#i mostly wanted to practice lines..

[welcometogrouchland]

ANOTHER SKETCH DUMP! Featuring more of me playing with lineless art. Batman reborn era trio (dick, damian and steph) I miss you...when will you return from war. Also featuring Steph designs bc I've seen ppl dissatisfied w/ her current look, some good mom Talia, and Jason Todd poetry club. Duke is confused not that Jason would start a poetry club but that he'd have such mid poetry opinions. (ID in Alt)

[turtletoads]

halo doodles from the last two weeks

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

$20 well spent

art by @descendantofthesparrow

[transgods]

pjo adaptations will never have my boy argus 😭💔

[deathofacupid]

★ STRAWBERRIES AND CIGARETTES. all the times gojo desperately wants to kiss you, and the one where he finally does.

ft. satoru gojo x reader.

warnings — loser!reader / popular!gojo. smoking, kissing + making out. consumption of alcohol, mentions of sex, lots of cheesy banter. sato is a man down bad ! slow-burn kinda but mostly just very sfw fluff :p

(呪術廻戦) : note — 7k words + in my fluff era again awooga

୨୧ ⌞ act one: strawberry shampoo. ⌝

gojo rarely sees you. not often, truly. in class is different, but even then, it's infrequent.

you always wear a bored, distant look, as if you'd rather be anywhere but here. he suspects you simply don't care. the professor's words wash over you, in one ear and out the other.

most people don't notice your frequent absences. gojo does. he always does. the empty seat at the back of the room never escapes his eye.

it feels emptier, too, despite your quiet nature. he's unsure why. why he's so captivated by you. but when you are present, he stares. trying to be subtle, yet desperate to memorize every detail: the curve of your lashes, the perceived softness of your lips.

perceived softness, he should clarify. gojo isn't a creep. he doesn't spend every waking moment fantasizing about kissing you. (only every other waking moment.)

he knows you know he exists. you've exchanged words a few times, straddling the line between acquaintance and stranger. it's odd, but he finds a strange peace when you converse.

you're funny, kind, caring. a good listener, with a voice like honey he could listen to all day. god, he loves your voice. he wishes you'd speak more. if you did, people would listen. there's a lilt in your voice that makes him.

he's your opposite. you keep to yourself, wired earbuds always in. gojo has friends — many friends. he thrives on company and conversation.

he's got his whole crew: nanami, shoko, geto, haibara, utahime. even toji and sukuna, on a good day.

academically, he's a powerhouse. top of the class, loaded with extracurriculars, tests always returned with a perfect score.

and you? you're number two. he's certain you could be first, but you simply don't care. no ambition to be the best, no need to prove yourself.

you're just… there. you show up, ace your exams, and leave. he'd be threatened by the competition, but you don't seem to want it. he doubts you even realize how close you are to taking his spot.

it's infuriating. so much potential, so little drive.

yet, it's utterly enticing. you're enticing.

it's a shock when he pulls into the gas station in the dead of night, needing kikufuku because geto devoured the last of it, and there you are. perched on the ledge behind the worn building.

he doesn't see your face at first, but he recognizes the leather angel kiss bag you practically live with, adorned with sonny angels and charms.

the grocery bag falls limply in his hand. he takes a few steps, stopping just behind you. he calls your name out, quiet and hesitant, a rare tone for gojo. there's a crinkle of foil from you, and you turn, startled.

"gojo?" you inquire, head tilted.

"uh, hey," he manages a gentle smile. "what're you doing here?"

a small smile touches your lips. "hi. i could ask you the same."

the white-haired boy chuckles. "dickhead roommate ate all my snacks."

your quiet laugh is beautiful, he thinks. "yeah? well, i ran out of cigarettes." you place one between your lips. sliding over on the ledge, you offer a silent invitation, which he accepts.

you're close. the scent of your saccharine strawberry shampoo fills his senses.

"want one?" you offer. he shakes his head. gojo doesn't smoke, rarely drinks. instead, he watches you inhale, then exhale, wispy gray curls dissolving into the dark.

the silence between you is mellow, not awkward. in the dim streetlamp glow, your lips look coated in strawberry-red gloss, leaving a stain on the white of the cigarette.

"sure you don't want a hit?" you ask, sensing his heavy, focused gaze.

and because he'd do anything at the sound of that voice, he nods, changing his mind.

satoru gojo has game, no doubt. one hundred percent. he's smooth with women, but you're not just any woman. you're you, and with you, his game dissolves. all his past charm feels irrelevant, meaningless.

it's just you. you and him. he's not sure how to navigate it, and his attempt only leaves him embarrassed.

his eyes fix on the red smudge. he presses his own lips directly onto that spot. this isn't even a kiss, but an odd euphoria floods him, as if he's never kissed anyone before.

gojo's eyes flutter shut. he takes a quick, deep inhale, lasting only seconds before he's spluttering, coughing. a dry, charcoal-like feeling enters his lungs, leaving his throat dry. "jesus," he winces, handing it back.

you giggle, not teasing, but amused. he echoes the sound, and you both dissolve into laughter.

at two in the morning, everything's funny. your hands brush his as you take the cigarette.

"a— are you okay?" you ask, trying to compose yourself.

"yeah!" he clears his throat. "i mean, yeah. yes. i'm good."

"never smoked?"

"nah. coach would kill me," he chuckles, and you hum. sometimes, he forgets he's that picture-perfect, well-rounded student. in these moments, everything else fades.

"yeah," you say, meeting his gaze. his eyes are already on you.

"yeah," he repeats, smiling.

and then he remembers your closeness. his heart, if it ever slowed, races. should he do it?

should he kiss you?

you're so sweet, so pretty, right there — so close. he leans in, instinctual, like his body is drawn to yours.

and maybe you're leaning in, too?

just like that, gojo doesn't have time to tell, because his phone rings, a bleary call from his confused roommate.

just like that, the moment shatters. gojo pulls back, farther than before. the sweet scent of your shampoo vanishes, the press of his thighs against yours, knees knocking, gone.

you wave goodbye. he waves goodbye.

and just like that, you're back to being the girl in his class. the girl behind the gas station.

୨୧ ⌞ act two: pro-bono deals. ⌝

gojo doesn't see it coming. he knows you're here often enough, a quiet fixture in the library's familiar hum. there's not much he knows about you, not really, but what little he's gathered, he clings to like scripture.

he knows you like to read. that's a given.

he knows the cute thing you do with your nose when you're deep in thought, a slight scrunch, lips pursed just so.

he knows you hate writing in pen. he offered you one once, when you were caught without anything to write with, but you’d asked for a pencil instead. something about being accident-prone, you'd said.

he knows your handwriting is god-awful, an illegible scrawl that makes him abandon any idea of feigning interest in your notes as an excuse to talk. he figures it’s because your brain moves faster than your hands can keep up.

he knows you like flowers, sometimes catching you pausing by the daisies near the fountain on the way to class.

these little things, these quiet quirks you have, he catalogues them meticulously. they're important to him, these small habits you might not even notice yourself.

it's what makes it so real, so tangible. it makes him feel like he knows you, as pathetic as that might sound.

what you don't like is studying. so, when he sees your nose buried deep in the familiar green shade of a physics textbook, he's got every right to be a little lost. for the entire two and a half years he's known you, gojo has never seen you go out of your way to study.

he shifts his weight, from one foot to another. he could let you be, let you work. or, he could… work with you? would that even be okay? after a dreadful moment of hesitation, he slides into the seat beside you.

you’re surprised to see him; it seems like you always are, when it’s him. nonetheless, a smile touches your face, so it’s a pleasant surprise. "gojo, what's up?"

"just… reading through things, studying for finals," he says, watching you close the book. "you don't mind if i sit here, right?"

"no, not at all," you assure him, waving off his mild concern. "i might go crazy reading this dumb thing alone, anyways."

gojo laughs, and your heavy sigh turns into a little chuckle. "don't like physics?"

"don't like science," you correct, slumping in your seat. you click and un-click your pen, groaning, "it's so boring."

"sounds about right coming from a literature major." he hopes you don't focus on how he knows your major. it seems to be alright, though, because you know his.

playfully, you raise your brows. "seriously, i have no idea how you're planning on doing that for the rest of your life."

"you're not bad at it, are you? i mean, based on, like, your scores and… stuff."

"no. i guess not. all my absences are catching up to me, though, and i'm a little behind."

he supposes it makes sense for you to be struggling a little, at least. he's not sure how you do it in the first place, managing to pass at all without any visible effort. sure, gojo's smart, but he's not that smart. he wouldn't say he's envious, but he wishes he had that ability.

the words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop them. "well, i could help you out," he offers. it comes out as more of a question, which he hates himself for. he also wishes he were more confident around you.

your eyes light up. "really? because field theory's kinda killing me." your gaze flickers from your notes to him, a little skeptical. you’re just not sure why he's hanging out with you in the first place, much less willing to, like, tutor you.

"yeah. if you want," his voice is a little less tentative, this time around.

"like… pro-bono?"

gojo chuckles. "sure. if you're up for aiding me in psychoanalyzing othello."

"you know what?" you ask, sticking your hand out. "deal."

he can't help the grin that spreads across his face, and he accepts your handshake. "deal."

your hand feels soft in his, and the mere touch makes him shiver. gojo inhales quietly, his eyes briefly glancing down to your lips.

it's the same strawberry-colored gloss. like a man down bad, all he can wonder is if it tastes like it, too.

୨୧ ⌞ act three: to get or not to get (some). ⌝

"i think we need to get you laid," shoko remarks, rather casually, the words cutting through the bass and chatter of geto's party. it makes gojo choke on his drink, a cheap beer in a red plastic cup, his grip tightening around it.

geto seems entirely too amused by this, a low laugh rumbling in his chest. "shit, sho, look at him, all red."

"shut up," he seethes, an unnatural flush creeping up his neck. he can feel the heat on his cheeks, a testament to his unexpected embarrassment.

she sighs, a faux melancholy. "poor guy. the clenched jaw tells me all i need to know."

"i don't— alright," gojo groans, quickly giving up. it's useless to argue with them when they're like this. "go ahead, abuse me like the great friends you are."

swirling her vodka with a straw, shoko snorts. "we are good friends, trying to save you from your newfound virginism."

"she's right," geto says pointedly, leaning forward. "you're like a male nun."

weakly, gojo repeats himself, "shut up." just as he’s reaching for his phone, a girl walks by. short dress, long legs, a smile that’s less friendly, more predatory, aimed straight at him. at some point, she would’ve been his ideal type, the kind of easy distraction he gravitated toward.

now? now, he doesn't even bat an eye. shoko looks at geto, a silent communication passing between them. geto looks at shoko. gojo glances up from his pocket, catching the sly, knowing looks his friends are giving him.

"or… maybe he's already getting some," geto nods, a mix of betrayal that he wasn't told and grudging impressment in his voice.

"you dog," shoko chuckles, nudging his arm with her elbow. "c'mon, who?"

"it's not— i'm not—"

geto sighs, "i didn't know we'd be around for the 'someone tied him down' era."

"guys—" he tries to interrupt, but then you walk by. his world narrows, the party noise fading to a dull hum. as if on instinct, his eyes get dreamy, following your path. his world stops, along with time itself, and gojo freezes, completely captivated.

they follow his line of sight, their gazes landing onto where he's looking. no, staring.

if he wasn't caught so off guard by shoko's low whistle, a sharp, clear sound in the sudden quiet of his world, he would have had a second to figure out why you were even here. "damn," she laughs, a genuine, unburdened sound. "if you fumble her, i call dibs."

"...didn't expect that. how do you even know her?" geto asks, a note of surprise in his voice.

"uh, she's in humanities with us," he says, a little annoyed that his friend, who shared classes with you, hadn't noticed you. he can’t imagine that possibility, especially not when you’re all gojo can seem to notice.

shoko squints, like she's trying to recall a distant memory. "oh, yeah. i think i've seen her, sometimes. doesn't she ditch, like, a lot?"

gojo shrugs. "i guess."

"i'm with geto. i wouldn't have pegged that, but congrats."

"it's not like that! we're just…" he’s about to say friends, but the word feels foreign, ill-fitting. he’s not even sure if you're that.

"no, no," geto shakes his head, a knowing smirk on his face. "sex is always great, man."

"we're not—"

the brown-haired girl cuts him off, her attention already elsewhere. "speaking of sex, i think i'm gonna have a go," she murmurs, vaguely gesturing to a pretty, curvy redhead across the room. downing the rest of her drink in one gulp, she's off before either of them gets a word in.

and, because god is good, a group of people walk in through the front door, and geto, ever the host, goes to greet them; it is his party, after all.

gojo sighs, weary, the weight of his friends' teasing momentarily forgotten. then he remembers: you're here. he’s practically racing away from the spot he's in, a desperate, though he hopes nonchalant, attempt to find you. had he been hallucinating? was he so crazy about you that he was now seeing you everywhere? oh, god.

gojo doesn't get any further with his worries, because someone runs into his back.

oh. oh, wait. the familiar, faint scent of strawberry shampoo. he turns around, heart already beating faster, a frantic rhythm against his ribs, when he sees you.

"jesus, i'm sorry. i didn't even see you." you look up, your eyes meeting his, and your apologies vanish into thin air, replaced by a soft, surprised expression. "oh, my god, hi."

"hey," he says, his voice a little breathy, holding his breath as if he’s scared to move, worried you'll simply vanish like a mirage.

"isn't it crazy how we keep running into each other?" you giggle, a light, melodic sound, blowing a strand of hair out of your face.

"yeah, um, small world," gojo nods, straining a smile that feels more like a grimace. you give him a funny look, a slight tilt of your head, but thankfully leave it. "i didn't think this was really your scene?"

your shoulders slump, and you sigh, a familiar weariness in the sound. "it's not. my friend dragged me here, and then left to go have trashy sex with a trashy guy."

"oof," he winces, a sympathetic grimace. "that's alright. you can always stick with me, you know." the words tumble out, hopeful and a little desperate.

you put a hand on his arm, a feather-light touch that sends a jolt through him, sighing in relief. "once again, you're my savior. i'm stuck here until she's," you pause, a flicker of distaste on your face, "done."

"ah, well, if it's trashy sex with a trashy guy, it'll probably not be too long." he rubs the back of his head, a nervous habit. "i wouldn't mind if it isn't, though. i like talking to you," he admits, the confession coming out a little sheepish.

"oh," you say, your cheeks flushing so slightly he almost misses it. "thanks. i mean, me, too."

"yeah." there's a beat of comfortable silence between you two, the thumping of bass from downstairs filling the quiet space. "say, uh, wanna go upstairs?"

your eyes go a little wide, a startled deer caught in headlights, and gojo quickly backpedals. "to talk. it's— it's just loud, here."

you nod, a slow, deliberate movement, sighing in either relief or disappointment (he can't tell, but he desperately hopes it's the latter).

his fingers tentatively lace with yours, a hesitant connection, and he pulls you gently past bodies of people swaying to the music. he leads you into a less crowded room, a quieter haven, and shuts the door behind him. the muffled bass is a distant thrum now. "isn't this much nicer?"

"definitely, yeah." you take a seat on the edge of the bed, a quick, almost imperceptible glance around to ensure it's clean. "so… how's your day been?" it sounds awkward, a little stilted, and he's glad that he’s not the only one.

taking a seat beside you, a comfortable, close distance, he smiles, "good. very good. you?" he looks right into your eyes, letting the sincerity of his words reach you.

you return the smile, a soft, hesitant curve of your lips, debating whether or not to scoot closer. "s'okay. better, now."

"i know you don't like parties, but on that scale, how's this one been? be nice, i helped set it up," he warns, a playful glint in his eyes.

"it's good. i appreciate the lukewarm beer."

he holds his hands up, defensive. "see, i told geto to get more coolers. that part's not on me."

"okay, then, what part's on you?" you ask, crossing your arms, a hint of playful challenge in your tone.

"uh, i did the…" he frowns, trying to remember his own contributions to the party prep. "i taste-tested all the snacks. does that count?"

you snort, a small, endearing sound. "did you eat all of them, too? 'cause there weren't any left when i got here."

"i," a pause, a hint of guilt in his voice, "might have had a little more than i was supposed to, but those cookies were really good. so was the kikufuku."

"there was kikufuku?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

"not anymore," he admits, a wry grin on his face. "that, i did finish."

laughing, a genuine, unforced sound, you tilt your head, "what parties have kikufuku?"

"the really, really cool ones."

"is that right?"

"would i ever lie to you?" his voice is teasing, but there's something else there, too.

"hm, maybe not," you hum, making a show of inspecting his features, your gaze lingering on his eyes. "you do have a really honest face."

"you have a really pretty one," he retorts, the words escaping before he can think better of them. it takes you a second to process, a faint blush dusting your cheeks. him, too, because… did he just say that? was that bad? he can't, for the love of god, read your face.

your mouth opens, a soft parting of your lips, but you're robbed of a chance to respond, because a couple barges into the room, their laughter loud and jarring. gojo flinches, startled. huffing, he says, "occupied!"

it's shoko and the redhead. shoko's eyes flit from you to gojo, a silent apology passing between them before she quickly steers the redhead back out of the room, shutting the door. god, out of all his friends,

he wouldn't have expected her to be the cock-block. well, at least someone's getting some.

୨୧ ⌞ act four: nepo-baby v. broke barista.⌝

the gentle chime of the bell above the door echoes through the quiet café, a familiar melody that always brings a sense of calm to satoru.

he pushes the door open, the scent of rich, freshly brewed coffee washing over him, a comforting aroma that instantly eases the tension he hadn’t realized he was carrying. he lets out a small, almost imperceptible sigh of contentment.

this, to him, is the best place to be.

his sunglasses, a constant fixture even indoors and in the dead of winter, are perched precariously on the bridge of his nose. he knows he probably looks a little eccentric, a touch out of place, but he doesn't care.

gojo’s soft, white hair, perpetually threatening to fall into his startling blue eyes, drifts gently across his forehead. with a practiced flick of his wrist, he rakes it back, the cool air a stark contrast to the warmth of the café.

he steps towards the counter, his fingers drumming a silent rhythm against the smooth, polished surface. his order was always the same, a creature of habit in a world that constantly shifts and changes around him, a small anchor of predictability.

“hi,” a soft voice says, breaking him out of his reverie. gojo’s eyes fix on the meticulously arranged cookies in the display case, and he’s caught between the choice of chocolate chip or macadamia nut.

chocolate, duh.

“hey, could i—” his gaze finally shifts up, and he locks eyes with the barista. but, because god really does have favorites, it’s not just any barista, it’s you.

he’s caught off-guard, seeing you, though he really shouldn’t be. not after having run into you unplanned this many times, already. it’s almost comical at this point.

“damn,” he shakes his head, a smile of disbelief slowly spreading across his face. “are you playing a trick on me?”

“god, no,” you laugh, a clear, bright sound. a few stray strands of hair escape from beneath the café’s branded hat, and you brush them out of your face with a practiced motion.

your smile is a little lopsided, charmingly imperfect, and he notices your apron is slightly askew, a testament to what must have been a busy morning.

“i come here all the time. don’t tell me i’ve been missing you… somehow, like, every single time,” he pouts, a playful whine in his voice.

“no, no. don’t worry, i’m new. i started yesterday. apparently, i’m more broke than i realized,” you confess, a wry smile touching your lips.

he nods in understanding, giving you a look of genuine sympathy. “yeah, i get it.”

“oh, do you, rich boy?” you tease, your gaze playfully raking over his expensive sunglasses, then his wrist to his watch, and finally the glint of a gold chain peeking from beneath his shirt. i

t’s not a secret that gojo is loaded, the son of gojo enterprises’ founder. he’s always gone out of his way to be humble about it, part of why he works so hard.

“yeah, yeah,” he waves you off, a dismissive flick of his hand. "speaking of, you gonna mess up my drink, newbie?"

"oh, haha. did you lose your stick? because i think i know where it went." you quip back.

gojo snorts, motioning to the register. “caramel macchiato, please. extra sugar.”

“aw, elitist baby can say please.” you pause, a faint wrinkle forming between your brows. “wait, did you say extra sugar?” you ask, making a face as you reach for a plastic cup and a sharpie. he nods, feeling his face flush under your intense, slightly disgusted gaze. “you know it’s already, like, super sweet, right?”

in return, he nods again, a little sheepish. gojo watches you scribble his name down on the side of the cup, your handwriting the same scrawl it always is. he shuffles to the end of the counter, waiting to receive his order.

your movements are a little clumsy, a novice’s hesitation in your hands, and you have to pause to remember the steps for making the drink. he even sees you gag, just a little, when adding the extra thing he’d gone out of his way to tell you.

“enjoy the, uh, macchiato.” you can't help the slight grimace as you push the cup across the counter. the smell alone was overwhelmingly sweet, amplified tenfold by the extra sugar he’d requested.

“you’re laughing. don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” he grins, a flash of white teeth against his pale skin, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“nah, i think i’ll be knocking,” you giggle, shaking your head, a slight shiver running through you. “but, if that’s what you like, you do you.”

there's a beat of silence, and gojo watches you attention momentarily shift to a spilled sugar packet near the display. "we really should start planning our run-ins," he chuckles, his fingers brushing yours for a fleeting moment as he grabs the cup.

"they wouldn't be run-ins, then," you correct, a sly lilt in your voice.

"i… wouldn't mind that." the words are soft, almost a murmur, but loaded with intent.

the universe has a weird way of pulling people together, doesn't it?

୨୧ ⌞ act five: she loves me, she loves me not.⌝

gojo goes out of his way to plan this. he knows it's not a date, and he probably shouldn't pretend it is one. you had taken him up on his offer to hang out sometime, and he wanted it to be perfect.

you don't deserve anything less than that.

to anyone on the outside, he's sure it does look like a date. it feels like one, at least, if that counts. gojo picked you up, he dressed nice, you dressed nice, and he drove you to the park for a nice picnic. all of it sounds date-like, especially the part where he told you that you looked very cute today.

and, especially the part where he frantically back-pedaled, telling you; wait, you look cute today, but you look cute everyday. he doesn't just mean today.

and, especially, especially, how you'd teased him about it after. so, yeah, forgive him if he's having a hard time differentiating a platonic meetup and a not-so-platonic date.

gojo's picking off the petals on the daisy he's holding, hoping you don't notice how he's mentally playing she loves me, she loves me not. he glances at the small pile of discarded petals, then back at you, a soft smile playing on his lips.

you weave the stem of a flower into another, your brows furrowed in concentration on the crown you're making for him. "how long should i make this? you do have a really big head."

"hey, that's insulting. my head is perfectly normal-sized," he huffs, feigning offense, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. he leans closer, trying to get a better look at your handiwork. "are you sure you know what you're doing over there?"

"positive," you retort, not looking up. you wrap what you've got so far around his head, the cool petals a gentle press against his temple. "yep, definitely needs to be longer. see?"

"okay, rude." he pulls away slightly, inspecting the half-finished crown. "i'm starting to think you're just trying to wound my feelings."

you sigh, a dramatic, mournful sound. "truth hurts, right?" you glance up, your eyes locking with his, a gentle warmth in their depths. "this is really nice, by the way. i'm really glad we're doing this."

"me, too. feels a lot less rushed, compared to just seeing you around. not that i mind seeing you around," he quickly adds, the words tumbling out a little too fast, a faint blush creeping up his neck.

you smile, a soft, genuine curve of your lips. "yeah, i get it. you picked a nice spot. the gardens are so beautiful, i can't believe i've never been here before," you say, looking around at the vibrant roses beside you, your gaze lingering on their soft petals.

"you just wait, then, i've got a whole roster, baby." he means the pet-name as a joke, a casual endearment, but the sudden flicker in your gaze has his breath hitching, a silent question forming in his mind.

"you make me sound like your girlfriend," you laugh, the sound light and airy, a small puff of air escaping your lips.

"i bet you'd like that, huh?" he teases, pushing his luck, and you respond by playfully throwing a torn-off stem at him, which he easily dodges.

rolling your eyes at him, you scoff. "i just meant all this. you're really nice to me." your voice softens towards the end, a subtle shift in tone that he notices.

"well, yeah, we're," he hesitates, the word catching in his throat, "friends." sure, he's glad that you're even that, that you tolerate his presence, but it's still disappointing, only that.

"mm, friends," you repeat, the word echoing his own slight disappointment. he wonders if that's a similar ache he hears in the tone of your voice.

"what? you fallin' for me?" he asks, playing it off as a joke, a lighthearted jab, but, god, he wishes. he so, so desperately prays that a tiny part of it is true.

"oh, shut up," you huff, but the warmth on your cheeks contradicts your words, a tell-tale flush that brings a hopeful flutter to his chest.

he tilts his head at you, intently studying the familiar sparkle in your eyes, the way they crinkle slightly at the corners when you're amused.

taking one of the remaining daisies, he gently tucks it behind your ear, his fingers brushing against the soft skin of your neck. "you should call me satoru."

"yeah? okay, then, shut up, satoru." the corners of your mouth quirk upwards, a small, knowing smile.

he plucks off the last petal. she loves me.

୨୧ ⌞ act six: stay, little valentine, stay.⌝

"i hate valentine's day, you know," you frown, slumping down in the bakery's chair. the place smells sweet, a comforting blend of buttered croissants and something faintly fruity, like berries.

"of course you would. you're single," he remarks, casually, playing with the crinkly wrapping paper of his straw.

"you're single, too, gojo."

he points a finger at you, raising his perfectly sculpted eyebrows. "yeah, but that's different. i'm at peace with it."

shoving his index finger away, you whine, "what, like you aren't sick of seeing love-sick couples sucking each other's faces off, all day?"

well, he won't admit it (to you, at least), but he's mostly just been imagining what it would be like if those love-sick couples were you two.

before he can come up with a lame excuse, an employee, a young guy with a chipped name-tag stops by, checking in to see if you need anything else. "just letting you know, it's all half-off for couples today," they say, their tone far too cheery for your liking.

you say, "oh, no, we're not—" at the exact same time gojo says, "sure. another blueberry muffin, please. two, actually."

"are you crazy?" you whisper harshly at him, leaning across the table, your eyes wide with disbelief. "we're not even a couple." unbothered, he shoves your face away, a playful flick of his wrist.

instead, he smiles brightly at mark, and audaciously winks at you. "a couple of those strawberry tarts, too. my girlfriend here has a real sweet tooth."

your voice is strained, a desperate attempt to salvage the situation. "he's exaggerating. just the muffins, please."

with a click of their pen, they're telling you that you're an adorable couple, then walking off, already distracted by another customer.

"see? adorable. i'm already winning 'em over." gojo leans back in his chair, a smug look on his face.

you shoot him a look, a mix of exasperation and reluctant amusement. "winning who over? the employee? or me, into wanting those things? besides, i didn't even need any."

"first, who said it was for you?" he retorts, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "second, it's half-off. it'd be a shame if we didn't take advantage of it."

"right," you laugh, shaking your head. he might be going crazy, but he's really fond of the idea that at least one person thinks you're dating. and, sure, that doesn't make it real, but it's a step closer.

"you know," he says, taking a sip of his smoothie (your smoothie, he stole it from you and you said nothing, which he considers a victory), "i think we'd make a good couple."

"oh? what makes you so sure?" you challenge, raising an eyebrow.

"think about it. i'm the brains, you're the… well, you're pretty good at complaining. we balance each other out," gojo claims, with a confidence that has you kicking his shin from under the table.

"ow! seriously?" he yelps, rubbing his leg.

"oh, is that your sales pitch? my top quality is complaining? how charming." you deadpan, crossing your arms.

"it's a very enthusiastic quality. plus, you'd never have to open jars again. or reach for things on high shelves. i'm basically a human step-stool with great hair." he gestures to his impeccably styled white locks.

"so, your criteria for a good relationship is purely utilitarian? i'm good for complaining and you're good for opening jars?"

"and looking good. don't forget that. i'm the eye candy. every couple needs eye candy. you can be good at appreciating my eye candy."

you fight the urge to stick a fork in his eyes. "right, because all i do is sit around and appreciate your god-given good looks."

"besides," he continues, ignoring your sarcasm, "that guy bought it. means we look pretty couple-y, right?"

you stare at him, a flat, unimpressed look on your face. "or, it means he's being paid minimum wage, and couldn't care less."

"you would know, broke ass." another swift kick, and he hisses, pouting exaggeratedly.

"excuse me?" you huff. "minimum wage or not, that man is doing his job. unlike you, who's just freeloading off my good reputation."

he nods, as if he's genuinely considering this profound statement. "good reputation? for hating valentine's day? that's quite the legacy."

defensively, you sit up straighter. "it's a very respectable stance! and i'm not broke. i just appreciate a good discount. like you, apparently, considering you just scammed a bakery employee into thinking we're an item."

he choose not to address you, taking a moment to meticulously tear the paper of the straw in half. "on the other hand," gojo says, eyes fixed on his paper dissection, "if you weren't single, you'd be far less grouchy all the time."

"you already said that," you huff, deadpan.

"it still holds true," he nods, finally looking up, a serious expression on his face.

snorting, you tilt your head up, looking at the cracks in the ceiling. "so… you're suggesting i need to get a boyfriend? are you also suggesting the boyfriend is… you? just to not be grouchy? okay, well, what if i prefer to be grouchy? what if that's, like, my thing?"

"not necessarily." he almost says yes, but catches himself. "but you should know, i'd make a gas boyfriend," he insists, puffing out his chest playfully.

"good to know," you hum, snatching your drink back. when you take a sip from exactly where he did, his heart does a little flip in his chest, a secret, happy flutter.

gojo clicks his tongue. "and, also, impossible. no one prefers to be grouchy. you're just… unfulfilled. a boyfriend would bring joy, sunshine, spontaneous acts of adoration. less frowning, more smiling."

"these are high standards to hold to yourself. or, like, this hypothetical boyfriend. also, i like the grouch. i think it's kind of like my core trait." you tap your chest, a definitive statement.

"that is such a sad, sad trait to base yourself off."

"oh, please," you scoff, rolling your eyes. "like the rich daddy's boy thing you have going on is any better."

he holds his hands up, defensive, but a grin splits his face. "well, one of us is paying for lunch, and the other isn't. you know, because she's broke." mildly offended, you kick him. again.

"hey! quit doing that. anyways, my point is, i've got all day to change your mind about valentine's."

"all day? what if i'm busy?" you challenge, a playful glint in your eye.

"nah. you wouldn't be here with me, if you had plans." he says it with absolute certainty.

he doesn't know it yet, but, yeah, even if you did have plans, you'd still ditch them for him.

୨୧ ⌞ act seven: strawberries and cigarettes always taste like you.⌝

gojo's phone died a little while back, and he has no idea what time it is. it doesn't really matter, though, not when he's walking in the dim-lit street with you, not when it feels like this moment will last forever.

he pulls you behind that same, tattered, gray building, the gas station he saw you at just a couple months ago. it looks the same, save for the dumpster that's against the bushes instead of the wall.

"oh, shit," he laughs, the sound a little breathless. "it smells rank back here."

you plop down on the familiar concrete ledge, scrunching your nose in agreement. "don't even start, you're the one who dragged me here. for your stupid matcha cravings."

pulling him down next to you, his shoulder bumps against yours. "wait, wait," you murmur, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of your pocket. holding a flame to the end, you cup your hand to keep the tiny light from going out in the faint breeze.

there's an odd feeling that passes through him, not quite nostalgia, when he sees that identical stain of strawberry-colored gloss on the end your lips are over.

"remember the last time i tried to smoke one?" he asks, a small, knowing grin on his face.

"yeah," you giggle, your shoulders shaking slightly as the smoke hits your lungs. "you almost died."

he's a little flustered, denying it immediately. "i did not almost die."

"close enough, you started choking and everything. wanna try again?" you ask, holding it near him, the lit tip glowing orange in the dim light. he eyes it, then looks back at you, a challenge in his gaze.

"damn, you tryna kill me?" he teases, but his voice is softer than he intends.

you lean closer, a pretty smile on your face that makes his voice catch. "would i get your money, if i did?"

his lips part, a hesitant breath escaping him, and you slip the cigarette between them. he can faintly smell the sweetness of the red. it's barely there, a ghost of a scent, but it's enough.

"relax," you hum, your voice a low, soothing sound. "you don't need to be so tense, it's just me."

but that's the thing — it's just you. just you and him, here again, alone in the quiet hum of the night. you're so close, invading all of his senses, leaving him breathless. how is he even supposed to think straight?

he, hesitant, inhales the smoke. he lasts hardly any longer than last time, turning away and breaking into a coughing fit, his shoulders shaking with the effort.

"oh, my god," you wheeze, patting his back, a mixture of concern and amusement in your touch. "careful. you're not supposed to suck in that much. just a puff, sato." the nickname, soft and intimate, has him blushing, and he has to duck his head, hiding his flushed face.

"one more time, or are you tapped out?" you ask, your voice still laced with laughter.

"one more," he breathes, tilting his head up to take in a smaller stroke. it's easier this time, irritates his throat less. he has to clear his chest, a low rumble, but he doesn't start writhing on the floor, so it's a win.

"oh, look! you did it," you smile, your eyes sparkling, and you gently pat his cheek. he wants to respond, but all he can manage is to lean into your touch. you don't move your hand, but stay cupping his face instead, your thumb stroking his cheekbone.

"hey, pretty," he whispers, his voice thick, feeling his breath mingle with yours in the cool night air.

you scoot closer, virtually pressed flush against him, and the sudden warmth of your body sends a jolt through him. "hi." his heart is beating loudly against his ribcage, a frantic drum, and he's afraid you can hear it.

gojo watches your eyes glaze over, a hazy, soft look, and how your long lashes flutter against your skin. you clutch his shirt, your fingers digging into the fabric, and your noses brush against his. and in a moment of a burst of raw courage, he presses his lips against yours.

it's not patient, but it's still loving, desperate in its urgency. it's clumsy, rather, messy, because both of you have been waiting too long for this to happen. your teeth clash against his, a soft click, as your lips, almost silkenly soft, move against his.

he tastes the faint sweetness of strawberries, a hint of something smoky and intoxicating. his hand, warm and firm, cups the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss.

the other hand fixes on your waist, keeping you there, pressed flush against him, as if he fears you might disappear.

it's awkward at first, tentative, because he's all too focused on the frantic butterflies that loop through his stomach, a dizzying swarm. it's like he's never kissed another person before, like he's forgotten how to. it was like his first one. his right one.

when he pulls away, you're panting little breaths, needing air, foreheads pressed together, your eyes still hazy. gojo presses another gentle kiss to the top of your hair, his nose nuzzled there, inhaling your scent.

you taste like strawberries and cigarettes.

unofficial permanent taglist: @jeonwiixard, @mia-can-yap-too did u guys know this is the longest fic ive ever written i should get head in the gc <33 big thanku to @mia-can-yap-too for beta reading i cannot be trusted to go back and do that myself i will cry also tagging myleslover @shokocide bc ur long fics inspire me + idk how u do it but share the talent !!! gatekeeping is bad incorrect buzzer

[makismei]

can I pretty please have more pleasuredom!toji w/ sensitive!reader

ofc u can!!! cw: overstim, unprotected s*x, squirting, established relationship, prone bone, mating press my love, minimal degradation but mostly praise, cream pie 😗

“this is… oh,” you whimper, toji’s arm putting you in a light headlock while he has you laying on your tummy, beating your pussy from the back. “really intense.. mmph! toji, hold on!”

he shushes you, wet lips planting dewy kisses along your cheek. “you can take it, pretty. keep squeezing me juuuust like that…”

you’re practically choking on your moans, tears clumping in your lash line. “i caaan’t! ‘m… ‘m gonna cum!”

“can feel it,” he groans, “we just started, baby,” he teases, “ya really can’t hold it, huh?”

you whine helplessly, not able to do anything but take, take and take. your legs start quivering, hands pawing at the sheets.

“don’t fight it,” he mumbles, tone carnal and almost aggressive as he starts to put his weight in his thrusts, the telltale sign of your orgasm consuming him in greed and lust. “feels good, right?”

“yes..! yesss!” eyes practically crossed, you mindlessly cry out. “feels ‘s good, toji!”

“yeah, i bet,” he grouses, eyes rolling back when he feels you clench down on him, a squeal ripping from your throat. “fuuuck, baby..” his thrusts start to drag, forcing you to ride out your orgasm.

it’s slow, every push and pull of his cock against your quivering walls makes the pleasure unbearable.

“give me another, doll, c’mon.” he groans, thrusts picking up and you hand slaps the bed relentlessly, sobbing out moans that you came, you can’t possibly come again!

but too damn bad. toji knows better than to listen to your dramatic ass.

he offers a sloppy kiss, but it’s more degrading than it is praise. he bites your lower lip as he pulls away, laughing at how debauched you look. “look at that face,” he grins, “slut.”

his thrusts start to pick up, your moans get louder, practically uncontrollable. “hold on!” you wail, head lolling forward, “oh.. my godddd!”

he grunts, “if it’s too much, use your word baby,” he reminds you gruffly, “‘s why ya have one.”

you pout, shaking your head as you crane your neck to look at him. “nooo, don’t want you to stop… i’m.. ‘m gonna cum again, i think..”

you trail off, eyes rolling back into your skull and toji just laughs. he pulls out, but before you have time to complain he manhandles your body, flipping you onto your back and throwing your legs over his shoulders.

by instinct, you immediately press a hand against his lower tummy, just as he’s sliding back in.

he hums, “hands off if you wanna cum, doll.”

and god, you just look so pretty. tear soaked cheeks and drool all over your face. he watches as you bite your lip, feeling your cunt quiver around his shaft as you retract your hand.

toji leans down, pressing his chest against yours as he slides in to the hilt. you muffle your moans by digging your teeth into his shoulder, feet kicking out from the onslaught of pleasure.

he moans, adjusting his body so his chest is hovering over your face. his arms find purchase over your head, basically trapping you underneath him as he starts to piston his hips.

“so good for me, baby.” he groans out, “so sensitive f’me, you gonna cum? c’mon baby, give it to me.”

you squeal, shaking your head. “‘s too much! i can’t.”

he shushes you, thrusts never faltering. “breathe f’me, c’mon, you can do it baby.”

your body starts to lock up and toji’s face crumples, trying to ward off his own orgasm.

“that’s right, that’s good, baby.” he groans out, “‘m so close, doll.”

your nails dig into his biceps, holding on for dear life, back arching into him as you squeal. he feels wetness spray his abdomen and he lets go, filling you up.

toji thrusts shallowly, milking his orgasm until it starts to feel overstimulating. he’s panting, chest sweaty as he lets you both ride it out.

effortlessly, he flips you both over, his still rigid cock slipping out, thick cum oozing from your slit. he lays you on his chest, brushing hair out of your face and dotting kisses all on your forehead and cheeks.

“my baby,” he whispers, kissing your shut eyes, “don’t fall asleep, we have to clean up.”

“‘s your fault,” you argue sleepily, eyes still closed. “you clean up.”

he rolls his eyes, he always cleans up after regardless. but toji is toji, and who is he if he’s not endlessly annoying you?

“my fault huh?.. buuut you were the one squirting all over the pla— okay, chill out baby, stop pinching me.”

[feyburner]

I ??? woke up at 3am with this scene fully written in my mind palace and quickly jotted it down in the Notes app

*

Clark’s shaking his head before he realizes he’s doing it, and feels a twinge of embarrassment at his own bad manners when Bruce stops mid-word to look at him, brows raised.

“No?” he says.

“No,” Clark says, again without thinking, and again with the reflexive urge to apologize. Somewhere his mother is tutting without knowing why. But he doesn’t apologize, because he’s already saying, “No, it can’t—it can’t be that.”

“Okay,” Bruce says slowly. “Can you elaborate?”

He is, honestly, having trouble taking his eyes off the screen. The mockup design of his new suit is there, dark and sleek, ridged like tactical gear. The blue is like the last shade of evening before you can’t call it evening anymore, the color of nine PM in Kansas in July, so exact there’s a strong chance Bruce color-picked it from a photo. The yellow accents are the cool fluorescent yellow-green of lightning bugs. The red is dark as arterial blood. Every aspect of the suit has been updated—the colors deeper, the angles sharper, the S extending to the corners of its frame—but Bruce has done it without changing the fundamentals. It’s immediately recognizable as the Superman suit, just… well, a little cooler, maybe. A little more of the times. Even the tailoring is modernized. The neckline. The shape of the boots. Where the belt hits at the waist. Clark can tell just by looking that Bruce has not only spent a lot of time on this in general, he’s spent a lot of time designing it specifically with Clark in mind, Clark’s needs and preferences and the small discomforts of his current suit, things he might have mentioned offhand after a mission but never with the assumption that Bruce was listening or filing it away. No doubt the next slides of this presentation will detail all the hidden features of the new suit, and they’ll all be incredibly thoughtful if not slightly overkill, and Bruce will pretend his sole motive here was practicality and risk reduction and respond to any thanks with a curt nod.

And Clark wants to thank him. He will. It’s just.

“It can’t be… cool,” he says, inane. Bruce is watching him with that steady look that used to feel clinical, piercing, and now mostly reads as attentive. “It can’t be—like yours. Tactical, military-grade.”

“Lightyears beyond, actually.”

“It has to—Ma said once, a kid should be able to draw it with crayons. You know? I can’t look like a weapon. I have to—I want to look like a friend.”

He can feel himself flushing. It’s rare that he speaks like this, and rarer still that he does so while being stared at intently. Bruce may think of himself as the darkness, but his gaze is a spotlight: unwavering and revealing and more a little sweat-inducing, for one reason or another.

“Sometimes, when I show up, people laugh,” Clark says. “If it’s somewhere out of the way, where they haven’t seen me before. I show up and I look like a festival performer. It’ll be the worst day of their lives, and they’ve got no reason to trust my face, but when they see what I’m wearing—it goes from ‘Who are you?’ to ‘Who is this guy?’ And that’s a good thing.”

“Hard to be afraid of a man dressed in primary colors,” Bruce says, almost to himself.

“Exactly.”

“I see. Thank you,” he says, “for explaining.”

Clark tries not to show how surprised he is to hear that. Judging by the crook of Bruce’s mouth, his success is negligible. “Of course. Sorry I didn’t—I mean, thank you, obviously, for going to such trouble. I didn’t mean to come in here and—I really do appreciate it, I can tell you put a lot of work in—”

Bruce’s eyes cut away. “No. No need. I didn’t ask, before I…. It was only a first draft. If you’re amenable, I’ll incorporate your feedback into the second one.”

“Oh! Yeah. Yes, of course, but you really don’t have to—”

“If you have any further notes, I would like to hear them.”

There’s something determined in the lines of his face. Clark has the sense that this moment is important, that it’s a turning point, even if he’s not sure why. It feels like striking out into a sea of ice, a blank white expanse under which something precious and vital is hidden, has been hidden all along, just waiting for him to find it. To want to.

“Sure,” he says. He looks back at the suit and swallows, and knows Bruce will see the flicker of his throat and take some meaning from it, and wishes he knew what the meaning was. Or maybe Bruce won’t notice or read into it at all. Maybe Clark needs to calm down, in fact. “Um. I don’t want to assume, but does it… do things?”

“It does things,” Bruce confirms, after the barest pause. “Let me show you the next slide.”

[infictionalwonderland]

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ nepo-baby!reader having sex in the back of chauffeur!rafe’s car to get his attention.

The air of the vehicle—your—Rafe’s car—was thick with the sound of grunts and breathy moans, the slap of skin. In the back of the car, you’re on top of some guy who looks more like your chauffeur than you think you should admit, albeit younger. Short skirt rucked up your thighs and panties pushed aside as you sink up and down on the length of him. Your hair is a mess and your shirt and bra are long gone (you’d wanted to throw them into the passenger seat to elicit even more from Rafe but decided against it… instead they hung off the back of it. See, you had some decency).

The guy below you was horny enough not to care about the company but the company was what was getting you wet, frankly.

The leather of the seats squeaked and rustled as you rode his cock—the throb of it inside your hot gummy walls doing nothing to swirl the fire in your stomach as much as the feel of those piercing blue eyes on you in the mirror did. You pitched out high, breathy moans, moving your hips faster, your tits bouncing. The guy below you groaned in appreciation, muttering out nonsense as he gripped at your plush thighs.

You didn’t care. You titled your neck back enough to look into the rearview mirror, big dilated eyes locking onto steely ice blue ones. Your pussy clenched—your moans coming more real as you bounced with more vigour, arching your neck back further and letting your tits bounce more as you kept your eyes on Rafe’s in the mirror.

Rafe’s jaw was clenched so tightly the line of it looked good enough to ride, rather than this guys dick. Your clit pulsed as you took in the slight change in his breathing, the white knuckled grip on the steering wheel. The stony, dominating look on his stupidly attractive face.

Eyes still on his in the mirror, you picked up the pace as you rode the groaning guy below you. Moaning like a slut as your tits jiggled and the meat of your ass bounced under your flimsy torn skirt. Blown out pupils locked onto his, your pouty swollen lips mouthed ‘Rafe’ as you moaned, his name escaping you as barely a breath.

A harsh sound left him and before you could blink, the car was speeding and then jerking to a quick stop as Rafe pulled up on a random road, making a hasty park. He wasted no time in unbuckling his seatbelt and hauling his door open before walking to yours.

Your pulse raced, your pussy fluttering—the guy below you grunting in a strangled confused way. The back door tore open and there stood Rafe. Jaw locked beyond tight, muscles tense and the prominent bulge in his slacks almost made your thighs tremble, a gush of slick coating the guys dick anew.

“Get the fuck off of him. Now.”

You whimpered uncontrollably, body immediately complying with the fierce, enraged command in his voice. Scrambling to get off his dick, sitting back on the seats with your tits heaving, your heart beating madly in your chest. Cheeks flushed, eyes wide.

“What the fu—“ The guy began, beyond confused: Rafe wasted no time in leaning down and grabbing him by his arm, yanking him out the back of the car effortlessly. Uncaring of his state of undress, his gaze steely and his jaw tight.

“I don’t appreciate seeing that shit in the back of my own fucking car, bro,” Rafe practically snarled, leaning down to chuck the guys shirt at his bare chest as he scrambled to pull his jeans and boxers back up, giving him a sharp mocking scan. Rafe didn’t look at you—ignoring you as your thighs clenched at his tone of voice alone. “Get some self respect and maybe fuck someone who actually knows your name. Not a whore who wants my fucking attention.”

Your clit pulsed and you barely bit back a whining moan at the harsh growl in his voice—still not even looking at your mostly naked form. The guy stumbled and sputtered in confusion but in looking more at Rafe, retreated as he hastily redressed, bitching all the while.

Rafe finally turned to look down at you, scoffing at your state—panting softly, pretty tits out with pointed nipples begging for attention, thighs open enough that if the fucking street lights were better who would be able to see your dripping pussy. He sneered, even as the evident, large bulge in his slacks told you all you needed to know. Fuck.

He leaned over the seats, hovering before you. “Princess, look at the state of you,” he gritted, eyes dilated and fixed on your own: needy and big, stuck to him. His gaze flickered down, breath becoming more laboured at the sight he could vaguely discern of your swollen glistening cunt. “Dripping all over my backseats like a bitch in heat. Jesus.”

“Rafe—“

“No.” He growled, cutting off your whimper. His large ringed hand came up to roughly grab your jaw, leaning closer to you—you whined, leaning into his touch, and his cock jerked in his boxers. “No. If you want m’ fucking attention, you ask for it. Like a good, polite girl. ‘Stead, you made this scene. Brought another man into my car. Let him inside of that pretty pussy and made me watch like a creep. You have to be some kinda desperate whoring bitch to do that baby, lemme tell you.”

“I—I’m—“

“You are a whore, ‘s what you are.” He grunted, squeezing your cheeks harshly, lip curled like he wanted to spit into your mouth. He didn’t. “A filthy whore who wants to get my dick wet more than she cares about her self respect, clearly.”

“Rafe—“

“Shhh, slutty girl. Those gorgeous lips aren’t meant for talking anyway.” Rafe breathed roughly at you, mockingly, crawling into the back after a moment and slamming the door behind him. His dick steel hard and throbbing in his trousers, muscles straining in his button up. He manhandled you over, hand on your chin tugging you as you whimpered, staring at him pleadingly. “Show me how much of a whore you can be, pretty thing,” He groaned softly against your ear, spreading your legs enough to give your pussy a slap, “‘n we’ll give your needy cunt what she really wants.”

[ghostsprincess]

I can't stop thinking about Ghost being a better boyfriend than your ex, even without establishing that title....

This is a continuation of part one.

warning: mention domestic abuse

💀

Simon was there every night you worked. You never gave him your schedule, but he'd show up and settle onto one of the stools like clockwork. Soap often joined him, and while they carried on like always, you knew Simon's gaze lingered on your body. You could practically feel the weight as you took drink orders and pulled pints. It wasn't unwelcome. In fact, it made everything easier knowing you weren't alone if your ex dared show his face.

When your shifts ended, Simon would walk you back to your new place. The one time you insisted he didn't need to do that, he grunted and said, "What if I want to?"

You didn't mention it again. Instead you got into a routine of giving him a fifteen minute warning when your shift was going to end, and you'd head out into the cold night with him at your side. He was mostly quiet while you chatted about whatever was on your mind. When you'd ask him about himself, he'd reroute the conversation back to you. Then he would wait while you unlocked your door and stepped inside.

You always had the urge to invite him in, but you were taking up so much of his time already. And what would you do with him anyway? This hulking military man with kind eyes? 

You thanked him and gave him a little wave before ducking inside, and you knew he always waited until he heard the sound of your door locking before he left. 

"Y' alright, love?" he asked one night when you were starting to feel particularly good about yourself again. Your split lip had healed which required less makeup. You felt stronger for having left your ex in the dust. You were wearing a new top that made you feel sexy.

"Yeah. I'm alright, Simon. I feel really good, actually."

You served him a drink and refused to let him pay. You really ought to make him stop tipping you at this rate. He was doing so much for you and getting nothing in return. He was doing all of the boyfriend duties just as he had promised, but he never so much as touched you other than the occasional hand hold.

What if you wanted more?

He broke into your thoughts as he said, "I can tell. Ya' been smiling more. Almost ready to go?"

Tonight you felt like you were floating along the dirty sidewalk with your hand tucked in Simon's massive paw. He was keeping you warm without doing anything, and he listened to your nervous rambling as you tried your best to work up your courage. But the two of you reached your front door all too quickly.

"Get inside," he said, voice deep and tender in spite of the command. "An' lock up."

When he started to pull his hand away, you didn't let him. And you didn't budge when one of his eyebrows inched higher. "Not quite yet," you whispered, toe tapping the cement step you were standing on which put you slightly closer to him in height. "I have to tell you something."

Simon's lips pressed together in a tight line, and his chin dipped in a slight nod. "I need to tell ya' something, too. Just don't want to."

"What?" you asked immediately, the lightness you'd been feeling instantly replaced with a lead brick inside you.

"I'm leaving. Late tomorrow night. Not until after I make sure ya' get home from the pub."

"Leaving?" you whispered, heart pounding faster. He was in the military. Some sort of special mission involvement. You knew that much. And you could read between the lines to know that someone who looked and behaved like he did was probably about to risk his life, not for the first time. "Simon, where are you going?" you asked with tears in your eyes even though you figured he wouldn't be able to tell you.

Simon shook his head, his lips curling into a soft smile. It was a rare sight, and it made you dizzy. "Pretty little thing like you shouldn't be worried 'bout me." You wanted to tell him you would be. You'd worry nonstop until you saw him again. You'd come to rely on him, but mostly you liked how you felt when he was around. "There'll be someone to walk ya' home from work every night. I can promise that."

You wanted to lean in and kiss him, but instead you threw your arms around his neck. He was so solid and warm, and the scrape of his facial hair on your cheek was somehow comforting. "But I'll see you tomorrow, right?" you asked, voice breaking on a sob.

"I'll see ya' tomorrow, love."

He didn't move an inch as you extracted yourself, and the sound of his receding footsteps could only be heard once you'd locked yourself inside.

💀

Part three

[whorelaud]

bsf!rafe slips it in during a gathering   warnings smut with slight plot, unprotected p in v, public sex, creampies, dirty talk, teasing, reader lowk ovulating 

The college reunion wasn't something you were fond of attending; hence, when Rafe offered to tag along, your fear and anxiety strived less evident on your expression. It’s something you’ve been avoiding, and while not showing up sounded great, you felt obligated to, as many of your classmates insisted on seeing you, having not done so since your graduation. 

It wasn’t a party, nor a typical hangout. Things deemed chaotic, but not crazy enough to cause discomfort. Drinks were everywhere, mostly to get rid of any unnecessary tension, however, Rafe chose to be far away from the booze aisle, as he needed to drive back. That didn't stop him from having fun, though. 

He took a corner on one of the armchairs, patting his lap as an invitation upon spotting you awkwardly shuffling around for a seat. Of course, you hesitated to acknowledge the gesture, eyeing him reluctantly before accepting. 

You weren't naive, you noticed the way his breath heaved every time you’d giggle while conversing, or shuffled around to fix your position. Rafe was tense for the entirety of the night, the bulge in his pants really not of much help, oblivious to the carefree act he was putting up. He was hard from you sitting in his lap, his own best friend, who he’s been dying to fuck and get a taste of, envious of every man who ever got close to touching you. 

The hardon in his pants had you wet to your core, brushing over your clothed cunt each time he’d press your hips down to adjust himself. It was on purpose, you knew Rafe, he was a sly bastard, cocky with everything he does. All the hookups he’d tell you about, and the endless one night stands that keep piling up. He was one experienced motherfucker, every girl in OuterBanks wanted a piece of him. 

Therefore, you were lucky to have him as your best friend, lucky enough for him to sneak his hand under your skirt, and work his fingers in gradual circles over your clit. You fought the moans bubbling in your throat, suppressing them as his digits slid down your folds, grunting when he pressed a finger to the thin material of your panties, immediately noticing the wet patch on it. 

No one noticed your flustered state, nor did you care if they did. Lust blurred your vision, mind going hazy as your hips stuttered down against Rafe’s crotch. It felt so fucking good, despite not having any alcohol in your system, you felt drunk off the sensation of his cock making fraction with your pussy. And Rafe? Yeah, he wasn't no saint either. 

Managing to free himself from his boxers was quite the struggle, though disregarded by others, as one of your friends continued on with the conversation you were having. He pushed your panties to the side, keeping them firm and in place as he lined his dick with your slick folds, wet with your arousal. 

A gasp threatens to leave your lips when he leisurely inserts his cock inside, tip coating with your juices. He used the hand around your waist to press you down, letting your pussy swallow almost all his length. Now, that was an easy task, but, next came the part where he had to move; create a fraction, which fell quite difficult surrounded by all these people. 

That didn't stop you, though, nor Rafe. You grinded down on his cock, plastering a tight-lipped smile for the girl speaking as you pretended to listen, well aware it entered one ear, then flew past the other. Rafe squeezed the skin around your waist, encouraging you to keep moving. His breath fanned over the exposed skin near your neck, lips mere inches away from your ear. You could stop and continue this somewhere else, but that means confronting Rafe, and interrupting whatever this was; which practically felt illegal to do. 

“Why don't you answer her?” Rafe whispered, lips ghosting over your ear. “C’mon baby, she’s asking you a question.” 

“I don't–” you almost yelp as he slams into you, “I don't work as of now, I’m searching– I’m searching for a job, though.” 

The girl nods with a smile, feigning ignorance to your fucked state. You were practically drooling over how Rafe’s throbbing cock thrusts inside you, sending you into a spiral as the tip continuously kissed your cervix. Your eyes forced shut for a moment, a ragged sigh exiting your lips, far too gone to process your surroundings. Fuck it, it’s not like you were going to see them after this anyway. 

“Fucking hell,” he hissed, reaching his climax with everytime he rolled his hips up. “Y’gonna let me fill your pathetic lil’ pussy up, hmm?” 

You hummed, mostly to him, containing the whines at the tip of your throat. Rafe’s strokes grew fast and sloppy, with your pussy now drenched in your arousal, welcoming every thrust he slammed inside you. Your hole is stuffed with his cock, clenching around him when your orgasm made its approach.  

Your vision went blank as you came undone, soon followed with a thrust from Rafe before he emptied his load inside your cunt, painting your walls white with his sperm. The warmness filling your hole made you relax in his arms, leisurely fluttering your eyes open, suddenly faced with the reality of your presence. 

Right, you were still encircled by people. Rafe slowly pulls out his cock, pussy lips dripping with his come, as it got buried deep inside you. His teeth graze the skin behind your ear, tone teasing as he mutters his next sentence. 

“Maybe I should come with often.” 

And if you spent the rest of the evening loaded with Rafe’s come, no one were to find out, nor acknowledge said fact. 

a/n prepare to be sick of me i love bsf!rafe

[y2kstarr]

— ᥫ᭡ bottom bitch . . . chris sturniolo

where . . . you're starting to get jealous at all the girls chris hooks up with, even tho the two of your are just bsfs, but when chris catches on after noticing you all pissy after his latest hook-up, he gives you one night to taste what you'd been secretly begging for.

contains . . . smut, fingering, jealousy sex?, squirting, smoking, praising, college au, friends to lovers?

credits to @delilahsturniolo for the marathon concept

HOT PINK WRITING MARATHON . . . fic #4

"Oh fuck! Chris!" A random girl's voice rang out through the door to you and Chris's shared dorm room, the unmistakable sounds of sex clear as day through the hardwood. "Don't stop—! Mmmm—!"

You sighed as you sat out in the hallways, scrolling through your phone as you waited for him to finish up and kick the girl out so you could finally get to your bed and just call it a night after the shitty day you'd had, this just being the cherry on top.

He'd completely forgotten to text you about having someone over, so you were sure it was some random chick with a basic name who was just drooling for his dick till he decided to bring her to his dorm. Thank god the obscene noises were clear enough through the door before you turned it so that you stopped yourself from seeing that shit.

"Oh my godd— You're dick is sooo good, Chris— I'm gonna cum—!" You groaned at the stereotypical, porno voice she had, like nails on the goddamn chalkboard to your unfortunate ears.

"That's it baby, yeah— Cum on this dick—" Now that voice, you could listen to it for fucking hours. You'd never fully heard Chris during the few times you overheard his sex, mostly due to the girl trying to upstage him like it was hot to hear a wailing banshee or some shit, but when you did, god, did it sound like heaven.

The way he'd groan from the pleasure, his little grunts and pants coming through in time with his audible thrusts, the way he'd talk dirty to the girls like some wet dream come to life, the way he'd—

"Chris!" There it is, wailing banshee yet again. Thankfully, despite having to listen to that god awful sound, you knew it was the finish line, just a couple more moments for the girl to get her shit back on and scurry out of the dorm as if anyone would care if they saw her.

The moment she'd almost stumbled past you, an almost judgmental look on her face that you matched with a glare as she passed by, you finally walked into your dorm room, spotting Chris laying spread out on his bed. His boxers were pulled up though a little loose as you could practically see the base of his happy trail, his chest rose and fell in breaths he was still trying to calm, his hair a disheveled mess, and lipstick kiss marks messily scattered his toned skin.

He looked like a god damn dream that you just wanted to sink your teeth into, but as you remembered just why he was in this state, you shook yourself from your thoughts, huffing as you walked over to your closet.

"Sorry 'bout no heads up, she barely gave me a second before tossing me into bed," He explained, chuckling as he flicked his lighter at the end of a joint he'd grabbed, breathing in the smoke before blowing it back out to curl up into the air. "Fuckin' tiger, I tell ya,"

You didn't respond to him, rolling your eyes to yourself as you tugged off your jacket and hung it up, taking off all of your jewelry and placing them all in their respective places. He'd noticed your silent demeanor, raising an eyebrow before sitting up in his bed, his legs dangling over the side as he tilted his head at you.

"You pissed at me or somethin'? I said I was sorry about the head's up," He asked, making you sigh as you weren't given a choice other than to answer him as to not be seen as the dick in this situation.

"'M fine," You muttered, your hands coming down to grip the hem of your shirt before tugging it up over your head, having gotten used to changing in front of Chris. But he knew all too damn well that you weren't just 'fine,' a scoff leaving him before he pushed himself up and off of his bed, his eyes subtly tracing over your figure from behind.

You tried to pay no attention to him as he approached you, but the feel of his warm hands on your sides made you shiver instantly and stiffen a bit. "Now I know your ass is lying to me," Chris murmured to you, his hand that held the joint only letting that thumb draw small circles on your hip as to not risk burning you. "You gotta tell me what's peeving you, ma."

You let the silence hang for a moment longer, willing yourself not to be affected by how he touched you or looked at you or talked to you, but fuck, did it feel good. You finally sighed as you crossed your arms, your eyes glancing away from where he peaked over your shoulder at you.

"I just, don't know what you see in those chicks," You mutter out, glancing at him as he smirked, as if knowing something you didn't.

"Someone's soundin' jealous," He teased you without a beat, chuckling at the way you turned your head to glare at him, his hands lifting up in mock surrender. "'M just sayin', ma–"

"'M not jealous. Why would I be jealous of some wailing banshee in my room?" You huffed out, making him perk up a little before smirking.

"Oh yeah? That's what you think of them?"

"I mean, what else do they sound like?"

"Like girls who are having the best fuckin' night with me," Chris grinned, noticing the way you looked away from him again, letting the silence ring out, before he let an idea strike him.

"Alright, how 'bout.. I make it up to you for leaving you outside to hear all of that," His voice was lower in your ear now, alluring and warm, as you felt his hands slowly undoing the button and zipper to your pants, before he whispered in your ear. "And you show me what a gorgeous girl should really sound like..."

You should protest, you should just push him off and continue being pissed and just go to bed, but as your countless fantasies about him filled your head, you just couldn't say no to this. You let out a shaky breath before turning your head to him. "Fine.."

You watched the way his signature grin tugged at his lips, his eyes running over your face before landing on your lips. "Atta girl," He whispered, liking the way your breath hitched softly before he leaned in to press his lips against yours, gentle, sweet, as if to give you the option to back out, and yet you didn't.

You melted into the kiss as his thumbs hooked into the waistband of your pants before tugging them down, letting them drop to the floor around your ankles, his hands sliding back up your sides as you mouths slowly moved together. Goosebumps rose on your skin before you slowly turned your body fully to him, your hands touching his chest before sliding up to cup his jaw.

Your back arched into him as his hands slowly hugged around your waist, pulling you closer into him as his tongue teased along the seam of your lips, gladly entering your mouth as you parted them for him. As the kiss started to heat up into a make out, you felt as Chris tugged you back to the bed, your steps a little messy as you were too lost in the kiss to care.

You felt your back hit the mattress of his bed as he climbed over you, your arms wrapping around his neck as he settled between your spread legs, your kissing heavy and messy, almost desperate now practically chased each other's mouths like you were the last people on earth.

You let out a soft, needy sound as he pulled from the kiss, one that made him grin down at you all smug whilst you glared and felt blush creep up your neck. His lips pressed a kiss to your jaw, slowly trailing down to your neck as you lay your head back, giving him more exposed skin. You felt as his hands crept behind your back, unhooking your bra before tugging it off of you and tossing it to the floor.

"Fuck... Didn't know you had such perfect tits," He smirked, his thumbs coming up to tease over your already stiffened nipples, making a shiver run up your spine before you let out a soft whimper.

Your hips subtly rocked up involuntarily, making your feel the hard bulge in Chris's boxers, stars practically spotting your eyes at just the prospect of what lie underneath the fabric.

"Fuckin' eager, huh?" Chris chuckled, though he couldn't help the way his cock twitched at the action, making him needy to pleasure you just like he promised. His lips kissed back up your neck before meeting yours in another kiss. "Need these off.."

His fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, tugging them down before pulling them fully off, tossing them where your bra already lay, his fingers teasing over your inner thighs to feel you squirm before delving between your folds, a groan leaving him against your lips.

"Jesus, you're fuckin' wet— You this excited f'me, baby?" He cooed teasingly.

"Shut up.." But your words were hardly harsh, a needy whine spilling from your lips as his fingers gathered up your juices before rubbing at your throbbing clit, pleasure rushing through your body at his touch. "Fuck.. Chris.." You whimpered, noticing the way you whined his name made his hips twitch in need, his cock straining against the fabric of his boxers.

"You like that, ma..?" He whispered against your lips, grinning as your hips started to rock into his hand, chasing that pleasure as his fingers drew firm circles on your clit, your head nodding as you whimpered. "Yeah, I know you do," He teased.

You huffed as his fingers stopped, about to tell him to keep going, before your suddenly felt him slipping his fingers into your drooling cunt, a gasp leaving your lips at the way his fingers felt thicker and — fuck — so much longer than yours.

Your mind went fuzzy as he started pumping his finger in and out of your pussy, the soft, squelching noises making your toes curl and a whine fall from your lips, your hands digging your nails into his back a bit as he pressed sweet kisses to your jawline and face.

"That feel good, baby?" He cooed, smiling against your cheek as you whined out a pretty "yes" in response, his eyes looking over your face, all pink and cute, eyes half lidded and fluttering at the pleasure, soft pink lips parted as soft pants left you.

"F-fuck— Chris—" You whimpered as he sped up his fingers, the sloppy noises getting slightly louder at his quickened pace. Panting breaths left your lips as pleasure bloomed throughout your body, when suddenly, you felt as his free hand slid down underneath your knee and hiked it up, a gasp leaving your lips as his fingers plunged harder.

"That's it, mama, that's it–" He groaned softly against your cheek, hearing as your panting quickened, a sound he knew all too well with girls, his fingers keeping that delicious quick pace at this deeper angle.

"'M close— I-I'm gonna cum—" You whined out, your nails digging crescents into the skin of Chris's back, feeling your toes curl at the burning pleasure that threatened to push you over the edge.

"Yeah? C'mon mama, cum for me, wanna see how pretty you looking coming undone," He groaned against your jawline, nipping at the skin there before he rested his head on your shoulder, looking down at his fingers pumping your cunt whilst his other hand pushed your thigh up just a bit higher.

And suddenly, it was as if your vision went white, your mouth falling open in a gasped moan, your back arching as you felt your orgasm crash over you harder than you'd ever felt in your life, pure and utter ecstasy burning throughout your body as you moan out gorgeously, eyes rolled back and nails clawing at Chris's back.

Your leg trembled and twitched in Chris's grip as his fingers rode you through your high, your chest sputtering up and down as your breathing was shaky, your mind fuzzy as you gushed all over Chris's fingers. You barely comprehend what had happened until you heard Chris's voice cut through your blissful haze.

"Holy shit— I didn't know you could fuckin' squirt like that," He chuckled, your brows furrowing in confusion before you lifted your head, your eyes widening at the wet mess that was his sheets and his fingers, blush blooming on your cheeks out for embarrassment that Chris caught into quick.

"Ma, you've– you've never fuckin' squirted before?" He asked, near awe in his voice as he chuckled at the way you tried to hide behind your hands, his ego being inflated by knowing that he was the one to make you squirt for the first time.

"Shut up!" You squeaked out, unable to not giggle a little as he tugged your hands away with his free hand, peppering your face with kisses.

"That's so fuckin' hot, baby," He murmured against your skin, addicted to the way you giggled, before his hips pressed against your thigh, reminding him of his still hard cock, now begging for attention.

You felt his fingers slip from your cunt, whimpering at the loss and at watching him lick them clean with a groan, before his hands moved down to tug down the waistband of his boxers, his cock springing out, thick and heavy, his tip a flushed pink as pre-cum leaked.

Your eyes widening at the sight, your cunt fluttering with interest as you felt arousal filling you once more, before looking up at his face, his eyes lustful and dark, a smirk on his gorgeous lips.

"You up for another round, ma?"

☆ : this is currently not proofread cause i just wrote most of it in the car, Im on a trip that I ain't even know about until yesterday 😭 so im so sorry if this seems rushed, I really liked this idea and hope I executed it good for all of you <33 anyways, i think they're cute asf-

taglist 🏷️

[theonottsbxtch]

THE FLAT NEXT DOOR | OP81

an: @iimplicitt started drawing a firefighter oscar and next thing i knew, i was writing this story. it's so dear to me, firefighter!oscar you mean so much to me. also ive written something similar to this called sunflower syndrome (i dont think ive posted) which i can post, its next door neighbours and shes a single mum as well, its completed just never been posted lol - lemme know if you want it

summary: a firefighter with a soft heart & no idea what he’s doing with his life. a single mum who gave up everything for a tiny pair of shoes. a six-year-old matchmaker with a butterfly painted on her cheek. and the slow, aching kind of love that feels like coming home.

wc: 14.1k

Oscar hadn’t planned on becoming a firefighter. In fact, he hadn’t really planned on anything. Life, so far, had been a series of decisions made more out of avoidance than ambition. Moving to England from Australia at fifteen had felt like starting over in the middle of a film, he’d missed the beginning and had no idea what the plot was meant to be. His accent had softened over the years, but the disorientation never quite left.

By the time he finished school, uni felt like a trap more than an opportunity. He wasn’t academic, not really. His girlfriend back then had big dreams and a UCAS application filled out before the rest of them even figured out their predicted grades. She wanted him to come with her. Scotland, maybe, or Manchester, but he couldn’t pretend to want something just to stay close. Long distance sounded like a slow death, and he was already tired of pretending to care about futures he couldn’t picture. They broke up in late spring, somewhere between the last exam and prom. He barely remembered the conversation now, only the strange mix of guilt and relief afterwards.

The fire service had been a suggestion from someone he barely knew, his mate’s older brother or a careers advisor he met once. The idea stuck, though. It felt solid, practical. So he moved to a town just outside London, somewhere not too fast but not too sleepy either. Now, in his mid-twenties, he still wasn’t sure it was what he wanted, but it was something. A job, a flat, a rhythm.

The flat was part of a red-bricked terrace that hadn’t aged gracefully but wore its wear with a sort of tired charm. Peeling paint on the railings, a communal garden mostly made of grass that didn’t grow right, and neighbours you recognised before you knew their names.

For a while it was quiet on his floor until his neighbour moved in not long after he did, though they didn’t speak properly for months, he always saw her. She was quiet, but not unfriendly. Always rushing, school runs, shopping bags, the sort of tired that didn’t come from lack of sleep but from doing everything yourself. She had a daughter, six years old and full of questions, the kind who shouted hello from the doorstep and thought Oscar was a superhero just because he had boots by the door and came home smelling faintly of smoke.

He didn’t know much about her. She kept to herself, didn’t bring people round, and handled things with a quiet efficiency that made Oscar feel both impressed and slightly in the way. He saw her most often on Sunday mornings, pyjama bottoms tucked into socks, mug in hand while she coaxed the little one into her coat. He wondered, sometimes, if she had ever had a plan, or if she, like him, had simply found herself in a life that looked like it belonged to someone else.

The town had a softness to it in the early mornings, before the cars filled the roads and the high street buzzed with prams and pensioners. The air still held a trace of mist, clinging to hedgerows and the slate roofs that lined the close. Oscar liked this time of day, even if he wasn’t a morning person by nature. There was a quiet permission in the hush, like the world was still deciding what kind of day it wanted to be.

His flat smelled faintly of laundry detergent and burnt toast. He tugged on his jacket, the navy fire service one with the embroidered badge half-unpicked from where it had snagged last month. His boots were by the door, laces loose from habit. The station wasn’t far, a ten-minute walk if he didn’t stop for a coffee or get caught by someone with too many questions.

He swung the door open and nearly collided with her.

“Sorry—” they said at the same time, both stepping back, the awkward shuffle of neighbours not expecting to meet in the narrow shared walkway.

She was crouched beside Aurelia, zipping up a purple puffer coat that was already streaked with breakfast. Her hair fell forward as she glanced up at him, blinking through the unexpected encounter.

Oscar straightened, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t see you there.”

“That’s alright,” she said, standing up. Her voice was warm, light, with the kind of casual tiredness that didn’t sound like complaining.

Aurelia grinned up at him, gap-toothed. “Are you going to fight fires today?”

He chuckled, crouching a little to her level. “If they start, yeah. Hopefully not too many, though. I’ve just cleaned my helmet.”

She giggled at that, and her mum gave him a grateful sort of smile, small, quick, like she wasn’t used to people being gentle with them.

Oscar stood again, unsure what else to say. The kind of silence that stretched just a second too long settled between them.

“School run?” he asked, just to fill it.

“Yeah. She’s already tried to convince me she’s sick twice.”

“I am sick,” Aurelia insisted. “Sick of spelling tests.”

That made her mum laugh, the kind of laugh that sounded like it didn’t come often enough.

Oscar smiled, then pointed toward the road. “I’d better get going before Zak starts calling. My boss has the patience of a gnat.”

She nodded. “Alright. Have a good shift.”

He hesitated for half a beat. “You too. I mean—have a good school run. And day. And… everything.”

She raised an eyebrow, amused. “You too, firefighter.”

As he walked down the path, he heard Aurelia whisper, “Mummy, I think he’s cool.”

He grinned all the way to the station.

The station smelled of instant coffee, damp gear, and the faint chemical tang of smoke that never really washed out. Oscar pushed through the side entrance, nodding at the watch crew already gathered in the mess room. The TV was on mute, rolling through the morning headlines, and someone had burned toast again, the fire alarm had a nasty habit of reacting more to that than actual emergencies.

He dumped his bag in his locker and shrugged off his jacket, already feeling the dry warmth of the place settling into his bones. There was a comfort to the station, rough around the edges, but reliable. It reminded him of the school changing rooms back in Melbourne: paint chipped from too many boots, the faint echo of shouts in the corridor, the shared understanding that none of it was glamorous, but it was theirs.

“Morning, mate,” came a voice from across the room.

Oscar looked up to see Andrea, one of the senior firefighters on his watch, cradling a mug with World’s Okayest Firefighter printed in peeling letters. He had salt and pepper hair, always grumbling about overtime, and somehow managed to be everyone’s uncle without trying.

“Morning,” Oscar replied, reaching for the kettle. “Anything going on?”

“Not yet. Callout at half three, car in a ditch near the A-road, but that’s about it. Oh, Zak wants a word when you’ve got a sec.”

Oscar groaned quietly. “Do I need to be nervous?”

Andrea grinned. “Always.”

He found Zak in his office, chewing on a pen lid and frowning at a stack of paper that looked older than both of them. He waved Oscar in without looking up.

“You busy this weekend?” Zak asked, without preamble.

Oscar blinked. “Uh, not really. Why?”

Zak finally looked up. “We’ve been asked to send someone to this community thing at Chestnut Grove Primary. Little safety talk, couple of demos, let the kids have a go with the hoses, all that, see the truck.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Chestnut Grove? The one down the road”

“Yeah. Saturday morning. Council’s pushing the whole community engagement thing again. You up for it?”

He could’ve said no. He wasn’t the best with big groups, especially ones full of excitable children and clipboard-wielding parents. But something about the name clicked in his head, a flicker of memory. Hadn’t he seen little Aurelia in a forest green uniform?

“I’ll go,” he said, surprising even himself.

Zak blinked. “Right. Well. That was easy. Cheers.”

He left the office feeling oddly restless. Community events weren’t usually his thing, too many people, too many eyes. But he figured it was just one morning. How bad could it be?

Back in the mess, Andrea glanced up from the paper. “You’ve got that face on.”

“What face?”

“The one where you’ve agreed to something and immediately regretted it.”

Oscar shrugged, pouring himself a coffee that tasted vaguely of plastic and burnt hopes. “Just volunteered for the school event.”

Andrea gave a low whistle. “Brave man. Good luck dodging flying juice cartons.”

Oscar smiled to himself, thinking of Aurelia’s grin that morning, the way she’d looked up at him like he was some kind of action figure come to life. If nothing else, maybe it would be nice to see some children think he was a hero he 100% wasn’t.

It was one of those spring mornings where the sun tried its best, but the chill hadn’t quite loosened its grip yet. The air was sharp, fresh with that faint green smell of grass and new leaves, and the sky had that washed-out blue that promised warmth later, maybe.

Oscar parked the spare appliance near the edge of the school field, just where the tarmac gave way to a patch of uneven grass. The truck was technically out of use, something to do with the hydraulics, Zak had said, but it looked the part and that’s what mattered. He unfolded the little step ladder and opened up a few side panels to make it look more interactive. A pop-up banner flapped in the wind beside him, showing a smiling child in a tiny fire helmet with the slogan Be Cool, Stay Safe in cheerful red letters.

The fair itself was already in full swing: bunting strung between gazebo poles, the smell of frying onions from a burger van, and a trail of small children darting between stalls clutching glittery cupcakes and face paint flyers. Oscar had been given a little corner to himself on the edge of the field, which suited him fine. He liked watching the buzz of it all from a slight distance, present, but not in the thick of things.

He was in full kit except for the heavy jacket and helmet, both left hanging neatly inside the cab. Just his white fire service shirt rolled up at the forearms, and the braces of his overalls snug over his shoulders. He leaned against the side of the truck, hands in his pockets, the breeze tugging gently at the hem of his shirt.

A few curious kids had wandered over already. Two boys who’d wanted to climb inside the cab and press every button, a shy little girl who’d asked if he had ever rescued a cat from a tree, while he hadn’t, he said yes, and a boy who only cared about the siren.

Oscar found himself smiling more than he expected. There was something easy about it. Maybe it was the way kids didn’t expect anything except enthusiasm and the occasional high five. Maybe it was the way parents hovered a few feet away, grateful for five minutes of peace while someone else answered the never-ending questions.

He took a sip from his coffee flask, just as he heard the unmistakable patter of small feet sprinting across grass.

“Neighbour firefighter!”

He turned, and there she was, Aurelia, bounding across the field with a neon butterfly painted across one cheek and a balloon animal in one hand. Her plimsolls were slightly muddy and her coat was half unzipped.

Oscar laughed, straightening up. “Oh, I know you!”

She skidded to a stop in front of him, breathless with excitement. “Mummy said we might see you but I didn’t really think you’d be here!”

“Well, I don’t lie about fire engines,” he said, crouching down to her level. “That’s a very serious thing.”

She grinned, already peering into the open side of the truck. “Can I go in?”

“Course you can—but hang on a sec, where’s—?”

And then he saw her. Walking at a slower pace across the grass, hands deep in her coat pockets, eyes already on him. The breeze lifted the edge of her scarf, and her hair glinted slightly in the sun. She looked different here, more relaxed somehow, out of the usual early morning rush and into something softer.

“Hi,” she said, when she reached him. “Looks like you’ve got an assistant now.”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling, “bit short for the uniform, but she’s got enthusiasm.”

Aurelia had already clambered halfway up the step ladder, peeking into the cab with the confidence of someone who fully expected to be given the keys. Her balloon animal was now tucked under one arm like a sidekick.

Her mum laughed, folding her arms loosely as she watched. “She’s been bouncing off the walls since breakfast. I think she thought she’d get to drive it.”

Oscar grinned. “Could probably teach her. Might be more focused than some of the lads at the station.”

She gave him a look, one of those amused half-smiles he was starting to recognise, a little dry, a little warm. “You here all day?”

“No, just the morning. Couple of hours, bit of leafleting, bit of ‘don’t play with matches’ chat. Then I get to drag all this lot back to the station and pretend it never happened.”

“Well,” she said, glancing toward Aurelia now balancing with one foot on the step and the other poised mid-air, “you’re already a highlight. She’s going to talk about this for weeks.”

Oscar watched Aurelia for a beat, her complete absorption in twiddling the dials on the dashboard, and then turned back to her mum, catching the moment her eyes dipped.

Just for a second.

A quick flicker downward, over the rolled sleeves, the broad line of his shoulders beneath the white shirt, the dark straps of his overalls snug against his chest.

He smirked. “Careful, you’re staring.”

Her eyes snapped up, sharp and just slightly horrified. “I am not.”

“You are. It’s alright. Happens all the time,” he said, leaning casually back against the truck, utterly insufferable now. 

She scoffed, but her ears had gone pink. “No! I just think it’s a nice shirt. Very crisp. Good cotton, probably.”

Oscar chuckled, folding his arms. “I’ll let the fire service know. Get one sent out to you.”

“Oh, good,” she said dryly. “Nothing says flattering like free uniform merch.”

Aurelia’s voice rang out before he could reply. “Mummy! Come look at the back bit! There’s hoses!”

She gave him a look that said this isn’t over, then stepped past him to help Aurelia down. Oscar caught a whiff of her perfume as she moved, something light and clean, like citrus and soap, and tried not to look too pleased with himself.

He crouched again beside the little girl. “Want to hold the thermal imaging camera?”

Aurelia gasped like he’d offered her a crown. “Can I?”

“Course you can. Let me just grab it.”

While he disappeared momentarily into the side compartment, her mum looked after him, one eyebrow raised, like she was still debating whether to be annoyed or amused. Maybe both.

When he returned, holding the chunky bit of kit with both hands, he caught her smirking to herself.

“What?” he said, passing the camera to Aurelia.

“Nothing,” she said sweetly. “Just admiring the shirt again.”

Oscar grinned. “Thought so.”

And if he stood a little straighter for the rest of the morning, well, no one could blame him, really.

By midday, the fair was starting to wind down. The bouncy castle had deflated into a sad, crumpled mess, and a few stalls were already packing away jars of pick ’n’ mix and rain-speckled flyers. The sun had climbed properly now, still not warm, but bright enough to squint against.

Oscar stood by the truck, arms folded loosely, watching as Aurelia gave the thermal imaging camera a final, dramatic sweep across the grass, pretending to detect imaginary fires. Her mum hovered a few steps behind, rummaging in her bag, trying to locate a missing glove.

He caught her voice, half-muffled by the breeze. “Alright, Rels, we’ve got to go soon. Last bus is at twelve and I’m not chasing it again.”

Oscar straightened a little. She was looking at her watch, already slipping back into that quiet, slightly hurried rhythm he recognised from mornings in the shared walkway.

He pushed off from the side of the truck and wandered over, deliberately soft-footed across the grass. He stopped just behind her.

“Boo.”

She jumped about a foot in the air and turned, hand instinctively going to her chest. “God, don’t do that!”

He grinned. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist.”

She exhaled sharply, trying not to smile. “You’re a menace.”

Oscar nodded toward the road beyond the fence. “You’re heading off?”

She gave a small nod, still a little breathless. “Yeah. Got to catch the bus before it disappears into the void. It’s only once an hour out here.”

“Don’t bother,” he said, hands back in his pockets now. “Let me give you a lift.”

She blinked. “What?”

“I’ve got to drive the truck back to the station anyway, and Aurelia’ll love it. And I brought my car in this morning, first time in ages, I was running late, so I can just take you both home after.”

She stared at him, clearly caught off guard. “Oh. I mean, that’s kind of you. I don’t want to, um…”

“Inconvenience me?” he finished, one brow raised. “You wouldn’t be. It’s just a lift.”

She hesitated, glancing at Aurelia, who was now poking at the truck’s steering wheel with something close to reverence. “We don’t usually talk this much.”

Oscar gave a soft laugh. “Yeah, I’ve noticed. Thought I’d change that.”

She looked like she might say no, just on instinct, like she didn’t want to be a bother, but the words never quite came. Instead, she sighed and gave him a resigned sort of look.

“Fine. But only because Aurelia will probably combust if you offer.”

Oscar turned to the little girl, crouching again beside her with mock seriousness.

“Hey, Aurelia,” he said, “want to ride in the fire truck?”

Her eyes went wide. “What? Really?”

“Really,” he said, gesturing grandly toward the cab. “I need a co-pilot.”

She shrieked in delight and immediately threw herself at her mum, already halfway into the truck in her head. “Mummy, mummy, we’re going in the fire engine!”

Her mum shook her head with a quiet laugh, murmuring as she passed Oscar, “You’re going to regret this.”

But he was still smiling, already opening the cab door, like he doubted that very much.

Once he checked that everything was back in place, Oscar jogged over to the headteacher, a harried-looking man in a tweed jacket with a clipboard under one arm, who, thankfully, tended right to it and began talking to the stall holders.

When he turned back, he found Aurelia had already jumped in and her mother was right behind her attempting to get up herself. He came up behind her quietly, hand brushing gently around her waist as she shifted her weight.

“Easy,” he said near her ear, low and careful. “Didn’t want to startle you again.”

She tensed slightly, then let out a breath that was half a laugh, half something else. “You’re going to give me a heart attack.”

He tightened his hands around her waist and hopped her up into her seat then stood on the ledge. “Right then, Aurelia you’ll have to sit on your mum’s lap,” he told her, lifting her up onto her mother’s lap. “I haven’t got a booster seat, and I reckon you’d get swallowed up by that seatbelt on your own.”

“Okay!” Aurelia chirped, already clambering in. She nestled against her mum, legs swinging slightly, her face bright with excitement.

“Hold still a sec,” Oscar said, reaching in to pull the seatbelt across both of them. His arm brushed hers as he clicked it in, and when their eyes met briefly, he gave her a look that was pure cheek.

“Safe and sound.”

She raised a brow. “You enjoy this far too much.”

“I really do,” he grinned.

He stepped back, shut the door with a solid thunk, and jogged round to the driver’s side. Once inside, he leaned over and handed Aurelia a chunky black handset.

“Alright, Firefighter Aurelia,” he said, reaching for the cab’s radio. “We’ve got a very important mission.”

He pressed the button and spoke into it in his best dramatic voice. “Control, this is Unit Seventeen. We've received reports of a rogue ice cream van, repeat, rogue ice cream van, causing mayhem in the residential zone. Suspect is armed with sprinkles. Requesting permission to pursue.”

Aurelia squealed with laughter and clutched the handset like it was made of gold. Her mum shook her head, but Oscar caught the smile she was trying not to show as he flicked the ignition.

The old appliance groaned slightly as it rolled off the grass and onto the gravel path. The gate swung open ahead of them, and they bumped gently onto the road.

The drive was short, fifteen minutes or so, but it was quiet, in a good way. Aurelia made soft siren noises under her breath the whole time, practically vibrating in place, and her mum kept a steady hand around her middle to stop her launching herself at every passing tree or pigeon.

When they finally pulled into the station yard, the engine still humming beneath them, Oscar spotted Lando through the open shutters. He was parked in a camp chair just inside the bay, arms folded, head tipped back, fast asleep with a half-eaten bag of crisps in his lap.

Oscar flicked his gaze up to Aurelia, then caught her mum’s eye.

“Wanna wake up Sleeping Beauty?”

Aurelia’s face lit up. “Can I? Really?”

“Go on then,” he said, reaching up to the dash. “Just one burst, yeah?”

She bounced in her seat as he tapped the siren switch. The wail screamed to life, echoing through the yard. Lando nearly fell out of his chair, crisps flying in every direction.

Oscar killed the siren after two seconds, laughing as Lando stood up blinking, dazed and scandalised.

“What the bloody hell was that?” Lando shouted, wiping crumbs off his shirt.

Oscar stuck his head out the window. “Community engagement, mate.”

Aurelia was giggling so hard she nearly dropped her balloon animal.

Her mum shook her head, smiling despite herself. “You’re going to get sacked.”

Oscar smirked. “Not unless he grasses.”

He parked the truck, turned off the engine, and helped them both down one at a time.

As he pulled up, he looked at her sideways. “Worth it?”

She gave him a wry look. “You’re completely ridiculous.”

He grinned. “And yet, look at the smile on your daughter’s face”

She didn’t respond straight away, just looked at him, that same half-smile playing at her lips, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes yet. Not because she wasn’t happy, but because she wasn’t used to all this. The ease of it. The way he fit so seamlessly into an afternoon that wasn’t supposed to be anything more than a spring fair and a sugar crash.

Aurelia, oblivious to the grown-up moment passing quietly over her head, was already tugging at her mum’s hand.

“Mum! Look! Look, it’s like Fireman Sam! The pole! Can we slide down it? Can we?”

Oscar chuckled and crouched beside her. “You’ve got a good eye, Aurelia. That’s the real thing. Only the grown-ups are allowed on it though, bit dangerous, that one.”

She pouted, considering the injustice, then lit up again. “When I’m a grown-up, I’m going to work here with you.”

“Deal,” he said, offering her a pinky. “You’ll be the best firefighter in the place.”

She pinky-swore with great ceremony, and then launched into an intense interrogation about hoses, helmets, and whether or not he’d ever saved a dinosaur (he hadn’t, but he’d chased a very angry goose once, which she seemed to find acceptable).

Eventually, the sugar high began to dip and she slumped a little, thumb sneaking toward her mouth before her mum gently steered her hand away. Oscar caught the silent exchange and didn’t say anything, just gestured toward the far end of the garage.

“Car’s parked out the back. You ready?”

Her mum nodded, brushing a stray curl off Aurelia’s forehead. “Yeah. Let’s go before she falls asleep standing up.”

Oscar got changed out of his gear and wore just a hoodie and a pair of shorts as the girls walked to his car. They bundled into his car, Oscar making a show of unlocking the door like it was a limo and she was royalty, and within five minutes, they were on the road again, the fire truck a quiet memory behind them.

Aurelia was asleep before they turned onto their street.

Her head lolled against her mum’s arm, soft snores escaping in little puffs. Her butterfly face paint had mostly faded, a faint smudge of pink and glitter under one eye.

Oscar pulled into the car park behind the flats and cut the engine. The stillness after the hum of the engine felt sudden, like stepping into a moment that didn’t quite belong to the day.

She shifted carefully, not waking Aurelia, and glanced over at him.

“Thanks,” she said softly. “For all of that. You didn’t have to.”

He leaned back in his seat, eyes still on the dashboard for a moment before he looked at her.

“I know,” he said. “That’s kind of the point.”

They got out quietly, and he came round to open the door for her, taking Aurelia gently from her arms and settling her against his shoulder without fuss. She stirred but didn’t wake, hand fisting into the fabric of his shirt as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

They climbed the stairs together, slow and careful, her just a step ahead as they reached their landing. She unlocked her door quietly, reaching out to take her daughter back.

Oscar passed her over gently. “She’s heavier than she looks.”

“She’s all legs,” she whispered, smoothing Aurelia’s hair.

He nodded, hands slipping back into his hoodie pockets. For a second, neither of them moved.

The corridor was still. Just the hum of an old light overhead and the faint smell of fabric softener from someone’s laundry down the hall.

“I should… put her down,” she said, but her voice didn’t carry much urgency.

He looked at her then, really looked at her. “This was nice,” he said. “Spending time. With you.”

She held his gaze, surprised by how much that simple truth settled somewhere deep in her chest.

“Yeah,” she said after a moment, soft and honest. “It was.”

Neither of them quite knew what to say next. But it didn’t feel awkward, just quiet. Comfortable.

Then she smiled, just a little, and nodded toward her door.

“See you tomorrow, neighbour.”

He smiled back, stepping slowly away.

“Sweet dreams, Aurelia,” he said, softly, before turning and heading for his own door, the warmth of the moment still clinging to the edges of him.

And behind her closed door, she stood for a beat longer than she needed to, heart ticking just a little louder than usual.

A couple of days had passed, and the brightness of the spring fair had faded into a more typical grey sort of morning. The kind that didn’t quite rain, but threatened to at any moment. Oscar was shrugging into his station fleece, keys already in hand, when he stepped out into the corridor and nearly tripped over something on the doormat.

He blinked down at the small tupperware tub sitting neatly against his door, like it had been placed there with great care.

Inside, through the foggy plastic lid, he could just about make out a few slightly lopsided fairy cakes, frosting a bit wonky, a generous scattering of rainbow sprinkles on top. They weren’t shop bought. Not a chance. They had that unmistakable homemade charm, the kind that didn’t care about appearances but would taste better than anything in a bakery.

Tucked underneath the corner of the lid was a small card, folded over like a secret note passed in class. His name was scrawled across the front in purple felt-tip, the letters slightly uneven. 

He crouched down, picked it up, and flipped the card open.

Dear Mr Oscar,

Thank you for letting me drive the fire truck. You are the best firefighter in the world. I made you fairy cakes. Mummy helped but I did the mixing.

Love from,

Aurelie (age six and a HALF)

Oscar stared at the note for a long moment, a smile spreading slowly, unstoppably across his face.

He glanced at their door, tempted to knock, but it was early, and quiet behind the wood. Probably the usual hushed breakfast rush in there, uniforms, pony tails and cereal on the floor. He didn’t want to interrupt. Not yet.

So he tucked the card into his jacket pocket and examined the container, before heading off down the stairs with the kind of ridiculous warmth in his chest that made even a dreary Tuesday feel a little golden around the edges.

By the time Oscar got home, it was well past eight. His shift had overrun, as they often did, from a small domestic fire to someone’s car keys that were stuck in the car. He was knackered, hungry, and somehow still smiling like an idiot every time he glanced at the now empty cake tub in his hands.

He’d saved one. The best one, in his opinion. A bit sunken in the middle, heavy on the sprinkles, the icing smudged at the side like someone small had licked their thumb and tried to fix it. It was tucked into a bit of kitchen roll in the pocket of his coat.

The corridor light flickered as he climbed the stairs, his boots quiet on the worn carpet. Their doors faced each other, and for a moment, he just stood there, unsure if he was about to come off charming or really quite tragic.

But then he knocked.

Soft, just enough to be heard over whatever bedtime might sound like on the other side.

A pause. Then the click of the latch, and she opened the door just a crack before widening it when she saw him. She looked cosy, oversized hoodie, hair up, bare feet. The kind of comfort people didn’t wear unless they felt safe at home.

“Hi,” she said, surprised but not in a bad way. “Everything alright?”

Oscar held up the empty container like a peace offering. “Official return of government property. Wouldn’t want to be accused of fairy cake theft.”

She smiled, hand resting on the doorframe. “Did she really give you those?”

“Left them on my doormat. Full note and everything. Genuinely the highlight of my week.”

“She was very serious about it,” she said, laughing gently. “Kept asking if I thought you’d know they were from her. I told her you’d probably figure it out from the purple pen.”

“There was a lot of purple,” he nodded solemnly. “It was a full forensic giveaway.”

She laughed properly then, a hand over her mouth, and the sound curled around his ribs like a warm drink.

“I, um…” he shifted a little, suddenly aware of his own nerves, “I saved one. If she wants it back.”

She raised a brow. “You saved one?”

He held up his hands. “For sentiment, not greed.”

“Mm-hm,” she said, amused. “Well, she’s out like a light. Crashed in the middle of Matilda. Completely missed the part where Miss Trunchbull throws a child across the playground.”

“Shame. That’s the best bit.”

They stood there for a second longer than was casual, silence stretching warm between them.

Then, soft as anything, she said, “You want to come in?”

Oscar blinked. “Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. “If it’s not weird.”

She stepped aside to let him pass. “It’s a little bit weird,” she said honestly, then smiled. “But not bad-weird.”

He slipped inside, brushing past her in the doorway, and something about the quiet of the flat, the low lamplight, the faint scent of strawberry shampoo in the air, it made him feel like he was somewhere he wasn’t quite ready to leave.

She shut the door behind them, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like just the neighbour with a fire truck.

He felt like someone she wanted to keep close.

The flat was warm in a lived-in sort of way. Not spotless, but comfortable. A couple of cushions on the floor, a half-folded blanket draped across the back of the sofa, a mug left forgotten on the coffee table with a teabag still inside. It felt like somewhere someone lived, not just existed.

Oscar stood a little awkwardly in the middle of the room at first, unsure whether to perch or hover. She motioned towards the sofa, already heading into the kitchen.

“Put the telly on if you want. I’ve got, like, two channels that work properly and one that just plays antiques shows.”

He chuckled, watching her disappear round the corner. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He heard the clink of mugs and the whirr of the kettle. The sofa gave slightly under him when he sat, still warm where she’d been earlier, and he glanced around, a framed photo on the side, probably her and her daughter at the beach. Wind-swept hair, noses sun-pink, a proper grin on Aurelia’s face. That same grin she’d worn all day at the spring fair.

She came back in with two mugs, one hand curled round each handle.

“I wasn’t sure how you take it, so it’s builder’s,” she said, offering him one. “Strong enough to put hairs on your chest.”

He took it with both hands, the warmth of the ceramic seeping into his fingers. “I’ll risk it.”

They sat, not far, not quite close, but comfortably between. The telly was on in the background, some low-budget crime drama no one was really watching. The soft light pooled across her legs where she’d folded them under her, and the sleeve of her jumper kept slipping over her knuckles as she held her tea.

“Thanks,” he said eventually, nodding at the mug, then motioning towards the kitchen. “And for the cakes. And the note. That really made my day.”

She smiled, eyes soft. “She loves you, you know. Keeps calling you our firefighter.”

“Our?” He raised a brow, teasing. “Possessive, that.”

“Well,” she said, drawing out the word. “You did give her a lift in an actual fire engine. Might’ve set the bar a bit high.”

“Bugger,” he muttered playfully. “Should’ve started with something less exciting. Bin lorry, maybe.”

They both laughed, a quiet, comfortable sound. The kind that filled the little flat without echoing, like it belonged there.

There was a lull then, not awkward, just gentle. She reached down to pull the blanket from the floor and tossed one end over his legs without a word, settling the other across her own.

He blinked down at it, then looked at her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Sharing blankets now, are we?”

She didn’t even look at him. “You’re the one who looked cold.”

“Right. Humanitarian effort. Got it.”

He sipped his tea to hide the grin, eyes on the telly though he couldn’t have said what was happening. Every so often, her knee brushed his. Not enough to make a thing of, but enough to notice.

Eventually, she said, quiet enough that he almost missed it, “It’s nice. Having you here.”

He turned to her then, properly, softly. “Yeah,” he said. “It is.”

The telly droned on. Outside, the wind rustled the trees. Inside, two mugs slowly cooled on the table, and two people who hadn’t meant to mean anything to each other found themselves sitting shoulder to shoulder beneath a blanket, realising maybe they did.

It had been just over a week since that quiet evening on the sofa, and things had shifted in the sort of way you only noticed once it had already happened. There hadn’t been any grand declarations, no big talk, no labels. Just little things.

Oscar now offered her a lift any time he saw her out shopping, even if she only had a single bag. He’d insist it was on his way, even when it clearly wasn’t. He started carrying her parcels up without being asked, shoulder-barging the stairwell door open with a grin and a “Special delivery!” like it was no big deal. He always handed them over with one hand and a joke but his eyes always lingered just a beat too long. She didn’t seem to mind.

She didn’t say no to him, either.

It wasn’t just about her, though. He was clearly soft on Aurelia too, somehow managing that delicate balance between fun and dependable, chaos and calm. He never tried too hard, never made her feel like a chore. Just… showed up. It mattered.

So when he spotted the two of them coming back from school one afternoon, something in his chest twisted.

Aurelia wasn’t bouncing the way she usually did. Her hand was tucked tightly into her mum’s coat, and her face was blotchy in that telltale just-finished-crying sort of way. She wasn’t sobbing now, but she wasn’t smiling either.

Oscar frowned, stepping out of his doorway just as they reached the landing. “Alright?” he asked gently, eyes flicking between the two.

She gave him a small, weary look, and then crouched to Aurelia’s level. “Go on, love. Go get changed into your pyjamas, yeah? I’ll be in in a minute.”

Aurelia nodded mutely, her little lip still trembling, and padded through the front door. It clicked softly shut behind her.

Oscar stayed quiet for a beat. Then, low and careful, “What happened?”

She let out a slow breath, leaning back against the wall, arms folded. “It’s nothing big. At least, not to anyone else. But to her…”

He waited.

She glanced down at the floor. “It’s bring your dad to school day tomorrow. They’re doing some assembly thing. A lot of the kids’ dads have these big jobs —marine biologist, police, pilot, someone even works at a zoo. And obviously she doesn’t have anyone. She asked if she could take her god father, but he’s away, and my brother’s not really around.”

Oscar’s brows pulled together slightly, the picture forming. He could feel the weight of it even now, the pressure that sort of thing put on a kid. Everyone else parading a parent around like a badge of honour. And her? Just trying to smile through it.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s a lot for her to carry.”

“Yeah,” she said, voice quiet. “She didn’t say anything about it until just now. Said she didn’t want to upset me.” She scoffed lightly at herself, blinking fast. “She’s six, for God’s sake. She shouldn’t be worrying about me.”

Oscar’s gaze dropped to the floor, then lifted slowly to meet hers. “Why don’t I go?”

She blinked. “What?”

“To the school. For the thing. I mean.” he shrugged, awkward now, eyes flicking away “If she wants me to. I’m technically a firefighter. That’s still cool, right?”

She stared at him.

He gave a small, crooked smile. “I’ve got the day off. And I’ve got the uniform. Not the proper helmet, that’s locked up, but I could bring the jacket. Talk about smoke alarms and what happens if you leave your toast in too long.”

“You’d really do that?”

Oscar looked at her properly now, really looked, and all the gentle affection in him softened his voice. “Yeah. If it’ll help. I’d do a lot for her. And you.”

Her lips parted like she might say something, but nothing came out straightaway. Instead, she just nodded, slowly, almost like she didn’t quite trust her voice yet.

“I’ll ask her,” she murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “But thank you, Oscar.”

He gave a half-shrug, like it was nothing, but his heart was thudding behind his ribs.

“Tell her I expect a very professional introduction,” he said, backing away toward his flat, trying to keep it light.

And just before he stepped inside, she called after him, voice soft but sure.

“She’ll be over the moon.”

He didn’t say anything back.

He just smiled.

And his whole chest felt full.

Oscar had never had stage fright in his life. He’d once crawled through a burning pub roof, half convinced it was going to come down on his head, and hadn’t flinched. But standing outside the Year Two classroom, fiddling with the zip on his fire service fleece while a sea of tiny faces peered through the glass?

Yeah. That did it. 

Aurelia stood proudly beside him, hand firmly in his, like she was escorting a VIP. “Don’t be nervous,” she whispered with complete sincerity. “You’re the best one.”

That undid him a bit.

The door opened and a teacher with a rainbow lanyard and a kind smile welcomed them in. Oscar ducked slightly out of habit, as though the ceiling might lower to match the size of the furniture. The classroom was bright and chaotic in the way only a primary room could be. Walls plastered with glittery artwork, phonics charts, paper bunting with all the kid’s faces and a corner reading nook with two bean bags that had seen better days.

Aurelia immediately tugged him by the hand to the back wall. “These are mine,” she said, pointing to a messy collage of tissue-paper flowers, a painted hedgehog, and a bright crayon rainbow. “And that’s my favourite one.”

He leaned in, smiling, and then paused. Nestled in the middle of the display, in a wonky black felt-tip frame, was a drawing of three stick figures.

One tall with brown hair and blue scribbles on his shoulders. One with long lines of hair and a dress in Aurelia’s favourite shade of pink. And one, small and neat, holding both of their hands.

His throat did something strange.

Aurelia tapped it with pride. “That’s you,” she said. “That’s me. And that’s Mummy.”

He blinked. Swallowed. “Right.”

No one had ever drawn him before. Not like that. Not part of something. Not holding hands.

She didn’t notice his pause, already rifling through a drawer of coloured pencils, humming quietly. The rest of the class buzzed around them, but in that little corner, time felt like it had narrowed.

“We’re allowed to make a new picture for home if we want,” she said. “I’m going to do one for Mummy.”

He crouched beside her, watching her draw two wonky hearts and a triangle house with smoke coming from the chimney.

“Can I help?”

She nodded and handed him a green pencil.

He added a little tree with apples. Then, below the drawing, in his slanted, firefighter has to fill forms handwriting, he wrote carefully:

Mummy is the prettiest of them all.

Aurelia giggled and pressed her hands to her cheeks. “I think mummy is going to love that.”

He smiled at her, warm and full. “I hope so.”

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of picture books, wide-eyed questions from excitable children, and a slightly panicked moment when one kid asked how many people he'd "seen explode." 

But through it all, it was Aurelia's face he kept coming back to. The way she looked at him with pride, like she’d brought in something precious to share. The way she whispered his name to her friends, like she was letting them in on a secret. The way she slid her hand into his without even looking, like it was just the natural place for it to be.

And maybe the strangest bit?

It felt like home.

After the school visit, Oscar hadn’t quite been ready to say goodbye. Not yet. So when Aurelia mentioned, rather loudly and unsubtly, that she fancied an ice cream, he’d raised a brow in her mum’s direction and said, “Well, I suppose it is practically summer…”

She didn’t protest.

So they ended up walking to the corner shop, Aurelia skipping ahead with a swirl cone in one hand and rainbow sprinkles already melting down her fingers. He paid for the lot, obviously, brushing off any protests with a lazy, “Call it my speaker’s fee.”

When they got back, Aurelia darted inside first, cone long gone and hands sticky, only to stop dead in the kitchen.

“Mummy! Look!”

Aurelia pulled out the paper from her book bag with sticky hands, but her mum took it delicately, like it was something rare. Her eyes softened as she read the words beneath the sketch. Then, without a word, she reached for a magnet and pinned it to the fridge, pride of place, just above the shopping list.

Oscar watched from the doorway, the weight of something quiet settling in his chest. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

That night, just before he was about to settle in for a late dinner and a bit of telly, there was a soft knock at his door.

He opened it to find her standing there in joggers and an oversized hoodie, a small container in her hands.

“I made this,” she said. “It’s not much. Just lasagne. But it’s a thank you. For today.”

His lips curled into a slow, lopsided smile. “I see where Aurelia gets it from.”

She rolled her eyes, but didn’t deny it. He took the container from her, their fingers brushing for a second too long, and the air between them shifted—just slightly, but enough to notice.

They stood in the corridor for a moment. It was quiet. Still. A pause between heartbeats.

Then, softly, almost shyly, she leaned in and kissed his cheek.

He froze, just for a second. Her lips were warm, gentle. She was already pulling back, the beginnings of an embarrassed smile forming as she started to turn away.

But he caught her.

“Wait.”

His hand came up, firm but tender, fingers tilting her chin towards him. His thumb brushed her cheek, and then—

He kissed her.

Not tentative. Not uncertain.

He kissed her like he’d been thinking about it for weeks. Because he had.

She gasped just a little and then melted into him, her hands sliding up into the front of his hoodie, bunching in the fabric like she needed something to hold onto. And when she let out the tiniest, breathy moan against his mouth, he smiled into the kiss, cocky and utterly undone all at once.

“Alright there?” he murmured against her lips, his forehead resting lightly against hers.

She was breathless. “It’s been a while.”

His eyes softened, thumb still stroking along her jaw. “Worth the wait, though.”

She nodded.

And neither of them moved. Not for a long while.

Just them. Just warmth. Just… something that felt very, very real.

They stood there for a while, neither of them quite ready to let go.

Eventually, she nudged her nose against his cheek and whispered, “Do you want to come in for a bit?”

He blinked at her, lips still curved from the kiss. “Yeah,” he said, voice quiet. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

She led him back into her flat, closing the door softly behind them. The hallway light cast a warm, golden glow over the walls, and the familiar smell of home. He followed her into the living room, everything dim and quiet. Aurelia’s newer drawings were still scattered across the coffee table. A soft throw had been kicked half off the sofa.

She turned to him, suddenly sheepish, running a hand through her hair. “I feel like I’m at uni, sneaking someone in,” she said with a small laugh.

He grinned. “I never went.”

She tilted her head, surprised. “Me neither.”

He looked at her for a second, then nodded towards the closed door down the hall. The one with a glittery star-shaped sticker on it.

“That why?”

She glanced back at the door. Something shifted behind her eyes. A quiet sadness, old but not forgotten.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “I was supposed to. Got in and everything. Nottingham. English Lit. But I was nineteen and stupid and thought I was in love.”

She walked over to the sofa, sat down, and he followed. Their knees brushed. She stared at her hands for a moment before continuing.

“Didn’t know I was pregnant until I’d already turned down the offer. Was going to reapply the next year. But then she happened. And everything got really real, really fast.”

He didn’t say anything. Just listened, his body angled towards her, giving her the space and the safety.

“Her dad left when she was four months old,” she said, with a small, almost apologetic shrug. “Just sort of disappeared. Too young, too overwhelmed, I don’t know. It doesn’t matter now.”

He was quiet for a moment, then leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. His voice was gentle.

“Of course it matters.”

She gave him a tired smile. “Not in the way people expect it to. I’m not bitter. I’m just tired sometimes. It’s a lot. But then she does something like draw me with a crown and a sparkly dress and labels it Queen of Mummies and I forget everything else.”

Oscar looked at her for a long moment. Then, softly, “You’re incredible, you know.”

She let out a breath that was half a laugh, half a sigh. “I’m tired and a bit moody and have approximately seventeen loads of laundry waiting, but thanks.”

He reached out, his hand brushing gently over hers. “I meant it.”

She looked up at him, eyes soft and a little glassy in the low light.

There was a pause, weightless but full of something.

“You’re not sneaking me in,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re letting me in.”

And that, God, that did something to her.

She leaned her head on his shoulder, and he tucked her in without thinking, arms coming round her like they’d always belonged there.

They sat there like that. Still. Quiet. Her fingers tracing absent-minded shapes on his forearm. The world outside fell away, no alarms, no homework, no long nights of dishes and lost socks.

Just this. Just him. Just her.

And the hum of something beginning to bloom.

It had been about a month since that first kiss in the corridor.

Oscar still had his own place, but he spent two, sometimes three, nights a week at hers now. It wasn't official, they hadn’t talked about labels, but the toothbrush beside hers in the bathroom said enough. So did the way he’d taken to calling her flat home without thinking, or how Aurelia would lean sleepily against his leg in the mornings while she waited for her eggs to finish cooking.

They had a rhythm now, dysfunctional but quiet and real.

He’d learnt how not to wake Aurelia when he rolled in late, how to turn the key in the lock with just the right amount of pressure and not let the hinge on the bathroom door creak when he showered after a night shift. She, in turn, had mastered the morning shuffle. Tiptoeing around the flat while he slept off the early hours, even closing cupboard doors with that soft, deliberate touch only mothers and night nurses seemed to perfect.

Some mornings, if his shift ended early and she had a bit more time, she’d curl back into bed beside him for a half hour. No words. Just warm limbs tangled together under the duvet while the outside world waited.

It was gentle, it was something he’d never thought he’d get, something he’d never thought he’d deserve.

That night, though, the fire station ws quiet and all he could think about was home. He was half slumped in one of the chairs in the rec room, sipping lukewarm tea from a chipped mug and watching some repeat quiz show on mute. It was just him, Lando, and two of the more senior lads, all of them looking somewhere between exhausted and wired.

Then the alarm started blaring.

The tone was different, lower, more urgent. Not a false alarm or a test. Not a bin fire or a smoke detector in a student flat.

Oscar was already on his feet before Control came through the speaker. 

“House fire reported, scratch that, pub fire, multiple reports of visible flames, location. The Fox and Hound, Chapel Lane.”

That made him pause. The Fox and Hound was a big one. Old building. Thatched roof. Always busy on weekdays and visible from his little flat.

It was 2am.

“Let’s go!” Andrea shouted, already moving. Oscar hauled his gear on, the straps familiar and fast now. His thoughts flicked to her, to Aurelia, how they were safe at home but bound to wake up to the sound of sirens. He tucked it away. Couldn’t think about that. Couldn’t think about anything but getting there.

The engine roared to life, tyres heavy on wet tarmac. Blue lights bounced across empty roads and shuttered shopfronts. No one spoke. Lando checked the comms, while Oscar stared out the front window, jaw tight.

As they got closer, they could already see the glow. Not just smoke, flames. Licking skyward in bright, vicious tongues.

He felt it then. That buzz in his blood. Not fear, exactly, something sharper. Something colder.

They pulled up just outside the pub. Heat rushed at them as soon as the doors opened. People were gathered at a safe distance, coats over pyjamas, phones in hand, eyes wide.

Oscar jumped down, helmet secure, heart thudding.

“All right,” came the voice in his earpiece, “we’ve got reports of staff inside, one maybe trapped, two might’ve made it out the back.”

Oscar didn’t hesitate. “Which floor?”

“Upstairs flat. Left side.”

And just like that, they moved. Through the smoke, through the roar and the crack and the chaos.

He didn’t think of her again until they were inside. But when he did, it was like armour.

She’s waiting. You get out. You go home.

The heat hit him like a wall.

By the time Oscar got inside, the fire had already taken hold of the bar. Bottles of spirits cracked and burst like fireworks, sending shards and fuel across the floor. The wood panelling burned fast—too fast. There was a reason fire crews hated pub jobs. Alcohol and timber made for a nasty combination.

His mask filtered the worst of the smoke, but visibility was poor. He ducked low, sweeping the hose with one hand while shouting into the crackling dark, “Fire and Rescue! Anyone inside?”

There was no reply, just the moaning groan of the ceiling starting to go.

They cleared the ground floor quickly. A member of staff had managed to stumble out the back, coughing and panicked, mumbling about another one unaccounted for.

Oscar was halfway out, half a breath from turning back, when he caught sight of the stairs through the smoke.

Stairs.

He froze, then turned back to Control. “This place has rooms. It’s an inn.”

There was a pause in his earpiece.

“Confirmed. It’s a pub with letting rooms. Upstairs. Go careful.”

He didn’t wait for permission. He ran.

The heat intensified as he climbed. Fire moved like a living thing, chewing through floorboards, plaster, lives. The smoke was blacker here, thicker, laced with that acrid sting of burning plastic and varnish.

He moved fast, sweeping left and right. Doors half-open. Sheets scorched. The moan of fire too close.

And then he heard it.

A sob.

Small. Choked. From the far room, left corner.

He found her curled up on a narrow bed, knees hugged to her chest, cheeks streaked with soot and tears. Couldn’t have been more than eight. Long brown hair stuck to her face, and she was shaking.

“Mum?” she whimpered.

Oscar’s breath caught.

For half a second, she wasn’t a stranger. She was Aurelia. She was his little one. In a different place, a different time, but just as small. Just as scared.

He didn’t hesitate. Ripped off his oxygen mask and crouched down beside her, voice steady.

“Hey, hey—it’s okay. I’m here to help. We’re getting out of here, alright?”

She nodded, hiccupping sobs now. He wrapped her in his jacket, pulled her close, and hoisted her into his arms.

“Close your eyes for me, alright? Tight. Don’t look.”

She did.

The flames were close now. He felt the blistering heat crawling up the corridor behind them as he turned, shielding her with his body.

The ceiling above the stairwell was starting to sag. There wasn’t time to think. Only move.

He bolted.

Smoke seared his lungs. His mask hung useless at his hip. He pressed her tighter to his chest, ducked as a beam groaned and crashed just behind him, sparks flying past his shoulders.

The front exit was blocked. Too hot.

He spotted a smashed window in the corridor off the landing—low enough. Maybe.

He didn’t think, just acted.

He lunged for it, twisted his body to take the brunt, and threw his arm over her head as he pushed through.

Glass scraped his back. A cry tore from his throat, but he held her steady.

And then—

Air.

Cool, blessed air.

He stumbled out onto the pavement, coughing, the girl still cradled tight against him.

A medic ran forward and took her. She was sobbing, but alive. Alive.

Oscar slumped to his knees, gasping.

Lando was beside him in seconds. “Mate—what the hell?!”

Oscar waved him off, catching his breath, throat burning.

“She was in there. A kid.” He looked up. “Could’ve been her, Lan.”

Lando didn’t need to ask who her was.

It took another hour to put the fire out completely. They lost the roof, and two rooms, but no lives. None.

Oscar sat on the pavement long after the hoses went still, his turnout gear soaked through, back bleeding, lungs scorched, but he was upright.

He couldn’t stop seeing the girl’s face.

Couldn’t stop seeing Aurelia in it.

By the time they got back to the station, Oscar was soaked through with sweat and soot. His shirt stuck to the grazes along his back, stiff with smoke. His hands trembled when he took his gloves off.

The station was quieter than usual. No jokes. No kettle boiling. No telly. Just that heavy silence that follows the worst kind of shout.

Zak caught his eye as he stepped down from the truck.

“You’re done for the night, Piastri,” Zak said quietly, hand on his shoulder. “Go home, Oscar.”

Oscar opened his mouth to argue, to say he was fine, standard procedure, but the words caught in his throat. He wasn’t fine. He didn’t feel anything close to fine.

So he nodded. Wordless. Stripped off his gear and shoved it in the drying room. Pulled a hoodie from his locker and walked out of the doors with the smell of burny wood still clinging to his hair.

The cab ride home was a blur. He didn’t remember much except asking the driver to leave him on the corner, needing the walk to clear his head.

But it didn’t help.

Because all he could see was her. That little girl, curled up in the bed, sobbing for her mum. The one he carried out. The one who had Aurelia’s eyes.

He didn’t even realise his key had missed the lock twice until the door opposite his flat opened.

And then she was there.

She took one look at him and moved without thinking. “Oh my God—Oscar—”

He barely got the door open before she crossed the hallway, hands on his chest, eyes scanning him like she needed to count all his fingers and toes just to believe he was still whole.

“I heard there was a fire. We could see it from here, someone said it was your station that went out and—” Her voice cracked as she clung to his hoodie. “You didn’t answer your phone so I assumed you’d gone but—”

He didn’t mean to. But his arms went round her like instinct, and his voice finally gave out as he buried his face into the side of her neck.

“I need to see her.”

She didn’t ask who. She just nodded.

He stepped inside her flat and moved straight to the bedroom door. It was slightly ajar, the way it always was. Soft light from her nightlight spilled onto the hallway carpet.

Aurelia was fast asleep, curled on her side, clutching that stuffed bunny she never went to bed without.

Oscar watched her chest rise and fall. Just breathing.

Just alive.

And that was all it took.

His knees buckled slightly, hand braced on the doorframe, and tears spilled hot down his cheeks. She was there in an instant, arms around his waist, and he didn’t try to stop it.

He wept quietly, forehead resting against hers, chest heaving as every unspoken terror bled out of him.

She reached up and cupped his face gently. “Come on,” she said softly, “let me take care of you, yeah?”

He didn’t argue.

She led him by the hand to the bathroom, flicked the light on low, and turned the tap to fill the bath.

Without a word, she reached for the hem of his hoodie, and he let her lift it over his head. Her fingers brushed the grazes on his back, and she exhaled, not quite a gasp, but almost.

He looked down at himself. Soot-stained, battered, worn thin.

She didn’t say anything. Just tugged his joggers off gently, like she was handling something fragile.

When he was bare before her, she stepped closer, pressed a kiss to his sternum, and wrapped her arms around his middle.

He pressed his nose into her hair, breathing her in. Clean. Warm. Real.

“You’re home,” she whispered.

“I thought she was going to die,” he choked. “She was crying for her mum. She was—she looked just like—”

“I know,” she murmured, and her hand found his. “You saved her.”

She helped him into the bath, then climbed in behind him, still in her top having discarded her leggings, gathering him close like he was the one who needed holding now. And maybe he was.

No more sirens. No more shouting. No fear.

Just soft water. Warmth. Her.

Home.

The steam had fogged up the mirror, and the water had gone lukewarm by the time she pulled the plug. Neither of them moved for a moment. Limbs heavy, breath slow, her arms still wrapped around him from behind. His back rested against her chest, and her cheek was pressed to the crown of his head.

Eventually, she stirred first, nudging his shoulder gently.

“Come on,” she whispered, voice hushed like she didn’t want to wake the world. “Let’s get you dry.”

He let her guide him up, hands loose in hers. She reached for a towel and wrapped it round his waist, then took another and ran it through his hair, careful and slow like she was unravelling the knots of the day with each movement. His eyes stayed on hers the whole time, soft and unreadable. She dried herself as he put some clothes on, watching him as he slipped on the pyjamas he left yesterday, while she opted for a pair of shorts and a tank top.

She led him into her bedroom with nothing but the quiet creak of floorboards between them. Her hand rested on the small of his back, grounding him.

When she turned to face him, he didn’t speak. He just looked at her like she was something he still didn’t quite believe was real.

“Lie down,” she said softly.

He did, not like it was an order, more like a suggestion he’d been waiting for. He lay back against the pillows, hair damp, skin warm. He looked younger in the low light. Unarmoured. All soft edges and tired eyes.

She climbed in beside him and straddled his hips, in the vest and shorts she’d pulled on a second ago. Her fingers ghosted over the scrapes on his shoulder, her brow creasing.

“You’re hurt.”

“I’ll live.”

“Still.” She leaned down, brushed her lips over one graze like it deserved an apology. “You gave too much of yourself tonight.”

He let out a slow breath, hands resting on her thighs. “Didn’t feel like I had a choice.”

“I know.” She kissed another spot. Then another. “But you don’t always have to carry everything alone, you know.”

He swallowed, his throat tight. “I don’t know how to do this slowly,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Not with you. Not after tonight.”

She leaned forward until her forehead rested against his. “It doesn’t have to be slow,” she murmured, lips brushing his. “It just has to be soft.”

And it was.

No rush. No fumbling. Just touch, and breath, and the quietest kind of yes in every movement.

His fingers curled around her hip, grounding himself, and when he kissed her back it was like he needed her to know. I’m here. I’m yours. I came home to you.

She smiled at him, the warmest smile he’d ever seen.

It wasn’t fireworks or declarations.

Just warmth. 

Home.

She kissed him again, this time slower. Deeper. Her fingers slid into his damp hair, anchoring him to her, and his hand found the curve of her hip again, drawing her in without thought.

The air between them felt thick with warmth, not heat, like the moment before a storm breaks, all hush and anticipation. There was no rush in it. No fumbling. Just the steady build of something that had been waiting in the quiet between them for weeks.

She shifted a little, her legs bracketing his, the hem of her vest brushing the tops of his thighs. His hands slid up, tracing her shape like he was learning it by heart. The small of her back, the line of her waist, the softness of her ribs. She leaned down, her breath warm against his cheek.

“Is this alright?” she asked, voice low.

“Yeah,” he murmured, brushing his nose along hers. “More than alright.”

She kissed him again, deeper this time, and he responded with a soft noise at the back of his throat, his hands gripping a little tighter, his body rising to meet hers. Their movements found a rhythm, gentle, reverent. He helped her lift her vest, pulling it slowly over her head, and she let it fall to the floor beside the bed. There was no embarrassment in her. No hesitation. Just trust, and something else, something fragile and burning beneath the surface.

He sat up, mouth brushing her collarbone, then lower, until she gasped, not from surprise, but from the quiet ache of being seen. Wanted. He pressed kisses down her chest, hands steady on her waist, as if every part of her mattered. Like she wasn’t just something beautiful, but something sacred.

Her fingers found the waistband of his joggers and tugged them down with a quiet smile. “I think you’re overdressed.”

He huffed a laugh against her neck. “Been saying that about you for weeks.”

When they came together it wasn’t fireworks. It was warmth, and weight, and breath. Her hand slid into his, fingers laced tightly, like she needed the grounding. He moved slowly, gently, his forehead resting against hers, his free hand stroking up the length of her spine in time with the soft rhythm between them.

Neither of them spoke, not because there was nothing to say, but because everything important was already there, in the way their bodies met, and parted, and met again. In the way she whispered his name like it meant something. In the way he held her like she was the only safe thing left in the world.

And when it was over, when her body relaxed against his, and his arms came around her like instinct, they stayed there, skin to skin, tangled in sweat-damp sheets and the quiet hum of something that felt a lot like love.

He brushed his fingers through her hair, soft and absent.

She pressed a kiss to the side of his throat, her voice barely more than a breath.

“I’ve never had this,” she said.

He kissed the top of her head. “You’ve got it now.”

And she did.

The flat was filled with the kind of early morning stillness that only came after a long night. The light outside hadn’t quite brightened, but it wasn’t dark either, that muted, silvery sort of grey that hinted at a day gently waking up.

Oscar stirred first, arms curled around her, legs tangled in the duvet. Her head was on his chest, one of her hands tucked beneath his shirt like it belonged there, like it always had. He blinked slowly, heart still steady in the after-glow of everything, and let the moment stretch.

No alarms. No radios crackling to life.

Just breath. Just her.

Then came the familiar shuffle of small feet padding across the hallway, a door creaking ever so slightly, the rustle of a blanket being dragged along the floor.

Aurelia.

He felt her tense slightly against him, just a flicker, the instinct of a mum on alert, but she didn’t move to untangle herself from him. Instead, she sighed, soft and sleepy, and whispered, “She’ll come to the kitchen first.”

Sure enough, a cupboard door opened with a tiny clatter. A pause. Then the quiet clink of a cereal bowl.

He smiled. “She does this every time, doesn’t she?”

“She thinks she’s sneaky.”

“Is she?”

“Not even slightly.”

He laughed gently and kissed her hairline before slipping out of bed. He pulled on his joggers and one of her hoodies that hung by the door, the sleeves a little short on him, then padded into the kitchen.

Aurelia looked up from the kitchen table, spoon halfway to her mouth. Her eyes went wide for a second, not surprised, just curious, and then her face broke into a grin.

“You slept over again.”

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, suddenly a bit shy. “Yeah. That alright?”

She nodded, chewing thoughtfully. “You’re in mummy’s hoodie.”

Oscar laughed. “I am. D’you reckon it suits me?”

She tilted her head, considering. “Yeah. But your sleeves are funny.”

Just then, her mum appeared in the doorway behind him, wrapped in one of his T-shirts, hair tousled, still sleepy-eyed.

Aurelia beamed.

Oscar glanced back at her, and something in his chest pulled, that same quiet tug he’d felt last month, in the classroom, staring at a child’s drawing of a life he hadn’t known he’d wanted until he saw it sketched out in crayon.

The three of them. A little sun in the corner. Lopsided hearts.

She came up behind him and pressed a kiss to his shoulder, a soft morning kind of kiss, and brushed past to the kettle.

Aurelia watched them both, spoon hanging from her mouth. Then, very simply, she said,

“You should just live here now.”

They both looked at her.

She shrugged. “You always make mummy smile.”

Oscar blinked, caught a little off guard. He looked over at her, the woman who’d somehow become the best part of his days, and saw the faint blush creeping up her neck.

“We’re working on it,” she said gently, reaching to ruffle her daughter’s hair.

And maybe they were.

They didn’t have a grand plan, or timelines, or promises inked in stone, but they had something. And in typical child nature, after dropping a bomb like that, Aurelia left her bowl and moved onto drawing.

Oscar was mid grabbing the butter from the fridge when his phone started to buzz with a FaceTime call.

He frowned at the screen, then smiled. “It’s my mum.”

She raised her eyebrows slightly, a teasing smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You gonna answer?”

“Suppose I’ve got to now,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck and tapping the green button.

His mum’s face filled the screen, tanned and bright-eyed, her hair swept back, sunshine spilling in behind her through the windows of her kitchen in Melbourne.

“Oh! Look who it is!” she grinned. “Took you long enough to answer. I was starting to think you’d moved to the moon.”

Oscar chuckled. “No, still Earth-side.”

She narrowed her eyes, playful. “That is not your flat, Oscar Jack. I know your tiles. Is this Lando’s place?”

He opened his mouth to reply, but just then, Aurelia let out a small triumphant cheer as she held up her finished drawing. “Look, Oscar, it’s us in the fire engine again!”

His mum’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, that’s not Lando either.”

Oscar looked down at the floor for a moment, then gave a sheepish smile.

“Right,” he said, shifting a little. “So… bit of a life update.”

He turned the phone round gently, showing his mum the cosy kitchen, the mess of crayons, the fireman sticker Aurelia had slapped onto the fridge, and finally, her.

She smiled warmly, caught off guard for just a second by being the centre of attention, but not pulling away. She gave a small wave. “Hi.”

Oscar cleared his throat, a little hoarse with nerves. “Mum… meet the woman who’s kept me sane the last couple of months.”

His mum blinked, a beat of silence, and then she smiled so wide it softened every line in her face.

“Oh,” she said softly. “Now that makes sense.”

He laughed, a quiet, breathless sort of sound, and she leaned into his shoulder slightly, her hand resting on the table beside his. Aurelia had already resumed drawing, now completely absorbed in adding stars to the day sky.

His mum nodded, still smiling. “She’s beautiful.”

“She is,” he said, before he could even think to stop himself.

There was no panic in it, no need to explain further. Just truth, warm and steady between them all.

“You look happy, love,” his mum said at last. “Properly happy.”

He glanced sideways, saw the way she was looking at him, like he’d finally landed somewhere soft.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I think I am.”

Just as he was about to speak up again, Aurelia called his name demanding his immediate attention, and to Oscar, she deserved immediate attention so he left the phone on the island with her and wandered off into the living room to see what she needed.

“So,” his mum said, leaning her chin on her hand, “you’re the one that’s brought my son back to life huh.”

She laughed softly, brushing a crumb from the table. “I don’t know about that. He’s done plenty of the heavy lifting.”

His mum tilted her head. “You’ve got no idea, have you?”

She looked up, brow furrowed just slightly.

“That boy,” his mum said, with the fondness she recognised as a parent, “has always been kind. But I haven’t heard him sound like that in years. Like there’s a little bit of sunshine in his voice again.” Her eyes stung, just a little, but she kept her smile. “He makes it easy to be kind to him.” “I’m glad he’s got you,” she said, voice quieter now. “And I’m glad he’s got her too. It seems your little one is a bundle of magic.”

She nodded, looking toward the living room where they were both laughing. “She’s my whole world.”

There was a pause, and then Oscar’s mum said, not unkindly, “Must’ve been hard. Doing this all on your own.” “It was,” she admitted, honest without bitterness. “Still is, some days. But it’s better now. Easier, with him.”

His mum’s smile turned into something a little misty. “Well. If he’s half as good to you as he was to his little cousins back home, you’re in very safe hands.”

“I think I am,” she said, quietly.

Oscar’s voice called from down the hallway then, something about star stickers and him being promoted to co-pilot of the living room space rocket, and they both laughed.

“I should go help him survive his new role,” she said, pushing her chair back.

Oscar’s mum smiled. “Tell him I said he’d better ring again soon. And you, look after each other, yeah?”

“We will.”

And as she ended the call and stood, walking towards the warm sound of her two favourite voices down the hall, she realised it had been a long time since things felt this much like home.

Seven months had passed, and life had woven itself into something steady, soft edges and everyday joy.

Oscar had sold his flat back in April, after a lot of faffing and a surprisingly emotional trip through storage boxes. Now, all his belongings lived here, in the flat that had once felt like hers and hers alone, but now smelled like them. His mugs were in her cupboards, her shoes were tangled up with his by the door, and there were three toothbrushes in the bathroom, hers, Aurelia’s, and his. One day, quietly, it had stopped feeling like he was staying over, and started feeling like home.

They had routines now. Quiet ones. Aurelia would burst into the bedroom at seven on the dot if it was his day off. On early mornings, he’d creep in at six, just off a night shift, and she’d leave the landing light on for him like a lighthouse. He knew how she took her tea, and she’d learnt not to make noise until he’d actually had some of it. He made dinner most nights, unless she’d had a good day at work and was feeling ambitious.

It was simple. Not perfect, not glossy, not always easy. But it was theirs. And it was good.

This morning, the flat was busy with the chaos of first-day-back energy. Year Three. New backpack. New lunchbox. New plaited hairstyle that had taken them two goes to get right.

Aurelia had been buzzing from the moment she opened her eyes.

“Am I late? Is it time? I’m going to forget cursive. I bet I’ve forgotten cursive!”

“You can write better than most adults, you’ll be fine,” Oscar said, dropping a kiss to her forehead as she wriggled into her shoes.

Her mum gave her one last once-over by the door, brushing a bit of fluff off her shoulder. “You look beautiful, baby.”

Oscar grinned. “You look cool. Very Year Three.”

She beamed. “I’m going to boss Year Three.”

He dropped her off that morning, gave her a high five at the gates, and watched her disappear into the swarm of backpacks and bright socks and morning yawns.

But it was that afternoon that stopped him still.

He’d offered to do pick-up. Thought it’d be a nice surprise. He stood by the railings, hands in his jacket pockets, feeling strangely nervous in a sea of parents and buggies and scooters.

Then she came running out of the gates.

Pointed straight at him.

And with the biggest grin, shouted, “My dad is here to pick me up!”

Oscar froze.

The word rang out in his head like a church bell. Like something he wasn’t quite supposed to hear.

Dad.

His chest tightened. Not with panic. Not with fear. But something much bigger. Something messier.

She ran straight into his arms and he lifted her with a small laugh, though it came out shaky. She chattered the whole way home, about spelling tests and Miss Price’s new earrings and how someone brought in a tarantula, but he barely caught any of it.

Because one word had wrapped itself around his ribcage.

Later, once she was tucked up on the sofa with a biscuit and the telly on low, he stepped into the kitchen, where she was rinsing mugs by the sink.

“Hey,” he said, voice a little quieter than usual.

She turned, drying her hands on a tea towel. “Hey, you alright?”

He just looked at her for a moment. His eyes were glassy.

“She called me her dad.”

She paused. Slowly put the towel down.

“I went to pick her up and she saw me and said it. My dad is here to pick me up. Just like that.”

He let out a shaky breath, a small, astonished sort of laugh. “I thought I was going to cry right there in the playground like an idiot.”

Her heart clenched. She stepped toward him, and he pulled her in like a lifeline.

“She meant it, didn’t she?” he whispered into her hair.

“She did,” she said softly. “She really, really did.”

That night, after the dishes had been done and the flat had settled into its usual hush, Oscar found himself stood in the doorway to Aurelia’s room.

She was half asleep already, the telly's low hum from the living room barely audible through her door. She stirred slightly, sensing him, blinking one eye open.

“Hey,” she mumbled.

He stepped in, crouched beside her bed. “Just checking in on you.”

“You always do,” she said sleepily, reaching for his hand.

He smiled. “Habit now.”

She squeezed his fingers. “You’re the best one, you know. I’m really glad you’re mine.”

Oscar swallowed. “I’m really glad I’m yours too, pickle.”

She wriggled a bit, yawning into her blanket. “Love you, Oscar.”

He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “Love you more.”

And in the quiet of that room, with the soft rise and fall of her breathing, he stayed just a minute longer, heart full in a way he never thought it could be.

Over the years, things changed. For the better and never the worst.

They got married in a small ceremony at the register office, all low-fuss and laughter and Aurelia dropping petals like she was queen of the world. He wore his uniform jacket, she wore a soft blue dress that matched her eyes, and Aurelia insisted on holding both their hands the whole way through the vows.

He officially adopted her not long after that. There was paperwork, a hearing, signatures, all formal, all necessary, but what he remembered most was the moment she looked up at him, fidgeting with the sleeve of her cardigan, and said, “Can I have the same name as you?”

He cried. Fully. In public. No shame.

“You sure?” he’d asked, voice thick.

She nodded with a smile that could’ve split the sky. “I want to be the same as you.”

After that, life kept growing. Gently, beautifully.

They hadn’t planned on having another child. Not because they didn’t want to, more that they’d built a home already, and it felt enough. But life, as ever, had other plans. It happened one quiet spring, and when she told him, he’d gone very still and said, “Are you serious?” and when she nodded, he sank to his knees with his arms round her middle like she was something holy.

That pregnancy was nothing like the first. It wasn’t fraught with fear or pain or the weight of being alone. This time, she had someone holding her hair back when the sickness kicked in. Someone who learnt how to make the weird toast she liked at four in the morning. Someone who ran baths and rubbed her back and whispered “you’ve got this” against her skin when she needed it most.

He took proper paternity leave too, remembering how he told Zak, “Don’t give me grief, Zak, it’s the law”, and when he finally did go back to work, he did it dragging himself out of bed with bags under his eyes, a half-eaten banana in one hand and a tiny sock stuck to the back of his uniform trousers.

But he was happy.

Proper, head-to-toe, bone deep happy.

Oscar, who used to dread going back to his childhood home, now booked flights to Australia every year like clockwork. Family trips, beach towels, squabbles over carry-ons, and Aurelia teaching her little brother how to build sandcastles while their mum took pictures and Oscar applied suncream with the seriousness of a soldier preparing for war.

And when he looked back, years later, in the slow quiet of a Sunday morning, coffee in hand and the flat filled with life, he sometimes thought of the school fair. Of the day he met her. Of balloon animals, and face paint, and one very small girl yelling “Neighbour firefighter!”

And he’d smile, every single time.

Because somehow, against all the odds, it had been the beginning of everything.

the end.

taglist: @lilorose25 @curseofhecate @number-0-iz @dozyisdead @dragonfly047 @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @sluttyharry30 @n0vazsq @carlossainzapologist @iamred-iamyellow @iimplicitt @geauxharry @hzstry @oikarma @chilling-seavey@the-holy-trinity-l @idc4987 @rayaskoalaland @elieanana@bookishnerd1132@mercurymaxine

[flux1563]

The Porn Shoot ft yunjin

Tags : Squirting, creampie, pussy gape, video call sex, male reader

Words : 7730

"You're up next, Yunjin," the director called out, his voice slicing through the muggy summer air. The bustle of the film crew around her grew distant as she stepped into the spotlight. Sweat trickled down her neck, sticking her shirt to her skin like a second layer of glue.

Yunjin took a deep breath and focused on the beat of the music pumping through her earphones. She had practiced this routine a hundred times in the mirror, but the pressure of the cameras and the expectant gazes of the group made her heart hammer like a drum in her chest. She closed her eyes for a moment, blocking out the chaos, and when she opened them, she saw the text from her manager, Y/N, again. "Can u come to my car, i need to tell u something." The words danced in front of her like a mirage, taunting her.

With a furtive glance at the director, she made a split-second decision. She mouthed an apology to her groupmates and dashed off the set, the clack of her heels echoing down the alley. The car was parked at the end, a sleek black sedan that had become a second home over the months of their relentless schedule. She could see his silhouette through the tinted windows, a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips, the orange ember burning like a beacon.

Her heart was racing as she opened the door and slipped into the cool, leather embrace of the passenger seat. The scent of smoke and cologne filled the air, and she took a deep breath to steady herself. "What do you want to tell?" she said, her voice wavering slightly.

Y/N turned to her, his eyes dark and unreadable. For a moment, she thought he might actually have some news about their upcoming tour or maybe a surprise visit from the record label. But instead, he leaned in and kissed her, his cigarette dropping to the floor mat with a hiss. Yunjin's thoughts froze as she processed the suddenness of his action. She'd never seen this side of him before, and the warmth of his mouth on hers sent a jolt of surprise through her body.

But she didn't pull away. If anything, she leaned into it, her own stress and pent-up desires taking over. The kiss grew more urgent, his hands tangling in her hair as she gripped the armrest, their breaths mingling in the close quarters of the car. The fabric of their clothes whispered together, the sound a stark contrast to the loud silence that enveloped them. Yunjin's body responded in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying, her skin tingling with a heat that had nothing to do with the sticky weather outside.

Breaking away, he whispered, "You're so beautiful." His hands slid down to her shoulders, his thumbs brushing the exposed skin of her collarbone. The words sent a shiver down her spine, and she couldn't help but wonder what had brought this on. Was it the intensity of their work, or something else entirely? The question hovered at the edge of her mind, but she didn't dare voice it, afraid to ruin the moment.

He reached for the hem of her shirt, his movements slow and deliberate. She watched as his eyes widened with excitement when he saw the bare skin of her stomach. Her heart hammered in her ears as his fingers traced a line up to her breasts, teasing the fabric of her bra. The anticipation was almost too much to handle, her body already humming with need. She hadn't felt this alive in weeks, not with the constant pressure of perfecting their performances and meeting endless demands.

As Y/N's hands grew bolder, Yunjin felt a mix of emotions - fear of getting caught, confusion about the sudden turn of events, but mostly, a fierce, unbridled craving for more. Her own hands found his face, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss as she straddled him on the plush seat. The engine of the car hummed beneath them, a steady rhythm that mirrored the beating of their hearts. The world outside the tinted windows faded away, leaving only the two of them and the electric tension that crackled in the air.

With a gentle tug, he peeled her shirt off her shoulders, revealing her lacy bra. His eyes darkened as he took in the sight, and he leaned in to kiss the spot just above the fabric. She gasped, the sensation sending waves of pleasure through her. Her hands trembled as she reached behind her to unclasp the bra, letting it fall away. His warm palms cupped her breasts, thumbs circling her hardened nipples. The heat of his touch sent bolts of sensation through her, and she couldn't help but arch into his hand.

Yunjin's skin was sticky with sweat and desire as she leaned back into the seat, her breaths coming in shallow pants. He kissed his way down her body, peeling off her tight jeans and panties in one fluid motion. She was laid bare before him, her pussy swollen and glistening in the dim light. His eyes roamed over her, and she felt his gaze like a caress, leaving her skin alight with anticipation. The sight of his hunger for her was intoxicating.

Her nipples were bright pink, peaked like cherries at the end of a warm summer's day, begging to be tasted. He took one into his mouth, sucking gently at first before increasing the pressure. She moaned, her back arching off the seat, her hands clutching at his hair. He switched to the other one, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin, and she gasped. The pleasure was exquisite, a perfect balance of pain and pleasure that had her legs trembling.

Her pussy was meaty, the skin a deep, flushed red that spoke of desire. He kissed his way down her body, his breath hot against her skin. His tongue traced the delicate folds, and she quivered under his touch. His fingers slipped inside her, exploring her wetness with a gentle insistence that had her hips rocking against his hand. He groaned against her, the vibration sending a fresh wave of heat through her. She felt so exposed, so vulnerable, but also so powerful.

"Keep going, your mouth is so good," she gasped, the words spilling out of her like a confession. His tongue circled her clit, teasing it mercilessly until she was panting. Her fingers curled into the leather of the seat, her body tightening with the beginnings of an orgasm. He knew exactly how to touch her, how to make her body sing with pleasure.

He looked up at her, a smug smile playing on his lips before he plunged his tongue deep inside her. She moaned loudly, the sound muffled by his mouth. Her pussy build the pressure until she was sure she couldn't take anymore. "I'm gonna cum, Y/N," she whimpered, the words barely coherent. "Is it okay to squirt?"

"Just do it, Yunjin," he said, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down her spine. And with those simple words, the dam burst. Her body convulsed as she came hard, her juices spurting out and soaking the seat beneath her. The scream that tore from her throat was primal, echoing in the confined space of the car. She had never been so uninhibited, never felt so alive.

He didn't stop though. If anything, the feel of her squirting around his fingers only spurred him on. He began to pump his hand in earnest, his two digits sliding in and out of her slick channel with an ease that spoke of experience. She could feel herself tightening around him, her orgasm still riding her like a wild wave. The pleasure was almost too much to bear, but she didn't want it to end.

"Yes, Y/N," she moaned, her voice a desperate plea. "Right there, keep touching it." He chuckled against her skin, his breath hot and heavy. He knew just where to touch her to send her over the edge again, and he wasn't about to let her down. His thumb found her clit once more, rubbing it in a slow, circular motion that had her bucking her hips against him.

Her eyes squeezed shut, her mouth parted in a silent scream as the orgasm crashed over her like a tidal wave. The squirt grew more intense, spraying against his hand and the leather seat. It was a mess, but she couldn't bring herself to care. All she knew was the exquisite sensation of his tongue swirling around her clit, his fingers still pumping in and out of her. The warmth of his breath against her skin only added to the sensory overload.

"Three squirt," she heard him murmur, his voice a low rumble in his chest. She could feel another climax building, her body a tight coil ready to snap. "Four squirt," he said, and she lost count as the contractions took over. Her pussy clenched around his digits, her squirts becoming a continuous flow as she rode the waves of pleasure. She had never felt like this before, never knew she could.

Her body was a symphony of sensation, each touch and kiss a note that played in time with the pulse of the bass outside the car. She could feel the vibrations of the music video shoot through the pavement and up into her very core. The world outside didn't matter; all that existed was the rhythm of his hand and the warmth of his mouth.

Yunjin's pussy was a machine of pleasure, squirting in time with his expert ministrations. Each pulse of her orgasm was a gush of wetness that soaked the seat, a testament to the power of his touch. Her legs were trembling, her muscles quivering as she rode the waves of ecstasy. She could feel herself growing wetter with each passing second, her body responding to his every command.

"Fuckk so much squirt from ur mouth and fingers," she moaned, her voice thick with arousal. She had never been so vocal before, but something about the way he played her body like an instrument brought out a side of her she didn't know existed. It was raw and primal, and it was exhilarating.

He sat up, his eyes gleaming with lust. He unzipped his pants, revealing his hard cock, which stood at attention like a soldier waiting for his orders. Yunjin couldn't help but stare, her mouth watering at the sight. She had never felt so hungry for someone, so desperate to feel them inside her. "Please," she begged, "just fuck me already. I can't wait anymore."

But Y/N had other plans. He reached over to the center console and pulled out a bottle of water. He unscrewed the cap and took a sip before leaning back down to her pussy. The coolness of the liquid on her sensitive skin made her jump, and she watched in amazement as he began to rub the water onto her clit with his thumb. The sensation was strange, but it soon gave way to a new kind of pleasure as the water mixed with her juices. He worked her clit in a slow, deliberate rhythm, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Wait," he said, his voice thick with lust. "I want to make you squirt five times again before I fuck you."

And with that, his mouth returned to her pussy, his tongue dancing over her clit while his fingers plunged in and out of her wetness. Yunjin's eyes rolled back in her head, the pleasure so intense it was almost painful. She could feel another orgasm building, her body tightening around his hand. He was relentless, his mouth working her clit like it was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted. She could feel her pussy clench and release, a symphony of pleasure that had her toes curling.

"One," she gasped, her voice trembling as she felt the first spurt of wetness. "Two," she moaned, her hips bucking against his face. The squirts grew stronger, her body convulsing with each wave of ecstasy. "Three, four..." she lost count as the orgasms rolled through her, each one more intense than the last. She could feel herself getting wetter, the squirts turning into a torrent that soaked his hand and the car seat beneath her.

Yunjin was panting, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. But He wasn't done yet. He sat up, his hand still buried in her pussy, and leaned over to grab the bottle of water again. He brought it to her mouth, tilting it so that the cool liquid spilled over her tongue and down her throat. The contrast of the cold water against her burning desire was exquisite. "Five," she whispered, her eyes glazed with lust.

And then, with a final, powerful thrust of his fingers, she felt it - the fifth orgasm ripping through her like a bolt of lightning. Her pussy clenched around his hand, spraying water and juices everywhere. She screamed his name, the sound echoing through the car. He watched her with a mix of awe and satisfaction, his own arousal palpable in the tense air.

"I want you to suck my dick," He said, his voice strained with need. "But we don't have enough time."

Yunjin nodded, her body still trembling from the intensity of her climax. She knew the risks of getting caught, but she couldn't deny the desperate craving to feel him inside her. "It's okay," she whispered, her eyes never leaving his. "Just fuck me now."

With a feral growl, he positioned himself between her legs, his cock slick with her juices. He took a moment to appreciate the sight of her, sprawled out on the car seat, her chest heaving and her pussy glistening with need. Then, without further warning, he pushed inside her, his cock sliding in easily due to her squirts. Yunjin's eyes went wide as she felt the stretch, the sensation of fullness that was so overwhelming it was almost too much to handle.

Her orgasm hit her like a freight train, the initial penetration sending her soaring over the edge once more. Her pussy clamped down on his cock as she came, her muscles contracting in a delicious symphony of pleasure. He groaned, the feel of her tight pussy milking him almost pushing him over the edge.

"Why you so sensitive?" he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "Do you need it this bad?"

"Your cock is just so fucking big," Yunjin managed to gasp, her eyes squeezed shut as she felt every inch of him fill her up. It was true; his size was something she had never experienced before. It was almost painful, but in the most exquisite way. Her pussy stretched around him, the sensation of being so utterly filled sending her over the edge again.

"I can feel it," she whispered, her voice barely a murmur. "Your cock is touching every corner of my pussy." His eyes darkened with desire at her words, his grip on her hips tightening as he began to thrust in earnest. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the car, punctuating the quiet night air outside. The leather of the seat squeaked beneath her as he fucked her hard and fast, each stroke pushing her closer to another orgasm.

Her squirts grew more intense, her pussy contracting around his shaft like a vice. It was as if her body was trying to milk him dry, to pull every ounce of cum from him. Yunjin's moans grew louder with each thrust, her voice hoarse from the screams of pleasure that had torn from her throat. She had never felt so alive, so wanted. The way he claimed her, so rough and unyielding, it was as if he owned her, as if she was nothing more than a toy for his amusement.

Yet even as her body responded to him, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt. This wasn't supposed to happen, not with her manager, not when they had a music video to finish. But the feeling was quickly drowned out by the fire that raged through her veins, the need to feel him deeper, to come again and again.

Her legs were trembling, her body slick with sweat and desire. Each squirt seemed to come more easily now, her pussy gushing like a fountain each time he hit that perfect spot. He groaned, his movements growing more erratic as he felt her tighten around him, her orgasms pushing him closer to the edge. "You're so good, Yunjin," he panted, his hips slamming into her with a ferocity that was almost scary. "So fucking good."

Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she could only manage a breathy "Ahh..." as he brought her to climax after climax. It was as if her body had become a machine solely designed for his pleasure, each squirt a testament to his skill. The car rocked with their movements, the leather seat sticking to her skin as she bucked and writhed beneath him. The world outside had faded away, leaving only the two of them in a bubble of lust and passion.

His grip on her hips grew bruising, his thrusts deep and punishing. He was relentless in his pursuit of her pleasure, pushing her to heights she had never dreamed of. And she was powerless to stop it, her body responding to his every demand. Her pussy was a fountain of desire, squirting uncontrollably with each stroke of his cock. The sound of their lovemaking filled the car, a symphony of wetness and passion.

Her orgasms came in waves, one after the other, each more intense than the last. She could do nothing but gasp and moan, her voice reduced to a series of breathless "Ahhhs" that seemed to fuel his lust. His eyes were locked on hers, watching her unravel beneath him with a hunger that was almost frightening. But she didn't care. All that mattered was the feeling of him inside her, the way her body responded to his touch.

Yunjin's pussy was a fountain, a never-ending source of wetness that only grew more intense with each thrust. She could feel it gushing out of her, soaking the seat, the fabric of her panties sticking to her skin. The sight of her own juices pooling around his cock was too much to handle, and she squirted again, the force of it pushing him deeper inside her. "Ahh, yes," she moaned, her back arching as she gave herself over to the pleasure.

Her eyes squeezed shut, she could only manage to breathe out the word, "More." Her body was a playground for his desires, and he took full advantage, his hips pistoning into her with a rhythm that was as mesmerizing as it was punishing. Each time she thought she had reached her peak, he pushed her further, his cock hitting that magical spot that had her squirting uncontrollably.

Yunjin's pussy had become a machine, churning out a deluge of liquid with each powerful thrust. The sound of her squirts filled the car, a symphony of pleasure that seemed to crescendo with every gasp and moan that she couldn't hold back. Her thighs were slick with her own juices, the sticky mess a testament to the intensity of their passion.

All she could do was let out a breathy "Ahh," over and over again, her body no longer under her own control. Each time he pulled out, she felt the emptiness keenly, only to be filled once more by his thick, pulsing cock. It was as if her body had a mind of its own, eagerly welcoming him back with a fresh spray of wetness. Her orgasms were a blur, each one more intense than the last.

Her pussy was a fountain, a never-ending stream of liquid desire that soaked the seat beneath her. The leather stuck to her skin, the fabric of her clothes plastered to her body as she squirted in a rhythm that matched the beat of the music thumping outside the car. The sight was mesmerizing, a visual symphony of passion that had her mind reeling.

"Why haven't you cum yet?" she panted, desperation lacing her voice. Yunjin's body was on fire, each pulse of pleasure making her want more. She could feel the tension coiling in his body, his muscles tight with the effort of holding back. It was a delicious torment, knowing she could push him over the edge at any moment.

"What do u mean, Yunjin?" he asked, a hint of frustration in his tone. "We just began fucking for 10 minutes."

"It's just..." she panted, her cheeks flushing a deep shade of pink. "It feels so good, every part of me wants you to keep going. But, I can't help but wonder if it's because I've been holding back for too long."

Y/N chuckled, the sound deep and rich in his throat. "Don't flatter yourself, Yunjin," he said, his eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and desire. "It's not just you. I'm a man with needs, and you have a very... responsive body. It's like you're made to make me feel this good."

He leaned in for another kiss, his teeth grazing her bottom lip before delving back into her mouth. His hands roamed her body, squeezing and caressing, leaving trails of fire in their wake. She felt his cock pulse against her inner thigh, the head slick with her juices. The pressure was building inside her once again, a coil of need that threatened to snap.

"I don't have the stamina of a monster," he murmured against her neck, his breath hot and ragged. "But it's because of you, Yunjin. Your pussy is so fucking sensitive, so slutty. It's like it's begging for more."

Yunjin felt a blush creep up her neck, a mix of embarrassment and excitement. His words were crude, but the truth in them was undeniable. She had never been with someone who could make her feel like this, who could coax so much pleasure from her with such ease. Her body was his playground, and she was more than happy to let him explore every inch.

"Are you having enough of squirting, Yunjin?" he asked, his voice a low purr that sent shivers down her spine. She bit her lip, trying to form a coherent response. "I-I don't know," she stammered. "It's just... it's never been like this before."

Her eyes were indeed going blurry from the overwhelming sensations, and her mind was a haze of pleasure. Each squirt felt like a release of pent-up tension, a pressure valve letting out a flood of desire. "It's okay," she murmured, "keep going."

His strokes grew more erratic, his breath coming in harsh pants as he felt his own orgasm approaching. Yunjin could feel his cock swelling inside her, the head rubbing against her G-spot with each powerful thrust. She clutched at his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin, urging him on. Her pussy was a vice, squeezing him tightly with each contraction.

"I think I have enough of squirt," she gasped, her voice strained. "I can't take it anymore." Her mind was indeed a blank canvas, the only color being the overwhelming pleasure that consumed her. Her eyes were glazed over, the world around her fading to a blur as she focused solely on the feeling of his cock pounding into her.

"Where do you want me to cum, Yunjin?" he asked, his voice thick with lust. "In your mouth? On your tits? Or do you want me to fill your pussy up?"

"In my pussy," she breathed, her eyes fluttering open to meet his. The words were a declaration, a silent admission of the depth of her craving for him. She felt her pussy clench around his cock, her body begging for release.

Y/N groaned, his control slipping as he thrust into her with renewed vigor. He was a man on a mission, each stroke aimed at filling her to the brim. The car rocked in time with their movements, the windows steaming up as the night outside grew darker. His eyes were wild, his face a mask of pure, unbridled lust.

Yunjin's pussy clamped down on him, her muscles spasming with every thrust. She was close, so close to another mind-shattering climax. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps, her nails digging into his back as she urged him on. "Cum in me," she whispered, the words barely audible over the sound of their skin slapping together. "I want to feel it, all of it."

His eyes narrowed with determination. He pulled out, his cock slick with her juices, and flipped her onto her stomach. He spread her legs wide, exposing her pink, swollen pussy to the cool air of the car. With a growl, he plunged back in, his strokes frantic and wild. She was so tight, so wet, that every inch of him was coated in her squirt. The feeling was indescribable, a mix of pleasure and pressure that was driving him to the brink.

He knew he didn't have much time; the film crew would be looking for her soon. The thought only spurred him on, the thrill of the forbidden mixing with the need to mark her as his own. He reached under her, his hand finding her clit. He rubbed it in time with his thrusts, his fingers coated in her juices. The sound of her wetness filled the car, the slap of his hips against her ass a rhythm that matched the beat of the music outside.

Yunjin's squirts grew more frequent, her pussy gushing around his cock with every stroke. She was close, so close to the edge, but he wasn't going to let her fall over just yet. He wanted to feel her tighten around him as he came, to know that he had pushed her to the brink of pleasure and beyond.

With the powerful thrust, he hit her G-spot, and she let out a scream that was muffled by the seat. Her pussy clamped down on him like a vice, her juices spraying all over his cock and balls. Y/N could feel his orgasm building, the pressure in his balls growing to almost unbearable levels. He leaned over, his hand still working her clit as he whispered in her ear, "Take it all, baby. Take every drop."

Her pussy was a fountain of pleasure, a never-ending geyser of squirt that coated his cock with her desire. He could feel her muscles clench around him, her body begging for more. "Cum for me, Yunjin," he growled, his voice hoarse with need. "I want to feel you milk me dry."

With each stroke, she could feel herself getting closer to the edge, her body wound tight with anticipation. Her squirts had become a steady stream, soaking the car seat beneath her and making the leather stick to her skin. She gripped the edge of the seat, her knuckles white with the effort of holding on. "Fuck me, Y/N," she moaned, her voice a desperate plea. "Fuck me until you fill me up."

His grip on her hips tightened, his pace increasing. His cock was a relentless force, driving into her with a ferocity that left her breathless. She could feel his balls slapping against her ass, a delicious sensation that only added to the pressure building inside her. His breath grew ragged in her ear, his teeth nipping at her neck as he approached his climax. "I'm going to cum," he grunted, his voice strained with effort. "I'm going to fill you up."

Yunjin's body responded to his words, her pussy clenching around him like a fist. She could feel the hot pulse of his cock, the precursor to his release. The thought of his sperm filling her up was almost too much to bear, pushing her over the edge once again. Her squirts grew more intense, the car seat beneath her a soggy mess of desire.

With a final, powerful thrust, Y/N released, his hot cum spurting deep inside her. He groaned, his entire body tensing as he emptied himself into her welcoming depths. Yunjin felt the warmth spread through her, a feeling of completion that was as overwhelming as the orgasms that had come before. Her pussy spasmed around him, her squirt mixing with his cum in a delicious mess that coated his cock.

"I can feel it," she whispered, her voice shaky with pleasure. "Your sperm so full in my womb." The words sent a shiver down his spine, his cock twitching with the last remnants of his orgasm. He had never heard anything so erotic in his life, and the knowledge that he had claimed her so completely had him feeling like a king.

Yunjin's breath was indeed heavy and short, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Her eyes were glazed with desire, and her cheeks were flushed a deep shade of pink. She was a vision of beauty and wanton lust, and he couldn't believe she was all his. Slowly, he pulled out his cock, the sound of their mingled wetness filling the car.

He leaned back, his chest heaving, and watched her for a moment, her body still trembling with the aftershocks of her orgasm. Then, with a smirk, he said, "Thanks, Y/N. I'll go back to shooting again."

His eyes lit up with a mischievous glint, and he reached out to grab her hand before she could move. "Hold on, it's not over yet, Yunjin," he murmured, his voice still thick with lust. "I want you to ride me this time."

With surprising agility, Yunjin repositioned herself above his lap.

Her legs trembled as she straddled him, his cock standing tall and proud, still slick with their combined juices. She bit her bottom lip, her eyes never leaving his as she reached down to guide him back inside her. The head of his cock nudged at her entrance, and she gasped at the feeling of fullness that washed over her again.

Without warning, Y/N grabbed her hips and pulled her down, impaling her on his shaft in one swift motion. Yunjin's eyes went wide, a high-pitched squeal escaping her lips as she felt him fill her up completely. The suddenness of it all was shocking, but oh so delicious. Her pussy clenched around him, eager to feel every inch of his length.

"Fuck," she screamed, her voice echoing in the small confines of the car. "You're so deep, it feels like you're hitting my womb."

Her body began to quiver, her legs shaking as she struggled to keep herself upright. She felt the pressure building again, the familiar sensation of an orgasm approaching. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she threw it back, her pussy spasming around his cock. He watched in amazement as she began to squirt once more, her juices drenching him and the car seat beneath them.

"Fuck," she moaned, her voice a mix of pleasure and disbelief. "That feels so good, Y/N. I love you."

The words hung in the air, a declaration that neither of them had expected. His eyes searched hers for any sign of doubt, but all he found was a mirror of the desire and affection that burned within him. He leaned in to kiss her, his mouth claiming hers in a fiery embrace that stole the very air from her lungs. "I love you too," he whispered, the words a gentle caress against her swollen lips.

With newfound determination, Yunjin began to ride him, her hips moving in a sensual dance that had his cock sliding in and out of her soaking wet pussy. She was a vision of beauty and passion, her breasts bouncing with each movement, her hair a wild cascade of silk that framed her flushed face. His hands roamed her body, his fingers digging into her hips as he guided her movements, urging her to take him deeper, to show him just how much she craved his touch.

Her eyes closed, her mouth formed a perfect O as she took him in, her walls tightening around him like a glove. She was in her element, her body moving with an instinctual rhythm that seemed to have been programmed just for this moment. And as she moved, her breasts swayed, begging for attention. He couldn't resist the temptation.

He leaned forward, capturing one of her nipples in his mouth, flicking it with his tongue. Yunjin's eyes shot open, her back arching as a fresh wave of pleasure crashed over her. He sucked hard, drawing a gasp from her, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak. She threw her head back, her long hair cascading down her back as she rode him with a newfound ferocity.

Her pussy spasmed around his cock, a fresh squirt of juices coating him as she neared another orgasm. With each movement, she could feel the pressure building, her body begging for release. His eyes never left hers, his gaze intense and unwavering as he watched her unravel. He knew she was close, and the anticipation was killing him.

He reached up, his hand wrapping around her neck in a gentle yet commanding grip. His thumb stroked the pulse point, feeling the rapid beat of her heart as she rode him. His other hand found its way to her clit, his fingers moving in a slow, deliberate circle. Each touch sent a jolt of pleasure through her body, making her squirt even more.

Her eyes snapped open when the sound of her phone ringing pierced through the haze of lust. It was the cameramen, their anxious voices crackling through the speaker. "Yunjin, where are you?" they called out, their words a stark reminder of the world outside their passionate bubble.

His eyes widened with excitement, his grip on her neck tightening ever so slightly. "Give me your phone," he murmured, his voice a dark promise. Without hesitation, Yunjin handed over the device, her eyes never leaving his.

He took the phone, a wicked smile playing on his lips as he accepted the call. "What's the problem, guys?" he said, his voice deceptively calm. On the screen, the cameramen's faces were a picture of frustration and worry. "Yunjin's just busy with another shoot right now, a porn shoot"

Yunjin's eyes widened in shock, but before she could protest, he flipped the phone to show her riding him, her mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure, her eyes rolled back in ecstasy. Her pussy was still spasming around his cock, and the sight of her in such an exposed and vulnerable position was too much for her to handle. She squirted again, her body betraying her in the most delicious way.

The cameramen's voices grew louder, their concern morphing into shock and excitement as they realized what was happening. He held the phone out, his thumb hovering over the speaker button. "Do you want them to hear you cum, Yunjin?" he whispered, his voice a seductive taunt. "Should we give them a little show?"

Yunjin's cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink, but she couldn't deny the thrill that shot through her at the thought of being watched, of having an audience to her pleasure. The phone vibrated in his hand, and she felt a new pressure building inside her. Her pussy was a furnace, the heat of their combined lust threatening to consume them both.

Her protests died on her lips as he pushed the button, the sounds of their passion now echoing through the phone's speaker. The cameramen's gasps and murmurs of approval were like a drug, making her body even more responsive to his touch. She could feel the camera's eyes on her, watching every move she made, and it only served to heighten her arousal.

Her pussy was a furnace, her squirts coming in a steady flow that soaked the car seat beneath them. Each stroke of his cock sent waves of pleasure crashing over her, and she could feel the tension building once more. Her body was a symphony of sensation, every nerve ending singing with desire. His hand remained firm on her neck, his grip just shy of painful, as he continued to pump into her with a ferocity that left her breathless.

Yunjin's eyes flickered to the phone, the sight of her fellow groupmates' faces watching her on screen only fueling her passion. She wanted to protest, to tell them to stop, but the words were lost in the haze of pleasure that consumed her. Instead, she leaned back, her breasts thrusting towards the camera, a silent invitation for them to watch. The thought of their eyes on her, seeing her in this vulnerable, wanton state, was a thrill she hadn't anticipated.

"I can't stop squirting, Y/N's dick is so big," she screamed, her voice raw with passion. Her pussy was a fountain around him, her juices glistening in the dim car light as they continued to fuck. The camera feed was a blur of skin and movement, a testament to the intensity of their encounter. His smile grew wider as he watched her reaction, his cock swelling even further at the sound of his name on her lips.

Her walls were tightening around him, each spurt of her orgasm gripping him like a glove, the sensation unlike anything he had ever felt. His own climax was approaching, but he held back, wanting to savor the feeling of her tightness, her wetness, her desperation for his cock. "Look at them," he murmured, tilting the phone so she could see the groupmates' faces, their eyes wide with shock and excitement. "They're watching you, Yunjin. They know how much of a slut you are for me."

Her eyes went wide with a mix of mortification and arousal, and she threw her head back, her breasts bouncing with each thrust as she screamed out his name. "Y/N, your dick is so big, I can't stop squirting," she moaned, the words a desperate plea for more. The camera crew's voices grew louder, their encouragement spurring them on like a twisted cheering squad. The thrill of being watched was intoxicating, a heady mix of power and vulnerability that had her pussy contracting around him with renewed force.

His hand tightened around her neck, his other hand now gripping her hip, guiding her movements with a roughness that she found oddly reassuring. He was in control, and she was his to take. Her breath hitched as she felt another orgasm building, the pressure in her abdomen growing to a crescendo. "Do it," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "Make me cum for them."

He didn't need any further encouragement. With a savage growl, he bucked his hips up, his cock slamming into her with a force that made her entire body shake. The car rocked with the intensity of their lovemaking, the windows fogging up completely as the outside world was forgotten. The music from the set outside had turned into a faint background melody, a rhythmic pulse that matched the beating of their hearts.

Yunjin's pussy was a vice around him, her muscles rippling and spasming as she squirted over and over. He could feel the heat of her, the tightness of her, the way she clung to him like a lifeline as he brought her closer to the edge. His strokes grew deeper, more powerful, each one pushing her closer to the brink. And as she watched the stunned faces of her groupmates on the screen, she realized that she didn't care.

Her body was his playground, and she was more than willing to perform for their eager eyes. The knowledge that they were watching, that they could see her in this raw, primal state, only served to make her more desperate for his cum. She braced herself, her hands gripping the headrest as she bounced on his cock, her juices soaking them both.

He could feel his orgasm approaching again, the tension in his balls almost painful. He watched the screen, the sight of her squirting for their cameramen's eyes making him growl with possessive lust. His hand moved to her clit, his fingers working it with the precision of a maestro, bringing her closer to the crescendo that would match his own.

"When I cum, you squirt for me," he said, his voice a dark promise. His words sent a shiver through her body, her pussy clenching around him in anticipation. He knew she was close, her breathing had turned into pants, and her eyes were squeezed shut as she rode him.

"Yes," she moaned, her voice barely a whisper. "I'll squirt for you, Y/N. I'll show everyone how much I want you." The idea of being so open, so exposed, was terrifying, but she couldn't deny the thrill it brought. Her body was no longer her own; it was a vessel for his pleasure.

He leaned in, his teeth grazing her earlobe as he whispered, "Good girl." His hand tightened on her neck, his other hand guiding her hips to match his rhythm. She could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles flexed with each powerful thrust. His cock was a steel rod inside her, filling her completely, stretching her to the point of pain and back to pleasure again.

"Fuck, your pussy's so tight," he groaned, his voice a mix of awe and lust. "I'm going to cum deep inside you, mark you as mine." The words were like a spell, and she felt herself respond, her pussy clamping down around him as if to pull him closer. "Fuckk ur cum is so good, Y/N," she panted, her words a desperate plea for more.

With a growl, he thrust into her one last time, his cock pulsing with his orgasm. She felt his warm seed spurt into her, filling her up to the brim. The sensation was overwhelming, and she let out a scream that was part pleasure, part pain, part love. Her pussy contracted around him, milking every drop from his cock, and she squirted once more, the force of it so strong it sprayed onto the car windows.

Y/N pulled out of her, his cock glistening with their combined fluids. He was still hard, still eager, but he knew that this was a moment to savor. He leaned back in his seat, panting, and pointed the camera at her soaking wet pussy. The sight was obscene, beautiful, and utterly intoxicating. Yunjin's eyes widened with shock as she realized what he was doing, but she couldn't find it in herself to be embarrassed. Instead, she lay back against the car seat, her legs spread wide, and allowed him to film her in all her post-coital glory.

"Look what I've done to Yunjin," he said, his voice filled with a dark satisfaction that sent a shiver down her spine. "You're so fucking beautiful when you squirt." He leaned in, capturing her mouth in a bruising kiss, his tongue delving deep to taste the remnants of their shared passion. The phone was still recording, the camera capturing every moment of their intimacy, broadcasting it to their unknowing groupmates and crew.

Her makeup was indeed a mess, smudged and running down her cheeks in rivulets. Her hair was a tangled mess around her face, a wild halo of desire that framed her flushed features. Yunjin couldn't help the feeling of pride that swelled within her; she was his creation, a masterpiece of lust that no one else could claim. Her pussy was still gaping, the 'O' of her lips swollen and red from his relentless attention. And she could feel his cum, thick and warm, slowly leaking out of her, a testament to their shared climax.

The phone in his hand was forgotten for a moment, the live feed still broadcasting their intimate moments to the shocked crew. The cameramen stared, slack-jawed, at the screen, their eyes glued to the sight of Yunjin's squirt-soaked pussy. The other groupmates had gathered around, a mix of horror and fascination playing across their faces as they watched their manager claim her in such a primal way.

The members of Lesserafim voice was the first to break the silence, thier eyes glued to the phone. "Yunjin, can we get fucked like you?" Their murmured, their voice filled with awe. The question hung in the air, thick with the scent of desire and curiosity. Yunjin's heart skipped a beat as she stared at the screen, her thoughts racing. The idea of sharing this intense pleasure with her group was both terrifying and exhilarating.

With a smoldering gaze, Yunjin leaned into the camera, her voice a seductive purr. "Of course all of you can," she said, her words dripping with promise. She watched as the shock on their faces turned to excitement, their eyes sparkling with the same hunger she felt.

He smirked, his hand sliding down to her still-quivering pussy. "But not until we're done here," he added, his thumb swiping through the mess they had made together. He could feel her tense up at the thought of sharing, but the excitement was palpable.

"Look at me, baby," he whispered, his eyes locked on hers as he brought his hand to his mouth, tasting her juices. "You're so fucking sweet." He knew that she was watching him, could feel her gaze on him as he licked his thumb clean, savoring her taste. The thought of her grop wanting a taste too only made him harder.

The cameramen's shouts grew louder, their voices a cacophony of lust and excitement. "Yeah, we want a turn!" one of them called out. "Please, let us fuck her too!"

His smirk widened, his eyes darkening with a predatory glint. He knew he had her full attention, and the power he wielded was a heady aphrodisiac. He turned to Yunjin, his voice a seductive whisper. "They want you," he said, his hand still playing with her sensitive folds. "Should we give them what they want?".

[timmydraker]

PART 2 OF CLONE BABY

Bruce: You need to tell the rest of the family, but mostly Dick.

Tim: why...?

Bruce, remembering how mad Dick got when he didn't tell him about Jason or literally any other kid: just trust me, it's not worth it

Tim: but I haven't told Kon yet *biggest pouty face ever made*

Bruce: Tim, he's still dead... isn't he?

Tim: I mean... for now.

Bruce:

Tim: FINE. Give her back to me then.

Bruce: ... five more minutes?

*Later:*

Dick: Hey guys, what was so important I had to get here so quick? Is everyone okay? Did someone... y'know?

Bruce: Opposite, actually.

Tim: I had a baby

Dick: you fucking what.

Tim: I had baby.

Tim: lil bubba

Tim: I made it myself :)

Tim, holding up his baby girl: see!

Dick, rapidly going through several emotions at once before letting out such a high pitched squeal that Clark Kent breaks a mug out of shock: A BABY!!!

Tim: a baby!

Bruce: a baby...

Damian, who had come out of his room as soon as he saw that Dick had gotten to the house via his trackers: a baby?

Tim: not for you, go away

Bruce: Tim.

Tim: what? She may have been a scientific miscalculation but she is mine and I will not risk her being stabbed by your miscalculation baby.

Damian: what did you just call me?!

Tim: you heard me!

The baby stirring and whining:

Tim: shhh, it's okay little one. Did Damian's shouting upset you? That's very mean of him, isn't it? It's okay, it's okay

Dick: omg im an uncle

Tim: yes you are!

Dick: and who's the mother?

Tim: 1 am.

Dick: oh... okay, then who's the dad?

Tim, in all seriousness: Kon.

Dick, naturally assuming Kon came back to life like people do all the time: oh, he's back?

Bruce, making a silencing motion:

Tim, trying not to cry: not yet...

Damian: I am confused, why does Drake have a child?

Bruce: he was trying to clone his dead best friend and accidentally mixed his DNA with one of the subjects and made a clone hybrid baby.

Dick: more like dead situationship but okay

Damian: oh, like my brother but an acciden

Bruce: your WHAT?

Tim: yeah! But she's going to grow up like a normal human/kryptonian clone baby and not in like a week.

Damian: very well, I will craft some training weapons for her so she can at least have a chance fitting into this family.

Tim: no the fuck you will not Tim: I mean fudge

Damian: she will also grow up without a father apparently.

Tim: oh like Slade is a better option? And also, so did you???

Damian: beside the point. This baby will be too much like its parents, you are better to let someone else raise her so she won't be a blubbering fool.

Tim: BLUBBERING FOOL?!

Dick: hold on, go back-

Bruce: so l don't have a second blood son?

Damian: and anyway, you can hardly be a n when you practically weren't raised at all, 1 other hand was raised by an exceptional woman-

Damian: and anyway, you can hardly be a mother when you practically weren't raised at all, I on the other hand was raised by an exceptional woman-

Tim: oh HELL no

Tim: first of all, my parents have nothing to do with how I myself will parent! I will be everything in wanted to have and I will not let my baby girl feel unloved for a single second of her life, thank you very much.

Tim: secondly, you're saying that Taliah is a good role model for parenting? When was the last time you spoke to her that didn't involve her using your or Bruce for your granddaddy? Huh?

Damian: ...

Tim: that's what I thought.

Bruce: maybe we should calm-

Tim: and anyway, now that I'm a mother I understand a lot more and I'm not letting you raise my kid because you are a kid, Damian. I know your almost fifteen but that doesn't change the fact that you have Child Developmental Syndrome as well as severe CPTSD and deserve to be carefree and not hold as many responsibilities as some people, *glares at Bruce* seem to think is okay!

Tim: so, no, you can't take my baby but you can be in her life because while I still kind of hate you and think you should suffer for trying to kill me and cutting my line, I can truely see now that you are a baby yourself.

Tim: now, who is going to help me pick out a paint for the nursery l'm making at my apartment?

Damian: ...

Bruce: ...

Dick, who has been slowly inching forward to try hold the baby: ...

Damian, still seething but also a little... honoured?: may I suggest the colour China Rose?

It will go well with the rest of your apartment.

Tim, smiling happily and rocking his baby: good idea!

Tim: Dick, you can hold her while I find Alfred.

Dick: oh thank god, gimme, gimme, gimme, oh hi baby!!! Oh, just look at those chubby wittle cheekies~! Aren't you the most precious wittle thing? Yes you are! You are! Awww!!

Bruce: I forgot to ask, do you have a name?

Tim: oh yeah... that's a thing

Dick and Bruce, integrally: *He is not going to be able to do this alone.*

ーーーーー

QUESTION: what should the baby be called?????

Also wonder how long it will take to end up on

TikTok lol

[deathofacupid]

★ in which satoru assures you that pre-wedding jitters are nothing to be worried about xx

"you're freaking out," satoru says, his knock on the heavy mahogany door startling you. your eyes dart to the rich wood, and a frown creases your brow.

"don't come in!" you scold, ignoring his claim. "it's bad luck if you see me before the ceremony."

a faint chuckle floats through the door, and you can practically hear the defensiveness in his voice. "i'm not, i'm not." there's a soft shuffle of movement behind the wood, and you let out a sigh.

"okay, so… i'm a little nervous," you admit, your fingers fiddling with the delicate fabric of your wedding dress. it’s truly beautiful — a dress that your younger self, with her countless pinterest boards, would have been absolutely elated to find.

everything has been perfect so far. satoru made sure of it. but mostly, it’s been perfect because it’s the day you’ve been looking forward to since the moment you met him. there's little that could mess it up, you think, but the stakes still feel incredibly high.

satoru jokes, but you can sense a hint of panic underneath his words. "you're not getting cold feet, are you?"

quick to reassure him, you shake your head, even though he can't see it. "no, 'toru. that's not what i'm worried about. it's more along the lines of, like, tripping down the aisle. what if i trip down the aisle? do you know how mortifying that would be?"

"you're not gonna trip, baby," he snickers, and you're not particularly fond of the amusement he finds in your anxiety. "and if you do, i'll… trip in solidarity."

"in solidarity?" you repeat, scoffing. "seriously? what does that even mean?"

"i'll face-plant alongside you. that way, you won't fall alone. duh."

"okay." a pause, as you tread carefully with your words. "do not do that."

you're sure satoru is pouting on the other side of the door. "why not? isn't that romantic?"

you ignore him, standing up and brushing down your gown, chewing on your bottom lip. "what if it starts raining?"

"does it matter? we're inside."

"oh. right," you mumble, stopping your pacing. "you aren't nervous?"

there's a beat of silence. "no, i'm not. i just want to be married to you already. it's not like i have anything to be scared about, anyway. unless you're planning on running away with my best man?" he kids.

"depends. does geto often have the bright idea to down two cups of coffee before bed and then act surprised when he can't fall asleep until after midnight? and keep me up in the process?"

"point taken. but we make good use of that time, don't we?"

you huff, crossing your arms as heat rises to your cheeks. "shut up."

"hey," he whispers, his knuckles tapping against the door again. "open it."

"what? i can't. it's bad luck," you repeat.

"i know, i know. i'll keep my eyes closed. promise." there's a new softness in his tone, and it has you giving in instantly.

satoru never has to try very hard to convince you of anything. besides, you miss him. it hasn't been long at all, but even the minutes feel like hours, making you ache for his warmth, his touch.

you, a little less than hesitant, pull the door open, and it quietly creaks. your breath catches as soon as you see him, his striking white lashes fluttered shut.

his hair is delicately styled back, held in place with a touch of gel. clad in a perfectly tailored black tie tuxedo, satoru looks absolutely heavenly. your fiancé. your to-be-husband. your soulmate.

he feels for your waist, gently pulling you against his chest, and you melt into his familiar touch. "i just know you look beautiful," he breathes, his voice a low rumble. "i can't wait to see you walk down that aisle."

"i can't wait to walk to that aisle."

he holds you just a little tighter. "i can't wait for you to be my wife."

"ready to get married?" you ask, from the crook of his neck.

oh, he's been ready.

[all4yoi]

𝒥ust a bet﹕hyung line

𝑒nhypen x fem!reader ︎︎⚹︎ cw: angst, no fluff (yet), reader is mostly viewed as a loser and nerd, lowercase intended, kinda went overboard with hoon's, reader gets called a bitch once, not proofread!

synopsis﹕after a few months of dating, you find out you were just a bet.

part two !

★ LEE HEESEUNG (wc 0.3k)

you and lee heeseung has been dating for a total of five months, and throughout those months you can confidently say that you were the happiest. he was the perfect boyfriend, his family loved you and so did yours.

today, heeseung promised he would take you on a date after his basketball practice despite your protests on how he should be resting instead. you wouldn't have agreed if it weren't for the fact that he had shot you with his pleading big doe eyes that never fails to make you agree on whatever he asks for. 

so here you were, making your way towards the gymnasium with your bag hanging on your left shoulder. the lack of dribbling and smacking basketball noise from behind the closed doors told you that their practice was done.

entering quietly out of habit, you were about to approach your boyfriend when you overheard his teammates talking to him.

"don't tell me you're still with her?" asked one of boys, an amused smile on his face. heeseung only raised a brow.

"what? you won the bet, you can dump her now. you're ruining our image you know? plus she's a total nerd and loser, you're much better with someone like yunhee." and with only just a few words, you felt your world crashing down.

right, who would date someone like you? you always found it weird, that heeseung just approached you one day in your biology class with the cheekiest smile on his face. the fact that he wouldn't leave you alone until you've agreed to go on a date with him. it all made sense now, why the popular basketball captain suddenly gained interest on the school's "biggest nerd."

"speaking of.." another guy spoke, nodding towards you with a cheeky smile. heeseung turned around only to be met with your glassy eyes.

you didn't move, wanting to hear him defend you. wanting to tell his teammates that you weren't a bet and he actually liked you throughout the months you two have been dating.

his silence said everything and with that you turned away and ran out of the gym.

"shit." he muttered, running after you.

★ PARK JONGSEONG (wc 0.3k)

"i'll pick you up later, okay?" your boyfriend of almost a year said softly through the phone. you've been dating jay since the first week of your first year in uni, others found your relationship weird. maybe because back in high school, jay never and refused to even spare you a glance. he was an asshole who looked at you as if you were the epitome of disgusting.

but the past is in the past now, right?

"okay baby, see you." you reply and put your phone down on your table, knowing that he's usually the one who ends the call.

you go back to the papers scattered on your table. the silence in your room was disturbed by sudden noises in your phone, turning to look, you see that jay hasn't ended the call.

picking your phone up with a smile, you were about to call out for him but a voice stopped you.

"i can't believe you've gone this far dude." you recognized the slightly muffled voice, it was a friend of jongseong's.

"what do you mean?" your boyfriend grumbled. the audio was muffled, you figured he was moving and the phone was in his pocket.

"you're still dating her!" the voice exclaimed, as if amused. "seriously, i didn't think you'd take that bet seriously. fine you win, i'll clean your car for a month. but you've gotta cut it out, you're starting to disgust me." the boy laughed.

before you could hear what your boyfriend would say, you ended the call. your hand was trembling and tears were falling from your eyes unconsciously.

were all those months just a joke to him? were your feelings really worth a free car wash for just a month? were you that unworthy?

jay was an asshole back in high school, you thought he changed. turns out he didn't, you felt like a fool for falling for his antics.

★ SIM JAEYUN (wc 0.3k)

if someone would be asked who you were, they'd all say the same thing. a loner, pathetic loser, and a nobody with a pretty face.

because what was a pretty face if you had no friends and a social life?

you almost believed you would die alone, you were too socially awkward to make friends. so when sim jaeyun, the transferee, approached you with a warm smile and a hand outstretched for a shake, you were beyond shocked.

your relationship went from being block mates, friends, then next thing you knew you two were dating. at first you were reluctant to enter a relationship, scared that it would ruin your friendship, but he insisted you both tried. that was three months ago.

you didn't have any friends, but atleast you had jake.

jake who smiles at you as if you had carved the stars in your hands. jake who would never forget to bring your coffee every morning. he was everything you ever needed. he was it for you, you only hoped he felt the same towards you.

walking through the hallway of the school, you stopped infront of your locker only to be met with a sticky note on it.

HOW LONG CAN JAKE LAST WITH LOSER L/N?

A WEEK : 卌 - 卌 - 卌 - 卌 - III

FIVE MONTHS : 卌 - I

A YEAR : II

Furrowing your brows, you stare at the note as your breathing grew heavy. It was obvious that the paper was old, it had folds and it was only stuck on your locker with a washi tape.

"what are you doing l/n? go on, cast your vote." a mocking voice said from beside you followed by a bunch of laughter. "personally, i thought he'd last a day. i guess i'll vote for five months then." then the hand went and tallied on the five months category.

"what's going on here?" upon hearing your boyfriend's voice, you fled away immediately, not wanting to face him. everytime something good happens in your life, it's always ripped away from you. jake was just like them, you were just a toy for their own entertainment.

★ PARK SUNGHOON (wc 0.5k)

"i'm sorry baby, i really am busy with practice tomorrow." your boyfriend, sunghoon, says in genuine sorry. it was the fifth time you have asked him to meet your parents, who also by the way was so desperate to meet the boy you've been dating for seven months now.

every time you ask him, he's always busy. either with practice, a project, a family matter, or whatever excuse he can come up with. but you always brush it off, knowing he means well and he really is busy as he's an athlete student.

"i'll meet them next week, okay? i promise." that's also the same thing he says everytime too, and once again, you only nod in response.

you and sunghoon met in a physics class. he was clutching his head with a frown on his face as he desperately tried to understand what the professor was going on about.

you remember clearly the way he approached you in the library, a physics book on his left hand as his right scratched his nape. "can.. i noticed- uh, can you help me with this topic?"

that was where your relationship started. you tutored him and helped him improve his grade. when he got an A on the finals, he kissed you on the lips in glee. he was taken aback by his own actions but nevertheless asked you out after.

"i love you," he whispers, pressing a kiss on your temple. "let me get something from my room." you hum in response as he takes his arm that was previously wrapped around you before going up to his room.

you can't help but notice the way his phone was blowing up from beside you.

you weren't the type to snoop around other people's phones, especially your boyfriend. it just felt wrong, you trusted him fully. but the way it kept ringing with text notifications, you just couldn't help it.

looking back to the stairs, you note he isn't back and there was still rummaging noises from his room.

taking his phone, you enter his passcode and read the messages from one of his group chats.

JONGSU

lol don't tell me she asked again.. em ba rrah sing

DAEHYUN

hahah when is she gonna take a hint?? 💀

JOON

you gonna blame her? hoon's been at it for months lmao

DAEHYUN

i actually can't believe he went that far, wasn't it only supposed to be for a month? 🗿

JONGSU

a week actually, but ig that bitch y/n was so easy. yk hoon likes to get his ego fed 💀💀

putting the phone down, you exhaled in disbelief. you took your bag from the floor and threw it over your shoulder and went to the door of his apartment to put your shoes back on.

"baby?" sunghoon emerged from the stairs, looking at you curiously. "you're going already?" he asked, extending an arm towards you but you slapped it away. the tears on your eyes shocking him.

"hey, hey what's wrong?" he tried again but his hand was yet again slapped away.

"i don't want to see you ever again." was the last words you uttered to him (shakily) before leaving his apartment.