#School of the Dining Room Table | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shelovesosa · 14 days ago

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DON’T BE FOOLED BY THE PINK

PAIRING: PopularBF!Satoru X Meangirl!reader

SUMMARY!! Y/N is the undisputed queen of the school — captain of the cheerleading team, untouchable, and fiercely protective of her spot at the top. Then she shows up: the quiet new girl, sister to one of Satoru’s closest friends, and instantly wrapped in the basketball captain’s attention. But this isn’t your typical “new girl steals the spotlight” story.

(Mean girls collection masterlist here!)

East Kinsen University’s courtyard was loud with first-week energy — new students darting between buildings, upperclassmen lounging in clusters like they owned the place. And in a way, you did.

Your legs crossed as you sat on the concrete ledge outside the gym, black sunglasses shielding your eyes from the early fall sun. People walked by and either greeted you or looked away too quickly. Your reputation had that effect.

You were Y/N. Captain of the cheer squad. Satoru Gojo’s girlfriend. Pretty, well-dressed, impossible to ignore. People either wanted to be you or wanted to see you trip.

You didn’t care either way.

You took a slow sip from your iced coffee and glanced at your phone. He was late. Again.

When Satoru finally showed up, he was in his usual post-practice look — basketball shorts slung low on his hips, hoodie sleeves pushed to the elbows, hair damp and messy from the gym. He wore that same loose grin he always had when he saw you.

“You're not slick,” you muttered, eyebrows raised. “Fifteen minutes?”

He leaned down, kissed your cheek. “Technical meeting ran over. Coach wants to murder Kaito for slacking on defense.”

“Again?”

“Every day.”

You smiled despite yourself. Then your gaze flicked past him.

Trailing behind him, slightly hunched, was a girl you didn’t recognize.

Wavy dark hair, headphones in, a stack of books clutched to her chest like a shield. She wore a plain long-sleeve top and jeans, the kind of outfit that made her easy to miss.

But Satoru was walking with her.

He turned and gestured lazily. “Yo, Y/N — this is Yui. She’s Daichi’s little sister. First year. He asked me to show her around since he’s got classes all day.”

You took your sunglasses off slowly.

Daichi was one of Satoru’s closest friends. A solid guy. Chill, never talked much. You knew him mostly through late-night study groups and group hangouts at the courts.

Yui blinked like she hadn’t expected you to even look at her.

You didn’t smile. You nodded.

“Hi,” she said softly, voice nearly drowned out by the noise of a passing skateboard.

Satoru nudged her shoulder with casual ease. “She’s a little shy. But she’s cool.”

You gave her a once-over. The oversized backpack, the nervous posture, the way she avoided your eyes. Not a threat. Yet.

That afternoon, you ended up at the dining hall with Satoru’s usual crew — Daichi, Ren, Kaito, and Satoru. You weren’t always there, but today you felt like being visible.

Yui tagged along, of course. Satoru pulled out a chair next to him. You were about to sit down when she sat there instead.

You watched her blink in slow realization.

“Oh—sorry,” she murmured, half-standing.

“It’s fine,” you said before Satoru could speak, sitting on his other side instead. You glanced across the table at Kaito, who watched the whole thing happen with unreadable eyes. He quickly looked away when you caught him.

Halfway through lunch, someone asked how Yui liked her classes.

“They’re okay,” she said. “I’m still figuring everything out.”

“She’s in one of my psych lectures,” Satoru added, casually. “Professor’s a lunatic. Screamed about pigeons today.”

“She’s passionate,” Yui said with a small laugh.

You stared at her. You weren’t used to other girls laughing with your boyfriend.

By the end of the meal, it was clear: she wasn’t trying. She wasn’t flirting. She wasn’t competing.

And that’s what made it worse. She didn’t have to try. She was already in the room. At the table. In Satoru’s words. Laughing at his jokes. And no one noticed the shift. Except you.

It started with a laugh. That was all. Not yours — hers.

It was in the student union lounge, Thursday afternoon, when you heard it. You were across the room, near the coffee counter with Ren and Daichi, scrolling through your phone while they argued about fantasy league picks. Satoru had said he’d be “five minutes.”

He was ten.

And when you looked up, he was there — across the room, slouched over the vending machine with Yui beside him. She had her hair tied in a low, messy knot and was holding a can of green tea. Something he said made her laugh. A soft one. Quiet. But familiar.

It wasn’t flirtatious. Just… familiar.

You watched as he bumped her shoulder lightly, like he’d known her longer than two days. You saw how she looked up at him — not like she wanted him, but like she trusted him already.

That was worse.

Friday afternoon, you passed the quad on your way to class and spotted Satoru sprawled on the grass with Kaito, Daichi, and Yui.

No one invited you. You weren’t mad. You were just... watching.

Yui sat cross-legged, sketching something in a small spiral notebook. You recognized the style — fine pen lines, heavy shading. She was talented. You could admit that. Quietly.

You didn’t stop to say hi.

Saturday night was when the first crack showed.

You were at Satoru’s place. His roommate was out, the lights low, your jacket on the floor, and your legs draped over his lap. You weren’t fighting. But something was off.

He was scrolling through his messages absently, the glow of his screen lighting up his face.

You leaned in to kiss him. He kissed you back — quick, distracted.

“Who’s texting?” you asked casually.

He didn’t flinch. “Daichi.”

A beat of silence. Then you saw the edge of a photo — something black and white, drawn in ink. You blinked.

“Is that one of Yui’s sketches?”

He looked up at you, surprised. “Yeah. She showed me earlier and I told her to send it. It’s of the court. Cool, right?”

You stared at him.

“She drew the basketball court?”

“She said it helped her focus. It’s kind of sick.”

You smiled tightly. “Yeah. Sick.”

Monday, you sat at your usual table in the campus café — the long one by the window. Satoru had just come back from the gym, towel over his shoulders, hair damp. You were halfway through a protein bar when he slid into the seat across from you.

You expected him to kiss you hello. He didn’t. He was texting.

You leaned forward. “You good?”

“Huh?” He looked up. “Yeah. Just — Yui left her psych notebook in the gym. I told her I’d drop it off.”

Of course he did. You took a sip of your drink and looked away.

The worst part was how quiet it all was. No one was flirting. No one was lying. It wasn’t that kind of story. But you still felt it — this silent invasion of space. Your space. Your people. Your boyfriend.

And every time you said something about it, it sounded ridiculous. Satoru wasn’t doing anything wrong. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t happening.

That night, you got a DM on Instagram.

From Kaito.

She’s not doing it on purpose, you know. But I still don’t like it either.

You stared at the message.

Then you closed the app.

You didn’t realize the group hang was happening until it was already halfway underway.

Daichi sent a lazy text in the guys’ chat about grabbing food after evening classes, and somehow that had turned into a full table reservation at Yuu’s Ramen Bar downtown. You weren't even in the chat — Satoru texted you separately, told you the plans like you were being added to something instead of hosting it.

The first subtle shift.

You met them outside the restaurant. The weather was cooling, breeze tugging at your cropped jacket. You looked good. You always looked good — perfect makeup, clean lines, skirt just high enough to remind everyone you were her. You used to walk in and own the room.

But tonight, the room had already shifted. They were standing around, waiting for the last of the group. Daichi, Kaito, Ren, Satoru… and Yui.

She was wearing a dark sweater and plaid skirt, sleeves too long, hair tied with a ribbon. She looked like she didn’t mean to be there. That’s what made her presence so hard to challenge.

“Hey,” she greeted, voice quiet.

“Hey,” you said flatly, brushing past her to Satoru’s side.

He leaned down, gave you a quick kiss to the temple. “Glad you made it.”

You tried not to glance at Yui, but you felt her eyes on you.

Inside, the table was long. You sat between Satoru and Ren, across from Daichi and Yui.

You didn’t know who made the seating call, but it irritated you.

Yui ended up next to Daichi, but she kept glancing at Satoru across the table. You saw it. You weren’t going to mention it. Not yet.

The boys were loud, laughing over miso bowls and fried gyoza. You tried to stay in it — laughed when Kaito told a story about freshman year, played with Satoru’s fingers under the table.

But at one point, Daichi asked, “Yui, did you tell them what club you’re thinking of joining?”

“Oh,” she said, straightening. “The art society.”

Kaito nodded. “That fits. You still sketching campus buildings and people and all that?”

Yui flushed a little. “Yeah. I just don’t know if I’m good enough to—”

“Don’t say that,” Satoru interrupted, casual but direct. “That drawing of the old gym? That was sick.”

You blinked.

She smiled. “You remembered that?”

You cut in before he could answer. “Satoru has the memory of a goldfish. Don’t give him that much credit.”

A few chuckles. But Yui looked down. Her smile faded just slightly.

Later, when the check came and everyone was getting up, Yui accidentally bumped into your shoulder while grabbing her coat.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

You turned slowly. “It’s fine.”

She hesitated. “I hope I’m not… making anything weird.”

You gave her a long look.

“No,” you said. “You’re not that important.”

Her face dropped. She didn’t reply.

When you and Satoru left, he was quiet. Too quiet.

“Something wrong?” you asked, half-daring him to say it.

He ran a hand through his hair. “You didn’t have to say that to her.”

“Say what?”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

You stopped walking. “Why are you defending her?”

He paused. “I’m not. I’m just saying… it wasn’t necessary.”

You smiled, cold. “Neither is her sitting with you every day.”

That silenced him.

Back in your dorm room, you took off your earrings with slow, careful movements.

Your phone buzzed. A text from Ren.

You good? Looked a little tense tonight.

You typed, deleted, then typed again.

Do I look crazy to you?

Three dots. Then:

No. Just different.

You stared at the screen until it dimmed.

Monday mornings had a rhythm.

You walked into the student lounge and the table by the windows was always yours. Satoru, Kaito, Ren, Daichi, and you. You brought coffee sometimes. Other days, snacks. You filled the silence, kept the conversation up when the boys were too tired from weekend games.

You were the glue. You always were.

But this Monday was off. You entered the lounge and saw them first. Kaito half-laughing. Satoru leaning back with his ankle crossed over his knee. And Yui — sitting in your chair, holding a takeout tray of coffee cups and paper bags.

“—I just figured everyone could use a pick-me-up,” she was saying, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “The bakery near the art building opens early.”

Daichi held up his croissant like a toast. “This slaps.”

You stopped. Your seat was taken. Not just physically — but replaced.

Satoru spotted you and smiled. “Hey, babe. She brought pastries.”

You forced a smile and sat next to Kaito instead. A space over.

He didn’t say anything, but when he slid you one of the coffees she brought, you noticed he’d passed over one that didn’t have lipstick on the lid.

Small mercy.

By Wednesday, people in your program were talking about Yui’s art.

There was a bulletin board near the design wing, and she’d put up a charcoal sketch of a girl sitting alone on the library steps. It was beautiful, you’d admit. It also looked eerily like you — same posture, same boots.

People stopped to compliment it. Someone even said, “You know, she’s so refreshing. Like… real. She’s not trying to impress anyone.”

As if that was something to praise. As if trying hard made you fake. As if you trying at all was the problem.

That afternoon, you sat on the bleachers watching basketball practice. You always did — the cheer squad usually finished an hour earlier, and you liked seeing Satoru move, command, lead.

You were halfway through tying your jacket around your waist when you spotted her.

Yui.

Sitting in the far corner of the bleachers. Alone. Sketchbook in her lap, legs tucked under her.

You didn’t walk over. But you kept glancing that way, waiting for her to leave.

She didn’t. She waited until he waved. At her.

You saw it clearly. The lift of his arm between drills. The way her posture straightened when she noticed.

Your stomach turned.

That night, you left the group chat. Quietly. No drama. No goodbye.

But they noticed. Daichi messaged you, then Ren. You ignored both. Only Kaito sent the right thing.

Wanna talk? No judgment.

You didn’t reply for hours.

But eventually, you did.

She’s replacing me.

His typing bubble appeared. Then paused. Then started again.

No. She’s just… being included.

You stared at that sentence.

Then:

But I see you. I haven’t forgotten.

You blinked at that.

It was nothing. And everything.

Thursday, Satoru walked with you to class. You held his hand loosely. You didn’t say much. He did.

“You’ve been off lately.”

“Have I?”

He exhaled. “Y/N…”

You looked up. “Do you like her?”

His brows pulled together. “What?”

“Yui. Do you like her?”

“No. She’s Daichi’s sister. She’s a kid.”

“She’s only two years younger than us.”

He looked frustrated now. “You’re jealous.”

“I’m observant.”

He pulled away just slightly. “Can’t you just let people in without turning it into a threat?”

You stopped walking.

“I used to be your person,” you said quietly. “Not a threat. Not a chore. Just… your person.”

He didn’t have an answer for that. And that hurt more than anything.

It started with a seat. Again.

Friday morning, your first free period, the guys had taken the usual corner table outside the cafeteria. It was barely 10 a.m., and already warm. You were running late — hair still damp from your shower, your slides too loud on the concrete path.

You rounded the corner, expecting the usual: the boys eating loud and fast, Satoru teasing Daichi about his midterms, Kaito flipping through his notes, and an empty spot beside your boyfriend.

But the seat wasn’t empty. Yui was already there. Right next to Satoru.

They weren’t doing anything, not exactly. But her elbow was close enough to his that your heart clenched. He leaned toward her mid-sentence, laughing softly at something she said. She wasn’t flustered this time — her voice was calm, steady.

She wasn’t trying anymore. She had already arrived. You walked slower.

When you reached the table, Kaito was the only one who stood slightly, sliding a chair toward you. You caught his eyes. He didn’t smile, but he gave you that quiet look — the one that said, Yeah. I saw it too.

You sat across from Satoru. He greeted you with a casual, “Hey, babe,” like nothing had changed. But everything had.

Later, while walking to class, Kaito caught up with you.

“She’s louder now,” he said casually.

You looked at him sideways. “What?”

“Yui. Used to whisper everything. Now she interrupts Daichi when he talks.”

You raised a brow. “Why are you telling me that?”

Kaito shrugged. “Just proving I’m paying attention.”

You didn’t say thank you. But you didn’t look away either.

That afternoon, you found out they had planned a night out — ramen and karaoke. A group thing.

You found out by accident.

Daichi had posted a dumb video on his story: Ren badly lip-syncing to some anime opening while the camera panned across the private karaoke room. There was Satoru. There was Daichi. Kaito. Ren.

And Yui. Laughing on the couch, your drink in her hand. The one you always ordered.

No one had texted you.

You were alone in your dorm, eating crackers with peanut butter, phone glowing in the dark.

You didn’t cry. You called Kaito. He picked up on the second ring.

“You saw?”

“Yes.”

He exhaled. “I wasn’t in the mood to go either. But I had to show up.”

“Why?”

“Because someone has to keep her from turning into you.”

The silence was loud.

You didn’t speak for a few seconds. Then quietly: “What’s wrong with being me?”

“Nothing,” he said. “But they forget what it took for you to get here. She just walked in.”

The next day, Yui approached you.

You were at the vending machine near the back stairwell, alone between classes. She came around the corner with her sketchpad pressed to her chest.

She didn’t look nervous. She looked… ready.

“Hey,” she said.

You turned, slow. “Hi.”

She didn’t fidget. “I just wanted to clear the air. I know it’s weird that I’m around your friends all the time now.”

You smiled. Not kindly. “Oh, now you notice?”

Yui looked away for a second, then met your gaze again. “I didn’t mean to step on anything.”

“But you didn’t stop either.”

Her throat moved in a swallow. “I didn’t think I had to. I thought… maybe there was enough room for more than one girl at the table.”

You tilted your head. “That’s cute. But it’s not about room. It’s about roles. I had mine.”

“And now I’m threatening it?”

“You’re not threatening it,” you said, voice sharp. “You’ve already replaced it.”

For a moment, you thought she’d say sorry. But she didn’t.

Instead, she said, “Maybe you just stopped wanting it.”

That stopped you cold. She walked off without another word.

Satoru wasn’t oblivious. He just didn’t want to admit how bad it had gotten.

It was easier to think you were just being dramatic. That your tension with Yui would settle. That things would click back into place if he just gave it time.

But he wasn’t stupid.

He saw the way you started dressing up more for morning classes again — lashes perfect, lip gloss slick, hair curled even when it rained.

He noticed how you kept your phone face-down around him, and how Kaito always seemed to look at him like he knew something he didn’t.

The final nudge came on a Thursday.

Yui had been tagging along to lunch with the group. Again. She wasn’t even trying to be subtle anymore — cracking jokes with Daichi, handing Ren her apple juice like they’d grown up together.

Satoru was halfway through his rice bowl when you walked up to the table, dropped your bag beside him, and smiled — big, bright, the kind of smile you used when cameras were around or when you were pissed.

“Hey, baby,” you said sweetly, sliding into his lap like it was nothing.

Everyone froze. Even Yui.

He blinked. “Hey.”

You wrapped your arm around his neck and leaned in like you’d missed him all morning. You hadn’t. You’d ignored three of his texts.

Yui looked down at her tray.

“Sorry I’m late,” you said, brushing your fingers through Satoru’s hair like it was routine. “Cheer practice ran over. You didn’t wait for me?”

He hesitated. “Didn’t know you were coming.”

You smiled with your teeth. “I’m always coming.”

After lunch, Satoru caught up with Kaito on the walk to class.

“She’s starting to play games,” he muttered.

Kaito gave him a dry look. “You mean she’s acting like your girlfriend again?”

Satoru frowned. “It’s not about that.”

“It is to her.”

He didn’t respond.

At practice that evening, Yui showed up again.

She claimed she was waiting for Daichi — said she just wanted to sketch from the sidelines until his shift ended.

Satoru didn’t believe her.

She sat quietly, legs crossed on the bleachers, sketchpad on her knees. The first ten minutes, she didn’t look at him at all.

The next ten, she did. And the next.

He wasn’t sure when it started, but he found himself thinking about it even when he was running drills.

Not her, exactly. But the way you’d looked at her during lunch. Like a challenge. Like you were done playing nice.

And for the first time in weeks, that version of you — sharp, high-maintenance, territorial — made him feel something warm under his skin.

It reminded him why he’d fallen for you in the first place.

You didn’t go quiet. You never faded out. You fought for what was yours.

Later that night, he showed up at your dorm without warning.

You opened the door in a robe, eye masks under your eyes, music playing low behind you.

“Do you want something?” you asked, not stepping aside.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I just— We haven’t talked.”

“That’s new.”

He gave you a look. “You’ve been acting like I’m the enemy.”

“Because you’re not on my side.”

A beat of silence.

Then, softer: “I’m just stuck in the middle.”

“Then move.”

You crossed your arms. He looked at you — really looked. Messy bun. No makeup. Annoyed as hell.

Beautiful anyway.

“Don’t make this a war,” he said.

You tilted your head. “Then stop handing her ammo.”

The silence between you stretched. Not hostile — worse. Tense in a way only people who used to love each other could feel.

When you finally turned to look at him, he looked tired. No teasing smile. No cocky charm. Just Satoru. Raw, undecided.

“You don’t see what it’s like,” you said, voice lower now. “Sitting there every day like I’m some relic while she slides into my spot.”

He frowned. “You think that’s what’s happening?”

“No, Satoru. I know that’s what’s happening.”

“She’s not—”

“Don’t finish that sentence unless you want me to laugh in your face.”

His jaw clenched.

You leaned back in your chair, legs crossed under your robe. “She’s sweet. Quiet. Harmless, right? I know the game. I used to play it.”

“She’s not playing a game.”

“Then why does it feel like I’m losing?”

That silenced him. You watched him, eyes softening just enough to let the truth peek out.

“You don’t look at me the same anymore.”

He didn’t answer. And that was the answer.

You stood up slowly, walking to the mini fridge to grab a bottle of water. Twisting the cap off, you kept your back to him.

“I used to be the only girl you’d skip class for. Remember that? We’d lie in bed all morning, then I’d wear your sweatshirt to practice just to make it obvious.”

“I remember,” he said quietly.

You turned back around, arms folded loosely around your waist. “Now I feel like I’m fighting a war no one told me we were in.”

Satoru finally stepped forward, voice lower. “You think I don’t care about you anymore?”

“I think you’re tired of me. And you’re too cowardly to admit it.”

He flinched at that — not dramatically, but you saw the way his throat tensed.

Then, softly: “You’re wrong.”

“Prove it.”

That hung there, heavy and cold.

He looked at you — really looked. Wet lashes. Bare skin. Red mouth. Sad eyes that still somehow sparkled when they stared him down.

“I miss us,” he said.

You blinked.

He stepped closer, hesitantly brushing your wrist with his fingers. “But you’ve got this armor on now. Like I’m the enemy.”

“You started this war,” you whispered.

“I didn’t think I’d have to choose.”

You swallowed. “But you do.”

He nodded once. You held his gaze a second longer, then turned back to your bed and sat down, curling your knees up beneath you.

Satoru hesitated.

Then slowly, quietly, he joined you — sitting on the floor in front of your bed, leaning back against the frame.

No one spoke. The music still played quietly from your phone speaker, some old Japanese R&B playlist looping in the background.

You reached down, your fingers brushing his shoulder.

Then, slowly — impossibly soft — he leaned in and kissed you.

It was barely even a kiss at first. Just his lips brushing yours, a question wrapped in hesitation. And then your hand slid into his hair, and that was it.

He kissed you again — slower this time, deeper. His hand moved to your cheek, his thumb sweeping just beneath your eye. His lips pressed to yours again, and again, with a hunger that surprised even him — not desperate, but familiar. Like he knew you. Like he had always known this mouth, this rhythm, this exact taste.

You made a soft sound against him, and he moved closer.

Your legs tangled beneath the covers. Your robe loosened slightly at the shoulder, and his hand slid along your waist, warm and steady, not rushing. His fingers gripped the fabric, grounding himself there.

When he pulled back, just a breath away, he kept his forehead resting against yours. His voice was low and hoarse.

“I hate fighting with you.”

You swallowed. “Then stop giving me reasons to.”

“I didn’t know how to handle it,” he admitted. “Everything just got… loud. And she was easy.”

You blinked. “You mean quiet.”

He nodded.

You traced the curve of his ear with your fingertip. “I’m not easy, Satoru.”

“I know,” he whispered. “But I never wanted easy.”

He kissed you again — this time slower, like he had all night. You let yourself melt into it, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as his body pressed you gently into the mattress.

It was messy. A little angry. A little sad. But it felt real again. And in that moment — it was enough to stay.

It started with the hallway.

Friday morning. Eighth period break. You were always a little late walking to the cafeteria — part intentional, part habit. You liked people watching you enter.

But today, there was no act. You were calm.

You wore your school sweatshirt slouched off one shoulder and a miniskirt paired with knee-high socks. Hair half-up, gloss shining but simple. Not trying too hard. But you didn’t have to.

You knew he was waiting at the table. Satoru. And this time, he wasn’t looking at the entrance for someone else.

Ren was mid-story when you walked in. Kaito and Jin were arguing about fantasy league stats. Daichi had his head down texting.

Satoru was staring at his drink — until the second you stepped in.

His head lifted instinctively. His eyes followed you, slow, steady, like they didn’t want to blink and miss the moment. And you?

You walked right over to the table, slid into the seat next to him, and draped your arm along the back of his chair like it belonged there.

“Missed me?” you said casually.

He looked at you, smiled. A real one. “Always.”

Across the table, Yui watched quietly. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.

Her lunch tray was still untouched. Her water bottle had a tight grip around it. Her drawing pad sat unopened in her lap. She kept glancing from you to Satoru like trying to make sense of the math.

But the numbers weren’t adding up. You were back in your seat. And Satoru didn’t even hesitate.

He nudged your leg under the table. You looked over, caught him staring — warm and distracted. You rolled your eyes but didn’t move your leg.

You laughed at one of Ren’s jokes. You stole a fry from Daichi’s plate. You whispered something in Satoru’s ear and made him chuckle mid-sip.

And all the while, Yui sat three spots down, pretending not to notice. But she noticed. Everyone did.

Especially when, just before the bell rang, Satoru reached over and tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear like it was nothing.

In the hallway after, you could feel her catching up. The rubber soles of her sneakers too soft to be loud — but you were trained to feel eyes.

“Y/N?”

You stopped, turned.

Yui stood there with her sketchpad hugged tight to her chest.

Her voice was calm. Careful. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

You didn’t answer right away. Just crossed your arms, tilted your head.

Satoru glanced back from where he stood ahead — waiting, watching — but you waved him off.

He nodded slowly and kept walking.

When it was just the two of you, you finally spoke.

“What’s up?”

Yui hesitated, her grip tightening around her notebook.

“I didn’t mean to make things weird.”

You smiled. “But you did.”

“I was just trying to make friends.”

“And you picked my boyfriend?”

Her expression shifted slightly — not angry, not even defensive. Just… confused. Hurt, maybe.

“I didn’t think it would matter. You barely looked at him lately.”

That landed sharper than she probably meant.

But you didn’t flinch. You stepped forward, slow, deliberate — just enough to have to look down into her eyes.

“Here’s the thing,” you said softly. “You don’t have to understand what we are. You just have to remember that we are.”

And with that, you turned and walked away.

Leaving her in the hall with her sketchbook and a stomach full of silence.

The sun was setting behind the gym building, casting long golden shadows across the basketball courts. Practice had ended late. Satoru was walking toward the locker rooms, gym bag slung over one shoulder, hair messy, shirt slightly damp with sweat. His jersey clung to his back, and his steps were slow — tired but calm.

Until he heard her voice.

“Satoru!”

He turned.

Yui stood a few feet away, hands nervously gripping the strap of her messenger bag. Her cheeks were flushed — whether from walking fast or nerves, he wasn’t sure.

“Hey,” he said, adjusting his bag. “Everything okay?”

She hesitated, then stepped closer. “Can we talk?”

He didn’t answer right away. The way she was looking at him made his stomach tighten — it was too open, too expectant.

“Just a minute?”

“…Yeah.”

They walked toward the side of the gym where it was quieter, near the old vending machines. It smelled faintly of rubber mats and Gatorade. A few straggling players shouted from inside, but out here, it was still.

Yui finally turned to him.

“I don’t want to make this harder than it needs to be,” she began, voice low. “But I think I deserve to know what’s going on.”

Satoru blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Her voice faltered. “You and Y/N. Yesterday. Today. Everything’s changed.”

He shifted uncomfortably, eyes flicking down to the cracked pavement. “Yeah. We’re figuring things out.”

Yui’s brows pulled together. “But I thought—”

She stopped herself. Satoru looked up at her.

“You thought what?”

“I thought you liked me,” she said softly. “Or at least… I thought there was something.”

He stared at her a moment — not cruelly, not even cold. Just... quiet. Honest.

“Yui,” he said carefully. “I like you. You're sweet. You're easy to talk to.”

Her face lit up with hope.

“But,” he continued, “I was never not with Y/N.”

Yui’s expression froze.

“I thought maybe... we were over,” he admitted. “Things got distant. Complicated. But it wasn’t your job to fill that space.”

“You said you wanted me around,” she whispered.

“I did,” he nodded. “And I meant it. But not like that.”

Silence. A bird chirped somewhere nearby. A basketball thudded in the distance.

“You were just being nice,” she finally said, her voice cracking just a little.

He nodded slowly.

“I’m sorry if I led you on.”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed.

“I wasn’t trying to steal you,” she said suddenly. “I just… felt safe with you.”

He gave her a sad smile.

“That’s the thing, Yui. I’ve never been safe. Not with her. Not with anyone.”

She looked away quickly, trying to blink back the sting in her eyes.

Satoru adjusted his bag, standing taller now.

“You deserve someone who doesn’t hesitate,” he said gently. “Someone who chooses you all the way.”

And then — he turned, walking off toward the locker rooms, leaving her alone in the golden light.

The evening air was cool and soft, wrapping around you like a quiet promise.

You found Satoru sitting on the low stone wall outside the school gym, alone except for the fading light and the distant hum of the city.

Without thinking, you slipped beside him, your shoulder brushing his.

He glanced at you, eyes catching the last warmth of the sunset.

For a moment, words failed you both.

Then, slowly, Satoru reached out, his hand warm as it slid to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

Your breath hitched.

He looked down at your lips, then back to your eyes — searching. You swallowed.

“Can I?”

His nod was the softest thing. Leaning in, your lips met his.

The kiss was gentle at first, a quiet question hanging between you.

Then it deepened — slow and steady, like two halves finally coming together after too much space.

Your hands found his wrists, fingers curling lightly.

He pulled you a little closer, careful, like you might disappear if he wasn’t.

When you finally parted, your foreheads rested against each other, breaths mingling.

“I missed this,” he whispered.

“Me too,” you said, voice just as soft.

You stayed like that a moment longer — two people tangled in something honest and new and old all at once. And for the first time in days, the noise around you faded completely.

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allthecanadianpolitics · 1 year ago

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Ahmad Islaih, a 26 year old elementary school teacher, was accused of participating in a demonstration that briefly halted traffic on Toronto’s Gardiner Expressway in November. The protest against Israel’s assault on Gaza had lasted for only five minutes. After waking up Ahmed, handcuffing him and charging him with “mischief,” eight police officers sat the family, still in their pajamas, at their dining room table. While they searched their home, the front door stayed open, despite freezing winter weather and the family’s pleas to police to close it. [...] After the police left with Ahmad’s computers, electronics, and clothes, the family discovered his room “turned upside down.” Drawers had been emptied on the floor, his mattress was thrown off the bed, a vase was broken, and several boxes had been rifled through. “It took us back to our life in the West Bank,” Suha said, “when Israeli soldiers raided our home.”

Tagging: @newsfromstolenland

#free palestine #palestine #toronto #cdnpoli #canadian politics #canadian news

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sassatoru · 9 months ago

Note

“Gonna fill you up, till you’re round with my baby.”

This prompt for Dick having baby fever with his fem!reader after seeing her taking good care of Damian (giving him praises and cookies for example).

Please and thank you!

pairing. dick grayson x reader

warning. smut

a/n. here you go anon

prompts used. “gonna fill you up, till you’re round with my baby.”

seeing you with damian was normal. the young boy saw you and dick as his paternal figures not that he’d admit it. but to see you doting over the boy. he’d ‘ran’ away from home — you’d already called bruce to tell him where damian is — and to your shared apartment.

first it started with the way you worried when he showed up at your door, a bag swung over his shoulder and his scowl set on his face.

“damian?” you stared down at the boy confused, looking around the hall way where all the other flats and the elevator could be seen.

“what’s wrong? are you okay?” your confusion switched to worry almost immediately when the boy hugged you, your arms moving around him to hug him back, gently rubbing his head.

“can i stay with you and grayson?” he mumbled.

“babe? who’s at the door—” dick’s voice trailed off when he saw damian holding onto you for dear life.

“what happened?” dick asks, the worry in his eyes matching yours.

“he needs to stay over tonight,” you murmur, glancing at dick with those puppy eyes of yours that he can’t say no to. he wanted to protest, remind you that tonight is his night off and date night but his heart flutters at the way damian clings to you like a boy would to his mother.

he doesn’t have the heart to say no, merely nodding. “sure baby, he can have the spare room.”

the next time he feels that same flutter of undistinguishable wanting is when you’re making damian late dinner for him, seeing as its midnight and you and dick were planning on a little fun tonight.

the way damian sits at the dining table, finishing his homework — because even if he’s staying here and his school is in gotham he’s still gotta keep up with school — and the way you make something quick that alfred taught you to make before sending damian off to bed.

he’s all over you after that, kissing at your neck, hands slipping under your shirt, you giggle before reminding him that his little brother is in the apartment so fun time is going to have to wait.

so he waits, a week before damian finally leaves, not that dick minds having his little brother around — lies. he does mind, he minds a lot, especially when your attention is being stolen from him.

but even that didn’t stop the way his heart fluttered with every moment you doted over like a mother would, and that’s when it clicked in his mind. he wanted a baby with you.

that’s how you got here. a week later after you’d dropped damian back to the manor, and when you came home you were talking to him about how you were concerned about damian overworking on patrols but he couldn’t hear a word over the hunger buzzing in his ears.

“mhm,” he hummed, head pressed into your neck as you rambled on. “baby, baby shhhh. lets forget about them for minute.”

“dick?” you mutter confused, his hands pressing warmly against your tummy.

“yes baby?” he asks.

“what’re you doing?” you ask.

“touching you, why? am i not allowed to touch my girl?” he replies, moving you towards the bedroom. “my pretty girl, yknow that?”

you hum in response, not sure what had come over him as he gently nudges you back onto the mattress to lay down. “i was thinking, honey. about you and me… and a little someone else.”

you catch the way his eyes drop to your stomach, his pupils blown out so much that his pretty blue eyes look different. “and who’s that?” you ask, urging him on.

“our baby.”

now that does surprise you, you and dick have never talked about having kids together, you’ve barely even talked about marriage but you know enough that he seems to like the idea of both those scenarios.

“our baby?” you question and he nods, a wide smile setting on his lips as he stares down at you hungrily.

“you’d look so pretty, honey. all round and full, full of me, of us. i’d take such good care of you too.”

your cheeks flush at the way he stares at you and the way the compliments leave his lips, like pure honey.

it doesn’t take much longer till you’re both completely bare, with you all spread out under him all fucked out as he ruts against you from behind.

he wasn’t shy with his noises, whining into your ear and groaning too. whispering praises that make you purr. “aw, look at you baby, all fucked and pretty for me to use. you want me to fill you up that bad huh?”

you nod eagerly, stomach fluttering as you spasm around him, face pressed into the pillows to bury your moaning, back arched so prettily it makes him want to never stop.

“good girl, my good girl. you like the sound of being a mommy huh?” he coos, fucking into you with no mercy, mind set of giving you a baby. a part of the two of you to love.

“that’s good ‘cause i’m gonna fill you up, till you’re round with my baby.”

#dick grayson smut #dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x reader smut #nightwing smut #nightwing x reader #[📮] asks #enzo writes [📝]#2k followers celebration

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angelbby555 · 2 months ago

Text

Home life

Summary: Jake acts two different ways. An asshole at work, and a caring husband at home. Word count: 800

⋆. ୨୧˚⋆

It was safe for the daggers to assume Jake liked to act out and mess with others because he got no attention at home. In grade school, everyone constantly mentioned a bully who picked on others because their home life was terrible.

Jake Seresin's home life was far from terrible and better than most. When he came home after a long day at work, his son Aaron was jumping into his arms to greet him, and food was served at the table. Then he always found his pregnant radiant wife in the kitchen finishing a word search puzzle in Aaron's coloring book.

"Hi pretty." Jake grinned ear to ear, knowing this was his favorite part of the day.

"Hi, jakey." You threw your arms around his neck when he was close to you. You pressed a chaste kiss on his lips before pulling away. Jake bends down to kiss your growing belly, letting his index finger lightly brush over your stomach wanting to get the baby's attention.

"Don't give your mom too much trouble now." Jake stood up properly still glancing down at your bump. "Let her finish her boring word search puzzle made for kids in peace."

You faux a pout, that was more of a smile. "You're not getting dinner anymore." You grabbed the coloring book off the counter and swatted his bicep with the paw patrol book.

"I'm joking. I'm joking." Jake laughed. He kissed your temple for good measure and pulled you back to his embrace, with your baby bump sandwiches between you both. "I missed you. How was your day?"

After that the 3 of you had dinner and Jake made sure Aaron didn't start his meal until you sat down at the table. Usually, there was a game of Connect 4 after dinner, but since Aaron suddenly got an obsession with Hot Wheels, they built orange race tracks on the floor.

Aaron's objective was always to make the longest track, and Jake was willing to build track after track till it was perfect. It would take almost all afternoon to make a track long enough to take up the living room to the dining room. You just sat next to them doing the word search and occasionally stealing blue boosters, to make both boys go on a search hunt to find them.

The next day you would tell them to clean it up, but since it had taken very hard work and time they refused to back the track away. So it just sat there for the rest of the week till Araon wanted to build a new one.

His home life wasn't anything crazy compared to his job in the sky, but it was his and Jake treasured it dearly.

Nobody knew about Jake's family, except for Javy and Bradley. Since Jake shared a good bond with Coyote he told him straight from the start about his incredible family. But Bradley found out on his own when he saw Jake, you, and Araon at the supermarket.

Bradley would always get nosy and ask Jake about his wife. But Jake would always deny it or brush Rooster off, making Bradley feel like he was crazy.

"What are you talking about? Nobody would settle down for Hangman." Phoenix laughed at Bradley's remarks when he brought it up again.

"Nah, Nat I saw it with my own two eyes. Jake was kissing his wife at the supermarket the day before the Fourth of July weekend pushing his kid around a shopping cart." Bradley tried convincing his best friend but Natasha wasn't buying it. She only knew Jake as an asshole instead of the husband who rubbed his wife's feet when he got home.

"You're going nuts, Bradshaw." Natasha scoffed.

"Must be all the jet fuel getting to his head," Jake smirked at Rooster. Since nobody believed Bradley, all he was left to do was flip Jake off and head to his super hornet.

Then it was Jake's ranking ceremony and obviously his loyal family went to cheer him on. Once he got pinned, Lieutenant Commander Jake didn't hesitate to make a beeline straight for you.

"Oh my gosh super cute pin, jakey! I'm so proud of you. " You squealed pulling him in by his tie to kiss his lips.

"Couldn't have done it without you next to me, darlin'." Jake pressed his nose into your cheek before kissing you there.

"Good job Lieutenant Commander. You're so cool, Dad." Arron said looking up at him. Jake felt his heart fluttering at his son's words.

"Thank you, Aaron. Takes a cool person to know a cool person." Jake held out his hand and Aaron jumped up to high-five him.

From a few seats away he could see the daggers obviously staring at Jake and pointing at him. He read Bradley's lips when he said.

"I told you! But nobody believed me!" He kept his family a secret because he didn't like to mess up his work life with his home. But it was too late now everyone had seen his wife kiss him and he had the lipstick on his mouth to prove it.

first ever Jake blurb. Sorry Bradley but, got to move on when there's a drought since roosterforme hasn't been posting

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader #jake seresin x you #top gun fanfiction #May '25

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joelsgoldrush · 7 months ago

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“lovers once a year” | 9.4k

dbf!joel miller x f!reader

SUMMARY: One always craves what is out of reach. Like the forbidden fruit that lingers just beyond grasp, tempting with its sweetness. Joel became the town’s greatest sinner, and you, his best friend’s daughter, are the tantalizing temptation he knows he should never indulge in. Your very existence marks the path to his ruin. He can't help but follow it. WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ cursing. drinking. dirty talk. joel’s POV. a lot of introspection. mentions of alcohol. miscommunication. no outbreak. dbf!joel. age gap (25 and 56). petnames. religious imagery. car sex. oral sex (f!receiving). fingering. unprotected p in v. riding. missionary. doggy style. orgasm denial. crying. hair pulling. thumb/finger sucking. cum shot. creampie. reader sits on joel’s lap and has hair. moodboard for aesthetic purposes only. A/N: the fact this idea has been sitting on my drafts for over a year is just crazy. i finally found the time to put into words, and i know i’m a little late to the whole dbf!joel trope, but i’m a real sucker for it... hope you like this one! <3

No one could’ve ever said Joel was a great best friend.

For one, he was terrible at remembering important dates. His mind just didn’t catch hold of details like that—never had, really. He wasn’t the sentimental type, either. At best, he’d manage a pat on the back or a firm handshake, maybe even a call on Christmas if he remembered. Emotional displays weren’t in his nature, far too used to keeping things at arm’s length.

Luckily for him, Stephen never seemed to care much about these things. They’d been friends for over forty years—which is, well, a hell of a long time, especially considering each had gone off to carve out his own life. They’d trudged through both primary and secondary school side by side, and Joel felt Stephen’s absence like a hollow ache the day his friend left for university in another state.

Technology eventually offered them more ways to connect, but it didn’t make keeping up any simpler. The years had tested them, and somehow, they’d held on to the quiet strength of their friendship—a bond they’d forged across decades and distance, held steady like the roots of an old tree.

Stephen was the laid-back type, always down for anything as long as a cold beer was part of the deal. It was rare for him to lose his temper, having a way of letting nuisances slide. Joel could bend every rule, yet Stephen’s patience never wavered. He was unflappable, hardly bothered by Joel’s mood swings, which was what made them a match made in heaven. Nothing could throw him off.

Though Joel doubts Stephen would stay so calm if he knew what he’d done to his daughter. As mentioned, Joel’s not exactly what you’d call a good friend—particularly considering he’s slept with his best friend’s daughter. Just once, to be fair. One ephemeral, impulsive encounter. Right here, in this very house, exactly three hundred and sixty-five days ago.

His gaze drifts across the room, settling on you at a smaller table a few meters away, surrounded by your younger cousins, ages five to fifteen. He watches as you scroll absent-mindedly on your phone, your brow furrowed in concentration, only tearing your eyes away from the screen when one of the kids hurls a handful of salty peanuts at you.

You press your palms flat against the tablecloth, eyes narrowing as you scowl playfully at the child, a mischievous glint in your expression. “You’ve got ten seconds to run,” you utter in a tone meant to sound ominous, tickling his sides until he erupts in laughter, his giggles filling the dining room with raw joy.

Joel’s been here for over two hours, but he can’t recall a single detail about the night’s events. All he knows is you—he’s studied your every movement, following the shape of your silhouette through the crowd. He’s accepted a few drinks, engaged in shallow conversation with your relatives, trying his best to play the part of a man with nothing to hide. But despite his efforts, despite every attempt to appear unaffected, he feels a slow burn kindling in the pit of his stomach, an ache that curls through him in a deliciously destructive way.

It’s when you look up, locking eyes with him, that he nearly mutilates the chicken breast on his plate, the knife skittering over porcelain with a screech. He quickly mutters an apology, excusing his clumsiness and blaming it on one too many drinks. Meanwhile, you don’t quit glaring at him, a hint of a challenge dancing in your stare.

This shouldn’t feel the way it does, this hazardous, risky game you’re playing. At one time, he might’ve thought this was something only seen in movies, something imagined and unreal. But here you are, and here he is, and the indisputable hunger in your eyes is as real as anything he’s ever known.

Suddenly, his memories drift back to a year ago, to your grandmother’s 84th birthday—the night it all began.

Stephen had left Austin when he was eighteen to pursue a college degree. That’s how he’d ended up in New York, and from that point on, he never came back. It’d been amazing to see him as an equal when they were teenagers, but as they grew older, the only things they shared were the white hairs scattered all over their beards and the memories of much better days.

Whenever they got in touch—which didn’t happen often—your dad would talk about you. You were just a name without a face, an empty canvas. Close to graduating, with only a few subjects and finals left. Psychology was your major—weren’t you smart? Joel remembers typing back with a string of exclamation marks to show his contentment. His best friend’s daughter was a success; how could he not be happy?

One random day, Joel’s phone buzzed late in the afternoon, flashing with Stephen’s name. It was rare for them to talk outside the usual birthdays and holidays, so seeing his name on the screen sent a small jolt through him. A dozen scenarios raced through his mind as he picked up, each one edging between concern and curiosity.

Just like that, Stephen dropped the news without any preamble. “I’m moving back to Austin,” His voice came in clear, and there was something unusual about it, brisk but almost nostalgic. Joel gripped the phone a little tighter, processing the words. “In fact, I’m filling up the gas tank as we speak. There’s someone at home who wants to see you.”

That someone had been your grandmother. With a twinkle in her eye, she’d insisted on inviting Joel to her 84th birthday. “It’s the perfect chance for you two to reconnect,” she’d declared, her tone laced with warmth and hope. She adored Joel, practically worshipping the ground he walked on, often reminiscing about the vibrant young man he had once been.

Who could deny anything to an elderly person, especially one as cherished as her? He was strong, physically imposing, but not strong enough to resist her wishes.

The reunion was going as well as it could, given the circumstances. After all, it was a strange kind of delight, seeing his best friend for the first time in decades. Joel thought they’d do what friends do—sit back, drink, smoke, and trade stories about the good old days.

Then you walked into the room, absolutely gorgeous and with a smile that was all teeth, and you reached out to shake Joel’s hand as you introduced yourself. The contrast hit him instantly—your skin was satin-like against his, smooth where his was rough and calloused from years of handling concrete and steel. A subtle heat bloomed where your fingers touched, the chill of the rings on your hand sending a shiver through him, as if his senses had sharpened in that brief instant.

You pulled away, taking a step back, your eyes flicking between him and your dad. Joel’s arm fell back to his side, his hand forming a tight fist, the bite of his nails embedded into his palm to keep him grounded. But he couldn’t stop himself from scrutinizing you—every detail of your face, the curve of your smile, the effortless way you carried yourself. Your beauty was at fault, not him. You were completely out of reach, yet close enough to marvel at. He was no more than a man, bound to notice the charm of a pretty girl like you.

That you happened to be the daughter of his best friend—that was just a cruel stroke of fate.

“Oh, sweetie. I’m glad you got to meet Joel at last!” Stephen’s voice cut through his thoughts, an arm draping across Joel’s shoulders, pulling him into an affectionate embrace. “He’s that friend from school I’ve been telling you about.”

Stephen looked so at ease, so utterly pleased, that Joel could only swallow back the lump in his throat. What kind of sick joke was this? What could he have possibly done to deserve this twist of the knife?

With a soft laugh, you folded your hands behind your back, tilting your head to the right. “My father wouldn’t shut up about you,” you said, light and melodic, drawing him in like a lure. Joel found himself adrift in the sweet cadence of your voice, entranced by the delicate chain glinting at your throat, resting just above the neckline of your shirt, the v-cut hinting at a world of temptation.

He blinked owlishly, fighting the images clawing behind his eyelids. “Well, he’s a good man, your father,” Joel managed, his smile strained. Not because it wasn’t true, but because there was a blaring alarm in his head, warning him to get a fucking grip. He knew himself well enough to read the signs, the underlying meaning beneath these nerves, the quickened pulse, the quiet, undeniable urge to reach out and feel you.

He was gone already. He fancied you, and his mind raced with thoughts he knew he had no right to entertain. He imagined what you’d taste like, the way you might sound if he were between your legs, encouraging you to gasp his name. Yet, he was aware that these fantasies were as treacherous as they were forbidden, even more with you standing right in front of him. And your father, just inches away.

From the kitchen, someone called out to Stephen, and with a weary sigh, he unhooked himself from Joel’s shoulder. “Coming!” he shouted back, already angling himself toward the door. He glanced back at the two of you, half-smiling while rubbing his temples. “I forgot how exhausting it is to host a family birthday party. I’ll be right back. You two go ahead and chat without me.”

Fuck, no, Joel thought to himself. Don’t leave me here. Where the hell are you going?

Joel resorted to remaining silent, choosing instead to take a long sip of his beer to avoid the occasion of sin. He refused to look in your direction, fixing his gaze on anything that didn’t involve your bare legs—the same legs he’d just been eyeing in those damn denim shorts, which exquisitely hugged your thighs. But, then again, he shouldn’t even be noticing that.

As he peered down at the carpet, he couldn’t ignore the movement of your shoes as you stepped closer. He observed your fingers playing idly with the frayed edges of your shorts, your body inching nearer, and he braced himself in anticipation of whatever you might say next. When his eyes landed on yours, he was met with an aura of expectancy, a cocky smirk pulling at your lips.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in the flesh, Mr. Miller,” you murmured, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed with effort. Letting your hand linger beside your face, you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, glancing at him through your lashes. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Joel felt the flush rise to his cheeks, and there was no mistaking it—you were doing this on purpose. Were you trying to push him off balance, to see how far he’d bend before snapping? Was this just a game for you, a bit of mischief to spice up a family gathering? The idea irritated him, but he couldn’t entirely ignore the thrill woven into the discomfort. A quarter of his mind itched to play along, but the rest of him screamed to find the nearest exit.

“Y’can just call me Joel. No needa be so formal,” he mumbled, lifting the beer bottle to his lips once again, the bitterness spreading across his tongue.

“But I like Mr. Miller better.”

His mind conjured all those images of fire and damnation, of being dragged to some dark, smoldering pit. Rotting in hell, he could already see himself within the flames. Tugging at the collar of his flannel, now too tight and hot, he gave a rough, clearing cough. “M’gonna—go find your dad.”

He was glad you didn’t try to approach him in public again. For a few hours, he felt something close to tranquillity—not fully, though, as he could still hear echoes of your voice in the silences. Every so often, out of the corner of his eye, he’d catch you orbiting near him, lurking in his peripheral vision, even though you sat at a different table.

Later in the night, he wandered upstairs in search of the bathroom, instead stumbling upon your father’s childhood bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, and he took the liberty to enter it, a familiar scent filling the room. He ran his fingers over the walls, still papered with posters he recognized well. It was as if time had paused there—everything remained as it had the last time he’d been in this very room. The framed portraits, the worn bedspread, and Stephen’s desk, scattered with foreign bills under a layer of glass, each one a memento from the different countries he had visited.

It was only a matter of time before you found him, a light knock on the open door drawing his attention. Joel turned on his heels, catching sight of you, acknowledging your presence with a slight bow of his head. You ambled toward him, curiosity alight in your steps, twisting the chain of your necklace, a restless gesture that betrayed the energy simmering beneath your calm exterior.

He scratched the back of his head, offering a half-hearted smile. “This isn’t the bathroom, right?” he joked, attempting a casual tone. The joke was a weak one, admittedly, but you laughed anyway, a nonchalant sound that showed the gleam of your teeth.

“No, I don’t think it is,” you replied, sliding onto the edge of the desk with an effortless ease. “What brought you here?”

“Birthday parties can be a bit overwhelmin', dontcha think?”

“Totally.”

And then you went back to watching him, your eyes tracing his features with an almost stubborn intensity.

“You gonna stop doin' that?” he asked, the words coming out sharper than he meant, though they didn't make you flinch.

“Doing what, exactly?”

“Lookin' at me all doe-eyed.” His voice didn’t waver, but he advanced in your direction. His knees nearly brushed against yours, the weathered denim grazing your bare skin, and only then did a flicker of uncertainty soften your confident stance. “Whatever it is you’re after, it’s not gonna happen. So quit tryin’.”

You drew in a slow breath, pushing yourself to your feet. “You sure about that?” Before he had the time to react, you were standing inches from him, your chest pressing against his, just close enough for him to feel the soft weight of your breasts. “Should I pretend, then, that I haven’t noticed you’ve been half-hard all night?”

Joel's jaw tightened, his teeth gritting almost painfully. His fists flexed by his sides, his entire body feeling heavier, muscles pulled taut by some invisible thread. "Watch your mouth.”

“Or what?” You hooked a finger inside his belt loop, tugging him that much closer. Your breath, fresh and minty, mingled with the faint scent of your perfume, and he inhaled both, heady on the mix. “You’re gonna teach me a lesson?”

There was only so much patience a man like him could summon, and you were a thorn in his flesh, determined and unyielding. He leaned in, voice gruff as he uttered three words that made your brows knit together. “Close the door.” You stayed frozen, lips parting in surprise. “Did y’hear me? M’not into exhibitionism. Close. The. Door.”

You did as he asked, obliging, stepping back to close the door before returning to your place. Without warning, he turned you around, pressing your palms flat against the cool glass of the desk, a sharp chill that made you yelp. His hand settled firmly on your back, guiding you down until your chest was flush against the surface as well. In one swift motion, your shorts were gone, followed by your soaked panties, a damp spot where your arousal had begun to seep through.

He slipped his fingers inside you first, his hand covering your mouth to stifle the needy whimpers escaping your lips. The roughness of his beard grazed your cheek as he hovered over you, his breath hot in your ear as he spoke. “Bein’ too fuckin’ loud, doll.” Matching the rhythm of the slow drag of his fingers, his hips pressed forward, grinding against the curve of your ass, each movement making his mouth go dry. “Y’want this cock that bad?” He nipped at your throat, and you, against his sweaty palm, mumbled what could have only been a muffled Yes. “Then I need y’to keep real quiet for me, alright?”

His jeans and boxers hung around his knees, his cock leaking and throbbing at the tip. Joel realized what true desperation felt like, dangerously close to busting his load at any given moment before even getting the chance to be fully inside you. On top of the desk, your body trembled, and you reached back, pulling your top higher up to bare more of yourself to him. He unclasped your bra with one hand, while his other guided him to your entrance, his lips pressing reverently against your spine as he pushed inside, savoring the heat of your walls wrapping around him for the first time. It certainly didn’t feel like anything he’d ever experienced in his fifty-six years of life.

It had been short, and harsh, and fast. Borderline animalistic, what experts would label as a quick fuck. The moment he breached your entrance, you begged for more, fucking yourself back onto him until his thighs met your skin. You acted as if possessed by a greater entity, diabolic, though Joel didn’t mind it. He relished it, welcomed it. But he couldn’t let you take the reins. He asserted his dominance, snapping his hips forward with a force that drew moans from the depths of your lungs. He was the one in control, driving himself deeper and deeper within you. Suffice it to say you seemed to love it, if the sounds he elicited from you were anything to go by.

It was what you wanted, what you needed. One way or another, he’d caught onto what those lingering glances throughout the party had signified. Every glance you’d thrown his way had been leading to this—a silent promise that whatever was happening had been destined to be the night’s climax.

You bit down on his palm as you reached your peak, tightening around him, and perhaps it was the thrill of it all, the knowledge that he’d need far more time to become well acquainted with your body, that had him chasing after you. Holding back until you came had been a feat, pulling out seconds prior to his release, stroking his length once before painting your skin with his seed. A low, primal groan escaped him as he slid his length between your cheeks, prolonging his high, each heated pulse marking you in a way that felt undeniably his.

As he regained his composure, he watched you swirl your thumb along your lower back, collecting a trace of his release, and bringing it to your lips to have a taste of him. You softly laughed when he cursed under his breath, turning your face lazily to the side. “Damn minx y’are,” he rasped, closing the gap between your mouths, his claiming yours in an urgent kiss. Your mewls faded beneath the insistent press of his mouth as he sought to suppress the strange pull in his guts, reluctant to confront the unfamiliar sensations churning within him.

Things wrapped up quickly after that. You both returned to your places, resuming the roles you’d stepped out of briefly: Joel had been in the bathroom; you had been on the phone with a friend. When he reappeared downstairs minutes after you, no one thought twice about his slightly damp hair.

For the remainder of the party, the two of you exchanged no further words. The time for him to leave came, and he offered only a nod of his head across the packed living room. It was a farewell only Joel would give, a subtle acknowledgment that left you wondering about its meaning. There were no explanations, no parting words.

The next time he saw your father, the mere thought of seeing you again terrified him. If it’d happened once, then the temptation would still remain undiminished, strong enough to awaken the lust and the longing veiled in silence. But you weren’t there anymore—back in New York, focused on finishing your semester at college. The surprise must have been evident on Joel’s face, a bewilderment that prompted Stephen to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Remember I told you she hasn’t graduated yet?”

“Yeah, yeah. I remember now,” he said, wishing to convince both your father and himself.

You were out of the picture, no longer around. Yet, the two of you now shared a secret. You still do, to this day. He’s no stranger to the notion that some things never seem to change. After all, he’s a creature of habit—same breakfast every morning, same brand of bread he’s been buying for years. Like all his other preferences, he’s come to realize he likes his women a certain way. And though he hates to admit it, you fit the bill perfectly.

Betty, Stephen’s mother, was turning eighty-five tonight. A seat with Joel’s name was saved at the big table; they wanted him there, his best friend and his best friend’s mother. How nice it was to actually feel wanted. He liked that feeling. Still, he’d had to bite his tongue when your father mentioned you’d be there, too. You had graduated at long last, with your birthday having been just a couple of weeks ago.

“Can’t believe she’s twenty-five already,” Stephen muttered with a chuckle, taking a long drag from his cigarette.

Sitting beside him, Joel gripped the arm of his chair, sinking his nails into it. “Me neither, man.”

His choices had led him to this moment. The clinking of glasses rings in his ears, blending with laughter and the rich aroma of food that fills the air. None of it manages to distract him. He can't help but track you down, eyes scanning the room, relentless in their pursuit of yours. The need to see you goes beyond any shred of restraint he might have faked to have. Joel can’t muster the decorum to feign indifference—God, not when you’re near, when the pull toward you feels like gravity itself. He’s keenly, almost painfully aware, that he’s not even pretending to be indifferent, his interest etched plainly in the way his gaze persists, refusing to pull away.

It’s his first time seeing you in a year. A lot can change in that span of time. He can’t help but be amazed, because you look just the same as you did back then. Only your hair’s a touch shorter. He wonders if it’s even noticeable, or if he’s just spent so long memorizing your features that he’s losing his sanity. He bets it’s the latter.

A light pressure on his shoulder makes Joel jump, breaking down his reverie. He turns quickly, eyes widening. "Betty," he exhales, patting his chest with a smile, eyebrows lifted. "Jeez. Y’scared me."

“Y’alright, Joely? Y’look a bit pale.” The older woman reaches up, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead with a gentle familiarity. Through her lens, he’s still young. “Doesn’t seem like you’ve got a fever, though.”

"That’s ‘cause I’m not sick." Joel takes her hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "How’s everythin’ goin’ so far? Got all these people together just t’celebrate ya’."

"It’s a wonderful night, sweetheart. So happy y’found the time t’be here," she replies, pinching his cheek in that affectionate way that earns her a quiet laugh from him. Her eyes then catch sight of a familiar figure. "Oh, look who's here. If it isn’t my beautiful granddaughter."

He stops smiling. In fact, he thinks he even stops breathing for a second as you intrude yourself into the scene, settling yourself beside your grandmother, flashing him a knowing grin. “I was getting kind of bored with the little ones.”

“Y’know Joel, right, dear?”

“Yes.” A pause, a beat you draw out between breaths. “Yes, I do.”

Betty leans his way, her warm hand still on him. “Have y’heard the latest news? This young lady just graduated.”

“Stephen told me,” he answers, looking up at you with a reserved nod. “Congrats, kid.”

“Thank you, Mr. Miller.”

There’s that damn name again. Were he alone with you, he’d laugh in your face, but he can’t. Under the scrutiny of family and friends, he knows he’s cornered. Joel’s starting to believe you think you’re untouchable, that there are no consequences to your actions. You might look the same, maybe a little older, but that teasing, provocative spark in your eye hasn’t changed a bit.

“Always so polite, my child,” Betty says, cupping your cheek with a light pinch, a grandmotherly gesture perfected over the years which she seems to repeat often. “Any boyfriends back in New York?”

This would, without a doubt, be the perfect moment for him to excuse himself and stand up—a conversation he’d rather not be privy to. But with you positioned right in front of him, escape isn’t an option. “Still single, grandma,” you respond unfazed, as if you know exactly what you’re doing. “No one to worry about. Better like this, anyway.”

“But what’s the problem? There aren’t any boys y’like?”

He doesn’t even know what makes him say it—some impulse, some hidden tension surfacing—but he jumps in, his voice carrying a slight, sardonic edge. “Boys are more foolish than ever these days, Betty. Surely y’wouldn’t want her to settle for the first idiot who crosses her path.”

Betty clutches his arm, shaking her head in feigned shock. “Oh, not at all! It’s all about waitin’ for the right person. There’s no rush, for either of you. You’re still on your own, Joely?”

Time to drink again. He drains the last drops of alcohol remaining in his glass, feeling your eyes on him, intense and searing, and then he clears his throat, swallowing down the words he’d rather say. “Affirmative.”

“Well,” she sighs contentedly, patting each of your hands as though binding you both with some invisible thread. “Just means y’two have to wait a bit longer, right? Time has its way.” She chuckles, eyes soft with memory, turning to you. “Darlin’, this man here was quite the heartbreaker in his day. He and your dad would find all kinds of trouble with the ladies!”

“How so?” You cross your arms, playfully tilting your chin up. “Joel Miller, the charmer of the town?”

“Guess I’ve been known t’make a fool of myself,” he shoots back, silently cursing the moment he missed his chance to slip away. “Stephen got more fans than I did, though.”

“I did what?” Joel feels an elbow nudging his back, and there’s his friend, grinning in his usual easy way.

Joel's luck in life had been more bruised than blessed, a string of hardships that seemed amplified compared to what most people experienced. Being drawn in by you—in which category did that fall? Good luck or bad? He couldn't decide. Every glance and delicate smile you aimed his way stirred something reckless within him. Was it pure thrill, or a warning?

He laughs every time Stephen cracks a joke, but he’s barely listening, his mind half-tethered to the present. It’s like he’s watching himself from afar, observing his reactions as if he were an outsider. He isn’t stoned or drunk, just acutely mindful of your presence. He catches himself peeking up at you from where he sits, jaw tight, his brow creased. You meet his gaze with a slight squint, a polite look that hides something far more dangerous.

Boys are more foolish than ever these days. He’s sure of that much. They’re young, untested. But what about him? He’s no model of virtue, either. He’s made his share of mistakes, left good women behind—women who were willing to love him in spite of his flaws. They’d seen through the layers he wore like armor, and yet, in the end, he couldn’t hold on to any of them. He carried the ghosts of every past life, fragments of who he’d been and what he’d left behind, and he knew those shadows weren’t for everyone.

A thought pierces through him, sharp and sobering: what would Sarah think? His lovely daughter, grown and settled into her own life, would likely be mortified to know her father’s infatuation with a twenty-something. The weight of that realization sinks into his chest, and that seems to be his last straw.

He can’t possibly take it anymore. Rising from his chair, he mutters something to Stephen about needing fresh air and makes his way to the backyard door, exhaling deeply and gripping his car keys. The cool night air hits him, stepping outside, a temporary relief as he heads toward his truck.

Just as he’s about to open the door, he hears your voice. You call his name, your tone soft but distinct. He doesn’t turn, only lets out a long, weary sigh. “What?”

“Where are you going?” You stop a few steps behind him, watching the way his shoulders visibly tense. “Are you mad at me?”

“What?” He faces you, almost snapping his neck in his rush to look at you. “Why would I be—I’m not mad at ya’.”

“Then what’s wrong? Why are you leaving so early?”

He scrubs a hand over his nape, fingers pressing into the tension gathered there. “Would y’like me t’break it down for ya’, how messed up this is?” His gaze drops to the ground, unable to meet yours. “I’m riskin’ the only real friendship I’ve had here for… for somethin’ that I can’t even wrap my head ‘round. This isn’t okay, no matter which way I look at it.”

In that moment, it’s as if reality pulls you under. The mask of subtle, practiced arrogance falls apart, scattering in fragments around you. He watches, waiting for you to gather them up, to hide behind that composed veneer again. But you don’t move. You leave the pieces where they lie. Instead, you confront his gaze, unguarded, and ask, “Do you regret what happened between us?”

Another question. You seem to be full of them. They just keep coming, one after the other, as if you already had them prepared. I don’t, he thinks to himself, but would it do you any good if you knew it? “Don’ start with those mental games.”

“Then come back inside.”

“I know myself well enough to know what’s gonna happen if I do that, darlin’.”

Neither of you breaks the silence that’s settled between you, thick as the night air. You slip your hands into the pockets of your jacket, shoulders slightly hunched, head hanging. Once again, like all those times before, he’s struck by how young you are compared to him. The difference stretches between you like a chasm, bridged only by these stolen moments. The weight of his years presses down on him, the choices he’s made—the mistakes and the half-hearted attempts to mend them. He’s got decades on you, three of them to be precise.

Joel never thought of himself as an ever-lasting free spirit, the kind of man who clings to youth or pretends to be something he’s not. Right now, with you here, he feels reckless, like a boy again. Stupid, impulsive, like the foolish young men he used to shake his head at—the very ones he’d warned your grandmother about.

“You left without even saying goodbye last time,” you mumble, low but clear, as you scuff the toe of your shoe against the grass. “And now you’re doing it again.”

He inhales sharply, clenching his keys, feeling the edges of the brass biting into his palm. For a moment, he thinks the sharpness will give him something to hold onto, but he knows the sting is nothing more than a weak anchor. “You’re a smart girl. Don’ need me to spell this out.”

“I know exactly what you mean, trust me. I get it.”

“Then why do you keep pushing?” His pent-up exasperation slips through despite himself, and he can see the hurt flicker across your face, the way your forehead barely puckers as his words hit harder than intended.

Even as you look away, a trace of that hurt fading, you stand firm. You shake your head after a beat, seemingly trying to brush off your doubts and confusion. Joel can’t decipher if you’re feigning innocence—if you are, he thinks, you could be one hell of an actress. “I don’t know. I guess I want to see how far this can go.”

You take a small step forward, testing the waters. Your feet move cautiously, not aiming to scare him off. Each step draws you nearer until there’s only a whisper of space between you, close enough for him to catch your scent, and he has to force himself to peer down to meet your eyes. They hold a quiet intensity: pleading, wide and earnest, already trained on him. Gleaming like two lone stars cutting through a moonless, empty sky.

It baffles him, the question forming unbidden in his mind. He goes even further, can’t help but wonder: why him? What is it that you see in him? What makes you keep coming back for more? You’ve already had a taste, a story you could tuck away, a secret to be shared with your friends someday around a campfire. So why, he would like to know, are you still here, seeking something from a man like him?

“I like you,” you blurt out, fingers drifting to skim over the worn fabric of his flannel, almost hesitantly. That tentative gesture sparks something raw in him, a low rumble of desire that feels like it’s been lying dormant for too long. Heat pulses through him, hot blood racing through his veins, awakening every nerve, each beat of his heart more insistent than the last one. “I think you like me, too.”

“You’re insufferable,” he bites out through gritted teeth, his jaw clenching so hard it nearly hurts. He closes his eyes, half hoping you’ll disappear, that he’ll find some reason, any reason, to call this off. Though when he opens them, you’re still there, waiting, unshaken. “I wish I knew how to stop this. How to walk away.”

“That’s not what you want.”

“We don’ always get what we want, kid. You’ll figure that out soon enough.” He means it as a warning, but even he hears the way his voice falters, his defenses crumbling in the face of your unflinching state.

You let out a slow sigh, your arms falling to your sides, eyes roaming over his features as if you’re memorizing every line. Your focus dips to his mouth. “Maybe,” you murmur, and he feels the warmth of your breath against his skin. “But some things are worth fighting for. And sometimes, those who don’t give up… get the best in the end.”

With a gentleness that stuns him, you lean in, bringing your lips to his in a featherlight kiss. You pull away, and he helplessly notices the way your lips part, how your breath hitches, and for a split second, the guilt becomes palpable, the significance of wanting a woman he knows he shouldn’t. You stand there, chest rising and falling, skin tingling, a faint trail of goosebumps visible where your neckline meets your chest.

Apart from the glint in your eyes, he catches the persistent, quiet ache of want. He isn’t sure if it’s just physical attraction, if it runs deeper, or if that’s all it is for him, either. He doesn’t need to know. The simplicity of it all is a short-lived relief. It’s an easy escape, though, this bare minimum of understanding—you want him, he wants you. Let it be enough for one more moment, for tonight, just another memory he’ll have to lock away. Yet he’s aware, deep down, of his own pattern: promises broken just as easily as they’re made. He’s only fooling himself. The part of him that knows this isn’t something he’ll let go of so easily sits there, silently taunting him, daring him to make another compromise he won’t keep.

From where you remain frozen, he’s certain you can practically see the gears turning in his head as he weighs every possible outcome. “It’s gonna happen, isn’t it?” Your voice is barely above a whisper, and before you can react, his arm slides around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and turning you toward the car door. The cool metal pressing against your back startles a gasp out of you, but the suddenness only heightens everything—the heat of his body, the toughness of his hold.

He doesn’t waste time with words, having always been a man of action. His hand cradles your face, inspecting your features to later crush his mouth against yours. Your tongue finds his without hesitation, seeking him out, hungry and unrestrained. He savors your eagerness, the way your hands roam over him, clutching at his shirt, tugging him closer by the belt until your lower halves are pressed tightly. The taste of beer and mint clings to your lips, and a husky groan rumbles from him as your fingers find their place in the longer strands at the nape of his neck, twisting and pulling him impossibly closer.

He could lose himself in this, the simple, electric thrill of kissing you, how you fit so perfectly against him. Hours could slip by, and he wouldn’t mind, but then reality pulls him back; it’s too exposed here, right outside his truck where anyone could stumble upon you. “Get in the car,” he rasps, pulling back just enough to catch his breath, fumbling to unlock the door. It takes him three tries, and he chuckles, feeling the warmth of your laughter beside him as you tease him.

Once inside, his mouth finds yours again, this time more urgently, his hand pressing against your back, tracing the line of your spine through the clothes. “Tell me y’want this,” he breathes, his kisses trailing down your throat, latching onto the tender skin there. “C’mon, baby. Tell me y’want it. Tell me y’want me.”

A soft, breathy sound escapes you as his mouth fixates on that sensitive spot just below your ear. You tilt your hips instinctively, craving contact in search of relief, and he shifts you onto his lap, guiding your thighs to settle over his. Desperately working to undo the buttons of his shirt, yearning to uncover him, you pant against his cheek. “J-Jesus Christ, I need you. Please, touch me. Anything will do. Just—”

He’s silently grateful for your choice of a dress tonight. It makes things easier for him, and he gets right to it, bunching the fabric around your waist, hands roaming over the soft skin of your hips before moving his fingers lower, tracing teasing lines over your clothed center. He can’t fully make out the murmured words you breathe into his ear, but your voice drives him like a lighthouse guides a sinking ship, and he adjusts his movements, pressing with more intention. The only sounds filling the car are his ragged breaths and your gasping moans, and he holds you close to his chest, cooing softly as you start to rock into his hand, asking for more.

His fingers find their rhythm, circling your clit in deliberate flicks. Joel watches as you unravel, trembling in his arms, a hint of drool spreading over his shoulder from your parted lips on his skin. His grip tightens as he tugs your underwear down your legs, grinning when you kick them impatiently to the floor of the car. Now, as he strokes his digits up and down your folds, you turn to putty on his lap. In another world, he’d have you laid out in his bed, enjoying each inch of your body. But here, in the cramped, dim backseat, he keeps the lights off. He knows it’s reckless, yet that barely slows him down. His cock throbs at the very risk of getting caught, at the edge he’s walking just to have you like this.

“Goddamn, you’re soaked, aren’t ya’?” He doesn’t expect you to answer, at least not in any coherent way. He sinks his middle finger into your bare heat, searching your face in the dark, contemplating the fluttering of your lashes. His hand weaves into your hair, a firm tug guiding your gaze to his. Your head tips back, a moan spilling from your lips at the new sensation, rolling your hips into his palm with earnestness. “It’s gonna be a tight fit, huh? If this is how you’re grippin’ my fingers, I can’t imagine what that cunt’s gonna feel like wrapped ‘round me.”

Studies suggest that in those final, fleeting moments of life, memories flood the human mind—a last journey through a person’s years before crossing over. If he were to die after tonight, he knows your face would be there, etched into his last breath. He can almost picture it: struggling for air, teetering on the edge, with that reddish, towering figure of mortality looming over him. But even then, he’d find solace in the thought of you, thrown into oblivion. You’d grant him a last-minute reprieve, easing the ache. You’d be the one who’d hold back the shadows. This constitutes the apex of his life, and he knows he should be worried, yet intellectual dominance doesn’t stand much of a chance when confronting the heart of a man. Not when that heart, so long starved of its pulse, has finally found someone worth remembering.

He makes space for himself, thrusting his long fingers into you until he’s got your slick coating his palm. One hand settles firmly at the small of your back, guiding your movements, while he feels his collected composure faltering. You mouth at the rough stubble along his jawline when you start to get close, breathless whimpers clouding his thoughts. “Joel,” you call out to him, as if that alone would make wonders. “Oh, fuck. Please, I waited a whole year. I need to come.”

A whole year. You were his once a year, and he was yours, a bittersweet ritual bound by time. He never would’ve thought this party could bring him such pleasure, though he can’t pretend he’s against it. Last time, he hadn’t taken the chance to pull you under and make you fall apart as many times as he’d wanted. He’s intent on making up for that missed opportunity, determined to make you enjoy every moment.

He withdraws his fingers abruptly, and a sharp laugh nearly escapes him at your reaction. You reach instinctively, grabbing for his hand, trying to guide him back to where he belongs between your legs. But he’s already moving, maneuvering you down until you’re lying on your back, fully under his command. He lowers himself, replacing his fingers with the warm insistence of his mouth. The sound that escapes your lips as his mouth presses against your center is nothing short of a scream—a wild cry that fills the space around you. He’s grateful he parked far from the other guests, because that sound would turn more than a few heads.

Joel laps at your arousal as if it's the fountain of youth, the very essence of everything pure and precious in the world. He presses down on your thighs until they rest on either side of him, unclamping your legs from around his head. The suppleness of your skin feels divine under his fingertips, and he brushes his thumbs over your trembling form, coaxing you into calmness, to let him have his way with you at his own pace. It's an absurd paradox—aiming to soothe you while his mouth continues its fervent worship, tracing intricate patterns against your most sensitive flesh. His beard, streaked with gray and freshly trimmed, glistens with your slick, and Joel smolders with all-consuming passion.

When his friends had told him to go out more, maybe find someone to date, he's certain they didn't mean this. The smart choice (scratch that: the correct one) would have been to pursue a woman his own age. But fuck it—he's spent a lifetime doing what's right. Every road he might've taken would've led him here, to this moment, with you. Part of him believes he must still have something left, some spark of appeal. To have a pretty little thing like you, so eager, so willing, offering yourself to him? He has to have something. His knees ache from where he kneels on the unforgiving surface, but the burn is inconsequential, and he’ll endure anything to be what you need.

Joel trails his hand up your body, over the curve of your breast, before gently groping it, his palm covering yours in a shared grip. He runs the tip of his tongue along your folds, his saliva mingling with your wetness, aquiline nose grazing your sensitive bud. “You’re tellin’ me you’re this tight ‘cause you’ve been savin’ yourself for me? You do know what t’say t’make a man happy.” He spreads you open slowly, his gaze lingering on the way your cunt glistens, a sense of satisfaction rippling through him. You remain silent, your breath shallow. “Still with me, sugar?”

“It’s just that—I’m so close.” You bite back a moan, nails digging into the soft leather of the seat. Joel hums in response, his lips closing around your clit. Agitation flickers across your face as you try to grind your hips against his mouth. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

The pressure is gone as he notices your thighs quivering again, his movements halting immediately.

“No, Joel. Please—”

“You’ll come when I tell ya’.”

He’s having the time of his life. Damn right he is.

He suddenly realizes he's still dressed from head to toes, the heat building in his body becoming too much to ignore. With a frustrated grunt, he undoes his belt, yanking the metal zipper down, longing to rid himself of the constricting denim. A strangled noise escapes him as you suck on his neck, fisting his base, giving him a few purposeful tugs.

“Now, you’re gonna ride me,” he murmurs, making a pause to shrug his shirt off, letting it fall to the floor of the car, “and you’re gonna like it. Don’ want you t’hold back this time, understood?”

His back ends up against one of the fogged-up windows. The air is thick with the apparent scent of sex—a phrase he’d only ever heard in movies, but now, it’s undeniably real. Joel holds his cock, aligning the tip with your entrance as his lips crash against yours in a hungry kiss. A deep groan escapes him, vibrating over your mouth, nipping at your lower lip. The sensation intensifies when your wet interior welcomes him, velvet walls molding to his size. Your brows scrunch together at the stretch, a choked whimper catching in your throat. As your hips sink fully, your ass flush against his thighs, your body clenches around him, that abrupt tightness drawing a stuttering gasp from him.

“For God’s sake,” he exhales, the words rough as his forehead bumps into yours. His hand splays over your ribcage, fingers curling slightly. “Sweetheart, you’re—killin’ me here.”

“I can feel you everywhere,” you huff, your arms looping around his neck to pull him closer, holding your breath. He takes the moment to capture your nipple between his swollen lips, leaving a shiny trail of spit in his wake. You lift yourself, the motion teasing, before sinking back down onto his lap, taking him in fully. “Can feel you in my stomach.”

When you begin to move, Joel loses track of everything else. Time seems to stretch, bending and reshaping itself each time his tip finds some hidden place inside you. He’s fifty-six years old, yet in this moment, his soul feels infinite. Invincible. He brings his hand to your lips, thumb grazing over them before slipping inside. Your warm tongue envelopes it, and when you start to suck dutifully, muffling your moans, his body jerks in response. His eyes drift to your glistening chest, where a sheen of sweat makes your skin glow in the dim light. You’re the most captivating woman he’s ever seen, and he knows he’ll never look at anyone the same again. He can’t tear his gaze away, mesmerized by the way your body merges with his, the way you undulate your hips on top of him.

You move back and forth, and he drives into you, filling you to the brim with every calculated thrust. He thrusts upward, stealing the air from your lungs, the sharp motion making you sputter as your body struggles to keep up with his.

“That’s it.” His voice is a husky growl as he wraps his arms tightly around your back, your chests sticking together with sweat. His pace quickens, the rhythm becoming more insistent. “Takin’ it like a good girl. You feel exquisite, baby. Makin’ me lose my fuckin’ mind.”

“So big inside me,” you pant, your own pace faltering as you surrender to Joel’s unforgiving tempo. His hooded eyes flicker to yours, catching the way your pupils have swallowed up your irises, dark and blown wide with desire. A shiver runs through him as your fingers dig into his shoulders, your grip leaving faint crescents in his skin. “Missed your cock so much, Mr. Miller.”

Fuck, not that shit. If it’s possible, he grows impossibly harder. He pounds into you with renewed intensity this time, his singular goal to leave you speechless, boneless, completely undone. He wants you limp and shuddering, with nothing left to give. “Enough of that.” His hands find their place on the soft globes of your ass, molding and squeezing until the pressure has you mewling, the sweet sound shooting straight through him. His lips ghost over the shell of your ear. “Responsive everywhere, honey. Have any idea how much fun I’m gonna have with ya’?”

Who would’ve believed him back then? It proves this isn’t some once-in-a-lifetime fluke. It happened before, and now it’s happening again. He might as well surrender to it—accept his fate and move through the motions like a man resigned to what’s already written.

There’s a moment when your moans sharpen, turning high-pitched and dazed, and the way you constrict him sends his eyes rolling to the back of his skull, a guttural noise tearing from his chest. His movements still, clutching your waist to pin you in place, denying you the chance to move, to bounce on him.

Then you break. A sob wracks your body, tears spilling over and tracing hot paths down your cheeks. They gather, fusing together as they slide along your throat and pool in the hollow of your jaw before disappearing lower. “Asshole,” you hiss, the word fragile as you push your face into the curve of his neck, seeking refuge in his embrace.

“Sorry? Couldn’t catch that.” He makes sure to keep you securely tucked under his chin, tilting his lower half upward. “If you want me t’stop, just say the world and I will.”

He’s messing with you, plain and simple. He doesn’t actually expect you to take his words at face value. But you do, grinding down harder, impaling yourself further on the length of his cock, and your arousal trickles down, slicking the coarse hair of his thighs. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please fuck me.” Slotting your mouth over his, you attempt to move, chasing any sort of friction against your clit. Sadly, pleasure doesn’t come on its own—it’s Joel who can make you feel good, and he’s not obliging. His hand seizes your hair in a rough grasp, tugging sharply. Eyes fluttering shut, you hunch forward, submitting to the sharp edge of his control.

“What an impatient little thing y’are.” Joel grabs your thighs and turns you over, your back pressed against the leather seat. The brusque shift pulls him out of you, the cool air a cruel tease before he taps his head against your swollen folds, then fills you again in one powerful thrust, kissing your cervix in the process. A deep moan rips from your lungs, deep and guttural, as your legs tremble uncontrollably on either side of him. Your ankles dig into his back, fervent to keep him close. His balls rest heavy against your skin, full and aching for release. “Gonna give ya’ what y’want, okay? You’ve been on your best behavior,” he mumbles with his lips stuck to your forehead. “That’s a good girl. Think she deserves to come after all.”

Only then does he find his rhythm again, ramming into your drooling hole. For the third time tonight, he’s captivated by how you teeter on the edge of overwhelming pleasure. He has you eating out of his hand, taking all that he offers, and you do so willingly. He knows he could ask you for anything, and in exchange for an orgasm coaxed by him, you'd comply without thinking twice. In many ways, he’s not so different. He gathers some of your saliva, using it to moisten his fingers before slipping them between your bodies, rubbing your clit as he continues to hit your bundle of nerves. Where his stamina comes from, he has no clue, though he’s determined to keep pushing.

Your face becomes a living poem, each cry of yours adding to its verse. Your head nearly reaches the door, but he cradles it with his arm, ensuring you don’t hurt yourself. “Close,” you whine, struggling to keep your eyes from falling shut. “Joel, please. Let me—”

“Give it to me, darlin’.” Another thrust, another moan. “Drench me, c’mon. That’s what y’want, isn’t it? To come all over this cock?”

The way he’s worked you up has its rewards, leading to a release that feels like an eruption. You bite down on his shoulder, your cries growing louder, chanting his name without pause. It loses all meaning after being chanted so many times, but the way you say it still has an undeniable weight. He doesn’t mind it one bit, not when he’s finishing right after you plead him to fill you. His jaw hangs open as ropes of his seed spill inside you, and he sags against your frame, giving short thrusts to push his cum deeper into your warmth, your pussy milking him dry.

“Oh, God…” he groans, fumbling with one of your breasts, holding onto something for dear life. “Jesus Christ.”

“Don’t pull out yet,” you say, grinning when you feel him twitch. “Stay a little longer.”

Too personal. Too intimate—dangerous in his books. Normally, he'd tuck himself back into his briefs, drive the woman he’s slept with home, and that would be the end of it. No happy endings in his story. So he’s surprised when he supports his weight on his forearms, claiming your lips in a voracious encounter of tongues and teeth. He caresses your cheek, tilting your face to deepen the kiss, and you sigh contentedly.

The two of you lapse into a heavy silence after that. He clears his throat, and says: “I should’ve asked you for your number that one time.” In the heat of the act, he’s being too honest. Regret will come knocking on his door once his excitement fades. His eyes bore into yours, dubious. “M’sorry for that.”

“Well, you could ask me for it now,” you admit from beneath him, and Joel pulls away for a moment, trying to gauge if you’re serious. He doesn’t think you’re joking. “To make up for lost time.”

This must be the onset of something else. He can't quite put it into words, but he feels it in his chest, in every place where your skin merges with his. He's no fortune teller, and there's no way for him to know where this path will take him, whether it leads to ruin or salvation. Though in this moment, he doesn't care—not now, at least.

At last, Joel blindly reaches for the pocket of his jeans with one arm. “How long are you stayin’ in Austin?”

dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

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jejewonster · 5 months ago

Text

Training Wheels

i love everything you do, when you call fucking dumb for the stupid shit i do ⋅˚ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋆˙

˚₊‧⁺˖ pairing: jeon wonwoo x f! reader ˚₊‧⁺˖ genre: dubcon, smut (MDNI 18+ ONLY) ˚₊‧⁺˖ wc: 3.2k

— wonwoo is sick of your childish crush on him. unforutunately his friends are assholes and forces him in a room alone with you.

˚₊‧⁺˖ smut tags & warnings: mean!wonwoo, obsessive!reader, asshole!wonwoo, corruption kink, DUBCON, creampie, fingering, spanking, multiple postions, innocence kink. seungcheol and mingyu are mentioned, wonwoo finds reader annoying, wonwoo is a huge asshole. ˚₊‧⁺˖ a/n: read my guidlines. don't like don't read. block me if this isn't your cup of tea. thank you @discoverhansol for beta reading ♡.

a sequence of familiar dings of wonwoo’s ringtone silences the middle of his conversation. seungcheol and mingyu send him a knowing look, their smiles cheeky as if they already know who’s blowing up his phone.

[@/yourusername] hi wonu!! have a good day at school >.< lmk if u received the pastry and latte i got u hehe i had to give it to gyu cuz i couldn’t find u :((( see u during econ :3 <3 [read at 12:37 p.m. ]

wonwoo frowns at his phone; he doesn’t understand why you keep trying to get close to him or why you even like him, but it’s starting to piss him off. the teasing from both seungcheol and mingyu doesn’t help either. wonwoo is on the brink of insanity and you won’t let go of your stupid crush on him.

sure, he’s popular, he’s hot, and girls are gonna like him. but for some reason you have a knack for getting under his skin. in his three years of university, no girl has ever been so diligent in pursuing him, not like you. just the ping he gets from his instagram dm’s ticks him off, because no one else sends him more texts in a row, not like you. he hates how you’ve gotten his friends to do your bidding, like the smirk on mingyu’s face when he hands him your meaningless gifts.

“another text from your girlfriend?” cheol snickers, leaning over the dining hall table to peek at wonwoo’s phone.

blood rushes through wonwoo’s body with vigour. he’s red with anger, not embarrassment. he hates when dumb and dumber refer to you as his girlfriend. god forbid.

“fuck off. she wishes she was my girfriend,” wonwoo yanks the phone to his chest, not wanting to have new material to tease him about.

“whatever you say man, she’s still hot,” mingyu interjects, popping a fry into his mouth.

“who cares how hot she is, she’s fucking nuts,” wonwoo scoffs, rolling his eyes at mingyu.

“you’re an idiot. if someone like her was obsessed with me i’d at least hit it once,” mingyu argues.

wonwoo can’t even fathom the thought of fucking you. not when you’re constantly in his dm’s trying to get his attention. the desperation you display practically reeks off his phone. it repels any thought of finding you attractive from his mind.

“really? you haven’t thought about once?” cheol asks him, an expression of disbelief painted on his face.

wonwoo tries to recall a time when he found you normal. at the beginning of the semester, there was a slight chance. slight chance, that he found you cute. but after the one project you two did together, his opinion on you changed drastically.

you became irritating, texting him randomly throughout the day. he was polite at first, replying with curt responses. but then came the unsolicited gifts. first, it was coffee, his favourite. how you found out his usual, he’s unsure. then came the matching items. overly cute couple's phone cases that went into the trash immediately. then it was the homemade baked goods and food. at first, he tried not to let it get to him, but it became too much. you were so obviously obsessed and no matter what he did, you would find a way to shower with him with unwanted attention.

the thought of you under him makes him shiver. flushed cheeks, long lashes fluttering under the dim lights, the sounds of your moans. wonwoo takes a sip of his water. what the hell is your problem?

“no. and i’m not going to. ever.”

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋆˙

the moment wonwoo walked into seungcheol’s house, his smile dropped. the moment he walked through the door, his eyes found you standing alone, sipping at your drink while the party patrons didn’t bother to even glance your way. of fucking course you’re here. he doesn’t know how you even found out about him attending, but he wasn’t about to let it ruin his night.

“wonwoo!” mingyu hollers from across the living room.

the deafening bass of the speaker stabs at his eardrums, but that's not his highest concern at the moment. you are.

he attempts to ignore how he can feel your eyes flit to him the moment you hear mingyu call his name. your stare is so intense that goosebumps begin to raise on his skin.

“bro, what the fuck! now she knows i’m here,” wonwoo curses his idiot friend out.

with his jaw clenched, he can still feel you watching him. it creeped him out, but there's nowhere to hide. stupid rich seungcheol and his stupid open lay out mansion.

“so? who cares, it’s not like she’s actually gonna–” mingyus words are cut off the moment he looks over wonwoo’s shoulder.

“hi wonwoo!” your voice is too cheerful for his liking.

there are so many things running through his mind. whether he should curse you out, completely ignore your existence, or if he should just go home. how is he supposed to enjoy the one weekend where he actually has free time if you keep bothering him?

“oh, hey! we were just talking about how wonwoo wanted to talk to you. privately,” mingyu brings wonwoo out of his train of thought.

his eyes widen, a silent attestation to whatever mingyu was planning in that fucked up brain of his.

“wait, really?”

wonwoo still had his back turned towards you. from an outsiders point of view he can only presume that anyone could see how he was shaking with anger. what the fuck, kim mingyu?

“yeah! anyways, you guys have fun. i gotta find cheol,” mingyu’s smile drips with fraudulence.

if wonwoo was angry then, he’s seething now. mouthing a ‘you’re dead’ to mingyu as he feels your fingers grip onto his bicep, waiting for him to whisk you away like some phony princess.

before mingyu leaves him, he whispers one last remark, “just fuck her, man. she’ll forget about you once she gets it out of her system.”

his voice is low but just loud enough for wonwoo to hear. he almost punches mingyu right then and there, but for some reason, something in him decides to just go with the flow of the situation.

at least he’ll get something out of this, right?

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋆˙

the door locks with an audible click. fuck it. if wonwoo was gonna do this, then he might as well make sure no one catches him.

“what did you want to talk about?” you break the silence, wonwoo almost jumps at the sound of your voice.

“you like me, right?” wonwoo turns to face you.

your eyes are doe-like, looking up at him like he’s the answer to all your problems. pathetic.

as he crosses his arms, he strides towards you until he can feel your breath brush against his chest. the look you give him almost has him wondering if this isn’t as a bad idea as he initially thought.

“i-i mean yeah. i guess you could say that,” you mutter, avoiding eye contact as wonwoo bores holes into your skin. he can feel the swirl of annoyance begin to manifest within his stomach.

now you wanted to play coy? as if he can’t sniff the desperation that leaks through your pores. it’s pitiful, if anything, how much of a slut you are for his attention. god, wonwoo can’t stand you sometimes, it makes him want to rip his hair out.

he supposes that fucking his frustration out of his system may be the one thing that could relieve him of the stress you give him.

“if you like me, you’ll do anything right?” wonwoo continues to tiptoe his way into getting you to at least suck him off.

“anything. really, i’ll even pay for our date!” you gush, finally meeting his gaze.

wonwoo guffaws at your answer. not only are you desperate, but you’re dumb too. it makes sense honestly, no one with an IQ over eighty-five would spend this much time trying to get their crush to like them back.

“get on your knees then. show me how much you like me,” he commands, and you freeze upon his words.

a laugh threatens to escape his throat. wonwoo stands there half in disbelief and half in intrigue. he watches as you slowly descend to your knees, your eyes searching for his next command.

actually, wonwoo could get used to this. you looked like a dog waiting for their owner to give them a reward.

“like this?” you mumble, the blush on your cheeks apparent even with how dimly lit seungcheol’s guest bedroom is.

“just like that.”

you’re shaking like a leaf, and wonwoo is starting to believe that this is going to be a lot more entertaining than he initially thought. who knew you would be so obedient?

“you ever sucked a cock before?” wonwoo asks, not that he cares all that much about your sexual history.

“mm. n-no,” you whisper, your brows strews together with confusion.

wonwoo is genuinely surprised. he would’ve at least thought you’ve gotten some sort of action. he can admit you’re attractive, but your delusional state just overshadows your natural beauty.

“then i’ll be your first,” wonwoo drawls, and he can see the way your eyes flash with panic.

“w-wait, i thought you wanted to talk?” you quickly get up from your knees, the tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

“you really think i took you into a room, just the two of us, to talk?” wonwoo bellows out a laugh.

he didn’t expect you to be so naive, but it only eggs him on further. a sweet little virgin, too innocent for her own good. now that, wonwoo can’t let go. he came into this with reluctance, but fucking virgin pussy is too enticing to pass up.

“i thought you wanted to tell me you liked me back,” you gulp.

your footsteps backtrack until you hit a wall. wonwoo crowds you, like a lamb to a slaughter, you stand there with hope depleted from your once glimmering eyes. and wonwoo’s ready to go in for the kill.

“show me how bad you want me. maybe i’ll change your mind,” wonwoo propositions.

grasping at your waist, he feels the heat of your exposed skin. your top is dishevelled from the sheer force of his grip. as if his words can compel you to do anything he asks, you smash your lips into him. the kiss is clumsy, and messy, he can only conclude you’ve never done anything like this before.

pulling away, he catches his breath. he despises how strongly his dick twitches in his pants. as much as he doesn’t want to indulge in your fantasies, an opportunity such as this one doesn’t arise often.

“you poor little thing. you don’t even know how to kiss someone properly,” he breathes out, grabbing your jaw hard enough that your cheeks squish upon his touch.

“w-wonwoo, can we just talk? this seems wrong,” you beg, but your pleas only arouse him further.

“i thought you liked me?”

“i do!” you argue.

“then kiss me like you mean it.”

you lean in again, eyebrows furrowed with determination. he can tell you’re actually trying now. to appease him, to give him what he wants, because why wouldn’t you? wonwoo is aware of how much you want him, he should’ve realized sooner that he could use it to his advantage.

the softness of your lips alongside the dedication behind your actions forces a groan to leave him. he grips your waist tighter, enough to leave bruises along your delicate skin. the whimper you let out has wonwoo straining against his pants.

pulling you in closer, wonwoo rubs his clothed erection against your torso. the friction causes sparks to erupt under his fingertips. those same fingertips trail on your bare skin, slowly traversing their way up your stomach and under your shirt.

wonwoo’s large palms cup at your breasts, enjoying the fact he can access your nipples without the barrier of a bra in his way. the moan you let is wonwoo’s worst nightmare. not because it’s unpleasant, but because he hates that your sounds are getting him turned on despite his obvious disdain toward you.

“wonwoo… i don’t think this is right,” you whine, but your words fall on deaf ears as he keeps you anchored against the wall.

you can’t escape him even if you tried.

“if you don’t do what i ask of you, then you can leave,” wonwoo becomes increasingly more irritated the more you protest his advances.

you wanted this, so he’s gonna give you it.

“but what about our date?” you pout, lips swollen and bitten.

there’s conflict behind your eyes, like you knew this wasn’t wanted but better than anything he’s given you the moment you started liking him.

wonwoo is quick to silence you. he doesn’t want to hear about whatever delusions you’ve conjured up in your head. his dick is hard and he wants to cum.

a gasp leaves your lips, he can’t have you running your mouth when his cock is starting to pulse so hard that it’s becoming uncomfortable. his hands leave your pebbled nipples to grab onto your thighs. lifting you up, he throws you onto the mattress, and you yelp from surprise.

“don’t be stupid. all you wanted was for me to notice you. so just take what i give you,” wonwoo grunts, prying your legs open.

fuck, if you’re not gonna suck him off, then he needs to be inside you now or he’ll cum in his pants.

the patch of arousal on your panties doesn’t go unnoticed. of course, you’re secretly enjoying this. he should’ve known you were secretly a whore for him. flipping your skirt up, he rips off your panties off in one go. he needs to be inside you in the next second or he’s gonna bust a load in his pants.

“w-wait, i’m not ready,” you complain again.

wonwoo’s deciding whether or not to gag you, but for some reason your high pitched objection gets him rock hard. the thought of you begging him to stop gets the blood pumping straight to his shaft.

your shirt is discarded not long after, and you lie there helpless, panting and clearly in need of attention to your poor untouched hole.

“i-it hurts wonwoo, help me please,” you whine, a tear slipping from the corner of your eyes.

“where? show me where and i can give you what you want,” wonwoo’s eyebrows raise with intrigue.

your fingers move down slowly until they touch right where he’s been fantasizing about the moment he got you to fess up about your innocence.

“r-right here. please, i don’t know what to do. it just hurts,” you hiccup, grabbing his hand and pushing it towards your dripping heat.

he smirks at your desperate countenance, the part in your pink lips, wet with his saliva and swollen from the intensity of his kiss. wonwoo had to get his cock into you. now.

“fuck, you’re dripping like crazy,” wonwoo mutters.

with your hand clasped in his, the size difference between the two of you is hard to ignore. your fingers are so tiny compared to his, he wonders if you’ve even touched yourself. do your fingers even properly fill your tiny cunt? or do you have to shove a dildo inside yourself in order to feel any sort of satisfaction? wonwoo’s thoughts run as the tips of his fingers come in contact with your searing heat.

the groan wonwoo lets out is strained. your breath hitches at his touch as he begins to rub your clit. the sounds that escape your lips has wonwoo panting along with you. while moving toward your neck, he leaves deep red bruises along your soft skin while he slips a finger past your folds.

your pussy squeezes around his single digit with such force that it causes him to grunt. you’re so fucking tight.

“holy fuck, you’re secretly a desperate little slut, aren’t you? don’t you feel this, baby? you’re gripping my finger like crazy,” wonwoo mutters against your skin.

“i-i can’t. wonwoo please it hurts,” you squirm under him, but his free hand keeps you in place.

his body hovering over yours, he watches as you come undone from a few strokes of his hand. the lips he had on your exposed shoulder return back to yours until your orgasm hits. your breathy gasps fill the room and you clench down, the flood of your arousal coating his hand.

“gonna fuck this tight little cunt till you’re dripping in my cum,” wonwoo mutters, standing up to rid himself of his clothing.

the moment his pants hit the floor, his body is on yours. pushing your legs to your chest, he folds you in half. the tip of his cock leaking with precum from not receiving any attention the whole time he’s been playing with you. wonwoo grips his length, rubbing himself against your soaking cunt, you’re so wet that he knows he can slip in without a problem.

you stare down at his dick in sheer panic, “w-wait, it’s too big.”

wonwoo doesn’t care. he just needs to cum.

“you act like you don’t want this. but this pussy of yours is practically crying for my cock,” wonwoo grunts before shoving his length inside you till he bottoms out.

a half scream, half moan leaves your lips, your eyes rolling back as wonwoo thrusts into you. there’s a slight arch in your back as wonwoo pistons his hips. the heat of your pussy enveloping his length is addictive.

wonwoo buries himself in your neck, his breath harsh against your skin. the only thing to be heard is the snap of his hips bullying into your hole.

“it feels so good,” you whimper as you lace your fingers through his hair.

pulling at the strands, wonwoo indulges in the pain along with the pleasure of your walls massaging his pulsing member. he should’ve thought of doing this a lot sooner.

“mmph–w-wonoo, i can’t, i-it hurts again,” you cry out, and wonwoo almost releases his load at the sound of your moans.

but he can’t finish just yet.

relinquishing you from his hold, he moves back to flip you over. forcing your ass into the air, he enters you once again. the position allowing him to fill your tiny hole to the brim. his balls slap against your clit, and your screams are muffled by the mattress he’s forcing your face into.

“should’ve fucked you sooner, f-fuck. gonna make this tiny cunt of yours mine and mine only,” wonwoo growls, and he can feel your pussy clench at his words.

“you like that don’t you? the thought of me fucking this pussy every night?” he chuckles, spanking your ass.

“i-i love it, please. it feels so good,” your answer stifled by the sheets shoved into your face.

the bed creaks along with his movements, and his cock is starting to twitch inside you. continuing to leave red hand marks on your skin, he allows himself to still in your cunt, his cum spurting into you and overflowing past your swollen pussy lips.

pulling you by your hair, he leans forward to whisper in your ear.

“we’re not done. you’re gonna let me fuck that mouth of yours too.”

#seventeen smut #wonwoo smut #dovenet #wonwoo x reader #tw: dubcon #seventeen x reader #svt smut #seventeen fic #seventeen fanfic #seventeen #wonwoo #jeon wonwoo #seventeen wonwoo #svt fanfic

2K notes · View notes

tsuyalovebot · 5 months ago

Text

don't make me wait forever.

pairing: xia yi zhou / caleb x reader (love and deepspace)

cw: sfw. semi-prominent reader characterization (spoiled, occasional use of she/her pronouns, referred to as a "little sister" once). kisses. casual touches. throat holding (both by reader and by caleb). use of "older brother" to address caleb (not by reader). pipsqueak as a term of endearment. reader wears makeup. some spoilers from tender moments, memoria, and bond story. caleb typical warnings (manipulation if you squint).

wc: roughly 3-4k words. unnecessary word vomit.

author's note: a man who yearns is a man who EARNS. hi, it's me again! i had an idea and had to bring it to life. enjoy! ( ^ -. ^ )

Caleb wasn't lying when he said he spoiled you too much as children.

You didn't quite get it at first—he was nothing but sweet with the occasional menace during childhood, sure, but he didn't spoil you spoil you.

You were leaning into his chest, eyes closed while listening to the TV in the background as his large arm wraps itself around your waist. Tucking you against him, feeling his lips against the crown of your head.

"I baby you too much," he sighed, a mellow cheeriness beneath his words.

"And yet, you sound so happy over it," you grumbled. Sleep is so close yet so far, and you'd been squirming around in search of the closest boarding gate. His touch delicate as he pulled you onto his lap.

You snuggled closer on instinct. Picking up on the faint smell of sandalwood and something finer, richer. There was movement on your back, Caleb's palm stroking up and down, while the other held you by the back of your neck like an infant.

"I spoiled you, too."

You frowned, looked at him blearily. "Nuh-uh."

"Uh-huh." He pushed your head back onto his shoulder. "Go to sleep."

Sure, Caleb took extensive measures to ensure your comfortable upbringing with him. But you weren't spoiled.

Right?

But you go on your first date with someone that isn't him, and it kind of hits. Making an offhanded comment about how the water temperature was more cold than warm—you asked for room temp—doesn't result in your date immediately requesting another glass or them buying you bottled water from the convenience store across the restaurant.

Instead, you're told, "they probably forgot, it's fine" and the date continues. You watch the condensation form on your glass quietly. Every rational droplet is speaking to your acrid gut feeling—it's just water. It'll be room temperature eventually.

Later on, your date messages you. They asked if you got home safely, all the while you'd been drinking a glass of lukewarm water in Caleb's dining room. You pressed block once you heard his familiar, curious voice asking how the date went.

"It was meh." And you asked for another glass.

Another time, you'd been hanging out with old high school friends as a simple gathering. Though, you hadn't expected that it would lead to seemingly endless anecdotes in relation to you. Over fruit smoothies and café pastries, they'd all been exchanging stories once the conversation turns over to yourself in high school.

"Remember when she would always ask us to do stuff?" One girl laughed, cutting into her french toast.

Another cleared her throat, exaggerating her voice into a falsetto, "hey, can you get me a bun from the cafeteria? Oh, there's no more? Then, a banana milk and whatever pastry they have."

It earned a crackle of laughter along the table of five people. You, the object of discussion, smiling at the head of the table. Rather awkwardly, too, as you sipped on your drink.

"You forgot to add on the "you can do that at least, right?" at the end!"

"Oh, oh, the sulking too, if you don't do it!"

"She'd always complain about our fans, too."

"Oh my God, yeah. "Why does your fan battery run out so quickly? Did you not charge it?" Like, hello?"

One of the girls face you amidst the active exchange, grinning. Despite the recollection of your nature in the past, they weren't mad. Simply taking the entertainment value in it.

"Don't worry," and she said your name, placing a hand over yours on the table.

"You've got an older brother, right? It may have been annoying, but we're friends. You were like, our little sister."

A muscle in your jaw ticked. His face popped up in your face and you wanna punch him, despite him being nowhere near you at the time of this event. But, you laughed and nodded; acquiescing to her reassurance was easier this way.

It slipped out once more when you go out for movies with Tara. It's the same theater you and Caleb always frequented before. You already swiped your card for payment of movie food, and had besn walking to the screening room.

"Tara, can you check the bucket? Make sure it has enough butter on it?"

"Hm? Okay," she replied. While you scrolled on your phone, you heard the plastic lid of the bucket pop open.

"Seems good to me. You check."

When you move your attention over to the bucket, you're met with mediocre-looking buttered popcorn. The golden syrup of butter scattered over the pieces. You frowned. Since when were they so shy about buttering literal corn?

You stopped walking, brows furrowed. "It's so... pale. Let's go back and ask for more, I didn't pay for that."

"Huh? Oh, okay?" You didn't really register Tara's confused tone of voice until after you had a spat with the person at the popcorn station.

It was some moody teen probably working minimum wage. He was scowling while you talked about the butter portioning.

He sneered, "over some popcorn? Really? Were you that spoiled as a kid?"

It winded you. Tara was pulling at your arm, seeming to try and hold you back despite you being frozen. The manager came out once the commotion seems to stop, only because you were gobsmacked.

He'd been apologizing profusely to you and Tara upon recognizing you both as hunters; his eyes had landed on you with so much familiarity. He's probably been working here for a decade or so. Long enough to have previously seen you and Caleb at movie screenings.

Tara's at the butter dispenser of the self-service station—something they closed over half a decade ago apparently, but frantically opened for today, coincidentally—with you behind her when she finally spoke

She was a bit bewildered, but it was easy to pick up the lighthearted tone. "I didn't take you for the pampered type. That was the normal amount of butter on popcorn for most places."

You shook your head. "No, it wasn't. I was a regular here in the past. Every time we got a bucket of popcorn, they were always so generous with the salted butter."

"By yourself?"

"No, with my friend."

There'd been a pause between you two. She pressed the lid back into place and begun shaking it, the popcorn rattling. Then, she turned to you, like she knew something that you didn't.

"And you never once thought this friend scared the employees into putting extra butter for you back then?"

It always went back to him.

Whenever you'd go to a colleague's place and bore holes into the crooked cuts of the apple slices on a plate, you found yourself recalling Caleb's expert cuts. These ones weren't even red delicious apples.

You're a bit peeved when the food from the monthly catering service at the Association doesn't taste the same way that Caleb makes it, even though the food is the same kind and recipe.

Your next trip to Skyhaven is definitely highly anticipated. You're been exhausted and haggard for the past few days. It only amplifies as the day stretches on, grimacing when Caleb opens the door. He's surprised to see you, panting and sweaty in his white tanktop. Fresh from a workout, most likely. It makes you a bit, a tiny bit, mad.

"Pipsqueak? What's the occasion?"

"You," you hiss, releasing your hold on your suitcases. You kick off your shoes as you push your way into his place, pointing an accusing finger to his chest.

Caleb's confused. It's clear in the furrow of his brow and frantic blinking that his synapses are doing rapid fire checking of what today is, what he's said or done recently, what stores are on sale, and what snacks you need.

Despite being the one who said he himself spoiled you, he clearly has no idea how it's manifested in your life, and it pisses you off even more.

"I'm the occasion?" He squawks, confused. "It's too early for my birthday—"

"You and your stupid past self. I should have your head on a stake," you bark, slamming your fists onto his pecs, pushing him further into his own home.

He laughs a bit, still completely in the dark, but his voice gets a bit more pitchy.

He leans down, cranes his gargantuan ass down to your height. It's polite. You know this, he's done it countless times. But your gut speaks to you. You're going to throttle him.

"Huh? What did I do?"

"You piss me off!"

His face softens with concern. His hands come up, ghosting over yours. He murmurs your name—

Then you're gripping him by the neck. You get to drink in the way his eyes widen to saucers as your fingers delicately wrap around his throat, palms on either side. You don't squeeze, and instead, aggressively shake him. "Pipsqueak?"

"You spoiled me!" You shriek, voice shrill with accusation.

Frustration, the buildup from the past couple of weeks comes to full fruition in this very moment. It's only for a split second that you see realization dawn on Caleb's face before you continue yelling.

"I relied on others to get me snacks because of you, I complain over batteries because of you, now I want specific water temperatures, I can't stand pale popcorn because you demanded extra butter, I'm picky over food—"

"Hey—"

"Don't you hey me, mister!" You jut your finger up at his face, and he shuts his mouth instantly. "I'm like this, because of you!"

You don't miss the glitter of mirth in those stupidly ethereal eyes of his, and it's wholly unreal how your anger amplifies when you notice his twitching lips. He found this funny.

"You're laughing?" You whisper, low and indignant. You squeeze his throat, feel his breath pass under the skin. Adrenaline riveting and real in the low thrum of your heartbeat.

"I'm here, devastated over the effect of your stupid actions on my life, and you're laughing?"

"Devastated?" Caleb echoes. The idiot sounded delighted over this. Like he was finding a great deal of validation in your admission.

A grin quirks his lips into its signature, charming curve, and he's leaning down into you some more. One of his hands sliding over yours with a gentleness only he could emulate. Your resolve stutters, and he's quick to take advantage of that.

"Oh, please, pipsqueak." He chuckles. "That's not true and you know it."

His fingers gently slide between the gaps of yours, making room for himself and filling the emptiness. Effectively peeling them away from his throat, and doing the same to the other hand. You relent, letting your arms hang loosely at your sides.

Caleb's still smiling when he takes a step forward, crowding your space now. It doesn't register that he's cornered you until your back is flat to the closed door and you're surrounded by him and everything about him.

The very man who's fed you every granule, acquainted you with the taste of having the world at your every whim. A charged zap runs up the base of your spine when he lifts your chin.

"If you were really devastated, you'd have come here cryin' instead. You'd be on your knees, weepin' over how I've ruined you. Not yelling and screaming and accusing me," he coos, sickly sweet. His thumb rubbing below your lower lip.

"Are you done? Do you feel better after getting it all off your chest?"

His gaze feels abysmal. Two pools of an oceanic depth, spatial and intergalactic and beyond your comprehension. Hungry.

Something darker lurks there. That one look that flickers in and out of conversations whenever you're close to him, or when the topic tilts into something that you know you shouldn't be touching. Like he's satiated, but still craving more and more. You feel small under it every time.

"Even a kid knows how to manipulate their guardian into givin' them what they want."

The double meaning, one of comparing you to an immature brat, isn't lost on you. Heat crawls up your skin as your cheeks round with the scrunch of your nose. Ready to retaliate with equal venom, even if his words weren't inherently insulting.

But, before you even could, the expression on his face stops you in your tracks.

It's like looking at the colonel. Caleb cocks his head to the side, expression clinically cold. "When someone is speaking, we?"

He stares. He's waiting for a response, you realize.

You finish his sentence, pacified. "We listen."

"Good. Seems you still have the manners I taught you."

Your face heats up.

That stupidly patient smile on his lips was grating on your nerves, far more than any revelation of his ingrained presence in your every action, thought, word, and emotion.

His thumb is soon pressed flush to your lips. He isn't prying it open like he did before, instead rubbing the pad of his thumb along your lips, caressing the divot of your cupid's bow. He's playing with the glossy texture and film of your lippie, smearing it past the corner of your lips.

The first thing you want to do is push him away. Shove him, hard, and make space between the two of you so that your train of thought could return. Yet, the softness that decorates his grape-colored irises was making you hesitate. He's an annoying guy, someone who gets on your nerves, with featherlight caresses and an admiration so sincere.

Rouge stains the pad of his digit when he draws it back. He's curious, his gaze thoughtful as he examines the pigment. Then, you're watching as he lifts it to his mouth with a deliberate kiss. Lashes fluttering over his cheekbones.

When he drops his hand, the scarlet pigment is smeared over his lips like a brand.

You're burning alive. You reach up, immediately trying to wipe it from his lips. "You—"

"Weirdo? I know." Caleb catches your hand with ease, beaming with half-lidded eyes. "Buuut, you're just as weird as me for lettin' me do that, y'know."

He's making a point. You're going to gut him alive, you think to yourself. In stealing an indirect kiss from you, he's replicating every scenario you've ever bared yourself to him. How easy it is, to melt in one's earnest wonder and affection, unable to say no.

In an attempt to regain your composure, you scowl with all the feigned vitriol you could muster. "You're even weirder for condoning my every action."

He cocks his head, like he was reloading a couple memories from the past. The countless times he let you get away with things.

"It's... not that easy for me, pipsqueak."

"Yes, it is." You huff and free your hand from his grip. Settling your palms flat over his chest, fingers curling into the stretchy fabric. "Telling me no couldn't have been that hard."

"Yeah?" He teases. "You think it's that simple for me?"

"Grandma could handle me."

Caleb deadpans at your mention of her, his face relaxing into something like bemusement.

"If Gran or I took away your stuffed animal to clean it, you'd kick and scream and cry. If I denied you of your favorite food or a candy apple, you'd say you hate me."

You blink. That wasn't the response you were expecting. All of a sudden, you feel like someone's wiped your mind of everything you've ever known, and redefined your recollections of childhood. Embarrassment crawls up your face in burning streaks.

"Gran could handle you?" He repeats, shakes his head with a sad look.

There's a pained aspect to his current physiognomy, the furrow of his brow, the deepened set of his mouth. "That's because it's her. Of course, she wouldn't mind your cries. But I did."

He crouches, and for a moment, it was as if he was falling. The sunlight filtered in through the glass of the door behind your head, catching on the nutty brown strands of his hair. Cradling his head against the junction of your neck and shoulder, hiding away his face.

"I didn't want you to hate me." He admits, the words fanned over your throat. You inhale deeply, and his familiar scent invades your senses. You hope that stupid central organ wasn't too loud, or else he'd hear the beating of your pulse working double time.

Caleb's a constant in your life. He was a pillar, from youth 'til now, that never failed to offer you assistance regardless of the circumstances. You knew him to be reliable, persistent, generous. Perhaps it plays into the way he's coated your teeth in sugar, nipping at your enamel in a thick film that tastes of sweetness.

Yet seeing him like this, frustrated and amused and annoyed—it was unfounded.

"I didn't know much." The vulnerability was low yet blaring. "I just knew I didn't want you to hate me. I knew I loved seeing you happy. And if I denied you, you weren't happy."

It's too black and white. So childish and simplified. It's an easygoing description of his feelings toward you during early youth, one that could easily be swallowed up and consumed by the nasty nature of the world.

Yet, you card your fingers through his hair. Press your lips to his temple all the same, and listen to his utterances.

Your bottom lip is jutting out before you can stop yourself. And in spite of his own admissions, the uncomfortable nakedness that comes with it, you mumble a pointed, "you made me high maintenance."

"You're only figurin' that out now?" He snickers against your skin and the subsequent vibrations make you jump. "Pipsqueak, everyone's known you're high maintenance."

You protest, "that's not true."

"Yes," he says, amused. "It is."

Peeling away from your neck, Caleb's face is less grave now. Relief floods your senses and you cup his face, smoothing over the corners of his lip to wipe away the frowns. There's a weight behind you that isn't the door, his palm a welcome touch as his fingers splay over the small of your back.

His other hand resting on the side of your throat, fingers resting on your nape and thumb rubbing the ridge of your jaw. The motion is soothing, and you close your eyes to memorize its rhythm.

"Even if you're high maintenance, I'm the one who caused it. Allegedly."

You bristle and your eyes fly open, "allegedly? There's proof—"

"Ah-ah."

Caleb's brows are raised on his forehead as you pipe down, amused by how quick you were to correct your behavior.

"Much better. As I was saying."

Despite the extra firmness to his voice, his touch on you was nothing short of gentle. Like your body was carved from marble, reinforced by a fragile porcelain, he does that thing where he tilts your head with the hand on your neck. His thumb rubbing your earlobe.

But the most violating part had to be those intense, smoldering eyes that beheld you with utmost priority. How did you ever think he didn't care for you?

Caleb's tone of voice is chiding. "You're high maintenance because of me, and that makes you mine to maintain."

He's talking down to you. Treating you like one would to a child learning how to tie their shoelaces, his voice chiseled with the vines of condescension. Heartbeat speeding in your chest, distinguishing your heartbeat from your rampant thoughts became far more difficult.

The little smile that's on his lips seems manic. Far away, distant, as you slide your hands over his pecs. A shudder ripples over your skin.

"After all, it's my fault for making sure you're comfortable. It's my fault for prioritizing you above all else, as children and as adults." He starts, chillingly calm. He shakes his head to himself with a deep sigh, and tilts your head back against the door. Examining you with an unblinking, almost detached visage. Yet, his words were anything but, thick with emotion.

You breathe slow, torturous inhales and exhales, feeling Caleb's hand wrap itself around your throat. Alarms ring out in the back of your mind—loud, incessant, disturbing, yet you close your eyes and let him hold you there.

He won't hurt you. He never would, intentionally.

Quietly, like a forbidden fruit to not be consumed or heard, he mutters, "it's my fault for wantin' nothing but the best for you, because it's what you deserve. Nothing less."

Oh, you breathe out.

There's absolutely no pressure to the way he holds your neck. His palm wasn't against the column of your throat, instead, the pads of his thick digits were clasping the skin with a touch so invisible it almost felt nonexistent. When you swallow, the flexed skin presses itself up to his touch.

"Do you really want me to take it back?" Caleb asks, breaking the momentary silence and taking you out of your thoughts.

You blank out for a moment too long. "What?"

"You came over to let me know I've spoiled you beyond reversing repair, without wantin' me to change?"

Why did you come over? Why did you decide to come up to Skyhaven one day, literally days away from your regular times of visiting him? Over something like this? Literal outdated information that you've only recently discovered.

Why? You don't know, but you're rushing to speak, holding onto his top. "That's not what I—"

"It's not what you what?"

He tilts his head down toward you and every coherent thought exits your headspace instantly. God, his eyes. They're darker now. Frustration brimming in the burning fuchscia, the indigo of his irises all-consuming.

"I can stop pamperin' you starting today." He offers.

The surfacing ache in your chest is abrupt, disruptive.

"Starting today, I won't buy your favorite snacks. I won't ever pat your head again. I'll leave you to fend for yourself in every fast food line, and you can get your own stuff when we go shopping. You can even do your shopping alone. Is that what you want?"

No. No, it's not what you want, but how do you express that? An entity, so puissant and arresting, is crawling up your esophagus, scraping at the backs of your teeth, trying to pry your mouth open, and wail its truth into the minimal distance between you and Caleb. It's an ugly feeling, one stripping you down to your base needs.

Pain bleeds into his expression, his eyes only softening as a thought crosses his mind. "Are you gonna tell me you don't need me again?"

"Caleb, no," you manage.

"If not, then what's the problem? It's too late. If I've ruined you, you've destroyed me."

You destroyed him? When? You've never... When have you ever—?

Your chagrin spikes in time with your bewilderment. "I never did anything like that."

Caleb peered into your eyes. Your soul. Questioning, a bit disbelieving. Like he can't really believe your own blindness. An incredulous laugh slipping through his nose when he realizes you weren't lying.

He takes a step forward. You're fully sandwiched between him and the door now, and one of his arms come up to rest above you on the surface. "Caleb–"

"I can't go through the grocery store without thinking of what you want for dinner." He admits, the revelation so tender and tied with candor. Your words die on your tongue and dissolve.

"I can't do my laundry anymore unless it's with your brand of fabric softener, since it reminds me of you. Every time I try on a new jacket, I wonder how it would look good on you."

The information comes pouring out of him like a geyser. And his voice is full of nothing but love. You press your hands to his chest with more force, but he won't budge. Your ears are scalding and you're avoiding his gaze now, his face.

"You dedicated a journal to me. You came to every basketball game." Caleb laughs, breathless. A little in awe of you, so full of adoration. "You always visited Skyhaven when I moved out. You pretended to be my girlfriend. You didn't want me to get a girlfriend. You kissed me at my graduation."

He stutters over himself at the end, sighing deeply and it's making your stomach do flips. "God, you kissed me."

Really? You're burning. Did he have to bring that up?

He's pulling you out of your thoughts yet again, using his hold on your yielding neck to find your gaze once more. You could crumble into ashes right now. In fact, you hoped the floor underneath you would just swallow you whole and leave nothing behind for Caleb to dissect.

"You're think you're spoiled, pipsqueak?" Another laugh, and it's mixed with raspy agony and disbelief, shining in his stare. "I'm rotten."

In Caleb's home, you never really heard much commotion. Simply the low hum of the television in the background, the living room a few paces away. Yet, your heartbeat was the soundtrack to his life, and he's made it his favorite ringtone.

You could feel his own racing heart under your palm. He looks defeated now, conflicted. Oh, Caleb.

"You never wanted me to take it back." He says it to himself. Like he's trying to get himself to believe it.

"You just wanted reassurance that I'd never leave you, no matter how coddled you are."

The heart that's thudding rapidly against your ribcage was so fickle, so naïve. It might jump out of your throat at this rate—God, Caleb could probably feel your pulse like this.

Your mind's racing. There's only one way you could resolve this rift formed from these series of revelations and confessions. You weren't going to lose him again. He has no right to leave after this.

"You're so quiet now. Don't tell me you're thinkin' of runnin' away, pipsqueak." His voice is lighter, more in jest now. The first sign of distance, denial.

You clasp his wrist, and whisper, "I'll take responsibility."

"What?"

"I'll take responsibility. For ruining you. In exchange, take responsibility for me too." You declare, louder. You sound more sure.

He's blinking at you now. Then, his brows furrow and a bewildered laugh leaves him. Before he could reply, you push forward, not allowing him any time to recover.

"I'm in your hands now, aren't I? You said so yourself. You did this to me. I did this to you. I'm yours to deal with."

You wind your arms around his neck, hearing how his breaths stutter and feeling his hand leave your throat. You're on your tippy toes, pulling him down so you could settle back against the door, feeling his grip settle over your waist. It's a lovely sensation. One so right. It cements your resolve.

"The only ones who can handle us are each other. Nobody else."

You don't know what you're saying anymore.

But you know you like the rising determination, you like whatever this is. You like the hope that swims in his gaze. The fear that's within them, terrified of this being one of your pranks. It wasn't; you'll prove it to hom.

"You can't make all these promises and leave me alone," You speak in a hushed tone, finality thick in the waver of your voice. You're leaning in before you can stop yourself and whispering, "I won't let you."

You can't help but feel like whatever game you two are playing now, you've lost. He's won yet again. Yet it doesn't quite feel like a loss this time around, not when Caleb's face is smoothing out into one of relief. One of contentment as he closes the distance.

The breath that fans over your mouth is hot and his voice is full of yearning, "I never planned on it."

#�� ; bǎo bèi.#mimi.writes #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads #lads x reader #lnds #lnds x reader #lnd #lnd x reader #love and deepspace caleb #love and deepspace caleb x reader #lads caleb #lads caleb x reader #lnds caleb #caleb x reader #caleb fluff

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c4tluver02 · 13 days ago

Note

HEYYYY I have an idea oki so Steve and the reader have been dating for like a year now and like at this point Dustin is basically their son and so reader is helping Dustin get ready for the dance and Steve walks in and they just have a super cutesy mom and dad moment with the kid that won’t leave their house

-🫀

the dance

wc: 2.4k

summary: You and Steve help Dustin get ready for his school dance. Well, really you help but Steve is always nice to be around!!

cw: none !

a/n: hiiiiii!!!! this request is so cutie thank you for sending it!!! :D i hope you enjoy the read <33

You and Steve were in the kitchen talking about what to do for dinner. Or that's what you were doing before he lifted you onto the counter. Before you spread your legs just enough for him to slip himself in between to give you the sweetest kisses on your cheeks, then your nose, and finally your lips. Leaving you in a giggly mess that barely even allowed him to give you a proper kiss. It was only 5pm so you weren't exactly in a rush to get dinner planned out but soon the grumble from your tummy would say something different.

The soft kisses from Steve would soon turn into something more– a little messy and forceful, with a purpose of course.

But before he could even get there the doorbell rang. It didn’t stop Steve but the fingers that gently tapped against his jaw told him you were interested.

“S’probably just mail.” It comes out quick and hushed. His big hands cupping your face ready to get back to what he was doing.

But right as he goes to place his red lips into your kiss-bitten ones the doorbell rings again. His groan is loud, maybe loud enough for the person outside to hear it. It makes you laugh and before you can get down he’s already on his way to open the door.

“Henderson?” Steve says as he presses his forehead to the door. Not ashamed to hide how his presence wasn't exactly wanted at this moment in time.

“I need help. I need to iron my clothes and do you have gel? I don’t have anything to fix my hair.” Dustin says with a handful of clothes that were thrown in a bag.

All this talking is making you wonder what is going on, walking to the door you see Dustin and an irritated looking Steve.

“Hey Dustin, did you leave something from the other day?” Because yes, Dustin was just here two days ago to swim in Steve's pool. Again arriving unwanted and without a notice but still welcomed.

“No, I need help with my suit and my hair.” He says it with an eye roll like you were supposed to understand his problem by the clothes stuffed in the bag.

You look at Steve hoping he could give you some context but he just gives you a shrug with wide eyes.

“Okay, well we can help with that.” You say nodding. Steve’s eyes grew even wider, you were just making out and talking about dinner and now you have to steam this kids clothes along with using half his hair gel to tame his wild curls.

Dustin just smiles as he invites himself in, taking clothes out of his bag and putting it on the dining room table.

“So what is this all for again?” Steve asks. It comes out a certain way, almost nice because Steves sure Dustin probably told him but he just wasn't listening.

“For the dance, why else do you think I would come here asking for help?” You’re already laying out his suit trying to see what it looks like and if you need to seriously get the steamer out.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because all you do is come to me for help?” Steve says back in an annoyed tone.

“And still you are never ready to help.” Dustin huffs. “I need your hair gel and whatever stuff you use to get your hair like you do.” He doesn't even look at Steve as he says it. Too focus on your inspecting of his suit.

“I’ll get the iron out, you’ve tried this on right?” You would hate to do all this work just to find out it doesn't fit him or something ripped. And this isn't the first time the kids have asked you to iron something that ends up being unwearable.

“Yes, and my mom tailored it to fit me just right.” He preens, excited to look his best for the dance. Maybe even surprising a special someone.

“Sweet, okay.” You and Steve leave to get your respected items and when you come back Dustin is digging through the fridge.

“Are you hungry?” You ask, flipping the ironing board out.

“Nuh uh, no way you came here to eat up all our food and make us do your dirty work for you.” This makes Dustin wish that maybe Steve was at the grocery store and it was just you helping him.

“Ugh, I didn't eat dinner before coming.” Dustin groans but not without pressing his forehead to the cold fridge.

“Why isn’t your mom doing all this for you anyways?” Steve asks with his famous hand on the hip pose. You just started fixing one of the legs for his pants.

“She’s working. Hence why I haven't eaten.” It comes out in a ‘duh’ tone. One Steve has heard too many times you’d think that it wouldn't bother him anymore.

“You can eat whatever you want babe.” You tell him. Steve knows Dustin has you wrapped around his finger, always quick to get what he wants with no questioning. All the kids do to a certain extent.

When Steve turns his head to give you a pointed look you are already looking at him. Ready to hear the small lecture about how you two were busy. But Steve really knew why you do it, Dustin wouldn't need you guys forever and it’s special that he feels this comfortable with you and Steve to even ask for this. Dinner can be eaten later and if you can help Dustin feel even a little better for the dance you’ll do anything in your power to make it happen. Steve would too, when it came down to it.

While Dustin is eating a sandwich he made, you are finishing his pants. Getting the last wrinkle out as Steve asks him about the dance.

“So are there any girls you like going?” Steve asks, biting into the other half of Dustin's sandwich.

It makes him freeze, almost lashing out at Steve but deciding against it. After all, it's his food.

“Yeah, only one girl, her name is Max.” The way Dustin nods while saying her name makes you giggle.

“What is it about Max that you like?” You want to make sure this isn't some popular girl that's going to rip him apart by being mean. You’re starting to see kids pick on him and his friends which has you beyond stressed. Steve says not to worry about it but he doesn't get what it’s like to be bullied. Too perfect to be treated any other way during high school.

“Well for starters she has an extremely high score at the arcade, like even higher than me and Mike. And she's really pretty.” The end of his sentence could barely be heard as he took a big bite out of his food.

“Don't eat and talk, that's gross.”

“Okay, your pants are done, did you need your shirt fixed as well?” You lay the pants back onto the long dining room table. It’s meant for a big family which is weird because Steve's parents are never even home but it works in your favor right now.

Steve can't help but fall for you a little more, which he didn't even think was possible, each time you help the kids. He thinks you might be the kindest person on the planet, always quick to help, never judging or being rude. Simply being there for them whenever they need it, which when it comes to the things these kids have been through– they need it.

“Yeah, it should be in the bag.” Dusin says as he puts his plate in the sink. “Okay, Steve, wanna help do my hair?”

You hold in your smile as best as you can when he asks the question, Steve is very specific about his hair stuff and he didn't think he’d have to do any helping.

“Y’want me to do your hair? What are you 5?” This earns a small hit from you, quick to give him a stern look.

“I can do it, I just need help getting the sides slicked back.” He pushes his hair on the side of his head down, trying to show the effect and finishing with a purr sound.

“What was that?” Steve asks, thick brows furrowed.

“What was what?”

“That noise you just made, what was that?”

“I’m like a lion?” The room is silent and Steve just walks to the bathroom with hair products in his hands. It takes a second for Dustin to get the hint but he follows just a few steps behind.

You can hear the mumble of two voices talking, sometimes one voice raised higher. But it doesn't take long for them both to come back out. Dustin has a smile on his face that tells you he's happy with his new look and you’ll give credit where it's due, Steve did a good job on his hair.

“Wow, look at you! Lookin’ like a million bucks.” The compliment does wonders for him, already getting hyped up for the long night ahead of him.

“Are my clothes ready?”

“Yeah, you can change in the bedroom.” You gently lay the clothes in his arms. He’ll probably throw the clothes on and you will have to fix it all over again but the effort is there.

When he leaves, Steve is quick to pounce back onto you. Hands wrapping around your waist, his forehead pressed against your temple, a soft kiss landing on your cheek.

“If we keep saying yes he’s never gonna leave us alone.” You can appreciate his usage of ‘we’ when in reality it's really you. And maybe he’s right but for now you don't really mind.

“It’s okay, I spend too much time with you anyways.” The giggle starts before you end the sentence, finding yourself all too funny.

Still, it makes Steve laugh as well. Maybe he does spend too much time with you if he's laughing at your bad jokes.

But Steve doesnt think that's actually possible, he’s way too needy and obsessed with you to even think about getting bored of you. And despite your jokes he knows you're the same. On the days Robin steals you for a girls sleepover Steve still gets a phone call from you telling him that you miss him. It’s sickeningly sweet and something he never wants to stop if he can help it.

Your little moment is ruined for the second time by Dustin, yelling to ask for help. His voice being a few octaves too high for just being a few rooms down.

Steve’s feet are planted to the floor and it makes you roll your eyes. His consistency of not wanting to help is iron strong, you’ll give him that.

When you are gone a minute too long for Steve's liking–again obsessed with you– he walks over and leans against the wall to hear what the two of you are talking about.

“I mean I just wanna make sure I don't look, like, weird.” He hears Dustin mumble, it’s in a low tone like he doesn't want anyone to really hear it.

“Why would you think you look weird? Did someone tell you that?” Steve’s glad you went in because he doesn't know if Dustin would be this open with him, and even if he was Steve doesn't know if he knew how to handle the situation.

“Just some kid at school but I don't, right? Look weird?”

“No Dustin, you look really great. Max will be extremely lucky to have you. Promise” Your voice is so soft and smooth. Like whatever you say is gospel, 100% true and can't be denied. Your pinky is held out to match your promise and Dustin ties his pinky with yours.

Steve looks at his watch and decides it’s time to pack things up and go. Giving a quick knock to the door he sees you and Dustin sitting on the edge of your shared bed.

“We gotta head out soon, Henderson. You ready?”

Dustin gets up and gives himself a quick glance in the long mirror that lays against the wall. Giving himself a nod, “Yeah let’s go.”

The three of you get into Steve’s car, the school isn't far away at all. The ride is quick but full of compliments for the teen. You both try to hype him up, Steve gives advice you wouldn't necessarily take but it’s nice to see that he's trying.

Pulling up to the school's main doors everyone goes silent. You can hear the loud music playing from inside the building and Steve is the one to break the ice.

“Here we are, so, remember once you get in there–”

“Pretend like I don't care.” Dusin finishes.

“You don't care.” Steve nods in agreement. You stay out of it, letting them have a moment but you hope in the end Dusin gets Max by being himself.

When Dustin tries to get one last look with the mirror Steve is quick to put a stop to it.

“Hey, you look great, okay, you look great.”

The sincere tone takes Dustin out of his ‘I don't care’ moment and truly makes him take in Steve's words. Taking a deep breath trying to calm himself down.

“You’re gonna go in there, you look like a million bucks, and you’re gonna slay 'em dead.”

Dustin gives little ‘yeah’s between each one with a heavy nod. You nod yourself, in the backseat even though he doesn't see.

“Like a lion.” Dustin says with a purr, the same one he used earlier. It makes you wince a bit but Steve is quick to fix it.

“Uh, don't do that, okay?” He says it kinder this time. Not wanting to take away all the confidence you two tried to give him on the ride up.

With an ‘okay’ and a hand shake Dustin is off to the dance. His suit was tailored and ironed to perfection along with his hair gelled by the one and only Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington. It’s a perfect mesh of both of your work. When Dustin is no longer in sight you slip into the front, trying hard not to touch Steve's nice leather seats with your shoes. When you get fully seated in the passenger seat Steve still doesn't move.

“He’ll be okay, and if he’s not he’ll come back to us.” You say grabbing onto his hand, lightly rubbing circles.

Steve finally takes his eyes off of the front doors and looks back at you, a smile takes over his face and his eyes look into yours. Giving your hand that holds his a kiss before driving off. You two end up getting fast food for dinner, it’s two and a half hours later than you were expecting but nothing you’ll complain about on the way home.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things au #steve harrington imagine #stranger things #writing #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x y/n #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic

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ariestrxsh · 20 days ago

Text

pervy!bsf!chris x innocent!bsf!reader

᧔•᧓ content warning: smut, innocence corrpution, oral (m!receiving), semi-public/risky (under the table stuff), praise/degradation

᧔•᧓ summary: your mom invites chris to stay for dinner. she's in the kitchen, cooking the food and making small talk with him, but what she doesn't know is you're on your knees under the kitchen table!

this is part of a series, but just like most of my work, you can read it as a standalone fic!

inspired/requested by this ask ᧔•᧓

dividers by @/anitalenia

Creeping

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 |

[ click to return to navigation ]

You weren't sure how you ended up here.

A few hours ago, you and Chris were best friends - nothing more. You'd come home to study, and he'd come over to look for his hoodie - nothing more.

Then you caught him returning a pair of your panties he'd stolen. Before you knew it, one thing had led to another, and then he was on his knees with his head between your trembling legs.

He'd wiped your juices from his smug smile on his way out the door, running into your mom in the driveway. She'd invited him to stay for dinner, completely unaware of what he'd just done to you upstairs.

Now, you found yourself returning the favor under the dining room table.

As far as your mom knew, you were still in your room studying for your midterms. Instead, you were between Chris' legs, his pants and boxers hanging low on his hips with his zipper completely open and his cock out.

The floor-length table cloth kept you completely hidden from view - from everyone's view except for Chris'. He'd hiked up the fabric to be able to see your eyes, his gaze flickering between you and your mom, making sure she still had her back to the two of you.

Chris smiled down at you, his fingers combing up through the underside of your hair and guiding your lips towards his tip. He nodded, smirking down at you, encouraging you to put it in your mouth. As soon as you wrapped your lips around his head, you tasted the unfamiliar saltiness of his precum. His cock twitched at the contact, and a soft sigh passed through his lips.

Chris glanced back up when he realized your mom was talking to him. "So, Chris. How's school going?" She asked him, peeking over her shoulder as she tended to the noodles. He couldn't keep his eyes from dancing over her figure.

"It's going great, ma'am," Chris answered, trying to maintain his composure as best as he could meanwhile your tongue was softly caressing the underside of his cock. You took a bit more of him, your lips gliding down his length and grazing over every vein. His jaw dropped when he felt the warmth of your mouth.

"What did the two of you do this afternoon?" Your mother wondered, half-way glancing back again, only catching a glimpse of Chris out of the corner of her eye. He had to bite down on his bottom lip from letting some smart ass or raunchy comment slip through. He peered down at you with lust in his expression.

"Nothing much. Just been helping her study and work on her focus," he responded, a devilish grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he tightened his grip on your head. He wasn't exactly lying.

"That's good to hear," your mom responded. "You're such a good influence on her." Chris relished in her comment, knowing what he was doing to you, her precious daughter, just ten feet away from her.

"I don't know about that," he chuckled, gazing down at the way your perfect, plump lips enveloped his cock and the tears that were forming in your waterline. "She is a really good girl," he purred, tossing his head back.

"You're both good kids," your mom replied with her back to the two of you. You continued bobbing your head up and down, sucking in your cheeks and trying to keep from making any noise.

The expression Chris had on his face was one of sheer bliss and overwhelming pleasure. He couldn't hold back his satisfied smile or the mischevious glint he had in his eyes.

He almost melted when you took him in all the way and let out a soft gag.

"You alright, Chris?" Your mom asked, nearly dropping her tongs as she whipped around to see what the noise was. His eyes immediately flew up, and he wiped the smug look from his face.

"Yes, ma'am," he managed to get out, reaching for his glass of water. "Sorry. I just choked on my drink."

"Oh, that reminds me!" Your mom exclaimed, trailing towards the refrigerator. "I have cold Pepsi cans if you want one," she offered, already plucking one from the fridge door.

Chris' breath hitched in his throat when he felt you wrap your fingers around the base of his shaft and shift your attention to his swollen tip.

"Oh, that's okay, ma'am. I'll pass this time," Chris replied, quickly placing both his hands above the table and making sure you were well-hidden under the tablecloth, but your mother had already cracked open the can and started pouring it into a glass for him.

"Are you sure? You never turn down a Pepsi," she responded, giving him an inquisitive look.

"I mean, I'll take it if you already opened it," he told her, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow as you gently flicked your tongue over the most sensitive spot.

She wandered over with the glass in hand, giving Chris a warm smile as she placed it in front of him. She paused for a moment, examining Chris' expression.

"Are you okay, honey? You look warm," she sweetly asked, reaching over the table and placing the back of her hand on his forehead in concern.

He slowly nodded, looking into her eyes. "A little warm, but I'm fine, ma'am. I promise," he assured her, his heart pounding away in his chest.

"Awh, you poor thing. You're burning up," She whispered, moving her hand to the side of his face, gently caressing his flushed cheek. He instinctively leaned into her touch, trying not to finish in your mouth right then and there. "Let me turn the air on," she responded, turning around and heading over towards the thermostat.

As she walked off, Chris pulled back the tablecloth, his fingers threading into your hair again, a soft moan unfurling from his lips. He couldn't get enough of you.

"Have you eaten yet today?" Your mom asked him after she fiddled with the A/C and wandered back over towards the boiling pot.

"Yeah, I ate out earlier," Chris told her, smirking down at you.

"Well, I hope you're still hungry," your mom answered, peeking back over at him briefly.

"Yes, ma'am. Trust me. I could eat all day," he smugly responded, his gaze locked onto yours.

You could feel the wet patch on the front of your underwear growing as Chris combed his fingers through your hair, guiding your movements and assisting you to speed up the pace.

Your mom continued to make small talk with him, and he continued to answer without raising any suspicion from her.

"Oh shoot!" Your mother exclaimed, turning to Chris with a splotch of spaghetti sauce on her shirt. Chris pulled his gaze off of you and glanced up at her. "I'll be right back. I've gotta go throw this in the wash before it stains. Will you go upstairs and let her know that dinner's ready?" Your mom asked, grabbing a paper towel and dabbing the spot on her top.

Chris eagerly nodded, his climax approaching as his cock started to pulse in your mouth. Your mom had disappeared from the room just in time.

Chris tightened his hold on your hair, his hips bucking up to fuck into your mouth even deeper. "That's it. Fuck yeah. Naughty little thing. Gagging on my cock while your mom's in the room, hmm?" He gazed down at you, trying to burn this image into his brain.

"Fuck. You're such a little slut. Swallow it all. C'mon, you got this," he encouraged you in a voice just above a growl. A few guttural moans passed through his lips as he filled your mouth with a hot, thick substance.

You kept your eyes on his the whole time, choking down the taste. You'd never had a boy look at you with such desperation and desire on his face. Your clit practically had its own heartbeat at this point. You pulled your mouth off of him with a pop.

"Holy shit. You swear you've never done that before?" Chris breathlessly wondered, pulling his zipper closed with a smile. You shook your head, wiping your mouth off with the back of your hand as you crawled out from under the table.

"You took it so well. Like the perfect little slut," he teased you, ruffling your hair and smirking at you. Your cheeks turned red at his comment.

Chris took a long drink of his Pepsi, trying to regulate his breathing while you situated yourself at the table and made sure your hair didn't just look like Chris had had his hands in it.

A minute later, your mom returned wearing a different shirt.

"Oh, hey, sweetie. You got down here quickly," she greeted you. You nibbled on your lip to hold back a sneaky smirk. "Okay, who's hungry?" She asked, turning her back again as she reached into the cabinet for a small stack of bowls.

"Hey, wait," Chris mumbled quietly, reaching up and turning your chin to face him. He took the pad of his thumb and wiped away a bit of cum that was still visible in the corner of your mouth. The two of you exchanged a look, eyes widening for a second and eyebrows raising as you both wondered how differently the night could have gone if the two of you had been caught.

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo #christopher owen sturniolo #ᴀʀɪᴇꜱ' ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ .ᐟ ✮⋆˙#ᴄʀᴇᴇᴘɪɴɢ .ᐟ ✮⋆˙

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chaoticwriting · 6 months ago

Text

THE FATHER

A tall man is walking down a hallway, slowly turning on the lights as he knocks on the door to the rooms along the hallway. Rustles can be heard from each room as Danny moves from room to room. After all rooms have been knocked on, Danny goes down the stairs and goes to the dining room.

He sees the Lunch Lady moving out a whole stack of plates, arranging them on the tables. Danny offers to help but Lunch Lady refuses his offer and he just nods and gives a smile. He sits at the head table as he watches food being placed one by one by her. Soon, children enter the dining room and take their seats waiting until all of the seats is filled.

Children: Thank you for the food!

All the children eat happily while chatting with each other. Danny also eats his food as he is reminiscing about his childhood.

When all the kids finished their food, a woman with green hair enters the room holding a purse.

Kitty: Alright kids, time to go to school. Uncle Johnny is already waiting outside.

The kids reply with yes and cheers as they quickly wash their hands. All of them take their lunch boxes from the top counter and give Danny a hug.

Children: Bye, dad.

Danny: Goodbye, kids. Behaved well at schools and remember to call for me if any of you need help.

Children: Yeeess!

As they reply, Kitty rushes them off outside as they are a little late for school. Danny sends a few blob ghosts after them in case Kitty and Johnny need help sending or watching the kids. After all they are only 2 people compared to the 2 dozen kids they're sending to schools.

Danny goes to his study as Wulf opens a portal and places his paperwork on his table. Danny gives a silent thank you as he busy himself while waiting for the kids to come home.

-6 months ago-

Danny arrives in Gotham after he makes the decision to stay here. After Vlad is healed from his mania courtesy of Jazz and Frostbite, he falls into minor depression at the thought of almost killing his best friend and making his godson go through all those horrible experiences. As a form of repentance, he gives Danny his company as he fully dedicated himself to improving Amity Park and serving the people. He also helps to lobby against the anti ecto act with his few connections. Add in the testimony from Maddie and Jack, the leading scientists in the ectoplasm field.

The act is immediately removed after it is made public and the US government receives a major blow from the feedback. All the personnel that are related to GIW are also captured under the order of the United Nation and the Justice League.

Danny also puts down his mantle as Phantom after the act is removed because by that point, team Phantom can even deal with an Ancient by how liminal some of them are. They are so liminal that they are almost a halfa by this point. They also gained their own powers recently like Sam has Phytokinesis and healing power, Tucker gains Technomancy and Psammokinesis, Val has superhuman physique and can fly and Jazz is now a very powerful psychic. Their combined efforts easily fend off Vortex and Overgrowth last time. Add in that Vlad also helps sometimes, Amity Park is pretty much safe.

So Danny after getting nagged persuaded by Jazz about going to college, decides to further his study into engineering at Gotham. Why? Because not only does Gotham have a high concentration of ectoplasm in their air (not as high as Amity but pretty high compared to any other places except Bludhaven), but it is also because he gained a scholarship there.

Vladco also getting changed in leadership with Danny being the new CEO, giving Tucker and Sam their own position and many top positions to people he knows. Why would he do that someone might ask? Because it is easier to do his work and also college at the same time with his power. Such as learning how to clone himself courtesy of Vlad and opening portal with Wulf's help.

There are also other heroes in the area so he doesn't need to worry about protecting the people in Gotham. Except that's not what happened.

When Danny first arrived at one of the mansions Vlad had bought in Gotham, the place was practically empty. It was cleaned and neat and all but no one was in there. After moving everything in, Danny decides to take a walk outside to take a view of his surroundings.

When Danny arrived at the less unfortunate parts of Gotham, he saw a lot of homeless kids running around. Kids, not teenagers. Danny in his goodwill and screaming core offers the kids to give them shelter. Maybe it is because kids are more sensitive to supernatural elements but it almost seems like they understand him conveying his emotions.

The kids decided to trust him and follow him home and Danny called in Lunch Lady to prepare a meal for them. Lunch Lady, the ever amazing cook, made some fabulous meals for all the kids including Danny as they ate happily.

Danny can see the distrust in their eyes so he didn't insist on them staying until the next morning. He even left the doors and windows unlocked just in case any of them wished to leave early.

He was pleasantly surprised when he saw all the kids in their shared room by morning. He offered to take them in and although the kids were very wary of him, they decided to give him some trust.

And after that, it is pretty much smooth sailing. One after another more and more kids enter the mansion. It's not that Danny goes out to pick them, it is the kids that go out of their way to invite other kids when given permission by Danny.

As for money, it is pretty easy to convert all the items that he stole got from Pariah Dark's haunt. With his multi billion company, he has a lot of power in his hand. Both figuratively and literally. He also sets up a legal foster care center so that he can take in kids easier and get funds legally.

Overall, there are 2 dozen kids that are registered residents of his mansion while there are around 100 more that are not registered either because they technically already have a guardian/parents or they wish to remain unrecorded for some reason.

Unknown to Danny, his reputation has been rising frighteningly fast these past few months. From his kind persona, his amazingly genius intellect and all his charity all the way to how good looking he is, it makes the public go wild on him.

Of course there are some haters that will try to bring down his efforts but those voices are often drowned by thousands of other voices who uplift him.

Of course that is mainly because all of his interactions with people so far have been positive interactions.

That is until the incident happens

-Present Time-

Danny is finishing his homework today as the kids decide to do a little outing to play at the arcade. Danny gives them some money *cough 1000$ cough* and let them go on their own after they beg to not have any adult supervision. Danny knows that is a bad idea but he can't say no to all those cute puppy eyes.

Suddenly, a notification enters his phone. A livestream from Joker's official website (that somehow hasn't been taken down). Danny has a bad feeling about it and opens the livestream to see Joker on live screen laughing as he monologues about his ideals or something.

What really catches his attention is the background of the room. Isn't that the arcade? Shit shit shit shit shit. His kids are there. His kids! HIS KIDS! Danny swears that if his kids are hurt in any way, Joker might need to say his last goodbye even if Batman and his whole spendex army are there. No one hurts his kids and gets away with it. Ask the guy that bullies Ellie when she travels around the world. Well you can't cause the guy is with Dan and no one gets away from Dan.

Danny takes his cane as he goes to his car. This is not any other car. This is a Fenton Car. Turning on the engine sounds like a bomb is going off in his car at the moment. Danny flicks a few switches and the car suddenly changes from the usual sleek black to a white and black with green neon lights coming from some sides.

His father and mother go crazy when they know he is Phantom. Not in the bad way, but in a good way. They apologize heavily but after Danny gets a little uncomfortable with them being so somber around him, he offers to help them build some ghost machines that can help them deal with ghosts without actually hurting them. His parents are ecstatic. This car is also one of the reasons his parents ask him to pursue engineering since he is very good at it. Like super good.

This car is his pet project and so far he hasn't been able to use most of its functions except some space expansion. Well Danny can't say he is excited to try them now since his kids are in danger and he really doesn't care about it anymore.

The black and white car suddenly turns invisible and intangible as Danny flicks on the last few switches and Danny speeds away in his car. 3 seconds. That's how fast he arrives at his destination with the car. When he stops, he flicks off the switches and all the functions are turned off. The polices at the barricade are startled when a car suddenly appears as some of them switch side to point their gun at him.

Danny comes out of the car with a very serious face. No smiles or laughter in his face whatsoever. Danny walks towards the barricade and as he walks, the police officers try to stop him but he just turns intangible and walks through them. When he finally passes the last barricade, a white ring of light appears around him blinding all the onlookers. When they open their eyes, Danny doesn't look like Danny anymore.

The previous Danny had neat black hair, ocean blue eyes, black suit with black ties and a pair of white gloves. Danny now looks like the complete opposite. White wavy hair, toxic green eyes, white tie and suit with black undershirt and a pair of black gloves. Even his cane changes from the woody exterior to a crystal ice sword.

He slowly walks into the area and Joker's goons start shooting at Danny as they think he is just a guy with a weird suit. Oh boy are they wrong.

As soon as the bullets reach a centimeter before Danny, they stop as if space itself prohibits them from moving. The goons become more nervous as any and all types of weapons from bullets, to knives to even grenades, none of them can touch him. The grenades don't even explode after getting stopped by him.

All the goons continue shooting as Danny walks closer slowly when suddenly multiple clicks sound at the same time. The goons realize that they may have spent all their bullets and none of them can touch him so far.

Some of the goons in defiance rush towards Danny with knives in their hand. Danny easily takes them down by swatting them with his ice sword/cane. One by one, all the goons fall to the ground. None of them are unconscious but none of them are able to move. It's like they are paralyzed.

Suddenly, the bullets and grenades that they release earlier start to move. They turn and move and the goons watch in horror as each bullet faces towards them. Danny can hear the police officers screaming about stuff but he honestly doesn't care. Danny releases all the bullets and screams can be heard throughout the alley. None of the goons die, Danny makes sure that death doesn't come easy for them, but if they are left like this for too long, even the deities can't save them.

Danny leaves the alley and walks further inside towards the place where Danny senses his kids are at. Unfortunately, they seem to be separated but that is a given since there are 2 dozen of them. Danny makes clones of himself and sends them to retrieve the kids as fast as possible. The clones turn invisible and fly through the building towards the one with the Joker inside. There is one more of his kids inside and since the Joker is there, he might as well give him a visit.

Danny arrives inside the building sensing his kids are on the 3rd floor. He flies up there and sees the Joker standing in front of the camera, still monologuing while his goons are holding the hostages at gunpoint. He sees his 8 year old daughter trembling while being hugged by his 10 year old son who is putting up a brave face for his little sister.

To say he is angry is an understatement. He is furious. He is livid. How dare they! How dare they touch my sweet children! They will die! ALL OF THEM WILL DIE!

The hostages suddenly panic when their visions turn black for a moment before they hear screams and multiple thud falling on the ground. When their visions return, all they can see is a man in white suit holding an ice cane slowly comforting 2 children.

"You will be fine, my children."

"I am here."

"No one will hurt you."

He repeats as the children cry into his arms and they hug for a long time. The other hostages look around them to see the Joker, standing still like he is chained by something and bloods on the ground without any bodies in sight.

The man lifts his children up and brings them outside the room and just as the hostages are about to follow suit, the man comes back inside but this time without the children.

Danny: Go out. I have cleared the way.

The hostages hesitantly go out of the room and when they see no one is outside, they rush out of the room and return back to the street where they see police officers taking the other hostages from other buildings to safety.

Danny meanwhile is left alone with the Joker in the room. Danny stares at Joker's eyes as he peers into his soul. A rotten one this is. Danny steps in front of the Joker and snaps his finger. Joker releases a deep huff, as if his breath is being held while he is just standing there.

Danny looks at the Joker and holds out his arm to the side. A chair comes flying to him as if being pulled by a rope. Danny puts the chair down and pushes the Joker to sit on it.

Danny: Hello Joker. Usually people say it is nice to meet you but unfortunately our circumstances are not very pleasant.

Danny stops as he makes a stool out of ice and sits on it.

Danny: Now, Joker. Or should I call you Jack? Jack Napier? Or is it Jack Oswald White? It doesn't matter. Now, Jack. Do you know why I'm here?

Danny stalls as he could see the confusion and horror in Jack's eyes.

Danny: I shall assume you don't. You, Jack, have done great harm to my children. I admit. I'm not the old vigilante anymore. I don't protect people and go around punching bad guys. Do you want to know why? Because I have children now. I have a family to take care of. So I don't actually care about what you wish to do. Even if you burn Gotham to the ground, as long as my children are fine, I will not care. But it seems fate decides to get rid of either of us today. So here is what's gonna happen. One, I kill you right here right now.

As Danny says that he points his cane at Jack's chest.

Danny: Or you could experience all the pain and suffering you have inflicted on all your victims right here right now. If you choose the later option, I will release you after you finish your punishment. And we will go our merry way as long as you don't cross paths with me anymore. I will give you 10 seconds to decide.

Danny says as he lowers his cane. He stands up and walks around the Joker. He stomps his cane on the ground every time a single second has passed and as the tenth stomps sound, a voice replies to Danny

Jack: The second one.

Danny: I see.

Danny then walks in front of the Joker and raises his finger. A beam of green light enters his forehead from Danny's finger and Joker's head falls down.

Danny then walks back to his stool as he waits for it to happen.

Screams. Screams that are more horrifying the longer it lasts. Jack's screams sound like something only an eldritch can emit. Danny watches calmly as all of this happens. He waits and waits when suddenly, Jack stops. He stops and releases a big laughter.

Jack: hahahaHaHaHaHaHaHAHAHA...... I did it. I survived. Ahahahahaha.

Danny: Indeed. Congratulations on surviving Jack. And as promised I will let you go.

Jack can feel the restraints that Danny casts on him disappears like it is never there. Jack decides to run towards the door and stays away from this weirdo. If not for the fact that Jack is scared this guy will kill him, he would have fallen unconscious already.

Except the door is locked. He turns to look at Danny warily expecting him to turn back on his words or something.

What he doesn't expect is that Danny is no longer there. What replaced him are multiple ghostly figures that are slowly walking towards him. Jack turns as he bangs on the door. From begging to angry cussing, nothing can help him anymore. All of Jack's victims have come to pay him a visit. And this time, they will bring him with them.

Danny watches as Jack's body falls limp on the ground from the punishment. The last thing Jack saw is actually a hallucination. Something he makes to give Jack the maximum despair he can feel.

Danny releases the restraint on Jack's body as his body falls limp on the chair. He looks around the room and sees a peculiar device with a red light coming from it.

Shit. All of it is recorded isn't it?

Part 2

#danny fenton #dc x dp #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc #danny phantom #dc joker #Danny is a dad

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