complained to him about men leaving hickeys on you without permission.  your eyes rolled into the back of your head as your moans became more and more guttural. 

"mhm," you hummed out, and he immediately began to work on your neck, leaving hickeys. once he felt he was done with what he called his 'masterpiece,' he looked at you. fucked out with his marks on your neck, collarbone, and chest. he laughed at you as he grabbed both of your legs and crossed your ankles. he placed your crossed legs over his right shoulder as he continued to watch your fucked out face. 

"maybe you should get my name on you." he says as he kisses your ankle making your eyes widen in shock. he couldn't mean what you thought he meant. "maybe a necklace?" he says as he gives you a forceful thrust that has you screaming out his name. "yeah, you like that?" he says as he wraps one of his hands around your neck squeezing lightly.

"yes, sugu i love it." you say not even realizing you admitted to loving the idea of having a necklace with his name on it.

"you love it? you didn't even... hah... hear my other ideas... fuck." he says as his statement is broken up with his moans and groans. he's in bliss loving the feeling of your warm gooey walls wrapped tightly around his cock as you clench and hold on to him with every thrust. "fuck baby, you feel so good. you're taking my dick so good. such a good girl for me." now it was suguru's turn to babble about how good you feel. his thrusts are getting sloppy as he feels you clench even tight.

"sugu 'm cumming." you whine out as he makes his thrust more pointed at the spot he knows drives you crazy.

"cum on your cock, make a mess on me." he coaxes you to your end as you moan your loudest moan of the night. "look at the mess you made." he instructs you as he keeps fucking you through you high. you looked down at the ring of cream that wrapped around his base. he slides out of you and quickly flips you over. "now that you're warmed up, you can show off that new tattoo, hm?"

"wait, i'm sensitive." you whine, and he doesn't say anything, just rubs his tip up against your entrance. he gave you maybe half a second if you were lucky and pushed into you again. "shit.." you mumble as he pushes himself fully in, your back naturally arched at the feeling. without letting you adjust to him, he begins to snap his hips into you quickly.

"you look so good taking me, sweetheart." he says as he watches the way your ass ripples each time it hits his pelvis. one hand was on your hip, and the other sent a hard slap to your ass cheek. his thrusts were relentless and your moans were getting louder and louder each time.

you grabbed his wrist as your face was squished into the chair. suguru didn't say much his jaw was slack hypnotized by your ass and the way you gripped him. he couldn't take his eyes off of you the way you looked under him was better than anything he could've ever imagined.

"mmm, sugu..." you moaned, trying to stop the force of his thrust with your hand. you were getting closer by the second and still sensitive from your previous orgasm. it was starting to become too much as tears spilled from your eyes due to the pleasure.

"be a good girl and take it all for me, okay?" he groaned out, intertwining your fingers behind your back and holding your hand in place. using your hand as leverage he gives you slower and longer strokes. slowly out and roughly back in, hitting that spot that made you mewl out. "are you close?" he asked as your body began to twitch from the feeling.

"so close, baby, so so close." you say and he grunts loving the way you sounded moaning out his name.

"where do you want it, sweetheart?" he asked and you being a fucked out mess yelped out without even thinking.

"inside me, please cum in me, fill me up, sugu." you begged, and how could he deny his beautiful muse what she desired? as both of your climaxes built up, he grabbed the front of your neck, choking you lightly as he pulled you up so that his chest was against your back. his free hand reached down to rub circles on your clit as he continued fucking you. "i'm cumming, shit."

"me too, cum with me." he whispers deeply in your ear as the both of you cum together. your body jerked as you violently came, and he continued to send sloppy thrusts, filling you up. he grabs your jaw, turning your face to kiss you sloppily. your tongues explored each other's mouths until you both decided to catch your breath.

"that was... amazing." you panted as he slowly slid out of you. the emptiness makes you whine and the sensitivity makes him shiver. 

"you were so good." he says, rubbing your cheek as you look away from him shyly. he walks away to get a wet paper towel. "this is as good as it's gonna get." you laugh as he cleans you both off and throws away the paper towel. he grabs your thong and helps you get dressed, sitting you back down on the chair. your legs were already getting sore, and you could only imagine how bad it would be tomorrow morning. 

after suguru got dressed, he double-checked the shop, making sure everything was good for him to leave. you just sat watching as he walked around, in shock that you actually got to fuck him. maybe the next time you should do it in the mirror, you thought to yourself as he handed you your purse. 

"ready to go?" he asked and you nodded walking alongside him. "now i'm going to have to take you on a date to ask the real question." he said raising his brow and looking at you.

"what question?" you asked, acting dumb, wanting to hear it now, but suguru wasn't falling for it. he opened the door, letting you out first as he hit a light switch.

"guess you'll have to find out during the date. how does friday sound?" he asked and without even thinking you obliged.

"friday is fine!" you say, concluding if you did have anything planned it would just have to be canceled.

"sounds good." he smirks, taking one final look around and turning off the final light switch. suguru locked the doors and thought to himself: i'll never quit. he wouldn't dare forget the memory of your fucked out face every time he'd do a tattoo on that same exact chair.

[comical-wheelchairs]

How I Work with Pre-K Kids as a Wheelchair User

I've given these tips to enough other wheelchair users that I figured I could make a post about it, and this blog is aligned enough with it that I figured I could post it here.

I've spent time as an administrator for a pre-K and school age programs, and I am also in my final year to be dual certified as a special education/general education elementary school teacher in America. I am also an ambulatory wheelchair user, but cannot safely move without a mobility aid, even when I am standing/walking. SO. Here's a guide/rundown of how I personally talk about disability with the kids I work with!

When First Meeting a Class

You do not need to explain/justify your wheelchair, and any adult who believes you do is probably doing it for their own curiosity and not an interest in the kids.

My personal recommendation is to say you are always happy to answer questions about yourself, and leave it open ended.

If the class had to be rearranged for your wheelchair and you feel comfortable saying so, I will sometimes say "I'm really grateful that you moved the furniture so I could get around. I can't wait to meet everyone!" It makes it clear why the need is there, and if a kid accidentally blocks you you can always ask them to move so you can get through and remind them.

When They Ask Questions

"Why do you use that?"

I respond by asking them what is 'that' - being careful to speak with a curious tone. For young kids, they might not know the word, and will probably point. From there you can say "oh! this is my wheelchair! have you heard that word before? i use it to get around since walking is [very hard/impossible/not something my body does]."

"Why don't you walk?"

I respond by telling them walking is something I can do for a little while, but it really hurts. Link it to a concrete example. "Have you ever gone into a super hot car, and you could do it for a little, but you wouldn't want to be in there all day?" "Have you ever tried to hold snow (or an ice cube) without gloves, and you could do it for a little but then it started to hurt your hands because it was so cold?" Make it personal, specific, and simple - developmentally they may still need support understanding that other people have different experiences (or might be totally unable to yet).

"How'd you get into that?"

I typically respond silly - "Well, I sat down!" If you want to, and you do not need to, you can make this into a (short, keep it short, their brains are so interested in everything and switch very quickly) lesson on transfers/how people get in/around with their wheelchairs.

"What happened?"

I respond by asking them what they mean. This typically leads to another question which I mentioned above. Alternatively I sometimes say "I realize a wheelchair helps me get around safely!"

"How do you use the bathroom?"

My strategy that's worked best is being calm and friendly while saying "I don't like talking about how I use the bathroom." If you can redirect after that (point out something for them to do, change the subject to something they'll find more interesting) it'll make it easier. If they ask why, you can say that everyone has stuff they don't like talking about and for you it's the bathroom.

Physical Interactions With Your Chair

They touch your chair

We had a big thing about this in my pre-K rooms - what we would do is if a kid tried to touch my chair (or did) I would tell them "It's so cool that you want to explore my wheelchair, but I want to make sure you're safe, because there's a lot of moving parts that can pinch you! Can I give you words for when you want to touch my wheelchair?" If no, then let them know you can't let people who can't be safe touch your wheelchair. If yes, give them a script to ask for permission - you will have to repeat it. A lot. Gentle repetition is your friend and within two months my kiddos were asking everyone permission to touch them at school. My script went "Teacher Pecan, can I touch your wheelchair?" "No, now it's a safe time, because [I am moving a lot/I am tired/I need a break/you have a task to do]. We can check in again [when it is a break time/when I feel better/when you finish your task." "Yes, it is safe to touch my wheelchair right now. Can you point to where you want to touch?"

They kick your chair

Every time a kid kicks/hurts your chair, say "ouch! that hurt! my wheelchair is part of my body, it helps me get around!" Repetition and speaking clearly are your friends. If a kid keeps kicking your chair, finding another thing for them to kick (for example, a ball) can help divert the kicking need into something safer for everyone :)

They (try to) sit in your lap

Gently use your hands to get them off or keep them off. Calmly say "Oops! My wheelchair isn't big enough for the two of us!" If they complain/protest, validate and then explain. My script is "I know it looks like a cool place to sit, but my wheelchair is just for me."

They (try to) push your wheelchair.

My last two chairs had no push handles, but my second one did! It can make sense to panic when I kiddo pushes you - I've had them try to push me into walls (by accident). Here's what I did that worked great: Immediately lock my breaks/grab my pushrims, and calmly say "oops! We don't push wheelchairs without permission!" If they stuck around/didn't immediately run away, I would ask them if they remember a time an adult picked them up and took them somewhere they didn't want to go (typically a car). If they say yes, and even if they say no, I explained that pushing my wheelchair feels just like that, and makes me scared. Most children never pushed it again, and everyone stopped after the second try.

Miscellaneous Tips

"Isn't that cool?" is your friend. Any time a kid is first learning about your wheelchair, end the sentence with it. Any time a kid is nervous about your wheelchair and you explain something, end the explanation with it. "It helps me get around, isn't that cool?" "These are called spokes. Aren't they cool?"

Wheelchairs can be grounding tools when you have a good handle on the class and boundaries! Only if you would like to. My spokes on my last chair were rainbow, and I would use my chair to physically get between them and the emotional trigger, and ask them questions about my spokes. "What colors are next to green?" "Can you point to which one is your favorite?" "Hmmm which color do I get if I mix red with blue?"

"Why doesn't [limb(s)] work?" My left foot is (mostly) paralyzed due to nerve damage, and my script is "My brain can't talk to my foot and tell it to move." You can say whatever you'd like, just try and keep it to basic body parts unless the kiddo is super into anatomy.

If they imply/say wheelchairs are bad, or you might be sad for being in one, you can correct them by telling them how cool your wheelchair is! Get them to compliment it too, if their attention span allows. "I don't feel sad about my wheelchair, I love it! I love the color! Do you? What color do you think I should get next?"

In conclusion - talking calmly, positively, and using repetition of the same words/scripts is a great way to not just exist in a classroom hassle free, but to get kids comfortable with disability/mobility aids at a young age. I have had kids get pinched by my chair (he grabbed my axle from behind), and luckily I had my higher ups on my side and they agreed that I made every effort to keep the kids safe (plus he learned his lesson lol, he always asked permission after that). Your mileage may vary based on admin and their attitudes, so play it by ear, and change any of my tips as needed. Feel free to send questions to this blog too. :)

[sagan-starstuff]

XF Meta: Scully's Medical Training Timeline

At the request of @randomfoggytiger, I wanted to do my damnedest to make Scully's education and training timeline make even a little sense. I'm a physician (specifically a specialist in adult infectious diseases), and it's fairly clear to me that CC and Co probably didn't actually talk to any doctors about how medical training works. Love my girl - I'm a Scully Effect kid, I don't think I'd be a doctor at all if it weren't for the inspiration of Dana Scully. But her timeline is...iffy at best.

Disclaimer: My medical school and post-med school training occurred from 2009-2018, Scully's occurred in the 1980's-90's. From what I can tell, the durations of many residencies and fellowships don't seem to have changed much, but I can't say that for certainty for all programs at all institutions. I am also from the US, so I cannot speak to medical training in other countries.

Our girl was born in 1964, and so unless she skipped a grade (which some schools would do if students were classified as "gifted" or otherwise exceptional, she would have graduated from high school at age 18 in 1982 and went straight to college. Let's assume she didn't skip a grade, for the sake of argument.

You have to have a Bachelor's degree to apply to medical school. These degrees typically take 4 years, though if someone arrives at college with credits from dual-enrollment high school classes or AP exam credits OR if they take summer classes some people can complete them in 3 years. I don't know what the availability of dual enrollment or AP classes was like in the early 80's (and like CC, I'm too lazy to do the research to find out), so we can assume that Scully graduated from college in 1986.

Medical school is 4 years long - no shortening this at that point in time, and even now in almost all cases. So that puts medical school graduation in 1990 IF she's following a traditional timeline and went straight from college to medical school.

Now, if someone is going to go into practice they have to do a residency in at least one of a variety of specialties (Internal Medicine, Pediatrics, Surgery, etc.) in order to be board certified and practice independently. There are very, very few job options in clinical medicine if you DON'T do a residency, so if you want to practice, you have to do it. Residencies can be anywhere from 3-5 years, depending on the specialty. You can also further subspecialize after a residency by doing one or more fellowships (typically 1-3 years depending on the fellowship) before sitting for your board certification exams and starting independent practice. For example - after medical school I did a 3-year residency in adult internal medicine, then a 2 year fellowship in adult infectious diseases to be eligible to sit for the boards and enter my specialty, so 5 years further training after medical school before I could get a job, get board certified, and practice.

Scully is a forensic pathologist. She would have had to do a 3 or 4 year pathology residency (both were options at the time) followed by a 1 year forensic pathology fellowship. You CANNOT perform autopsies right out of medical school, if you are going to be a forensic pathologist you HAVE to do this training. So, following a traditional timeline this puts her as having completed forensic pathology training in 1994 or 1995. Pilot starts March 7th, 1992, so this is loooooong after she's canonically already an FBI agent and teaching at the academy.

But our girl's a smart cookie, so let's take a little leeway with her timeline. Let's say she skipped a grade some time in K-12. This puts high school graduation in 1981. Let's say she ALSO graduates with a bunch of AP credit and does summer semesters and finishes her undergraduate degree in Physics in 3 years. This puts her as starting medical school in 1984, with graduation in 1988. She'd still need to do that pathology residency and forensic pathology fellowship - let's assume a 3 year residency, then 1 year fellowship, so she'd finish training in 1992.

Still doesn't fit.

Let's go totally off the rails here - we know Scully was recruited out of medical school to the FBI, so she didn't do a traditional residency at all - UNLESS the FBI has an internal forensic pathology residency. It would HAVE to be accelerated in some way - some programs combine residency and fellowship by giving less elective time and more focus to the fellowship content. It's not common but they exist. Let's say in theory the FBI has an accelerated forensic pathology residency that takes 3 years, in addition to the 20 weeks of the FBI academy training. This has her finishing residency AND FBI academy training some time in 1991.

This is the ONLY way she could have finished forensic pathology training AND the FBI academy with enough time to be a fully certified forensic pathologist and FBI agent with some time left to teach at the FBI academy before being assigned to the X-Files on March 7th, 1992.

I can suspend my disbelief enough to be on board with this. You'd have to be pretty damned special, which we know she is, to get recruited out of medical school by the FBI. Maybe they even developed the accelerated combined residency/fellowship just for her! She's Dana Katherine Motherf***ing Scully, people!

Now, IWTB is where things get REALLY unbelievable. (Disclaimer: I have not watched IWTB since seeing it in theaters in 2008. I'll get around to rewatching it someday soon. Probably with a bottle of wine. Not a glass. A bottle.)

Mulder and Scully go on the run in 2002. We don't know how long they were in the wind, but by 2008, she's been allowed to resume a career and is practicing at Our Lady of Sorrows. Clearly in pediatrics - but general pediatricians sure as hell don't do stem cell transplants, so she'd almost certainly have to be a pediatric oncologist. We aren't told what her specialty is specifically, but that's what she'd have to be to do a stem cell transplant.

(That scene in the OR isn't even what stem cell transplants LOOK LIKE but that's a rant for another day, back to my point.)

MEDICAL BOARDS DON'T JUST LET YOU CHANGE YOUR SPECIALTY FOR FUNSIES.

(Deep breaths. Serenity now. Ok, let's do this.)

Scully would have had to do an ENTIRELY NEW residency AND fellowship in order to practice as a pediatric oncologist. Pediatrics residency is 3 years long. Pediatric Hematology/Oncology fellowship is 3 years long. In order for this to be even remotely possible, she would have had to START residency in 2002 to finish fellowship by 2008 and start her job at Our Lady of Sorrows.

And she's a former FBI agent harboring a known felon, on the run from government officials and alien hybrids who want her and Mulder dead.

There is absolutely no way even the smallest, most hard-up pediatric residency program is going to accept her with that hanging over her head. I'm not going to get into all the details of how rigorous and stressful the post-medical school residency application and match process is, but even if she didn't apply until she KNEW it was safe to come out from underground, she'd still have to explain a multi-year gap in her resume/CV to the program directors. Multi-year gaps in career and training without a reasonable explanation like a medical issue, time off to care for an ailing family member, time off for research, time away in a different, legitimate career are NOT looked on kindly when applying for residency positions. She would have a HELL of a time getting into a totally different residency.

It could happen - if anyone could do it, she could. But there's absolutely no way there's enough time for her to complete that training by 2008.

"But sagan-starstuff, it's CC, it's X-Files, we know there was no show bible and no one but the fans gave a shit about continuity or things making sense, there's no logic just vibes"

I KNOW, OK. I KNOW. And I love this insane, beautiful masterpiece anyway. I love exploring the possibilities of how and when it all could have happened with my fellow insane Philes who work so hard to glean meaning and order from this perfect mess of a show.

But couldn't CC have talked to one (1) doctor about what medical training is like at some point between 1993 and 2018? Just one?

Anyway. Yeah. That's my meta. Scully's training timeline makes no goddamned sense. Compels me, though.

@randomfoggytiger, this is for you. Honorable mention to @precedex-files who I ranted about this with in messages a while back.

[the-ace-with-spades]

Someone posted about Jake having a sister who is deaf and uses ASL (I can't find it, sorry) and it woke up the fic idea I had some time ago from hibernation

An AU where shortly after Carole's death, Bradley starts losing his hearing. At first, Mav thinks it's just a lack of focus and him being inside his head too much (which, normal given the mourning/depressive state of Bradley's emotions at the time). But then he and Ice notice it only happens when they're on his right side and start to get worried.

A visit with a family doctor and a visit with an audiologist later, and they find out his hearing loss is expected to progress, they just don't know how far — it can stay mild, it can get worse over the years, or it can get worse quickly. It's probably been happening for some time already, they might have not noticed because so much was happening (which Mav will forever feel guilty about).

Mav and Ice are left to explain all that this implies to Bradley. Mainly that Bradley will never be able to become a pilot with hearing loss, even if it stays mild. And even at thirteen, almost fourteen, all he's always wanted to be was a pilot and they have to break the news to him — even if his hearing doesn't get worse, he won't be able to join the Navy in any deployable role.

Obviously, it doesn't go well. Bradley is in denial, rebelling against anything related to the hearing loss — won't go to the SLT, to the audiologist, won't wear the hearing aids.

Until he starts high school after the summer break and realizes he can't hear the teachers well — not in the front seat, not when the classroom is silent. Turns out, the hearing aids are not enough — he needs a new set up already.

Mav takes out a sabbatical and they start everything from the beginning. New audiologist appointments, new hearing aids, new ASL lessons for the two of them, and some extra ones for Ice as well, lip reading lessons, SLT. Bradley doesn't have a choice, his hearing is getting worse and either he will adapt or his life is going to get difficult — and they're in a good enough situation, financially, and with Mav and Ice caring enough, that he can adapt as much as possible.

By the time he's in junior year, his hearing loss is severe. Their options are either sending Bradley to a boarding school for deaf kids or having him have an interpreter at school. Bradley feels strange about the boarding school so he has an interpreter for the rest of high school — which doesn't get him many friends...

College-wise, he doesn't know what to do. There's a few colleges in California that offer programs with support for deaf students, but the degrees are limited. Eventually, he decides to enroll in the Rochester NTID for aerospace/mechanical engineering and it kinda changes his perspective a lot.

There are other deaf students on campus, some even on his course, and it shows him so many different ways life can be still okay — he's never met anyone deaf his age before and being friends with people who either lost their hearing like him or were born deaf and had been involved in the Deaf community for years is amazing eye-opening. He stops being so bitter about life, even if he'll never stop feeling sad about not realizing his dreams. It teaches him to not care about what others think he is capable or not capable of doing and just do his own thing.

The Institute also has great support, also including the newest hearing aid tech. Cochlear implants only became widely available when he was finishing high school and despite many people celebrating being Deaf on campus, there's many people who also opted to have surgery or implants to help restore or conserve their hearing.

By the time Bradley gets the cochlear implants (funded mostly by Mav and Ice), he's not that set on having them, actually, not as much as he was when he was seventeen and they just came onto the market for kids. In fact, he only wears them for the purpose of work (he gets a civilian contractor job for the US Air Force of all places...) and prefers to have them off when he's at home or around people who know ASL (which is most of their family now). Being deaf is part of him, a part that is bigger and more settled than the part that used to wish he was 'normal'.

He only swaps the implants for a newer model sometime around the early 2010s because they can actually meet the FAA regulations and at the age of twenty-seven, Bradley is finally able to get his pilot license and then a commercial pilot license.

Now the hangster bit...

TG:M happens — Mav is there with the team obviously but Bradley is kinda around him because he's been contracted by the Navy the past few years (kinda like Charlie) and working with Mav in China Lake before.

Bradley shares the office with Mav and they hang around whenever Mav isn't training the Daggers — the whole group is kind of speculating on who he is — and Jake actually meets him once when he's looking for Mav and comes to the office.

He makes an ass out of himself (because this is Jake Sersin we're talking about) and basically shouts at Bradley, who is not wearing his hearing aids at the moment (he's doing paperwork, near the airfield, it's easier to focus if he doesn't hear ever single aircraft taking off) and gets super humbled when Bradley looks at him and only then clicks his very visible external processor on, and then asks him if he needed something.

After the mission, Mav and the Daggers stay close, work and outside as well (trauma bonding, even though Bradley calls them his little ducklings). This means Bradley is around them a lot, too.

Around the Daggers, Bradley wears the cochlear implants almost all the time, just for the sake of being able to be part of the conversation and having a better grip on the background noise and to know what is happening around him.

Now, this is when Jake gets a little... enamored.

Bradley is objectively cool, okay? He's deaf, but he's a commercial pilot and a stunt pilot on the side, he likes to jump out of planes (for research), he volunteers as an ASL interpreter and is certified to interpret. He's hot as well and Jake's brain overheats anytime he answers his half-flirty remarks with the same, if not bigger, force.

And Jake is a bit smitten, but Bradley never really makes a move. He's obviously contemplating making a move himself — Bradley is chill, even if it was a no, he'd not make a big deal out of it — but he's also his CO's kid and the COMPACFLT's kid and like, Jake doesn't wanna be the one to cross the line.

It's Mav who tells him — when he notices him staring at Bradley playing piano (and isn't that super cool? he's deaf and he can play piano better than anyone Jake knows) — that if he wants it, he should go for it because Bradley is too shy to make the first move, ever.

So one evening when they're at a barbecue at Mav's, Jake stays late, basically the only one left, and he is helping Bradley bring the dirty dishes into the kitchen, and Mav leaves them alone (giving him a goddamn wink as he steps out...)

The second Bradley begins with, Look, I'm flattered, he knows he's in a losing position, but tries to negotiate anyway — because he can see Bradley does like him, and for whatever reason, he just needs to point out it's enough and that he can see they have some chemistry and he promises to treat him to a good time if he gives him a chance.

So Bradley tells him how it is — he hasn't dated anyone who isn't deaf/hoh since he was nineteen and he doesn't plan to. Jake is great and he's sure they'd have great chemistry, but he's not the type to do the casual bit and he's pretty sure Jake will never make the effort he needs him to make because he doesn't understand how big part of Bradley being deaf is.

Jake denies it — so Bradley starts signing at him the alphabet (the first thing people learn when they learn ASL usually) and Jake just blinks at him dumbly, proving his point.

Obviously, Jake doesn't get it and says exactly what Bradley expected him to say, Well, I don't really need to know it, you've got the hearing aids.

And to Bradley, it proves that he's either not thinking of them as something long-term or that he just doesn't get what Bradley being deaf means, long-term, for his life. You realize I don't wear them all the time, right? Not at home, not around family, not around most of my friends. Wearing them constantly is exhausting. What will you do when I take them off? Or do you just expect me to never take them off?

Jake goes home and that's it, really.

It's sometime later, a few weeks or a couple of months. Jake's never brought up going on a date again and Bradley made peace with that — he was right and Jake either didn't want to commit or the effort was too big and he's no longer interested in him. Shame, but it's not the first time it happened — mainly why Bradley doesn't date people outside the deaf/hoh community anymore, they don't understand, he's cured or acceptable kind of deaf to them, because of the implants but when they come off — he's deficient.

The Daggers are sitting down with Mav when Bradley comes home and they're in the middle of a conversation and Bradley doesn't want to interrupt Bob so he just asks Mav via signing if he ate dinner already. Before Mav answers, Jake says out loud, We ordered in, leftovers are in the fridge.

And fair enough, Bradley goes to the kitchen and he's unpacking gyro from the plastic container when it hits him — Jake just understood his signing. And like, what the hell.

He doesn't want to make a scene so he waits until Jake is a little bit more alone (not really possible with their group).

When Jake notices him staring, he just goes, Why are you looking at me like that? Do I have something on my face?

And Bradley feels a bit stupid, but he signs the same thing he asked Mav before and waits for some kind of answer and Jake just says, Shit, and gets all red in the face.

So Bradley just starts signing. How long, why didn't tell me, what the hell, and all that. Because why didn't Jake told him he could understand, that he knows ASL?

And Jake just stares at him. You're going way too fast, I'm not that good at it yet

And Bradley stops and stares at him dumbly. Yet?

Sheepishly, Jake's face gets even redder, and he's avoiding Bradley's gaze as he says, I was gonna tell you once I can actually communicate and not just know a few words and phrases.

You know it's going to take months, right? I took me months and I was learning for hours every day and practicing with my dad all the time.

Well, I assumed you meant I need to know it if I want to take you out so, y'know...

And Bradley just looks at this dumb dumb man and just maybe falls in love a little bit. You don't need to be fluent in a whole new language to date me, just acknowledging you'll have to at least try is enough.

It's actually more than enough. Maybe Bradley is a bit fond of Jake, sue him, but it's more than enough to give him a chance.

Oh, is all Jake says, okay then.

And Jake clears his throat, steps a little bit away and takes a minute to revise in his head, and then signs,

DATE-YOU-WANT-GO-WITH-ME

It's a little clumsy and a bit slow, but Bradley takes his time to slow down and just signs YES in reply

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

i've been having a couple of downer days recently, and i kept looking for a verse i haven't read thrice yet for some comfort, but you're age! gap verse has been a pleasant escape even though its not what i was looking for. you're writing never fails to make me feel better ari 💕💕

Here's how they met 💜

Bruce sighed. He was starting to hate talk show appearances, but at least this one had never been too bad. Angelique was chatty and fun but not grating. Her show ran as school let out. So grannies watched after their naps and kids watched getting off the bus. She ran a little something for everyone.

He assumed he was here for the grannies.

"I'm so sorry I'm late the shoot ran over and I couldn't get away."

The voice caught his attention. Not the fake starlet over dramatic gushing, but genuine distress. And he half turned to look. You looked like you came from a shoot. Straight off the pages of a glossy magazine.

"No worries, Miss Y/L/N we got your call in enough time. We'll just touch up your face and you'll be good to go," the manager greeting you, said.

Bruce smiled a little. Clearly, you were a frequent guest. You thanked him profusely and trotted off. Not needing to be told where to go. And as you go, there's several crew members you can greet by name. You've either been here a lot or worked with them before. Or both. But, it's endearing.

He turned back around listening to Angelique get her updates on where production was. "-And Y/N is in hair and makeup as we speak."

"Oh, bless her heart," Angelique said. "That's what I get calling her last minute." She turned to Bruce and held out her hand, "Are you ready?" she asked.

"As I'll ever be," he chuckled taking her hand, "You know these sorts of things aren't my forte. My oldest on the other hand-"

"Don't you worry about a thing," Angelique reassured him, patting the hand she was holding before letting it go. "Y/N is an old pro- Ah! speak of the devil!" She swooped over and kissed you on either cheek. "You look absolutely divine, is that one of yours?"

"You know it is," you tell her laughing, returning the gesture. "As if I could walk in and NOT wear my own design, you'd never let me live it down."

"So true. Darling," she said grabbing your hand and pulling you over to Bruce, "I want you to meet Bruce. You'll be on stage together today. You know it's charity week and I though it would be great to highlight all the work you do for school arts programs along side the Wayne foundation," she said.

"Hello," you tell him, holding out your hand.

"Pleased to meet you," he said, taking the hand you offered warmly. Giving you his most charming smile. You did look good. And he could tell they hadn't done much to your face or your hair. "I'm a big fan of your work," he commented.

Your smile didn't falter but your eyes narrowed slightly. And Bruce cringed internally Shit. She thinks I mean the Playboy spread, he thought. "Your last movie, the drama, especially. The range of emotion and the depth- It really was incredible."

"Thank you," you tell him. "It was challenging but I really enjoyed it."

Bruce felt his face heat when Angelique coughed and he remembered hearing that you had the ability to make someone feel like they were the only person in the room. He'd forgotten for just a second. In just that brief moment that he was waiting for an appearance. "It showed I uh- my kids made fun of me when I cried at the end-"

"Aww, Angelique gushed, "This is amazing. you guys keep up this chemistry. It'll go totally viral." She bounced on the balls of her feet and kissed your cheek again, "I'll have someone bring you a coffee, sweetie. You're going to start wilting soon."

And before you could say anything or Bruce could offer to go and get it for you himself, Angelique had bustled off to find and assistant to give marching orders to.

[flawssy-227]

The Beginning | a Joel x Babysitter fic

pairing: joel miller x babysitter!reader

wc: 2.6k

summary: how you start babysitting for Joel and Sarah.

warnings: no smut, still 18+ pls!, no outbreak!au, Sarah lives!au, small unspecified age gap, longing, small feelings developing, mostly written in a couple of hours and poorly edited lol, moldboard was hastily created by me to reflect ~vibes~, not physical characteristics

a/n: s/o @saradika-graphics for the dividers. still dusting off the cobwebs, but thank you to everyone who read part 1 and left feedback. I think I will keep writing for this pair–– less of a 'series' and more so vignettes of their lives. feel free to lmk what you would like to see next. and let me know what you think :)

You rolled your neck slowly, trying to release the tension that had been building up the last few hours. You had been working at a bookstore in downtown Austin all summer, trying to get acclimated to your new city before you start your grad program and to help earn a little cash as a cushion–you knew you were about to be way too busy with long readings and lengthy essays to work the inconvenient shifts here.

It should’ve been an easy gig, working at an independent bookstore. You really thought you would enjoy it when you got the call saying you’d been hired. The hours were nice and the environment was warm, earthy and classic Texan. It got slightly busy on the weekends and in the evenings, and there was a small coffee bar that attracted teens and students alike. It would be totally fine if it weren’t for your dick of a manager, Todd.

He was in the middle of lecturing you about cleaning the espresso machine and labeling the milk, just for you to remind him that it wasn’t even your job, and that Erica, his assistant manager still hadn’t trained you on the bar, insisting that despite your previous restaurant experience, that operating the espresso machine was a little out of your wheelhouse. You tried to resist the overwhelming urge to roll your eyes at his droning when you saw a little girl with gorgeous curly hair walk into the bookstore alone.

You tracked her movements as she maneuvered around the store comfortably and found the history section, tactfully looking over titles before her eyes brightened in recognition as she reached for a hardcover that was comically large for her small hands.

Todd was still yapping in your ear, asking if you understood what he was saying, prompting you to let out a halfhearted yup and a silent wish he would leave you alone. You looked at him, offering a half hearted customer service smile, one that probably got you the job in the first place before mumbling something about restocking some returns.

You made your way over to the little girl who was now sitting in the reading nook in the back of the store, golden Austin sunlight highlighting her face.

“Hey,” you offered, making her look up. You notice how she cautiously tracked your face, glancing down at your employee lanyard before she relaxed the slightest bit. “What’re you reading?”

She lifted up the cover so you could see. “Hidden Figures.” She stayed silent after that, curiously waiting to see if you would speak more.

“That’s a good book,” you responded. “Ever seen the movie?”

My dad says I gotta read the book before I watch the movie,” she replied, eyes rolling the slightest bit, making you both giggle.

“Oh,” you laugh, “your dad is one of those?”

She nods eagerly, guards lowering a bit. “Used to not be,” the girl shrugs. “I got put into the gifted program for school this year though. Think he’s pushing me.”

Gifted made sense. What kid her age was comfortable enough walking into bookstores on their own to grab non-fiction history novels and talking to strangers? You sure weren’t that way.

“Where’s your dad anyway?” you finally ask. The store was surprisingly empty for a Saturday afternoon but you weren’t too keen on leaving a girl her age to fend for herself.

The little girl was just about to open her mouth before a man who appeared to be in his 30s stood before you both. You could see his chest moving up and down, like he had run into the bookstore and was trying to get his breathing under control. He looked upset and irritated and it immediately put you on edge.

“Sarah,” he hissed, completely ignoring you and looking at the girl you were chatting with. You assumed this was her dad.

“You can’t keep doing this,” he scoffed at her. “I told you we could walk in here when I finished up my errands. Stop bein’ so damn impatient.”

Sarah was completely unperturbed by his tone, essentially disregarding it. It was honestly comical how bothered he was and how little she seemed to care. “Sorry, dad,” she offered, a brilliant smile on her face, one you were sure got her out of trouble more often than not. “Just came to grab the book.” She flipped over to the cover, just like she did with you moments earlier. “Made a friend.”

At Sarah’s gesture towards you, her dad focused his attention on you for the first time since walking into the store. You offered a shy smile and stood up from the nook before you offered him your hand and introduced yourself. 

“Joel,” he said back, eyeing you in the same suspicious way Sarah had when you first greeted her. 

Some genetics, you thought to yourself of the similarity, but you tried not to let his intensity get to you. He was gorgeous, broad shoulders stretching indecently across a threadbare grey t-shirt and big hands tucked coolly in a perfectly worn pair of Levi’s. His brown eyes were intense on you, making you avert your gaze as you felt heat creep across your cheeks. Dammit, he was attractive. 

“I was just keeping an eye on her,” you offered, not getting a response in return. “I should, uh, get back to work,” you respond after a minute, the stare and silence from Joel just a bit much to handle. “Enjoy the book,” you say to Sarah, before walking away and trying to remember what the hell you were supposed to be doing.

“C’mon hon, VIP section right here!”

You had let your roommate, Avery, convince you to go drinking with her tonight. You’d been in Austin for a couple of months but you hadn’t gone out too much. Instead, you were focused on your annoying little bookstore gig and working through the massive reading list you were assigned before you started your first semester. Plus, outside of Avery, you didn’t really know anyone in Texas.

You looked at what she had just referred to as the ‘VIP section’ and scoffed. She wasn’t too specific when she invited you out tonight, but looking at Avery and her trendy gold jewelry, slinky outfit and YSL purse, you thought you might be going somewhere a little bit nicer than the sticky dive bar you were currently in. 

You scoffed and swiped the crumbs from the cracked leather booth before you slipped in. “Some VIP,” you mumbled.

Avery quirked a smile at you. “What was that? Austin’s latest transplant isn’t a fan of what we have to offer?”

You rolled your eyes at her goading. Despite not hanging out much, you did really enjoy living with Avery. You had been randomly placed together via some roommate matching app and you were surprised at how it had worked out so far. She was clean and respectful. She was out a lot, but never really brought the party home. As far as you knew, she was Texan, born and raised, but this girl was bougie. She did barre classes in the mornings and wore designer pieces to work. You just could not understand why the hell she dragged you to this dive bar.

“No,” you scoff. “Just wondering if this is the place you’re always raving about.”

She hummed quietly, like she had a secret she couldn’t wait to spill, before a cute server came by to grab your drink orders. You finally took a look around the dive, disregarding the kitschy and chaotic decor that has probably been here since before you were born, noticing the patrons. Mostly men, a mix of what appeared to be the most attractive male models cosplaying as blue collar workers and others who looked like they were just in an episode of Yellowstone. It was kind of insane, you’d never seen this many attractive men in one place before. You got it now.

Avery is almost giddy as she watches you take in all the guests. “See anything you like?”

You both laugh. “Okay,” you sigh. “I might understand why you like this place so much.”

“Not only is everyone here so fucking hot,” she giggled. “But the drinks are sickeningly cheap.”

You and Avery were having too good of a time, laughing and tipsy enough before you made your way to the pool table, convinced you wouldn’t embarrass yourselves. A few guys had checked the two of you out, another anonymously even bought you a round of drinks, but no one actually came up to either of you to speak. It was mildly disappointing but you suppose that’s what the apps are for.

Avery was focused on lining up her next shot when someone put two quarters on the table. “I got next,” he smirked.

He fit in exactly with the other patrons of the bar. Tall, dark and handsome. He actually looked a lot like the dad you met at the bookstore the other day. Just leaner, with longer hair and–

“Here’s your beer, Tommy.”

Your breath hitched at the sight. There he was. The dad from the bookstore. Joel. He looked the same, just a little more flushed, like he had spent all day in the sun. He finally looked at you and froze before quirking a small smile in your direction.

Next to you, Avery squealed and embraced the man who had just claimed the pool table.

“Tommy!” she exclaimed, letting herself be picked up and spun around. “Missed you,” she said as she nuzzled herself into his neck. You focused your attention on the two of them, trying to convince yourself you didn’t feel the heat of Joel’s stare. 

How the hell did Avery know these guys? You were looking at her quizzically, trying to remember if she ever mentioned a boyfriend to you, just as he set her down. Avery reached for you without fully releasing her hold on the man.

“Babe, this is my friend Tommy and his brother, Joel.”

You shook Tommy’s hand and then did the same to Joel. “Nice to meet you,” you said, giving each other a knowing look.

After a round of pool where you and Avery quickly lost against Tommy and Joel, the two of them offered to grab another round for everyone before they disappeared for a while, leaving you and Joel tucked into the same cracked booth where you started the night.

It wasn’t uncomfortable, being left to sit next to Joel while Avery and Tommy did whatever it was they were doing while they should’ve been grabbing your drinks. He had been funny during pool, a little different than the concerned and irritated dad you met over the weekend. You couldn’t help but notice how relaxed he looked when he smiled. Beautiful, really.

Trying not to stare too long, you broke the silence. “So,” you offered, “how long do you think they’ll be?”

Joel chuckled dryly, rubbing a hand down his face and glancing to the bar. “Well,” he took a sip of his beer, “I wouldn’t hold my breath waitin’ for those two to come back. ‘Specially since they ain’t nowhere near the bar.” He smiled at you, and dammit if it didn’t make your heart beat a little bit faster. “You’ve known Avery for long?”

You shook your head, taking a small sip of your drink just to give yourself a distraction. “No, I just moved in with her like two months ago. Actually moved to Austin two months ago. Brand new.” You smile shyly at his appraising gaze.

“Well if there’s anyone to be a part of the welcoming committee, it’s probably Avery. Swear that girl knows everyone and everything in this town.”

You laugh at that. “Yeah, I’m kinda getting that sense.” You took another sip of your drink. You were happy you didn’t have to work the opening shift tomorrow with how strong and cheap these cocktails were. “Maybe she can help me find a different job.”

“Really?” Joel asked. “Not likin’ the bookstore?”

You shook your head no, offering him a half hearted explanation about your manager being a bit of a prick and the hours not coinciding with the school schedule you just got. “But it’ll be fine. I just have to be patient and wait for something that’s a better fit.”

Joel nodded, trying not to be obvious as he watched the way your lips pursed around the little black cocktail straws, or how you let out a happy sigh at the sweet taste of the mixer. He thought back to how Sarah kept mentioning how nice you were when they left the bookstore Saturday, asking him why he wasn’t nicer to you, why he had been so stand offish, and then promptly adding that he should’ve asked for your number, much to his chagrin. She had been really wanting him to start dating again. He had to give it to his daughter, you were really pretty, gorgeous even, and definitely sweet. Smart too, if you were going to graduate school at UT. Sarah had a better understanding of his type than he did. But he didn’t have time to date, not right now. He and Tommy finally started their own contracting business, and between liability insurance and taxes and 1099s and the customer service aspect of it all, he had been swamped and a little overwhelmed, if he was being honest. He could use some help, personally and professionally. He only came out for a drink tonight with his brother because Sarah was sleeping over at a friend's house. 

He paused for a moment and thought about how he was going to need a little more assistance with Sarah at the start of the school year. He knew some of the other parents at her school had nanny’s who did the pickups and drop offs that were at incredibly inconvenient times to anyone who actually had a job. He had been reliant on his mom and some of the parents of Sarah’s friends to help him pick up the slack for far too long. He decided not to think too hard and just ask. He needed help with Sarah. You liked Sarah. Sarah liked you. That’s all this was. Definitely no other reason he was even considering this.

“You know, Sarah really enjoyed talking to you.”

“Really?” you ask, smiling at the memory of his daughter from your brief encounter. “She was really sweet. Smart too.”

“Yeah, listen, I could use some help with her starting in a few weeks.”

“Oh yeah?” you questioned. “What? You want me to babysit?”

He smiled bashfully at you. “Honestly? Yeah. She liked you, a whole lot, and I could use the help a few nights a week,” he shrugged, taking another pull of his beer. 

Would you ever consider, uh, babysitting?” The worst you could do is say no, he figured.

Your face turned in surprise. You were intrigued at the idea of seeing Joel again, but this wasn’t exactly the context you had in mind.

“Babysitting might not be the right word for it. Maybe, more like a nanny,” he added. “Only if it works with your school schedule,” he said finally, trying to read your expression as you thought about his offer.

You couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed that he didn’t ask you out for dinner or at least a coffee. Babysitting. You could use the money though, and something a little more flexible than the bookstore. And hanging out with Sarah while you did your readings for school didn’t sound too bad. Why the hell not? 

You smiled up at Joel, brown eyes peering into yours. “You know, me and Sarah will probably gang up on you, join forces and take over your house.”

Joel grinned at the idea, flashes of you in his house, acting like you owned the place with Sarah smiling next to you filling his head. “I won’t mind darlin’. I won’t mind at all.”

[captainsophiestark]

Couples Costume

Stefan Salvatore x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Fandom: The Vampire Diaries

Summary: Stefan is dead set against dressing up for Halloween, but his girlfriend might just have found a way to outplay him.

Word Count: 1,262

Category: Fluff

Requested by @cncownerxstefansalvatorefanxstay for a fluffy Halloween with Stefan! This prompt kinda possessed me for a minute until it was done being written, so I figured what better day to double up on fic posting than Friday the 13th? Hope you like it!

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"Okay! What do you think? Nadja and Laszlo or Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf? One is more fitting but the other is funnier."

I held up the costumes in question so Stefan, my boyfriend, could get a good look. He glanced up from his reading with a bewildered expression, his eyes scanning each of the costumes before landing on me with a frown.

"What is this for?" he asked. My mouth dropped open.

"For Halloween! Obviously! Come on, Stefan, we have to dress up."

"No. No, we don't," he said, a laughing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as his eyes dropped back to his reading. I narrowed my eyes at him.

"Are you seriously telling me you're not going to dress up with me for Halloween?"

"I... think I am telling you that, yeah."

"But what about the trick-or-treaters who come to the door! We want to be the cool people with awesome costumes, don't we?"

"Mmm.... no."

I sighed dramatically, letting both costumes drop to my sides. I narrowed my eyes at my boyfriend, but he didn't flinch, not looking up from his reading.

"I'll support you if you decide to dress up," he finally said. "But I'm not putting on a costume."

"Fine. I guess I can't force you," I said, flopping my arms dramatically as I turned away from Stefan, a smirk on my face. This was not over by a longshot.

A few hours later, as the sun started to set and it was time to get ready for trick-or-treaters, Stefan wandered out of the bathroom with his shirt off. We were hosting a big Halloween party later, so we needed to be dressed and ready for both.

"You decided not to dress up?" asked Stefan, running a suspicious eye over my outfit. I just shrugged.

"It's not as much fun if you don't do it with me."

Stefan smirked a little as he moved back towards he bed. "The guilt trip's not gonna work on me."

"Not even if I ramp it up to an eleven?"

He snorted, not bothering to respond as he surveyed the outfit I'd laid out for him on the bed. Once he was apparently satisfied the shirt wouldn't secretly turn into a ruffled monstrosity befitting Laszlo Cravensworth, he pulled it on and buttoned it up, then slipped on the gray pea coat I'd left with it.

With my heavy, light brown jacket and headband, my plan was officially complete. I smiled and stepped closer to Stefan, fixing his collar before running my hands through his hair a few times, spiking it up even more. When I'd finished, I stepped back and gave him a beaming smile.

"You look great," I said. He smiled, then leaned in to kiss me. We lingered for a minute before he pulled back.

"You look great too."

We shared a smile, then I held out a hand, which Stefan took.

"Come on, we have trick-or-treaters to greet."

I pulled him after me as we headed downstairs. Damon, Elena, Caroline, and Bonnie were setting up for the party, but I'd volunteered Stefan and I to answer the door for anyone who came by.

We didn't have to wait long before the doorbell rang. I smiled and grabbed the bowl of candy, Stefan right behind me as we opened the door. A group of kids with their high school-aged chaperon stood at the door beaming, candy baskets in-hand.

"Trick or treat!" they chorused. I smiled.

"You guys have some great costumes! What do we have, a vampire, a Jedi, Spock..."

"What are you dressed as?" asked a little girl towards the front. I beamed, mentally thanking her for the opening I'd been waiting for.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Stefan, ready to tell her we hadn't dressed up. I spoke up before he got the chance.

"We're Bella and Edward from Twilight!"

I felt Stefan tense next to me as realization washed over him, which only made me smile wider as the kids beamed.

"That's a good costume!" said the girl in the front.

"You look just like him," the boy next to her agreed, nodding at Stefan.

"Thanks! Let's get you guys your candy, your outfits deserve some extra treats."

We smiled and waved as we gave the kids their candy, and I noticed Stefan slipped the vampire an extra bar or two. We waved as they headed off, and as soon as I shut the door, Stefan turned to me, hands on his hips and a stern look on his face.

"Bella and Edward? Seriously?"

"Yeah!" I replied, not even a little bit phased. "It's a low key costume, enough that you didn't even realize you were wearing it, but I still get to do a couples costume with my boyfriend. It's the best of both worlds."

Stefan sighed a deep, heavy, long-suffering sigh.

"I'm changing before the party."

"No!" I cried, reaching out to grab his arm. He hadn't made to move away yet, but I wanted to be ready if he did. "Please wear it for the party too. Please? For me?"

I batted my eyelashes and gave Stefan my best adorable guilt-trip look. He stared back, his expression not budging an inch, until finally he sighed again, throwing his head back and staring at the ceiling.

"Fine."

"Yes! Thank you." I pulled him to me, and grudgingly, he wrapped his arms around my waist as a small smile tugged its way onto his face. "You're the best boyfriend ever, Stef."

"I know."

He smiled again, then leaned down to kiss me. I leaned into him, and I think we would've stayed that way a lot longer if we hadn't been interrupted by another ring of the doorbell.

Reluctantly, Stefan and I pulled apart, sharing a smile.

"We should probably get that," I said. He hummed, not quite letting me go yet.

"I don't know if I can. You're like my own personal brand of heroin."

I laughed, which got a beaming smile out of Stefan even as I finally slipped out of his grasp.

"I can't believe you paid enough attention when we watched the movies to remember that but not enough to realize I was putting you in the same costume Edward wore!"

Stefan shrugged. "Maybe I just wanted to let you have this one."

I paused, narrowing my eyes at Stefan to try to decide if he really had put up with the costume for me, knowing the whole time what I'd been doing, or if he was just messing with me. Before I could decide, he reached past me to swing the door open and another group of kids greeted us with smiles on their faces.

"Trick or treat!"

"Wow, another vampire costume. There seem to be a lot of those this year," he said, smiling at the kid in question. "I think yours is the best I've seen, though."

The kid absolutely beamed at the compliment, and I moved up next to Stefan as we chatted with the trick-or-treaters and handed out the candy. One of the kids actually guessed our costume this time, and Stefan was the one to tell them they were right, we were Bella and Edward. With his arm around me as we talked with each and every kid who came to the door, I could tell Stefan was warming up to the couple's costume idea, whether or not he'd been aware of what he was getting into in the first place.

I just hoped that warm feeling would be enough to carry him through whatever inevitable bad jokes Damon made at his expense all night once the kids were gone and the party began.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury

TVD/TO Taglist: @elenavampire21

[maxdibert]

Ahem. Crumbs of Kid Severus headcannons/scenarios? 🤲🏼 Crumbs for a poor lad 🤲🏼?

Ahhhh, I love this super refreshing question after talking about such serious topics because Severus headcanons are basically my cardio.

• Growing up in a poor neighborhood, he was very used to violence, and as a kid, there were more than a few times when people tried to rob or even mug him. That’s when accidental magic would kick in, and the bullies would run away.

• He probably earned a reputation as the weird kid no one should mess with because of that.

• On top of that, Tobias didn’t have the best reputation either, which gave the Snapes a bad name in general.

• Since Eileen didn’t want her son to feel bad, she started telling him about the magical world and how wonderful it was to be a wizard—a strategy to help Severus dream of a better place where he could feel accepted.

• Severus was always intellectually curious and eager to learn, so in addition to asking his mother all sorts of things about the magical world, he would also beg her for books to read and expand his knowledge.

• The Muggle environment around him was so depressing that he began to idealize the magical world from a very young age as a way to escape everything around him.

• Tobias couldn’t stand that his son was some kind of “sissy” with his nose always buried in books, so he tried to “make a man out of him” with typical macho stuff like taking him to hang out with his work buddies at the pub or teaching him how to fight—classic 1960s dad behavior.

• Severus thought all of it was the most uncivilized nonsense, which infuriated his father because he felt deeply threatened by such disdain.

• Tobias would brag that Muggles were far better than wizards as a way to compete with what Eileen was teaching their son. He tried to show Severus the “good things about being a Muggle,” like TV or movies.

• Severus ended up hating movies because of this. He was never the least bit interested, as his father would force him to watch terrible films or TV programs that only reminded him of traumatic moments in his life.

• Since the Muggle world felt so depressing because of his father and the environment he lived in, Severus began to lean more and more into his wizard identity. Tobias didn’t tolerate this, and it often led to extremely violent fights.

• Eileen was often so depressed that she wouldn’t even get out of bed, so Severus learned to cook at a very young age because his father demanded dinner be ready when he got home from work.

• The one thing Tobias taught Severus—dysfunctional as it was—was to never let anyone walk over him and to lash out in an extremely aggressive way when someone tried to mess with him. Severus used this against anyone who tried to bully him in the neighborhood, and later, he used it in Hogwarts too.

• Tobias gave him his first cigarette at the age of 11, during the summer before he started at Hogwarts, because “smoking is for men.”

• He used to fantasize about becoming a super-powerful wizard so he could kill his father.

• His relationship with Eileen was complicated. On one hand, he appreciated that his mother was a witch and that thanks to her, he could have a destiny beyond working in a factory and becoming another version of his father. On the other hand, he resented her for never using her powers against Tobias to protect herself or her son.

• He went to a public Muggle school and skipped half of his classes. His parents never found out.

• Eileen often sent him to fetch Tobias when he stayed at the pub late into the night, and Severus hated those moments because his father was absolutely unbearable when drunk.

• He never learned how to ride a bike, but Tobias did teach (force) him to drive a car.