#what the FUCK do you mean you're TWENTY THREE????' and then you have to put your head between your knees and never recover

[hussyknee]

Never want to read another gay historical romance set in a world war because Ninety One Whiskey left me in absolute shambles and I don't know whether I'm afraid the experience won't ever be replicated or that it will.

[deunmiu-dessie]

(unedited) captain price nsfw alphabet with p-links, 𝒶⸺𝓏

𝒜 = aftercare (what they’re like after sex) : john, as i've stated before, is very touchy. he likes having his hands on you in any way that he can. so he'll pull you to his chest as the two of you catch your breath and run his hands along your body, pressing kisses to the crown of your hairline. you usually end up dozing off before john does and so he takes the initiative to grab a warm, damp cloth and clean up the mess of cum between your thighs. after he's done, he'll hop right back into bed and pull you flush to his body, sliding his hands along the expanse of your thighs and counting each beauty mark and mole along your body in the dim lighting of the room until he eventually falls asleep. [connected to this post and this one as well!]

𝐵 = body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) : john's favorite body part of his would have to be his hands. they're big and calloused from work and he enjoys gently grasping your hips with them when he pulls you in for a slow kiss. he also adores how much you love them as well, his hands swamping yours whenever the two of you interlock fingers with each other. now john has an obsession with your lips, for him, they convey your emotions much better than words ever could. he can tell when you're annoyed with him by the purse of your lips. can tell when you're feeling shy by the slight upturn of the corner of your mouth. can tell when you're being sassy and sarcastic with the cute smirk that'll grace your lips and also when you're feeling sad by the way your lips curl in on themselves to form a line, and perhaps that's not a body part but it's his absolute favorite.

𝒞 = cum (anything to do with cum basically... i’m a disgusting person) : john's cum is pearl white in color and it's sticky and thick and there's always so much of it when he cums for the first time. the taste of his cum is slightly salty but it's not overbearing, you love the taste of him. price prefers to cum inside of you rather than anywhere else, this only started after john saw you holding your friend's newborn baby in your arms, it's been john's mission to impregnate you since then. [connected to this post!]

𝒟 = dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) : it's no secret that john is older than you, there's an obvious age gap and some people may sneer at your relationship (as you're in your mid to late twenties and john is thirty-seven.) during playful banters between you and john, your go-to "insult" is always, "old man", "yes, daddy." or something along those lines. and despite himself, price always finds that he's thick and hard in his pants. he won't ever tell you that though.

𝐸 = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) : okay, price isn't the type to sleep around, he's had some occasional flings here and there, but that's about it. that doesn't mean he's inexperienced though, john puts in work. he studies your reactions and what you like. a delicious roll of his hips has him hitting that spongey little spot inside of you. licking his thumb before planting it on your clit to rub quick figure eights, has your thighs shaking and his name falling off your tongue like a prayer, and whispering lewd things in your ear and kissing you all sloppily in his pussy drunk state? has your cunt leaking all over the place. john price knows how to fuck and make love, he's perfect.

𝐹 = favorite position (this goes without saying. will probably include a visual) : hm, john's favorite position is called the 'g-whiz' it's a stupid name lowkey but it gives him the perfect view to watch your face as you fall apart over and over on his cock. it also gives him access to your g-spot and your clit as well. three birds with one stone (he loves watching your tits bounce too.)

𝒢 = goofy (are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc) : it's a mix. there are times when the two of you are going at it like bunnies and perhaps bump heads a bit too hard. or maybe one of you trips while pulling off a piece of clothing-- there's going to be obvious laughter. during softer sex, where john's thrusts are deep and rolling, slow and intimate--- his gaze is always so full of his adoration for you and it leaves you breathless at times. he kisses gently, whispering words of love to you and smiling at the tears that sting your eyes. so yeah, he's a mix.

𝐻 = hair (how well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.) : john, before he met you, wasn't really sexually active, and so he didn't keep up with grooming himself, there was no need for him to. he was out in the field for weeks on end at a time and when he was off the field all he wanted to do was relax and sleep as much as he could before he had to go back out for another mission. after he met you, however, he wanted to groom himself. not that you seemed to care, nor had you ever complained. but he did it anyways. so, price's hair is brown, nicely trimmed, with no scraggly hairs in sight.

𝐼 = intimacy (how are they during the moment, romantic aspect…) : please, john is madly in love with you and he himself knows it and he loves to make it known to you often, even outside of sex. price loves keeping eye contact with you, whether it's through a mirror, while you're riding him, or in any other position that allows the two of you to be face to face. he loves watching the small ticks in your expression as he grinds his hips into yours, cock sinking into you at the most excruciatingly slow pace he's ever gone. loves the way your cheeks flush and your cunt squeezes him when he calls you his, "pretty girl." this man also says 'i love you' often, and it's always so genuine, you never grow tired of hearing him say it. (he definitely doesn't kiss your chin when you give him an annoyed pouty look at his slow pace, he definitely doesn't apologize and speed up either.)

𝒥 = jack off (masturbation headcanon) : i find it hard to picture price masturbating, but i believe he does so when he's away from home for weeks on end, but it's not mindless masturbation like most men are prone to doing. john, when he's away from you for long periods of time, gets almost…needy?? in a way. this man misses you like no other, he misses the smell of you, your loving touches, your smile, your cooking, you pulling him to the living room floor to dance, your horrible singing when the two of you shower together and god he misses the sound of your voice. and this feeling is all so new to him and it's almost overwhelming. 

so when price has the downtime, he calls you, it's a spur-of-the-moment call and when you pick up, he can hear the thickness of sleep in your voice; he feels selfish and a bit foolish, he was acting like a horny teenager. however, after hearing the excitement in your voice and the surprise, he can only smile and ask how everything has been at home. who would've thought that the sound of your voice, all sleepy and soft would get him hard and thick within his cargos? who also would've thought that john price would unzip himself to pull out his rigid cock, tip leaking with pearlescent pre-cum and pulsing in his large hand. yes, john ends up fucking his fist to the sound of your voice, humming and grunting softly to signify that he's listening to you, thighs tensing and heart hammering in his ribcage. i mean, what you don't know won't hurt you.

𝒦 = kink (one or more of their kinks) : hear me out, roleplay, please! wait, think about it, perhaps it's not full-on roleplay but it's something of the sort, john gets a raging boner when you call him 'captain price' mockingly or 'sir'. another would have to be breeding, john wants to knock you up so bad it's almost an obsession, would love to see you swollen with his child, most definitely says something along the lines of. "good girl, wan' t'get you pregnant so bad. you'd like that, hm?" during sex. a mild voice kink? loves the sound of your voice and almost always cums instantly when you beg him to fill you up.

𝐿 = location (favorite places to do the do) : don't really see john being too much of an exhibitionist but the two of you have had sex outside at a park, while on a picnic. you had crawled into his lap and kissed him softly, pleadingly, blinking your pretty little lashes at him and i mean; who is he to say no to your greedy little cunt? however, he prefers to do it in the comfort of your shared home. ♡

𝑀 = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) : your teasing. whether it be playful or sexual it always riles price up. it's one of the many things that he loves about you, your sense of humor. and you express it well, not just through your actions or your words but also through your eyes, they're always so expressive and glittering with light mischief that he can't help but sweep you off your feet, throw you over his shoulder, and carry you into the bedroom.

𝒩 = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs) : hurting you in any way, there are some things he's a bit lenient on if you like it; like choking and light slapping but other than that, it's a no for price. man loves you too much to do anything of the sort.

𝒪 = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc) : as much as john loves having his cock buried down your throat, watching as you stare up at him with tear-stained cheeks, your mouth and chin covered in spit and his cum— he enjoys eating you out. he loves the taste of you on his tongue, loves to overstimulate you, loves to control your orgasms, loves to hear you beg and roll your hips on his tongue. if john could he'd spend the rest of his life buried between your thighs, large hands gripping the fat of your hips to keep you still as your thighs quiver and your pussy pulses from being too sensitive, he would. well shit, i guess that should be one of john's kinks too then, huh?

𝒫 = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) : price is usually slow and sensual, with fervent deep strokes, tender kisses, and whispered murmurs of love. what can he say? he loves showing that he loves you in all that he does. however, on the days when he comes home after a mission gone awry or being away for a long time in general, he's gonna be fast and rough; using your body any way he pleases. on days like this, he prefers you in 'doggy style' or even the 'mating press', and immediately gives you cuddles afterward though, telling you briefly of his mission as you run your hands through his hair. ♡

𝒬 = quickie (their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.) : hm, john isn't one for quickies, i mean he doesn't mind a quickie, the park sex that the two of you had was a quickie after all. but i believe he much prefers proper sex, that way he can pull orgasm after orgasm from you and take his time as well. 

𝑅 = risk (are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.) : john is down to try something at least once, especially if it's something that you want to try. not too long ago, you handcuffed price to the bed and edged him until he had literally begged you to let him cum, it was quite the sight and he's down to do it again. 

𝒮 = stamina (how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…) : give this man two good rounds, and then he's tuckered out. however he doesn't mind if you're still reeling to go, he'll pull you onto his lap and let you ride him until you're sated. or even make you ride his face, he could never deny you anything after all. 

𝒯 = toy (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) : y'all hear me out once more....vibrating panties. rahhhh, hold on hold on. you guys use it when you're out on walks, at restaurants and sometimes even at dinners with your friends. man gets bricked up at the sight of you squeezing your thighs together, breathless and completely out of it. however, in the bedroom, price is all you need, the man is much better than any toy.

 𝒰 = unfair (how much they like to tease) : teases you often, whether it be with overstimulation, ruining your orgasms, or even having you beg him to let you cum. the man, believe it or not, likes to see your eyes water and your lips pout. loves that he can get his sassy, fiery wife all squirmy and pleading with just a few strokes of his tongue. 

𝒱 = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make) : john is not shy, he'll tell you how good you're making him feel, not with just his deep, guttural groans, but also with words. price is the king of dirty talk and he does it unknowingly, he most definitely curses when he's moaning as well, drawn out 'fucks' and at when your pussy squeezes him tight, he'll say. "shit, sweetheart y'r pussy s'made for me." calls you the lewdest names known to man, but says it so lovingly that you can't help but be turned on even more than you already are.

𝒲 = wild card (get a random headcanon for the character of your choice) : has definitely had you suck him off while underneath his desk while on a computer call with laswell. poor baby, his face was pink from holding in his moans, especially after you buried him to the hilt down your throat. totally didn't get caught or anything.

𝒳= x-ray (let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words) : the picture speaks for itself. ♡

𝒴 = yearning (how high is their sex drive?) : you guys, price is 37, atp? he's 40, it may not be as it used to be when he was younger but! he puts in the work and most times tires you out before he tires out.

𝒵 = zzz (… how quickly they fall asleep afterward) : it takes awhile for price to succumb to sleep, no matter how tired he is. so it's usually you falling asleep first. he lays there, holding you close and running his hands along your back and then further. he'll drift off to the sound of your slow breathing and the steady rhythm of your heart.  ♡

૮ ˙Ⱉ˙ ა ʳᵃʷʳ ⁿᵒᵗᵉˢ : the full alphabet! ahem, i enjoyed doing this

[octoberautumnbox]

Consider: Yubin who's your seatmate and is very professional in school but every night at 10pm you get the raciest, sauciest, spiciest nudes from her with no warning

Hell Week

tripleS Gong Yubin & Male Reader

Categories/warnings: smut, that's p much all anyone needs to know i think

Word count: 5.5k holy shit

a/n: jeez howd it get this long :nolookk: oh btw i took some liberties with the prompt not that u care heres the fuckin yubin fic :DDDD

~~~

A hand lays itself on your shoulder, the sudden contact nearly making you jump. You turn around and find Yubin clutching a book to her chest with a gentle look on her features. Gesture over to the chair across from you, all the while trying to get your heart rate back under control. 

“My bad, didn't see you were locked in.” She gets into the chair left of you anyway and turns her book to the same page as yours. “How's it going?”

You stretch and groan to let out as much of your tiredness as you can, paying just a bit of mind to everyone else in the library doing pretty much the same. “Dunno. Around twenty minutes ago I accepted I'm retaking this class. What's up with you?”

She giggles while her eyes scan across the paragraphs talking about desert flora and types of precipitation. She rests her cheek on her palm, “I still have a bit of fight in me, but I'm losing hope. I was hoping I could borrow some from you.”

“Sorry, Yubin,” you whisper with every ounce of sympathy you had, “fresh out.” You return to your own book, yet all you do is run your eyes over the same page over and over without much staying in your head. 

A cursory look over to your left shows you scholar-mode Gong Yubin: focused, sharp, and serious. Not that it ever got in the way of you two being friends, but when she gets like this, you know better than to underestimate her–she's capable of plotting the downfall of kingdoms if she set her mind to it. 

However, at the same time, you notice her distress, then immediately notice how well she hides it. It's the same slight crease of her eyebrows in freshman orientation, after midterms in Linguistics 103, and when she finally stopped putting off Geology 102. The realization dawns on you: the situation is dire now that she asks for your help while she's like this, so how could you let her down now?

“Bet you I can score higher,” you challenge her. You have no good reason to issue such a proposition, but if it means giving her support how it matters, whatever embarrassing thing she'll make you do is more than worth it.

It piques her interest and a smile pulls up the corners of her lips. She side-eyes you with an excitement she didn't have just two minutes prior, and you know it worked. “If I win,” she announces as loud as she's allowed to, “make me thick tofu stew. The right way.” 

“Really? That's it?” Then you rebut with just as much fervor, “If I win, you do three of my essays in comparative lit next semester.”

“Now hold the fuck on,” she stumbles, her eyes grown wide and her smile grown toothy, “if you're gonna raise the stakes like that, I need to think of something else!”

Your phone and hers vibrate at the same time, and your screen reads “Get your ass over to Geog.” You both pack your bags and head off to your last Geology class before finals together, and as your book takes its place in the darkness of your backpack, “Fine, but I get to change mine too when I hear yours,” and the spring in her step as you walk tells you it's mission accomplished. 

~~~

In hindsight, it really wasn’t all that bad. The class review session your professor held that day helped you nail down just enough of whatever the fuck sleet might be, and while you're certain it isn't flying colors, your grade at least wouldn't be red. 

Coming out of the exam room, you spot Yubin just seconds before she finds you, and your good deed pays for itself as she skips to approach. 

“Got a good feeling?” There was no point in asking other than that you had to hear it from her, though the wide grin on her face was proof enough. 

“Yeah, I think barely,” she sways cutely from side to side, “and don't think you're off the hook!” She hits you light on the arm, and the most shining feature you can’t ignore is her eyebrows without any sign or symptom of the crease. 

“Not over ‘til the fat lady sings, Gong Yubin,” though you know she's already won. “Three whole essays against… Haven't you decided yet?”

“No, not yet, but the bet is still on!”

You relent, “Fine, fine. Anyway, Nakyoung’s treating the gang to drinks tonight. Wanna come?”

“Nah, busy. Laundry and stuff.” She shifts her weight from foot to foot, and you can tell she’s giddy about what her grade is going to turn out to be. It’s a sight for sore eyes, especially ones that have seen too many grainy tectonic plates and water cycle diagrams. “And why do you insist on full-naming her?”

“I know someone whose name sounds the exact same. As far as I’m concerned, our Nakyoung’s the other Naky.” You place your hand on the small of her back and lead her away from the doorway, and she walks with you without a second thought.

“Mean. You’ll have to introduce me to this first Naky, then.” You slide into rhythm with her gait, and it hits you just how relieved you are for Yubin’s worries to be over. 

It seems such a waste, you think, that laundry is the only thing keeping her away from celebrating, so as you walk out of the Social Sciences building, you bargain one more time: “We’ll be there all night, so just come by when you’re done. I speak for everyone when I say we want you to come, please?”

She giggles again, “I’ll see what I can do. It’s not like I don’t wanna be there, either. Plus,” she admits defeatedly, “we’re getting the results later, and God knows I’d rather not be alone when it comes.” 

~~~

“Hey, where's Yubin?” Nakyoung slings an arm around your shoulder and shoves another mug of beer into your hand. It's a welcome gesture, and it takes all of two and a half seconds for you to down half of it. 

“She has laundry,” you nearly shout back your reply above the music. “Said she'll drop by if she has time.”

Nakyoung makes to yell another reply right into your ear, but decides to pull you away into one of the quieter booths in the bar. “She's a goody-two-shoes, no? Laundry, oh please. Kaede hasn't done laundry in two years.” She takes a gulp of her own beer and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. 

“Hey. She studied her ass off for that test. I made a bet with her and it looks like she has high spirits, but I honestly dunno what I'd do if she fails.”

Your friend takes your chin up with her finger and you realize how pensive an expression was sitting on your face. “This is Gong Yubin. You know she'll kill it.” Nakyoung flashes a confident smile, and it reassures you almost more than your own trust in Yubin herself. “You drunk yet?”

“Nah, not getting shitfaced without Yubin.”

“Cute. You know she likes you too?” 

“Go fuck yourself, Nakyoung. Go steal Seoyeon's boyfriend while you're at it.”

“I wish; she has him under lock and key. But I wouldn't really mind both of them,” she muses, eyeing Seoyeon in the middle of the dancefloor. 

Just then, the devil strolls in through the front door. “Hi! You weren't kidding, it's really loud in here,” Yubin exclaims with her hands shielding her ears as she adjusts to the noise.

She takes Nakyoung's seat–you whip your head around and find Nakyoung at the dancefloor, with Seoyeon grinding against her–and picks up Nakyoung's old mug. She takes a careful sip and ends it with a relieved ahhhh, before setting it back down and getting to business. She leans in like keeping a secret, though she can't hide her toothy grin. “Have you seen your grade yet?”

“It's out?!” You fumble for your phone, and the second it lights up, cold runs through your veins–the email notification is the first thing at the top of the screen. Meanwhile, Yubin calmly slides her phone across the table to you. She asks “I read yours, you read mine?” with the sweetest smile on her face, again with the slight crease on her eyebrows.

Calm your nerves, silence the alarms blaring in your head. You know she did well, absolutely certain. However, it still doesn't soothe you enough; not until you see the grades for yourself. So, as your thumb hovers over her email, your heart nearly beats out of your chest, only to see–

“You got 87 percent,” Yubin states in the blandest, matter-of-fact tone you've ever heard. Her eyes move left and right over the same spot on your phone, making ultimate certain that she's reading it right. Once she is, her tone softens just enough, “Yeah, 87 percent. Wow, that's good,” she sighs with relief, “... Hard to beat.”

Now her turn, you peek at her score. doing the same making sure, and then some. When you read it for the fifth time, you kick yourself mentally for being so worried and having such little trust in the genius that is Gong Yubin. “Goddamn, 95 percent.”

Her eyes widen like sinkholes as her hand flies to cover her mouth. It almost doesn't matter that you hand her back her phone; she snatches it back anyway. Her disbelief chips away at itself with every run through of the email she reads for herself, and when she's finally done, returns her shocked gaze back to you.

“You were that scared of three essays?” you joke. The beer tastes sweeter now that your worries have gone, and as if all six septillion kilograms of the world is off your shoulders. 

“No, three essays is easy,” she taunts, but immediately her voice takes on a gentler tone, “so I win, right?”

You scoff at her haughtiness, but your relief triumphs over all. “Yeah, whatever. What do you want?”

“... I wanna go home. This is enough excitement for one day.”

“Alright, let me take you. Tell me in the cab what you want for winning, though?”

“Sure,” she says with a tiny smile.

~~~

“So,” she declares. She catches her breath, and her face is overcome with a subtle red flush, “about the bet.”

“Yeah, about the bet.”

“I want…” and she hesitates. The cab runs over a mild speed bump, and the resulting sway seemingly knocks her completely out of focus. She gathers her resolve once more, as if every time she tries to speak she drops it and has to pick it up again. 

“You want…?”

It's a good couple minutes of her breathing heavily, and your concern shows itself for her and whatever she has planned for you.

“Is it illegal? What could possibly be so bad that you're hesitating this much?”

“No, no, shut up. I'm working on it.” She takes one last deep breath, even placing a hand on her heart to steady it. “I want… a cum tribute.”

“... A cum tribute.”

“Yes.”

“You want me to…?”

“I'll send you a photo. And do it on that.”

“You want a photo of–”

“Video.”

“You–video?”

“I want a video. Of you. Cumming on a photo. My photo. I'll send it to you.”

There's no way the cab driver doesn't think this is weird. Then again, he has an earphone in, so he might not be listening in at all. You get the feeling Yubin doesn't care either way, completely focused on you. 

“... Alright. You want it this bad, fine.”

“Good. Um,” she follows, “sorry in advance. It's gonna be my first time… taking a photo like this.” She refocuses her attention to the buildings whizzing by outside as she says it, the telltale sign the conversation is over. Still, it lingers in your head for a little while: Yubin's first time. 

~~~

“Look, I'm sorry,” she sighs, “just come up with me? Please?”

You're standing with her outside her dorm, all the while the meter ticks away in the cab. The driver waits expectantly inside for you to get back, but Yubin's fingers wrapped around your sleeve make for a very difficult decision. 

“Okay, okay, just let me pay the cab driver,” you concede, but as soon as you sum up the fare, Yubin snatches it from you and brings it over herself. She and the driver exchange a few words, ending with her waving him off and him leaving her in the dust. She waddles back with her signature grin: the one that tries and fails to hide her excitement. 

“Can I just ask why you want it so bad?”

She shakes her head, “Nope. Now shush,” as you both make the now-silent trek up the four flights of stairs to her floor and room. 

Upon entering, you immediately notice it's nicer than most dorm rooms: huge space, carpet floors, a big window, and two double-size beds, not to mention its own bathroom. It makes you stop and wonder if you ever glossed over any signs that Yubin or her family might come from old money.

“Uhh, give me a few minutes to get ready. The bed on the right is mine, make yourself at home. WiFi password by the light switch. Kaede doesn't like her stuff messed with, so steer clear.” Yubin then disappears into the bathroom, and you lay yourself down on her bed. You're made aware of how you sink comfortably into the memory foam, and of the disarming fragrance that wafts from her bedsheets and pillowcases. She's always smelled like this, you recall, but it's rather nice, you finally admit. 

“Hey,” Yubin attempts. She sits on the edge of her bed next to you, wearing a set of pajamas and no makeup at all. You always knew Yubin was a pretty girl, God knows how many times she's been asked out, but seeing her like this is new; her allure draws you in with a smile and an embrace. Shit, was Nakyoung right? Do you like her? 

“So… How do you want me?” She avoids your eyes and touches her fingertips together, a blush forming on her cheeks. 

“Do you… Do you have a tie?”

Her ears perk up, “Yeah, hold on,” and she retrieves a thin, striped necktie from her dresser. She places it around her neck, her fingers delicately maneuvering the fabric into an intricate-looking knot, and when she's done, she presents herself to you. 

“Take off your top, Yubin,” you tell her, and she hands you her phone with the camera already on. Point it at her, making sure the flash is off, and start taking pictures one by one. 

She pushes aside the tie and fiddles with the top button. It's effortless how she undoes it, and she pulls the collar apart to show you more of her. She unbuttons the next, then the next, all the while showing you her smooth skin. With half the buttons undone, she shows off her chest, showing nothing but skin underneath her top.

You take a moment to catch your breath, swallow your spit. “Are you sure about this, Yubin?” 

“Yeah… Just keep going, please.” She undoes her fifth button at the very bottom, revealing her midriff and making you salivate. Must be heaven to kiss her there, when she snaps you out of it, “Are you still taking pictures?” Am I that distracting?” Look up to her, find her with the same sweet smile on her face but with a new blush decorating her cheeks.

Her last button is her fourth, and it's undone before you know it. She keeps her pajama top on a little bit longer, covering her chest a little bit more, and finally she shrugs it off one shoulder. It's nothing but everything all at once, and the split second your self-control wavers is the exact moment you leap in.

You drop her phone somewhere on the mattress; both your hands grip her shoulders as your lips capture hers. She leans into the kiss, wrapping her fingers on the back of your neck, and tiny moans escape her amidst smooches that get louder the hungrier she gets. 

Pull the top off her other shoulder, and she finally strips it all off. However, you can't even enjoy the sight, not yet, as you draft down from her lips to her slender neck, leaving a trail of kisses on your way. She runs her fingers through your hair before holding you in place, all the while leading your free hand to her chest. 

She sucks air in through her teeth, “That's really good, just like that…” she moans as her head tilts to allow more access to her neck. The scent of her shampoo fills your nostrils and you feel yourself getting addicted, but not as much as to the softness of her skin. 

She pulls you down onto the bed, and you find yourself leaning over her. Yubin lies under you, watching you intently and waiting for what you'll do next. Her tie sits right in the valley of her tits, and it drives you wild. Take a nipple in between your teeth while you fondle her other breast. She breathes heavy in pleasure, wordlessly asking for more and more of your attention and love. Her fist closes on your hair as she pushes you further onto her chest, her other hand hopelessly tugging on your pants.

It's all the message you need from her: your pants go, then your underwear, then everything else. Your cock stands hard in her sights, and the way her fingers wrap around your length is nothing short of heaven. 

“Do… do you wanna do it with me?” Her question is purely innocent, without a single hint of malice in her voice. She rubs your shaft slowly, sending waves of tantalizing pleasure throughout your whole body.

“Do you have condoms?”

“... Kaede will forgive me.” She crawls down the ladder, picks out a square plastic wrapper from her roommate's dresser, and hurries to get back to you. The smile on her face as she comes up the ladder again is one of, if not the most beautiful things you've ever seen. 

You guide her as she puts the condom on you, and the sensation of her fingers gently unrolling the rubber along your length only makes you more impatient. Finally, you hook your fingers on the garter of her pajama bottoms, and she lifts her hips to accommodate you. The fabric slides off her so easily, revealing her long, smooth legs that she seems desperate to have you in between of. 

“Go easy, okay? I told you…” 

“Yeah, your first time. I'll take care of you,” you reassure her. Line up your throbbing cock against her slick heat, feel her palm on your cheek, watch her flash that killer smile again. She bites her lip, and while you know it isn't on purpose, it makes her look sexier all the same. 

Slide your cock into her, making sure to go slow. She shuts her eyes harder with every inch she takes of you, and when she moves her hands to your forearms and grips tight, it reminds you like a looping cycle: “Go easy, go easy.”

So you go slow and steady, staving off your lust for the woman giving herself to you. Each thrust into her sex is careful and calculated, though by the second you feel your calculations going awry. She pants at every good spot in her cavern you happen to drag across, earning her little admissions of newly found pleasure in the form of mewls and moans like a song you’d never tire of. 

“Faster, please…? You’re so–ugh, fuck…” And the way she pleads flips a switch in you; plant your elbows into the memory foam on either side of her head while she takes your face in her hands. Yubin pulls you in for a kiss and it means the world to her when you grow careless with your lovemaking.

“Fuck, fuck, not too fast, just right, mmm,” each time you push into her cunt. The way she mumbles sweet nothings into your ear, the way she holds on for dear life and leaves scratches all the way down your back, she takes up every single thought going through your head: Yubin, Yubin, Yubin…

You scarcely notice how she's scratching your harder, gripping you tighter, grinding against you faster–it’s much too late to finally hear her warning, “I'm close, I'm close, oh fuck, fuck, aaahhhh!” as she explodes with you still inside her. Her pussy clenches around your cock in all the best ways, and you savor the feeling as she rides out her orgasm. Her knuckles turn white as she grips you by the shoulders, though all you can see is how her tits bounce with every jerk that runs through her body. Yubin's eyes roll to the back of her head and her mouth hangs open, a prolonged, deep moan gracing your ears as she ambles closer and closer to spent. 

Take a moment, let her breathe. Every gasp of air in her lungs is like a blessing, and each one steadily brings her from beyond heaven back to you. Her hands fall to her sides as she pants out her delirium and replaces it with tiredness, and once she's stable she flashes you that killer smile again. It pulls on the corners of her mouth, showing the tiniest amount of teeth, though her eyes are nowhere near open. Plant a kiss on her cheek, then her neck, then receive her giggles once you stay and rest right on her pulse. 

“You good? Still alive?”

All she can do is nod, having had every last ounce of her strength sapped. She lays motionless under you, save for her chest rising and falling with her breathing, and you know she looks to you for comfort and security. You take another moment to bask in her afterglow; she's never looked more gorgeous. 

“Hey,” she whispers, and you swear it's the most tired you've ever heard her, or anyone for that matter. “You good?”

“Yeah, I'm okay. Are you sure you're good?”

“Yeah. Thank you.” She pulls you back down and plants a kiss on your cheek. Her lips linger for a second, as if she's taking in your scent made hers. You stay like this for a good while, just enjoying each other's presence, relishing in the warmth of a body that gave itself up for the other. You don't even notice when you slumped over onto the mattress beside her, but her head on your chest felt like the rightest thing in the world.

“We're not done, by the way,” she prods.

“What? Why not? Aren't you tired?”

“‘Tired’ isn't part of the bet. I still want that tribute.”

And you remember, you have a job to do, a debt to pay. It’s between your common sense and your lust for the hottest girl in the world right now, and there is a clear winner. 

Pull back from her, off of the bed, and plant your feet on the floor. Firm and resolute, tell her: “Fine, on your knees.” The flush on her face deepens to an igneous red, and she scrambles to the floor in front of you.

“You're so pretty, Yubin,” you muse as you point her camera back to her face. Make sure the flash is off, and once you push the big red button to record, your other hand immediately takes her cheek and guides her to your tip. 

Yubin's eyes flutter shut as she inches her lips closer and closer to your cock. The first contact is heavenly; just gentle kisses and licks from a complete novice pretending to be an expert at this sort of stuff. The way her tongue glides over your shaft, the way she plants kisses all over your cock with the tiniest sucks, the way she does all of this with her eyes gracefully shut makes for a killer video for her to get off to later. A blowjob from a girl like this comes once in a lifetime, so you resolve to give her everything she'd ever want from a tribute like this. 

A moan escapes you, and she picks up that she's doing it right. With your subconscious approval, the hand on her cheek pulling further her in, she takes your tip in her mouth. Her tongue works overtime in running all over the head, paying special attention to your slit, making absolutely sure her spit coats wherever she can reach. She takes in more and more of your shaft, pressing her tongue on the underside of your cock as she does, all the while her cheeks hollow out like her life depends on it. 

Tiny vibrations from her throat only add to the pleasure, sending shivers up your spine and your hand to the back of her head. For the first time, she opens her eyes, and the sight is something to behold: she looks up at you with the biggest, roundest, most pleading eyes, the epitome of cuteness if not for your cock she oh-so-diligently services to get what she wants. 

Yubin takes you in just a bit deeper, slightly turning her head and savoring the way your length fills her mouth, when you hit the back of her throat, causing her to gag. She pulls back abruptly as a tear forms in the corner of her eye, and you have half a mind to pull out entirely to make sure she's okay. Instead, she never lets you–she takes your cock again, shooting you another pleading look before she shuts her eyes and bobs her head onto your cock again and again. 

Luckily, you pick up on her message; Snake your fingers through her hair, grab a fistful, make her yours. A moan rises from her throat once again, and she steadies herself with her hands on your thighs in preparation. She's ready. 

Pull her in as far as she can take, and it's a good most of your shaft before she gags again. Offer her no breathing room, bob her head onto your cock over and over, all the while more of her slobber coats your length, some of it falling off her lips and onto her chest and lap. She never fights, only takes–soon the gagging is replaced by an obedient, rhythmic gluck-gluck-gluck than you're sure even she'd find hot if she could think straight. Instead, her phone picks up every sight and sound for her to enjoy later, while you both enjoy each other now. 

It's everything all at once: the sight of Gong Yubin's plump, sexy lips around your shaft, the feeling of her tongue relentlessly dragging over every inch of your cock, the sound of your tip meeting her throat again and again while her groans fight their way out. “Yubin… I'm close,” you confess, but with her eyes still shut and her tongue still going crazy all over you, you don't think she heard. So make the decision yourself: yank her hard off your cock, rub your shaft right against her delicious lips. Once she exits her daze, she takes your dick in her hand and rubs all across the length. Tears fall from the corner of her eyes and her lips give off the slightest tremble, but she's resolute in what she wants to earn from you. 

It takes no time at all until you reach your limit. It's the best handjob anyone has ever probably given, but it's that one last kiss from her, right on your tip, that sends you over the edge. One last groan, one last jerk, one last tug of her hair, and your orgasm hits. Your cum shoots out in ropes, all landing on her face and tits. She's determined to receive everything from you, so it's only right to give her exactly what she wants. She shuts her eyes again, but her mouth stays wide open to catch whatever she can of it–she never stops jerking you off even as your cum falls onto her eyelids, her nose bridge, her forehead, her chin. Yubin savors every moment and every drop, burning the memory of bliss into her mind as you coat her face with your love. 

Your orgasm finally dies down, and you realize just how much she squeezed out of you. You're sure no one has ever looked lewder, your cum smeared all over her face, yet she proves you wrong when she picks up a fingerful of it to take into her mouth. She licks her lips, apparently loving the taste, while you love the sight of her acting so sultry for you. 

Stumble back onto the bed, take Yubin with you. Both of you are out of strength, breathing heavy, and in the middle of processing that you just painted her face with cum–that she asked you to paint her face with cum. You barely notice the stars swirling in your eyes, but your sense of the situation comes back just quick enough to avoid things getting awkward. 

“I think I wanna shower, so you should wash up first,” you mumble, still staring at her beige ceiling, and you can feel she's panting and doing the same without even seeing her. 

Wordlessly she gets up and her carpet-muffled footsteps grow quieter as she heads to the bathroom. A door shuts, a handle creaks, a shower gushes to life. Your brain sits idle, making no attempts to form thoughts other than acknowledging the shower turning off and on while she bathes. It's calming in its own way, you suppose–taking a bath is one of the normalest things in the world–as if what you just did with her was a close runner-up. 

An unknowable amount of time passes, and a fresh, citrus-scented Yubin emerges from the bathroom again. She dries her hair with her towel as she makes her way to her hair blower, but not before shooting you a gorgeous smile and a head tilt to the bathroom to let you know it's your turn. 

~~~

Leaving the bathroom yourself, you find a dark bedroom, save only for a yellow lamp shining against a nearby wall. Yubin is sitting up in her bed and scrolling on her phone, and once she spots you, she beckons you over.

“Look, funny,” she whispers with a giggle, and she shows you a clip of a guy much too excited about a truck looking like Optimus Prime. 

“Yeah. Hey, listen, I'm pretty tired,” you attempt. In no way is this a lie, and you're sure she's tired too. You bet she wants nothing more than to finally go to sleep and end what should be a perfect night on a high note. 

“Totally,” she agrees, “come on in. It's cold.” She lifts up the covers and looks over to you expectantly. Not that it dumbfounds you, but it throws you for a slight loop; she literally just said it was cold. 

“Wh– I'm heading out, is what I mean. You should get your rest, too.”

Yubin's eyes take on a softer expression, “Oh, you're not staying over?”

“... Did you want me to?”

“Yeah…?”

Your eyes lock with hers for what seems like half a second and a million hours at the same time. You're stuck in place, still in a stalemate of a staring contest with her, and you're not sure even she knows what the two of you want out of the situation. Her expression turns into one of concern, and her arm holding up the covers falters just a bit. Fuck, you think, window's closing.

Make your choice, have no regrets. Get in the covers with her, and she lets them drop to snuggle up to you. Once the both of you settle, her head on your chest and yours on one of the fluffiest pillows in the world, she blurts out quietly: “You fucked up, you know.”

She navigates to her gallery and finds your video of her, and skips to a part near the end. “Your dumb ass stopped recording just as you were about to cum.” And the video did show that: Yubin rubbing your cock, eyes shut, tongue out and ready for your load, and the video stops. 

“Shit, sorry–” 

“This wasn't the bet. I wanted a cum tribute, not a facial. You need to send me a proper one,” she muses, “or take a proper video.”

Now that stuns you. You wonder how interesting her ceiling is for you to stare at it so much, but she snaps you out of it partway through by snaking a hand up your shirt and settling it right above your heart. Reciprocate–it only feels right–wrap an arm around her shoulders and pull her even closer. An exhale from both of you, and one last exchange of words: 

“Okay. Tomorrow?”

“Can you go again that soon?”

“If it's you, of course.”

“Don't guys need to recharge?”

“... I'll handle it.”

~~~

[sanarsi]

Welcome tooooo

you little slut 🫵🏼

All stories are written by me and most of them are intended for MDNI.

!If you are a minor, please leave my profile!

All stories are fiction and are not intended to offend anyone.

If you love Pedro Pascal and his characters, I invite you to enjoy

If you like any of my stories, please leave a comment/reblog, it means A LOT to me, thank you!

Also, all fics are available under this hashtag - #sanarsi fic

CONTENT MARKINGS

Fluff - 🧁 / Angst - 🫧 / Smut - 🦢 / Dark - 🕷️ / My fav - 🤍

*mini series include more than 3 and less than 5 parts

One Shots

Goddess 🧁🦢🤍

husband!Oberyn Martell x f!Reader

Just you and your husband who love each other very much.

Royal Vows 🦢

groom!Oberyn Martell x f!Reader

The wedding of members of the royal family carries with it obligations. One of them is the consummation of the marriage.

Eight woman 🫧🦢

Oberyn Martell x f!Reader

Oberyn is tormented by memories of you after you decided to leave him.

One Shots

Birthday present 🦢

Javier Peña x f!Reader

You're the daughter of one of Columbia's godfathers. Agent Peña decides to surprise you on your twenty-fifth birthday.

To be loved by a woman 🦢

dbf!Javier Peña x f!Reader

Javier Peña has been in your life for as long as you can remember. The perfect friend for your father. A gentleman with a charming smile and good taste. How can he resist you if he knows you feel the same way about him?

It’s just business 🦢

Javier Peña x informant!f!Reader

As one of the drug cartels' representatives, you were incredibly useful to Agent Peña. However, he can't stop his habit of fucking his informants.

Forbidden fruit 🦢 part 2 for "It’s just business”

Javier Peña x informant!f!Reader

Your affair with Agent Peña was wrong and you both knew it. But how could he resist you when he was starting to fall for you?

One Shots

Betrayal

coworker!lover!Jack Daniels x spy!f!Reader

Coming soon

Mini Series

Sex, Drugs and Rock’n’Roll 🧁🫧🦢

rockstar!Frankie Morales x f!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Young rock star Frankie Morales and his band "Triple Frontier" are slowly climbing towards fame. Your luck allowed you to meet him when they were still playing in bars. The passionate feelings that arose between you opened the door to a completely different world. Sex, drugs and a lot of Rock. The road to the world of fame is never strewn with roses and the problems you encounter put many things to the test. What can come out of the mixture of the three most addictive things in the world if not chaos.

One Shots

Gardens of Eden 🦢🤍

Din Djarin x goddess!f!Reader

Another bounty hunt goes wrong when he comes across a creature whose influence changes his view of everything.

One Shots

Lovely Mornings

Marcus Moreno x nanny!f!Reader

Coming soon

One Shots

Flying days and nights 🫧🤍

ex-boyfriend!Dieter Bravo x f!Reader

You and Dieter broke up because of his addiction. Despite that, he's going to do anything to have you in his arms again.

One Shots

Pink Braids 🧁

no-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Joel decided to take his daughter on vacation for a few days. The sea and the beach were the perfect destination for a short break. Joel could never resist Sarah's charms. The stand selling colorful braids was no exception.

You’re doing great, sweetie 🦢

no-outbreak!professor!Joel Miller x student!f!Reader

You came to your professor to ask for help with your essay. He accidentally discovers one of your dirty secrets which is him.

Controversially young girlfriend 🫧🦢🤍

post-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Joel finally finds his brother. He's not too happy to hear how he got on with his life without him. But his brother is also not happy to meet his new partner - you. Or Joel fucks you to comfort you.

One of your girls 🦢

post-outbreak!Joel Miller x virgin!f!Reader

Joel was known for treating women well in bed. That's why, on your eighteenth birthday, you decided to give him your virginity.

We Have It All 🫧

pre/post-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!Reader

You and Joel were separated by the outbreak.

Without Me 🫧

post-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Joel was not a good man and the consequences of his actions eventually caught up to him.

Man’s Love 🧁🦢

no-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Joel is your neighbor who doesn't hide his feelings for you and won't give up on winning your heart despite your rejections.

Private lessons 🦢

no-outbreak!instructor!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Joel gives you private horse riding lessons.

Everything we did that summer 🦢

step-uncle!no-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!Reader

You resisted getting close to Joel, afraid of what might happen then. Well, his affection for you destroyed everything you had worked for.

Summer 2014 🦢

bfd!no-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!Reader

What happens if you find out you're attracted to your best friend's father? Well, Joel is more than willing to show you that.

But daddy, I love him! 🫧🦢

older boyfriend!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Your controversial old boyfriend is back from his deployment. Your father is against your relationship. Or Joel fucks you on his motorcycle.

Sweet treat 🦢🕷️

perv!neighbor!Joel Miller x f!Reader

You came to your family home for a vacation. The obsession that is born in Joel pushes him to do very bad things.

Euphoria 🫧🦢

professor!Joel Miller x student!f!Reader

One wrong call led to this, that instead of your boyfriend, it's your professor who picks you up from the party.

Your faith 🫧🦢🕷️

post-outbreak!dark!Joel Miller x f!Reader

You are locked up, at the will of your tormentor who only wants you to love him.

Favourite Lamb 🦢

post-Jackson!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Joel finally has what he wanted – a quiet life, a farm, and you. After a hard day at work, you're eager to take care of your man.

One Shots

Victory’s your only payment 🫧🦢🕷️

lover!Marcus Acacius x f!Reader

Your general has betrayed you. Your anger is greater than the love you have for him, so you send him to the arena to fight for his last breath.

One Shots

Paid internship 🦢

professor!Reed Richards x student!f!Reader

You don't have enough money to pay for your internship. Prof. Richards finds another way for you to pay him back.

Physics in Practice 🫧🦢

stepfather!professor!Reed Richards x student!f!Reader

You accidentally discover that your stepfather has a shameful soft spot for you. Reed has to deal with everything you decide to serve him after that.

Cheri Cheri Lady 🦢

stepfather!Reed Richards x f!Reader

Your stepdad fucks you on a sun lounger.

Girl Meal Series 🦢

Pedro Pascal characters x f!Reader

AU where all four boys are your friends and provide you with one, very intense day. From breakfast to dessert.

Kinktober 2024 🧁🫧🦢🕷️

Pedro Pascal characters x f!Reader

31 kinks with 10 Pedro Pascal boys for each of the 31 days of October

Okay so that’s it bestieee

Hope you enjoyed xx

[luveline]

Hello Jade! I have a request for hotch if that’s okay, I was thinking something like he’s dating sunshine!reader who goes to a police precinct with the team and the sheriff/deputy insults Hotch in front of her (maybe she’s not part of the BAU so he doesn’t realise she knows Hotch?) and she snaps and punches him/pushes him to the ground and afterwards she’s really quiet and refusing to tell anyone what happened cause she doesn’t want Hotch to hear that people were bad mouthing him. Everyone is confused cause she’s usually so bubbly and it’s disconcerting to see her so stern but she has to protect her man damnit 😤

(Ps I’m the anon who got confused about rules n you’re right I was looking under guidelines not requests 🤦🏼‍♀️ sorry!)

hi babe, thank you for your request! (and no worries at all, no sorry necessary!!)

—hotch is dumbfounded when you slap a deputy sheriff, but you have your heartfelt reasons. fem, 2k

You're not specifically BAU, but when Hotch calls, you answer. You don't look BAU either in your skirt with your blue laptop carry case; twice you're asked what you're doing in the precinct and if you need assistance, but eventually you get to the centre of the action upstairs, meandering through the detective's desks toward a conference room with a sticky-taped sign that says to knock before entering. 

"Hey, Spencer," you say, shouldering open the door. "They leave you behind?" 

Spencer turns away from his white board. "I'm more useful here right now. Did you bring the ethernet cable for Garcia?"

You put your laptop case on the table and pull out her desired cable. "Where is she?" It's hard-pressed for Penelope to be found anywhere away from her computer during case times. You must get twenty or more rejection emails a month from your fellow tech analysist. Sorry, working a case :'( 

"Bathroom. There's a kitchen if you need coffee. You have a badge?" 

You flash your visitor's badge at him. "Get you one?" 

"Four sugars. Thanks, L/N." 

You flash him a smile. The kitchen is back the way you came and to the right. It's nowhere near big enough for the workforce, three tables and one microwave next to a sink full of mugs. You smile at anyone who looks at you and beeline for a coffee pot. No one questions you. They must be used to outsiders invading their space this week. 

"Mean fucking guy." 

You tilt your head to the side, hand paused in their cup cabinet above the sink. You shouldn't be nosy, but they're not being very quiet, either.

"He has to be mean, I guess. That's a tight ship to run," says a second voice.

"I'd understand it if I thought they were getting somewhere. It's been four days, and between the string bean and his pushpin map and that tech girl who won't shut up? They're doomed. The boss is either too stubborn or too damn stupid to realise." 

You close the cabinet and turn around. 

"I fucking hate this shit. Ties in their suit jackets coming into our investigation and chasing the wrong leads. We could've had Miller in cuffs two days ago if Hotchner hadn't shut us down, two days ago! And now another kid is dead, and there's not a drop of remorse on him. He doesn't care about doing his job, he–" 

"He what?" you ask. Your heart is beating hard before you've so much as parted your lips, your hands trembling. You screw them into tight balls. 

"Excuse me?" 

Your opposition is a rough hewn man in a deputies badge, a cup of coffee held between two paws. He narrows thick salt and pepper brows at your question, his mouth screwed into a telling snarl. 

"You think Agent Hotchner doesn't care about his job? So why is he here? Why did he agree to take the case?" 

"Who the fuck are you?" 

You shake your head in annoyance and take the FBI badge from your little cross body bag. You toss it on the table, your beaming face looking up at him a juxtaposition to the glare you wear now. 

He stands up from his table. The lunch room hushes but the riot of precinct cacophony stays strong just outside of the door, a thrum that battles your roaring heart. You're so angry you can barely speak, and it'll only get worse. 

"I'm sorry you have to hear it from me, darling, I am, but your boss out there? Agent Hotchner?" The deputy scoffs. "He's a fool running blind. He turned away from the real issue here. He's a prideful, narcissistic idiot who's let the power of his paycheck get to his head, and as far as I'm concerned? So long as he stops us from arresting Jaden Miller? He's a murderer, too. The blood is on his hands." 

You know you're going to slap him from the moment he says 'murderer', but the knee to his crotch straight after is a surprise even to yourself. All you're thinking for one horrible white-hot moment is How can I hurt him? It's shameful, and you slam your knee up a second time anyhow. 

—

"You can tell me what happened now or later, but it's going to be much easier on you if you tell me now." 

Hotch hates this part. What he wouldn't give to have someone else here to reprimand you. He understands why Gideon left and he wouldn't want him back unwillingly, but Hotch thinks your nightly phone call may go over smoother tonight if it were Gideon standing in his place. Half the time Hotch finds he's uninterested in scolding you. It's why you stay firmly in your department and away from his bias in the BAU. He can't be optimal at his job while you're around. 

It's not limited to telling you off, of course. When you're near, he wants to act like it. He wants to take your hand, hold your arm, rub a palm between your shoulders. He wants to pull you into his lap, or pinch the soft lobe of your ear between his fingers to watch you shiver, blow warm air at the back of your neck to hear your laugh. This cold silence is his worst nightmare, but he can't cross the line. 

Well, he can't cross the line too much. 

In the privacy of a cordoned, borrowed office, Hotch can sit beside you. The blinds are closed, and his intimidation act wasn't getting him anywhere anyways. More flies with honey than vinegar. 

"I can't show favouritism here, do you understand? Especially when you're being physically violent against the deputy sheriff." Hotch watches the soft pillow of your bottom lip tremble in a private terror. "I know you wouldn't do this for no reason. I know. Give me a reason to take your side and I will." 

"I don't want to talk about it." 

"Did he say something inappropriate?" 

You don't answer.

"Did he?" Hotch can feel the anger he's been pushing down start to rise. When a woman like you, happy-go-lucky, pretty, and always smiling, turns to violence, it's not hard to picture why. He knows full well the horrible things a man can say to a woman. "Please, trust me to take care of this." 

"Hotch, I really don't want to talk about this. You can reprimand me, send me home." 

"No. Tell me what he said." 

You glare at him. Hotch finds with a heart-skipping hurt that it's the first time he's been on the receiving end of your disdain. "No. I don't want to." 

"And I don't want to send you home." He knows how he looks, stony-eyed and furrowed brow. He has to try hard to relax into a more neutral expression. "I won't. Not when I know you'd never hurt someone." 

"Well, I did." 

"We all do things we don't mean to in anger." 

In the quiet, he can hear Emily asking loud questions about what happened, and her almost comedic gasp as someone informs her of the situation. Morgan couldn't find the words to tell Hotch over the phone what happened, just told him to hurry back, and it was doubly difficult to get the story out of Spencer, who'd been the one responsible for standing in your way. 

"He called her a bitch," Spencer told him. "I didn't want to hold her back after that." 

The sheriff deputy has a good hundred pounds on you, so no matter what he called you, Hotch is glad you were pulled away. 

Hearing that you'd been called a bitch set his nerves aflame. When Spencer explained that this was said by a man on his knees after a swift jab to the crotch, Hotch was more confused. 

He follows a whim. He's biassed for sure, but he knows you're the most beautiful woman in any room that you walk into. It doesn't shock him that a high-ranking authority figure would take advantage of his position to make a pass at you. 

"You have nothing to be ashamed of," he says softly. "Whatever he said to you, I– I'm not supposed to support violence, but I understand if it got too much. Sexual harassment is unjustifiable, and I'll stand with you and your actions completely." 

"He didn't harass me, Aaron," you say, looking down at your knees. You're wearing dark stockings, pinching at the fabric distractedly. 

"Did he touch you?" 

"No, Aaron–" You sigh frustratedly. "I don't want to tell you what he said because it's not true." 

"He insulted you?" 

"He insulted you." You glance at him and then away. "I couldn't stand it." 

If there weren't cameras in the room he'd bundle you into his arms and kiss the slope of your cheek, because how is he supposed to handle this? You're hitting people when they talk bad about him now? 

Hotch doesn't need to ask to know it was bad. You're a well-meaning, well-adjusted person. You'd hardly hit somebody for calling Hotch a jerk. Something severe would've been said to have pushed you over the edge, but, to his detriment, Hotch has heard a thousand awful things about himself from a thousand different mouths, and he doesn't worry about what it was. 

"Alright. Listen to me carefully." Your shoulders stiffen. "I don't want you hurting people over me. I don't need you to defend me. I don't want you to fight my battles for me, and I certainly don't want you assaulting people on my behalf." 

Your lip again begins to tremble. "I'm sorry." 

"No. Don't be sorry." He covers your knee in his hand gently, ducking his head to meet your glassy eyes. He's gone about this the wrong way, upsetting you unnecessarily. He rushes to correct it. "I love that you want to defend me, I love that you did, and it isn't lost on me how much it means to have you at my side, but… You could have been seriously injured. Honey, picking on someone your own size is a double-sided coin. What if the deputy hit you back?" 

"I'm not afraid of getting hurt." 

He leans down more, imploring, desperate to be heard. "I'm afraid of you getting hurt. Me. I'm worried someone's going to hurt you when I'm not around." 

"He was saying all this stuff about you and it wasn't true–" 

"It's okay," he says, shaking his head slowly from one side to another. "It doesn't matter. I know what people like him think of me, and he's not in an easy position." He drops his voice to a murmur for your ears alone. "I'm not saying you should agree with him, I can't tell you that I like him much." 

You laugh weakly, the sound quickly melding to a sniffle. "I'm sorry, Aaron. I shouldn't have hit him. I don't know what came over me." 

"We get angry for the people we care about." 

He can't kiss you, really, not at work, but he can show you some heavy affection. It's a boundary crossed. Luckily, Hotch knows you won't report him. 

"Thank you for defending me. You can stay on the case if you promise not to do it again," he says, squeezing your smaller hand in his, drawing a lopsided heart with his thumb into the back of it. 

"I'll promise not to do it again if he promises to keep his stupid mouth closed," you mutter. 

"Is it wrong of me to like this version of you?" he says. 

You look him straight in the eye, your usual lightness restored, if dimmed just a touch. "I like all your versions, Agent Hotchner." 

"Good. Remind the version that's your boyfriend to treat you accordingly tonight. Okay?" 

You nod emphatically, both relieved and chastened. "Okay. Thanks, handsome." 

You look tired. Tonight, he'll kiss you like he means it, maybe a touch too rough but apparently you're a hard ass now who can handle it, and he'll hold you close even if he can't give you the attention you deserve until the case is done. He'll make sure you know how much he appreciates your protection, rub your back for hours just the way you like it while sleep fails. 

"You're welcome," he says. He has more to say but there's no more time to waste. There's still work to be done. 

It'll come easier with you at his side, he's sure. 

[karlachismylife]

Yeah, but what if you're a character in a game they like to play? A pre-existing townie in a life simulator that helps them reconnect with normal life outside deployment? The one they somehow always tend to romance in every savefile, courting you through the clumsy mechanics?

Soap would absolutely spam interactions, interrupting any of the tasks you are trying to do. What do you mean your relatonship progress starts going down after he chose "tell a flirty joke" twenty times in a row? Why are you falling out of the conversation and going to water your plants or play on the computer? Does he have to delete it out of the game for you to stop getting distracted? Hmph. If you were a real person, you would be already swooning at his jokes, that he knows for sure. C'mon, bonnie, don't leave the lot for work! If you accept his proposition to move in, you'll never need to work a day in your pixel life! He also has a fuckton of savefiles, because he wants to try every single thing the game has to offer, but turns out mastering all 158 skills and 73 careers isn't that easy in one go. He still goes after you in each and every savefile. What can he say? You're just the prettiest of them all.

Gaz has the strategy nailed down. He knows your pre-set preferences and makes sure his character caters to them (good thing you seem to be generally into him, all he needs to do is add your favourite colour to his outfit, and it suits hm too!), he can calculate the shortest route to have a romantic meter above your head in one conversation. Juggling the interactions with ease, never making the mistake to bore or upset you. He knows you'll have the best family tree in that game, and he'll make it happen. Also has quite a few savefiles, but only because he enjoys the storytelling aspect and always prepares some elaborate plot, filled with drama. Takes inspiration from the hundreds of episodes of different TV shows he manages to watch, also plays with mods to add as much flavour to the game as possible.

Price tries to court you like he would a real person. Inviting your character out, putting a lot of thought into which conversation theme choose out of what game offers, bringing you gifts. Unfortunately for him, the game isn't registering his actions as actually trying to woo you... so he just takes the gloves off and fucking cheats your relationship status. His in-game self needs a pretty partner to look after the pack of three dogs, named Ghost, Gaz and Soap respectively. He's not above cheating your babies (whether your character carries them or it's the science baby option) to be triplets. Only starts new savefiles when you both grow old and pass away in the previous one, maybe because he can't bring himself to live out your kids' lives (they should be their own little virtual people and decide for themselves), or maybe because he doesn't understand that he actually can keep playing even if his character's dead.

Ghost starts with adding himself to your family and setting your relationship status as spouses. Oh, you have some in-game pathetic weird looking prick as your pre-set partner/husband? Too bad, evicted, deleted from the game, forgotten. If he is in the mood, he won't straight up delete that poor bloke, but will set up a pool with no ladder and drown him in it or lock him in a separate room to starve. Nothing you should see, though, you'll be plenty busy drowning yourself, not in a pool, but in his affection. Doesn't spam interactions, but really enjoys just watching you go about your day and making it so that his character takes care of your needs - if you start to get hungry, he's already slamming the "call to meal" button on the giant ribs plate his in-game self just roasted. Probably has one savefile where he keeps cheating any death back.

Or are you a cute tamagochi pocket friend/pet they enjoy taking care of, because having a real pet is impossible with their lifestyle? An NPC with an everyday quest of collecting produce in a chill farm simulator? A weekly boss they lose fight to as much times as they can afford to, just to see your opening cutscene replay over and over? A companion whose personal quest they have memorized line by line, but never skip dialogue to hear your voice and look at every expression you make?

Whoever you are, what if one day something in your code changes and you suddenly start recognizing them?

[fillinforlater]

The Pull

Randoms x Ning Yizhou (NingNing) & Kang Hyewon

Length: 1165 words

Tags: gangbang, hair pulling kink, rough, a lot of positions, sex, being a willing toy for men and women

TW: gangbang, the hair pulling is kinda rough, QUICKIE

Inspiration: the two pictures below

(A/N: just a short quickie I had in mind for forever now. Sorry if it's just bullshit, but I hope y'all enjoy it lol)

"Okay, what is this?"

Ningning is perplexed. She let her imagination run wild when Hyewon invited her over weeks ago, the premise: fun with multiple people. Now, multiple can mean a lot, like sharing a couple, something Ningning is already familiar with or maybe two guys for each of them. That's about as many as she can handle simultaneously. Come to think of it, Ningning remembers Hyewon telling her about having three guys and two girls on her at the same time, though—

"Don't tell me you expected more?" Hyewon laughs as she pushes herself through the tall and small and buff and slender frames of horny people around her towards her Chinese friend.

"Less," Ningning quietly hisses when she sees the twinkle in Hyewon's starry eyes. This woman is truly like the night sky: thrilling, even if you can't see it, drop dead gorgeous when uncovered and always happy to surprise her with a shooting star—or in this case, almost twenty willing people. 

"Oh, can my small Ning-ning-ie not handle a dozen men and half a dozen women?" Hyewon's laugh is loud and echoes amongst the crowd whose eyes are all focused on the two. Ningning can feel herself getting undressed, hell, she might as well be bare in their eyes, clothes already on the floor and Hyewon is the same. 

"You're crazy." She puts her arms on Hyewon's shoulders and looks past her. A wave of blankness washes over her head. Now she is the one undressing all those strangers before her, the men whipping out their hard cocks, small, large, thick; the girls with their hairy or shaved pussies, tiny tits or gigantic melons—she is equally scared and excited, so she needs this final push to get her into it.

"And you are crazy hot, Ning-ning-ie~ and your hair…"

Unwillingly, Ningning throws her head back in a guttural, deep moan that has the entire room in goosebumps of thrill and blind lust. Hyewon has both hands in Ningning's endlessly long hair, the blonde fittingly forming tails to tug. There are a million reasons Ningning loves Hyewon, but it's the way she pulls her hair that made her addicted to the older girl.

"Don't keep them waiting any longer, Ningningie~ they can and will pull it and fuck you good.

"Trust me."

The two women are swarmed, torn from each other's grasp and covered in hands. A palm on her back, barely worth the mention, another on her chest, too bad that there's fabric in the way, a long, manicured pointer on her thighs, Ningning holds her breath—she shrieks when someone combs her hair and tugs at whatever they can grab. The doubts and fears she had about this are all gone when more and more people try to get a stronger reaction out of her and pull at her hair.

"Those tails—fuck—were a great idea," Hyewon half moans, half laughs from the other side of the crowded room, amidst a crowd, her frame the toy of the crowd. Her dress is easily removed, unsurprisingly, she likes easy access. Ningning then sees her friend drop to her knees, mouth on a cock, fingers on other shafts and pussies, while a large, burly man roughly pulls her hair back.

"Do the same to me," Ningning begs to the first person she can see, a bald guy, twice her age easily. He nods and pushes her to the ground while the pointy, manicured nails from before are shredding themselves through her top. "My hair, oh God, fuck, yes!"

Though unable to see it—a girl has buried the Chinese woman's face in her hairy cunt—Ningning can feel strong pulling from all sides, relentless, reckless how some are rubbing their cocks on it as well. She searches for the hard clit, her tongue twirling it, like Hyewon has teached her in a private session, way before gangbangs even came into the picture. Some greasy guy forces her to stroke his tiny cock, she can feel him cumming, hear him groaning, imagine the pearly white all over her arm. Not a good spot to finish. 

"In my mouth, ahh." Ningning opens wide and the guy finishes on her lips until two other men decide to suddenly pick her up. The rest of his load lands on her tits, but Ningning has already forgotten about it, too big is the thrill of a stranger uncovering her ass and showing it off to everyone. 

"Fuck me standing," she screams in euphoria. "As long as you pull my fucking hair, I don't care!"

Today is Christmas for Ningning, because as the guy carrying her aligns his cock with her soaking pussy, another woman has her ponytail in hand and starts to play tug of war against herself. In Ningning's brain, the pleasure and pain clash shortly, but soon find a rhythm—the same rhythm in which her pussy is getting pounded. Each thrust rocks her world and now the tug can send her into bliss.

"Oh my God, I'm cumming, don't stop!"

Hyewon meanwhile gets spitroasted in a quite unusual way: two men try to get their semi-hard cocks into her mouth while a young lady shoves a large strap-on in her ass over and over again—she literally pushes it all the way in, just to pull it back out again. The sight of Hyewon's gaping asshole has a guy close. He jerks himself to completion and his spunk lands in Hyewon’s messed up and torn locks.

"I want to cum again, please!"

Ningning gets dropped, but this is nowhere near the end of her wish fulfillment. There is always someone else to fondle her assets, be it tits or ass, and of course, her golden strands. In another team effort, her ass cheeks get spread wide to reveal a twitching hole, always clean, relaxed and ready, especially after the height of an all time orgasm. A cockhead eases itself inside her. 

"Oh fuck!"

"Get her hair!" a strong willed woman shouts at two men who were somewhat awkwardly jerking themselves off at the ever switching sight. "You pull here, you pull over here, on the other side.  Fuck her hair for all I care, ruin her somehow."

The same woman is not only successful with her instructions, she also puts her foot on Ningning's cheek and has her head trapped on the floor, unable to escape the cock that is destroying her ass faster and faster. Ningning can feel her knees give up slowly, they tremble with the force of an earthquake followed by a volcanic eruption, because a final tug puts her over the edge again. This time her orgasm is messy, clear squirt lunges out of her cunt while incoherent profanities leave her mouth.

"Fucking, th-thank you, shit, oh Hyewon, ahhh, fill my dumb ass, c-c-cum in my hair, ahh!"

"You're welcome," Hyewon moans back, small body upright, a cock in her pussy, hickeys on her collarbone, a tongue in her ass, her hair pulled.

Of course it's pulled.

[corroded-hellfire]

Prompt Day 13: Sex, Drugs & Rock n Roll

Word Count: 1000

Rating: T

Pairing: (All in relationships that are talked about) Eddie x Reader, Jeff x Barb

CW: Language, talk of sex

Summary: The guys make a bet to see who can go the longest without sex

This is for my girls @munson-blurbs @the-unforgivenn @rip-quizilla and @word-wytch. The idea for this fic came from an extremely entertaining conversation about the CC guys’ sex lives 😂

@corrodedcoffinfest

“I could so be high and not have chips.”

Eddie, Jeff, and Frank chuckle, knowing Gareth’s claim is wholly false. 

“I don’t think you could even give up chips sober,” Frank says. 

The four friends are at Jeff’s apartment, getting high while watching Weekend at Bernie’s. 

“What?” Gareth asks, brushing his hands together to get rid of chip dust. “You think I don’t have any willpower?”

“Out of the four of us? You definitely have the least,” Eddie says before taking another drag. 

“That’s bullshit.” 

“Wanna bet?” Jeff asks.

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Gareth declares. 

“On who can go the longest without chips?” Jeff laughs. “Dude, you’re the only one who would go into withdrawal. We’d kick your ass.”

“Fine,” Gareth says as he gets off the burgundy couch. He stumbles over to the television and switches it off.

“Hey!”

“What the hell?”

“Dude!”

Gareth’s doing his best to stare them down and Eddie doesn’t have the heart to tell him it’s not working.

“What’s something we all like, huh? Be a real test of willpower?” Gareth asks.

“Music?” Frank suggests.

“Nah, that’s unavoidable. Grocery store? Music. Elevator? Music,” Eddie points out. 

“Oh.” The way Gareth’s eyes light up after he says it makes the guys worried. “I know exactly how we can test who has the best willpower.”

“And what’s that?” Jeff asks.

“I’ll even lay down twenty—no, fifty dollars on this bet,” Gareth says.

“Just tell us,” Eddie whines.

“I wager I can go the longest without having sex,” Gareth says with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Dude, really?” Eddie asks. “You want us to give up sex?”

“What’s wrong, Eddie?” Gareth taunts, crossing his arms over his chest. “Don’t think you could do it? Don’t have the willpower?”

“No, I just like fucking my girlfriend,” Eddie says with a laugh. 

“I’ll take that action—er, bet,” Jeff says, surprising Eddie.

“What?” Eddie practically shouts.

“I mean,” Jeff starts with a shrug, “it does seem like a fair test. We all live with our girlfriends.”

“I’m in,” Frank says. “Fifty down for me, too.”

“Means it’s just you who’s out, Eddie,” Gareth taunts. “I’m starting to think you're wussing out on us.”

Eddie rolls his eyes and takes another hit. 

“Jesus, fine, I’ll do it. What’re the rules gonna be?”

“Everyone puts fifty in,” Gareth starts.

“And no one tell their girl,” Jeff adds. “This is about our willpower.” 

“Yeah, that’ll be fun.” Frank’s voice drips in sarcasm. “Ally wants to have sex and I reject her.”

“Just pretend to fall asleep on the couch,” Gareth suggests with a shrug.

“You really think you can keep your hands off Annie?” Eddie asks Gareth, an amused smirk on his face.

“No rule about my hands not being on her.”

“Okay, yeah, that should be clarified,” Jeff says. “When we say, ‘no sex,’ what exactly does that entail?” 

Gareth tilts his head from side to side as he thinks about it.

“No vaginal, oral, or anal,” he decides. “No hand jobs. Basically, your girlfriend can’t get you off in any way and you can’t get her off.”

“We’re idiots for doing this,” Eddie complains.

“Feel free to forfeit and be the loser,” Gareth taunts.

“I could use that extra $150 bucks,” Jeff says. “Weren’t you looking for a new guitar, Ed? This would help.”

“Fuck,” Eddie sighs. 

“So, we’re all agreed?” Gareth asks. “Fifty bucks in for each of us. Starting today, we see who can go the longest without sex.”

The three others confirm their assent—and just in time.

The front door to the apartment opens and Barb steps in. 

“Hi, guys,” she greets as she sets a few grocery bags down.

“Hey, Barb,” they hum in unison. 

“What’re you up to?” she asks.

“Watched Weekend at Bernie’s,” Jeff says, pushing himself off the couch to go kiss his girlfriend. 

“Still going to that bar where the manager wants you guys to play? To finalize things?” Barb asks. 

“Yep,” Eddie replies as he stands up.

Gareth looks down at his watch, then says, “If we leave now, we can get pizza first.”

“Yeah, go get pizza,” Barb says, giving Jeff’s arm a loving squeeze. “I’ve got plenty here I can have for dinner. Just have to unpack it first.”

“Let’s get Surfer Boy,” Gareth suggests as he heads for the door.

The guys mumble their agreement and Barb gives them a wave as they head out.

“Have fun, boys.”

A chorus of “bye Barb” echoes before they’re all out and Jeff closes the door behind him. 

Barb unpacks her bags, keeping an ear out for cars leaving the parking lot. This is the second time the slightly open window has been used to Barb’s advantage in the last ten minutes. 

Once all the food is put away and Barb has checked that the guys have left, she shuffles over to the phone on the wall. She dials your number and impatiently waits for you to pick up.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Barb,” she says.

“Oh, hey! What’s up?” you ask.

“I heard our men having an interesting conversation when I got home. I don’t think they realize how loud they talk—or that they had a window open.”

“Oh, God,” you say with a laugh. “What’re they up to now?”

“They’ve made a bet with one another to see who can go the longest without sex,” she says. “And they’re not going to tell us girls about it.”

A giddy gasp comes from the other end of the phone as you think of all the possible ways you could have fun messing with Eddie on this. 

“Oh, Barb,” you croon. “I think we need to call up Ally and Annie and do some lingerie shopping.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Barb confirms. “So happy we’re on the same page of making this bet as hard as possible for them.”

You chuckle.

“I know four women who are suddenly going to become the biggest teases these guys have ever seen.”

[should-be-sleeping]

Tough day today... and friendly reminder that being human is easier when we help each other.

I saw one of our neighbors, an older woman we sometimes talk to in passing, sitting outside of her house. I don't know what exactly made me look twice, but on second glance as we drove by I realized her walker was in the grass. She was otherwise just sitting there, like she had a thousand times before, so it would have been easy to assume she was fine and go on with my life as normal but something told me to go check in on her anyway.

She was not fine. She was the polar opposite of fine. Just diagnosed with terminal cancer not fine. No next of kin not fine. A veteran facing eviction from her house for missing rent while in the hospital not fine. In constant debilitating pain not fine. Only semi-lucid not fine. She was extremely alone not fine.

I thought, at most, she might be bored while unable to pick up her walker not fine. A five minute detour from my day not fine. A help her back into her house and say "see you later!" not fine. Instead I spent the last three hours with her because she was so scared and alone and no one should be alone.

We talked a lot while I was there. She's actually two years younger than my mom (who also has cancer but slightly better luck, I guess). I helped her into her house and got her a drink and we talked about what all is going on with her. None of it was good. I was as reassuring as I could be, but there's only so much of this I can actually help her with.

"Why did you come?" she asked through tears.

"Because you looked like you might need some help."

She called me an angel. I told her I was just doing my best. I told her that kindness should never be rare. That we should all try to make the world just a little bit better than it was.

She offered to pay me but I told her I was just there as a friend. Before today we were basically strangers. No need to repay me with anything other than her company, I assured her. She cried, a lot. I managed not to somehow. Something tells me she had needed to cry long before this but in being Strong she never had the chance to.

She needed to get her mail, which is a long walk when you're disabled because it is not at all handicap accessible (across a parking lot, over a bridge, across a small field). So I helped her get her mail. We stopped every three feet because her pain was so bad, but she was determined to be able to go do this with me and not just send me on an errand. I patiently stayed with her and reminded her, through her apologies, it was fine to take our time: there was a nice breeze and birds were singing. She appreciated this. She loves nature.

Halfway back she said she wanted to go to the pool. To put her feet in the water. She loves water, and has not been able to even see the pool in a month. Neither of us were dressed for swimming, but I took her to the pool anyway. There is a stair leading down to it, meaning she couldn't bring her walker, so I offered her my arm.

We went to the pool. She put her feet in the water and then, with more energy and enthusiasm than I'd seen the whole time, she jumped in. In her fancy dress! She was instantly ten years younger at least, clear and happy, floating in the sun. Dress and all. She grew up with a pool and had been on a swim team.

I sat by the edge of the pool while she swam, keeping her company and also making sure she was okay. When she got tired I took her back home and then had to help her get undressed and redressed. I made sure she felt no shame. Getting out of wet clothes is hard for anyone, let alone someone with like twenty pounds of tumors racking them with constant pain.

She was so fucking happy to have gone swimming.

She is trying to "make everything right" before she goes. Trying to repay her debt to society and her debts in general. She couldn't understand why the corporation that owns our houses wouldn't take her money. She was genuinely distressed -- not to be homeless on her deathbed but to not leave this world with a clean slate. I told her intent matters. She can only do her best.

This company not letting her repay her debt was their fault, not hers.

When I finally needed to go, I told her to let me know any time she needed a hand or just wanted company. She told me she was going to die tonight. I told her I hoped not, so I could see her tomorrow. I offered her a hug, we hugged and she sobbed for a solid ten minutes into my shoulder. I told her she was okay. That it was okay.

When I got home I cried myself, because I could not believe she was going through all of that alone. I cannot even imagine how isolated she must have felt. Once I pulled myself back together I sent her a text reminding her to reach out any time and I'd do my best to come over. Like, any time at all.

I hope she is here tomorrow.

[lovelytsunoda]

the day you kissed a writer in the dark // han lue (tokyo drift)

summary: she's stood by his side for years. his loyal mechanic, the brains behind his brawn. but she'd be lying if she said that it didn't hurt to watch him flirt with those other women in his club, when he came home to her every night in secret.

bet you rue the day you kissed a writer in the dark, now she's gonna play and sing and lock you in her heart. i am my mother's child, i'll love you 'till my breathing stops.

pairing: han lue x mechanic! reader

warnings: smut, inappropriate use of a drifting car, insecurity and self-doubt, secret relationships, unplanned pregnancy.

author's note: here's something a little different today, lovelies! it's a departure from the usual realm of f1 content i usually bless you all with, but i felt like i needed to do something different to avoid burning myself out, and rewatching tokyo drift gave me the inspiration that i needed :)

she hated the club.

in the back end of her mind, she always resented the mere existence of that secret room leading to han's garage. the fact that he chose to surround himself with women in tight dresses with long legs and perky boobs like he was some kind of yakuza punk.

well, this wasn't crows fucking zero. this was real life.

she couldn't help but draw comparisons between these beautiful girls and herself. as she curled in on herself to duck through the crowd, she frowned at her reflection in the window: her torn up jeans, the grease stain on the cuff of her army-green sweater, the zip barely done up enough to cover up her double-d's, a small nut from her very first car hanging limply from a chain around her neck.

some days, she wondered why han had chosen her of all people.

"sean?" she asked quietly, poking the young american boy in the arm, practically shouting to be heard. "have you seen han?"

sean shook his head. "no, sorry. have you checked the garage?"

"i'm heading back there now. thanks, sean." she sighed, backing out the way that she came, trying not to think about all of the places that her boyfriend could be right now.

the anxiety ate away at her. was he with one of the other girls? one of the prettier, taller, thinner ones? was that why he wanted to keep the relationship under wraps?

was han ashamed of her?

she hurried down the rickety metal staircase, dropping her purse on the workbench as she went, subconsciously placing a hand over her stomach as she thought about the white plastic stick inside the fake leather bag.

they'd been sneaking around for a year, but they'd known each other far longer. she had come to tokyo when she was twenty-one, with a pocketful of cash and a monkey wrench. she had a high school diploma, but that didn't mean much to the rally teams she had applied to work on the pit crews for.

and that's when han swooped her up. when she became the bonnie to his clyde, the mechanic for his little street racing gambit.

that was three years ago. now she was almost twenty-five, he was twenty-seven, and he was in far too deep for them to keep going like this.

she knew why he had to keep it a secret. telling the world that she was his lover would put a target on her back. because that's what happens when you get in deep with someone like dk.

she pulled her hair back with the green rubber band on her wrist, pushing up her sleeves as she reached for a ratchet and approached han's car, the hood already open and ready for her.

working on the cars had always been her safe haven. her distraction from the outside world. fixing something that was broken gave her a satisfaction like no other.

"babe?" han's voice echoed through the garage, and she hated herself for the way that she froze up, fingers tightening around the ratchet. "sean said you were asking around for me? is everything okay?"

she withdrew from the car, slamming the hood down. "you're pushing the car too far. the engine is wearing down, you have to get something stronger. the serpentine belt is at it's brink."

"and that's why you're the brains of this operation and i'm just the pretty boy who drifts." han said playfully, wrapping his arms around her midsection as resting his chin on her shoulder.

"be more careful out there, seoul-oh." she said softly, placing a cold hand on top of his warm one before turning her head and kissing him softly. "i don't know what i'd do if anything ever happened to you."

han spun her body around gently, his hands on her waist as she jumped to perch her body on the edge of the hood, her fingers tangling in his dark, silky hair.

"you don't need to worry about me, sweetheart. i'm going to be okay."

she sighed, lacing her fingers together behind his neck. "where were you, han? wandering around your club with a girl on each arm? a girl that's three times prettier than i am, maybe one who's clothes are a little more revealing-"

"y/n, stop." han said firmly. "baby, you're the only one. my only one." he kissed her on the forehead softly. "i love you. i love you so much that it hurts. i wish i could shout it from the rooftops, but i can't put you in danger like that. i don't want dk to know, because that's a target on your back that i don't want there."

he pulled her as close as he could, arms wrapped securely around her as he leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. "i couldn't live with myself if anything ever happened to you."

the sincerity in the older man's voice was reassuring. but some days, it wasn't enough. she loved him more than words could say, but she was getting tired of being his little secret.

but at the end of the day, it was her bed that he always came home to. his arms she woke up in. his terrible singing in the kitchen while he made coffee with breakfast.

han lue was hers.

she kissed him again, still sitting on the edge of the toyota's hood. this kiss was stronger, harder. with more feeling as she bunched han's sweater up in her fingers, trying to wrestle it off his broad shoulders, his hands gripping her thighs tight enough to make her moan against his lips.

"seoul-oh." she mumbled as han broke away from her, pulling his sweater off the rest of the way before tugging his everlast t-shirt over his head.

they fit together like well-worn puzzle pieces, his lips finding that place on her neck that made her crumble, turned her legs to jelly as he slipped a hand up the front of her sweater, thumb tracing comforting shapes against her stomach as he nipped at her neck, biting down gently. there would be a hickey there in a mere matter of hours.

trailing kisses back up her neck, he gently bit her earlobe before placing one hand on the side of her face to guide her lips back to his, the other hand braced against the hood of the car to hold himself up. she bit down on his bottom lip, wrenching a growl from the back of han's throat.

he pulled away, dropping to his knees in front of the car as his large hands dipped under the waistband of her jeans. after reaching down to untie and kick off her beat up vans, she reached above her to grab the exposed beam in the garage ceiling, pulling her body up and allowing han to pull her jeans and panties down her legs in one fell swoop.

"oh, not on the car, baby. you'll stain the bodywork."

"don't care." han hummed, kissing the soft skin of her thigh. "i can't think of anything prettier than you. on the hood of my car, legs spread wide for me." he mumbled in between kisses, inching ever closer to where y/n needed him most, her arousal dripping onto the cool metal hood of the drift car.

and when his lips touched her throbbing clit, she could have sworn she turned electric, using one hand to brace herself against the car and burying the other in han's hair as she threw her head back in a throaty moan.

"han." she panted, grinding against his face as his tongue licked and sucked at her core. "oh, baby, yes."

han smiled to himself, kissing her clit gently as he held her thighs open with his hands. "still think that i don't find you attractive any more?"

"shut up, please. i need you so bad." she'd barely finished speaking when another low, seductive moan left her mouth. the arm that was holding her body up threatened to buckle underneath her as she tugged on han's hair, urging him to keep going.

han chuckled, the vibrations sending shockwaves through her body as her arm buckled, and she found herself lying against the hood, her head on the windscreen as she bucked her hips, searching for more as her lover tongue-fucked her, her legs thrown over his shoulders with reckless abandon.

"seoul-oh." she whined, clenching her thighs around han's head

"i know, baby." he mumbled softly, kissing her thigh. "you're doing so well darling. come for me."

and that's exactly what she did. with a moan so loud that she was shocked that the patrons of the club couldn't hear it echoing through the garage, she let go, her juices coating the lower half of han's face as he licked her clean before wiping off the bottom half of his face with the back of his hand.

"fuck." he mumbled, standing between her legs and leaning over the car to kiss her. "i can't get enough of you, baby. i think i'm gonna need more."

"oh yeah?" she smiled sitting up slightly, resting her weight on her elbows and raising an eyebrow when she saw the obvious hard-on struggling to break free from the confines of han lue's jeans. "and what do you think we should do about it?"

"back. room. now." he said, softly but firmly, kissing her in between each word as she wrapped her bare legs around his body, allowing han to pick her up and carry her over to the back room, where a double bed was piled high with blankets for the nights where they worked late, or drift races lasted until the mere hours of the morning.

or, nights where neither of them wanted to go home. han was sure that they had fucked on almost every available surface of the garage.

she undid her sweater slowly, revealing the lacy white bra underneath, the makeshift pendant on her necklace hanging delicately just above the hollow of her breasts as she cast the fabric aside, reaching up to snap the elastic band in her hair, letting it cascade in waves down her shoulders.

"you're beautiful, you know that?" he said softly, kneeling on the mattress as he rested one hand gently against her cheek.

she leaned into his touch, reaching up to wrap her slender fingers around his wrist, pressing a soft kiss to the heel of his hand.

she knew she should tell him. han needed to know.

but now was definitely not the time.

not that she could find the words while he kissed her neck, her chest, her stomach, his fingers dancing across her back as he fumbled with the clasp of her bra, erection straining against his jeans.

"han, babe." she mumbled, reaching behind her. "it's been a year now, you should know how to undo a bra, mr. womanizer." she joked, pushing his hands away as she pulled the bra off by herself.

"why would i need to know how to do it when you just take it off by yourself most of the time?" he grinned, standing up to unbuckle his belt.

he started to undo his jeans, pausing halfway as if he had forgotten something before he darted over to the rolling toolbox in the back of the room, pulling a small foil packet out of the top drawer.

fat lot of good a condom would do them now.

not when she was already carrying his baby inside of her.

her body trembled with anticipation as she watched han rid himself of his jeans, the echo of his belt buckle hitting the floor echoing around the room before he rolled the latex sheath onto his thick, hard cock.

god, she was a fool in love. han seoul-oh made her feel every range of emotions all at once.

"seoul-oh." she mumbled, lips against his as he clambered onto the bed, covering her body with his broad one.

"hm?" han mumbled, pressing kisses all over her face.

"i love you, han lue." she said firmly, gently pushing his face away so she could look him in the eyes. "i mean it, babe. you've ruined me for anybody else. you're it for me."

"good, because i don't think i could love anybody else if i tried." han breathed out, kissing her again, the tip of his cock teasing her entrance.

she squirmed under him, a small gasp escaping her lips before she bit down on her bottom lip.

she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of hearing her beg. that wasn't what tonight was for.

han knew this as well, gently pushing himself inside her. tonight was about more than just chasing a high. for both of them. it was about love, and reassurance, and intimacy.

she threaded her fingers through his hair, whining as han moved ever so slightly, the sensations they both felt sending shockwaves through their bodies.

"seoul-oh." she moaned softly. "please. god, you feel incredible."

"yeah?" han crooned, thrusting softly and barely holding back a moan of his own. "you look so pretty with my cock inside you, my sweet sweet girl."

"just like that." she whined as he thrusted again, bucking her hips into him, trying to take his length deeper. "keep doing that, fuck."

when han's nimble fingers came up grip and massage her right breast, she knew she was a goner, arching her back to drive her body into him with a moan as he kissed her chest.

"you like that, baby? yeah, you love having my hands all over you. and i love touching your beautiful body." han murmured, sucking a hickey onto her collarbone. he could feel himself unravelling, knew that the end was nigh as he moaned against her skin, blindly reaching for her hand.

there were no more slow thrusts as the driver began to pick up the pace, his lover's legs wrapped tightly around him as she moaned his name.

"oh god, han, baby. fuck, keep going." she panted, one hand trailing down her body to play with her clit. anything to get her closer to that release she craved as she whined and squirmed under han's touch.

she'd seen this film before, and she already knew the ending. and the start if the sequel.

"come for me, baby. i know you can take it, just give me one more, okay?"

"han, han, holy shit." she moaned, feeling the coil in her stomach finally snap, her high crashing over her like a wave.

her lover groaned above her, a guttural sound ripped straight from his throat before han gently pulled out of her sensitive body, the evidence of his own peak contained within the clear latex that he slid off his member, tying the condom off in a knot before punting it into the trash can next to his desk.

she pulled the blankets up as han settled in the bed next to her, his warm fingers dancing in gentle circles against her sweaty skin as they laid together in the afterglow, a content look on his face as he kissed her on the forehead.

"seoul-oh." she said quietly, twirling his long, dark locks of hair around her fingertip. "i have to tell you something."

"what's on your mind, pretty girl?" worry creased han seoul-oh's face, a pit forming in his stomach.

he hated seeing her like this.

"i'm pregnant."

han's eyes widened. "what? babe, why didn't you tell me?"

"i've been trying all day. but you've had your hands full with dk and sean and drifting." she said sadly. "but i can't raise this baby with dk breathing down our necks. you need to get out of this life, seoul-oh."

han frowned thoughtfully, one hand resting against the side of her face. "i'm going to be a father. fucking hell, babe this is incredible. i promise you, i'm going to make a plan, and i'm going to get us out of tokyo."

"you know we can't keep this a secret any longer, right? i'm already eight weeks along, once the first trimester ends, i won't be able to hide it."

"you're right, you're right. we'll test the waters. i'll tell sean and twinkie in the morning, see how the news of our relationship goes over with them. i want to keep it from dk until i can find a way to get us out of here."

y/n nodded, lacing her fingers with han's and placing his hand on her stomach. "okay. let's do this thing." she broke out into a smile. "we're going to be parents, han. can't you picture it? sitting behind the wheel of your toyota, with our little gremlin on your lap, teaching them how to drive before they can even walk."

han laughed. "they'll be born with a monkey wrench in one hand and a bag of lays in the other."

"i love you, seoul-oh." she said softly, kissing him gently. "i'm so glad i found you three years ago.

"i love you more, y/n. and i can't wait to raise this kid with you."

Tags (though im not sure if any of you are interested loll):

@magnummagnussen @libraryofloveletters @sidcrosbyspuck @scuderiamh

[youunravelme]

to all the girls you've loved before part 5

author's note: this might be the softest part out of all of them? sorry for the wait, i hope the fluff makes up for it. :)

pairing: single dad!mat barzal x reader

summary: being a nanny for rich people was probably the worst thing that ever happened to you, until you started working for mat.

warnings: children, rich people, very volatile/toxic relationship

day forty-four

"does this look okay?" mat popped his head in your room where you were sitting on your bed with a book in your lap.

"you look like you normally do."

he ran a hand down his face. "i mean, is it appropriate to wear to a doctor's appointment?"

oh shit.

you forgot.

you jumped off the bed and ran into the walk in closet.

"did you forget?" mat teased. any sign of insecurity at his outfit choice disappeared when you sprinted into the closet.

"would you believe me if i said no?"

he laughed. "not a chance." he cleared his throat. "let me go wake ella up and get her ready."

you pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater as well as thick socks and shoes. you walked out, nearly running into mat and ella in the hallway.

ella immediately perked up at seeing you and reached for you while mat rolled his eyes.

"can't believe she loves you more."

"i'm with her all day," you quipped. but the second the words left your mouth, you were backpedaling. "not to say that you're an absent father!" you amended. "i just mean that i live here and i take care of her when you're not here, so she sees me more and--"

mat's laughter cut you off. he placed a strong hand on your shoulder and squeezed. "i didn't take it that way, relax." and like nothing happened, he continued down the hall to the living room.

a sigh escaped your lips the second his touch was gone.

it was another ten minutes before the three of you left. originally, you were stunned that he asked you to join him in the first place, but when mat explained how confused he and tito were for that the first doctor's appointment, it made more sense.

everyone needed an emotional support friend.

you had a whole crew of them help move you out of your old apartment.

even the thought of that day made you want to tear up again. you'd never been one for having a large group of friends, usually just a close few. but after graduating college, after your school friends moved away from the city, somewhere along the way, you stopped picking up your phone to text them.

which was how you landed in your former apartment with natalie. she was a friend of a friend, and easy enough to live with.

until she fucked your boyfriend.

so when mat, tito, sydney, and marty all helped you move out? even after only knowing the latter two for less than twenty-four hours?

they put your old friends to shame.

"what's going on in that mind of yours?" mat asked. "you got quiet." you shrugged. "oh come on, you're thinking about something! i can see the wheels turning in your head."

"you sound like my mother."

mat guffawed and laughed at the same time in a sound that you wanted to commit to memory. "your mother? should i be offended?"

you smiled despite yourself. "she's alright."

"she must be if she raised you."

you crossed your arms. "you're such a flatterer."

"only for you."

you ignored the weird fluttering sensation in your gut and rolled your eyes. "wait till i tell tito that you like me more."

mat groaned and ran a hand over his mouth. "please don't, i get enough shit from him as it is."

interesting.

you turned in your seat to face him a little more. "and what shit would he be giving the great mathew barzal? spending too long on your hair? being too talented? having too many female fans?"

as you came to a stoplight, mat rubbed the back of his neck, looking increasingly more uncomfortable with your line of questioning. "not necessarily..." he trailed off.

but you ignored his signs of hesitancy and kept pressing on. "i bet it's about you being a dilf."

if the car was moving, you'd bet money that mat would've slammed on the brakes. but you were currently still sitting at the stoplight, so he just looked at you with an expression that boarded on shocked and horrified.

"a what?"

"surely, you know what a dilf is, mat."

he sputtered. "i mean i uh know what it is--"

"then why are you so flustered?" you asked, leaning on the center console.

"just wasn't expecting you to say that is all."

"i'm sure you and your teammates have said worse in the locker room."

"yeah but that's them and you're you and--" he cut himself off and chose to wave his hands in the air like that action alone would fill in the blanks.

"and what?"

mat accelerated as the light turned green. "i just didn't know you saw me that way."

you shrugged and sat back in your seat, ignoring the way your heart raced at the way the conversation took a turn. "don't tell me i'm the first person to say you're attractive, mat."

"well, no, but--"

"so what's the big deal? it's just me."

mat shrugged. "exactly. it's you."

you froze momentarily, but tried to brush his comment off like it didn't send a shiver down your spine.

the both of you were silent for the rest of the ride.

when you got to the doctor's office, both you and mat got out, with mat offering to carry ella into the building. though, the three of you made it twenty feet before ella was whining for you.

"my own child likes you more," he grumbled.

you just laughed.

the waiting room was semi full when the three of you walked in, but mat was the only dad in sight.

he leaned down towards you with a hand on the small of your back. "i'll go check us in if you'll find us a seat."

you did as he asked and ignored the way you could feel his touch long after he walked away. you and ella found a seat in a corner away from most of the women and children there. did you look antisocial? maybe just a little, but you weren't taking chances of ella or yourself getting sick, and you sure as hell weren't taking a chance on mat's health with the season in full swing.

"didn't want to sit with the other families?" mat asked as he took the seat next to you.

"i don't know those people, why would i sit next to them? they could be sick."

mat nodded along. "fair enough."

the three of you only waited a few minutes before ella's name was called. you stood up but it was mat who gestured for you to lead, again, with his hand on your back guiding you.

the nurse took a few vitals before taking the three of you back to the room. "the doctor will be with you shortly," she said before leaving you, mat, and ella alone.

it wasn't long before you heard another knock on the door and the doctor came in. she greeted the three of you before getting right down to business, directing you to place ella on the table.

doctor stevenson took ella's vitals while she wriggled around and reached for you and mat. "vitals look good," she said. "now she does need to have a few vaccines today..." the doctor kept talking but you were focused on mat.

specifically how all the color drained from his face.

you placed your hand on his back and directed him to one of the open chairs in the room, scared he might pass out if he stayed standing.

"is everything alright?" the doctor asked.

mat sat down and exhaled. "are you sure she has to get shots today?"

doctor stevenson's face looked grim. "do you not like needles or...?"

"i don't like seeing my daughter cry," he admitted.

"that's completely normal for parents," the doctor assured him. "if you'd like, you can stay out in the hall and we'll let you know when we're done. should only take a few minutes, if that."

you weren't listening to the doctor though, your eyes were focused on mat's face. a deep set frown worked its way onto his lips and you hated it. you reached out and touched his shoulder. "i can stay with her, if you don't wanna be in the room," you said.

his eyes met yours; for a man as confident as he was, you'd never seen him so hesitant. "last time she got shots, it about broke me."

"that's okay," you said. "i'll be here if you wanna step outside. i'll still be here if you wanna stay."

he nodded and stood up. for a second, you thought he'd make his way to the door, but he stood by the table and kissed the top of ella's head. "it's gonna be okay, ella bean," he mumbled.

doctor stevenson looked at you before pulling out the needles. you saw how mat kept eyeing them in the corner of his eye, but kept his focus on ella who was babbling like nothing was going on.

it took a few seconds after the first injection before the water works started. ella's cry sounded throughout the room but instead of looking at her, your eyes were focused on mat.

he was completely enraptured by ella, whispering soft things to her in an attempt to soothe her.

"it's okay, ella. dada's here," he whispered. "it's okay."

she kept crying despite the calm voice mat was using. she was twisting towards him and away from the doctor.

"just one more," doctor stevenson said. and in a minute, she was finished.

but ella wasn't.

the second the needle was pulled out and the band aids were placed, mat was picking ella up and cradling her to his chest. she wailed and wailed, only calming down when mat was bouncing her and speaking softly in her ear.

you halfway listened to doctor stevenson talk about what percentile of weight and height ella was in, half of your attention was focused on the gentle way mat was holding his daughter and how his arms, as strong as they were, protected his child from the big, bad, scary needles.

you were free to follow the nurse out the door to checkout. mat refused to let go of ella, so you were the one scheduling the next appointment and entering it into your shared google calendar.

ella was still hiccuping from the crying by the time the three of you got to the car. mat strapped her in while you got in the front seat and looked through the paperwork they gave you.

"everything look alright?" mat asked as he got in his seat and locked the doors.

"yeah, she's right as rain. i added the next appointment to our calendar."

mat hummed.

"what?" you asked.

"our calendar?"

"we share a calendar, mat. that was your idea, if you recall." you weren't about to be embarrassed about something he initiated. why would you? it's just a calendar, not something with an underlying meaning.

"i know," he smiled. "i just like the sound of it, is all." he put the car in reverse and placed his hand on your headrest.

"weirdo," you mumbled to compensate for the fact that you also liked referring to something as mundane as a calendar as ours.

mat scoffed. "i'm not the weirdo. you're the weirdo."

"oh please, i have an entire roster of your teammates that would say otherwise."

"you would trust their word over mine?"

you shrugged. "majority rules."

you didn't think someone could roll their eyes as hard as mat did in that moment.

the three of you got home a few minutes later. mat was in charge of getting ella while you grabbed his keys. you both waved to the doorman and headed up to your shared apartment.

god, you loved saying that more than you probably should.

"are you still going out with syd later?" mat called after you when you got into the apartment. you were headed back to your room while he was putting ella in the play pin.

you stripped out of your clothes and changed into something more comfortable. "yeah!" you called back, walking back down the hallway to the living room. "why?"

"tito and anders invited me out for drinks, so i'll need to find a babysitter."

"i can ask grace if she knows anyone--"

"don't. i'm the one who needs the sitter, it's my responsibility, not yours."

ella babbled in what you assumed was agreement.

later that day, you heard mat getting ready in his room while you got dressed in yours with ella playing on the floor with her toys. you weren't dressed in anything too fancy, just a nice black dress that had been sitting in the back of your old closet because your roommate said it was "too slutty for someone who has a boyfriend."

then she went and fucked your boyfriend, so you couldn't really say you gave a shit about her opinion anymore.

you strapped some heels on and gave yourself a once over in the mirror, fluffing your hair when it looked too flat. you scooped ella up and made a mental note to bring her toys out to her play pin later when you got back.

if you could even walk straight.

you weren't planning on getting shitfaced, but does anyone over the age of 23 ever plan on it?

you carried ella down the hallway and into the living room where mat sat on the couch on his phone with espn playing on the tv.

"i thought you'd eventually get tired of all the sports talk," you commented.

mat didn't even look up, he just liked a random person's photo. "it's nice background noise. besides, they're talking about sports other than just hockey."

"right." you walked in front of him to put ella in her play pin, your heels clicking on the hardwood. it wasn't until you turned around that you saw him staring. "what?"

mat cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. "nothing! you just look...nice."

you smiled. "thank you! syd should be here any minute now. where did i put my phone..." your voice trailed off as you looked around for your cell phone.

"it's on the coffee table," mat said. and low and behold, it was. "do you have a coat? it's supposed to get cold tonight."

you nodded and headed to the coat closet beside the front door. you grabbed the black peacoat you had since college and tried to put it on before a pair of hands stopped you.

"let me help," was all mat said as he held the coat open for you. it took you a second to register what he was saying, he had to clear his throat to get you to snap back to reality.

"thanks," you said as you put your arms in the sleeves. your phone started ringing a second later, sydney's contact photo taking over your screen. "are you sure you don't want me to wait until she gets here?" you asked, talking about the babysitter. "i can help explain ella's routine!"

but mat rolled his eyes and herded you closer to the door. ""i'll be fine, go have fun!"

"if you need me, text me."

he gave you an award winning smile. "if you need me, call me."

you nodded and walked out, picking up the phone as mat locked the door behind you. "hey, i'm on my way down."

"great! i have an uber waiting for us."

you walked a little faster to the elevator, determined to not let the uber run up more money than was necessary, despite the fact that sydney was not strapped for cash.

you made it down quickly and without busting your ass on the polished floor.

sydney was waiting in a black suv like she was some government official in a marvel movie. she popped the back door open when she saw you and smiled. "you look fantastic!" she said once you got inside the vehicle.

you looked over her outfit which wasn't too dissimilar to yours, just not as revealing. "grace is joining us, hope that's okay!"

you nodded, vaguely recalling meeting anders' wife when jason had that meltdown in front of everyone.

not the best first impression, you hoped tonight would make her forget about that first night.

grace met you and sydney at a bar about twenty minutes away from yours and mat's apartment. she smiled as the two of you got out of the car, hugging you instead of shaking your proffered hand.

"it's great to see you again," she said. "you look fantastic."

"so do you!" you replied.

the three of you walked into the bar and were immediately greeted by loud music and an enormous crowd. you pushed your way through the people and ended up in front of the bar.

"get what you want!" sydney yelled over the music. "it's on me, tonight."

it didn't seem like a lot, but when you thought back to how jason and natalie both would conveniently go out with you on nights when they were broke, and then proceed to ask you to fund their near alcohol addiction? you were immensely grateful. if you were a pettier woman, you would've venmoed natalie and jason for the money they owe you in drinks alone.

but you were moving on, making peace with your new situation, your job, your new friends.

and mat.

you weren't sure what category to put him in yet.

"boss" seemed too professional. "friend" didn't seem heavy enough.

"what're you having?" the bartender's question snapped you out of your reflective moment. you gave him the order and watched as he started to make it.

your drink was in front of you after you waited for a few minutes. you sipped at it while walking to the table grace had picked out.

"so how's it going, living with mat?" grace asked as soon as you walked up.

you shrugged lightly. "not as bad as i thought it would be. i was expecting it to be awkward, but it's just been nice not to have to wake up as early to go to work."

sydney nodded. "matt told me barzy looks happier since you moved in."

"anders too," grace added. "my husband said he needs to 'meet this girl who has barzy smiling like a fool.'"

you flushed at their statements. "he's a good guy," was all you said.

sydney and grace were talking amongst themselves while you bopped your head to the music playing. you supped on your drink when a familiar head of hair caught you eye. it was followed by another familiar head of hair. you were squinting, trying to remember where you'd seen them before when they turned around your heart stopped.

jason and natalie.

you choked on your drink which caught sydney and grace's attention.

"are you okay?" sydney asked. she only grew more concerned when you threw your drink back, the alcohol barely burning your throat in comparison to the pain in your chest.

"i'm gonna get some shots," you said before stumbling to the bar. you ordered four shots of vodka and downed them all in succession at the bar top, and then doing your best to get back to the table afterwards.

your heart was pounding as you saw them cozied up in a booth. you wanted to vomit. you wanted to cry. you wanted to go over there and pour their drinks on their heads.

but mostly, you just wanted to go home.

but you couldn't. not when the night was still young. not when you were still feeling sober. you'd stupidly thought that the four shots would get you drunk quickly because you forgot that metabolisms exist.

you did your best to keep up with the conversation grace and sydney were having, and it was clear they were trying to include you. but your gaze kept drifting to how happy jason and natalie looked. and wondering how long they'd gone on dates when you were busy working, how many times did the sleep together before you caught them? you wondered if they were in love? or if it was just lust.

you wondered what made you so unloveable that he'd cheat on you. you wondered how despicable of a person you were that your roommate would agree to it.

you weren't drunk enough for this.

you excused yourself from the table again to get another drink. as you waited, you tapped your fingers on the bar, humming to the top 40s playlist playing over the speakers.

"can i get a jack and coke?" that voice sent a shiver down your spine in the worst way. you hesitantly turned your head and saw jason standing next to you, thankfully with natalie nowhere in sight. you didn't know what you'd do if they were both there with you in that moment.

he must've felt your stare because he turned his head and made eye contact. his jaw clenched a little before his lips curved into a sly smirk. "well look what the cat dragged out," he said. "where is he?"

you blinked.

"c'mon. like you don't know who i'm talking about?" when you didn't say anything, he rolled his eyes. "barzal. where is he?" jason glanced around the bar. "because i don't see him anywhere."

"why would he be here? mat's not my boyfriend."

"right, he's just letting you stay with him for free because he's such a good person," he teased.

maybe it was the shot placed in front of you. maybe it was the other four shots kicking in. but you downed the drink, wiped your mouth and shot back at him. "he's a better person than you could ever hope to be."

"he'll get bored of you eventually. people always do," jason scoffed. "you're his nanny, for fuck's sake. if you're not fucking him, he'll realize he could get better pussy and a better looking face from literally any other girl in new york. and once he realizes that, you'll be homeless and jobless."

you shook your head, willing the stinging in your eyes to go away. "he's not like you, jason."

"he's not gonna fall in love with you. you're a no good bitch who didn't know what she had when she had it. and i'm glad we're done, natalie is a thousand times more interesting than you could ever hope to be." with that, he turned on his heel with his shitty drink and walked back to his booth.

you walked back to your table but before you could even register the water running down your face, sydney was pulling you into her arms as you sobbed.

"sweetheart what's wrong?"

you could barely get the words out to tell her, but as soon as you did, she was pulling you back and looking you in the eyes. "i'm gonna call mat, is that okay?"

"please call him," you said. sydney brought you back into her chest with one arm while her other hand dialed mat.

"mat! hey!" she said with an overly cheery voice. "are you busy?"

just the sound of his voice, even if it was sounded like a small whisper, made you feel a little safer. she continued to talk to him through the phone until she hung up and hugged you tighter.

"he'll be here soon and take you home, okay?"

you nodded into her shoulder and cried a little more. "i'm sorry for ruining your night."

sydney squeezed you a little closer. "it's not your fault. your ex is a piece of shit."

mat must've texted syd a few minutes later because she was ushering you out of the bar to stand on the sidewalk.

it was a matter of seconds before mat pulled up and hopped out of his car looking like a man on a mission. in a blink of an eye you were being pulled out of sydney's arms (or maybe she was pushing you) and into his.

you could've sworn your life made a little more sense right then and there.

"mat--" you sobbed. "i--i can't--" and to be honest, you weren't quite sure what you meant to say, words weren't stringing themselves together like they usually do. maybe you were trying to say you couldn't keep doing this, or that you couldn't understand why he still kept you around.

it could be a million things.

but he kissed the top of your head and your brain was silenced. "let's get you home, okay?"

mat put you in the car and held your hand the entire way home, stroking his thumb on the back of your hand in a way jason never did.

jason.

you wanted to vomit but the interior of mat's car was too nice and he already ditched his friends for you, the least you could do was keep it together.

"do you wanna talk about it?" he asked.

you shook your head no, so he squeezed your hand.

when you finally got back to the apartment, you stood in the living room in a catatonic state while mat paid the babysitter and ushered her out. the second the front door closed, he was by your side, taking your hand, and leading you to the bathroom where he turned on the shower. when he made a move to leave, you grabbed his hand.

"i'm just gonna grab you some clothes, i'll be right back."

he was back in thirty seconds with one of his shirts and a pair of sweats. you were brought back to the first night you slept over after your relationship blew up. you should've smiled and said thank you, you should've said you appreciated all mat had done.

but you just burst into more tears.

mat knelt in front of you, wiping the tears as fast as they came. "hey, what's wrong?"

before you could even stop and think, you were launching yourself into his arms and wrapping your own around his shoulders. he didn't even hesitate to hold you back as tightly as he could.

"you're okay," he said. "i'll be right outside when you're done, alright?"

you nodded against his shoulder and hesitantly pulled away. mat seemed just as reluctant to let you go, but the steam fogging the mirror reminded you both that there was a line you hadn't (and maybe shouldn't) cross.

mat shut the bathroom door behind him and you stripped out of your clothes.

it was the fastest shower you'd ever taken in your life.

true to his word, mat was outside the bathroom door when you were finished in a set of sweats he wasn't wearing before. he looked up from his phone and held his arms out, and for what felt like the fiftieth time (though that still did not feel like enough), you were in his arms again.

"let's get you to bed," he mumbled into your hair before placing another kiss there.

before you could stop yourself, you mumbled back. "can i sleep with you tonight?"

mat froze.

hell, you froze.

neither of you knew what to do.

but a minute later he was pulling away. you felt the tears well up in your eyes at the thought of him rejecting you, but what did you honestly expect? him to say yes? you moved to go down the hall to your room, but his grip on your hand stopped you.

"c'mon," was all he said.

up until this moment, you'd never been in mat's room. it was about what you expected, king bed in the middle of the room, a dresser, a few clothes strewn about. it looked lived in.

mat got in the bed first and extended his arms to you. it was like he was the center of the earth, pulling you in with such a strong gravitational pull, you stood no chance to resist it.

you were curled up against his chest a beat later.

"thank you," you said.

"anytime," he said against your hair.

your head was placed right over his chest where his heart beat loudly. the sound of it began lulling you to sleep.

it should've been a picturesque moment, but it was tainted by the lingering anxiety in the back of your mind.

was jason right? was this a bad decision? would mat kick you out if you never have sex with him? would he kick you out if you did?

but then mat started running a hand over your hair and down your back repeatedly, and all your worries disappeared.

you'd have more time to think about that tomorrow.

taglist:

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[zarnzarn]

t4t nsft odypen silliness to make up for yesterday, here u go <3

_

"Lady Athena," Penelope says, as Odysseus finishes his prayers and they all rise to disperse. He looks over at her, inquisitive and amused, as she contemplates for a few moments, hands clasped. Then she bows her head and begs, rushed like it's bursting out of her, "Please let me fuck my husband today."

"PENELOPE!" Odysseus- well, shrieks. The other priestesses abruptly turn and file out of the room, led by Telemachus, at very high speeds. Odysseus is torn between making note of asking them to go compete in the races next year and putting his hands over the ears of the statue of Athena.

"Please," Penelope begs, eyes closed and ignoring him. "I never took the oath of celibacy, Lady Athena, why must I suffer this drought? This lack of my husband's beautiful thighs-"

Odysseus reaches over and shakes her, scandalised. "What are you doing, woman? In Athena's temple, have you gone mad-?"

"Athena," Penelope practically whines, letting herself be shaken. She looks crazy around the eyes, like she'll actually cry. "Please, please, if I don't get inside him I will die-"

"Did they not teach you about blasphemy in Sparta?" Odysseus yells, cheeks crimson.

"I unlearned it all when I spent twenty years without your cunt," Penelope moans pitifully. Odysseus wheezes ungracefully, mortified, tripping over his sandals as he gets to his feet to slap a hand over her mouth. Her shoulders are shaking, mischief in her eyes and lips twitching as he approaches, still pleading, "Please, Lady, suspend his vow for one day so that I may sheathe myself within his warm wetness and make him see stars in daylight for pleasure, I'll treat him well, please-"

"Hush!" Odysseus shouts at her, burning alive for the mortification. "Athena, I am so sorry-"

He closes his eyes in dread as the sound of loud cackling fades into existence. Athena stumbles out of the shadows, grin wide in a way that means she was drinking ambrosia, possibly at a party, cheeks bright with laughter. "What is-" She giggles. "What is this I hear about permission?"

"Nothing, Athena, extremely sorry for disturbing you, we- OW!"

"Please let me fuck him," Penelope begs, like she hadn't sunk her teeth into his flesh three seconds ago. "Let me have sex with my husband, I beg of you."

"She is not going to let you-"

"Sure."

"Athena!"

"What, she's asking so nicely." Athena shoots him a shit-eating grin, revenge in her eyes. "If you are alright with it, who am I to come in the way of a married couple?"

"Oh, so now you- what happened to celibacy is the highest form of clearing your mind-"

"Wait," Penelope cuts in, frowning. Athena's eyes slide to him slowly, glittering with laughter, before focusing back on Penelope with furrowed brows- she is drunk, definitely. "Wait, so you're- you are not the one who makes Odysseus not want to sleep with me?"

"What?" Odysseus demands, flabbergasted, as Athena bursts into loud peals of laughter overhead. "No, our agreement was the same as any of the other priestesses. That- that is just my own preference, some days."

"To be fair, we thought we were going to have to marry Odysseus off to some man back then," Athena grimaces, scratching at her feathers and squinting. "Ugh. But yes, you can do whatever you want, Queen of Ithaka. If Odysseus wants it, of course."

"You do want it, right?" Penelope says urgently, grabbing at his hands, eyes blazing and chest heaving. "Most of the time? Right now?"

"I-" Odysseus stutters, flustered in the face of her intensity and closeness. He feels unattractive still, even with the hair cut and change of clothes."I- Yes? Do you?"

Penelope's face spasms with rage. "ODYSSEUS!" She stamps a foot. "It's been an entire two days since you've returned! I'm burning alive with lust over here! How could you possibly not see, everyone in the palace can tell!"

"Okay- okay, hey, calm down-"

"-keep shifting about so people do not see me hard in my dresses, with every tantalizing move you make, every grin and giggle-"

"Wow," Athena takes a swig of a bottle. "Intense."

Odysseus exhales and shoots her a look, holding his hands out to placate a cursing Penelope. "Are- You're sure it's alright?"

"Yes!" She laughs, waving him off. "Your war is over, your glory is secure- go, have all the sex you want!"

"But-" Odysseus' next words are lost to a yelp as Penelope grabs him and manhandles him down to the ground. Athena whistles. He valiantly holds back the urge to snap at her that she needs to stop drinking if all it ever does is give her the personality of a teenage boy.

"I'll only fuck him in the temple," Penelope says, staring up at Athena determinedly and ignoring Odysseus' loud shout of distress at the scandal of it under her. "So that you may see that we are only trying for an heir, like the condition provides. Will that satisfy the oath?"

"That would," Athena agrees, almost leering as she lilts alarmingly to one side. "If that is all?"

"You-" Odysseus cuts himself off with a strangled scream as Penelope bites into his throat like a dog, sliding into him so abruptly it makes his vision go white. He's drenched still from her words earlier, but both the cocks at once, so suddenly inside-

Athena chuckles, and he feels a breeze across his face as she leans down to clumsily press a kiss to Penelope's forehead, then his. Penelope eagerly goes back for another kiss from Athena, thrusting sharply at the same time, making him moan so loud it echoes around the temple.

Athena snorts, and gathers her garments as she gets up to her feet and stumbles away. "Have fun!"

[silentscrying]

🏀 buzzer beater | chapter NINE.

nba!gojo x manager!reader

summary: you thought you'd gotten rid of arrogant NBA star satoru gojo when he left the curses after your first year in basketball management. but when your contract is up three years later, you find yourself working with him once again as the manager for the sorcerers. as you navigate playoff season alongside long-time friend ieiri shoko and the sorcerers' insufferable star player, you start to realize his sudden departure from the curses may not have been what it seemed, and maybe gojo isn't exactly the person (or player) you thought he was, either.

warnings: language, mentions of neglectful parenting/abandonment, TENSION, steamyyy, self-worth issues, implied sexual content. || mildly nsfw. 5k words.

YOU'RE NOT SURE you’ve ever seen Satoru Gojo play a bad game of basketball.

Until now.

The Samurai are kicking ass, and it’s not even funny. Gojo playing so—so off means the entire chemistry of the team is unbalanced. Something about his sudden lack of obnoxious confidence is throwing even Kento, even Ino. Megumi storms up to him halfway through the quarter and says something low and sharp that you can’t hear, and Gojo throws his arms up like what the hell do you want from me?

The Samurai are playing subs you’ve never seen on the court before. Miguel is a valid threat, yes, and Larue plays for almost a whole half, but then Gakuganji puts on Rin Amai. He’s like the equivalent of Junpei to the Samurai—a fresh draft, a young player who hasn’t had much time on the court this season. Eventually, Gakuganji’s just sitting there letting the assistant coach, Ijichi, call the shots.

It’s not malicious, not like they’re trying to mock you, but it feels like that game against the Phantoms, where you were so far ahead you didn’t even have to try.

It’s not like Gojo isn’t scoring. Even at his worst, he’s a good player—but he’s not playing well by his standards and the whole team can feel it. Even Nobara’s stopped being optimistic by the third. It’s a twenty-point deficit, and while it wouldn’t be unheard of for a comeback, nothing about the expressions on the guys’ faces says they’re winning today.

It’s horrible.

Yuji’s making a valiant effort to rile the team back up, and it works a little—he’s scoring like crazy, and Megumi is making a real effort to pick up Gojo’s slack. Kento is steady as ever, at least on the surface, but it’s not enough.

It’s not a hard-fought kind of loss, like the first game in the series was. Nitta gives you a strange look across the court—even she can see that something is blatantly wrong. You’re thinking of Geto, of Gojo, of the convoluted feelings roiling around in your gut.

You feel sick.

When it’s over, the team files out of the gym in near-silence, and you make a beeline for your office without speaking to anyone, even Ieiri. You need to fix this, you need to do something, you need to—you don’t fucking know.

You need to be alone.

The door practically slams behind you, and you whip out your laptop so aggressively you’re surprised it doesn’t break. You’re going to drown yourself in work and stop thinking or worrying or feeling anything at all.

It doesn’t last long.

It’s maybe been a half hour before Megumi steps into your office without prelude, not bothering to knock, and kicks the door shut behind him.

“Uh. Hey?”

He doesn’t sit down, instead pacing back and forth in front of your desk, pensive.

“Fushiguro. What?”

He stops, turns to face you. “You and Gojo,” he says. “Whatever this fucking issue is, you need to figure it out before it costs us the series.”

You stare at him, at a loss for words. Because this is Megumi Fushiguro, the last person you’d ever expect to confront you. The last person to chew you out, the last person to walk into conflict if he doesn’t absolutely have to.

You remember his sharp words to Gojo on the court, inaudible but aggressive. Wonder what they were.

“So what is it?” he prompts, crossing his arms over his chest. “Is he keeping something from you? Is that it? Is he shutting you out? Are you shutting him out?” He plants his hands on the desk, leaning over you—not threatening, but weirdly earnest in a way you’ve never really seen him before.

“Listen. I owe Gojo my life. I don’t know how much you know, but I know you’re at least aware that he pulled me and Tsumiki out of a really shitty situation. So I know you know he’s not a selfish piece of shit, even if he wants everyone to believe it. I also know that he cares about you, okay? And he doesn’t do that. Not outwardly, at least. Not in the way he cares about you. So whatever it is he did, or whatever it is you did, can you go do something about it? Because we are not going to beat the Curses if you and Gojo can’t figure this out.”

There’s no this, you want to say. Even as the thought half-forms in the back of your mind, you know it’s a lie.

This is maybe the most words you’ve ever heard Megumi speak at once, and you’re pretty sure every single one of them was true.

It’s like he took all the words in the room, all the ones the air had space for. There are none left for you, and you’re just staring at him over your laptop screen, grasping at straws.

Finally, after a too-long silence, you nod.

“He’s a good person,” Megumi says quietly.

“I know,” you whisper, looking down, wringing your hands in your lap. “I know.”

—

You work late.

At least, you stay in the office late, well after everyone else has gone home. You brushed off Ieiri’s concerns, dodged Nobara’s questions. You finished everything you had to do ages ago. Now you’re just sitting and staring at your keyboard, wondering how the hell to work this thing out with Satoru.

It should be straightforward. It should be easy. You’re not going back to the Curses. He needs to trust you more.

Except it’s not easy, it’s not straightforward. Because he makes your heart beat backwards. He turns all the words on your tongue into ash. He makes you feel things you haven’t felt in a long, long time, maybe ever, and that terrifies you. And you can’t explain why you won’t leave, why it matters so much that he trusts you, if you can’t tell him how you feel.

But you don’t know the first thing about how to start.

You’ve only just buried your head in your hands when the door opens again. No knock, no voice. You can tell just by his presence that it’s Yaga, and you wonder if you’re about to lose your job.

“I talked to Gojo,” he says, and you make yourself look up at him, hoping he can’t tell how near you are to tears.

“Oh.” You don’t have anything else to say. You thought he left hours ago.

“Look.” He doesn’t sit down, but somehow even when he’s towering over you his presence isn’t daunting. You respect him. He respects you, you know that—so why do you feel like he’s about to tear your world apart? “I need to know if they’ve extended you a serious offer, or if this one of Geto’s mind games.”

“No,” you say immediately. “No, it’s—it’s not an official offer. Even if it was I wouldn’t go back. I don’t know what Geto wants from me.”

“I don’t think it’s what he wants from you, champ.” You blink, and Yaga sighs heavily. “I know they didn’t treat you right over there, don’t lie to me. You’re a great asset and you deserve better than Geto and his band of asshats. Satoru knew that. That’s why he pointed me your way in the first place.”

“What?” You sink back in your seat. “What do you mean pointed—wait. Okay. How’d you…?”

Yaga blinks, drags his palm down his face. “Oh, damn. I thought you knew.”

“I—what? What did I know?”

“Gojo—he requested we recruit you. Talked about you so highly from your time with the Curses we couldn’t say no. Don’t get me wrong: I’d have hired you regardless. You’re damn good at your job. I don’t want you thinkin’ I’m over here doing Gojo favors or some shit. He just gave me your name, and you did the rest damn well on your own.”

You can’t think, can’t speak. Gojo, who you couldn’t stand when you worked for the Curses, couldn’t stand when you arrived here, either. He wanted you to come?

The implication here, if you’re reading Yaga’s words right, is that Geto knows that Gojo wanted you here. That it would bother Gojo if the Curses got you back. That he’s going after Gojo with one of his stupid little mind games, not you.

That Gojo cares about you to an extent that could potentially hinder his playing ability? No. That’s insane. But… you just saw it happen.

“Gojo,” you echo, a little numb. “I—Gojo recommended me. Satoru Gojo.”

Yaga nods, and you cuss under your breath. Because Satoru, it turns out, has maybe never been the man you thought he was, when you made a snap judgement all those years ago. Not even when he was with the Curses. Not even when you… when you hated him.

“Listen. I’m not saying this is entirely his fault, but Geto knows Gojo. My guess? Mei Mei’s exploiting that.”

“Mei Mei?” You gape. She’s the manager who took your place. She’s a mogul; you can’t imagine why the Curses would ever want to replace her.

But if she sent Geto here to lie to you, to gamble, to ask you to come back so that Gojo got so into his own head that the Sorcerers lost…

“Oh,” you breathe. “God. That’s… messed up.”

Yaga only nods. “Look,” he says eventually. “If we’re going to beat Suguru Geto? We need you and Gojo on the same page.”

He’s right. God. Of course he’s right. Geto plays mind games. You and Gojo—Satoru—need to be a united front against those games if you’re going to win this one.

You need to find him.

—

Jujutsu Arena is a whole different beast at night.

You’re used to squeaking shoes and cheers and blaring buzzers, whistles and cameras and fans and action.

Tonight, it’s quiet. Open. Hollow, maybe.

In regular season, the team doesn’t always practice here. You’re no stranger to nighttime gymnasiums, but this one in particular feels so wide open it could be haunted, or it could be blessed.

It’s the only place you could think of where he’d be hiding out, not answering his texts. The only reason he’d have his cell shoved in a bag somewhere rather than tucked in a jacket pocket. He could have just been ignoring you, but you know Satoru, and you know he’s petty enough to leave you on read, to make you know when he’s ignoring you. So here you are.

He knows you’re here. You make no effort to silence your footsteps as you slip through the open doors. He’s got that headband on, hair pushed out of his face, and he’s only wearing gray sweats and a T-shirt. For some reason, you feel like this might be the most unmasked you’ve ever seen him.

You know he’s registered your presence because he dunks in a stupid, showoffy flourish, but he doesn’t look at you. Ball’s in your court, apparently.

“Satoru,” you say. He turns to face you and it’s like the words are just falling out of your mouth. “Why are you—what are you doing here so late?”

“Practicing,” he says. “I—every night. Most nights.”

You think you might know why. A lot of things are starting to make sense about this man, and a lot of them make you angry, and a lot of them make you—you don’t know. Not angry, but a different kind of heated. “I think we need to talk.”

When he doesn’t say anything, but doesn’t object, you cross the court to him. “I think there are things about each other we don’t know,” you say. “And I think we can’t beat the Curses with this—with this wall between us. And I want to fix it.” Your voice is soft, and it seems to have him easing up a little on whatever this show of indifference is. He sighs.

He passes you the ball.

“Fine,” he says. “Let’s talk.”

The ball feels good in your hands, like an old friend. You really haven’t had the chance to just shoot baskets in a while, what with the insanely busy job taking up most of your free time. For all that you’re around basketball, you don’t really get to play a lot of basketball.

You bounce it a few times, trying to figure out where Gojo’s mind is at. His eyes are following the trajectory of the ball, not you.

“You’re upset,” you say, just to say something. And then you make a shot from where you’re standing. Gojo’s hand shoots up and tips the ball, and you run for the rebound and make a lay-up. “Tell me why.”

“Geto,” he says, diving for the ball before you can get it back. “He’s playing with you. To play with me.”

You’re honestly kind of surprised by the straightforward answer.

“I see,” you say. “I get a shot and you answer a question, is that it?”

“Yes,” he says, smirking. Then he scores on you. “My turn.”

“You didn’t—”

“That was a question, was it not?”

You can turn it back on him. “Yes,” you repeat. “It was, and that was my answer.”

You forget sometimes how much you love this sport. And so you figure you can do this, have your long discussion as you dart and block and shoot, because that’s when Gojo’s mind is at its best, and he can dodge your questions like your attacks. Or not.

Faking right and then diving past Gojo’s left side, you score on him again.

“Okay, so Geto,” you say, catching the rebound. “Why does he still bother you so much?”

“Because he knows me.” Gojo steals the ball right out of your hands. He’s fast. “We were best friends. In college, in San Diego. We knew everything about each other. So he’s using what he knows about me against me, instead of playing the goddamn game on a fair court. And that pisses me off.”

You. It goes unsaid. Geto is using you against Satoru.

He shoots long, his shirt riding up as his arm rises above his head, revealing his stupidly toned abs. You shake your head as the ball swooshes through the far net without even hitting the backboard. You might’ve played D1, but you’re no NBA star.

So now this game of yours, it goes both ways. He looks at you for a long moment before he starts down the court, and then you’re running to get to the ball before him. His legs are so stupidly long. “If you got a job offer right now, a better one, would you leave?” he calls as you sprint.

When you grab the ball before he does, you know he’s letting you.

“Define better,” you say, holding the ball hostage. He frowns.

“Higher paying. Better hours. I don’t know, NBA admin? WNBA?”

You consider, tapping your fingers on the uneven surface of the ball. “For another team, no,” you say truthfully. “Even with a pay raise. I like it here.” His relief is palpable, and you know he’s letting you see it—he could hide it, if he wanted to. “Maybe for a higher-level management position, something with the league. But not for the Curses.” You make sure he’s looking right into your eyes when you say it. “I wouldn’t leave this for them.”

I wouldn’t leave you for Geto.

Taking advantage of his distraction, you shoot while he isn’t standing between you and the basket. He chuckles.

“I don’t understand, though,” you insist. “If you were friends, why—I mean, I know what he did to Megumi. With the draft. But he’s—it’s Megumi. How can someone hate him? Why? He never did anything to Geto.”

Satoru sighs as you go to retrieve the ball. “It wasn’t Megumi.” He closes his eyes like he’s weighing whether he should say something. “It… was his dad.”

“What?”

“Toji… wasn’t a good guy.” You don’t miss the past tense, the forced evenness of his tone. “He, uh. He was a coach, actually. For a bit. When Geto and I were in school.” He shakes his head. “Not head coach or anything, but he was around. And god, he was a shit dad. I mean, left Megumi and Tsumiki to fend for themselves the second she turned 18. Even when she was…”

“I know,” you say, and he looks up in surprise. “Not about their dad. But Tsumiki… told me what you did for her. For Megumi. About the bills.” His eyes go wide, and you clear your throat, for some reason feeling like you’ve confessed something. Thinking about Tsumiki, so sweet and so young, about Megumi, trying to help her on his own… it makes your blood boil, knowing their father could have supported them and just—chose not to. “So what did their dad—Toji, what did he do to Geto?”

Gojo’s laugh is short and humorless. “Left.”

You pass the ball to him. A peace offering, maybe.

“Suguru and I always had very different views on the sport,” he says, dribbling idly. The use of the first name is jarring. Thinking about Geto and Gojo being that close. “How it operated in our lives, I mean. For me, it was—I mean, it’s my livelihood, but it’s not my life. It can’t come before—before people. It can’t take over.”

He rakes a hand through his hair, grabbing the headband and pulling it off, then shoving it into his pocket. His hair falls wildly into his face.

“You know, it’s funny. It used to be the other way around. I was all for the game, nobody mattered. It was different for him.”

“Different,” you echo. And your echo travels—the sheer size of this place is overwhelming when it’s empty like this, like it’s a whole planet and the two of you are the only people on it.

“In college it was more of an escape, I think—he had kind of a fucked up life, before. But he just got so obsessive. And Toji encouraged it,” Satoru explains. “It became his whole life, he was training with him all the time, and Geto didn’t even like him. Hated him, actually.”

He passes it back. You dribble the ball between your legs, relishing the sound of the quick bounces on the waxed floors.

“Toji was awful. Relentless. Refused to recruit his own kid, even when he found out what a good player Megumi is. Didn’t do jack even when he knew Tsumiki was sick. I hated him. Hated him. And I was mad at Suguru for even tolerating the guy.”

Gojo makes a run past you, and you dive to keep the ball but miss, and he steals it. “But Suguru just kept training with him, day after day after day. And it started interfering with his relationships, his friendships. And he was becoming this different person. I couldn’t handle it, he wouldn’t listen to me, and then Toji just up and left.”

He bounces the ball off a wall. “What he does best, I guess,” he says bitterly. “No explanation, no resignation, just gone. Turned up in a prison in Asia a few months later, and that was the last we ever heard of him.” He shrugs. “Except when he kicked the bucket.”

“Shit,” you murmur.

“Suguru wasn’t the same once he started training with Toji, but he got a little better after he was gone for a while. I mean, it wasn’t good, but he was starting to come back to himself. And I thought I’d gotten through to him, maybe. Thought I’d gotten him to understand that Megumi wasn’t his father. But he just wanted nothing to do with them. No Fushiguros, he said. Blacklisting Megumi was the last straw. Sometimes… sometimes I think he did that more to get back at me than anything.”

“And this,” you say quietly, taking a step toward him. “Me. Trying to get me to leave. That’s to get back at you, too?”

Satoru doesn’t respond, but that’s all the confirmation you need. You leap to block as he shoots from a few feet to the right of the hoop, but you’re not tall enough—not enough to block 6’3”.

“Do you hate me?” he asks.

You stop, hands slapping your thighs as you let them fall to your sides. “What?”

But he just looks at you, doesn’t repeat himself. And the expression on his face—it’s almost nervous.

“I don’t hate you, Satoru.” The ball rolls toward you and you let it come to a stop between your sneakers. “I—do you think I would be here if I hated you?”

“Did you used to? Before?”

You want to ask, before what? But you think you know.

“That’s two questions,” you whisper. He throws the ball into the net without looking. Asshole.

“I… I don’t think so,” you say as he catches the rebound. “I thought I did. I thought… a lot of things about you. I didn’t like you. But I also didn’t give you a chance. It was a snap judgement based on a lot of assumptions, Satoru.”

He smiles faintly, dribbling the ball idly, spinning it on a finger. “I like it when you call me that.”

You dart forward and slap the ball from his hands, turning beneath his arm to dribble to the other end of the court. You catch him so off-guard he barely makes it in time to block you, but the ball goes just over his fingertips and swishes through the basket regardless.

“Why did you think that?” you ask. “That I hated you.”

“Because you should’ve,” he says. “You had—you have every reason to. I made it that way.”

“What?”

“You, uh,” he starts quietly. “You should know that—I mess things up. I mess people up. I push people away and I say mean things and I argue and I make things hard for people. I always have.”

He retrieves the ball, still talking. “I get cocky and I act like I know everything and I pretend I don’t need anyone else. It never ends well. When I do. It was different with Megumi and Tsumiki. It just… he reminded me of me, a little. And I just tried to help, and then it all just happened. But everyone else—god, every team I’ve ever been on, the Curses, Suguru…”

He swallows once, hard. “I don’t have a reason, either. I grew up in a good home. I had a family. I don’t have excuses. I just—I got really good at one thing, really young. And everyone always treated me like I was more of an asset than a person. And at some point it just got easier to be like that, to exist as some caricature, some—some basketball icon, I don’t fucking know. It’s just—I don’t make it easy to like me. Or know me. Or be around me. I make it easy to hate me. And I wouldn’t blame you if you did, still.”

He scores again.

“I want you to be sure,” he murmurs. “Do you—”

“No,” you say fiercely. “No, Satoru. You know what? You know how you just said you push people away? You’re doing it right now. You’re doing it right now, and it’s not going to fucking work this time. Because guess what? I do know you. I know you’re here every night practicing by yourself because you don’t think you’re good enough, even though you’ve been the best player in the fucking NBA for years. I know you don’t tell anyone when you’re struggling. I know you didn’t leave the Curses for some petty fucking reason, you left because Megumi—because he needed—Satoru, you took Megumi and Tsumiki under your wing and never even told anyone, you endured all that bullshit from Geto and never even ratted him out, you got me this goddamn job—”

“What—did Yaga tell you?”

“It doesn’t matter!” you cry, hands coming up to grip Satoru’s forearms. “Because you do care, Satoru. Because you’re a good person. And I’m sorry,” you say, softer now, “I’m sorry I ever made you feel like you weren’t.”

You aren’t sure when his face got so close to yours. His breath is warm, ruffling the loose strands of hair that have escaped from your loose ponytail. “And it surprised me, too,” you murmur, refusing to break eye contact, still holding him by the arms. “But yeah, Satoru. I see you, and I know you. And I like you.”

He wiggles his eyebrows at you and drawls, “Aw, Alley, do you like-like me?”

“Satoru,” you warn flatly. He chuckles, but then his expression melts back into that serious, searching gaze. He pulls one of his arms away, takes the ball from you, moves back just a little. He shoots it right over your head. You don’t move.

He smirks as the ball drops into the basket with a faint swoosh. Neither of you move to grab it as it bounces across the floor, the rubbery THUNKthunkthunk echoing in the empty arena.

“Your turn, then,” you say, and it sounds a little strangled, a little thready. You don’t know when your heart start moving faster than your mind.

You blink and he’s in centimeters away from you, and he reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Yeah, I got one,” he whispers, voice gruff. He takes a step forward and you take one back. Not away from him, just—he’s so close, he’s…

“Can I kiss you?”

There is no stadium.

There are no empty seats, no baskets, no hoops. The moonlight streaming in from the skylights is secondary, the feel of the court beneath your feet irrelevant. There is only you, and Satoru, and the very, very thin space between your faces.

You have no words, not for this.

Your hand drifts up to the back of his neck, and you pull him toward you, and his lips slot into yours like they were made just for this, just for you, and you’re warm everywhere, from your gut to your fingertips to your toes to everywhere his hands on your body, moving, shifting, holding, and you feel like you’ve lost the knowledge of where you end and Satoru begins.

“I liked seeing you in that shirt,” he breathes, hands slipping beneath the fabric of the one you’re wearing now, his warmth on your back. “But I’d like seeing you in one of mine more.”

Whatever the game is, you lose.

It’s the fact that he wants you, maybe, that this isn’t a one-time thing, that he wants his clothes on your body. The implication that it’s more than just now, than tonight. That whatever this jumble of knotted feelings in your gut has been all this time, he’s got it too, you’re not crazy. You don’t realize you’ve stumbled back, that he’s moving with you, that you haven’t broken eye contact since he spoke.

“Satoru.” His name comes out in a gasp, and you feel your shoulder blades hit the cool-to-the-touch mats that guard the gymnasium walls, your knees nearly buckling as he moves his lips down to your neck, your collarbone. You’re not cold, you’re so far from cold, but goosebumps scatter themselves across your skin. You can’t stay still. You want his skin on yours, everywhere.

“Say that again,” he says against your skin, lips warm. “My name.”

Oh, he doesn’t get to have all the fun.

“Gojo,” you tease, and he grabs you by the chin, breathing into your mouth.

“No.”

“Six,” you whisper.

“No.” His voice is guttural.

You grab him by the forearm and shift your weight. In a blink, he’s the one against the wall, and you know he’s yours.

“Baby,” he whispers. It sounds like a plea, or a confession.

“Satoru.”

He kisses you again, desperately, his tongue slipping into your mouth, and you practically sink into his touch. “I’ve wanted to do this,” he breathes, kissing a trail down your jaw, “for so fucking long.”

“Oh, yeah?” Your composure is long gone, gone with the reality of the empty stadium around you, maybe you never even had it— “How long?”

He grabs your face in his hands, his long fingers reaching into your hair. “Since the second day you worked for San Diego,” he confesses. “You yelled at me.”

You can’t help the laugh that slips through your lips, remembering your second day of work. Satoru had not shut up, even as you tried to get to know each of the players, get your footing in this new position. You turned around and snapped at him, told him to go take a lap if he couldn’t keep his mouth shut or something.

“You’re into that?” you tease. And the the gravity of what he’s saying hits you. That he’s wanted you for that long. For years. “Since…”

“I’m into anything when you do it,” he whispers in the shell of your ear, and shivers run down your back as he reverses your positions again, your back pressed to the wall. He grabs you by the hips, his hands moving over your skin, and before you know it your legs are wrapped around him and he’s holding you against the wall, kissing the daylights out of you, like he’s been starving for five years and you have every answer he’s ever wanted.

“Satoru,” you get out through gasps as he kisses a line down your collarbone before capturing your lips in his again. He hums against your mouth, acknowledging you, and you pull away just for a second, and it’s the hardest thing you’ve ever done, maybe. “We can’t—do this here.”

“This?” he teases. His finger slips into your waistband, taunting.

“Toru—” You don’t mean to say it like that, but you’re short on the breath and the first part of his name gets lost in the air.

“Oh, well, when you ask so nicely,” he murmurs, setting you down, but not letting go of you, like he’ll die if his hands aren’t touching you.

“Hey, sweetheart?” You look at him through lidded eyes, every cell in your body on fire. You’ve been struck by lightning. You might be dying. If this is what dying feels like, you’re ready. “I’m not gonna make it back to my place,” he says lowly. “Or yours.”

Your grin is wide and slow, and genuine.

“Good thing,” you say, pulling him back toward you, “I’ve got an office down the hall.”

directory. || prev. || next.

jjk taglist open: just send me a message!

@shutuppeter @mikikkoo @reactwithjan @theclassbookworm @lilactaro

a/n: okay, team: this is a PSA that this is not really a cliffhanger as much as a fade to black. the sexual content is very much implied and you can do with that what you will, but i do not write smut! only a few more chapters left ahhh

[eddiesghxst]

cigarettes, coffee, and club-hopping

alrighty, she's here and i hope she lives up to the expectations! this is part one of...idk how many yet, but enjoy!

based on this idea I had 80 years ago

————

part one | part two | part three | part four

————

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: ex-bf!rockstar!eddie x lawyer!reader

summary: you're a divorce attorney in Los Angeles and your newest client is filing against famous rockstar, Eddie Munson, who is also your ex-boyfriend

contains: exes to lovers trope, mention of a past relationship, slutty banter, smoking, mentions of alcohol, a hint of mean!eddie, public sex (restroom), a sprinkle of degradation, eddie likes to kiss your neck, fingering, eddie licking your c*m off his fingers (bye), and eddie being hot <3

word count: 5.8k

-masterlist-

Eddie hates waking up early. 

He’s never been a morning person— in all his twenty-eight years of living, Eddie has never seen the letters ‘AM’ and smiled. This is partially why Eddie failed his first-period class in high school for two — almost three — consecutive years in a row. This is also partly why Eddie was fired from nearly every job he landed after graduating. You would imagine that Eddie has learned his lesson after all this time. Not quite.

Eddie is nearly an hour late to his first divorce settlement conference. One would think that Eddie would, for once in his life, wake up at a reasonable time to take a shower, grab his usual morning energy drink, beat LA traffic, and get to his appointment on time— as a mature grown man would do. Still, Eddie failed even to set an alarm to wake him up.

“You’re forty minutes late already— traffic is gonna make it even worse, and you don’t have another day to reschedule this for the next two months, so I suggest you get up, Munson!”

Eddie watches through sleep-fogged eyes as Kelly, his assistant, throws his window curtains aside to let the morning sun seep into his room. There’s a pounding kick drum beating behind Eddie’s eyes, a result of Eddie falling into Jeff’s sinister persuasion to go out. He should stop listening to that asshole— he’s part of why Eddie married his soon-to-be ex-wife.

Eddie’s bones click and crack as he stretches, sits up, and lazily swings his legs over the side of his bed with a sleepy groan. He can hear the rustling sound of Kelly picking up laundry from his floor— something he’s told her multiple times not to do, but she does it anyway, so he’s given up on fighting her. He runs a hand over his face, a yawn wracking through his entire body before reaching over to his nightstand, feeling around for the box of cigarettes he knows he left the night before. 

“I tossed them out,” Eddie glances up at Kelly, who is now grabbing the last of his laundry on the floor and leaving his room. “Go freshen up and get dressed; we need to leave now.”

Eddie’s doctor advised him to start weaning himself off the cancer sticks; something about it fucking with his gums, and that’s on top of the risks he’s running with the vocal strain it’s put on his voice. Eddie knows he should take it seriously, but he needs a lick of nic before spending the next three to four hours bickering with his wife about what’s his and hers.

Eddie drags himself out of bed, shuffling across the cool tile of his bedroom floor. He sleepily rubs his bare stomach, flipping the light switch and groaning, annoyed at the sudden brightness. He brushes his teeth and splashes water on his face before walking into his closet and sifting through the random pants and jackets strewn across the floor. There’s gotta be some smokes in here somewhere. 

He finds a nearly empty pack of Marlboro reds and wastes no time sticking it between his lips, lighting it up with the lighter on his nightstand before getting dressed.

By the time Eddie steps into the law firm, his headache has intensified by about 80 beats per second, and he’s gone through the old pack of smokes. It feels as if the back of Eddie’s eyes have a heartbeat of their own, throbbing with every direction they turn. Eddie can hear his attorney giving him pointers for the conference, but if Eddie’s honest, he doesn’t plan on talking much, so he doesn’t pay close attention to what the man is saying.

When they enter the conference room, Eddie is seated across the table from his wife and offered a cup of coffee, to which Eddie gladly accepts to nurse his hangover. “You could at least take the glasses off.” A sweet voice that’s grown to grate every one of Eddie’s nerves whenever he hears it. He glares at his wife from across the table, and though nobody could see his eyes behind his glasses, everyone could sense the distaste behind his words, “Fuck off, Nezza.”

A strong hand is placed on Eddie’s shoulder, his attorney’s, stiffly squeezing the thick leather jacket. “How about we get started then? Before things get… rowdy.”

“Great idea.” 

Now that voice—- that voice, Eddie could hear at any second of the day, any time of the year, and know exactly who was conducting that sweet song. 

Eddie likes to believe that the universe works in mysterious ways and that things really do happen for a reason, but sometimes he swears whatever god is up there behind the clouds just likes to fuck with him for fun. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could’ve prepared Eddie for the sight he sees when he flits his gaze from Nezza to the woman sitting next to her.

For a moment, Eddie is taken back to a time he remembers in golden dream-like clouds of smoke—- the spring of ‘83 when he fell headfirst in love with the woman sitting next to his wife. And for that moment—- for that split fraction of a second, Eddie is happy to see you. 

It’s surprising; after all this time he spent resenting you and spitting out the sour taste you'd left in his mouth, Eddie imagined he would never be able even to see a picture of you and not want to slam his head against the nearest surface he could get his hands on.

However, that feeling only lasts about .012 milliseconds before Eddie’s entire being is filled with every emotion he’d suppressed towards you over the last nine years. Eddie looks at you and sees the girl he loved and the girl that broke his heart. His last memory of you is so vivid that it almost outshines all the good from your past relationship. Almost. Like a python wrapped around his neck, Eddie chokes on adoration and hatred all in one breath.

If Eddie said it didn’t piss him off to an ungodly level that he has a sliver of excitement to see you, he would be lying. You had always known the best ways to wriggle under his skin. 

This one takes the cake for the cruelest way so far.

————

Eddie looks the same.

Not much has changed on him throughout the years apart from expensive clothing, healthier-looking hair, and a little more muscle on his arms to fill out the black leather jacket clinging to his frame. He still has a knack for jewelry, you note from the priceless rings hugging nearly every slender finger of his and the chain resting against his chest, hidden beneath his shirt. He carries himself the same way, confidently with a smear of carefree and chaos. You couldn’t get a read on him when settled down in his seat across from Nezza, and the black sunglasses shielding his eyes didn’t help you decipher him any further. 

He smells like Marlboro reds and a sharp cologne; dark scented and intense, easy to tell he’s the one wearing the scent. It’s a different scent than you remember from him. He’s swapped the cheap four-cent bottle of Brut for a more decadent scent— a mix of tonka bean, musk, and patchouli with a dash of something feminine you can’t quite put your finger on. The scent matches him better than Brut could ever amount to, but you find yourself reminiscent of the past.

Eddie doesn’t look your way until you speak, and either Eddie has mastered his poker face over the years, or he doesn’t remember you.

Not even briefly does Eddie’s expression falter from the bored look plastered on his face. The sunglasses do no justice either, and you wish the universe would strike them off his face at this very moment. You had forgotten what his eyes looked like in real-time and desperately wanted to remember— take a mental picture and shove it in the corner of your brain filled with essential memories, all things that make you smile, cry, and scream.

There’s a moment where you feel pained by Eddie’s unwavering reaction to seeing you. That feeling is quickly replaced with relief, relief that Eddie has matured just as much as you’d hoped he had. When you found out your client would be filing against Eddie, your high school boyfriend, you had initially panicked and paced the living room floor of your tiny studio apartment, thinking of ways to back out of the case. However, after a hefty glass of wine, you managed to persuade yourself that Eddie most likely isn’t still hung up on something as silly as a high school relationship. It happened nearly a decade ago; surely, you’ve both moved on, right?

With this indication, you feel the tension in your shoulders ease a little, hopeful that this process will be seamless, seeing as both parties want nothing to do with each other and Eddie holds no hard feelings against you.

Once the conference begins, you don’t look away in time to avoid Eddie’s gaze as he removes the glasses, your eyes landing on those dark pools of brown that you used to dip into each night. Vibrant and so full of life, full of untold stories and sights you’d missed out on in the last decade, a story unfolds beneath the glimmer of his eyes under the lights. They feel like home at first, but as you continue holding his gaze, your home becomes clouded by lightning and wind, dark storm clouds with a promise of a downpour.

As you gaze into Eddie’s eyes, you see nothing but the boy you left behind in the summer of ‘85.

————

Stomach growling and frustrated sighs indicate the need for a break at around 12:40 PM.

The conference had started on a good note, with seamless agreements between you, your client, and Eddie’s team. That was until your client decided to become rather difficult and demanding.

“We’ll pick up where we left off in ten minutes.”

The atmosphere in the room has become stuffy and tight over the hours, so you get up to stretch your legs on a short walk to the coffee cart in the hallway.

Your mind feels muddled, pushed to exhaustion from hours of reading documents and going back and forth with Eddie’s attorney. Nezza wants more than Eddie is willing to give, money-wise, property-wise, and everything else under the sun. You’re determined to get your client as much as possible, but it’s proving to be more of a struggle than expected; Eddie’s team is headstrong and unwilling to bend to your substantial advances. Oh, and Eddie’s been practically throwing daggers at you from across the table with each chance he can get.

As you stir in a sugar packet, you watch the dark brown liquid swirl in the foam cup. You fall into a short trance as you watch the tiny bubbles dance within your drink, but the sound of a throat clearing shatters the spell. You glance to your side where the person is standing and are surprised to be met with a leather-covered shoulder and dark brown curly hair. 

“Are you done with the sugar?” Eddie points towards your hand, and you blink, stuck as you stare at him for a moment. You know you should be professional, you’re an established attorney, and you’re in the middle of doing your job, but you’re also 100% fucking human, so— “I don’t know, are you done sending me death glares from across the table or do you wanna keep being an asshole?”

Eddie grabs the jar of sugar packets from your hand, “You wouldn’t have to put up with it if you just… quit the case.” Eddie shrugs as if his advice is a task as easy as folding towels. You take offense to his response, eyebrows pinching together as you watch him rip open a packet and sprinkle sugar into his cup, “I can’t just drop a case, Eddie.”

Eddie mockingly laughs, “Really? That’s weird; I mean, considering how you kind of just dropped everything and fled the fucking state, I’m sure you can drop a case just as easily, sweetheart.” 

His words hurt. As much as you wish he didn’t have that effect on you, it’s evident that he still does, considering how your neck heats up in anger. You don’t miss the pet name he slipped in; you hate that it makes your neck even warmer. “I didn’t flee the state; I went to fucking college— and how is that even my fault? I gave you the number to my dorm, and you never called.”

And Eddie remembers that letter you left him. He remembers it like the back of his hand. He memorized every sentence, including that stupid number you left for him. “Yes, I did. I called you after every show for months, and you never picked up!” 

You spent eight years in New York, and out of those eight years, you spent four of them staring at an ugly green phone on the wall of your dorm hallway, waiting for it to ring so you could pick it up and hear his voice again. You asked your roommate to listen for a call if she was up studying late or if you went out and she stayed in. Now, you wonder if she failed you on her part because you would’ve never, in a hundred years, missed Eddie’s call. Never.

Before you can respond to the information, you are being called back into the room to resume the conference—  you’d almost forgotten that’s what you were here for.

You and Eddie let the man know you’ll be right there and watch as he walks back into the room. When you turn to Eddie, his gaze is no longer on you as he tosses the small wooden stirring stick in the trash.

Eddie is silent for a moment before he looks at you and gives a forced, close-lipped smile, “It’s nice to know you’re still full of shit.”

And then he’s gone. Eddie leaves you there, stunned and offended by his words. Eddie Munson thinks you’re full of shit— as if you were the only one to blame for your falling out. You feel stupid for believing in a better-evolved version of the Eddie you’d known. You wish his words didn’t affect you, but the conversation has left a bitter taste on your tongue. You glance down at the cup of coffee in your hands, and your stomach churns. You no longer have an appetite for the drink.

————

Late-night club hopping has never been your preferred way of spending a Saturday night. There’s a different type of energy in LA’s club scene than there is in New York. It was easy to have a good time in New York; the clubs are all close to one another and stay open nearly all night. In Los Angeles, it’s been a slow rise to liking the nightlife— clubs are more scattered, and on top of that, you learned the hard way that it’s difficult to even get into clubs when you’re not Madonna-level status. That last problem isn’t so much an issue now that you’ve settled in and made a few connections around the city. 

Tonight you’re celebrating a friend from work's birthday. Penny was the first person you talked to at the law firm; she instantly made you feel at home and offered to buy you lunch at a cafe next door. The two of you have been joined at the hip ever since. 

You’re happy to celebrate Penny’s birthday and glad to be tagging along with her in this new chapter of her life, but what you’re bothered about is the fact that you chose to wear the most uncomfortable shoes in your closet. You were under the impression that you would be eating dinner with Penny and a few of her friends, but somehow, dinner turned into a night-long clubbing adventure. 

Logically, you have no one to blame but yourself for wearing Steve Madden pumps, but if Penny had told you the night would be long, you definitely wouldn’t have worn these god-awful shoes.

You’re sitting on a bar stool waiting for your drink and thinking about what excuse you’ll give Penny to go home when suddenly, you feel someone walk up beside you, waving over the bartender. You glance at the person and immediately look away, preparing to run for it before they notice. 

Sadly, you’re not fast enough to escape his line of sight, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re stalking me.”

You turn to the man and take in the sight of him as you tilt your head. “Wouldn’t it be the other way around since I was… you know, minding my business until you came here.” You motion to where Eddie is standing, and he smirks, silently taking his drink when the bartender passes it to him.

“How’d you get in here anyways?” He asks. It’s not a bad question; sure, you’re a damn good attorney, but you’re of no celebrity status, and this club is one of the more difficult joints to get into. However, you still take offense to Eddie’s question.

Your eyes narrow slightly, debating whether you should continue entertaining Eddie or leave and find your friends. “If you’re going to continue to be an asshole, then I’m leaving.”

“Fine by me; I want nothing to do with you.” Eddie scoffs into the rim of his drink before taking a short sip. You roll your eyes, feeling like kids in elementary getting into petty fights. “What makes you think I want something to do with you?”

Eddie snickers over the rim of his glass, “The fact that you’re still sitting here says enough.” 

You scoff, looking away from him as you shift in your seat, attempting to make it seem like you want to get away from him, but it only scoots you closer to him, your arm brushing his elbow. You panic at the touch but act as if it was nothing. “If my feet didn’t feel like they were about to fall off, I would be miles away from you by now.” You grumble as you distract yourself by tugging down the hem of your dress. 

“I don't believe that.” 

You let out an exasperated breath, looking over at Eddie with an annoyed expression as you speak, “Not everyone is head over heels dying to be around you.” 

It might be the alcohol or Eddie’s sinister pheromones you’re breathing in paired with the sound of his ridiculously annoying laugh—- you’re not sure which it is, but you find yourself enjoying this back-and-forth banter. A big part of you is frustrated by Eddie’s insistent prodding at your nerves, but your other part is intrigued. Too stuck to grab your things, bid him goodnight, and leave.

You almost think you heard him wrong when he responds, “We’ll see if you’re saying the same thing once I get you in the back.”

You blink, momentarily silent, as you glance at him to watch him calmly sip his drink. Not a single hint of regret or shock flashes across his face, and you almost think you imagined it until you see a ghost of a smirk brush the corner of his lips. “Excuse me?” And like a child, Eddie’s response is quick and irritating, “You’re excused.”

“You’re out of your mind if you think I’m willingly going anywhere with you that’s not a fucking law firm or courtroom.” 

Eddie laughs, glancing at you and nodding once, “Sure.” You hate how smug he is, and you hate that he’s so fucking right, but you swear you won’t fold for whatever stupid game he’s playing. “Sure?”

You watch Eddie tip back his drink and finish what’s left, placing the empty glass on the bar countertop before lazily nudging it forward. You shift back with an annoyed grimace when he turns to you and leans an elbow against the bar. He points over your shoulder, and you catch yourself before you follow his lead, gaze stuck on his face as you prepare for whatever bullshit is about to leave his mouth.

“I’m gonna head to the restroom to take a piss. You can sit here and bitch about everything under the sun, or you can quit being a pussy and meet me there.”

And without further explanation or interaction, Eddie gets up and leaves. You turn and watch in shock as he walks off, watching his back until it’s washed away by the sea of people on the dance floor. You turn back to the bar and gaze at your drink. For a moment, you think this might be some elaborate scheme Eddie has to fuck you over. Complying with this proposition, Eddie has now opened, could very well lead to you losing your job, something you’re not very keen on doing.

You glance towards the direction Eddie had walked off in and groan, briefly shutting your eyes as temptation washes over you. There’s no way this is real. There’s no way you’re actually thinking about going into that restroom with Eddie.

You take a deep breath, clenching your teeth in thought before muttering a curse. You’re fucking yourself over with this one, but you do it anyways. You toss back the rest of your drink, wincing at the bitterness, before hopping off the barstool.

Your adrenaline is so high that you don’t even feel the ache in your feet as you cross the dance floor, maneuvering through sweaty bodies and spilled drinks toward the bright neon RESTROOMS sign.

From the corner of your eye, you see Penny standing at her rented-out section as she tosses back a shot with the girls you’d arrived with. You should turn around and join them, return to celebrating Penny’s birthday, and forget all about your interaction with Eddie. That’s what you should do, but you don’t. You continue walking towards the restrooms, mentally going back and forth with yourself until you reach the door and wrap your hand around the handle.

However, the door opens before you can fully prepare to open it, and the scent of hand soap and Eddie hits you in the face. Your wide eyes meet Eddie’s glinting gaze. A smirk spreads across his lips, and he snickers, “I’d say I’m surprised, but that’d be a lie.”

Your gaze is hot and heavy as you stare up at him. The sounds of the club you're in seem muffled as you spend your last seconds considering what you’re about to do. You should really turn around.

You tilt your head up, silently sizing Eddie and daring him, a tipping point where you both know there’s no going back now—- especially not when you mesh your lips against his and stumble into the restroom. You plan to blame this on the alcohol.

Eddie makes quick work of turning to press your back against the door, fumbling to lock the door as you grumble a breathless ‘Fuck you’ against his lips.

“I intend to, sweetheart.” 

You hate how stupid and witty the response is, but it makes your stomach twist in need, nonetheless. Eddie’s hands are roaming and squeezing you wherever he can reach, hiking up your dress enough to slink a few digits into the hand of your skimpy panties, snapping them against your waist and smirking when you push up against him. Eddie manages to speak in between haste kisses, “I’m gonna be honest; I didn’t think you’d give in this easily.”

Eddie is now ushering you towards the sink, softly snickering at the gasp that escapes you when the cold marble digs into your lower back. “Are you trying to say I’m easy?” 

You can’t hold back the moan that slips from you when Eddie’s hand slithers between your thighs to press a thumb against your clit. “Maybe… also just pointing out that you clearly missed me.”

You don’t answer him, leaning forward to capture his lips in a heated kiss as your hips rock back and forth against his touch. You smooth your hand down his chest and over his belt to grasp the heavy bulge between his thighs, humming when he moans, “Looks like you missed me more, Munson.”

You giggle when he grunts in annoyance, fingers dipping into the waistband of your panties before shucking them down your legs and lifting the flimsy garment for you to see with a smirk, “Won’t be needing these anymore, will you?” 

You grimace in faux disgust as you watch him stuff the soaked material in his back pocket. “Gross,” you comment, although Eddie doesn’t answer, busying himself with pulling you off the counter, flipping you around to face the sink, and eyeing you through the neon-lighted mirror. “You’re a perv; you know that?” You add as Eddie wraps an arm around your front and hikes your dress to sink his hand between your thighs.

Your shaky fingers grasp Eddie’s wrist, hips squirming as he begins to rub your clit, dipping a finger lower to spread your sticky arousal. “If I were you, I would start being very nice to me.” His voice is low and gravely against your ear as you smile, gazing back into his darkened gaze through the glass reflection. You push back against him, and you both sigh in pleasure. “Just fuck me, Eddie.”

You gasp when he sinks a thick digit into your weeping cunt, slowly pushing it in and out of you to create a sinful twist in your tummy. You shake your head in protest, although your hips rock against his thrusts. “No, no, I don’t need it. I don’t need that. Just fuck me, please?” You repeat, voice teetering on the edge of a whine.

“God, you’re still a fucking brat. So used to getting what you want, hm?” Despite his comment, he doesn’t give you what you’d asked for. Instead, he slips in another finger, greedily squeezing at your chest with his other hand. Your thighs tremble as his fingertips delicately massage that sweet spot hidden between your wet walls, a shaky hand reaching up to grasp his hand as he fondles your breasts over your dress. “Not anymore, princess,” His voice is low and foggy with sex, purring against your ear with ease as he plays with you. “This time, you’ll earn it like a good slut. You’re going to have to ask me very nicely if you want it that bad.” “A-ah…Fuck you.”

Eddie laughs at your response, digging his face into your neck when you throw your head back, inhaling the intoxicating scent of your perfume. He presses a kiss to the base of your neck, and you hate how it makes your stomach twist, thighs clenching around his hand, causing him to pause. “Keep them open.” He warns, ignoring your pathetic attempts at rutting against his hand.

When you don’t obey his instruction, Eddie brings his foot in between your pump-clad feet, knocking the toe of his shoe against both heels, causing your legs to part, shaky limbs failing you as you stumble in his hold. Eddie chuckles, nipping your jaw as he sinks another finger into your soaking heat. Your moan is loud and pitiful as you reach forward to grasp the sink counter for stability. “Oh my god—” “Jesus, you’re fucking tight. Barely taking three fingers.” Your moans are high-pitched as you rock your hips against Eddie, nails digging into the skin of his flexing wrist as he fucks you with his fingers. 

The sloshing sounds from between your legs are just loud enough to hear over the booming music of the club barely, and if Eddie’s fingers weren’t fucking you so well, you would’ve felt ashamed. You hardly notice Eddie’s free hand traveling to the low neck of your dress, tugging the material down to expose your chest. He groans at the sight, palming one of your tits as his mouth latches to the side of your neck. His fingers pinch and roll your nipples, his tongue warm and wet as he licks up your neck, humming at the taste of you and smiling when he feels you tremble against his body. “I can feel you squeezing me, princess; you gonna cum for me?” He whispers against your ear, humming when you hastily nod. “I don’t think so.” 

He slows the draw of his fingers, softly petting at your walls to give enough sensation to have your eyes rolling but not enough to tip over the edge. You frustratedly huff, “Eddie—” “Good sluts ask to come, you know that.”

Your stomach twists at his words, hips squirming in search of more, more, more. You have a lot of pride; you’ve been told it’s your strongest and worst quality before— but here in this dingy club restroom, with Eddie’s overwhelming presence surrounding you and the incessant need to cum gnawing at every cell in your body, you find your pride quickly dwindling like a flame under water. The time when you need your pride the most, it’s nowhere to be found. 

“Please, Eddie.” You whisper so quietly Eddie almost misses it. He smiles, “Since I know how hard that was for you, I’ll take it— but I won't be so kind next time, princess.” He pulls his fingers out of you and urges you to turn around and face him. 

He nudges you back to sit on the edge of the sink, stepping between your thighs and opening them wide enough to see your glistening cunt, sticky arousal winking up at him beneath the dim neon lighting. “N-next time?” You take in a sharp breath as he hitches your leg around his waist

He chuckles, glancing at your swollen lips as you gaze up at him trying to fight through the hazy fog of arousal. Eddie runs three fingers over your clit before sinking back into you, a low hum rattling from his chest when your shaky hands grasp his shirt, fingers curling and wrinkling the material, “Next time.”

Your words get lost on you when he begins fucking you again, eyes fluttering shut as your legs subconsciously tighten around his waist. You can feel his breath against your top lip, and you fight the urge to seek out his lips with yours. You push up into him, mumbling incoherent pleas into the air. You lick your lips, pussy clenching when the tip of your tongue catches Eddie’s bottom lip. Eddie doesn’t wait for you to make a move this time, his free hand reaching up to grip your jaw, fingertips digging into your cheek as he pushes his lips against yours. You both moan into the kiss, your hips grinding into the thrusts of his fingers.

You keep kissing Eddie until you can’t, too overwhelmed by the pending promise of an orgasm. You slide away from Eddie’s lips and nuzzle into his neck, finding solace in the soft brush of his hair against your face, the distant but familiar scent of his shampoo invading your senses. “I’m gonna come.” You whisper, nails digging into his biceps as your thighs quiver.

Eddie keeps his hand working between your thighs, thanking the many hours he’s spent playing guitar for training his wrist to maintain endurance. His other hand dances up your heaving back, dipping beneath the curtain of your hair to grip the back of your neck, softly squeezing in encouragement. “Let go, baby. Let me feel it.”

You nearly sob when you finally tip over, body tensing before melting against Eddie’s body in shambles of incoherent words and shaking limbs. You can hear the sticky wet substance of your release squelching around his fingers; you can feel it smearing against your thighs and dripping onto the cool tiles of the floor, and you almost feel ashamed when Eddie points it out, “Fuckkk, you’ve been saving this for me, haven’t you?” You hardly register his words, but you nod, mewling as you nuzzle deeper against him, thighs twitching when you teeter on the edge of sensitivity.

“I… Enough, Eddie, please fuck me.” You’re practically begging, pulling away from his neck to blink up at him blearily, sex-drunk hands fumbling to reach out for him. Eddie kisses you and chuckles against your lips, fingers finally slowing down. He pulls away with a lewd hum, leaning back to watch as he removes his fingers from your cunt, dragging the drenched digits up to smear your arousal around your clit, grinning when your thighs twitch.

You try to catch your breath as you silently watch him bring his fingers up to his lips, sinking them into his mouth to sinfully lick your cum from his fingers. He glances at you with a smirk around his fingers, and you squirm in your spot. “You’re being a tease.”

He releases his fingers with a pop before stepping away, “Sorry to cut this short, sweetheart, but I’ve gotta run, and I’m sure your friends are worried about where you went.” You watch in disbelief as he glances in the mirror and fixes a few unruly hair pieces. He looks your way and drops his eye in a wink, “I’ll see you later, princess.”

You silently gape in shock, watching him turn around and stride toward the door. Eddie can feel your eyes throwing darts at him, and he doesn’t bother hiding his smile as he opens the door and steps out. 

You have to take a moment to wrap your head around it, but once you do, you wind up more annoyed with yourself for falling so quickly into Eddie’s trap. You clean yourself up and make yourself look presentable again before leaving the restroom to find your friends. 

“Where have you been? I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Penny exclaims once she sees you. She gasps when you get closer, and she sees your neck, leaning in to get a better look, causing you to slap a hand over the sore spot. “Oh, my god. Who?” “What?” “You were definitely screwing someone in the back! Who?”

You wince at her volume, quickly shushing her, “Nobody, Penny, this is old.” 

Penny rolls her eyes and opens her mouth to say something, but you quickly cut her off, “I have an early meeting tomorrow, Pen; I have to get going.” Penny frowns but understands either way, giving you a quick hug and bidding you goodbye for the night. You leave her with a final Happy Birthday and make your way out of the club, already yearning for the comfort of your bed.

Before getting a taxi, you find yourself walking into a nearby store and purchasing a CD of Corroded Coffin’s first album, letting the CD burn a hole through your hands on the ride home. When you get home, you fall asleep atop your sheets before you can listen to the record. 

You spend the rest of your night dreaming of hazy summers in Hawkins with a young curly-headed boy you knew once upon a time.

————

a/n: aH, i hope this was good, next part will be a bit more angsty so this part was for the sluts <3

————

teeny taglist: @eviethetheatrefreak , @sidthedollface2, @peachysink, @hereforshmut, @duncanhillscoffeecups

[stop-talking]

So I'm stuck on this shithole island, and I can't even have a smoke? (pt. 1)

Derek Danforth x fem reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Tags: 18+, Derek x fem reader, no use of y/n, angst, enemies, enemies to lovers, (very) slowburn, no pre-established relationship, sass, banter, misogynistic & violent undertones, (Derek is a prick), suggestive themes, mentions of drug use, withdrawals, rehab, overall mature content.

Part 2

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Derek hadn't even stepped foot into his family's beach house, and he could already tell something was off.

He hesitates on the porch, waiting for someone to scurry out and greet him, to take his bags and carry them inside. He waits a minute. He waits two minutes. No one comes.

"Daddy's home!" He calls out to the house as he kicks open the door, a truly unnecessary gesture.

Silence.

What the hell? Did he get the dates mixed up?

Derek grumbles to himself as he rolls his suitcase inside. Where the hell is the staff? Even if the butler had fucked off somewhere, there should at least be a maid or two nearby. What gives?

He takes a quick hit of his vape to calm his nerves as he sets off down a hall, determined to chew out the first person he sees. They should know better than to keep a Danforth waiting.

"The fuck?"

He stops dead in his tracks when he sees you, lounging on the couch and reading a book.

"Hey, been waiting for you." You say, not even bothering to put the book down and look him in the eyes. That alone makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Alarms are blaring in his head. Something isn't right.

"Who the hell are you?" He snarls, plopping down to sit in a plush chair opposite of the couch.

"You don't recognize me?"

This makes him pause again. He studies your face as you set down the book and straighten yourself on the couch. You do look familiar.

"You're my mom's little assistant, aren't you?" He laughs when he finally pieces it together. That's a relief. Does that mean his mom is here after all?

You try to correct him and introduce yourself properly, with a name. Derek just brushes you off, propping his legs up on the coffee table and relaxing back into the chair.

"Alright sweetheart, care to tell me what's is going on here? Where's my mom?" His tone is sickeningly sweet, condescending even.

"She won't be coming. It's just us."

Derek almost laughs again, but when he sees your deadpan expression, he freezes.

"Come again?"

"Aww, did your mommy not give you all the details, Derek?" You respond, matching his condescension with your own.

Okay, that's it. He sits up and plants his feet firmly on the hardwood floor, making a rather loud thud with his snakeskin boots.

"Tell me what's going on. Now." Derek narrows his eyes in what he hopes is an intimidating glare, then takes another puff of his vape and blows it at you from across the coffee table.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

You make a sour face and wave away the cloud of mango-scented nicotine. He really shouldn't vape inside, but you decide to ignore it. For now.

"You and I are going to be getting well acquainted over these next few weeks." You give him a purposely vague answer, just to piss him off more. It works.

"W-Weeks?" He sputters, nearly choking on his stupid little nicotine stick.

"Fuck are you going on about? I'm here to see my mom for the weekend."

Of course that's what she told him. You let out a sigh and rub your temples, already sick of this manchild.

"Well, instead you're going to see me for the next three weeks. Twenty-one days. Get comfortable." You let out an amused huff and lean back on the couch, propping your feet on the table in much the same way Derek did earlier.

That really seems to piss him off.

He kicks the coffee table with his boot, sending it sliding across the floor before finally colliding with the couch.

"Listen here, you little bitch. I came here to see my mom and have a quick vacation. If she isn't here, I'm fucking leaving."

"Good luck with that!" You scoff, pushing the coffee table back into place. Seriously? Temper tantrums already?

You shake your head as he storms off down the hall. He'll be back.

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Sure enough, Derek soon finds that his only option is to tuck his tail between his legs and crawl back to you.

God damn it. How could the entire house be empty?

He had checked all the bedrooms, the office, kitchen, hallways, hell, even the servants' quarters. Every time he opened a door just to be met with an empty room, he felt himself grow more angry. What the fuck? Was this some kind of sick joke?

He stomps back into the living area, only to face yet another empty room. Fuck. It's like his own house is mocking him.

Thinking he heard shuffling in the kitchen, he ducks around the corner. Sure enough, you were in there, poking through a cabinet.

"You wanna tell me what the fuck is going on? And why my phone has no service?" He angrily waves his phone in your face, intentionally encroaching on your personal space.

"I told you. You and I are going to be staying here together for the next few weeks."

Derek silently fumes as you calmly take a step back from him.

"Don't look at me like that. You can thank your mother for this. She thought it was finally time you get sober."

The word sober cut through him like a knife. His mom was always nagging him to give up drugs. Fuckin' hypocrite. The woman smoked, like, half a pack a day since he was born.

Though, admittedly, Derek did a lot more than nicotine. He felt at his pocket, checking to make sure the little baggie of coke was still there.

"So is that what this is, then? A fucking intervention?" He practically spits in anger, giving you his best glare.

"No, Derek. You've had an intervention. You've had ten interventions. This is rehab."

He nearly choked at that. Rehab? Seriously?

"And what makes you think I'm going to play your little game?" He sneers at you, and pointedly takes another hit of his vape.

"Don't do that in here. I'm about to cook dinner."

He watches as you casually wash your hands in the sink, oblivious to his hateful gaze.

"Answer my fucking question. Why shouldn't I just walk out of here right now?" He stands directly behind you, leaning down over your shoulder and hissing directly into your ear. His breath is still tinged with a hint of mango-scented vapor.

"Because... you can't?" Derek is gently shoved aside as you make your way over to the kitchen island.

He grits his teeth and follows, leaning on the counter and staring you down as you start chopping vegetables, presumably for the dinner he wanted no part in.

The worst part is that you're right. His family's beach estate is... remote, to say the least. Located on a private island, the only way on or off is via helicopter or boat. He had taken a helicopter, obviously. Boats were for servants. Unless it was a yacht.

"How much?" He finally relents, sighing.

"For what?"

"To get me off this goddamn island."

You just smile slightly and continue chopping away, refusing to meet his eyes.

"I'm not doing this for the money, Derek. Though your mother is paying me very well for this, I assure you."

That answer didn't surprise him, however annoying it was. "not in it for the money" just meant "you have to offer me a LOT of money".

"Two million in Bitcoin if you can pull some strings and get me out of here by tonight."

"I'm doing this as a personal favor to your mother. And I couldn't get you out of here early even if I wanted to. Your mom is determined to finally get you sober."

Derek's brow furrows as you finally look up at him from across the small section of countertop. A personal favor?

"So what, I'm a goddamn prisoner?"

"Pfft. If you want to think of it that way. But there are much worse places to be held captive than a luxurious million-dollar beach house."

"Four million. Four million-dollar beach house." Derek grumbles, eyes glazed over as he stares off into space and ponders the gravity of his situation. Three weeks? Rehab? With you?

"Ah. Of course."

An uncomfortable silence lingers in the air as Derek leans on the counter and watches you chop an onion. It starts to make his eyes sting, so he backs up and scoffs.

"It's not going to work, you know. I'm not getting sober." He crosses his arms defiantly.

"Oh? You brought enough drugs to last three weeks?"

Derek instinctively pats at his pocketful of cocaine again. Truthfully, he had only brought enough of a fix for a few days, maybe a week if he rationed and stretched it out. Two weeks was pushing it. Three weeks was impossible.

"Fuck you." He spits, and starts to take another hit of his vape to calm down.

"Blow that in another room or you aren't getting dinner."

He pauses, holding his breath as he considers his options. He wants to blow it right in your stupid face, but he does as asked, turning and letting it all out into the adjacent living room.

"Thank you."

He stands in the corner, silently fuming. What the fuck? What the actual fuck? Was he seriously expected to just drop everything and let himself be trapped here for three fucking weeks? He had a business empire to run. He didn't have time for this shit.

"I'm not getting sober." He repeats, trying to convince himself as much as you.

"Why? You're going to go through withdrawals and feel like shit regardless of whether you give up the drugs or not. You can either leave here mostly weened off of them, or leave still mostly addicted, having wasted three weeks of your life feeling shitty for nothing."

God damn it. Why did you have to be so sensible? Derek scowls at you from the corner, but of course, you aren't paying attention. You ignore him yet again, scraping the freshly-chopped veggies into a pan on the stove.

"It's gonna be a fucking waste of my life either way. I've tried getting sober before, believe it or not. It's never worked out." He grumbles bitterly.

"I know. I believe you." You respond, still absorbed in whatever you're cooking. It actually smells good. Better than mango vape oil, at least.

"But it's easier when you physically can't relapse, even if you wanted to. Which is why..." You turn around and finally meet his gaze, giving him a sympathetic look.

"...I was hoping you'd give me everything you have on you. Vape, cigarettes, LSD, weed, pills, whatever you're on these days."

Derek scoffs. You couldn't be serious.

"And if I don't?"

"You will."

Derek grits his teeth, but before he can snap back, you speak again.

"Seriously, Derek, please. It'll be easier to give it all up now rather than later when you're craving it."

That makes him pause. Fuck. You really had this all planned out, huh? He's completely and utterly unprepared to argue about this. So, he just groans and leans against the counter, putting his head down.

"Do I have to give up the vape too?" He mumbles, words muffled with his head buried in his arms.

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Four baggies of cocaine, two blunts, and a bottle of mystery pills later...

You stare at the defeated-looking man before you as he slumps over the counter, sitting on a stool. His head is buried in his arms, and you can't help but feel a little bad for him. Just a little.

"Hey, you're gonna be glad you did this." You try to reassure him, but he just grumbles incomprehensibly in response.

You sigh, deciding to leave him alone and turn your attention back to dinner. He'd already done more than you'd expected from him, honestly. He gave you everything in his pockets without a fight, and even fetched the rest of his stash from his suitcase.

He'd convinced you to let him keep the vape until just before bed, since the nicotine withdrawals were likely to hit him first. At least he had that small victory.

You ponder over this while you move the veggie mixture around in the pan, the smell of sautéing onions and garlic permeating the air.

"You wanna help me with dinner?" You call out, looking over your shoulder at Derek.

"Pfft. Women's work?" He grumbles, shifting so one eye can peek over at you. When he sees you're looking back at him, he hides his face again.

"With that attitude, you'll be making your own meals." You scold him softly, but can't bring yourself to really lay into him. He looks like he's taking this hard.

"You know, I only packed a few day's worth of clothes." He muses, finally sitting up and leaning his head against his hand.

"Mhm. You'll be fine. There's extra clothes in your room. Your mom picked them out."

Derek groans. "My mom? Seriously?"

"Oh, please. Like her taste could be any worse than yours." You turn and eye him, taking in the cheetah print shirt topped with a green blazer. It all really clashes with those snakeskin boots of his. Not to mention the gold chain... and diamond earring... god, he's a mess. He dresses like a Texan thrift store threw up on him.

"Like you dress any better." He scoffs, furrowing his brow as he looks you up and down, seemingly taking you in for the first time. His gaze lingers near your breasts for an uncomfortable amount of time, so you turn and quickly change the subject.

"Could you grab me the ground beef from the fridge?"

"I'm not cooking."

"Did I ask you to cook?"

Derek mumbles a few curses but stomps over to the fridge and eventually brings you the ground beef. He stands behind you and peers over your shoulder for a minute while you cook, either curious or bored.

"How much longer till dinner?"

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Derek sits at the dining table across from you, pushing his food around with his fork. He hasn't taken a bite yet even though he's hungry, partly out of spite and stubbornness, and partly because it doesn't look like anything he's eaten before.

He watched you add vegetables, beef, noodles, cheese, and like ten different seasonings.

The dish was akin to some kind of homemade hamburger helper, but of course, growing up rich and spoiled, Derek would have no idea what that was.

"You gonna eat?" You ask, covering your mouth with your hand as you chew.

Derek sighs and takes a bit of his food. It... doesn't taste bad. Surprising. He takes a few more silent bites.

"So... what exactly are we going to do without internet for three weeks?" He finally breaks the silence, waving his fork at you in an accusing manner.

"What do you usually do without internet?"

"Drugs."

"Oh."

Another awkward silence lingers in the air, and Derek is itching to take a hit of his vape. He could, too, it's still in his pocket. The one thing you let him keep. But he has a feeling you'd react negatively to him vaping at the table, so he waits.

"We could watch a movie? Or walk down to the beach? Listen to music? Read?"

Derek groans. "Aren't you supposed to be more fun than this? You're basically a glorified babysitter, right? You're not going to... entertain me?"

He raises his eyebrows at you, a suggestive tone in his voice.

"Sorry, love. I'm here to keep you sober. Not empty your balls."

He frowns at that. Expecting him to go without drugs for three weeks was one thing, but drugs AND sex? What did he look like? A fucking NUN?

"I'm not saying it's in the job description... but surely you're not opposed to a little... recreation?" He tries again, giving you a sly smile as he props an elbow on the table and leans his head on his fist. His other hand waves his fork around wildly as he talks.

"What, do you want me to call up your mommy so you can beg her to fly out a few of your whores?" You blink at him, smiling sweetly.

Derek grits his teeth. "You bitch."

"Oh? I'm a bitch for cooking you dinner?"

"No, you're a bitch for not wanting to..." He trails off, realizing how stupid he sounds.

Damn infuriating woman. He stands and stomps upstairs to go unpack his things, and take as many hits of his vape as possible before you inevitably take it away.

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You watch him leave with a grimace. Well, that went... well?

At the very least, he agreed to try and be sober for the three weeks. You'd work on his lack of cooperation skills later.

You stare down at his half-eaten plate of food. He is not going to like it when you reveal to him he actually has to do chores.

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Author's note: Sorry if this chapter dragged on! I tried to edit it down, but I really wanted to get the general plot set up in one part. We'll get to the more... juicy stuff later. This is going to be more of a slowburn than my last fic, so buckle up!!

Also sorry most of it is in Derek's POV? Do you guys like that?? His internal monologue is just too funny and deranged not to show

Part 2

[sissylittlefeather]

Role Play: Epilogue

A/N: I ended this series before I could write my favorite role play idea. Solution? EPILOGUE. Y'all know I love a good epilogue. Anyway, enjoy this fluffy, smutty, pure-fun romp!

(@ccab this one is for you 😉)

Need to catch up? Here's the Masterlist.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, cussing, kissing, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), p in v penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie

Word count: ~1.5k

In the spring of 1972, a year after Elvis declared his love for you in the rain, he asks you to move into Graceland. Priscilla moved out earlier that year after she realized you weren't a fling that was going away any time soon. He hated that she took Lisa Marie, but otherwise he didn't mind her moving out. He was ready to take your relationship to the next level anyway. You'd been spending as much time together as possible, so him moving you into his house just made sense.

On your first night there together, he puts you to work in his kitchen again. You're happy to roll your sleeves up and give him directions. This time you make a lasagna and manage to keep your hands off each other long enough to get it into the oven. But when he puts you on the counter, rips your panties off, and drops his face between your thighs, you decide that moving in is the best decision you've ever made.

He pushes his tongue into your slit and you throw your head back and run your fingers in his hair. He licks up either side of your clit and then drags his tongue across it hard.

"Mmm fuck yes, Elvis." You hiss as he continues working his mouth on you. He slides two fingers into you and pumps them in and out as moves his tongue on your clit. He can feel your walls flutter as your orgasm approaches and he pulls back and whispers.

"Let go, baby. Cum for me like you always do." You whimper and he goes back to licking you as your orgasm rushes through your veins like starlight. You tighten your grip on his hair and he moans into you. Finally, you come down from your high and he pulls back, wiping his mouth with his hand. He stands up, shaking his hair from where you had your hands in it. You go for his belt just as the timer for the lasagna goes off.

"Mmmm noooo..." He whines, pulling you in close to him and kissing you deeply.

"Babe, I have to get the lasagna out." You moan as he kisses down your neck, nipping at you gently. He squeezes your hips and then backs up. You hop off the counter and run your hand up his hard dick, tucking it under his belt for him. He groans and kisses the top of your head.

"I'll get mine after dinner. I have a role play idea for us anyway."

"Ooh, I'm intrigued."

"You should be." You grab some oven mitts and pull the lasagna out as he grabs a couple of plates for you.

******

After dinner, you make your way to the TV room, and he runs upstairs for a bit. When he comes back down, he plops onto the couch and pulls your feet into his lap. He rubs them casually as something plays on all three screens.

"That feels good." You lean your head back and he smiles.

"Would you like me to keep going?"

"What do you mean?"

"Here. Come with me." He stands you up and guides you up the stairs to the bedroom that you now share. He takes you in the bathroom where he has set up the bathtub with candles and rose petals.

"Is this what you were doing?"

"It is. Do you like it?"

"I love it!" He undresses you and helps you into the tub. Once you're settled, he disappears and comes back with a glass of champagne.

"Now, you just relax here, honey, and I'll get everything else ready."

"There's more?"

"I told you it's a role play." He winks and walks out of the bathroom.

You lay in the tub with your glass of champagne for about twenty minutes before he comes back wearing a robe. His excitement is palpable and you can tell he's been planning this for a while.

"Ma'am, your massage is ready whenever you are."

"My massage?"

"Yes ma'am. I'll be your masseur this evening." You smile and stand up out of the tub. He turns around nervously, like he's never seen you naked before. "Oh! The towels are over to your left. I'll just... I'll go back in there and wait for you to get ready."

"Elvis!" You laugh and he clears his throat.

"Ma'am, I'm just a humble massage boy. I-I-I'll be in there." Then, he walks out of the room. He's committed, you have to give him that.

When you get into the room, he's got the bed turned down for you to lay on and soft music playing in the background. You notice a bottle of massage oil on the nightstand.

"Just lay down on the bed and I'll get started, ma'am." You unwrap the towel you had around you and lay face down on the bed.

"Okay, I'm ready." He walks up behind you. "But I have a request."

"Yes ma'am?"

"I need you to take that robe off."

"That seems a little unprofessional..." You look at him slyly.

"I promise I'll give you a good tip. Now, robe off." He tries to suppress a smile as he takes the robe off, leaving him as naked as you are. He looks down at you on the bed, your body beautiful in front of him. For a second, he considers abandoning the role play and jumping on top of you, but he doesn't. Instead, he gathers some massage oil and begins to run his hands along your back. You groan at the sensation of his strong hands on you, wondering how long you'll both be able to stand being naked and so close together.

His touch is firm but gentle as he massages your back, moving his hands a little lower with each pass. Eventually, he's just rubbing his hands on your ass sensually and you feel his erection where it rests on your thigh. Your center is absolutely dripping with his proximity and the feeling of his hands on you. You long to feel some part of him inside you. Seemingly reading your mind, he moves his hands lower and begins to massage your thighs, running his hands up the inside of them, teasing your clit with his fingertips as he goes. You whimper a little and spread your legs open. Finally, after what feels like an excruciating amount of time, he runs one hand up your thigh and slides a finger into you. Between the massage oil and your wetness, his finger glides easily in and out. He adds a second finger and you notice he only has one hand on you. You look back over your shoulder and realize he's stroking himself as he fingers you, the massage oil making it easy for him to move his hand back and forth.

"And you said I was asking you to be unprofessional."

"Mmm, sorry, ma'am, you're just such a beautiful woman." He whispers as he continues to pump his cock and finger fuck you.

"You don't need to apologize. Just come over and finish what you've started. And I don't mean the massage." You smirk at him over your shoulder and he pulls his fingers out of you. He climbs onto you and lines the tip of his dick up with your entrance. As he pushes into you, you both groan. He kisses your shoulder and leans his forehead against your back.

"Fuck, honey, that's so good."

He begins to pump in and out of you, fucking you deeply with long strokes. He grabs the back of your hair and pulls so that he can kiss your cheek over your shoulder. Then, he pushes up and grabs the headboard with one hand and your hip with the other, driving into you passionately from behind. You whimper with each thrust, the pleasure almost overwhelming you.

After another few minutes of pounding you in this position, he pulls out and rolls over on his back. You climb on top of him, a knee on either side of his hips, and sink down onto his dick.

"God, I love your pussy." He moans as you begin to roll your hips into him, pushing him deeper and deeper.

"Mmm I love your cock." You moan in reply. Then, he grabs the side of your face and pulls you down to him, kissing you emphatically.

"I love you." He whispers when he pulls back from the kiss.

"I love you, too." He kisses you again and then wraps his other arm around you, slamming into from underneath. His hips meet yours over and over as he thrusts until you both tumble headfirst into waves of pleasure while you pulse and flutter around him and he shudders and pumps a few more times weakly.

When your combined orgasm fades, you roll off of him and lay next to him, sweating and panting. He grabs your fingers and brings them to his lips.

"I'm so glad you're here." He turns his head to look at you. You meet his eyes and smile.

"Me too."

"Welcome home, baby." He turns and wraps himself around you, kissing your cheek. "I'm so glad I met you."

You sniff a little and hold back the tears. How did you get here? You don't know, and frankly you don't care. You belong in his arms and you intend to stay here as long as he'll let you.

******

The End

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