#now to try and keep her from getting too wild

[dontrllycaretbh]

Title: out of bounds

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x fem!referee!reader

Warnings: intense eye contact, mutual pining, one-sided thirst that maybe isn’t so one-sided, light swearing, ref/player boundary flirting, suggestive banter, dangerously close breathing distance

Summary:

You’re just trying to keep the game under control when Paige Bueckers — Dallas Wings star and certified chaos magnet — decides your foul call is personal.

You knew this game would be a mess the second Paige Bueckers stepped on the court.

She didn’t walk, not really. She glided. Like she owned every square inch of the floor. High ponytail bouncing, sleeves pushed up, face unreadable except for that glint in her eye — that “I’m here to fuck shit up” glint.

You’d reffed her before. Once, in preseason. She’d barely acknowledged you.

But tonight?

Tonight she was loud. Aggressive. Flashy. And if you were being honest — which you weren’t, at least not out loud — she was magnetic.

Which made this moment 10x worse.

Because now you’d just called her for an offensive foul, and she was storming toward you like she wanted blood.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” she growled, practically nose-to-nose with you at half court.

Her voice was raspy from yelling all night. Her jersey clung to her shoulder blades. There was a bead of sweat tracing a path down the side of her neck, and you had the very inconvenient urge to watch it.

You took a breath. You were the professional here.

“Lowered shoulder. Initiated contact,” you said evenly. “Clear charge.”

“She flopped,” Paige snapped, pointing dramatically back at the defender, who was still on the floor. “She threw herself into a trust fall!”

“She drew contact.”

“I’m allowed to drive! That’s not a foul — that’s me playing fucking basketball!”

You raised your eyebrows. “You done?”

She stared you down, jaw tight. “Are you?”

You swallowed. Because she had that look — the wild, unfiltered fire behind her eyes that said she wasn’t going to back down. Not now. Not ever.

But God help you, she was so damn hot when she was pissed.

Not that you’d ever admit it. To anyone. Ever.

“You wanna keep going?” you said, keeping your tone steady. “I can make it a tech.”

“Ohhh,” she said, taking one infuriating step closer. “Gonna hit me with the whistle again?”

Your heart did a dumb little skip. “Don’t test me, Bueckers.”

“You’re itching to blow that thing.”

Was she flirting?

Was she flirting?

You glanced at the scorer’s table, willing someone — anyone — to call a timeout. To intervene. To break whatever weird electric current had locked the two of you in this personal bubble of stubbornness and stupidly attractive tension.

Instead, the game clock ran, the crowd roared, and Paige stood in front of you like a dare dressed in a Wings jersey.

“You think I’m soft?” she asked, lower now, voice just for you.

You blinked. “What?”

“You said it was a charge. You think I’m not tough enough to finish through contact?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you meant,” she shot back. “You’ve been calling me tight all night. Every bump. Every glance. You’ve got it out for me.”

You blinked again. “You think I called that because I’m… what? Targeting you?”

“Not targeting,” she said, eyes narrowing. “Watching.”

Your throat tightened.

She leaned in, just slightly. “You’ve been watching me all game.”

“I’m a ref,” you said, flat. “That’s my job.”

“Yeah?” she smirked. “Then why do you know I switched my ponytail to the left side at halftime?”

You flushed. Visibly.

Paige grinned like she’d just hit a buzzer beater.

“Go sit down,” you said, voice a little too sharp now. “Bench. Cool off.”

“Oh, so now you do want space.”

You nearly gave her a technical just to get her away from you — and from the burning heat in your chest.

She started to turn, then paused.

“But hey,” she said, glancing at you over her shoulder. “Keep watching. I’ll make it worth it.”

And she winked.

WINKED.

You stood there, frozen mid-breath, as Paige jogged back toward the bench like she hadn’t just set your entire nervous system on fire in front of 17,000 people.

Someone behind you chuckled. “Ref’s about to pass out.”

You honestly weren’t sure they were wrong.

Fourth Quarter.

Dallas was up by three. Two minutes left. The arena shook with energy. You tried to focus, but every time you glanced at Paige, she was already looking at you.

Once, during a free throw, she licked her lips and winked again.

Another time, she adjusted her jersey in slow motion, eyes locked on yours like it was intentional.

At one point, she muttered something to her teammate and looked right at you when they both laughed.

You were losing it. Absolutely spiraling. And the worst part?

She knew.

Postgame.

Dallas won by five. The buzzer sounded. Fans erupted. You blew your final whistle and turned to hand off your clipboard to the league official—only to find Paige standing there. Waiting.

“Still mad about the foul?” you asked cautiously.

She grinned. “Nah. You were right.”

You blinked. “Wait—what?”

“About the charge,” she said, like it was nothing. “I was off balance. I lowered my shoulder.”

You blinked again. “You gaslit me for five solid minutes and nearly took out your coach yelling.”

She shrugged. “What can I say? I like the way you yell at me.”

You nearly swallowed your tongue.

She took a step closer — closer than allowed, closer than reasonable — and held up something small and folded.

“I don’t usually do this,” she said, “but… if you ever wanna grab a drink and yell at me off the clock—” she winked again, “—you’ve got my number.”

You took the paper. Stared at it.

Then stared at her.

“I thought refs weren’t supposed to fraternize with players,” you said, dry.

She smirked. “Good thing you’re off duty now.”

And with that, she turned and jogged off — high-fiving fans, teammates, sweaty and smug and absolutely unfair.

You looked down at the paper in your hand.

Her number. Her name.

And at the bottom, in handwriting just a little too cocky:

“Still watching?”

You laughed.

Yeah.

You definitely were.

[taeyongdoyoung]

treat you better

summary: getting invited to your ex's wedding sucks. but going there with your fake boyfriend makes it so much better... pairing: dino x reader genre: angst, best friends+fake dating to lovers, fluff, smut warnings: swearing, mentions of alcohol, past relationship, cheating, shitty ex, confidence issues, dino is slightly younger than reader+calls her noona, confessions, kissing, consensual filming, female masturbation, praise, unprotected sex, cockwarming, choking author's note: the title is inspired by treat you better and the plot is influenced by my reading of the songs boyfriend and the only exception word count: 2.2k

You're gonna need another bottle of soju to process what you just heard.

"Let me do it for you," your best friend Dino suggests.

"What?" you gasp in shock.

"Let me be your fake boyfriend. Take me to your ex's wedding as your plus one. I bet he's gonna be sooo mad he missed out on you. You keep complaining that you're gonna feel pathetic to show up alone, so…" he keeps speaking and you are too stunned to react normally.

So, you just laugh.

"What's so funny?" Dino frowns.

"He's never gonna buy that," you shake your head.

"Why not?" your friend is genuinely confused.

"I never date younger guys. Literally everyone knows that. It's like…my rule."

"I'm not that much younger!" Dino argues. "And isn't that kinda prejudiced?"

"It's nothing personal," you explain. "I just had this really bad experience and…"

"You can't seriously swear off all younger guys just because of one shitty guy," he insists.

"Hey, why are you getting so riled up?" your brows furrow in suspicion. "It's not like we're dating for real."

"I just feel like I need to defend the honour of…younger guys," Dino huffs, avoiding your gaze.

Cute, you think to yourself.

"You are the only exception," you gently push his arm with your own.

"So, you'll do it? You'll introduce me as your boyfriend to your shitty ex's wedding?"

Oh, shit. You're probably gonna regret agreeing to this in the morning. But your pride can't take another hit. Being with your ex for five years only to find out he's been cheating and is now marrying the girl he cheated with a mere month after your break-up completely shattered any confidence you had. So, when Dino suggests that, as wild as it sounds, you can't resist but take him up on his offer. What do you have to lose?

The wedding sucks just as much as you thought. You get a couple of pitiful stares from the people who know you and the groom were a couple. You try to ignore them and their unwelcome comments. And do your best to focus on Dino who was so kind to suggest coming with you.

"Thanks for doing this," you whisper. "I know it can't be easy."

"Are you kidding? Free food and I get to be around the prettiest girl? What's easier than that?" Dino chuckles.

"I don't get it," you reply, "What's in it for you?"

Dino shrugs.

"Just want you to be happy. Although…these people don't deserve you in their lives."

"You're right," you admit with a sigh. "Although it's gonna take me some time to build up my confidence."

"I'll be with you for every step of the way," he promises calmly.

You are about to express your gratitude when you notice your ex walking up towards you two. What the fuck?

"What am I supposed to say?" you hiss in Dino's ear.

"I don't know, he's your ex, not mine," your fake boyfriend rolls his eyes in annoyance.

"Y/N! Thanks for…uh, coming to my wedding," your ex blurts out awkwardly. "It can't be easy," he unknowingly repeats your words.

"On the contrary. It's the easiest thing in the world," you respond nonchalantly. "Congratulations, by the way."

"Um, thank you. I just didn't expect you to…"

"To bring a date?" you grin, the picture of innocence.

"Ah, yeah, that…Listen, can I have a word with you? In private?" your ex asks. Oh, the audacity of this fucker!

"Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of my boyfriend," you smile politely. "We don't have any secrets from each other. Unlike some people…"

At those words, your ex freezes in place. The gears in his brain seem to start working and looking for a way out of this conversation. Well, he brought it upon himself.

"Totally, noona and I are always honest with each other," Dino chirps adorably. "Right, noona?"

Oh, God. What a sweetheart.

"Absolutely, Channie," you giggle, arm in arm with your best friend.

"It just seems odd," your ex still can't let this go. "How long have you been…seeing him?"

"I don't see how that's any of your concern," you reply coldly.

"I thought you didn't date younger guys," your ex points out.

"And I thought you weren't a lying piece of shit. I guess people change," you keep smiling despite it all. "Enjoy your wedding."

With that, you take Dino's hand and lead the way towards the door. You've had enough of this garbage. You realize you don't even care about what your ex or his friends think of you anymore. You just needed to do this…for yourself. And now, you feel free.

🦦🦦🦦

Back at your place, you are surprised by your resilience not to cry. So what if your shitty ex got married before you? So what if he cheated? At least you're a decent human being and you have a wonderful best friend who offered to come with you. It felt so good being honest about your feelings. And the fact Dino supported you through it all? You will never forget that.

"Thank you for being there for me," you tell Dino, as you make yourself comfortable on the couch with a glass of wine in your hand.

"You’re welcome. Just stop dating shitty guys, okay?" he winks.

"Easier said than done. If you know someone decent, you should introduce them," you joke.

"Why not me?" Dino says in a concerningly serious tone.

You start laughing again. Because he has to be kidding. Right?

"Why is it so funny to you?" he pouts, feeling offended. "Is it because I’m younger? That’s bullshit and you know it."

Oh, fuck. He actually means this?!?!

"It’s not that, Channie…"

"Then, what? I can treat you better than any guy you’ve ever dated. I would never cheat on you or hurt you. Why not me?" Dino repeats desperately.

The sincerity in his voice is so striking that you are tempted to give this a try.

"Because you’re too good for me. What if I fuck things up? I won’t just be losing a partner, but my best friend. I can’t…I can’t imagine my life without you in it."

Dino grabs your hands in his eagerly.

"And what if you don’t fuck anything up? What if we’re perfect for each other? Please, just consider this. I’m not asking you to respond rightaway. Just…try to think about it with an open mind."

There’s not much to think about. Dino is an amazing, gorgeous, ridiculously sweet guy. And in the past you’ve only dated assholes who hurt you. So, you’re afraid. In your gut, you know that Dino would never harm you. But you are worried that your previous relationships damaged you so bad that you’re now the one capable of doing the hurtful things. And yet…a bigger part of you is curious, desperate, hopeful even to give this a chance.

Because you can see how honest Dino is. And because your heart has been pushing down the crush you’ve had on your best friend for far too long...

"I don’t need time to think," you confess. "I really like you, Channie. But I’m petrified by the fear of harming you and losing you."

"You won’t," Dino insists. "You’re a good person, noona. You deserve good things."

You find that hard to believe but maybe this time it’s worth taking a leap of faith.

"Can I kiss you?" he inquires gently.

Oh, wow. No one has ever asked you that. They just took what they believed was expected. You feel a sudden, but brief pain in your chest at how thoughtful Dino is. And how you’ve been settling for less.

"Of course, you can," you agree with a smile and Dino wastes no time in connecting your lips together.

You busy your hands playing with his hair, as he places his palms on both sides of your face, the action so intimate and yet quite natural. The kissing goes on for a while. You are greedily craving more but you say nothing.

"Let me take you out on a date!" Dino suggests suddenly.

"Right now?" you ask, gasping for air.

"Or tomorrow!"

There’s no way in hell you can wait that long to see him again.

"Right now is good."

"Okay. Where do you want to go?"

Huh? Yet another thing you’ve never been asked. Most of your dates had been at restaurants and cinemas. Sometimes you heard the stereotype that guys were supposed to plan the dates. But honestly? You wished someone asked your preference at least once. And now that it is finally happening, you blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

"Do you want to go to the amusement park?" you make sure to ask Dino. Because if it isn't his cup of tea, you will feel awful about forcing your interests on him.

"That sounds fun!" he agrees, grabs your jackets and rushes outside.

Once at the amusement park, you feel like you’re living your childhood dream of an ideal first date. You go through the fast and scary rides first. After that, Dino wins an adorable otter plushie for you in one of those shooting games. Then, you have a quick break by eating hotdogs and cotton candy. And for the grand finale, you get on the Ferris wheel and enjoy the sunset view of the city.

"This was perfect," you murmur in awe, as you reach the highest point of the wheel.

Dino kisses you softly, holding your hands once more. You are in heaven.

"Now, it’s perfect," he adds.

And you can’t help but laugh again.

"What is it?" Dino wants to know.

"I’m just…happy."

"Well, get used to it. I’m planning on making you happy all the time."

🦦🦦🦦

"I don't know, Channie…" you mumble hesitantly upon hearing his surprising request.

It's been a while since you started dating and though you've already done many things to build up the trust between you two, filming something so personal is uncharted territory.

"I'd never show it to anyone," Dino vows.

"I believe you," you sigh. "But what if your phone gets stolen or something?"

"I'll password-protect it. And never, ever let someone steal my phone," his adorable eyes are so full of conviction you find yourself saying "yes".

"Should I take off my dress?" you ask nervously.

"Not yet," Dino responds as he sets up his phone. "Can you start by touching yourself for me?"

You didn't know you were so camera-shy until this moment.

"No one else is gonna see this," he promises you once again. "Just focus on me. Look into my eyes, not the camera."

You nod trustingly and open your legs for him. Spreading your folds slowly and teasing yourself with your hands, you quickly forget about the phone recording.

"You're doing so well for me, noona," Dino praises you sweetly. "Look so perfect."

"It feels so nice," you admit. "Need you, Channie."

"How do you need me?" he asks.

"Need your cock inside me," you beg. "Please?"

"Alright, sweetheart," Dino smiles and unzips his jeans with one hand, still holding the phone with the other. "Still good with this?" he makes sure.

"Yes, it's okay," you reassure him, fully confident in the fact he'd never use such footage against you.

Dino teases the tip of his cock against your pussy.

"My pretty girl," he mumbles and starts sliding in deliciously. "Fits so nicely."

"Channie…" you cry out as you watch him record each measured thrust. "Fuck me harder, I won't break."

"Oh, angel, I don't know…" Dino speaks tentatively. He's always been so kind to you, but you trust him enough to want him to lose his composure.

"I promise, I'll be fine," you hold his free hand and intertwine your fingers.

Giving you one last look of contemplation, Dino's face completely transforms. He starts taking you roughly but still delightfully. What. The. Fuck? Where has he been hiding this?

"You're taking my cock so well, noona," he grunts.

"You feel so good inside me," you gasp, overwhelmed by the sensations.

"Want to ruin you for anyone else. Wanna be with you forever," Dino admits emotionally.

Oh, sweetheart…

"Don't need anyone else, Channie. Promise, I'm all yours," you exclaim in euphoria as he paints your walls white.

Dino ends the recording and leaves the phone lying on the bed next to you.

He holds you close, still refusing to slip out, cockwarming you for a bit and sleepily playing with your hair.

"Talk me out of the toxic urge to send this to your ex," Dino mumbles into your neck.

"Don't you dare!" you scold him playfully, because you know he wouldn't do something like that.

"Just kidding. He'll never get to see you like this again. That video is for my eyes only," Dino wraps his hand around your throat lightly.

"Damn right," you agree and your eyes trail down his pretty hands. "Choke me?" you don't know where this comes from but…might as well try.

Dino chuckles and says nothing as he tightens his hold on your neck. Fuck. It feels addicting. Trusting someone that much. Knowing he has all this power over you but he would never use it to actually hurt you…

You can't help but grin, still looking into his eyes. Moments later, he loosens his grip and lifts your chin up, meeting you for a tender kiss.

"Told you I'd treat you better."

The End

[mrs-delaney]

Hide | Chapter Fourteen | Angels Like You

✨ Catch up on Hide before reading this chapter ✨

✧ the masterlist, babes ✧ 💌 so you can read all my stuff 🧃📚

💌 my inbox is open — come yell at me about the fic or just say hi

pairing: joe burrow x riley carter (oc) word count: 10.5k ish requested: no ⚠️ just a little warning: joe gets hurt in this one—not graphic, but it’s serious—and the emotional vibes are very much “something’s not right.” if that’s a tough headspace, skip or pause as needed.

📝 this story is only posted on wattpad and tumblr under miss_delaney. if you see it anywhere else, it’s been stolen. 🚫 do not repost, translate, or share my work without permission. 🌻 requests: closed! 💌 want to be added to the taglist? drop a comment or message me.

Author’s Note: posting two days in a row?? wild. who is she??

work’s been a little slow this week so i’ve been writing in between meetings (sorry to my boss..even though he sees me fuckin' around). this one’s a bit shorter, but it felt right to give it its own space.

this chapter's got that underlying hurt—you know, where nothing's actually exploded but everything still feels wrong somehow. not broken exactly, just... uneasy. like everyone's walking on eggshells but trying to pretend they're not. that's kind of where we are right now.

this part of the story is loosely based on real events. creative liberties were taken. timelines were bent.

thanks for being here. i really mean it. 💛

Taglist: @wickedfun9 @starsyoongi @amiets2 @palmettogal508 @throwaway12356123 @lilfreakjez @destinyg237

August 26

Joe walks off the sideline still thinking about Riley's voice when she hung up on him days ago. The preseason game against the Commanders just ended—they won, 24-17—but he spent most of it watching from the bench, his mind three thousand miles away. He played one series in the first quarter, handed off twice, and that was it.

"Good game, Joe," someone calls out, maybe a coach, maybe a teammate. He nods without really seeing them, already pulling his phone from his locker.

Still no response to any of his texts. It feels like an eternity of silence.

Joe showers quickly, throws on sweats and a hoodie, and ignores the team bus idling outside the stadium. Instead, he calls Sarah.

"I need a jet," he says without preamble.

"Tonight? Joe, you just played—"

"Tonight. To LAX. How fast can you make it happen?"

There's a pause. Sarah's been his assistant for two years; she knows when not to ask questions. "Give me an hour. Where are you going from LAX?"

"I'll figure it out when I get there."

The drive to the private airfield outside Washington gives Joe time to think, which is both a blessing and a curse. He keeps replaying Riley's voice from that phone call—When push comes to shove, I'm the problem you need to manage—and realizing she wasn't wrong.

He tries calling her again as he waits for the jet to be prepped. Straight to voicemail, same as it's been for days.

"Riley, it's me again," he says after the beep. "I know you probably don't want to hear from me right now, but... just call me back. Please."

He hangs up and immediately wants to try again, but forces himself to put the phone away. If she wanted to talk to him, she would have by now.

The pilot doesn't ask questions about the last-minute flight or why Joe looks like shit.

He pulls out his phone and stares at his last text to Riley: Still hoping you'll be there Saturday.

She never responded. Which means she's probably not coming to Cincinnati. Which means this thing between them might actually be over, might have ended with that terrible phone call where he said all the wrong things and she hung up on him.

Joe opens a new message and starts typing: I'm coming to see you.

He deletes it. Tries again: We need to talk.

Deletes that too.

The truth is, he's terrified she'll tell him not to come. That she'll say she doesn't want to see him, that they're done, that he's too late. So instead of giving her the chance to reject him, he's just going to show up and hope she'll at least let him explain.

It's not his usual approach—Joe plans things, thinks them through, weighs the options. But planning hasn't been working when it comes to Riley. Every time he tries to be careful, to manage the situation, he makes it worse.

Maybe it's time to stop being careful.

The flight attendant offers him dinner, but Joe's stomach is too twisted to eat. He accepts water instead and uses the wifi to book a rental car, then immediately second-guesses the choice. Should he take an Uber? Less traceable, but also less reliable if Riley wants him to leave quickly.

God, he doesn't even know if she's home. For all he knows, she could be anywhere—New Orleans, Nashville, Colorado, literally anywhere. He hasn't heard from her team either, despite texting Pete directly yesterday.

Joe stares out the window at the dark expanse of America passing below and tries to figure out what he's going to say when he sees her. I'm sorryseems inadequate. I was scared sounds like an excuse. I love you feels true but not enough - not when love hasn't stopped him from hurting her.

His phone buzzes with a text from his dad: How'd the game go?

Joe types back: Fine. Flying to LA.

The response comes quickly: Good. Bring her home.

It's such a simple statement. Bring her home. Like she belongs there, like she belongs with him. Even though they haven't met her yet.

The pilot's voice crackles over the intercom: "We'll be beginning our descent into Los Angeles in about twenty minutes."

Joe's hands start to sweat. Twenty minutes until he finds out if the person he loves still wants anything to do with him.

He tries her number one more time. It rings once, twice, three times, then goes to voicemail. 

"It's me," he says. "I... I'm sorry about everything. About the phone call, about not being there when you needed me, about being an idiot. I'm going to try to fix this, okay? If you'll let me."

He hangs up and immediately regrets it. He should have said more, should have explained, should have told her he was coming. But it's too late now.

The rental car is waiting. Joe plugs Riley's address into the GPS and drives.

The drive from LAX to Laurel Canyon takes forty minutes. Joe's locked in now, the way he gets before big games. One objective: get to Riley. Everything else is noise.

But what if she's not alone?

It's been days since they talked. Days for her to decide she's done with his shit, done with being treated like a secret, done with dating someone who chooses his image over her every time it matters. Someone like maybe Dom.

Joe pushes the thought away and focuses on driving, on the narrow roads and expensive houses hidden behind gates and perfectly manicured hedges. Riley's neighborhood is quiet, peaceful, the kind of place where showing up unannounced at midnight might get the cops called.

He turns onto her street. Her house sits at the end of a curved driveway, lights on in the living room. Her car's the only one there.

Joe parks on the street and sits in the rental car for a full minute, staring at her front door. This is it. This is where he finds out if he still has her or if he's lost the best thing that's ever happened to him.

He gets out of the car and walks to her door.

Once he reaches her front door he just stands there, hand raised to knock, suddenly terrified of what comes next.

* * *

Riley sits cross-legged on her living room floor, acoustic guitar balanced across her lap, surrounded by scattered pieces of paper covered in crossed-out lines and half-formed verses. It's past 1 AM, but sleep feels impossible when her chest is this tight with words that need to come out.

She strums the same chord progression she's been working on for the past hour, humming a melody that feels too raw to sing at full voice yet. The notebook beside her is open to a page that reads:

Baby, angels like you can't fly down hell with me I'm everything they said I would be

She stops playing and scratches out the second line, tries again:

I'm everything you didn't want me to be

That's not right either. Riley sets the guitar aside and pulls her knees to her chest, staring at the mess of papers around her. Days of not responding to Joe,  days of writing songs that all sound like goodbye letters she'll never send.

Her phone sits face-down on the coffee table, silent since she finally set up the new one yesterday and saw all his unanswered messages flood in at once. She'd read them, all of them, but couldn't bring herself to respond. What was there to say? That she missed him? That she was tired of feeling like a problem he needed to solve?

Riley reaches for the guitar again, finds the melody, tries a different approach:

They say that misery loves company It's not your fault I ruin everything

The knock at her front door makes her freeze mid-strum.

She glances at the clock on her phone. 1:23 AM. Who the hell shows up at her house at 1:23 in the morning?

The knock comes again, more insistent this time.

Riley sets the guitar aside and pads to the front door in her bare feet, wearing an oversized t-shirt that hangs to her mid-thigh and shorts that disappear under the hem. She expects to see Pete through the peephole, or maybe Andy having another late-night crisis about some girl.

Instead, she sees Joe Burrow standing on her doorstep in sweats and a hoodie, looking like he just traveled three thousand miles to be there.

Which, apparently, he did.

Riley stares through the peephole for a full ten seconds, convinced she's hallucinating. Joe doesn't make grand gestures. Joe doesn't show up unannounced. Joe definitely doesn't fly across the country in the middle of the night.

But there he is.

She unlocks the door and opens it slowly, not trusting her voice yet.

"Hi," he says simply.

Riley blinks at him, still processing. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to make sure you get on a plane to Cincinnati."

Riley stares at him. "You... what?"

"Your flight. Tomorrow. I need to know you're still coming."

She opens her mouth, closes it again. Of all the things she might have expected Joe to say, this wasn't one of them. "You flew here to ask me that?"

"I flew here because I fucked up…again."

Riley stares at him for another long moment. "You got that right," she says finally. 

She steps back from the door, and Joe takes it as an invitation to come inside. The living room is covered in evidence of sleepless nights: papers scattered across the coffee table and floor, her guitar propped against the couch, lyrics scrawled in her messy handwriting.

Riley closes the door behind him and crosses her arms, suddenly aware that she's barely dressed and he's standing in her living room in the middle of the night like this isn't completely insane.

"Shouldn't you be in Maryland?" she asks, trying to find her footing in this conversation.

"Game ended hours ago." Joe's looking at the papers around her guitar, probably reading the fragments of lyrics she's been working on. "You've been writing."

"I've been doing a lot of things." Riley moves to gather some of the papers, suddenly self-conscious about him seeing her raw thoughts scattered everywhere. "What do you want, Joe?"

"I want to know if you're coming to Cincinnati tomorrow."

Riley stops collecting papers and looks at him. "Why would I be coming to Cincinnati?"

"Your flight. You had a flight booked."

"Had being the key word." Riley sits down on the edge of her couch, putting some distance between them. "I canceled it."

Something shifts in Joe's expression. "When?"

"The other day. I'm exhausted with this, Joe."

"I know. That's why I'm here."

Riley looks at him for a long moment. "You think showing up fixes it?"

"I think not showing up definitely doesn't."

She's quiet, processing that. Joe stays where he is, not moving closer, not trying to crowd her space.

"My team lost their minds when they saw the headlines," he says finally. "Started talking about damage control and how this could affect my image. And I listened to them instead of calling you back first."

Riley doesn't respond right away.

"I panicked. When I saw those photos, when I heard what people were saying... I thought about protecting myself before I thought about protecting you."

Riley wraps her arms tighter around herself. "That's the problem, Joe. When things get hard, your first instinct is to pull away from me, not toward me."

"I know."

"Really? Do you Joe? Because this isn't the first time. Every time there's any kind of pressure or scrutiny, you treat me like I'm the complication."

Joe runs a hand through his hair. "You're not a complication."

"Then why do I always feel like one?"

Joe is quiet for a long moment. "Because I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to have you in my life and deal with everyone else's opinions about it. So when things get complicated, I default to what I know - protecting what I can control."

"At least you're honest about it. But Joe, I can't keep being the thing you sacrifice every time you get scared." Riley shifts on the couch, pulling her knees closer. "I know I'm not easy. I know my life is messy and unpredictable and nothing like what you're used to. But I can't keep wondering if you're going to choose me or choose everyone else's opinion of me."

"I'm trying to figure out how to do that.  Choose you."

Joe moves closer, crouching down in front of the couch so he can see her face. "Don't give up on this. On us."

Riley looks at him, eyes tired. "This hurts, Joe."

"I know. I don't want to hurt you. Stay with me while I figure it out?"

She studies his face like she's looking for something she's not sure is there. "You keep asking me to wait while you figure it out. But what if you don't? What if this is just who we are?"

"I don't want it to be."

"Wanting isn't the same as changing." She's quiet for a moment. "But yeah. Okay. I'll stay."

"Even though you shouldn't."

"Probably because I shouldn't."

Joe takes what feels like the first deep breath he's had in days.

He reaches for her hand, and she lets him take it. Her fingers are cold, and he realizes she's been sitting here for hours writing, probably not taking care of herself the way she does when she's processing something hard.

"Come here," he says quietly, and gently pulls her up from the couch.

Riley stands on unsteady legs, and Joe wraps his arms around her, pulling her against his chest. She melts into him immediately, her face pressed against his hoodie, and he can feel some of the tension leave her body.

They stand like that for a long moment, just holding each other. Joe rests his chin on top of her head, breathing in the familiar scent of her shampoo, feeling the relief wash over him that she's here, that she's his, that she said okay.

Riley's arms tighten around his waist, and Joe realizes she's crying - not sobs, just quiet tears that soak through his hoodie.

"I missed you," she whispers against his chest.

"I missed you too," he says, his voice rough. "So much."

* * *

They stay like that, wrapped around each other in her living room surrounded by scattered lyrics and the evidence of her sleepless nights. It's relief and comfort and the simple fact that they fit together, even when everything else feels broken.

Riley pulls back just enough to look at his face, her hands coming up to rest against his chest. "You hate grand gestures."

"I had to. I was going crazy."

She studies his expression, searching for something. When she finds it, Joe leans down and kisses her.

It's soft at first, tentative, like he's not sure if this is allowed. But Riley's hands fist in his hoodie, and she kisses him back with weeks of missing him, and Joe makes a small sound against her mouth that goes straight through her.

"Bird," he breathes against her lips.

"I know," she whispers. "I know."

She takes his hand and leads him down the hall to her bedroom, and this time it's different from every other time they've been together. Slower, more careful. Like they're both afraid the other might disappear.

Joe pulls off his hoodie while Riley sits on the edge of her bed, just watching him. When he reaches for the hem of her oversized t-shirt, she lets him pull it over her head, and then they're skin to skin for the first time in too long.

"I thought I fucked this up forever," Joe says quietly, his forehead resting against hers.

"You didn't," Riley says, even though they both know how close he came.

When he touches her, it's with reverence, like he's memorizing every inch. When she moves against him, it's with a kind of desperate tenderness, like she's trying to pour all her forgiveness into the space between their bodies.

It's not gentle, not really. They cling to each other, pace quick and rough, both of them chasing relief and something like grace. Neither of them talks. Just the sound of skin and breath, desperate and seeking, like they're trying to say I'm sorry, I love you, don't leave again—all without words.

"Joe," Riley breathes against his mouth, her hands fisted in his hair.

"Me too," he says back, his voice rough.

She pulls him closer, desperate. "Don't—" she starts, then stops, but Joe knows what she means.

"I won't," he promises against her throat. "I'm not stopping. I'm not going anywhere."

When she's close, she whispers his name like a prayer, over and over, and Joe has to bite down on her shoulder to keep from falling apart completely.

"Please," she whispers, and he knows what she needs.

"Come on, baby," he murmurs back.

When Riley comes, it’s quiet, her body shaking with it, face pressed to his shoulder. Joe follows right after, everything tightening at once, her name muffled against her skin.

After, they don’t move. He just holds her, breathing her in, as if he could anchor himself to this moment and never let go.

"Come back with me," Joe says eventually. 

"Joe." 

"Please, Riley." 

"You know I will." She sighs. "When do you want to leave?" 

"In the morning? When we wake up?" 

"Okay."

She settles back against his chest, and Joe feels something ease in his chest that's been tight for days. It's not fixed - he knows that. The conversation they had in the living room doesn't solve the fundamental problem between them. But she's here, and she's his, and tomorrow they'll figure out the rest.

* * *

Early September 

Riley stares out the airplane window at the darkness below, her reflection ghostlike in the glass. The red-eye from Cincinnati to London is half empty, which means she has an entire row to herself to spread out and pretend she's not exhausted down to her bones.

Thirty-six hours. She could have stayed in London, slept off the jet lag, maybe seen a show in the West End. But no—she flew to Cincinnati instead, burning through her only real break because she thought things might be different after LA. Thirty-six hours of watching Joe slip right back into the same patterns that broke them apart in the first place.

Her phone buzzes with a text from Pete: Safe flight. Get some sleep. Love you.

She types back: Can't sleep. Too wired.

What she doesn't text is that nothing has changed. That Joe flying to LA, showing up at her door, asking her to stay with him—none of it actually fixed the thing that's wrong between them.

Yesterday afternoon, Joe's living room:

"The Steelers run a lot of zone coverage on third down," Joe muttered to himself, remote in hand, rewinding the same play for the fourth time.

Riley looked up from her book—she'd given up trying to have a conversation twenty minutes earlier. "Joe."

"Mmm?" He didn't look away from the screen.

"Remember when you said you were trying to figure out how to choose me?"

That got his attention. He paused the film and turned to her. "I am trying."

"Yeah? Because this feels exactly like it did before."

Joe's jaw tightened slightly. "It's Week 1, Riley. This is important."

"And I'm not?"

"That's not what I said."

But Riley could see it in his face—the same look he got whenever football took priority. The same wall going up.

Riley shifts in her seat now, curling sideways against the window. The flight attendant offers her a blanket, which she accepts with a tired smile.

Her phone lights up with a message from Joe: Miss you already.

She stares at the text for a long moment before responding: Miss you too.

But the truth is she doesn't just miss him—she misses who he used to be with her. The Joe who would actually turn off his phone. Who cared about her day, not just the parts that fit around football. This version feels like someone else entirely.

This morning, Joe's kitchen:

"I can drive you to the airport," Joe offered, grabbing his keys.

"It's fine. I called a car."

"You sure? I don't have meetings until noon."

Riley could see he was already mentally somewhere else—probably thinking about practice, about the game plan, about everything except the fact that she was leaving again. "Yeah, I'm sure."

He kissed her goodbye at the door, distracted and quick. "Text me when you land?"

"I will."

But they both knew he probably wouldn't see it until hours later, buried between messages from coaches and teammates and everyone else who took precedence during football season.

Riley closes her eyes and tries to find a comfortable position. Seven more hours until London, then a full day of interviews where she'll have to smile and talk about her music while running on no sleep and too much caffeine.

Her phone buzzes again. A text from Andy: How was Cincinnati?

She types and deletes three different responses before settling on: Fine.

It's not fine, though. Nothing about this feels fine. Joe said he was trying to figure out how to choose her, but the moment football season started, everything went right back to how it was before.

She's still the only one reaching. Loving him is starting to feel like chasing him.

Riley looks at her phone again. Joe's "miss you already" text, her automatic "Miss you too" response. A week ago, that exchange would have made her heart race. Now it just feels hollow.

When did she become the only one reaching? When did loving him start feeling like chasing him?

Seven hours to London. Seven hours to figure out how to smile and talk about her music while pretending everything's fine.

For the first time since that night in her living room when Joe asked her to stay with him, Riley wonders if she should have said no.

* * *

September-1st Game of the Season

Riley - 2:47 PM London time (9:47 AM Cincinnati): Good luck today baby. I know you're going to be amazing.

Riley - 3:15 PM: Thinking about you. Wish I could be there.

Riley - 4:30 PM: Still no response? Everything okay?

Riley - 5:45 PM: Joe?

Riley stares at her phone screen in her London hotel room, watching the delivered messages pile up with no response. She's been up since 6 AM doing BBC Radio interviews, but all she can think about is Joe's first game of the season starting in an hour.

Riley - 6:00 PM (1:00 PM Cincinnati - Kickoff): Game's starting. I'm watching on my laptop. You've got this.

She settles into bed with her laptop balanced on her knees, the NFL app streaming the Bengals vs. Steelers game. The hotel room is dark except for the glow of the screen, and Riley pulls a blanket around herself as she watches Joe take the field.

Riley - 6:23 PM: You look so focused out there. Doing amazing.

Riley - 6:45 PM: I have no idea what's happening but you look good doing it.

Riley - 7:30 PM (Halftime): They're winning but you've got this. Second half.

The Bengals are struggling. Pittsburgh's defense is relentless, and Joe's getting pressured on every play. Riley finds herself holding her breath every time he drops back to pass, texting encouragement she knows he won't see until after the game.

Riley - 8:15 PM: That hit looked bad. Are you okay?

Riley - 8:47 PM: Come on baby. One touchdown. You can do this.

Riley - 9:20 PM (Game ends, Bengals lose 21-10): I'm sorry. You played your heart out. You'll get them next time.

Riley - 9:45 PM: Joe? Just want to make sure you're okay.

Riley - 11:30 PM: I know you're probably in meetings or with the team. Call me when you can?

Riley - 1:15 AM: Are you ignoring me?

It's nearly 2 AM London time when Riley's phone finally buzzes with an incoming FaceTime call. She answers immediately, and Joe's face appears on screen—hair still damp from the shower, jaw tight with frustration.

"Hey," she says softly. "Are you okay?"

"No, I'm not okay. We lost." His voice is flat, exhausted.

"I watched the whole game. You looked good out there, even though they kept hitting you—"

"Riley, I don't want to talk about the game."

She blinks, taken aback by his tone. "Okay. I was just... I was trying to be supportive. I sent you texts all day."

"I don't check my phone on game days."

"What?"

Joe rubs his face with his hands. "I don't talk to anyone the day before or day of games. I go dark."

Riley stares at him through the screen. "You never told me that."

"I thought you knew."

"How would I know that? You've never mentioned it once." Her voice gets sharper. "I stayed up all night watching your game, Joe. I've been worried sick because you weren't responding to anything."

"I can't be thinking about texts when I'm trying to prepare."

"I wasn't asking you to respond during the game. But before? After? Some acknowledgment that your girlfriend exists?"

Joe's expression hardens. "This is exactly why I don't talk to people on game days. I can't deal with this right now."

"Deal with what? Me caring about you?"

"I lost, Riley. I threw two interceptions. The last thing I need is—"

"Is what? Support? Someone who care about you trying to be there for you?"

"I need space to process this."

Riley feels something cold settle in her chest. "Space from me."

"Space from everyone."

"But especially me."

Joe doesn't deny it, and that silence says everything.

"I can't do this," Riley says quietly. "I can't keep being shut out of the most important part of your life."

"Football has to come first during the season. You know that."

"I know that football is important. What I didn't know is that means I don't exist."

Joe's jaw tightens. "That's not fair."

"Are you kidding me? When do I come first, Joe? When do I get to matter?"

"Riley—"

But she's already ended the call.

Riley sits in her dark hotel room, staring at the black screen of her phone. It's 2:30 AM in London, and she has morning interviews in six hours. But all she can think about is the look on Joe's face when she asked when she gets to matter.

Like it was a question he'd never considered before.

Riley's phone buzzes less than five minutes after she ended the call. Joe's name appears on the screen.

She stares at it for two rings before answering.

"What?"

"Don't hang up." Joe's voice is quieter now, less sharp. "Please."

Riley doesn't say anything, but she doesn't hang up either.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I shouldn't have taken the loss out on you."

"No, you shouldn't have."

"And I should have told you about game days. I assumed you knew, but you didn't. That's on me."

Riley shifts against her hotel pillows, exhausted. "Joe, I stayed up all night to watch you play. I was trying to support you."

"I know. And I appreciate that, I do. I just... I don't think clearly after losses."

"It's not just about tonight. It's about me not knowing basic things about your life. About feeling like I'm always on the outside of the most important part of who you are."

Joe is quiet for a moment. "I'll try to be more upfront about what game day stuff looks like for me. What the season looks like. I don't want you feeling shut out."

"Okay."

"Are we okay?"

Riley closes her eyes. She's too tired to fight, too tired to explain again why this hurt. "Yeah. We're okay."

"Get some sleep. I know you have early interviews."

"Yeah. I do."

"Riley?"

"What?"

"Thank you. For watching. For caring. I know I didn't say that before."

"You're welcome."

After they hang up, Riley lies in the dark staring at the ceiling. Joe apologized, promised to be more communicative about his boundaries. It should feel like progress.

Instead, it just feels like another conversation where she has to adjust her expectations to fit his world.

Riley sets an alarm and tries to fall asleep.

* * *

Riley sits cross-legged on the floor of the rehearsal studio, still catching her breath from running through "Lonely Is the Muse" for the tenth time today. The mock stage setup towers behind her—lights, risers, even a replica of the LED backdrop that will follow them around the world. Her phone is propped against her water bottle as she FaceTimes Joe, who's presumably at home in Cincinnati.

"You should see this setup," she says, angling the phone so he can see the stage. "It's insane. Andy designed this whole lighting sequence that syncs with the guitar solo in 'Lilith,' and Pete's been working on these harmonies that—"

"That's cool," Joe says, but his attention seems split. Riley can see him looking at something off-camera.

"Are you listening to me?"

"Just checking something real quick." He looks back at the phone. "Sorry. The stage looks good."

Riley tries not to let her irritation show. "We've been rehearsing for twelve hours a day. I'm exhausted but also kind of terrified and excited all at the same time. Tour starts in three weeks."

"You'll be great. You always are."

"I hope so." Riley shifts, tucking her legs under her. "Actually, I was thinking—you have your bye week coming up, right? End of October?"

"Yeah."

"You should come here. See the rehearsals, hang out while we're in prep mode. I could show you around the studio complex, introduce you to everyone properly." Riley's voice gets more animated as she talks. "You could watch us work through the setlist, see what this whole thing looks like from the inside."

Joe is quiet for a moment. "I don't know, Riley."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"I mean, bye weeks are usually when I catch up on rest. Recovery. I don't really go anywhere during the season."

Riley frowns. "But it's your week off. And I'm asking you to come see something that's really important to me."

"I know it's important—"

"I don't think you do. Because it feels like you think my work is just a fun little hobby compared to yours."

"That's not true."

"Then why won't you come?"

Joe runs a hand through his hair, looking uncomfortable. "It's complicated."

"How is it complicated? You get on a plane, you come to LA, you spend time with your girlfriend. What's complicated about that?"

"Riley, we're still laying low, remember? After the whole Ethan thing? My team thinks it's better if I'm not seen—"

"Your team thinks it's better if you're not seen with me."

"That's not what I said."

"It's what you meant." Riley's voice gets sharper. "Joe, that was two months ago. How long are we supposed to hide because my drunk ex made a scene?"

"It's not hiding, it's being smart. The season just started, and things are going well, and I don't want to create any distractions—"

"I'm a distraction."

"No, the media attention is a distraction."

"Same thing." Riley stands up, pacing the small area in front of her phone. "God, we're right back where we started, aren't we?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you're still more worried about how things look than about being with me. Nothing's actually changed."

Joe's jaw tightens. "Come on, Riley. I've been trying to be better about communication—"

"Communication isn't the only problem, Joe. The problem is that you don't want to be seen with me. The problem is that I've flown to Cincinnati three times in the past month, but you won't come here once because you're worried about your precious image."

"Riley—"

"When's the last time you came to my world? When's the last time you made an effort to see what my life looks like instead of me always fitting into yours?"

"I came to your show in LA—"

"You came to my show in July with your friends, and that's it." Riley's voice cracks slightly. "I'm about to go on tour, Joe. This is the last chance we have to spend time together before I'm gone for months, and you're worried about people taking pictures of us."

Joe is quiet, and Riley can see him processing what she's saying. Finally, he speaks. "I just think it's better to be careful right now."

Riley stops pacing. "Better for who?"

"For both of us."

"No, Joe. Better for you. This is better for you." She picks up her phone, bringing it closer to her face. "I'm tired of being your secret. I'm tired of being the thing you have to manage and protect and hide from the world."

"You're not—"

"I am, though. That's exactly what I am." Riley's voice gets quieter, more defeated. "You know what? Forget I asked. Enjoy your bye week. Rest up, recover, do whatever you need to do."

"Riley, don't hang up. Let's talk about this."

"What's there to talk about? You made your choice. You always make the same choice."

"That's not true."

Riley looks at him through the screen, this man she's been trying to love despite how hard he makes it. "Name one time you've chosen me over what's safe for your career. One time."

Joe opens his mouth, then closes it. The silence stretches between them.

"That's what I thought," Riley says quietly.

"Riley—"

But she's already ended the call.

Riley sits in the empty rehearsal studio, surrounded by the elaborate stage setup that represents months of planning and preparation for the biggest tour of her career. In three weeks, she'll be performing these songs for thousands of people who love her music, who've been waiting for this moment almost as much as she has.

And the person she wants to share it with most is too worried about his image to show up.

She picks up her guitar and starts playing the opening chords to "Lonely Is the Muse," letting the music fill the silence Joe left behind.

* * *

Late October 

Riley sits on Joe's couch, watching him ice his shin for the third time since she arrived two hours ago. He's been rotating between the couch and the kitchen, restless and irritated, moving the ice pack every few minutes like he can't get comfortable.

"How long has it been bothering you?" she asks, setting down her coffee.

"Couple weeks." Joe adjusts the ice pack, wincing slightly. "It's fine. Just annoying."

"Have you had it looked at?"

"Yeah. They said it's minor. Just needs rest."

Riley watches him fidget with the ice pack, his jaw tight with frustration. She flew in this morning from LA, using her one day off between rehearsal blocks to see him, and he's been like this since she walked in the door—distracted, moody, barely acknowledging that she's here.

"You've seemed off," she says carefully. She's been watching his games when she can, trying to understand his world better after their last fight.

Joe's head snaps up. "What?"

"In the games I've watched. You just look... frustrated. More than usual."

"Since when do you analyze my games?"

"Since I'm trying to understand what's going on with you." Riley shifts on the couch to face him. "You look different out there."

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine. You're limping around your house icing your leg every twenty minutes."

Joe stands up abruptly, the ice pack falling to the floor. "It's just a minor thing. Shin splints or something. It'll heal."

"Joe—"

"I don't want to talk about it."

Riley stares at him as he paces to the kitchen, his movements stilted and careful. She's seen him frustrated before, but this feels different. Angrier. Like he's mad at his own body for betraying him.

"I'm trying to help," she says when he comes back with a different ice pack.

"I don't need help. I need this thing to stop hurting so I can play."

"Maybe you need to take some time—"

"I can't take time. We're 4-3, Riley. Every game matters."

"Your health matters too."

Joe laughs, but there's no humor in it. "My health matters when we're winning. Right now, I need to play through whatever this is."

Riley watches him settle back on the couch, immediately shifting to find a comfortable position for his leg. "Is this why you've been so..."

"So what?"

"Distant. Moody. Harder to reach than usual."

"I haven't been moody."

"Joe, I texted you good morning three days ago and you responded with 'ok.'"

"I was busy."

"With what? Icing your shin?"

Joe's expression darkens. "Don't."

"Don't what? Point out that you're taking your frustration out on me?"

"I'm not taking anything out on you."

"Then why does it feel like you resent me being here?"

Joe is quiet for a long moment, staring at the ice pack on his shin. "I don't resent you being here."

"You haven't asked me about tour prep once since I got here. You haven't asked about my day, about the flight, about anything. I might as well be invisible."

"I've got a lot on my mind."

"I know. Your shin, the games, the pressure. I get it. But I'm here, Joe. I'm trying to be supportive, and you're acting like I'm bothering you."

 Joe looks at her then, and for a moment his expression softens. "You're not bothering me."

"Then what's going on? Because this feels like more than just a sore leg."

Joe runs a hand through his hair, a gesture Riley recognizes as him trying to find words he doesn't want to say. "Everything's off right now. My timing, my accuracy, my decision-making. And this stupid shin thing is making it worse because I can't plant my foot right."

"So fix it. See a specialist, get treatment, whatever you need to do."

"It's not that simple."

"Why not?"

"Because if they think it's serious, they'll want me to sit. And I can't sit. Not with how we're playing."

Riley stares at him. "You'd rather play hurt than take care of yourself?"

"I'd rather not let my team down."

"What about letting yourself down? What about letting me down by shutting me out every time something goes wrong?"

Joe's jaw tightens again. "That's not what I'm doing."

"But that's what it feels like. From where I'm sitting, it feels exactly like what you're doing."

They sit in silence for a moment, the tension thick between them. Riley watches Joe adjust the ice pack again, his movements careful and frustrated.

"Maybe I should just give you some space," she says finally.

"You don't have to do that."

"Yeah, I do. You clearly don't want company right now."

"Riley—"

But she's already standing, heading toward the stairs. "I'm going to go read or something. Let me know if you need anything."

Joe doesn't argue, doesn't get up from the couch, doesn't try to stop her.

Riley goes upstairs to his bedroom and closes the door behind her. She sits on the edge of the bed, staring at her phone, wondering why she keeps coming back to someone who makes her feel more alone when she's with him than when she's actually alone.

Twenty minutes later, she hears footsteps on the stairs. Joe opens the bedroom door quietly, like he's not sure if she wants to see him.

"Hey," he says from the doorway.

Riley looks up from her phone. "Hey."

"Can I come in?"

She nods, and Joe walks over to the bed, sitting down beside her with a slight wince as he adjusts his leg.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I've been an ass."

Joe runs a hand through his hair. "This thing with my shin, it's got me all fucked up. I can't plant my foot right, and it's throwing off everything. My throws, my reads, my timing. Everything feels off."

Riley turns to face him. "So why take it out on me?"

"I don't know. Because you're here, I guess. Because it's easier than dealing with the fact that I might be losing a step."

"You're not losing a step. You're hurt."

"Same thing in this business."

Riley studies his face, seeing the frustration and fear he's been hiding behind his moodiness. "Joe, you can talk to me about this stuff. I want you to talk to me about it."

"I know. I just... I don't like feeling weak."

"Being hurt isn't weak. Being an asshole to the people who care about you is."

Joe looks at her, and for the first time all day, he really sees her. "You flew here to see me."

"I did."

"And I've been treating you like shit since you walked in."

"Pretty much."

Joe reaches for her hand. "I'm sorry, Riley. Really. I don't want you to feel like you're not welcome here."

Riley squeezes his hand. "I just want to help. I want to be here for you when things are hard."

"You are. Even when I'm too stupid to appreciate it."

They sit in silence for a moment before Joe lies back on the bed, pulling Riley down with him. She curls up against his side, careful of his injured leg.

"I'm sorry I made you feel like you didn't matter."

Riley lifts her head to look at him. "Do I matter?"

"You matter the most Birdie."

* * *

November

The pocket collapses faster than Joe expects.

He's got Ja'Marr running a comeback route, sees the window opening, but Baltimore's pass rush is relentless tonight. Roquan Smith is coming hard from the left side, and Joe feels the familiar pressure that means he's got maybe half a second to get rid of the ball.

He steps up in the pocket, trying to buy time, but the protection breaks down completely. Bodies everywhere, purple jerseys converging. Joe scrambles right, looking for an escape route, the ball still tucked against his chest.

The hit comes from behind and to the side—a combination of defensive linemen collapsing the pocket. Joe goes down hard, his right hand hitting the turf first as he tries to brace his fall. The impact sends a shock wave up his arm, but it's not until he tries to push himself up that he feels it.

Sharp, electric pain shooting from his wrist straight up to his elbow.

Joe rolls over, sitting up on the field, and looks down at his right hand. It looks normal, but when he tries to flex his wrist, the pain is immediate and breathtaking. Not the dull ache of his shin, which has been manageable for weeks. This is different. This is wrong.

"You good, Joe?" Ja'Marr is standing over him, helmet off, concern written across his face.

Joe nods automatically, the way he always does, but when he tries to push himself to his feet using his right hand, the pain nearly makes him sick. He gets up using his left hand instead, cradling his right arm against his body.

The Ravens defense is celebrating—they got the sack, stopped the drive. The crowd at M&T Bank Stadium is deafening. Joe walks slowly toward the huddle, trying to shake off whatever's wrong with his wrist, but every step sends jarring pain up his arm.

"Let's go, offense!" he calls out, trying to sound normal, but his voice feels tight.

In the huddle, Joe holds the play sheet with his left hand. When he claps to break the huddle, he uses his left hand against his thigh instead of clapping normally. His teammates don't notice, but Joe notices everything. The way his right hand feels weak and unstable. The way gripping the football sends shooting pain through his wrist.

The next snap comes fast. Joe takes the ball, tries to set up for a quick slant to Tyler Boyd, but when he goes to release the ball, his wrist can't support the throwing motion. The ball wobbles out of his hand, falling incomplete five yards short of the target.

Joe stares down at his right hand, flexing his fingers. They move, but his wrist feels like it's full of broken glass.

"Joe!" Coach Taylor is calling for a timeout, jogging onto the field. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good," Joe says, but he's not good. He knows he's not good. He's played through pain before—the shin, countless bumps and bruises, the appendectomy his rookie year. This is different.

Dr. Sparks, the team physician, approaches with the medical staff. "What's going on?"

"Wrist," Joe says simply, holding up his right hand. "Landed on it weird."

Dr. Sparks takes Joe's hand, gently rotating the wrist. The pain is immediate and sharp enough that Joe has to bite back a curse.

"Can you grip?" Dr. Sparks asks, handing Joe a football.

Joe takes it with his right hand, tries to squeeze. His grip strength is maybe thirty percent of normal, and even that causes significant pain. When he tries to cock his arm back in a throwing motion, the pain is so intense his vision blurs for a second.

"I can't throw," Joe admits, the words feeling like giving up.

Coach Taylor's face falls. "Can you hand it off? Run some read-option?"

Joe tries to grip the ball again, tries to simulate a handoff motion. Even that simple movement sends pain shooting up his arm. "I don't think so."

The stadium noise fades into background static as Dr. Sparks examines Joe's wrist more thoroughly on the sideline. Teammates pat his shoulders as they pass, offering encouragement, but Joe barely hears them. All he can think about is the calendar in his head—nine games left in the season, playoffs within reach, everything they've worked for since August.

"We need to get this X-rayed," Dr. Sparks says quietly. "Tonight."

Joe looks out at the field, where Jake Browning is warming up, preparing to take over. The scoreboard shows 10-7 Ravens, second quarter, plenty of time to come back. Except Joe won't be the one leading the comeback.

"How bad?" Joe asks.

Dr. Sparks doesn't answer immediately, which tells Joe everything he needs to know.

As Joe walks toward the tunnel, his right arm held carefully against his body, he thinks about Riley. She's in New York doing press appearances, probably at some late night show, completely unaware that his season might have just ended on a routine play against a Baltimore pass rush that got home half a second too fast.

The crowd noise follows him into the tunnel—cheers for Baltimore, sympathy from the few Bengals fans who made the trip. Joe doesn't look back at the field. If this is as bad as it feels, he's already seen enough football for 2023.

In the locker room, alone except for medical staff, Joe sits on the training table and stares at his right hand. The hand that's supposed to hold footballs, sign autographs, win championships. The hand that's supposed to touch Riley's face when he tells her he loves her, whenever he finally works up the courage to say it.

Right now, it can barely hold a cup of water.

Dr. Sparks returns with preliminary results that confirm what Joe already knows: his season is over. The scapholunate ligament in his wrist is torn, requiring surgery and months of rehabilitation.

Joe nods when he hears the diagnosis, like he expected it. Because deep down, from the moment he hit the ground, he knew. You don't play quarterback in the NFL for five years without learning to distinguish between pain you can play through and pain that means something is fundamentally broken.

As the medical staff discusses surgery timelines and recovery protocols, Joe's phone buzzes with texts he can't respond to yet. Teammates, family, reporters. The outside world learning what happened.

But the person he most wants to talk to is in New York, probably charming some talk show host or doing interviews, completely unaware that everything just changed.

Joe closes his eyes and tries not to think about how long it's going to be before he can throw a football again. Tries not to think about Riley, and how she's going to drop everything to be here for him, just like she always does.

Tries not to think about how he doesn't deserve that kind of loyalty, but how desperately he needs it anyway.

* * *

Riley sits in the green room at The Late Show with Stephen Colbert, watching Thursday Night Football on her phone while Stephen's monologue plays on the monitor overhead. Pete, Andy, and Daniel are sprawled across the couches around her—they're all appearing together tonight, doing "Daylight" as a full band performance.

"Twenty minutes until we're on," Andy says, tuning his guitar. "You nervous?"

"Nah, this is easy compared to tour prep," Riley replies, though she's actually looking forward to it. Playing with the guys always feels more natural than solo appearances.

Daniel's practicing paradiddles on his thighs while Pete scrolls through his phone. Riley keeps her phone tilted toward herself, watching the Ravens at Bengals game. Joe mentioned this game in his last text—division rival, important for playoff positioning.

She sees him drop back to pass, the pocket collapsing, bodies in purple jerseys converging.

Then she sees him go down.

At first, it looks like any other sack. Joe gets hit, stays down for a moment, then starts to get up. But something about the way he's moving catches Riley's attention. He's cradling his right arm against his body, his throwing hand held carefully away from his body.

"Oh no," Riley whispers, sitting up straighter.

"What?" Pete looks over at her.

Riley doesn't answer, too focused on her phone screen. The next play makes it obvious. Joe takes the snap, tries to throw, and the ball comes out weak and wobbly, falling short of the receiver. Even Riley, who knows nothing about football technique, can see that throw was wrong.

"Shit," she breathes, turning her phone so the guys can see. "Something's wrong with Joe."

All three of them crowd around her phone now, watching as Joe walks toward the sideline, medical staff surrounding him. The camera zooms in on his face, and even through his helmet, Riley can see the frustration and pain written there.

"That's not good," Daniel says quietly.

"That looks really bad," Andy adds.

Riley's phone starts buzzing with notifications, but she keeps watching. Joe's on the sideline now, clearly not going back in. Jake Browning is warming up on the field.

A production assistant appears in the doorway. "Five minutes to places, everyone."

Riley looks up, torn between professional obligation and personal crisis. "I need to—"

"You need to perform," Pete says gently. "You can't do anything right now anyway. Do the song, then figure out what's next."

Riley nods, knowing he's right but hating it. She puts her phone in her jacket pocket, but her hands are shaking slightly.

"Hey," Andy says, catching her arm. "He's going to be okay."

"You don't know that."

"No, but I know you. And I know you'll go crazy if you don't at least try to get through this performance first."

Riley takes a deep breath, trying to center herself. "If I get through this song and fly out tonight, can you guys handle the interview? And tomorrow's press?"

"Of course," Daniel says immediately.

"Whatever you need," Pete adds.

Riley nods, grateful for the millionth time that these three have her back no matter what.

"Alright, let's go play a song."

The performance is muscle memory. Riley's done "Daylight" hundreds of times now, and playing with Pete, Andy, and Daniel feels natural even when her mind is three hundred miles away in Baltimore. She smiles when she's supposed to, and to anyone watching, she probably looks like an artist having fun promoting her upcoming tour.

But the entire time, all she can think about is Joe walking off that field, holding his wrist like something inside it was broken.

The moment they finish the song and the cameras cut to commercial, Riley is already moving.

"That was great, guys," Stephen says, shaking hands with the band. "We'll do a quick interview segment when we come back."

"Actually," Pete jumps in smoothly, "Riley has to step out for a family emergency, but we'd love to chat with you about the tour."

Riley shoots him a grateful look as she heads toward the exit. Her phone is already in her hand, pulling up flight apps as she walks.

"Riley!" Andy calls after her. "Text us when you know something."

She nods without looking back, already focused on getting to Cincinnati as fast as possible.

In the hallway outside the studio, Riley calls Scout while simultaneously booking the next available flight.

"Riley? How was Colbert?"

"Joe's hurt. I need to get to Cincinnati tonight. Can you handle the Morning Show appearance tomorrow, the guys are gonna do it alone.  Can you make sure they are prepped?"

"Of course. How hurt?"

Riley pauses, watching the replay of Joe's injury that's now cycling on sports news. "Bad, I think. Really bad."

"Go. I'll handle everything here."

An hour later, Riley is in an Uber Black to JFK, still in her black leather jacket from the show. Her phone buzzes constantly with updates from ESPN, texts from friends who saw the news, missed calls from people wanting to know if she's okay.

But the only call that matters—from Joe himself—never comes.

Riley stares out the window at the New York City lights rushing past and tries not to think about what it means that he hasn't reached out. Tries not to think about how she's dropping everything, again, for someone who might not even want her there.

But she knows she doesn't really have a choice. When someone you love is hurt, you go. Even if the relationship is complicated, even if you've been fighting, even if you're not sure where you stand.

You go anyway.

* * *

Riley manages to get on the last flight to Cincinnati, a red-eye that doesn't leave until 11:47 PM. She sits in her window seat, finally allowing herself to process what just happened. Four hours ago she was getting ready to perform on national television. Now she's flying to Cincinnati because the man she loves got hurt and she couldn't stay away.

Once the plane reaches cruising altitude, Riley pulls out her phone and opens her text thread with Joe. Their last exchange was three days ago—him saying good luck with Colbert, her thanking him.

She starts typing.

I'm on a plane to Cincinnati. Landing at 3:20 AM. No use arguing about it, I'm already in the air. I'll call a car from the airport, don't worry about anything.

She hits send before she can second-guess herself.

The response comes faster than she expected.

Riley you didn't have to do that

I know. But I did.

I'm having someone pick you up. Don't argue.

Riley stares at his text, feeling something loosen in her chest. He's not telling her not to come. He's not angry that she dropped everything. He's making sure she gets to him safely.

Okay.

Thank you for coming.

Riley closes her eyes and leans back against the headrest. Outside the window, the lights of the East Coast pass by below. In a few hours, she'll be in Cincinnati, and whatever happens next, at least she'll be there.

Always, she types back. I'll always come.

* * *

Joe sits in the back of a team car leaving Baltimore, his right wrist wrapped and elevated against his chest. It's past midnight, and the highway stretches ahead—about six hours back to Cincinnati so he can see the team doctors first thing in the morning. His wrist throbs with every bump in the road despite the pain medication.

Riley's coming. She's on a plane right now, flying here because he got hurt, even though they've barely been talking and he's been a complete ass to her for weeks.

He calls his parents in Athens.

"Joey?" Robin Burrow answers on the second ring, her voice tight with worry. "We saw what happened. How bad is it?"

"Bad, Mom. Season-ending. I'm flying back to Cincinnati now to see the team doctors tomorrow."

"Oh, honey. We're so sorry."

"Listen, I need a favor, and it's kind of a big one."

"Anything."

Joe takes a breath. "Riley's flying in from New York. Her plane lands at 3:20 AM in Cincinnati, but I won't get home until around six or seven. Could you and Dad drive up and pick her up, then stay with her until I get there? I don't want her sitting alone in my house for hours."

There's a pause, and Joe can practically hear his mom's understanding smile through the phone.

"Of course we can do that. Your father's already getting his keys."

"Mom, I knows it's the middle of the night—"

"Joey, if that girl is dropping everything to come here for you, the least we can do is make sure she's taken care of until you get home."

Relief floods through him. "Thank you. Seriously."

"I'll find her," Robin says. "She'll probably look exhausted."

"Yeah, she just finished a TV show in New York and got on the first plane she could find."

"I'm finally going to meet her," Robin says, and Joe can hear the mixture of excitement and concern in her voice.

"Yeah. I just... I wish it was under better circumstances."

"Honey, she's coming because she loves you. The circumstances don't matter."

After they hang up, Joe texts Riley: My parents are driving up from Athens to pick you up. Robin and Jimmy Burrow, they'll be at baggage claim. They're going to stay with you at my house until I get home around 7 AM.

Riley's response comes quickly: Joe, it's 3 AM and you're asking your parents to drive two hours to pick me up? I can't let them do that.

Too late. Already asked. Dad's already in the car.

I'm going to feel terrible about this.

Don't. They want to meet you anyway. And I don't want you sitting alone in my house for hours.

This isn't exactly how I imagined meeting your parents.

Joe stares at that text for a long moment. He hadn't really thought about Riley meeting his family before, but now that it's happening, it feels right. Inevitable, maybe.

They're going to love you, he types back.

I hope so.

Promise. See you in Cincinnati.

* * *

X (Twitter)

@NFLNewsNow BREAKING: Bengals QB Joe Burrow suffers season-ending wrist injury during Thursday Night Football loss to Ravens. Surgery expected within days. #Bengals #NFL

@SportsCenter Joe Burrow's 2023 season is over. The Bengals QB suffered a scapholunate ligament tear in his right wrist during tonight's game in Baltimore. 📺: ESPN

@PopCultureDaily Riley Carter just performed on @colbertlateshow but apparently left before the interview portion? The band did the interview without her. Wonder what was so urgent 👀

@bengalsfan2012 Replying to @PopCultureDaily Wait wasn't this the night Joe got hurt? Timeline seems suspicious...

@musicnews247 UPDATE: Sources say Riley Carter had a "family emergency" and had to leave Colbert taping early. The Rambles covered for her during interview segment.

@rileystanaccount Something's not right. Riley NEVER misses interviews. She's been promoting this tour for months. What kind of family emergency happens at 11 PM on a Thursday?

@footballwife23 Did anyone else notice the timing? Joe gets hurt around 9:30 PM, Riley leaves Colbert around 11 PM. Just saying 👀👀

@bengalsbabes Replying to @footballwife23 I've been saying they're together for MONTHS. This basically confirms it

Instagram Stories & Posts

@entertainmenttonight 🚨 JUST IN: @rileycarter unexpectedly left tonight's @colbertlateshow taping due to "urgent family matter." The singer performed but skipped the interview portion. Swipe for more ➡️

@deuxmoi Submitted Anon: "Was at Colbert taping tonight. Riley Carter seemed fine during performance but left immediately after. Heard someone say she was getting calls during commercial break and looked really upset. Band members covered for her with Stephen."

@popsugar Riley Carter makes rare early exit from late night TV 👀 The "Daylight" singer left @colbertlateshow before her scheduled interview, citing family emergency. This comes just hours after Bengals QB Joe Burrow's season-ending injury... 🤔 #RileyCarter #JoeBurrow

Reddit

r/bengals

Title: Anyone else think Riley Carter is flying to Cincinnati right now? Posted 3 hours ago

The timing is too perfect. Joe gets hurt around 9:30, she leaves Colbert around 11. "Family emergency" my ass. She's definitely on a plane.

UPDATE: Just checked flight tracking apps. There was a red-eye from JFK to CVG that left at 11:47 PM. Landing at 3:20 AM. 👀

Top comment: No way they're actually together though right? Wouldn't we have seen them by now?

Reply: They've been SUPER private if they are. Remember all those rumors that started back in February? But nothing ever confirmed even after all these months.

Reply: If this is real, Joe's making a huge mistake. She's nothing but drama and bad headlines. Remember that bar fight with her ex? We don't need that circus around our franchise QB.

Reply to reply: EXACTLY. She's been linked to like 3 different guys this year. Party girl with substance abuse rumors. Joe needs to focus on football, not babysitting some rock star.

Reply: Called it months ago - she's a clout chaser. Probably saw Joe get hurt and smelled an opportunity for sympathy headlines.

Reply: If Joe's really dating her, his performance this season makes SO much sense now. Dude's been off his game.

r/rileycarter

Title: What "family emergency" happens at 11 PM on a Thursday??? Posted 2 hours ago

Riley has never, and I mean NEVER, bailed on a major interview. She's done shows while sick, she's done press with bronchitis, she showed up to that radio interview the day after her grandma's funeral.

This is about a boy. Specifically a quarterback boy. Calling it now.

Top comment: The math is mathing. Joe injury -> Riley panic -> immediate flight to Cincinnati.

Reply: But why would she do that if they're not serious? You don't drop everything for a casual thing.

Reply to reply: EXACTLY. This feels like real relationship territory.

TikTok

@nflteaa (457K followers) Video showing side-by-side timeline "POV: You're connecting the dots 👀"

Sound: "And all the pieces fall right into place"

Comments: "NO WAY this is a coincidence" "She really said family emergency and got on a plane to Cincinnati I can't 😭" "This is either the most romantic thing ever or I'm delusional" "Plot twist: they've been dating this whole time"

@popculture.detective (1.2M followers) Video compilation of clips

Comments: "The way she RAN to that airport"

"This is giving secret relationship energy" 

"Imagine dropping everything and flying across the country for someone 🥺" 

"OK but if this is real they're actually perfect together???"

@riley.carter.updates (89K followers) Screenshot of Colbert audience member's tweet "GUYS. I was at the taping. Riley did her performance but then just... left. Didn't do the interview. Band said 'family emergency' but she looked completely shaken. Security rushed her out during commercial break."

Text overlay: "Family emergency or boyfriend emergency? 👀"

[bitchinbarzal]

Protectors | The Barzal’s

⸻

Mat was halfway through his post-game meal when the notification hit his phone.

Motion detected – Back Door Camera

He almost ignored it. The kids probably let Rolo out again and forgot to shut the gate. But something in his chest told him to check.

The second the camera feed opened, his stomach dropped.

Two men. Hoodies up. Masks on. One trying to break the lock with a crowbar.

Mat shot to his feet, his phone shaking in his hand.

“Whoa—what’s wrong?” one of the trainers asked, eyes wide.

Mat was already moving. Already calling.

“Mama,” he breathed into the phone. “Answer. Answer. Come on.”

She did, breathless, terrified, the kind of chaos he’d only heard in emergencies.

“Mat,” she gasped. “They’re trying to get in—”

“Get the kids. Get in our closet. Lock it. I’m calling the police now. I’m watching you on the feed. Go.”

He heard her yell for Ivy and Ryder, her voice cracking but steady. Wyatt was crying. Bailey was frantic. Mama scooped her up and ran.

Mat watched her herd them down the hall on the camera, Koda’s fur flashing past the frame, barking so loud the audio crackled.

He was helpless. Sitting states away. Watching his family scramble to hide. Watching two strangers try to rip his life apart.

He called the police, barely coherent. Told them the address. Told them the kids were inside. That his wife was hiding. That he couldn’t do anything but watch.

The screen went wild.

The door burst open, but not for the men.

For Rolo.

Brown lab. Loyal. Calm. Terrifying when provoked.

He lunged.

Koda wasn’t far behind.

Mat could barely see what was happening just a blur of barking, growling, scrambling feet, and two full-grown dogs protecting the only home they’d ever known.

The men bolted.

The screen showed Rolo holding his ground, teeth bared, until red and blue lights lit up the backyard.

Mat’s phone rang. He answered on the first ring.

“Mr Barzal?”

“Yeah—yeah, I’m here. Are they okay? My wife? My kids?”

“They’re shaken up. But safe. Officers are inside now. And… sir?”

“What?”

The cop sounded half amused, half awed.

“Your dogs handled it.”

Mat was on the next flight home.

When he walked through the door the next morning, Mama was sitting on the couch in sweats, Wyatt asleep on her chest, the other three cuddled under blankets around her. Her eyes were still puffy, but when she saw him, she didn’t even stand just opened her arms, and he was there, kneeling in front of her, holding her like he thought he might never again.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.”

“You were,” she whispered. “You got us help. You kept me calm.”

He turned to the corner, where Rolo was curled up head held high like he knew exactly what he’d done.

Mat walked over and dropped to his knees, burying his face in the thick fur behind Rolo’s ears.

“You’re a good boy,” he whispered. “You saved my whole world.”

Koda barked from the kitchen.

Mat laughed through the lump in his throat. “You too, Koda. You both get steak tonight.”

Rolo hadn’t left Wyatt’s side since.

Or maybe it was the other way around.

She was curled into his side on the couch now, her tiny hand fisted in his fur, thumb in her mouth, wide brown eyes still a little wary whenever the front door made a noise. Koda had taken up post by the window, tail swishing softly like he was still on guard.

Mat sat on the floor across from them, watching.

“She hasn’t let go of him since last night,” Mama said quietly, lowering herself next to him. “Even brought him into the bathroom this morning.”

“She keeps calling him her Rolo,” Mat murmured. “Like he’s her personal security guard.”

Mama gave a soft laugh. “Well. He is.”

Mat exhaled slowly, eyes still locked on his littlest girl. “I’ve said so many times they wouldn’t hurt a fly. That they’re just overgrown lap dogs.”

“You did,” Mama said, nudging him. “Said Rolo was a big baby and Koda only knew how to bark at squirrels.”

He shook his head, jaw clenched, voice low. “They saved you.”

Mama slid her hand into his. “They protected their people. That’s what family does.”

Wyatt stirred, pressing her face into Rolo’s neck. Her voice was muffled, sleepy.

“My Rolo scared the bad guys.”

Mat moved to her gently, brushing curls from her face. “Yeah, he did, baby. He was so brave.”

She blinked at him, serious as anything. “Daddy?”

“Yeah?”

“No more saying Rolo’s not scary.”

Mat smiled through the lump in his throat. “You’re right. He’s very scary. The scariest dog on the block.”

Rolo let out a soft woof, tail thumping once.

Koda barked from the hallway like he refused to be left out.

“And Koda too,” Wyatt added sleepily. “But Rolo’s mine.”

Mat leaned down and kissed the top of her head, then gave Rolo a firm pat.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “We got really lucky with you, huh, buddy?”

Rolo blinked up at him, calm and steady like he knew exactly what he’d done.

Mat had always rolled his eyes when people called dogs protectors. Said theirs were soft. Said they’d fold at the first real danger.

Now he was planning to build them both a steak dinner, upgrade the backyard fence, and never leave again without saying: Be good. Watch your kids.

Because Rolo and Koda weren’t just dogs.

They were theirs.

And they were heroes.

[whiteraven87]

The Flame That Never Fades - chapter 15: Born to Die (15/16)

pairing: Toto Wolff x Victoria Lorenz (Original Character)

summary: She's young, fiery, naive and blindly in love. He's older, married, powerful and dangerously irresistible. To him, she was an obsession, an escape, a desire. To her, he was everything. The Flame that Never Fades is a story of forbidden love in the world of Formula 1, born from lust… and ending in something that can never be undone.

warnings: age gap (28 years), forbidden romance, obsession, desire, dark romance, smut, infidelity, emotional manipulation, dominant older man, angst, longing, possessiveness, emotional pain, toxic dynamics, no promise for happy ending.

word count: 37k

read on: AO3 - Wattpad - Tumblr

====================

my other finished fanfiction: The Unstoppable Series - Masterlist [Toto WolffxOC]

====================

chapters until now:

Prologue 1: Middle of the Night 2: Frozen 3: Shameless 4: Lilith 5: Ruthless 6: The Machine 7: Ride 8: No One Like You 9: Sad Girl 10: Summetime Sadness 11: Un-break My Heart 12: Blue Jeans 13: Too Deep 14: Into Dust 15: Born to Die

============================

Chapter 15: Born To Die

Don't make me sad, don't make me cry Sometimes love is not enough And the road gets tough I don't know why Keep making me laugh, let's go get high The road is long we carry on Try to have fun in the meantime Come and take a walk on the wild side Let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain You like your girls insane Choose your last words, this is the last time Cause you and I, we were born to die We were born to die We were born to die Born to Die - Lana Del Ray

Italy, November

One day, something changed.

Toto had never stopped searching. Not once. Every silent lead, every shadow of a memory, every line they might have once read together, every photograph — all of them led him towards one elusive truth.

Yet it was an old shipping manifest, signed with the name she once used on registration forms, that finally gave him a real clue.

A solitary cottage in the north of Italy.

He didn't inform anyone. He simply got into his car and drove.

When he parked, his heart was pounding like a drum. The cottage stood quietly, bathed in the golden beams of the winter afternoon sun, surrounded by a protective circle of forest, cloaked in silence. He saw her in the garden — standing with her back turned, wearing a long, loose dress and a thick sweater, a basket hanging from her hand. Her belly was rounded, and she moved with the slow, graceful rhythm of a woman carrying new life.

Toto froze.

Everything disappeared — the world, time, even the air around him.

"Victoria..." he whispered, as if unable to believe it was truly her.

She turned. Their eyes met. And for a long, harrowing second, she said nothing — just looked at him. Then, with the same force she once threw herself into a corner on the racetrack, she turned away and disappeared into the house.

He knocked.

"Please, leave," her voice came sharply through the door.

"No," he answered, his voice raw. "Not after everything."

The door swung open with a loud crack. She stood there, her eyes ablaze with anger and shining with the shadow of tears.

"Do you want to see what's left of your love?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Fine. Look. Here she is. Our child. But don't think for a second that it's a reason to come back."

Toto stepped closer, slowly. He looked at her — at her belly, at her hand clutching the fabric of her dress so tightly it trembled.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he whispered.

"Because you had no right to know," she said, her voice cold and steady. "Because even back then, you were already where you always returned. To Susie. To your children. To a life where there was no place for me."

"But this is my child too..."

"No." Her voice broke slightly, but her gaze remained hard as steel. "This is my child, my little daughter. My body. My decision. And I don't need you, Toto. Not anymore."

He took another step forward, reaching out a hand as if to touch her — but she recoiled.

"There's nothing left to say," she whispered. "You left me once. Then you left me again. I won't let you break me a third time."

Her eyes were full of tears, but she did not cry. Not yet. She clung desperately to what little remained of herself.

Toto stood there in silence for a long, agonizing moment, looking at her as though trying to understand who she was now — the woman he had loved, and yet no longer fully knew.

And then, he did something Victoria had not expected.

He stepped toward her slowly, without the confidence, without the armor of strength he usually carried like a second skin. He approached her not as a man victorious, but as a man broken — and he stopped before her, his heart hammering, extending his hand as if the mere act of touching her could undo the devastation he had caused.

"I love you, Victoria," he whispered. "I love you like I have never loved anyone before. And I know I failed you. I know it's too late. But I want to fix everything. Everything."

He caught her hand in his, holding it tightly, as if terrified she might vanish if he let go.

"I'm divorcing Susie. I wasn't there for you when you needed me most. But I'm here now. I want to be a father. I want to be your partner — your husband, if you'll let me. I want to wake up next to you every morning, to hold our daughter in my arms, and... to start a life. With you."

She looked at him.

And then, quite unexpectedly, her face softened. In her eyes, there appeared a flicker of something that looked almost like hope.

And it was then — that Toto leaned in.

He took her face gently between his hands. And he kissed her.

Slowly. Tenderly. With all the love he had carried within him through all those long months — through every moment when he hadn't dared to offer her what she had craved most of all.

She returned his kiss. She gave him everything.

And then — slowly, trembling — she pulled away.

She turned her head, her hand sliding from his with a slowness that spoke of struggle, as though every inch between them was a battle she had to fight.

"No, Toto," she said softly. "It's over."

She looked at him — gently, yet with a painful certainty.

"I am no longer the same woman," she whispered. "And I don't want to build a life upon ruins. I don't want to look at you every day and remember all that I was denied when I needed it most. I don't want to raise our daughter in the shadow of everything that failed between us."

"Victoria, please, I beg you..."

"Don't say anything more," she interrupted him gently. "This isn't the absence of love. It's love that has simply ceased to be enough. Now I must live for her. For our daughter. And for no one else."

She hesitated, a tremor passing through her — but then she placed her hand over his heart. She could feel it beating. She could feel his pain as deeply as her own.

Toto bowed his head and kissed her forehead — with a trembling tenderness, as though it were a final kiss, a goodbye wrapped in every broken hope.

"I will love you always," he whispered. "And I will not forget a single second."

He turned away and walked off.

He did not look back. Because he knew — if he did, he would not have the strength to leave.

Victoria closed the door behind him. She leaned her back against it, pressing herself to the wood as though trying to hold herself together.

And it was only then, when all the strength had drained from her, that she began to cry.

Quietly. Fiercely. With her whole body.

She cried the way one cries for someone who was never truly yours — and yet was everything.

***

A few days after that fateful conversation, Victoria awoke at dawn with a strange sensation low in her abdomen. Cramping — gentle at first, but steady and rhythmic.

She did not panic — there was still time, she told herself — yet something deep within urged her to act quickly, instinct overriding reason.

She packed her bag with trembling hands, slid behind the wheel, and set off toward the nearest hospital.

The road stretched before her, empty and cloaked in the cold hush of early morning, while her mind whirled with anxious thoughts — and with hope.

Somewhere within her, she sensed this was an ending of something old and the beginning of something entirely new.

She simply didn't know yet how right she was.

The truck appeared out of nowhere — surging from the bend at a speed too great, too sudden.

Victoria had no chance to react.

The collision was violent, devastating. Her car spun multiple times before crashing into a ditch, crushed heavily on one side.

An ambulance arrived quickly — someone had heard the impact, the screeching metal tearing through the dawn silence.

At the hospital, the doctors did not waste time with questions.

Emergency cesarean section. Internal bleeding. Fractured ribs. Skull trauma. Critical condition.

But the baby — a little girl — lived. Strong. Unyielding. Just like her mother.

Somewhere in a duty room, a nurse flipping through Victoria's documents paused, her gaze catching on a name listed in the emergency contacts — a name she did not recognize, but which had been there for months, constant and waiting.

Toto Wolff. And a phone number.

***

The phone rang while Toto was sitting alone, swallowed by a silence so heavy it almost had a weight of its own.

When he answered and heard the words "hospital" and "accident," he did not ask for details.

He simply stood up. And drove. 

Upon arriving, he was led without delay to the intensive care unit. The doctor looked at him gravely, her face a mask of composure.

"Your partner... Victoria... has been in a severe accident," she said. "Her condition is extremely critical. We managed to save the baby — a girl — but Victoria is fighting for her life."

Toto said nothing. He could not. He stood there, frozen, as if every part of him — heart, mind, soul — had suddenly ceased to function.

"She's on a ventilator," the doctor continued gently. "She's unconscious. We performed emergency surgery to remove a brain hematoma. Now... everything depends on her."

"And... the baby?" he managed to whisper.

"She's healthy. Stable. A preemie, but remarkably strong. She has a beautiful heart. And an extraordinary will to live. Just like..."

"...her mother," Toto finished for her in a voice so soft it barely existed.

They moved toward the nursery window. Inside, a tiny baby girl slept peacefully in an incubator, wrapped snugly in a pink blanket.

Toto pressed his forehead against the glass, his breath fogging it faintly.

"My..." he breathed. "My daughter."

But even as the words left him, he turned — almost urgently — toward the ICU.

When he stepped into Victoria's room, he stopped, stricken. She lay motionless, her face pale and still. Wires, monitors, the mechanical beep of machines — the relentless, fragile rhythm of a heart still beating, still clinging to life.

Toto sat down beside her, carefully, as though afraid his presence might disturb the delicate balance keeping her here.

"You can't leave me now," he whispered, his voice cracking with the sheer force of grief. "Not after everything. Not now, when I finally understand that I never deserved you... but I need you."

He brought her hand to his lips, holding it between his own trembling fingers.

"She needs you. I need you..."

And then he stayed.

Hours passing like heartbeats, endless and aching.

He stayed, holding her hand, praying into a silence deeper than any he had ever known.

Because now — now he truly understood what it meant to lose everything.

-----------

Next -> Chapter 16: Dark Paradise

-----------

[s0ulphr4se]

Seeing the look on everyone's faces was magical. In a way this was a form of comeuppance against her beloved. Watching Sae's palm slowly fall down her face was something so hilarious she would have laughed if she could. Instead, she knows her family would be a fair conduit. Yukari moves slightly to the left, blocking out any way for the lawyer to escape. She was pinned. Of course, how could Kotone miss that amazing scowl on her face. The wild card makes a mental note to thank Yukari when she can.

Mitsuru moves forward, the smallest grin creeping up on her face as she looks at her swiftly beeping monitor. Kotone can only supplement the amusement the operatives were feeling, weakly waving the hand that once held the other's. She would push to make every second of amazingly worth it. The heiress gives a soft laugh, the stress from earlier melting away.

"Well, it seems we were misled. Instead of calling us verbally, she decided to use Kotone's heart monitor as a beacon," her eyebrow raises, her grin now plain to see. "I see you're trying to mark your territory. I can scarce believe the 'Menace of Niichome' is trying to settle down."

This was new information. With all her strength, she slowly turns her head towards the prosecutor in question. What 'Menace of Niichome' nonsense was happening? Was Sae secretly some yakuza agent? No! She knows someone with ties to them, but certainly not someone FROM the yakuza. Maybe that was why her shadow had a tattoo on her back? She had to ask about that. Maybe she was living an entire double life.

Alas, she is shut out from her thoughts when Yukari opens her mouth. Now this was going to be rich. It's almost as if there's an aura of vindication. In a way, it felt accepting but threatening. Girls like her were truly terrifying...

"That's right, Niijima-san. When we go out every so often we hear about the 'Menace of Niichome'. Soooo many women heartbroken because of a grey-haired woman. You know what the funny part is?"

Oh my god. Was she going to -

"They all had red or reaaaaally light brown hair. Aigis, do we know anyone with that kind of hair?"

"Kotone."

"Exaaaaaaaactly."

Of course, she already knew this! Sae's shadow laid it all bare. Yet, with the others ganging up on her, she can't help but give a soft laugh. She's really been living under a rock for all these years if she wasn't even able to figure out who the rumoured menace was. If they were dogging on Sae, maybe she should join in on the acttion.

"Aigis... what... did... her... shadow say again?" Kotone pipes up, her voice still rough from the lack of use. "Only... summary."

"Well, I do remember how she was saying how she wanted you to be her 'concubine'. Also, she was basically obsessed with you for all these years too. Aaaaalso, her shadow was hitting on you," the android merely shrugs, a fake smile shone straight towards the Niijima.

The reply elicits a gasp from the men, most especially Ken. The look on Ken's face could be described as scandalized. It was that or being traumatised for life. Oops. He'll get over it eventually when he finds a girlfriend or a boyfriend!

"Sae-san! I didn't know you were freaky like that! What the hell!" Junpei hollers from the back, his hands resting on his cheeks just like the cover of Home Alone. Akihiko nods in agreement, but also begins to speak up as he does so. "I guess this is another form of training..? Not sure how it works, but what the hell."

Kotone can only keep smiling, reaching out towards Sae's hand to placate her continuously bruised ego. It's okay. The past has already happened. They had a new tomorrow to make together.

"There... there..." she peeps in her best soothing tone.

Out of Kotone's field of view, Yukari silently mouths to Sae. "They won't find the body if you hurt her again."

In love. Two simple words that she never once thought she would be capable of being; it's a strange feeling, it truly is. From the belief when she was much younger that the matters of the heart simply does not concern her— where others found the solace in a lover, Sae found it in her ambitions. Then came Kotone, who just had to be so damn intriguing to a young Sae Niijima.

She can't help but to steal another kiss. Despite her usually articulate nature, she has no words— only affection she's been denying herself of for all these years. It's like the floodgate that once contained all that finally had its locked eroded, rusted and now comes the outpour of feelings, emotions, and dreams.

❝ Me too. I'm... I love you —❞ Her sentence abruptly cuts off when the sound of the door opening alerts her. Sae jolts, evidently startled and instinctively pulls away, as if a string pulled taut she sits straight, her eyes looking over at the myriad of people pouring in.

Oh... This isn't good. She could feel the heat rise against the apples of her cheeks, every nerve is on fire— she's supposed to be the responsible one and called at the first sign of wakefulness. Yet, she forgot... well, she decided to put it on a backburner until she's gotten her fill of alone time. Using every ounce of willpower she has, she attempts to keep the blush on her cheeks from darkening— but there's only so much she can do when she isn't actively ignoring how she feels and right now, she wants to dig a hole and crawl into it.

A hand drags down her face when Kotone speaks. There's no room for deniability now. Though, maybe that isn't the worst thing. Still, she wishes she had more prepared— wishes she was more put together instead of looking as if she's pulled another all-nighter trying to find classified information relating to Shido and his network. Sae Niijima's seen better days, that's for sure.

All eyes are on her now. Perhaps, she should channel that powerhouse that she is in the courthouse— the one who can speak against scrutiny, against objections, the one who can stand on her own... not the messy, incoherent school girl that Kotone rendered her into.

So, she clears her throat and offers a cordial smile.

❝ Kirijo. The explanation is rather simple— Kotone had just woke up not too long ago and she made a couple requests. I have simply obliged. In fact, I was just about to contact everyone. ❞ She makes a show of looking at the watch on her wrist, as if to set up a precedent for her graceful exit from... this. Work is always an easy cop out, despite the fact that the director's been trying to coax her into taking a leave since November 19th.

But, a part of her doesn't want to leave. Not when there's that sweet serotonin hit of I love yous, and the pure euphoria of hope— perhaps, she'll stay just a while longer despite her legs growing restless and wanting to leave.

❝ Apologies for not calling right away. ❞

[bmpmp3]

post ankle-twisting clarity

[gale-gaze]

[ a familiar face ]

[long-live-evie]

*Evie's eyes sparkled.*

Now that sounds like fun!!

*She slid her phone across the table, open to her contacts.*

We can trade numbers and I'll get those to you as soon as I draw them up! I'm definitely interested in this device of yours; sounds like you're quite the hand with tech!

*The idea of reading her own life in comics drawn my other people who didn't know her sent a chill up Evie's spine. There were things in her past she didn't want anyone else to see, and things she didn't even want to try to remember. Gaps in her memory were often bracketed on either side by things that kept her up at night. For that to be not only written down, but drawn out... for people to read casually? Absolutely not.*

Stars, I can't imagine... It's sweet that you and Don have managed to turn it into something between you two, though.

*He was quiet for a bit, and Evie worried that she'd struck too deep with her muttered words. Until he pulled out a set of pictures, smiled, and laid them out for her to see.

She leaned forward and followed Erik as he pointed through the people pictured. He was easy to find in each photo, but the people around him changed and swapped around. Beautiful, wild people with fantastical powers on display, laughing and smiling and messing with each other and him. Names like Warlock, Magik, and Wolfsbane were mentioned, but Evie didn't know them offhand.

She did, however, note each face and name, filing each one away to do some research later. These people were important to him, so she wanted to learn about them for his sake. A class of superpowered children, brought together under his tutelage at a school built to accommodate them specifically and keep them safe.

Glancing up at Erik, noting how soft his eyes were looking at them, and seeing how happy they all were with him, Evie thought he must have been a fantastic teacher for them. It was obvious he loved them dearly, and it was clearly returned in each of their faces.

The names Strange and Wanda were familiar, though. Both had arrived on the Island just before Evie herself had. Being Syndicate at the time, she had gathered a good bit of information on them then, but she hadn't heard that they were husband and wife. Or that the otherwise known Chaos Witch was Erik's daughter. And he seemed terribly fond of and proud of her.

This was good, he was relaxing and smiling again. It seemed he was coming back up from the low, remembering the people who actually loved him...

... And then the life left his face when he got to Don.

Evie's smile faded as she tried to understand why Erik was suddenly silent. Out of all of the people pictured, Don was closest both in current proximity and to his heart. Why would he stop here?.... Something had happened. Something between them that Erik felt guilty about, judging by what little expression was left in his eyes. Probably the reason he was out here in the first place, since it seemed like a fresh wound.

Evie looked down at her hands, weighing her options. Getting involved in the problems between two lovers was not something she made a habit of. But Erik needed someone to talk to, and the only person he was close with who was actually in speaking distance was the very person the problem involved. And if Erik and Don really were that similar... silence in pain would be the death of them both.

...

She made up her mind. Reaching across the table, she laid her hands right beside Erik's, open to be taken, just as she had with Don what felt like eons ago in the weather station on Helios. She had no idea if Erik was as sensitive to touch as Don. The pictures indicated otherwise, but people could change. Best to allow the option.*

Erik... I know you only just started getting to know me, and you can call me nosy if you want, but... you mean the world to Don. If something happened... I don't want him to lose you. I'd like to be friends, and since nobody else in these pictures is here... if I can help, I want to.

[Seated in a far corner of the mess hall on the Blimp, dressed head to toe in his full Wastelander regalia - helmet and all - Magneto idly stirred a coffee that had clearly gone cold a long time ago.]

[Despite the shadow of his helmet hiding his face, it was clear from the way he was seated that he had been ruminating on troublesome thoughts for quite some time... and he knew it was best to move on to other matters soon.]

( @wxstelandermagneto )

*Evie had slept in after making chocolate late into the night. She'd been making little things like that in the wee hours when the world was quietest lately, it helped settle the residual buzz in her head from the day. But of course, the drawback was that "morning coffee" came after everyone else had already gotten theirs.

Except for today, it would seem. Evie paused on the stairs to check over the newcomer at the tables. He looked a little familiar, but she couldn't quite place him...

Wait... she knew that color scheme, and she definitely knew that helmet. It had been in most of the pictures Don had shown her in the store. This was his love, Erik.

She almost jumped excitedly to say hi, but what registered immediately after his identity was his very clear mood. She didn't reach out with the Force to check without his consent, but she didn't need to, it was written in his posture and what she could see of his face. Not to mention the clearly long since cold coffee in front of him.

Okay, different strategy.

Crossing quickly to the counters, Evie poured two fresh mugs of coffee. Balancing the cream and sugar between them, she approached the table the much larger man had taken, setting the ensemble down on the table and pushing one mug of hot coffee out towards him, but not taking a seat yet.*

Cold coffee's no help for anything.

*She smiled up at him.*

You're Erik, right? Don talks about you all the time. D'you mind a little company?

[madamechrissy]

Baby You're a Star

Art in the banner by Kerravi on x!

Pairings- Pornstar Satoru x shy f!reader

Summary- You meet Satoru Gojo at a wild Hollywood party, insanely out of place, waiting for your friend to show up. The two of you hit it off, spending time together, and share a kiss, but you're a good girl, and you just don't do this, but he is the top pornstar there is, and the top .01 % on OnlyFans. Once you find out, you know there's probably no match, as Satoru doesn't date, and you don't sleep around, but after meeting, you keep in touch- and soon Satoru can't get hard without thinking of you, and you get over curious, and join a livestream of the boy you like. Just how will that go for you both!? WC this chap- 11.5k (longestt)

Warnings- WOW this chap has it all, heed the warnings - filming porn masturbation ( m) oral (m and f receiving) spit kink HIGH KEY, mentions of cum, multiple rounds, switching positions, size kink, swallowing (M and F) explicit sex, feral Gojo, squirting, mating press, tummy bulges, lots of fucking goddamn- Gojo is whipped mutual pining, obsessive Gojo. Angsty asf in places, lots of jealousy

A/N- Taglist closed- This was so smut filled I took MULTIPLE breaks aha, maybe my most smut filled one ever? don't read in public actually - please comment/rb if you enjoy <3

<<<Chapter Two - Masterlist- Playlist- Chapter Four>>>

Chapter Three

You can’t escape the desire you have, even in your dreams.

Waking up cumming was not just new, it was ridiculous, and you didn’t even know that happened until this morning. Waking up with your cunt throbbing around nothing, and gushing arousal, as your dream was filled with Satoru kissing you, fucking into you with that thick, huge cock, hitting spots deep inside that felt real even in your dreams.

That’s it, sweetheart, cum all around my cock, hmm? Lemme feel her- there you go, baby.

That had done too much to your sleeping brain apparently, because you couldn’t stop cumming either, crying out and whining when you’d touched your cunt and felt the slick coating everything. After shaking violently from it, you’d peeked and seen a good morning text from him, all while you had to go get cleaned up, trying to compose yourself before you texted back.

Jenna calls now, shaking you out of your reverie, and the two of you plan lunch the next day. “You’re having dinner with him?”

“Yeah, but as a… friend?”

“Oh baby, you’re too cute.” You sigh, leaning back as you stir up some dough for cookies you were baking later, the sunlight filtering in through the little kitchen window you have open wide. You peer out into the sky, thinking it’s not as pretty as Satoru’s eyes.

“I do really feel things, but Jenna I can’t not be near him, if it’s as a friend, then it’s as a friend.” Jenna sighs louder than you did. “Are we having a sighing contest?”

“I’ll win any loud moan contest, but your sighs are cuter.”

“Jenna!”

You both laugh then, and a beep sounds on your phones. “Ah, looks like he’s going to stream. Gonna go watch your friend?”

“You’re an instigator. Maybe.” She giggles again, as you finish preheating the oven, scooping the dough onto the parchment paper.

“Be careful, you’re a grown woman, and things change, but don’t forget yourself, okay?” You pause then, emotions catching in your throat at her words. “I’m not trying to be the ‘mom’ I swear.”

“I know, Jenna. I love you, see you soon?” You end the call after she says goodbye, popping the cookies in the oven and turning them on. You set up your laptop, deciding to do some work for the weekend on a project your friend hired you for, but the temptation of seeing Satoru keeps nagging at your mind.

The man certainly has a pretty cock, but you think it’s the way he looks at the camera that fucks you up, it’s probably why he’s so good at it, his job. And he clearly enjoyed it, even though you know he was having a little difficulty with the last shoot, perhaps he prefers solo lately? To think you had anything to do with that was foolish, so you wouldn’t allow the thought.

The timer beeps, you stand up and stretch, turning off the timer and oven then, grabbing a bright red oven mitt and pulling out the sheet pan, smelling delectable, the steam hot and rising, scent filling your nostrils. You loved to bake, especially when you were stressed, and you suppose you were, having feelings for a man currently stroking his cock for the camera was conflicting at best.

You keep trying to tell yourself that it’s not feelings, that you’re inexperienced and confused, but you know you’re lying to yourself. You eye that silver laptop again, remembering the last time, the image of him sucking his own cum off his fingers is burned deep, a core memory at this fucking point. You shake it off, then sigh, giving into temptation.

You’d just tip him a hundred again to be supportive, you tip Jenna all the time, it’s fine, it’s something a friend can do.

Right?

You log in to the onlyfans platform, the black and blue OF making you just a bit nervous, clicking on the stream then, taking several breaths as you click on it. Fully prepared to be soaking wet, the sight that greets you is not Satoru stroking his cock, it’s another woman, her thighs spread, while Satoru runs circles on her clit. She’s propped on his lap, her head against his bare collarbones, moaning.

Your heart shatters then, and it shouldn’t, no you’re so stupid!

You are Satoru’s friend, and it was your choice to check his stream, to tip and be supportive but ultimately you know what you potentially signed up for. You saw him with Jenna, and for whatever reason that had not bothered you- maybe because it was before he touched you, looked at you like that.

The girl in front of him has two of his fingers shoved deep as he has her feet propped up on his thighs while you blink away stupid tears that shouldn’t exist, there’s no anger but there’s so much jealousy you shock yourself. You’re a girl’s girl, you’re supportive, what is this!? You’d like to rip her right off his lap, and you hate yourself for it right now.

You shake it off, looking away as the cookies fill your home with the sweet scent of sugar and chocolate. It should be a cheery morning, but you can’t even focus on anything but the conflict in your heart. You stare back again, hearing Satoru’s soft, husky voice, watching all the comments in the chat while he grips one of her breasts in his big hand.

Her head falls forward, and the way you vividly imagine it being you instead has you heating up, in more ways than excitement, embarrassment - you’d never be that girl for him, you wish you could be that way. But Satoru and you together felt too special, especially to share, how could you fall when this was your idea!?

You can’t be upset.

You take a breath, shutting your eyes and looking away as his voice resonates through the laptop’s speakers, echoicing in the quiet. If you were crazy enough you’d say it sounded different than with you, that he let go more, that you were even wetter when he touched you, but you’re starting to think you’re delusional.

“So, we wanna hit this spot right here, for any men watching, you’re gonna curl up here, that spot feels good, doesn’t it honey?” Your jaw sets, swiping tears from under your glasses now.

“Ah, y-yes Gojo!” Her moan echoes too much, he pauses then, the squelching of her cunt stops, it’s all quiet as he just stares at the camera like he’s staring at you, his lips parted, eyes widening just a bit, but there’s no way.

You’ve lost it.

You tip him the hundred as you’d intended to, quickly shutting your laptop and damn near hyperventilating. What’s wrong with you!? His job is to fuck women, so you saw him touching one, what do you expect? The man had a gang bang scene just yesterday, and dinner with you tonight. You have to shove it all down then, you have to remember what he does.

It didn’t mean it wasn’t special though, for you.

Did he do things off camera with-

Stop it!

The phone rings a few minutes later and you just stare at it, lost in your own head, wishing you could compartmentalize it so much better, that you could separate the two. You were so stupid for engaging and knowing, but at the same time, to not have Satoru seems like something you can’t compute, even if it is just as a friend, even if you can’t be sexual.

Maybe you read it all wrong, that night.

Satoru calls again, shaking out his hand as his co star is now fucking herself quite expertly on a dildo, since Satoru can’t get hard for anything - it’s worse today than yesterday - he decided to turn it into a guided masturbation video. At least his fucking fingers still work, despite jerking off to you so much his cock is raw, remembering your lips surrounding it.

Even fingering her he’s picturing your pussy, fuck he wants to just bury his face in it again, he knows the two of you are ‘friends’ or whatever the fuck this was, but it’s exceedingly difficult when it’s affecting him like this. He keeps wondering if you all sleep together, will it make it worse or better? Was he all in his head, as if you would go for someone like him if he did date.

What was he thinking lately?

He saw your name in the stream and his stomach had dropped - and why, you’re just a friend, it was fine if you wanted to see a bit of a stream and tip, he knows it is to be supportive. You’re supportive and sweet, so sweet, god your taste and scent still haunt him, he’s been dying to see you tonight, in any capacity, but when he saw the name he felt awful.

He only wants to fuck you, touch you, but he has a career and commitments, to get her to agree to this instead of fucking was already difficult and he was slowly losing it as his cock kept refusing to work. Even if he could get it up, he didn’t like the idea of fucking someone else at all, after the debacle of a gang bang yesterday. But even touching someone was doing nothing for him.

Now he saw you leave so quickly, and decided to gently smack his co star’s ass, smiling as he bent her over, murmuring he needs a break. She eagerly took over the spotlight, the opportunity was a huge one for her anyway as a smaller star. Satoru keeps staring at your picture, sighing as he notices the little reflections in your glasses, touching the screen softly.

You saw him touching someone, did you care, did it bother you-

Why is he thinking like this!?

He calls again, and you answer, much to his relief, as his hands let go of the bathroom counter he’d gripped too tightly. “Hey Satoru, sorry I popped in, I thought it was um… you…”

“Jerking off?” He finishes the sentence, leaning back against his wall and shutting his eyes.

“Yeah, I didn’t know you did um… shoots at home. You should get back to it, why are you calling me, silly? Looks like um… you were, ah… doing… good.” You’re breaking out every voice, cursing yourself quietly, why can’t you just speak? You’re shoving it all down, trying not to cry - there’s no reason to!

“Ah, yeah I thought I’d try to teach people how to make women cum, they fail often you know.” He tries to make it light, as his stomach clenches, a sick feeling when he hears your forced laugh.

“That’s very true. Someone should give you a Nobel prize for this work.” He snorts then, as the laughter becomes a little more genuine. “No you’re amazing at that. Why not show them how?”

“You thought I was amazing, hmm?” His tone changes, cock throbbing when he just hears your sigh, picturing you vividly in his mind, while the sounds of his co-star echo, moans and squelching wetness that does nothing for him.

Didn’t he used to enjoy all of this?

“You know I thought that.” Your heart pounds, you have to remember, Satoru is amazing and just because you’re hurt, you can’t be mad or upset at him. He’s not yours in any way, even if you’re starting to wish he was. “Isn’t your co-star waiting?”

“She’s occupying herself fine. It’s not… sex…” Because I can’t get hard unless it’s you. “It’s just a tutorial.”

“Oh,” your relief shouldn’t exist, you shouldn’t care, but to hear that does make you slump over just a bit, before taking a breath. “Do you want to do dinner another day, it’s already four-”

“No, no!” Satoru panics then, since when does smooth pornstar Satoru freak the fuck out and act desperate? “I mean, no. I want to see you tonight. I have time to shower and get there.”

He wants to wash any of this girl off, frantically actually, he wants you all over him, even if it’s just him pleasing you more. But moreso, even if you just wanted to have dinner and that was it, he’d be happy, though the thought of fucking you with his fingers while you eat dessert is insanely tempting, making his tip drool precum quite annoyingly as he glares in the mirror.

“Okay good, I was looking forward to it.” Your whisper is soft and genuine, as he sees the red on his cheeks, the black pupils, just thinking of you shifts his entire face.

Fuck.

“I’ll start getting ready, I think it’s time you see I can get dressed up.” You tease softly, swiping stupid tears and trying to plaster a bright smile on your face as you stare in your mirror. Your eyes are puffy, the color drained from your face, lips trembling - just seeing that has affected your entire face, taking off your glasses so you don’t even have to look at yourself for a moment.

“I bet you’re gonna kill me, you look so pretty any time I see you,” his voice is hoarse, as he spills the vulnerable truth, and the two of you shut your eyes, leaning against your bathroom counters. “But I’m excited to see you dolled up.”

“Are you, Satoru?” You try to hide the insecurities haunting you, hearing his sexy, heavy sigh on the other line.

“Very excited. I’ll see you soon, sweets.”

The two of you hang up and you sigh, eyeing the clock now - you have about two hours to get ready, and you’re so nervous your palms are sweaty and numb. It may just be two ‘friends’ having dinner, but you want to shove that image back you just saw, and focus, and try to look beautiful tonight.

Satoru’s own hands are numb, as he curses, slamming a hand on his forehead, unable to think of anything but you, barely able to pull himself together. When he walks out, Suguru is there, nibbling in the kitchen, raising a brow at him. “You good, Satoru?”

“Fine, I… you wanna finish that for me?” He gestures to the room, while Suguru sips down water. “I think I have a kind of date or something.”

“A date!? Huh?” Satoru just looks away, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I don’t think it’s a date, it’s friends or something? Maybe... I don’t know. Is dinner a date if it's not with a costar?” Suguru rolls his violet eyes, sighing as he washes his hands now, patting them dry with a paper towel.

“You’re acting weird as fuck lately, that cute little good girl got you simping?” Satoru scoffs, rolling his blue eyes now.

“Suguru, just do me a solid.” Satoru pouts, earning Suguru’s scoff.

“Fine, fine, but you owe me one.” Suguru and Satoru enter the room, as Satoru eases the transition, the notes in the chat are going insane, he can’t help but exhale in relief, before pausing at the thought.

Was there some way to save his malfunctioning dick?

*****

Satoru whistles when he meets you at the restaurant that evening, running just a little late, you're sitting there nibbling on your thumb, peering at the menu when he arrives. Your eyes light up behind a different pair of glasses, these have cute red rims, matching the red dress you're wearing that's making him ache.

He hasn't seen you in something like this, not that you weren't always pretty, but when you stand up and he sees how it fits your body it almost takes him everything to hold back. Vividly picturing bending you right over that table and fucking you in front of the entire restaurant, gripping the red shimmery fabric that drapes across every line and curve of that body.

He can't form a word, notoriously known for never shutting up, but he can't think of anything to say, when you shyly look down, hands fidgeting in front of your lap, and he’s standing there sputtering. It’s awkward even, until the waitress comes up and smiles over at Satoru, gesturing to a seat, saying - ‘This must be the friend you were waiting for!’

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting, you look beautiful.” He says finally, pressing a kiss to your cheek, feeling it heat up against his lips. You shake your head with a sweet turn of your lips, kissing his cheek in turn.

“You’re fine, Satoru, I still haven’t learned LA time.” He chuckles at that just a bit, sitting across from you now, before deciding to sit next to you instead, shoulders brushing together.

“This feels more comfy? It feels all formal the other way.”

“Does it feel too… date like?” He falters then, because that was not it, but the doubt has crept in on your face, when the waitress asks you all for your order, and he has to blink back the confusion. “What do you suggest?”

“Want me to order for you?” You nod shyly, god the submissive nature of you makes him ache in way too many ways, knowing how perfect of a girl you’d be for him in every aspect. “We’ll have this,” he says, pointing to the menu now. “And bring two glasses of champagne please.”

“Are we celebrating?” You tease, handing the waitress the menu, Satoru chuckles a bit, shaking his head while you take in how handsome he looks, brushing your fingers against his suit jacket. “You look so good, Satoru.”

“Thank you, sweets.” He holds your hand then, fuck it feels too good, pressing it against the dark red suit jacket that truly only he could pull off, black button down shirt left open, showing enough of his chest to make anyone die over. Your eyes look at it now, a few of the chains he wears resting along the strong muscles, settling between his collarbones. “You’re making me look bad, wearing in that dress.”’

“No way!”

“Absolutely, you are. You’re so pretty, fuck…” He’s brushing back a tendril, as you eye him, that look that drives him insane, the look that’s ruined him since he met you. He tries to smirk, to act calm, teasing, “I look that good?”

“Yes, shit. Sorry.” He laughs softly, shaking his head when you pull your hand back gently.

“We match, great minds you know.”

“Indeed, we clearly coordinated telepathically!” He laughs then, and it's just like that first night, when you and him just hit it the fuck off. It’s comfortable, it’s fun - so fun - that people smile at the two of you, as you laugh like friends for years. It’s how it feels, like you’ve known him, a way you can’t explain.

But you wished it was just the friendliness, not the heat in your tummy when he wipes a droplet of clear, bubbly champagne from his plump lips, if every time his thigh brushed yours you didn’t melt. Someone comes up then, a really pretty girl, and you feel Satoru stiffen a bit, making you tense, sipping on the tart champagne and averting your eyes a bit.

“Gojo, it's been what, a year?!” He smiles with ease, standing and kissing her cheek, hugging her tightly.

“It has been, shit, how you been?” It’s all very Hollywood, their exchange, you feel you’ll never figure it out, the two years you’ve been here after relocating and you still couldn’t get being kissy on everyone.

It makes you think of him earlier, his fingers in that-

Stop that!

He’s saying your name you errantly realize, you plaster on a smile as she looks at you curiously, eyeing you up and down. “Co-star?”

“No, no, she’s my friend. She’s a good girl.” He winks down at you, and she giggles then, holding her hand out.

“It’s awesome to meet you!”

“You too. Are you um…”

“A former co-star, yeah. Satoru is the best in the industry.” Ah, so she fucked him, too. You want to be petty and scowl and you hate yourself for it more.

You never, ever are like this.

You never have been.

She’s touching his shoulder and making you sick, when your eyes catch a familiar face, a man standing with a group of other men, smiling over at you, he’s one of your co-workers that is always working. You wave at him while Satoru finishes his conversation, and he adjusts his tan jacket, touching the arm of one of the men, letting them go as he walks to you.

You tense just a bit, while the girl finally leaves, and Satoru’s sitting next to you once more, as his phone rings. He turns it off, jaw tensing when a blond man takes your hand and bends down at the waist, like some old school gentleman, pressing a kiss to the back of your delicate wrist, the pretty bracelet slides down your arm as he does it, and he watches your blush.

The fuck.

He was trying his best to get that girl to go on, so he could get back to talking to you, but now some random guy has your attention, and Satoru doesn’t like it, not one fucking bit. “Nanami, this is Satoru.”

“Nanami, huh?” He leans back, flipping off his phone again, you look at him curiously.

“Need to grab that?” You ask, and he shakes his head, swiping it off once more, ignoring his manager while this Nanami guy eyes you behind green glasses.

“You look stunning, is that alright to say?” You giggle again, Satoru glares at you, how dare you giggle at him!?

He told you that you looked beautiful. Did you giggle?

He wants to punch this smirking man in the face.

What’s wrong with him!?

“Thank you, Nanami, I guess you don’t see me too dressed up at work, huh? You always dress so well.”

“Oh stop, you’re flattering me. And this is your…” He trails off, looking at Gojo, who has to wipe the glare off his face for a moment.

Say it, Satoru.

More than a friend.

You look at him then, as if you’re waiting for him to say that, to say something, while Nanami’s lips quirk up just a bit, making Satoru want to smack him again. He takes a breath, smiling then instead of glaring, but his hand is on the small of your back. “We’ve become close friends, very quickly.”

“Oh? I’ve known her for a long time,” Nanami says, rubbing the back of his neck and looking away. You look at Satoru, whose phone starts ringing again, and he curses, rolling his blue eyes. “Need to take that?”

“It’s my manager, they have horrible timing. I’ll be right back.” He murmurs, you smile understandingly, while his manager trips on him about earlier.

He knows his dick doesn’t work, and now he knows he hates touching anyone, but he doesn’t know how to explain it to anyone when he has no fucking clue why this is happening. He’s obsessed with a sweet, shy little thing that is currently getting hit on by a dude buffer than him.

Maybe he’d be good for you.

Satoru is too petty to admit it though, glaring instead while his manager goes on and on. “Listen, I get it, you need content.”

“We need you with women, a lot of your viewers are men, they’re not gonna tune in to watch you solo. Find someone that works for you, I don’t care who at this point, but we’re just not gonna make profit if you keep turning down roles. Or, I heard, you shoved a girl off on Geto.”

“I didn’t… shove her off, I just…” Satoru frowns again, the blond man is sitting next to you in the other seat, your eyes are on Satoru however they turn away when he catches your gaze.

He just wants to fuck you right in front of that fucking man now. God, if you would be interested in starring in something, you’d make bank, it’s not just his obsession, your pussy is the prettiest one he’s seen. Your tits, your body, they’re all so sexy, and your pretty face with those glasses? You’d kill any sexy nerd shoot there was.

“Satoru!”

Shit.

He can’t get the vision of you in some slutty ass librarian outfit from running through his head.

“Yeah, I got it. I’ll try to get something going, I mean I was gonna do a solo tonight anyway.”

“That’s fine, but remember you’re a lot more than just Onlyfans. You’re a star, Satoru, that comes with a certain level of appearances. So whatever is going on, you gotta get it together, or we’re both not making shit.” He sighs, leaning back against the wall now, eyes going back to you, giggling at something he’s said.

He’s too close to you.

Why does he mind so much?

“I’ll get a shoot done.” The words feel horrible, the thought of fucking anyone else just seems like an impossibility, and he doesn’t know how to compute it in his mind.

What did you do?

“Alright, I expect some video with a woman - not with Suguru. Though…”

“I’m not fucking Suguru.” He chuckles as people look at him a bit, running a hand through his white locks. “He is pretty but not my type.”

“He’s gonna be your type if you turn down every other actress.”

“Ugh.”

“Mmhmm, talk to you later.” He hangs up, frowning at his phone, trying to gather himself before he does something so stupid, jealousy filling him and for what?

You’re talking. You’re not his. He had his fingers buried in a girl this morning, why does he care if you did anything? He knows you’re not that girl, though, but you choose to be with him. It makes him feel far, far more special than he’d admit, the fact that you want him, that you trust him. Was he mistaking the look in your eyes, was it just desire there?

“If you are single, would you mind a date sometime? I haven’t had so much fun talking in a long time.” Nanami says softly, making you look down shyly, lashes casting shadows on your cheeks from the soft lights hanging above you in the dimly lit, pretty restaurant. “Am I too bold?”

“No, no. I just haven’t been on a date in forever.” Satoru feels like he’s been punched in the chest as he hears, nearing the table and acting like he didn’t wanna yank you to him and kiss you then and there.

But he chose to tell him you’re friends, that’s what you were, a friend he wants to fuck all night in every position imaginable. Then lick his own cum out of your cunt, abused from his cock, and fuck you all morning. God he can’t stop thinking about them all, have you dragged on his face, his hands on your waist, let you ride his mouth till he couldn’t breathe.

Real fucking friendly.

Satoru’s hands grip and release while he hears your answer, “I will think about it, Mr. Nanami, it may be fun.”

That’s almost a yes.

Fuck.

“Think about what?” He asks with a smile, leaned back in the booth, a hand brushing your bare thigh under the table, where your dress had slid up from you sitting, he feels it tense while he drags his fingertips across it, eyeing you then.

Was Satoru trying to confuse you more? You look at him again, some toxic part of you that you don’t recognize wants him to claim you, what the fuck was that!? You have never been that way, you’ve never been a lot of things until you met this blue-eyed man, however, and even with a handsome Nanami flirting, you can’t get Satoru’s moans out of your mind.

Snap out of it!

“A date with your lovely friend. You two are just friends?” He looks between the two of you now, and Satoru opens his mouth, but what can he say?

It’s what you ‘are’.

Would he be worthy of dating you if he wanted to, when his job was fucking other women? You didn’t deserve that, you deserved to be the only one, fuck you literally had become his one singular, consuming thought. He smiles good naturedly, eyeing you now, watching you bite your lower lip, teeth digging into the plush of it, while your thighs tremble just a bit.

“We just met at a party a few weeks ago, but we are really close. Quickly.” He murmurs.

“Can’t see you partying.” Nanami’s hand comes to touch your other thigh, and for a girl who hasn’t had any in forever, the sensation of two big hands on your thighs is addling your mind. “No offense, darling you seem a little straight laced…” his words are trailed off with his hand squeezing gently.

Satoru scowls at him.

Is he touching you!?

Do you like it?

“I don’t party, it’s true.” You smile now, a hand over his, thumbs brushing his knuckles, while Satoru’s squeezing so hard you wince before he realizes it, letting go of his grip, but the hand staying on your knee. “I think we could go on a date sometime, as long as it doesn’t make work weird.”

“Not at all, all right I’ll leave you two to hang out then,” he stands, holding out a hand for Satoru, he squeezes the shit out of Nanami’s hand with a forced smile, only for Nanami to squeeze tighter. And fuck he’s strong. Then, he takes your hand, murmuring a - “I’ll see you at work, then,” and kissing the back of your hand. “Darling.”

Darling.

Satoru will show him darling.

You giggle, only pissing him off more, nodding shyly, fuck you’re cute even when you’ve made him furious. He’s shared women so many times he can’t count, even girls he got closer to, regular girls that you could almost say he ‘dated’ he’d still regularly bang out with his friends. He’s not possessive in general, he’s open minded and a free spirit.

Or he was!?

“Sounds good, Mr. Nanami.” He hates how you say his name, when the man in the khaki suit and dumbass cheetah tie leaves, finally. “He’s so sweet.”

“Yeah, so sweet.” You look at him then, narrowing your eyes curiously.

“You don’t like him?”

“I don’t know him. Seems boring, pretentious.” You blink in confusion, eyeing the retreating figure walking out, he even waves at you, which you return.

“He doesn’t seem like either to me. Satoru, you said we are just friends, are you worried that we won’t… do all that we do if I date someone?” Your words drop to a quiet murmur, and he sighs.

“Yes I would be very upset if I didn’t get to taste you again, why wouldn’t I be? It’d be a fuckin’ tragedy, sweetheart.” His words are too husky, when he leans against you, turning just so, his fingers slipping up your inner thigh, a side of sweet, nice Satoru you hadn’t seen yet, you almost think he looks…

He can’t be jealous.

Right?

You're delusional.

“I don’t just sleep around, so if we went on a date I wouldn’t do that. But, if I hit it off, and got serious, I wouldn’t continue our… lessons. I can only be with one person at one time.” He tenses then, is he going to lose you before he even gets you? “I don’t care if you do the same, I know it’s your job, but I couldn’t.”

“I’m not fucking anyone right now. My manager is bitching at me about it.” You tilt your head curiously, the chandelier earrings dancing in glittering prisms along your neck as you study him. “I’m having issues on set.”

“Is everything okay?” You ask, concern in your voice now, as he shakes his head. “Satoru, what's wrong?”

“I’m not in a good headspace it seems, the gang bang I failed, and I pushed the girl this morning on Suguru. So if I don’t give my manager something, they’re gonna be pissed. And no money for us if I can’t show up.”

“What’s wrong though, you seemed fine with Jenna in what I watched? Is this a new problem?” God you’re clueless to your effects, aren’t you? You touch his thigh too, instantly making his cock hard, looking down and getting flustered, he feels your heat, just making him harder. “You seem to work fine to me. Are the cameras getting too stressful?”

“I don’t know, but it really is a problem. Do you think… you could help your very handsome, amazing friend out?” You look up at him, curious.

“Help how?”

“Your good video skills, film a hot jerk off stream, good angles? Maybe that will get enough money he’ll chill some until I get over this.” You look away, the images of Satoru stroking his cock are burned in your brain. “Too much?”

“No, no. I can help, I feel I am taking up your time-”

“You’re not.” He cups your face then, turning it to him. “You’re never taking up my time, I enjoy being here. Okay?” You exhale, fuck had you been worried about that!?

How could you not know how badly he craves your presence?

“I feel bad that you’re going through this, is it the lesson?”

“The lesson did bring your taste into my mouth, and maybe no one tastes as sweet, it’s true,” his thumb brushes across your jaw line, smiling at how embarrassed you get then. “I think your taste would help me out.”

“Then, I’ll film you, but I can’t guarantee the quality.”

“It’ll be impeccable.” He raises two fingers, making your mind go to places it shouldn’t, you know another ‘lesson’ or session, or any time at all with Satoru was dangerous.

You’re teetering on the edge of feelings constantly, but you can do this, right, separate the two? He seems so good at it, at being your friend and then doing more, and you almost failed completely. You almost couldn’t say yes to Nanami because you are currently so delusional you think this star is so interested in you for more.

You have to accept him for who he is, no matter what, this was your choice to join his life at all. You take a breath now, trying to flip that switch off, the one that can’t stop thinking how much you’d love to kiss him, every minute of every day. The side that’s upset his fingers were inside someone, you have to throw her aside, and enjoy what’s here while it’s here.

He makes you question so much constantly, like every minute spent under that cerulean gaze brings out a side of you that you never knew of, some inner sexual side that only he can ignite. It’s so beautiful and special, his breath against your lips, you want to press them to yours, but so unsure, was he not about to be affectionate in public with you?

Was this just left for home?

He changes your thoughts when he kisses your forehead, far too sweet, then your cheeks, hot to the touch, down to your nose, making you giggle, relax. “You never ever waste any time.”

“I needed that.” You exhale, kissing his lips quickly as he smiles against your lips, and you pull back quickly. “I’d love to help you out.”

“I’ll make it worth your while, pretty.” His thumb brushes the slick on your upper thigh, right by your panties, watching your lashes flutter shut, as you take a shaky breath. “Come back to my place?”

“For the night or…”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure-”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Satoru’s paying the bill, signing a signature and leaving a hefty tip, then, holding out a hand for you.

“Did you drive here?” You shake your head, and he smiles, snatching up his phone now. “Perfect, I’ll have my driver take us over.”

*****

The second time coming to Satoru’s home was a little different, you were more comfortable, slipping off your heels now, he bends down to help you again, kissing your knees as he does, hands slipping up your thighs. Your hand brushes a lock of his white hair back, the unreal way you feel this comfortable, this drawn to him, makes your heart ache.

You’re so scared you’ll get hurt more, but you can’t stop yourself from being near him, from him looking at you like you’re the only fucking girl there is, are you so delusional?

Just enjoy it.

You close your eyes, sighing as he stands, kissing your lips again, easing your hand bag off your shoulder, brushing his thumbs across the mark it’s left on your shoulder. “Want another drink?”

“Yes please, if I’m going to be a porn director.” He laughs softly, shaking his head and taking off his suit jacket, laying it across the back of a chair when he pulls out the same bottle you’d sipped last time.

“You liked this one, hmm?” You nod, surprised he’d remember, taking the sweet liquid in the crystal glass, fingers brushing now. “Don’t get drunk though, I can’t have a shaky ass camera.”

“So demanding already, you really gonna make it worth my while you say?” You’re trying to tease back, like you can breathe or function in his presence, he just sighs, brushing back your hair behind your ear.

“That and more, sweetheart. We have hardly started doing things together, there is so much I can think of,” his hands slip lower, down the side of your neck, watching the goosebumps raise as he does, sighing at how perfect you look in his kitchen. “So many positions.”

“How many are there!?” He laughs now, at your embarrassed little look, pressing a boop to your nose.

“You’re endlessly adorable. Corruptible.”

“Oh!” He’s taking his own glass now, guiding you by your hand.

“Suguru’s out for the night, so we won’t get interrupted.” He’s leading you to his room, yanking off that black top, pausing as he sets up the ring light and grabs the camera, handing it to you, fingers brushing against each other. “You ready?”

“Ready,” your squeak of an answer makes him pause, taking your free hand, putting it on his bare chest as your heart hammers, trailing the hand lower to his belt and swallowing. “Need help?”

“Yes, I do.”

He needs you.

He’s desperate for you, fuck.

You’ve helped him undress, on your knees on the soft, plush carpet, when you start the stream, and he starts stroking that long, thick length right in front of you, he keeps looking at you, even when you gesture to the camera. He’s moaning, spitting on his tip, making it slicker for his big hand which still can’t come close to covering it, twisting and moving it all for you.

For his fans.

It’s hard to remember them when your cunt throbs, when you’re so overheated you can hardly stand it, and Satoru’s talking, low and hoarse. “Gonna cum so much, fuck…”

When he’s cumming you damn near do just looking, thighs pressing together for that friction, mouth fucking dry when your shaky legs nearly give out, while you come from a lower angle, reading the comments of his spurting cum, shooting up against his silvery happy trail, sticking all over, making you ache to drink it up.

“Fuck, I’ve made a mess, need someone to clean me all up.” Satoru whispers, while you barely are able to hold up the camera any longer, the livestream is avid with questions, namely - who is filming Satoru Gojo? And offers from many viewers to lick every bit of him up.

Satoru should stare at the camera, but he’s looking up into your eyes instead, stroking his cum soaked length slowly, just pumping more cum out of his tip, so much it’s ridiculous, dripped down to his balls and inner thighs. You swallow nervously, tummy clenched with desire, knowing you needed to stay quiet for the stream of curious viewers.

Satoru murmurs cut then, and  you do just that, shutting off the feed, and setting down the phone with a shaky hand, clearing your throat. “They loved it I think.”

“C’mere.” He crooks two fingers, and you eagerly obey, walking up to him now, tempting him to no end with the way your eyes drink him in. “On your knees, sweetheart.”

You obey again, eagerly in fact, looking up at him under lowered lashes as his clean hand slips up the side of your pretty neck, then around to the nape of it, entangling in your locks. Your soft whine and shift of your hips are all he needs to know you’re enjoying it, your hands obediently on your thighs, as if waiting for his every order, so sexy he feels his cock twitch back to life.

“Do you want to clean me up?” He asks softly, but the command in his tone is there, you nod and he exhales, tugging you towards him then. “Then do a really good job, sweets. Lick every bit clean like a good girl, and I’ll reward you.”

“I’ll do a good job.” Your whisper wrecks him, as he guides your head down, and you suck him, still hard, into your hot, eager mouth. Your soft whine vibrates around him, his head falling back as your mouth moves.

He can’t help but think of earlier.

A date, you were gonna go on a date, and he hates the idea, no, he fucking detests the idea in fact, the rage alone making him fuck your throat deeper, harder, feeling you gag and choke on him instead of anyone else. He shouldn’t feel possessive over his friend, a friend who’s sucking his cum, who’s swallowing him up, all he can think is his, his, his.

But you weren’t his.

How could you ever be?

Satoru’s never felt anything better than your throat, except he’s a million percent sure your cunt is better, he knows it would suck him up so greedy. When tears fall from your pretty eyes, it’s hotter than any blow job he’s had on set, the eagerness and desperate need to please far surpasses experience, your glasses fogging up when you pull back to take a breath then.

Satoru looks at his slick, spit covered cock, to thin trails of saliva disintegrating between your lips as you pull back, swiping at your lower lip. “How did I do?”

“Perfect.” His whisper is genuine, the words feel too good, you know you should stop, that you already wish he was yours, but you’re too addicted to how those blue eyes make you feel like you’re the only girl there is.

Even if it’s an illusion, a trick of your brain, or a practiced look.

The feeling is too euphoric not to be corrupted by it.

“You did such a good job, look at it, not any cum left. You sucked it all down, so greedy huh?” His hand comes under your chin, squeezing your neck gently yet so possessive, he wants to say it - his - but he knows he can’t. But it’s too easy to teeter off the edge, when your breaths come faster, breasts pressed up in that dress, rising and falling with each one.

“Satoru… I can keep going.” Your soft voice nearly ends him, little hand stroking his cock again.

“I was thinking of something, but if you don’t want to, it's okay.” You blink a bit then, tilting your head, tendrils falling against your bare shoulders.

“What is it?”

“A scene with me, but not showing your face at all,” your gasp and pull back makes him sigh. “It’d be like me eating your pussy, we could have it zoomed so no one sees your face.”

The thought, along with Satoru's sweet cum down your throat makes your tummy clench, while he brings out more and more of you that you didn't know existed. Your hands tense on his thighs now, taking a shaky breath, fingers along the downy hair on his thighs. “I don’t… Satoru you have a million options for costars-”

“I want yours. It’s the prettiest I’ve ever fucking seen.”

“Satoru…”

“It is. Wanna argue about my expertise here?” You just get more flustered and flushed, looking down nervously, but he tilts your chin with his big hand, angling your gaze upward. “I’ll split all the pay, you get eaten out, and anonymously. I’d never tell anyone, I’d never risk your career or anything. But I do need to do one, and I hate the thought of it not…” Satoru trails off now, the words sinking in.

“You like eating me out that much?” Your whisper makes him chuckle then, nodding and swallowing nervously.

“That pussy is perfect. How about we film it, and you watch it, and if you don’t want to, I just keep it to jerk off to…” Shit, he said that.

He’s so desperate and pathetic.

But you flush again, surprising him with your nod.

“Shit really!?”

“We can film it for us to watch, and… I doubt I’ll be okay sharing it, but we can see if you- ah!” Satoru’s got you lifted so fast you barely can blink, unzipped and turned in moments, leaving you in the prettiest red lace lingerie that makes him groan, his fingertips trembling on your skin. “I said probably not, don’t get excited.”

“I’m excited to bury my face between your thighs again, sweetheart.” You cry out when he’s pressed you on the bed, spreading your thighs and groaning, fingers tugging at your panties.

“How can you make sure my face isn’t there?” You ask softly, he grabs the camera and the stand then, cock just swinging around, balls smacking his thighs, so used to being naked he doesn’t realize his effects. You can’t stop staring when he gets it at the perfect angle, clicking his tongue.

“Just like that,” he murmurs, viewfinder showing your pretty cunt up close, he’s almost furious to think anyone could see it like him, but his career is teetering on the brink of nothing, and if you truly were okay with it, he only sees it as a win.

You broke his dick and now he’s begging to just lick you, and split pay with you, he never thought he’d be so pathetic, but it’s no wonder, thumbing your pussy and spreading it, sighing. “Mnh!”

“So, to keep it anonymous if you decide to show this, don’t speak too personally, okay sweets?” You nod shyly, gasping as he shoves your thighs up. “Also, hold them up high, so all we’re getting is a view of your pussy.”

“Yes, sir.” You tease, but his cock starts leaking again, earning his moan.

“Don’t speak too much, to be safe, I don’t ever want you to feel like anyone would know it’s you. Speak when we’re done, though, you can absolutely moan.” You nod, so nervous, what are you doing!?

It’s as if Satoru Gojo brings something insane and wild out, because there is a thrill of your pussy on camera suddenly, and knowing he is about to worship you, potentially in front of people has your cunt drooling for him. He hits record then, angling his face so his tongue was in perfect view lapping up the arousal, exhaling now as he shoves your thighs up higher.

Perfect, you’re perfect.

“God, look at this pretty pussy,” he murmurs into the camera, parting your folds so all that syrupy arousal can pool out, he hears your sharp intake of breath, watches your red nails pressing into the plush of your thighs. His cock is already back hard, he has to stroke it and whines out as he laps you up, making you gasp.

He's slurping you then, head tilted just so the camera can see, smacking your clit gently, watching you jerk, pressing your thighs up higher and tilting the camera so it's higher, right over his head, looking at it and the reflection of your perfect cunt while he slips the tip of his tongue up. You're moaning at the sensations, twitching hips bringing your cunt more in his face.

Satoru can't stand it, how good you taste, he wondered if it was an illusion but no, you are the sweetest thing he's ever had. “You're so wet, god, take a look…” he's fingering you now, and you hear it while he watches it, glimmering from the soft ring light glowing on your perfect pussy. Making him so dumb he's just burying his face then, forgetting he's filming.

“Mnh!” You're trying not to call out his name, thighs still so high you can't see his face, to protect you from getting seen, until he adjusts it, spreading your thighs further, leaning up to look down at you under lidded eyes, chin coated in your slick. “Satoru…”

“You okay sweets?” His whisper touches you, his concern for you even during this, making sure you're okay. You nod and he exhales in relief, kissing you for a moment, knowing it's what you need, brushing your hair back, sighing as he looks down at you. “You're doing so good. Can you cum for me, baby?”

You nod again eagerly, and he’s dived back down, fingering you with two curled right in your cunt, hitting that spot that blinds you every time, his moans so filthy, guttural while he watches, angling his wrist and hitting something then, you feel so much pressure you panic, gasping, writhing under him.

“Oh my - ngh! Fuck!” You’re struggling to keep your voice a whisper, palming your mouth while you shatter.

“That’s it, right there, cum for me, lemme drink it up. Let everyone see how much you love my fucking tongue.” Pornstar Satoru was ridiculous to handle, hitting you with his fingers and the tip of his tongue on your clit, when the pressure releases, and your orgasm hits so hard you can’t help but scream, twitching as he pulls back in surprise. “Fuck, you’re squirting f’me?”

You have no clue what he means, you don’t see it as it starts pouring all over, making a mess, wet spot under you even as Satoru grabs you by the fat of your ass, licking up as much as he can. You’re a twitching, soaked little mess, your hands gripping his hair now, screams echoing in the room while he eases off you just a bit now, ready to fuck your slick, messy cunt.

He trembles as he pulls back and does one more shot, pressing a sweet kiss to your pussy before shutting off the camera, and leaning up, kissing you, so desperate, while your slick thighs rub together, and you feel the mess. He pulls up and takes a breath, flipping you then, making you gasp, handing you the camera while he kisses the backs of your shoulders, hands on your ass, spreading it wide.

“Watch it, sweetheart,” he whispers, kissing across your shoulder blades, brushing your hair to one side while you barely have the strength to press play, and that’s when you see it. “Look how perfect you are.”

Your pussy right on camera, and him eyeing it like he’s worshipping it, like you’re his fucking altar and his mouth is that offering. Your cunt starts throbbing while he works you, kissing every inch of your body as you fall more and more into the abyss of sin, of lust, of desire- of Satoru Gojo.

“You love it, don’t you baby?” His words are hot against your ear, while you watch him on the screen licking your cunt, watch your thighs tremble, all while he’s behind you, sinking his two fingers so deep in your quivering hole again. You arch your back, moaning now, it feels so good you can’t stand it, so erotic watching this video you two took, while he’s fucking you with his thick fingers.

“I do, but it’s insane… ah! Satoru…” He sighs now, taking his fingers out, pressing them into your mouth for you to suck, which you quickly obey, eyes fluttering shut, the image of his tongue fucking you reflecting in the darkness.

“Keep it for us, or share? It’s all up to you. I’ll never pressure you either way,” he’s soft then, turning your chin as he lays heavy weight over you, and you eye the phone now, hand shaking just a bit, to close it out or to share, he takes your hand, steadying it. “It’s fine to be how you are, you’re perfect, okay?”

“It’s fine to be how you are, Satoru Gojo. A… question, though.” He sighs, leaning close, while he keeps holding your hand, hovering just so.

“Mmhmm?”

“Would I be your favorite co-star?” Your teasing question makes him laugh at the ridiculous nature.

You’re the only one he can even get hard for.

“You’re the prettiest, yummiest, sweetest co star I could have,” his words are just a little broken, as he almost says more. That he hopes your date sucks with that Nanami guy, that he’s planning to show up at your work tomorrow to glare at that man, that he’s become fucking obsessed, but instead - “How could you think you’re not?”

“And we’re… still friends…” You ache for him to say - no, it’s more - but he nods, against your neck, pressing kisses against it. “Even if we fuck?”

God.

He’s dying.

“You think I wouldn’t be your friend anymore? I’m not the guy to get what he wants and go. I promise.” You nod then, smiling just a bit, and tap the share button then, surprising both of you.

“Holy fuck, I did that…” Your whisper is met with Satoru’s kisses now, as your video plays for all to see, your moans on camera mixing with the ones induced from his play, one arm wrapping your body as his cock presses insistently against your ass, hot and heavy.

“Stop me now, because I can’t think of anything but fucking your pretty pussy raw right now,” his desperate words and dilated eyes just serve to ruin you, when you arch your ass up. “Fuck, you sure?”

“I want you inside me, please,” he eagerly leans back, gripping his cock and lifting your thigh, pressing into your tight ring of muscles, almost cumming from the fucking tip. “Ah!”

“You’re so tight, relax I don’t want to hurt you, please.” Satoru whispers it as he grips your chin.

You nod, as he is slipping a little deeper from the back, the stretch burning so deliciously, you’re convulsing while the viewers are going wild over Satoru’s devoted pussy eating skills with his mysterious, faceless co-star. His silk hair brushes your cheek as he exhales heavy in your ear, whispering your name.

You eye the video, the comments, vision blurry, while he sinks his cock deeper, and he moans as he reads the comments to you, filling your cunt so full of his cock, inch by inch - and there are so many, each thrust deeper while you cling to his wrists, his arms wrapping you. He keeps reading them, even as he shoves in all the way, making you jerk and gasp.

“Perfect pussy, look at Satoru go, god she’s so wet for him, she’s cumming so much - is she squirting? Look at that, you’re a regular star, huh? F-fuck…”

“Mnh!” Your eyes roll back in your fucking skull now, lost in him, lost completely. So deeply unraveled under him you can’t remember what this is, that it’s a friend, that it was a scene, that you’re now the girl who did that, anonymous but to know it’s you on that screen with Satoru devouring you does something, fuck it does too much.

He’s murmuring more comments, and his huge cock is stretching your slick, tight heat beyond its means. “That’s it, you love it, huh? They all want to be in your place, or they want to lick you instead, but it’s me, isn’t it baby?” He shouldn’t be possessive, he tries to tell himself it over and over, but how can he not be, when he’s shoved in so deep, he feels the bulge of your tummy, groaning. “Feel me, sweetheart?”

You can’t speak, just nodding desperately, while the feed goes insane, watching your cunt squirt on Satoru’s face while he’s buried inside you, filling you to the hilt, stretching you out so good you forget to breathe. “Toru!”

He pauses at the nickname, your slurred words and pulsing cunt ending him, he could almost cum then and there and he has amazing stamina, but he has to hold back, wrapping a hand around your throat and leaning up on an elbow while you gush down his cock. Satoru kisses up your neck hungrily, eyeing your pussy on the video and then your face, your eyes almost black with pleasure.

“Only I can hit that spot, hmm?” His tip drags along your spongy spot now, and you’re twitching, nodding, so consumed as he surrounds you, breath against your neck, moans in your ear, hand squeezing your throat just so under your chin. His cock twitches as he shoves deeper, impossibly deeper, while you helplessly grip the blankets beneath you. “Answer me, like a good girl.”

“Y-yes.” Your whisper drives him insane, feral, the way your walls quiver around his cock is exquisite, that grip unreal, but more than anything it feels perfect.

“Made for this cock, aren’t you pretty?” The words fall out before he can stop them, and your eyes rolling back, drool spilling out of your mouth while your cunt is pulsing is his answer. “Perfect, fuck…”

“Mnh!” You can’t take it, his words urging you when he shoves his cock so deep, the tip bruising your cervix, making you scream as his guttural moan fills the room, his hand squeezing just enough pressure to make your orgasm blinding, white hot.

“Cumming all over me, so good, listening f’me, hmm?” You just nod weakly, gasping when he flips you to your back, lifting your thighs and shoving them wide, slapping the tip on your slick cunt and groaning. “Wanna watch me fill you up?”

You nervously nod, swallowing now, and he sees it, you’re overwhelmed, he leans down, kissing you, and you’re desperately clinging to his back, eagerly kissing him despite being damn near slack jawed. You exhale nervously, eyeing him is even more intimate, impossibly more, his plush lips still tasting like your honeyed arousal from earlier.

“If it’s too much, tell me, I want you comfortable.” It’s hard for him to speak, but he does, making sure to reassure you, kissing your forehead before he leans back.

“It’s intense, Satoru but… I want it.” He moans at that, sliding his cock back inside, sucking in a breath when you’re gripping him fucking tighter this time, slipping in slowly, inch by inch. “Ah! Satoru, so d-deep!”

“I am, huh? I can get deeper, baby.” You cry out when he shoves his cock in deep with a sharp thrust, and then pauses, eyeing that bulge in your stomach. “Look.”

“Look at… oh.” You’re heating up at the image, and he’s all about angles, he makes sure your eyes catch every bit of his slow thrusts, filling your tummy full of his enormous cock, too much to take, but your cunt is willing and eager, struggling to take his size.

“Fucking you so deep, see it? Your body is so small compared to my cock, pussy stretched too much, f-fuck… god look at you…” He’s losing it, he was trying to talk sexy to you, which comes naturally, but now he’s just obsessed with the image, thin white brows lowering over his eyes, while he slams inside you, your thighs trembling as they wrap his slutty waist. “Oh my god…”

“Satoru… ah!” He’s done, he’s fucking lost in you, in your eyes when he shoves your thighs up, gripping your face with his huge hands while he’s got you bent in half, slamming so hard you scream. “Too much!”

“I need all of you, fuck… can you take more?” His eyes are so bright blue they burn to look at, but you can’t stop yourself, nodding and cupping his face in return.

“Kiss me please.” He moans at that, slamming his lips down when he rocks his hips, cock filling you so deeply you scream into his mouth, hands slipping to his hair while he’s got his heavy weight over you.

“I can’t control it anymore, baby, if it’s too much just fucking hit me at this point,” he’s nonsensical, leaning up now, hands on the back of your thighs in a mating press, fucking you hard now, powerful strokes that take you the fuck out, cumming in moments with a few strokes, making him whimper.

That’s a sound you know he’s never made.

You may be delusional, but you’re sure you’ve only heard him whimper for you, you’ve never seen that look in his eyes on any video or stream, not when he’s staring right into your fucking soul and slamming his cock deep over and over. You’re barely able to cling to the earth, so much pleasure rushing through your body, you feel every vein and ridge of that huge cock as it fucks into you.

“Perfect, pussy is perfect, fucking knew it but god. God… fucking feel her,” he slams into you again, head falling back, giving you a view of his throat before he eyes you once more, shaking his head and slamming his cock harder. “Can she take it?”

You just nod, you’d take anything, the way it feels to be ruined by Satoru Gojo is far beyond his balls slapping your ass, his cock stretching your cunt, his hands bruising your fucking thighs, no it was more. You want to be filled by him, folded under him, you want every bit of it, losing yourself in him, in his bright blue eyes, in his filthy fucking words, in his cock slamming your cervix.

You were ruined, and you knew it.

You feel too much, far too much, when he’s leaned back, holding your thighs high and watching his cock pull out and enter, slowing and rubbing your abused clit. “F-fuck, cum one more time, I’m close… your cunt is so fucking perfect, shit… c’mon, like a good girl, there you go baby…”

It’s like that goddamn dream.

Word for word.

You cum harder than you have, when he shoves into the hilt, stuffing your slutty little hole, blinded and dizzy, hardly able to breathe, while he watches you shatter under him, so fucking beautiful he can’t take it. Your brows drawn together, that sweat making your skin glisten, your mouth open in the sluttiest O, he can hardly stand what the image does to him.

He knows it then, he’s fucking beyond destroyed, and terrified at that fact, at the power you’re oblivious to over him. He almost busts inside you, something he has never done - he doesn’t even go without condoms - the thoughts of filling your cunt full are far, far too tempting. He stops himself, cursing and holding his slick cock at the base while you’re spasming around him, back arching.

“Where do you want all this cum, sweetheart?” He manages to ask, you’re so fucked out you’re dizzy, blinking Satoru’s white hair and pretty face into view as he pulses inside you, just thickening and making you whimper.

“W-what… where… you want, I… mnh!” You’re still cumming, aftershocks rocking you, making your skin so sensitive when he eases your sore thighs down, parting them and pulling out finally, stroking himself as you catch your breath, watching him spurt thick white ropes all over your cunt. “Oh! Oh…”

“Fuck, fuck… god… oh my…” He’s moaning as he’s desperately jerking his slick cock, so much cum it seems impossible, since he just busted so much, and you watch him, enthralled as the hot sticky sperm is coating your cunt. “God, look at it, fucking look at us baby.”

He’s too much, he’s too much.

You thought him eating you out fucked you up mentally, what is he, his insane ass eyes bright as he trembles, strong muscles bunching and tensing, a work of fucking art pouring his cum on you. You’re stuck, at a loss for words, mouth opening and closing, brain not even functional as you look up at this man, knowing this isn’t just sex, it fucking couldn’t be.

It can’t be like this with someone.

You almost spill every feeling then and there, lost in him, in his desperation when he rests his head on yours, moaning against your lips, tip brushing your engorged clit and making you whine out. “God, your pussy is too perfect, it’s… you’re too perfect, feel too good, look too good…”

“Satoru, are you okay?” You whisper softly, he’s slurring his words, almost hard to understand in their hushed whispers in between his pants.

He can’t even answer, pulling back and looking at your pretty cunt, all abused from his cock and puffy, covered in his white ropes. “Can I have a picture? Please, just for me.”

“Y-you want one?” He laughs softly, breathless, nodding, and you heat up at it, looking down shyly. 

“Only you can be adorable with your pussy beat up and coated in cum, huh?”

“Oh god!” He can’t take it, how cute you are, the affection eating at him, as he takes a deep breath, leaning back. “Just one.”

“Fuck…” He takes the phone, eyeing the amount of comments and tips while your breasts heave, trying to catch your breath, sticky cum dripping across your folds when you shift your hips.

“What is it?” You ask softly, he shows you the number, and your eyes nearly bulge out. “Holy fuck!?”

“This is good even for me, shit. Pussy is made for porn.” You’re blushing harder, biting your lower lip when he angles the camera, taking several photos and exhaling at how pretty it looks. “God, look at you.”

“Are you talking to me or my pussy?” He grins then, so boyish and charming it’s as if he wasn’t just fucking you into a mating press and filming your cunt. “Also I said one!”

“Sorry. I’ll make it up.” He’s kissing your thighs then, lapping some of his own cum off your slit, you gasp at the sensation, his tongue on your sore, overstimulated pussy now. Your hands entangle in his hair as he groans. “Fucking taste us.”

“Satoru you’re in-insane and- mnh! Fuck!” You’re shaking when he laps more off of you, desperately lapping at every inch of your cunt now. “Satoru!”

“Gotta clean my pretty costar up, she’s only my costar you know, only one I’ve ever-” He pauses, stopping himself, when you eye him, breasts still gently moving up and down as you eye him.

“Only one you’ve… ngh! Satoru!”

“Taste us.” He’s lapped more of his cum and yours, murmuring for you to open, which you eagerly do, letting him spit his cum and yours in your throat. “Swallow, there you go, see it’s perfect, huh?”

You’re lost then, in the filthy string of words, when he’s back down cleaning you up with a tongue that’s lethal in its precision, rocking his cock on the bed, hard for the third time with you as he moans desperately against you. He’s latched onto your clit, sucking, while you can’t stop cumming, pushed past overstimulation, but not once do you tell him to stop.

You want it.

You need it.

In tears from how much you’ve cum, desperate for more, swapping his cum and yours mixing, against your tongues as he talks you through it, as you lose yourself, Jenna told you not to, she told you not to forget. You are trying to keep it separated, but how the fuck can you?

It felt worth losing yourself, for him, under him, him inside you - around you - taking over everything, while he’s back inside you, his lips murmuring desperate, dirty words into your sweet mouth. When you’re so fucked out you actually pass out blissfully in his arms, you can’t even remember the girl you were a few weeks ago, waking up just to be filled by him again from behind.

Being in his arms, you hope it’ll counteract the pain when he moves on, when he’s kissing you while fucking you from the back, sweet little nothings against your lips filling the room along with the squelching of his cock filling your cunt again. Every inch of your body kissed by him, licked by him, head to your fucking toes, shifting you to some other dimension as you drink each other in, exhausted and desperate.

You’ll think about that pain later, for now it’s all pleasure, aside from the ache in your heart for more, endlessly more.

The love on this story is so sweet, it's FAR from over. Please be patient as these are long chaps and I have other projects, if you're not on the tags you can subscribe to me on ao3 or turn on notifs <3 Can't wait to hear your thoughts

Taglist 1 - @rjreins @juicu @kalulakunundrum @gojoswaterbottle @aldebrana @simp-plague @wedojustbevibin @lucciferr0 @officialholyagua @privthemis @coffee-and-geto @homesickes @msniks @emi311 @mai-505 @gojoslovelylover @ren-ren23 @yihona-san06 @emochosoluvr @sylvermoon @bunheadusa @karvokr @starmapz @queenexplosonmurderr @musiclover2119 @saitamaswifey @reagan707 @midorissi @ghostskilledmyaddiction21 @itsinherited @maisiefrancesca @gyarubunny @theonlyhonoredone @chosslut @simperisksksk @xlilycoco @howlsdarling @femaholicc @maymaymarch @miseryyouth-99 @swoozleee @zeunys @cryingdevil @leafynightmares @princess-bblgm @gojosconsort @insomnicshello @joonunivrs @myahfig4 @silviscosplay

[thelesbianoffrontiers]

She’s home! The vet said she did great 🥰

Took the baby bean in for her spay and she lost weight since her last vet appointment 😕

[classyrbf]

roommate!choso who constantly brings a new girl over every few weeks. He goes out with his lame friends, partying and drinking, stumbling into the apartment during the middle of the night with a random girl who he ends up fucking. It drives you absolutely nuts. No matter how many times you ask nicely for him to keep it quiet or even maybe go over to her place, he gives you the same apology and fake smile.

And tonight was one of those night. The clock at your bedside table flashes the time

1:47 am

and all you hear is the sound of choso’s bed creaking, the girl letting out the most pornographic moans. “I’m cumming!” She yells and you roll your eyes in annoyance, sitting up in your bed. If you weren’t going to sleep at all, you might as well just sit on your phone and watch YouTube to make the time pass. But even minutes later, they’re still going at it, both of them moaning and whimpering, skin on skin slapping against each other.

It was getting hard to distract yourself and even harder to ignore. You stirred in your spot, letting out a deep sigh. As much as it annoyed you, hearing them two go at like rabbits, you couldn’t help but get turned on. Your mind kept drifting to choso, his chiseled face and body, his voice and siren like eyes. It was hard not to find him attractive.

Your hands found their way into your pants, your fingers finding your clit and gently rubbing. It was so pervy of you to listen and actually get off to it, but what else were you supposed to do? You were tired of listening and complaining to him, and at times you wish it were you. With the way these girls sounded like literal porn stars, it was hard not to wonder what he’d feel like inside of you, or how pretty he looked while eating you out.

Before you know it, you were fully undressed, rocking your hips to the rhythm that choso was going, humping the corner of your pillow. Your hand reached up, groping your tits and pulling at your perky nipples, wishing so badly that it was him instead. “Mmph,” you whimper, bumping your clit against the fabric. Why did this feel so good?

Your skin burns hot, mind running wild with imagination. Oh how badly you wished this pillow could be his face, riding his tongue instead. “Oh, yes,” you shakily breathe, pleasure slowly building inside your core. With each rock of your hips, your pussy grows wetter and wetter. It’s the fact you weren’t even getting off to them, but to choso himself. The noises were drowned out by your own thoughts. “Ah! Ah!”

You bite down on your lower lip, circling your hips into your pillow to put more pressure on your clit. Your brows furrow in pleasure and you can tell youre close, that overwhelming sense of pleasure clouding your senses and making your head foggy. “Fuckk!” You moan, eyes fluttering shut, hands reaching up to tweak your nipples between your fingers. The added pleasure pushes you over the edge. “Oh my god! Nnngh!” Your hips jolt against the pillow as your orgasm overtakes you. Did you really just cum to the thought of your roommate? You couldn’t even be bothered to do deal with that right now. Eyes heavy with sleep, you fall over on your bed, still trying to catch your breath. It only took you a few minutes to fall asleep.

Choso stands there in the kitchen, sipping a cup of coffee when you walk out your bedroom, rubbing your eyes and dragging your feet across the floor. “Someone slept in,” he spoke aloud, catching your attention.

“Shut up. You and whatever girl you brought back were loud last night and I couldn’t sleep!” You shove him out the way, grabbing the orange juice from the fridge.

“Yeah…you were pretty loud last night too. Guess that makes two of us,” he chuckles. With wide eyes, you swiftly turn your head towards him to see he’s already looking at you with a cocky smirk. “Heard you after the girl left. You should really take your own advice and quiet down.” He sips from his coffee.

How long were you going for? It really didn’t seem like that long at all. “Please shut up and forget you heard anything.” You slam the fridge shut, forgetting about your orange juice and walking back to your bedroom.

“If you need help next time, just let me know!” He shouts while you walk away, slamming the door on him.

[thrasherella]

Needy Werewolf Husband is going into his rut and is really, reaallllyyyyy trying to get his wife's attention away from the household chores she's insisting on finishing before he can have his way with her...

...

He followed her all around the kitchen as she tidied up, wrapping his arms around her from behind and groping her tits as she cleaned the few dishes in the sink, pinching and teasing her nipples as she sighed and moaned, grinding his hard cock into her soft ass, his breath hot and voice desperate against her ear as he begged her to let him fuck her already.

"Please let me put it in..." he whined, nipping at the shell of her ear lightly in frustration as his swollen, red cock throbbed against her, begging for more attention, for more friction, for more anything; he felt like he was starting to lose his mind.

She had told him to keep humping her ass like a horny little puppy if he couldn't wait, and he really couldn't. He continued fondling her breasts, palming and squeezing them in his massive hands, and she whimpered and mewled, rolling her hips back against his.

"See, you want it too..."

She continued to deny him as she finished wiping and organizing the kitchen counters, his cock dribbling all over her backside as he pumped against her, unable to stop himself. He needed to pin her down, needed to stuff her full of his cock; he could smell her arousal mounting as she ground that perfect little ass back against him, her honeyed scent driving him absolutely wild.

"Just a little longer love, you're being such a good boy," she cooed, scratching him gently under his chin as he made puppy dog eyes at her, eliciting from him a low, humming moan.

He humped her legs while she vacuumed the living room, whimpering and growling as she did her best to ignore him, slowly and methodically making her way across the room as he ground into her, dragging and rubbing his cock against her, staining her clothes with his sticky precum, nipping at the back of her neck and ears, demanding her attention.

"Please, need to fuck you now baby, need to fill you; need to empty my cock into your perfect little pussy and give you a litter of pups..."

"Be a good boy and wait until I'm done cleaning the bedroom, okay?" she had purred, and he whimpered a weak agreement in response.

When they got to the bedroom however, she was helpless against him as he shoved her face first down onto the mattress, ripping apart those pesky little shorts and panties that had been blocking his aching cock, confirming what he already knew from her overwhelming scent that her cunt was already drenched and waiting for him to stretch and fill her.

"I lied," he huffed, mounting her from behind and lining up his dripping cockhead with her pussy, parting her nether lips slowly around him, loving how she moaned into her pillow as he did. "I don't wanna be a good boy; and you were a bad girl, it's not nice to tease a rutting wolf...now you be good, and take my knot," he hilted into her in one hard thrust, feeling her pussy clenching around him; a low, rumbling growling escaping his throat, and a deliciously muffled scream coming from her as he knotted her, forcing every inch of himself into her tight cunt.

He was already so overstimulated, biting down into her shoulder as he came, painting her insides white as he filled her with his thick load, and she cried out as her own orgasm crashed over her, hips bucking and rolling against him, squirting her climax all over his dick and pooling on the bedsheets.

"That's a good girl," his breath was hot against her ear, pushing her hips up slightly to get one clawed hand between her and the mattress, flittering and rubbing his fingers against her swollen clit, loving how she writhed and squirmed beneath him helplessly. "No more chores, no where for you to go, sweet thing stuffed and stuck on my knot...just be a good girl and turn off your brain, and squirt on my dick again, and again, and again while I make you my cum-dumpster..."

She couldn't deny this was exactly what she wanted...she knew her husband better than anyone and knew that denying him was a sure fire way to make sure he took extra time to "punish" her for the time she had wasted keeping him waiting.

Oh no, what a tragedy that would be...

[hearts4hughes]

hiii can do an bsf!rafe where y/n posts to insta in a teeny bikini knowing it'll piss rafe off and topper and kelce screenshot it and make comments ab it to rafe in a kook boys group chat and he's alr pissed ab it bc y/n is on vacation for the weekend and he secretly misses her and is grumpy in general and this post and topper and kelce's comments, plus whatever creepy kooks comment on y/n's post are not making his day better and she is in for it when she gets home?? no worries if not-🪩💗

you wore that on purpose. you knew exactly what you were doing. because he’s not there and you left for some girls’ trip to sullivan’s island with a tan canvas duffel and a smug little “don’t miss me too much,” tossed over your shoulder like he doesn’t already feel weirdly itchy when you’re out of his sight too long.

he’s been pretending like he doesn’t miss you. like your absences doesn’t create a y/n shaped hole in his heart. he texts you every morning, calls every night, and refreshes your socials every hour just to make sure he’s not missing anything. he keeps tabs on your location from the tracker he told you to put on before you left.

it was all going just swell. that was until topper sent the screenshot. rafe picked up his phone to check the notification just like he usually does. but when the photo finally loaded and it was of you—in two strings that you call a bikini—his ears were ringing.

cocaine cowboys gc

top: ur girl is lookin nice cameron😛

kelce: damnnnnn

kelce: you approve this before she posted bud?

rafe: shut the fuck up before i skin you both alive

top: trouble in paradise huh?

oh, he wants to laugh. he wants to brush it off. but he’s too busy gripping his phone so hard his thumb cracks the edge of his case. it’s not even that you’re doing anything, really. it’s the knowing look in your eyes. the stupidly tiny triangle of your bikini top. the little caption, kissed by the sun, not by you☀️. and the string of heart eye emojis from random kooks in the comments.

(he blocks two of them. he doesn’t care. one of them went to tannyhill once and looked at you too long. rafe remembers everything.)

he shuts off his phone and places it down to fight the urge to throw it against the nearest wall. his entire body runs warm. his breathing grows shallow and steam rolls out of his ears. he doesn’t call or text you for the rest of the trip.

~

you roll up to your driveway with a fresh tan, rosy cheeks, and a best friend ready to kill. you barely get the chance to park before he’s ripping the door of your mercedes open and sliding into the passenger’s seat.

you take one look at his red cheeks and dark eyes and you hold back a grin: “jesus—rafe, hi?” you barely get the word out before his palm finds your thigh, warm and possessive. like it’s just sitting there. like it belongs there.

“don’t hi me,” he mutters. jaw sharp, teeth clenched. his hat is pulled low and backwards, but you can still see how wild his eyes are.

you try to play innocent. “missed you too, honey.” his fingers dig into the skin of your plush thigh. his cheeks match the pink interior of your car.

“you think that’s funny?” he growls, lips pressed into a tight line like it physically hurts to stand there. his chest heaves with something mean.

your stomach flips. but you’re still playing the game. “think what’s funny?” you bat your freshly laminated lashes and pout your lipglossed lips, feigning complete innocence. he swallows harshly.

“posting your ass all over the internet like you don’t know what that does to me,” he snaps. “like you weren’t counting the seconds till topper texted me.”

you blink up at him. “topper texted you?”

he laughs. dark. bitter. “everyone texted me. kelce, jj, fucking some guy named wyatt in your comments. who the fuck is wyatt, y/n?”

“just a friend,” you hum, and that’s the last thread he’s got.

“you think this shit’s cute?” he grits. his hand slides further up your leg, under the hem of your shorts now. “you do this again, baby, and i’ll remind you real fast who you belong to.”

your breath hitches. your heart does that annoying flutter ache thing in your chest. but still, you give him that look—lashes low, mouth curved.

“you jealous, rafe?” your words drip with honey and everything sweet. he held back a moan at how delectable you sounded when you said his name. he was a pathetic man at your complete will.

he doesn’t answer. just stares at you for a beat, unreadable, before dragging you across the console into his lap. “i missed you,” he says finally, all rough and low against your ear. like it’s the first time he’s admitted it out loud. “but you make it really hard not to lose my fucking mind.”

your voice is breathy. “you already did.”

“yeah,” he mutters, brushing his nose along your jaw, “and you’re gonna pay for it.”

and all you do is grin like a girl who got exactly what she wanted.

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[melanch8ly]

req - sevika making her girl squirt for the first time?

hell yeahhh

it starts with you laid over her thigh.

not even fucked, not yet. you’re just in your underwear, hips draped over her lap, her left leg slotted up right between yours. her metal hand rests easy on your lower back. her real one?

it’s already busy between your thighs.

you’d made the mistake of being mouthy earlier. gave her attitude in the hallway, playful at first. but sevika was already buzzed, already lazy from a half-burned blunt. you nudged the hornet’s nest and now you’re here. riding the heavy flex of her thigh, panting into her shoulder while her fingers rub slow, lazy circles over the soaked cotton between your legs.

“mmnh—sev—”

“shh,” she mutters, not even looking at you. her eyes are half-lidded, blunt smoldering in the corner of her mouth. “you talk too much.”

your hips twitch, grinding down instinctively as her thumb presses just right. she doesn’t move fast. doesn’t even press hard. just slow, cruel little strokes while you try to keep from begging.

“c’monnn” you whimper. “please—”

her fingers trail down the front of your panties, tugging them aside with a practiced flick.

wet. soaked. swollen and slick and needy.

her thumb slips between your folds, dragging through the mess.

“you’re drippin’,” she says, voice like smoke. “and i haven’t even started.”

and she hasn’t. not really.

—

you’ve been on her lap for nearly twenty minutes now, hips grinding, legs shaking, mouth open and moaning every few seconds—but she keeps pulling you back. stopping when you get close. slapping your ass or dragging her thumb away right when your thighs clench up.

“sev—sev—i’m close, i’m—!”

“no you’re not.”

a firm grip on your hip. her voice lower now. teasing.

“not yet.”

you’ve come close so many times that your body feels like it’s buzzing, every nerve ending vibrating. your clit’s aching. your cunt’s clenching around nothing, so swollen it’s throbbing. her calloused fingers slide down and toy at your entrance. two thick digits sinking in slowly, lazily, not even curling yet.

“you’re gonna come from just my fingers?” she asks.

you nod, face buried in her neck. “y-yeah—fuck, yes—”

but she doesn’t speed up.

just keeps the pressure slow, cruel, constant. two fingers sliding in and out, dragging against your walls, thumb grazing your clit, but never fast enough to push you over.

and god, you feel it. that sharp build. tight in your gut, curling hard…until it starts to crest—

then she pulls her hand away.

your hips buck, a sob catching in your throat. you’re soaked. you know you’re making a mess on her jeans. your pussy’s twitching, fluttering, practically leaking down her thigh.

“fuck, you’re sensitive today,” she mutters, watching her fingers glisten as she licks them clean. “cute.”

“s-stop—s-stop teasing, please,” you whimper, legs trembling.

“why?” her voice drops, smug and lazy. “you’re fuckin’ squirming, baby. whining like you want me to ruin it.”

her fingers dip again.

two inside, this time curling just right.

your entire body jerks, and she stills, slow grin crawling across her face as your thighs spasm.

“…huh,” she mutters, eyes fixed between your legs. “what was that?”

you can’t even speak. you’re too close. twitching, moaning, your slick leaking down her hand, your cunt clenching so hard her fingers drag deeper on their own.

her thumb brushes just a bit higher,

and something breaks.

you choke on a sound. high, sudden, feral as your whole body jerks. a splash hits her thighs.

sevika freezes.

“…no fuckin’ way.”

her hand stays inside you as your body convulses. hips stuttering, cunt gushing around her fingers, wetness hitting the floor in little droplets.

she watches it all with eyes gone wild.

“holy shit, doll,” she laughs. stunned, low, hungry. “you just fucking—fuck—”

“didn’t know this little cunt could do all that,” she growls, dragging her palm over the mess, coating herself in it. “fucking filthy. look at this”

you try to lift your head, dizzy, drenched, soaked clear through your thighs and hers. and she’s just watching it, mesmerized.

“you ever do that before?” she asks, tilting her head.

you shake yours, weakly. still trembling. “n-no—never—”

her eyebrows rise, and that grin deepens.

“no shit?”

she repositions you so you’re lying on the couch on your back now, legs spread wide on either side of her broad shoulders. she reaches down, runs her fingers through the mess between your legs, slick and wet and dripping off her knuckles.

then she smacks it.

a wet slap right over your swollen, overstimmed pussy, just enough to make your back arch off the bed with a choked cry.

“fuck, that’s hot.”

you gasp, a mix between a sob and a moan, thighs trying to close. she stops them. presses her forearm down against one thigh, spreads you back open, forces you to stay exposed in the wet, sticky aftermath.

“don’t hide,” she murmurs, watching your cunt twitch like it’s hypnotizing. “don’t ever fuckin’ hide from me.”

her hand cups your mound, palm pressing flat, just enough pressure to make you jerk again. she feels the heat, the pulse, the way you clench like your body’s still trying to keep up.

“you squirtin’ for me now, huh?”

another smack—slap!

you cry out. twitch. the mess between your legs grows, warm and slick and leaking.

“look at this pussy, holy shit,” she groans, dragging her fingers over your folds. “gushin’ like a fountain and she don’t even know what hit her.”

“s-sev—i can’t—m’too sensitive—”

“no, you’re not,” she growls, gripping your thigh tight. “you just never had someone make you. but guess what?”

her mouth dips close—hot breath over your cunt.

“you’re gonna do that again,” she says, almost to herself. “fuck the plan. i want that again.”

a lick—slow, filthy, right over the mess.

you shudder. cry out. beg again.

she doesn’t care.

“i’m not stoppin’,” she mutters, tongue dragging back through your folds. “not ‘til you do it again.”

“w-wait—sev—!”

her lips wrap around your clit. she sucks, fingers working lower, two curling deep inside, right at that aching, perfect spot she found the first time.

you jolt, hips snapping, hands scrambling against the sheets. it’s too much, too fast, too—

“ngh—f-fuck—i’m gonna—!”

she pulls back for just a second, eyes glinting, mouth soaked.

“yeah, you are,” she purrs. “you’re gonna soak this whole fuckin’ bed for me.”

and then she dives back in.

sucks your clit, tongue relentless, fingers slamming that spot over and over until your legs start shaking, until your head throws back, until your throat opens and all you can do is scream.

your body snaps. hips kick. thighs spasm.

and then it happens.

warm, sudden, uncontrollable. you gush, pleasure crashing over you like a flood, slick spraying across her hand, her chest, the sheets, your own thighs.

and sevika moans like she’s the one cumming.

like it’s her favorite goddamn sight in the world.

“fuck yeah, baby—just like that. squirt all over me, let it out—good fucking girl—”

you collapse.

limp. shaking. twitching through the aftershocks.

and she’s laughing. low and breathless. hungry.

“told you i’d make it happen again.”

her hand’s still between your legs, rubbing circles, fingers lazy but firm, keeping you on the edge even as you try to escape.

“what?” she smirks. “you thought we were done?”

she leans down, tongue dragging a line from your soaked slit to your navel.

“nah, doll,” she growls. “i want one more.”

a kiss to your inner thigh.

“i wanna see how many times this sweet little cunt can squirt before you pass the fuck out.”

guyss go follow my tiktok @sevikastr4p i just made my first edit 🙏

[readwritealldayallnight]

Annoyed by their antics, Ghost is rolling his eyes faster than the sergeants can open their mouths to continue poking their fun at him

Of course you’d call him now, just as the two younger men are in the midst of teasing him incessantly, trying in vain to get the LT to admit to the relationship they’ve become certain he’s having with you in secret

And of course, they’d be absolutely correct in their assumptions

But Ghost certainly isn’t about to tell them as much, let them in on the fun the two of you have been having for months now behind closed doors

“Ach, I’d bet tha’s the lass right there, innit LT?” Soap goads, digging a playful elbow into Gaz’s side as he juts his chin towards the vibrating cell phone sat on the common room table, the men lounging around the otherwise vacant room late one night, everyone else long gone to sleep

“An’ if it was?” The masked man asks, crossing his muscular arms over his chest, raising a single brow hidden beneath the balaclava

“Well if it’s jus’ professional between you two, like ye say,” Gaz begins, exchanging mischievous glances with Soap beside him. “Then ye’d be able to answer with us here? On speaker?”

Never one to forfeit first, especially in the face of such cheeky expressions he can imagine their mums spent years smacking off of them, he for some reason chooses to indulge the men for once, imagining that whatever reason you’re calling him at this late hour couldn’t possibly be all that bad to share

“S’fine.” Ghost replies, swiping the phone off the table and swiping to answer, before pressing the speaker phone button

“Alrigh’?” He speaks into the receiver, ignoring the grinning faces leaning closer towards him

“Oh thank fuck, I need you! Simon please come to my room right now!” Your pleas come through the phone, surprising the men

“No fuckin’ way…” Gaz whispers, everyone’s eyes gone wide

“What’d you mean? Are you hurt?” Ghost asks instantly, shooting up onto his feet

“No no! But I neeeeeeed you Simon, I’m serious!”

“Eh, maybe I could come help ye out, bonnie.” Soap chuckles, evidently uncaring to keep his and Gaz’s presence a secret from you

“Is that Soap? Ew no way, I need Simon! No one else is as big as you are Si, please I need you!”

“Be right there.” Ghost answers simply before hanging up, already intent on making his way towards you

“Was na’ actually expectin’ her to say somethin’ like tha’! Was only half kiddin’ ‘bout it all but shite LT, good on ye!” Soap exclaims, reaching over to slap a hand across his teammates back

Ghost himself can’t deny his own surprise at the call, nor can he ignore the blood suddenly threatening to run south in his body as he wonders what had gotten into you, what has you feeling so desperately needy for him

He doesn’t bother to bid either one of them goodbye, listening to their snickering grow quieter and he marches towards your room in the barracks, having walked this path enough times he imagines he could do so in his sleep

He’s resisting the urge to adjust himself through his pants as he lands a palm on your door handle, imagination running wild with a thousand and one scenarios of what he’ll find when he opens it, what position you may be waiting for him in

Though of all the possibilities he imagined, this certainly wasn’t one of them

“Oh Simon thank god!” You exclaim once he’s stepped foot through the door, finding you stood atop your desk with a shoe in hand. “I’ve been trying to get this spider all night, I think you’re the only one big enough to reach!”

The sergeants think they’re real cheeky, stopping by your room a few minutes later with a box of condoms to toss at you and the LT, enjoying teasing the large man all too much and maybe they’re hoping to catch a glimpse of something they likely shouldn’t see but would kill for -

Though the men are stopped in their tracks when instead, they catch sight of their lieutenant emerging from your room with his large hands carefully clasped around something, followed by your form reminding him to “Be careful with it! Don’t squish the lil’ guy.” as you both head outside

Exchanging knowing looks, neither Gaz nor Soap need to say it aloud to know they’re both thinking the same thing

You’ve got Ghost entirely wrapped around your finger