#if i can’t get a beer tonight there will be hell to pay

[richo1915]

Motherf*#king Crane Driver!

Ran my bloody wallet over.

That’s what you get for paying the kids school fees and rego (for a car in bits) at work rather than concentrating on the task at hand.

[milla-frenchy]

Push it

3k4 | Joel Miller x fem reader | ao3 | Masterlist

Summary: you have a secret “relationship” with Joel, your dad's best friend. You know you can't have more, but you can’t resist the idea to provoke him a little

Warnings: 18+ mdni. Age gap (reader early 20s, Joel late 40s), Joel is a grumpy, possessive, jealous man, reader is a brat. Grinding, dry humping, oral (f/m), pussy slapping, spanking, degradation, rough sex, dirty talk, cum eating, squirting, piv, creampie

a/n: so, this is my first dbf!Joel fic. Thank you anon, for your ask ❤️ I hope you'll like it 🙏

@aurorawritestoescape thank you for beta-ing baby 💕🫶

dividers @saradika-graphics 🙏

The fic is titled after “Push it” by Garbage 

Joel was looking at you walking back and forth from the dining room and the kitchen, swaying your hips and teasing him in your short dress. And if your father had been paying any attention to him instead of the game on TV, he would have noticed the way Joel was biting his upper lip or rubbing his hands together. Joel was nervous, and the more nervous he got, the more you teased him.

“Damn brat,” Joel muttered under his breath.

“What?” your father asked.

“Nothing,” he replied and then sighed. “Just said that player really sucks, that’s all.”

“I think he’s hot,” you said cheerfully. “How old is he?”

“A little too old for you to be interested, honey. Over 30 years old.”

You scoffed at your father’s words, and you were pretty sure you heard “jesus” coming out of Joel’s mouth.

You spent the rest of the match pulling down your neckline to expose more of your cleavage or hiking your dress up your thighs. You were careful to do it in a way that your father wouldn’t consider inappropriate if he ever looked at you at some point, but he was captivated by the game. 

Your and Joel’s gazes met often and he gave you a few serious warning stares that you ignored shamelessly. You didn’t even try to hide your satisfaction each time he had to readjust his jeans.

Once the match was over, you brought their empty beer bottles back to the kitchen, and Joel's firm hand closed around your arm as soon as you were there.

“The hell you doin’?” he grumbled.

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Cut the crap, sweetheart,” he hissed through his teeth. “Acting like a damn tease, makin’ me hard during the game? In front of your father, goddamn it! Could even see you’re wearing the black lingerie.”

“Ooooh… yeah, your favorite. Too bad you made it very clear the last time you filled me up- we fuck just for fun, right? So let me have fun and act as I please in my father's house. And let go of me.”

But he squeezed harder. “Keep it down,” he growled. “And that ain’t what I said.”

“Whatever. Next time you see me, I may be with my boyfriend.”

“What boyfriend?” His nostrils flared and you loved the sight.

“The one I’m probably gonna meet tonight, when I go out with my friends. The one who’ll appreciate my lingerie. Let go of me,” you repeated, yanking yourself free.

You headed towards the kitchen door, and after glancing behind, you saw him leaning against the counter. Annoyed, dark eyes, eyebrows furrowed, arm muscles stretching his black t-shirt. Irritation suited him well, he was even more handsome than usual. You tried to ignore the racing of your heart as you stepped back into the dining room.

“Can you help me with the internet at home?" he asked you in front of your father. “Connection ain't working.”

“I’m sorry, Joel, I can’t right now. I have to get ready, I’m going out tonight and my friends are picking me up in an hour.”

“Jesus, your manners?!” your father replied as if you had said the most impolite thing in the world. “Go help Joel. Your friends can wait a few minutes.”

You rolled your eyes, careful so that only Joel could see you. He smirked in a way that was so feline that you felt yourself dripping. He walked out towards his house, not checking if you were following him. He knew you were. 

Once home he sat down on his couch, resting his right arm on the backrest.

“What's the problem with the internet?”

“Ain't got any problems. Come here,” he said, patting his thighs.

“What makes you think I wanna sit on your lap?”

“Pussy's dripping. Can smell it from here.”

You rolled your eyes but you walked over to him and straddled him, placing your hands on his broad shoulders. He grabbed your hips tightly and positioned you how he exactly wanted you, his stiff shaft in his jeans against your folds covered only by your black panties. Your eyes sparkled when you felt his manhood. His were fixed on yours. Full of confidence, the eyes of a mature man, aware of his power of seduction over you.

“Stop being a brat and grind on me. I know you need it bad.”

You rolled your hips slowly, grinding against his hard cock. His hands firmly laid on your hips, but letting you lead the pace. His jeans almost hurt your inner thighs but you needed that friction against your soaked pussy. That sweet pain, the one that helps to feel better, like an itch that can be relieved only when you scratch it a little. He pulled your neckline down roughly, cupping your breasts in his palms before taking a nipple in his mouth, sucking and licking it.

“Joel…,” you whimpered.

“Keep humping me, sweetheart. Yeah, just like that. She needs it, uh?”

He took your nipple back in his mouth, licking and then nibbling on it lightly, pressing on your shoulders to feel you more.

“Use me. Use me to get off,” he said, the need in his voice showing you how much he loved feeling you rub yourself against him. You kept rolling your hips, moaning “Joel, Joel…,” your whimpers getting louder and louder, until you breathed out “it’s good, so good, I’m gonna come,” just before you came against him, whining into his neck, trembling. Your desire wetting your panties even more and flowing onto his jeans.

You let your forehead rest against him, panting into his skin that you kissed as he stroked your back, before you pulled back and faced his dark eyes.

“I wanna suck your cock,” you said, kneeling down and unzipping his jeans.

“Yeah? Gonna help me with that after your little game? That's what you wanted, uh? Wanted me to get fuckin’ hard, while I couldn't do anything about it.”

You nodded, there was no more brat attitude left in you, just eagerness as you pulled his cock out gently, and watched his weeping, red tip. You licked your lips and spread the precum around his slit with your thumb. You sucked him the way he liked, lingering on his tip for a long time, licking, sucking. Each time, you wanted to give him the sloppiest head, so that he wouldn’t think about anyone else. Wouldn’t want anyone else.

When you took his length in your mouth, getting used to its thickness, pressing your tongue against his quivering skin, you felt him shiver. Until he pressed his cock against the back of your throat, and finally put his hands on your head. You loved feeling his underlying power, his pressure on your temples.

“Don’t move,” he said in a low voice, his length buried in your hot throat. You felt his tip twitch. Finally he started to thrust, fucking your mouth and your throat, using you as a fuck hole.

The mouth of his best friend’s daughter. He didn’t think about it anymore, when he was buried in one of your three holes. His remorse was forgotten. He didn’t care what could happen next, where this relationship or whatever it was, would take both of you. Didn't think about the consequences anymore. Only your warmth, your tightness welcoming his cock, mattered.

His hands firmly gripping your head, he thrusted in, and began fucking your mouth relentlessly. From the first time he’d fucked you, you noticed how different he was from your previous boyfriends. He loved when you teased him. He loved being seated on his couch, manspreading, while you were dancing lasciviously in front of him, waiting for him to break and reach out to you. But sometimes, often, you were the one breaking first. 

When you danced like that, his gaze was full of promise. Promise to fuck you so well you’d forget your own name when he was done with you.

Guys of your age didn’t have that patience.

He loved to make you come several times before spilling his cum. Sometimes he made you come again after, with his tongue or fingers, leaving you breathless and cock dumb. 

Your ex boyfriends usually didn’t care.

But he cared.

You let him use your mouth, let him move your head back and forth. Let him bury himself in the back of your throat. You learned not to gag anymore, when he fucked it. He trained you to do it. 

His hands froze on your temples, and you knew he was about to shoot hot ropes of cum that would hit the back of your throat.

“Fuck, ‘m gonna come… swallow all of it, sweetheart. Like a good girl, just like I taught you.”

His cum spurted out, and drop by drop, you swallowed it all. Then you carefully cleaned his shaft, his tip, until he pulled out. He put his cock back in his pants, and zipped them.

“You should go, you’re gonna be late.”

“Do you have something to tell me, Joel?”

“Good evening?” He sighed when he saw your eyes, a little blurry, and added “and keep those wet panties on. I want you to remember how you came humping me, while you’re out with your friends.”

You didn’t try to meet his gaze when you heard his words, and you left.

Babe? Babe!” You heard your friend’s voice in the distance. You were so lost in your thoughts. Always the same. Joel.

“What’s wrong with you?”

You spread your hands in front of you, as if to mean you had no idea what she was talking about.

“We’re supposed to have fun and you seem… somewhere else. What’s on your mind, babe?”

You answered that everything was fine, and tried to push Joel out of your thoughts. Joel who had told you that you weren’t a couple, that you didn’t have a relationship because your father, other people couldn’t know. That this thing between you was a bonus that you were giving each other. But that there couldn’t be more.

So when a guy of your age approached you and asked you to dance, you didn’t say no. When he offered you a drink and asked if you wanted to join him in the bathroom of the bar, you didn’t say no either. Sat on the bathroom sink, you let him eat you out.

And you only thought about Joel who always did it so perfectly, knew when to lick lightly, when to suck on your clit, knew how to fill you with two of his fingers. You had to think about him, the whole time that guy was eating you out. You had to think about Joel’s beard and mustache, scratching tenderly or roughly against your sensitive skin.

It was the only way for you to come.

When you left the bathroom, Joel was the first person you saw. Dark stare. Then darker than ever, when his gaze fell on the man who walked out of the room right after you. You froze before heading to your table, but he grabbed your arm before you sat down. 

“I’m taking you back home. Now.”

“Are you mad? I come home whenever I want.”

“Wow wow! What’s going on? Are you her dad?” Joel looked at this man whose name you didn't even know, from his full height, fists clenched. Joel looked at him as if he wanted to throw him to the ground, making him take a step back.

“No I ain’t her dad, luckily for you”, he growled. He turned to you before adding “I said, now.”

You followed him, like a docile dog. Turned on by his jealousy and attitude.

“Get in the damn car,” he grumbled. He started driving, silent, hands clenching the wheel until his knuckles were white.

“Joel…”

“Don’t,” he rambled. “Don’t say a word.”

You sank into the seat, waiting for him to drop you off at your place. But he pulled into his driveway.

“Follow me,” he said, without waiting for you.

When you joined him at his house, his hands were on his hips, his gaze turned towards the ground.

“You fucked him?” he asked in a low voice.

“No. No I didn't.”

“He fucked you?”

“No, damn… He didn't fuck me.”

“Yeah?” He raised his eyebrows, in a way that was clear- he didn't believe a word you were telling him.

“Yeah,” you confirmed.

“Don't lie to me. You got that “just fucked” face.”

“Damn, I… He went down on me, that's all.”

“You let him go down on you? On that pussy?”

If you didn't know him, his tone might have seemed detached. But you had known him for a long time, and the surprise mixed with jealousy didn't escape you. Actually, it was even more than a surprise. Almost a shock.

You even felt like he was holding back from saying “my pussy.” But he had been clear about you two. Fun.

“Why do you care? You don’t want anything serious.”

“He ate you with your wet panties on? He pushed them to the side?” You nodded shyly, almost embarrassed.

“Fuck, come here,” he said, grabbing you by the hips before pulling you back towards the couch, your feet dragging in an attempt to keep up with his pace.

He pushed you roughly to sit you down and knelt down in front of you. He pulled your dress up and practically ripped your panties off, and yanked your hips towards the edge of the couch.

“I think this pussy needs to remember who makes her come,” he growled, already pushing two fingers inside you. “You're fucking soaked. You came in his damn mouth?”

“Yes I… Fuck, Joel!” He was fingering your pussy quickly, as if he wanted to remove any memory of any man other than himself.

“Was he good at it?”

“Yeah, he was perfect. Made me come so quickly.”

He slapped your swollen clit and you whined, tears at the corner of your eyes.

“I said, don't lie to me,” he spat at you, stopping his fingers deep inside your pussy.

You lowered your head before answering.

“No, he wasn't good at it. Had to think about someone else to come. Had to think about you,” you whined. “Stop being mean to me, I didn't do anything wrong!”

“I need to remind you how this cunt needs to be eaten. Like the damn slut she belongs to.”

This wasn't the first time he'd degraded you. He'd noticed early on how receptive you were to it. And the way your pussy squeezed his fingers couldn't hide it, once again.

He settled between your thighs, lapping at your cunt still soaked with another man’s saliva, your pleasure and your desire for Joel.

He dove in like it was his last meal on earth, lapping, sucking, mixing his saliva with someone else's and he didn't care. Your hands tangled in his curls. Your orgasm was building and Joel stopped just before you exploded on his fingers and tongue.

“No Joel! Please, why did you stop?”

“I don't want another tongue on this cunt. Ya hear me?”

“But you said…” He slapped your clit again, making you whimper.

“Repeat it.”

“I… fuck, Joel! Jesus… You don't want another tongue on this cunt.”

“If I see you with anyone else again, if I hear about you with anyone else, I’ll spank you so hard you won’t be able to sit down for days.”

Your pussy clenched around his fingers without you being able to control your body.

“Jesus Christ, you fuckin’ like it? You want to get punished over my knee like the dirty little brat you are?”

“I… no, I… fuck…”

“Pussy's drooling even more. Unbelievable…” He started to finger you again, slowly, and placed his thumb on your swollen and sensitive clit, making you whimper. “You were a good girl, with proper manners. And now… can't think straight since you took my fat cock, right?”

“I'm… fuck. I'm a good girl.”

“Really?” he smirked darkly. “Good girls don’t get their pussy eaten by a stranger in a damn bar.” He leaned down and licked a long stripe from your hole already filled with his fingers to your clit, before stopping again cruelly. “Good girls don’t make their man jealous,” he added before diving between your thighs, fingering you fast and so hard that his knuckles tapped against your entrance. His tongue focused on your clit, swirling around it perfectly. 

“My… my man?”

He didn't answer, growling from the depths of your thighs, making you squirm on his fingers as he fingered you hard, until jets spurted out suddenly and wetted his face.

“Fuck yeah! that’s a good girl, squirting on my face, jesus, sweetheart…”

You were completely gone, not realizing that you were cumming on his fingers still buried inside you, until he replaced them with his tongue. He drank everything you gave him, greedy, eager. You kept squirming but his strong grip kept you seated on the couch.

When your jolts stopped, he grabbed your arm to lift you up and bent you over the dining room table. His hand tightened on the back of your neck, and he unzipped his jeans, lowering them mid-thigh with the other one, before sinking into you in one go, grunting like an animal.

He buried his fingers in the flesh of your hip, pumping into you. Hard, deep thrusts, growling “take it, just like that,” and you could only take it. Letting him feed on your needy pussy, on your low moans that he could barely hear, fucking you so hard that you were almost speechless except for the whimpers.

“Fuck, you’re taking me so good.” He kept thrusting in, filling you like only he knew how.

“Harder, Joel. Harder, please,” you begged.

“Jesus…”

Clinging to the edge of the table, you tried to remain as still as possible despite his roughness that threw you forward with every thrust.

“Say my name”, he said in a needy voice. You didn’t hear him and he scoffed. “Too cock dumb to even hear me,” he growled before spanking your ass, hard, making you squeal.

“Joel!!!”

“Oh, you’re back? I said, say my fucking name.”

“J… Joel…”

“That’s right. Whose pussy is this?”

“Yours.”

A second spank landed on your already red skin.

“Say it again.”

“Damn, Joel?! Your pussy… my pussy’s yours, damnit…”

A third spank, even harder than the other ones. “Joel, what the fuck??” you whined.

“Squeezin’ me so tight, each time I spank you… don’t pretend you don’t like it, dirty fucking girl.”

You didn't answer. He was right, you liked it. He knew it and you knew it. You liked his strength, you liked that he used you. You liked being his.

“I’m gonna come. Gonna fill you up, fuck!”

He shot his cum deep in your pussy and didn't stop thrusting, pumping you full until you milked his cock.

Your hand against the wood of the table, you were breathing heavily, trying to catch your breath as his heavy body pressed against yours.

“You said it was just for fun… What happened?” you murmured.

“Ain’t what I said. I said, your father can't know. The neighbors, your friends, can't know. But you… you gotta know. I don't share. Got it?”

“Yeah… got it.”

You smiled, feeling his breath against your neck, and his hand tightening on yours, on the wood of the table.

Thank you for reading 🙏

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[lulunothulu]

“Valentine’s Day”

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader

Description: Hangman hates Valentine’s Day almost as much as you both hate one another… or do you?

“I hate Valentine’s Day,” Hangman says, taking a swig of his beer and looking around The Hard Deck.

“Of course you do,” you respond. “You’re a fuckboy who’s never been in love.”

Coyote snorts a laugh and Phoenix high fives you with a grin. Next to Phoenix, Rooster looks between you and Hangman—eyebrows raised.

It’d been no secret that the two of you hated one another. Hangman is the perfect example of a cockiness. You could’ve sworn he liked pissing you off as much as he does in a daily. Getting under his skin was almost a sport to you. The only time you ever acted remotely sweet toward him, was when you were: 1. Drunk or 2. Ovulating.

You just so happened to be on your way to getting drunk tonight.

“Have you been in love, Bullseye?” Hangman asks, leaning forward and into your space. “Or are you saving a spot for me in that black heart of yours?”

You smile up at him, clenching your jaw so tightly, it hurts. “I’m not drunk enough to answer that.”

You push him back, palm firmly on his chest, and begin walking away—toward the bar. Only, Hangman follows behind.

“Mind if I pay for it?” He asks from your side.

“Why?” You’re suspicious and rightfully so. Hangman is not the type just offer to buy anyone a drink, least of all you.

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” he states. “Let me be a gentleman.”

“Okay? You’re not my valentine.” You’ve both just reached the bar but you only have eyes on him. He froze his brows and tightens his lips before opening it to say something but Penny interrupts him—pulling your gaze from him.

“Another beer?” She asks you.

“Yes,” you tell her. Then, facing him again, add, “Hangman here said he’d put it on his tab.”

You glance at him but he’s still watching you and he looks…jealous? His suntanned skin looks like it’s steaming under the lights of the bar. His green eyes are the darkest shade you’d ever seen them. And his jaw? Clenched beyond comprehension.

“Yeah,” he finally says. “It’s on me.”

Penny nods and flashes you a look before turning to retrieve the beers.

“You are okay?” You ask Hangman when she’s gone.

“Who’s your valentine?” He asks.

“Who said I had one?”

“You implied that you did.” You almost choke out a laugh, but stop when you see how deadly serious he is.

“What are we in elementary school? Are you being for real right now?” You ask. “You don’t even like me.”

He steps closer to you, the faint warmth of his hand on the bar next to your hip the only indication of how close he is. He smells clean, with a hint of cologne—not too strong or overpowering. You have to tilt your head up to maintain eye contact with him, and almost gasp at how remarkably handsome he is up close.

You’d known he’d been handsome, hell everyone knows. But standing in front of him now, under these moody lights, you can see why women fall for him.

“Do you have a valentine?” he asks.

“And if I do?” You ask. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

You have no idea where that flirtiness came from, but it makes him smile. He takes another step closer to you, your hips conjoined at different heights.

“Then,” he starts. He’s so close to you, he doesn’t have to shout over the loud music and chatter. “I’d say to tell him that you have a new valentine.”

“And what? That would be you?”

He takes a breath, almost realizing what he’s about to say. His eyes glanced to the right before falling back onto yours. There’s something so sincere and commanding about the way that he looks down at you, that you can’t help, but believe what he says next. 

“Yes.”

“But you hate me,” you tell him.

“No, I don’t.”

“—And I hate you.”

He smirks down at you, leaning his head to your ear before whispering, “No, you don’t.”

His breath on the shell of your ear, makes you shiver and gasp softly. The hand closest to the bar, fully encapsules your hip, the other matching its movement. You can hear him inhale to say something else, but Penny interrupts the moment.

“Your beers,” she says. You turn away from Hangman, feeling a blush creep onto your cheeks and take the beer.

“Thank you,” you reply.

You begin to walk away when you feel Hangman’s hand wrap around your wrist. You turn to face him and his eyes are glossy. Not in a drunk way, but something different. You know something shifted after that small moment you had with him.

And you definitely know deep down you liked it.

You rip your arm out of his hand and begin to walk toward your friends, trying to forget the way his eyes lingered on you and how much you wanted to kiss him.

This is insane. I can’t be feeling this way, not after years of hating him.

But now come to think of it, why did you hate him? Is it because he’s the only person who knows you inside and out? Is it because he’s the only other person who can ever push you and your buttons? Or maybe it’s the way that his cocky grin almost always falls on you after you correct something he’s done.

There was no fucking way that you secretly liked him…right?

Back with your friends, Phoenix nudges you softly and pulls you to another pool table.

“What was that all about?” She asks, pointing her chin at Hangman.

“I honestly don’t know,” you reply. “He wanted to know if I had a valentine. Like if we’re in elementary school or something.”

Phoenix’s eyes widen, her mouth dropping open. “No fucking way. He actually asked you.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’d been talking to Bradshaw, and asking him how likely his chances would be if he asked you to be his valentine,” she explains. “Bradley and I were confused because we thought you two hated each other. But the look on Bagman’s face told us otherwise.”

“Okay?”

“Y/N,” she starts, “I think he was serious. He wants you to be his valentine, possibly more.”

You stare at her with wide eyes before cracking a smile and beginning to laugh. You laughed so hard you double over holding your stomach, tears streaming down the corners of your eyes and onto your cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” you laugh, wiping your tears away. “Seresin does not like me.”

“I don’t know,” she starts. “Think about it. Does he bother anyone else as much as he does you?”

“Well,” you start.

Now that you thought about it, you’re the only other person he seems to annoy the most, and on purpose for that matter. Sure, he and Rooster got into little arguments every once in a while. But he’s never gone out of his way to annoy or tease anyone else like he has with you. Never mind the subtle flirting.

“Oh my god,” you finally say. “He likes me.”

“He likes you.”

“What do I do?” You ask.

“Well, do you like him back?” Phoenix lifts a brow, a small smirk beginning to form on her lips.

“I don’t know.” And it’s true, you didn’t know. “Does it feel nice to know that someone might like me? Sure. And it’s not like he’s ever done anything remotely bad to me. I just thought that he was being cocky and a show boat because that’s how he is.”

“Shit, what if he was acting like that around you because he thought that was a way to approach you?”

You turn your body fully to face her and lean on the pool table. “You think he was doing that ‘if a boy is mean to you, he likes you’ thing they told us in elementary school?”

“I think he was trying to do what always works for him.”

“What do I do?” You ask.

“Go talk to him,” she tells you. “See what’s going on in that big ass head of his.”

You chuckle at that and turn your head toward where the guys are. Hangman is already looking at you, his lips corked up to the side in a cheeky smile.

You nod your head to the right, silently telling him to follow you to the back of the bar. When he nods in confirmation, you turn to Phoenix and smile.

“I’ll be right back.”

You make your way to the doors, pushing them open and stepping out into the warm beach air. You cross the porch and lean onto the wooden railing, waiting for Hangman to appear.

At the sound of the door opening and closing behind you, you look over your shoulder. Hangman stands there, hands in his pockets and a shy smile on his face.

You’ve never seen him look shy before.

His dimples are out, his smile tentative, and he’s blushing. Blushing.

“Hi,” you greet.

“Hi,” he responds.

You both stand in awkward silence before you sigh, placing you hands on your hips. The motion makes his eyes gleam in anticipation, and you realize he might like this a lot more than you thought.

“I’m just gonna go out and say it,” you huff. “Do you like me?”

Hangman’s caught off guard. His green eyes widen, cheeks reddening, and smile faltering before regaining its composure.

“Answer truthfully,” you add when he opens his mouth. “I don’t want a cocky remark.”

“Yes.”

You’re both stunned. Speechlessness was something Hangman has never seemed to experience, and you could tell by the shocked look on his face.

“Is that why you’re always teasing me?” You ask.

“I try not to,” he starts. “I just don’t know how to approach you.”

The candor in his words and tone makes you step closer to him. Your arms drop to your sides before you take the three steps it takes to come face-to-face with him.

Well, toe-to-toe since you’re a good head shorter than he is.

“You wanna know what would’ve gotten my attention,” you snap your fingers, “that quickly?”

“What?” He swallows, his throat bobbing. He licks his lips, a small smile beginning to form on his lips.

“Ask me.”

“Ask you what?”

“Asks me to be your valentine,” you shrug. He opens his mouth but you raise your hand to stop him. “And do it nicely.”

Hangman smiles slowly, biting his bottom lips before shaking his head in astonishment.

“Bullseye,” he starts. “Will you be my valentine?”

“See, was that so hard?” You tease. “And yes, I’ll be your valentine.”

“That’s all it takes?” He asks, tentatively placing is hands on your hips again, just like he did at the bar.

“That’s all it takes.”

“What should I do if it’s not Valentine’s Day?” He asks.

“Be upfront and ask me out,” you shrug, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I’ll keep that in mind for tomorrow,” he smiles. “Now, how would I ask to kiss you tonight?”

“Don’t ask,” you respond.

So he doesn’t.

Imma leave y’all hanging bc I have a Rooster fic coming later today 🤪 (also yes, this was supposed to be posted on Valentine’s Day. I just could not bring myself to do it for some reason.)

[frudoo]

I am a plague tonight and I’m making it your problem 💀

John Price x tattoo artist reader… he finds them cos they specialise in neo trad stuff. The boys keep teasing him that his tattoos are aging worse than he is, colour fading and lines blurring, so John decides to treat himself, have a little self care time getting poked.

Doesn’t hurt at all, not with that pretty face poking him. Doesn’t she look so sweet when she concentrates?! Obvs he can’t help but imagine what else he could absorb her time with.

Spoiler alert it’s him

Emmy! Here's nearly 1,850 words worth of a prompt you sent me last year (oops)

Warnings: Alcohol consumption. Needles, obviously. Suggestive. Fem!Reader. MDNI.

Muppets, the lot of them, guffawing at their beloved captain over the rims of their condensed glasses. John is far from tipsy but not quite stone cold sober, a nice buzz brewing in his brain. It blissfully distracts from the idiocy of his drunken team and their jabs at him. 

     “Fookin’-” Johnny hiccups, then continues. “Ah reckon they’re fookin’ ancient! Wha’, Cap, did ye steal yer designs from a bleedin’ museum? The- the hero… herogilfibs… the heir-?”

     “Hieroglyphics, y’knobhead,” Simon snorts, smacking the back of the Scotsman’s neck as he finishes the last of his drink. 

     “Tav’s go’ a poin’, sir,” Kyle grins mischievously. “Ya tattoos really are lookin’ worse than ya face, ol’ man.”

     “Shove it up your arses,” John rolls his eyes, tossing back the rest of his beer before slamming the bottle down on the table. “You’re all coverin’ my tab.”

     Slurred protests and pleas fall from the other three men’s lips as John leaves the bar without so much as a look back. The cool rush of evening air hits him, and John breathes it in gratefully. The smell of booze was starting to give him a migraine. 

     As he heads in the direction of his flat, the streetlights illuminate what little of his tattoos show past the sleeves of his t-shirt. The guys are right—his tattoos that were once vibrant and full of color have dulled, much like… well, himself.

     God, when’s the last time he did something for himself that didn’t include going out to the pub or rotting in bed all day while on leave? He’s not even fucking forty yet, and still his knees creak, and his face is bone-dry, and there is nothing to celebrate in his life besides the fact that he’s been able to avoid death for this long. He’s in desperate need of something to look forward to other than piles of paperwork and the crippling knowledge that his next mission could very well be his last. That’s hardly any comfort.

     He checks his phone and grumbles when he sees that it’s only eight o’clock. Fucking hell, he’s displaying more old man tendencies than he thought. He weighs his options; there’s no way in hell he’s walking back into that pub and risking more lighthearted insults—or, worse, actually having to pay for his own drinks. He could head back home and climb into bed, staring at the ceiling until it hurts to shut his dried out eyes. Neither choice is more attractive to him. With a groan, he turns on his heel and heads in the opposite direction of his flat, determined to find something to occupy his time. 

     It’s either fate, luck, or some sick joke that he ends up standing face-to-face with a little tattoo shop. He scans the outside of the brick foundation, reading the poster that they have hanging in the window. There are three artists here that specialize in realistic black and grey, and another who specializes in color. Back when John first got his tattoos, he wasn’t interested in having a certain style, he simply just pointed at the wall and told his artist to put it on him. 

     John sighs and reluctantly walks into the shop, looking around at all the art on the walls. It’s beautiful, of course, with intricate details in both large and small works done by the talented artists. Hopefully they’re as good with tattoo machines as they are with pencils and markers. 

     “Can I help you?” 

     John turns toward the voice behind the counter, his eyes widening slightly as he sees, quite possibly, the most gorgeous woman to ever live. Captain John Price, the big, scary bear of a man, whose mere presence is enough to demand respect, stammers over his words.

     “I-I, uh… I’m looking to g-get, erm…”

     “Sir, if you don’t know what you want, you’re welcome to have a seat and figure it out, or stop wasting my time,” the deity raises an eyebrow and John feels all the blood in his body rush south.

     “Tattoos! I-I need to get my tattoos… replenished?” He hums, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. 

     “Can I see what we’re working with?” 

     John is quick to roll up his sleeves, revealing sad, sun-worn ink. When your fingertips gently brush over the work on his freckled skin, he has to will every goosebump threatening to rise to stay beneath the surface. 

     “Damn, when did you get these done? The Renaissance era?” You joke, huffing through your nose as you look up at him. 

     “Been told they look pretty rough,” John grunts. 

     “Nothing I can’t handle. How much were you expecting to get done tonight?” You cross your arms over your torso—the man is fighting demons trying not to stare at the delicious crease of your cleavage.

     “What time does the shop close?” 

     “How much money you got?”

     “Touché.”

     With a giggle that makes birdsong seem more akin to nails on a chalkboard, you lead him back to your station, plopping a clipboard of paperwork into his lap the moment he slides into the chair. Once he’s finished filling out all the forms, John takes a moment to admire the canvases decorating your area, humming with approval. It’s all clean, perfectly neat work. There’s no doubt in his mind that you’ll be able to turn the eyesore that is his old tattoos into something worthy of being displayed in a gallery. 

     You slump into your own chair, motioning for him to roll up his sleeve once again. He complies, of course.

     “Since it’s just your bicep, I’m thinking we can get this arm done tonight if everything goes smoothly, which I expect it will,” you explain. 

     “Sounds good to me,” John smiles.

     You grin in satisfaction, giving him a small nod as you snap on a pair of sterile gloves. While you shave and prep his skin, he leans back against the headrest, allowing his eyes to shut peacefully. It’s nice, knowing he’s doing this for his own benefit, not for the greater good of the world or the men in suits who order him around to do their dirty work for them. When he hears the first buzz of your machine, he opens one eye long enough to watch as you bring it to his skin. 

     “Ready?” You ask, and he hums his confirmation.

     As expected, it doesn’t hurt. Not really. Compared to the countless injuries he’s sustained on the field—bullet wounds, knives to the abdomen, things he’d rather not think about at the moment—the pain is nothing. If anything, it brings him comfort. If he’s not hurting somewhere at all times, he tends to forget he’s alive. 

     “Considering you got these done back when dinosaurs were roaming around, it’s pretty good work,” you tease, and that makes his head perk up. 

     “Got jokes, do ya?” He muses. 

     “Oh, plenty. The night’s still young,” you wink up at him and John thinks he sees stars.

     Truly, you are ethereal, tattoos of your own scattered across your supple skin. His crystal blue eyes trace over every inch of your face—the way your tongue catches between your teeth while you work on the smaller details, the scrunch in your brow as you trace over the thicker lines. You do the tiniest little dance between each stroke, and it makes him chuckle. He can’t help but admire you.

     “Got a staring problem?” You tease, taking a break from filling in the outlines to wipe away the blood. 

     John’s face flushes, and he pinches the bridge of his nose with his free hand in embarrassment. He’s hardly a humorless man, but the way you joke with him so freely has him blushing like an idiot. 

     “It’s okay. I’m used to elderly men checking me out.”

     John groans as you cackle at your own words, but in reality it amuses him to no end. 

     “Do I really look that bloody old?” He grumbles.

     “Nah, I’m just messing with you. You’re kinda… I mean, you’re a dilf,” you shrug.

     “I’m a fuckin’ what?”

     “Let’s just say that there’s a niche and you fill it perfectly,” you grin widely, enjoying the confusion written on his features. 

     He’s silent for a long moment, only the music playing over the speakers and the soft hum of your machine audible. Every time you move even slightly, his gaze follows. Normally, if it were anyone else you’d be uncomfortable, but he’s so charming and handsome. You welcome it, really. 

     “Do you have a wife? Kids?” You break the silence, meeting his eye briefly while you dip the needle into some more ink.

     “Not hardly,” he answers, sucking his teeth. “Not for lack o’tryin’, though.”

     “Sorry to hear that,” you bite your bottom lip, feeling bad for bringing the subject up.

     “I’m not. It’s just reality that no woman goes after a grumpy ol’ man past his prime,” John chuckles humorlessly. 

     “Bullshit,” you roll your eyes. “You’re fucking hot. I bet there’s a whole group of women drooling over you that you’re not even aware of.”

     “You seem pretty certain,” John raises his eyebrows, the corner of his mouth curling just barely upward.

     “I told you, there’s a niche that you fill,” you double down on your statement, beginning to fill the linework of the final piece on his arm with color. “And, maybe, I just so happen to be an enjoyer of that niche.”

     John’s heart skips a beat. His fingers twitch with excitement, and he can no longer hold back a smile.

     “That right, love?”

     “Ah, don’t go getting a big head, now,” you laugh, sniffling softly. 

     “Well, you sure know how to inflate a man’s ego,” he jokes. 

     “Keep that shit up and I’m charging you extra!”

     “Do that and I won’t give you a tip.”

     “Which kind?” You ask, biting back a snort as you watch his face contort with a scandalized look.

     “Cheeky fuckin’ thing, you!” 

     Your shoulders bounce with your laughter as you finish the final touches of his last tattoo. You clean the entire area of his raw skin with alcohol wipes before carefully covering it with a few large pieces of saniderm. You smooth the wrap out gently, ensuring that there are no air bubbles. Satisfied, you lean back in your seat, disposing of your used needles and other supplies.

     “You’ll leave this first saniderm on for about 24 hours, then you can take it off and gently wash the tattoos with unscented soap and warm water,” you explain, spinning your chair to face him. “You can come back to me tomorrow night, and I’ll replace the saniderm for you.”

     “I’m all set, then?” He asks softly, pulling his wallet from his back pocket.

     “Yes, sir,” you beam, telling him the amount he owes you. “Wait, one thing, though—I never asked for your name.”

     “It’s John, love.”

     “Well then, John,” you hum, handing him one of your business cards that oh-so-conveniently has your personal number written on the back. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

     The man slips your card into his wallet, radiant, sparkling eyes meeting your own as he stands.

     “I guess you will.”

[jj-lvr]

imagine your first kiss with bsf!jj…part 1(?)

you’re both drunk as hell, giggling into your beer bottles like it’s your first time at a party, and ignoring the weird looks the rest of your friends give you. they should have even used to your antics by now anyway. you locked eyes with pope and smiled at him in the sweetest way you could muster, and he returned a careful smile that made you roll your eyes.

jj’s lips were at your ear as he giggled at his own words — he was telling stupid jokes about the people in front of you who were paying you no mind, random tourons you would probably never see again after tonight.

“and that one…her mom definitely told her to go mingle with the locals,” his voice verged on hysterical as he spoke, “and her, she just wants to lose her v-card to some local so she never has to see them again.”

before you can stop yourself, you reply, “well, there’s only one guy for the job.”

his eyes snapped to you, glassy and bright with laughter, a question lingering behind them. the next laugh that left him was humourless, and it didn’t take a genius to notice how the air changed from light to tense.

“yeah, rafe…god knows he needs to get laid,” he was laughing as he raised his beer bottle to his lips, only for you to snatch it away at the last minute. “bro what?”

“you know damn well who i mean.”

his eyes met you with chill distaste now, but you knew not to take it personally. he just got like this sometimes around you when he was drunk, and this time was no different.

“don’t fucking joke about that shit, man.” the finality in his tone had your head reeling for a moment, the record in your brain screeching to a halt that most have shown on your face if jj’s own expression was anything to go by. he suddenly looked racked with guilt. “i’m just trying not to be like that anymore.”

you scoffed playfully, ignoring his scowl. “why the change of heart, buttercup?”

his mouth opened as though he was going to talk, but before he got get words out his lips were claiming yours. they were firm, insistent against your own, and only barely parted to let out a warm breath that smelled of beer and salt water. arms snaking around you, he pulled you closer until your shoulders were touching and he could slip his hand into the crook of your neck. just as you were about to kiss back- just as your hands were reaching into his hair-

he retreated his body from yours like he had been stung, eyes wide and confused and shocked. shuddering breaths eased out of him and he couldn’t help but lick his lips. you knew he was savouring the taste of you.

“look bro i didn’t mean-”

“you didn’t mean what?” your voice clearly caught him off guard. he planted his hands into the sand and pushed himself to his feet.

“you know what…I can’t…we…i’ll see you later,” he stuttered, “the chateau or something, fuck knows.” his voice got quieter as he turned from you and trudged over to the rest of your friends, who had retreated over to the large campfire with the rest of the tourons, leaving your head reeling with complicated thoughts.

let me know if yall want part 2!!

[cxvii666]

“who's that? what's that?”

college au! stoner!hanta sero x fem!plug reader

“house party on a cold night, i got goosebumps but it's alright.”

wc: 1.2k

part of the: why's this dealer?! taking the piss!! - extended play

starting track...

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....

it’s a few days later, and hanta's still trying to wrap his head around how the hell denki pulled this off.

they're at the bus shelter down the road from mina's flat. it's almost identical to the one from a few days ago — same crack in the pavement, same slightly busted bench that feels just a little too hard, like it was made for someone much taller than either of them, same cigarette butts scattered around like confetti.

hanta sero 's squatting on floor, back resting against the plastic screen, rolling a cig. he's half paying attention to the weather (which, of course, is cold and wet and annoying), and half paying attention to denki. the guy is bouncing around, looking as annoyingly chipper as usual. as if everything isn’t one giant cluster of "what the fuck?"

“so,” denki grins his stupid little smile, and he says in a puff of kiwi guava passion-fruit, “i was thinking, why don’t we invite her to mina's party? she'd totally be down, right?”

hanta squints at him as he fishes through his hoodie for a lighter. “who?”

denki looks at him like he’s the idiot. “her, man. you know, her.” and he points vaguely toward the horizon, as if the answer is self-evident.

hanta raises an eyebrow, finally putting two and two together. “wait, you mean—oh, fuck off, you’re seriously gonna call her? right now?”

“oh, totally. she said she was free.” denki's already pulling out his phone, face glowing with that stupid confident smugness that he always seems to have, and an “i'm about to make this happen~" expression that hanta can’t stand. “trust me, she’ll come.”

hanta squints up at his friend. “you are not calling her right now, you know that, right?”

but it’s already too late, denki is cheesing, phone to ear shushing hanta as the ringing stops and the line clicks, he swaggers off behind the bus stop with a "hey baby, watchu up tonight?"

hanta knocks his head back and sighs, sparking up his cigarette and plotting how tf hes gonna killl his bestfriend and come up with a believable cover story.

within seconds, hanta’s phone buzzes. the screen lights up with a text from denki to the group chat. "yo, I just invited my friend to da partyyy. Hope dats cool :3"

mina replies instantly with a "of courseeeeee !!!!!" as hanta scrambles off the ground after his friend. “you didn’t.”

“oh, I did.” denki winks, walking backwards and narrowly dodging a telephone pole in the middle of the sidewalk, practically vibrating with excitement.

hanta groans maybe he can get bakugou to help him hide the body. denki's or his own, he's not sure yet.

by the time the party rolls around, hanta’s not sure what’s worse: that he’s actually looking forward to it, or that denki’s probably masterminded half of it. he rolls up to the venue, mina's cramped, barely-lit apartment on the edge of campus, and immediately regrets every decision that led him here.

the front door is cracked open, the sounds of music and voices spilling out into the street like it’s some kind of wild circus. the familiar smell of weed hits him even before he steps inside, thick and pungent, mixing with cheap beer, cologne and the faintest hint of sweat. he steps through the door, practically getting knocked over by the surge of people.

and there you are.

hanta spots you immediately, even though there’s a sea of bodies moving around. you’re laughing at something kirishima just said (or maybe it’s bakugou, hanta’s not sure — both of them are too loud and too obnoxious, for some reason the angry blonde turns into the biggest joker when there are pretty girls around), your eyes sparkling in the dim, red-tinted light of the apartment. you’ve got your hood up over your head, and your smile is infectious in a way that makes his chest feel tight.

he tries to shake it off, but damn it, you’re pretty, and it’s only getting worse the longer he stands there, trying to be cool about it.

as if on cue, denki spots him across the room, waving him over like the over-enthusiastic piece of shit he is. “ayo- hanta, over here man."

hanta makes his way over to where denki and the others are, but his eyes keep flicking toward you. you notice him, and a little smile quirks up on your lips. his heart skips a beat.

“yo,” you say with a nod when he gets closer, that same lazy, sleepy tone from the other night, but this time, it’s mixed with an easy confidence that hanta can’t quite place. “so, you actually showed up.”

“uh, yeah,” hanta scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, already regretting how much he’s suddenly aware of your presence. “thought i’d make the trip out since... well, y'know, denks 'n mina insisted.”

you laugh, that same sound that makes his stomach flip. “yeah, he’s kind of like that.”

denki leans over your shoulder up at hanta, grinning like a maniac. “told you I was good for it, right? knew she'd be down to hang out.”

“yeah, you don't shut up either,” hanta mutters, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips because, damn it, denki makes a noise of offence and your eyes just twinkle at him.

hours later, hanta’s pretty sure he's had way too much to drink — not that he’s complaining. it’s the usual party chaos. kirishima’s in the middle of a heated game of flip cup with bakugou, mina’s in the corner making everyone laugh with a story about some dumb thing that happened at work, and denki’s doing whatever denki does when he’s had too much to drink: embarrassing himself by feeling up on evryone art the function.

but through it all, hanta keeps finding himself glancing at you.

you’re sitting on the couch now, chatting with mina, your legs tucked under you, looking so... effortlessly cool and at ease with the world. it’s honestly getting kind of ridiculous how much his brain is fixated on you.

denki, of course, notices this, the little shit. he sidles up next to hanta, clinking his bottle against his, and waggles his eyebrows. “yo, bro. what’s up w'th you and my girl?”

hanta nearly chokes on his drink. “what? your girl?”

“yeah, come on,” denki teases, clearly enjoying this way too much, entwining his free hand around hanta shoulders and slowly moving their bodies close to where you're sat . “i’m not blind. you’re totally into her.”

“no, i—” hanta stumbles over his words, trying to act nonchalant about it. “no, i’m not. i just—she’s cool, that’s all. and you set this up.”

denki’s grin widens into a full-on smirk bringing his face so close to hanta that their noses are practically touching before mock-whispering. “i told you she was your type, didn’t i?”

“you’re unbelievable,” hanta mutters, pushing his friends face away from his own with the palm of his hand, but he’s not even mad. he knows denki well enough to know he’s not wrong.

across the room, you catch hanta’s eye again, and this time, you wave him over with that easy, relaxed smile of yours. his heart stutters in his chest, and before he knows it, he’s making his way over, ignoring denki’s victorious little cackle from behind him.

the night goes on, the music getting louder, the drinks flowing a little too freely, and the crowd growing more chaotic by the minute. but hanta doesn’t care. because when you look at him again, when you laugh and pull him into a conversation about some random thing — about denki, the stupid party, everything — was definitely worth it.

...end of playback

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[drewsarms]

𓊆ྀི❤︎𓊇ྀི A little of the writing was inspired by this post!! For my baby @shawtycoreee !!! I hope you guys enjoy! Send me some asks too!!

𐙚: hick!rafe x toots!reader get into a fight and make up

𐙚 : warnings: violence (fighting), angst, use of “daddy” , faux fucking, 18+ mdni !!

From the moment you woke up you were ready to get on your man’s last nerve. To be fair he wasn’t paying a lot of attention to you lately. Going out with his friends. Coming home drunk. Not listening to when you’re yapping about god knows what. It’s not that you didn’t trust him or had concerns of if he didn’t love you. He was a sweetheart to you in every way possible. You got to see a side of him that no one else did. But something was off and you had to know what the problem was.

Rafe was working late tonight. By the time he got home you’d usually be in bed but tonight was different. You wanted to let him know just how much he pissed you off. When he pulls up in the driveway he was surprised to see all the lights still on. He hurried inside to see if anything was wrong.

“Baby, uh, you there?” Nothing. He walks further into the house and sees you sitting on the kitchen counter. “You didn’t hear me come in Toots?” You didn’t answer him. You knew just how to piss Rafe off and that was not answering his questions. He drops his bags and walks towards you. “You know I don’t like that shit. I asked you a question goddammit.” He points a finger in your face. You look away. He puts his finger on your chin and you push him away. “You know what fuck this shit.” You jump off the kitchen counter following him around the corner. “Where the hell are you going?” You say throwing your arms up in the air. Your voice starts breaking. “To fucking relax. I can’t deal with this shit right now.” Tears start to form in your eyes. To think that he didn’t even want to talk this through hurted you even more. “What shit are you referring to? Since we’re on the subject I can’t deal with your shit anymore either.” He turns around and raises an eyebrow. “Hey! You better watch your fucking tone little girl. I am not in the fucking mood.” He says walking towards you. Backing you against the wall. “I don’t give a fuck what mood you’re in. You’re pissing me off and I want to talk to you about it.” Rafe rolls his eyes at you and starts to walk away. “I really can’t fucking do this.” He mumbles. He walks to the kitchen to grab a beer and you follow right behind him. He’d be damned to think that this conversation was over. He brings the beer up to his lips and before he can take a sip you snatch it throwing it against the wall making a mess. “You’re such a fucking dick!” When you turn away you can hear him unbuckling his belt. It made you even more pissed if he thought sex was going to be the answer to the argument. You were caught by surprise when you felt the cool leather snap hard against your ass making you jump. Before you could turn around Rafe grabs you by your neck. His mustache tickling your ear. “You’re gonna fucking regret that.”

Rafe throws you on the bed. You can’t admit you’re a little scared. Not because you made him mad (that’s something you’re used to) but because he’s not eagerly trying to fuck some sense into you. “Get that cute ass up in the air.” In an instant you listen. He chuckles at your eagerness. He runs the cool metal of his belt buckle against your ass making you shiver. Five more harsh slaps from the belt hitting your ass filled the room. You try to apologize but all that’s coming out is whimpers and sniffles. “Quit that fucking crying Toots. Don’t act so sorry now.” A feeling of emptiness comes from behind you. You don’t feel Rafe. You start to wiggle your ass out of neediness. “D-daddy?” you say through cute little cries. You feel his jeans press against your panties. His hard cock feels like it could break through the material. He grabs your hips and starts fucking into you. He was teasing you and you hated it. “Wanna show daddy how sorry you are?” You whine as you start to twerk against his clothed dick. He slaps your already sore ass making you gasp. “Daddy please fuck me! Please!” You look back at him and he has this sinister look in his eyes. His once bright blue eyes turning dark. It turned you on and scared you. “Uh uh I thought I was such a dick shug?” He looks down at you backing your ass up against his dick. “Doesn’t seem like it’s a bad thing now does it? Not with the way you’re shaking your ass against me.” After what felt like hours of torture you finally heard him unbuckle his belt. “Get those fucking panties off.” You eagerly reach back and yank them off spreading your legs even more so he can have a perfect view and easy access to your pussy. You can feel him line his self up with your entrance. Rubbing at your leaking, sensitive clit. You start to kick your feet in protest. Desperately trying to push his cock in your pussy by backing up against him. “Daddy! I’m sorry please I won’t act up again! Just please fuck me-“ Your little fit turned into moans as he pushed himself all the way inside of you. Every time he fucked you his dick felt bigger and bigger. “I don’t want to hear your whining and shit ever again. When I come home I want you to be my good little girl. You don’t ask me questions. You don’t get mad if I’m at work all day. You got that?” You nod your head in agreement. The pleasure becoming too much for you to speak. He pulls out and starts rubbing your clit. “I asked you a question angel.” You look back at him with teary eyes. You reach for his face giving him the most desperate and sloppy kiss. A string of spit connecting your swollen lips together. “Yes daddy! I understand! I’ll be your good girl!!” He gives you a sweet kiss to your forehead before sticking his cock back in and filling up your sweet cunt.

━━⊱⋆⊰━━

As the two of you layed in bed together he realized he never got an answer out of you. “Baby you awake?” he asks in a whisper. “Barley,” you managed to say in your sleepy voice. “I guess I did fuck you good then.” The both of you laugh. “But uh, nah you-you never told me what the problem was.” You sigh as you sit up to look at him. Tears start to form into your eyes. “I never complain because I know you do so much for me. I hate to seem so ungrateful but sometimes you don’t listen to me. Sometimes I never get to see you. I just love you so much and I don’t want to loose you.” You can hear Rafe sniffle. He sits up now holding you in his arms. “Toots. I can’t promise you everything in the world but what I can promise you is that I am never leaving. I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting. I need you beside me. You’re all I have. I’d be a goddamn fool to ever let you leave. I love you more than you’ll ever know. Tell what I need to do to make it up to you.” You look up at him. Your tears still flowing because he’s never really this vulnerable. “Mmm, $300 dollars every week?!” The two of you laugh as he pushes your head back into the pillow, laying back down next to you. He kisses your temple. “You got it sugar.”

Taglist: @fae-of-prey @bunnyrafe @starkeysprincess @drewstarkeys-world @drewspinkbunny @venic-bxtch @nemesyaaa @justafangirls-blog @rafecameroninterlude

[princessbrunette]

⊹ ᜊ(ᜊ ´ ˘)੭ ♡ … GOOD GRACES ♡

track three of the short n’sweet series. pairing: toxicex!johnb x reader. based loosely off the song good graces by sabrina carpenter. enjoy! ໒꒰՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞꒱ა

it was a tactic to get john b’s attention and that was so clear to him. whatever you were doing was fucking working, and that irritated him.

john b would like to say he was a pretty calm and reasonable guy, but as he stands in the centre of some random girls pool party, watching you hanging off the arm of some douchebag kook— he can’t help but nearly squeeze all the alcohol out of his red solo cop. he settles on shakily bringing it to his lips instead, eyes not leaving your form as he sips the bitter liquor down. shit, that was strong. but not as strong as the burning jealousy in his chest.

he knew how it looked — the jealousy, the rage in his eyes. there were very few things that could get him this wired up and maybe the copious amounts of alcohol in his body wasn’t helping, but if you didn’t stop grinding your bikini bottom clad ass against that random guys shorts, barely offering the pogue boy a glance over your shoulder — there’d be hell to pay. like mentioned, he could be pretty calm and reasonable, but tonight he felt like breaking a kooks jaw.

he saw the opportunity to get to you arise when your new friend left your side for a moment to play a round of beer pong, which is when john b all but wrapped a hand round your arm and kidnapped you into a nearby hallway.

“jesus, what are you doing you psycho?” you accuse — loud, unabashed and clearly tipsy. the brunette squints, used to your theatrics.

“you serious? hm? him? you brought that guy?” he deadpans, tilting his head expectantly as if waiting for an answer.

“are you serious? i can bring who i want where i want. we’re broken up.” you huff, sticking your chin in the air stubbornly as you cross your arms over your chest. maybe his hormones were all out of whack, but he swears you’re doing it to press your tits together and get a rise out of him. he clenches his fist, pressing his lips together in self restraint.

“do you know how much that’s killing me? like — like can you imagine the scene you’d cause if i came here with a girl— no, not just a girl— a kook girl?” he whisper yells, looming over you and god do you wanna be pissed off. but in that backwards cap and baggy tshirt, your ex boyfriend looks more than delectable and it fuels you beyond belief to see that he still cares so much. perhaps you’d throw him a bone, addicted to putting him through the pain he put you through when you were together.

a salacious smile spreads across your glossed lips as you stare up at him, waiting for him to finish his little tantrum.

“you know, you should talk to me nicely john b. especially if you want to get in my good graces.” you drag it out slowly, like every word had a double meaning attached to it and now he’s falling back a little, face falling in realisation that you might be on the same page tonight. he blinks, staring you down for a few more moments just to make sure before shaking his head and ushering you borderline violently to the bathroom at the end of the hall. he’s sure your friend wouldn’t miss you too sorely.

as soon as that doors locked, john b is doing the one thing he’d been dying to do all night — and that was drop to his knees and force your legs open, locking eyes with you solemnly as he peels your bikini bottom to the side. it’s to no surprise, you’re soaking wet to the point where he couldn’t believe it wasn’t leaking out the sides for the world to see. for such a sweet and innocent girl, you sure did get off on toxic foreplay.

“i can’t believe you.” he huffs, hot breath making your folds flutter for him and you lean your warm body against the cold tiles, pulling his head to your cunt where it belonged.

“please.” you shudder, and now you’re the one begging — needing the hot mouth of your ex boyfriend to dull the ache. he feels some power regained, knowing that you had such arousal that could only be tamed by him.

“yeah? been waiting for this puppy?” he coos as he kisses around your pubic mound, thick finger wiggling its way to your sopping hot hole that awaited him.

“jus’ dont tease, c’mon.” you plead and he decides to stick to the words you told him. good graces, you said — and what better what to get into your good books than to make you cum so hard you couldn’t hold yourself up against the bathroom wall any longer?

[rinseis]

PLAYING FAVOURITES — GOJO SATORU

❥ gojo satoru is one of the most popular names in japan. when he becomes a judge-slash-leader on a dance show, he takes an abnormal amount of interest in you, making everyone else effectively jealous of you. problem is, if either of you want anything to happen, you have to keep it hidden from public eye. you think it’s best to wait, at least until the show’s over, but unluckily for you—gojo has always been impatient with what he wants.

word count. 5.9k ♱ content warnings: female reader, modern au, celebrity!gojo, dancer!reader, scandals, gojo is kinda a lot unprofessional, nsfw - mdni, porn with plot, mentions of BL, alcohol, gojo eats you out, penetration, fingering, orgasm denial, no condom was used (you kids stay safe, use condoms), pet names (baby, pretty, princess), geto sees you naked, slight action on a motorbike, mentions of masturbation/vibrators. mdni banner by @/cafekitsune :)

Fame, wealth, prestige.

Over three million followers. Everyone either wants him or wants to be him. Always decked out in his sponsors’ clothes—this season it’s Chanel. One of the favourite faces for Vogue. Praised as an all-rounded genius; there’s rarely anything he can’t do, being a model, actor and dancer with hobbies ranging from skateboarding to professional motorcycle racing. There’s nothing that Gojo Satoru seemingly lacks.

Except maybe in the professionalism department. And that’s only because he met you.

Being the judge in a dance competition that’s being broadcasted internationally comes with a set of unspoken responsibilities, namely: you do not sleep with any of the contestants. It’s not his first time on this show, so he already has a reputation built as the strict but kind and professional judge (and also the hottest one to grace everyone’s tv screens). But since week two of knowing you, he’s already crossing boundaries—putting his work ethic to the test.

When the team he has to train celebrates their earlier victory against another, he treats everyone to drinks at one of the most bespoke places in Tokyo, holding it in a private room away from paparazzi eyes. Gojo makes sure you sit right next to him too, because like hell is he letting his favourite be at risk of some other guy’s touchiness.

Not him though. It’s fine if it’s him.

As everyone gets talkative and debating among themselves about who’s the better dancer, Gojo takes the chance to lean closer to you, his hair brushing your face. You stiffen up a little, in that adorable way he likes whenever he’s near (because you’re a fan of him before this, he knows—he can tell), before you ultimately loosen up as he puts a soothing arm around your shoulder.

“Not feeling so well today?” He asks, because you’re particularly quiet tonight, more so than usual, and he’s curious. He’s always curious about you.

You chuckle, taking a swig of your beer. “Just tired out from earlier,” you tell him, and he guesses it’s because of today’s recording. Gojo knows, of course, because he pays special attention to you.

He watches every move you make, every smooth curve, relishes in your movements, especially when you dance to an especially sexy song. Gojo isn’t so subtle either, always cheering after you end your set, always making comments that the editor would probably have to cut out most of the time, praising you with words like i could watch you… dance all day and every time you dance i fall in love all over again. (With dance… of course.)

So much so that every other contestant there is envious of the attention to detail you get when it’s Gojo’s eyes on you. They can only dream of it.

“How’s your legs? Heard they cramped up earlier,” he asks, daring to put a hand on your thigh, gently rubbing up and down, the hem of your skirt reacting to his movements.

You nearly choke on your drink, but you don’t reject him anyway—letting him rest his hand on your inner thigh. By the looks of it, you’re enjoying it too, aren’t you? That smile you’re suppressing isn’t very convincing if you aren’t.

But Gojo likes to be a little piece of shit, he likes to play games first—and he wants to play with you, because he thinks you’re oh so pretty and oh so talented, and you’re kind of fiesty too, during training, making him question all the boring models he’s ever dated just for their bodies.

Are you going to be the same? That’s what he wants to find out.

When the celebration ends, he makes sure he sends everyone on a cab back to the recording building, the residential apartments sponsored by the show being right next door to it. Except for you though. He holds you back from entering the last cab for the group, knocking on it to let the driver know to drive off.

Then, with a devilish grin on his face, he grabs a spare helmet and offers it to you.

“Wanna ride?”

Ten seconds later, you’re riding pillion, holding onto Gojo because you’ve never ridden on a back of a motorcycle that’s going this fast before. You should’ve known, really, because what other speed would an adrenaline-loving professional motorbike racer drive on? Judging by the look of his bike, it’s probably not actually allowed to be usable on the actual roads too—it should only be driven for races.

Not that Gojo cares, because he knows he’s the best and he wouldn’t let you get hurt. You thank god he chose not to drink tonight. You wonder if he drinks at all, now that you think of it. But Gojo accelerates and all your thoughts go out the, well, wind? You hold onto him tighter, and you swear you can almost see a smirk if not for the helmet in your face. He’s not even wearing a helmet, for fucks’ sake. Just how much of a daredevil is he?

To his credit though, he manages to get you to the destination safely, without a hair out of place for him because somehow, no matter what he does, he always looks drop-dead gorgeous. Talk about being born with good looks, good body, good everything. No wonder all the luxury brands are scrambling to be his sponsors. He could probably make trash bags look expensive.

When you get off, you realise that you’re not at the usual building, with grey walls and a shoddy exterior. This time, you’re face to face with a sleek black high-rise hotel, the kind that you think probably only the elites in society can afford. Just when you’re about to question Gojo on his intentions, he cuts you off.

“Do you mind? This place belongs to my friend, just gotta check in on him for a bit,” he tells you, looking at you expectantly, as though he’s daring you to say no. But you gesture for him to go ahead, and that shit-eating smile is back on his face.

Once you’re inside, you’re met with a floral aroma that’s not too pungent, the entire lobby enveloped in a bright warm light, filled with attendants who bow at the sight of Gojo Satoru strolling in, decked head to toe in Chanel (of course), who in turn ignores everyone else and pulls you by the wrist with him.

You sit by the bar as you wait for Gojo to finish conversing with his friend, who’s sat in the far corner of the hotel restaurant, table filled with paper and files that you’re not envious of. The life of the rich seems too complicated for you. You’re happy just being yourself and enjoying trying to make a living out of dancing.

From the corner of your eye, you can faintly make out his fox-like eyes, jet black hair—he’s a stark contrast to Gojo, who seems to be more rainbows and sunshine. You don’t know what his name is, but he gives you a smirk when he catches you staring, and you abruptly turn away, embarrassed from getting caught.

“You here with Gojo Satoru?”

The bartender appears in front of you, looming tall as he looks down at you. He has jet black hair too, but he’s more buff than Gojo and his friend—the type who looks like he can manhandle you if he wants to. That scar on his lip makes him look dangerous. A white rag is slung over his shoulder as he uses it to wipe the glass down.

You nod, trying not to appear too friendly. You never know what these men might be thinking. “Yep, but I’m just a nobody so don’t worry about me,” you tell him once you realise he’s pouring you a shot.

The man scoffs, his voice getting even lower. “Nobody that’s around someone like Gojo Satoru is really a nobody,” he tells you, sliding the shot glass over the counter.

You’ve already drank a lot earlier, but you can hold your own, so you accept it anyway, with the plan of asking to put it on Gojo’s tab if they ask you to pay. You think a single shot here can cost at least three hours of your wage.

“So you know Gojo well, then?”

Admittedly, a part of you is curious to learn more about Gojo. The one every tabloid uses to boost their viewers, and the one who seemingly dates a new girl every other month, and the one everyone somehow either wants to be, or wants to get with. You included, if you’re not being in denial.

“Only as much as I observe,” he tells you bluntly. The only reason he’s talking to you is probably because he’s bored out of his mind since you’re the only one there apart from the other two guys.

So you decide why not? You don’t think you’re about to ask Gojo about himself, so maybe the bartender is the next best thing. “Do you happen to know why he doesn’t drink, uh—”

“Toji.”

“Toji.”

“Simple, he’s a lightweight, that’s all,” Toji tells you, rolling his eyes. “Took him two shots to get tipsy and by the time he took the third shot he was all whiny and ended up throwing up in that pot over there,” he nudges his head toward the plant nestled at the corner of the bar, his irritation earning a snort out of you. Judging by his tone, he probably had to be the one to clean it up.

“Hey, are you shitting on me to my student?”

Gojo’s behind you before you know it, an arm slung around you as his friend takes to the other side of you, showing you an interested gaze.

Toji barely pays Gojo any mind, putting away the glasses. “Ah, Satoru, looks like you got a new favourite huh?”

The way he says new favourite implies there’s an old one, and going by the news you’ve seen of him circulating online, there’s not really anyone that qualifies, with every relationship being such a short fling. Is that what Toji means or is he hinting at something else?

It’s like Gojo can sense the gears turning in your head, so he gives you a quick flick on the forehead before turning his attention back to the bartender. A childish grin appears on his face, one that you’ve never seen him show on tv before, or throughout recording. “How about you give us each two shots?”

“No.” Toji’s refusal is quick and crisp clear.

Beside you, Gojo’s friend snickers, amused as he swirls his own liquor of choice in his glass. “Satoru, stop trying to bully my bartender into quitting.”

“Then try to hire a more competent one,” Satoru sneers, Toji’s deadpan expression and Satoru’s childish one on par with each other.

Ignoring them, Gojo’s friend reaches his hand out to you, a friendly smile on his face. “I take it you’re Y/N?” He asks, and you nod politely, shaking his hand. “Geto Suguru,” he introduces himself, and your ears perk up, somehow finding that name familiar.

“Heard of him?” Toji asks you, entirely ignoring Gojo now, who’s pouting as he reluctantly takes a seat beside you. When you struggle to place it, Toji helps you out. “He’s an actor too, played as Satoru’s lover in one of the dramas.”

Your eyes widen as Geto suddenly looks exactly like the character he was acting as, his face growing more familiar by the second. He groans, rolling his eyes, and Satoru’s on your other side faux gagging with his tongue sticking out.

“Don’t remind me,” Geto sighs just thinking about it, “we had that entire fanfiction saga after that ended, too.”

When you turn to Gojo, he only side eyes you and tells you, “don’t even ask.” So you make a mental reminder to google it yourself later.

As much as you like socialising with celebrities that are way above your status, you feel the sleep catching up to you, the exhaustion from earlier creeping its way back in.

“I think I’m just gonna head back first,” you tell Gojo, finishing up your drink and getting up, but Gojo’s big hands find you first, holding you in place. It’s kind of hard not to let your heart flutter when you’re in such close proximity with someone who’s too utterly gorgeous for his own good.

Gojo opens his mouth just briefly before holding himself back and then just offering a smile. “You tired?”

You want to say you’re not, because if you’re being honest, you don’t get opportunities like this often, this being the first time you’ve actually had proper alone time with Gojo outside of your training, and even that you were surrounded by cameras watching your every move.

“Kinda,” you settle for, and it’s like Gojo senses what you’re thinking of that he offers you a cheeky smile.

With his fingers around your wrist, he pulls you with him as he exits the bar, an amused Geto left behind, whispering something you can’t hear to Toji, who shakes his head as though he saw this coming.

“Where are we going?”

When Gojo turns around and winks at you, you can only hope he doesn’t actually feel your pulse racing from where your hands are linked. It’s honestly irritating just how charming he can be.

He’s quick on his feet, the light reflecting off of his studded jacket as he drags you with him across the lobby to the lift, swiping a card and then pressing for the rooftop, the glass elevator smoothly bringing the both of you up. You turn around to face the view of the city, and your eyes light up.

It’s not like you’ve never seen the Tokyo skyline before, but to see it like this; undisturbed and in the company of someone you admire—it feels kind of unmatched.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Gojo’s voice flows through your ears like honey, his eyes piercing even as you look at them through the reflection on the elevator window. You only nod, mesmerised by both the view and the person. “I convinced Suguru to buy this place and make something out of it, used to be just an abandoned building at one point.”

And now it’s one of the most prestigious hotels in all of Tokyo, with a view that’s hard to beat, and a rooftop that’s entirely too beautiful that you wonder how long they spent just on the design alone.

The scenery distracts you from the fact that Gojo’s fingers are intertwined with your own as he brings you onto the rooftop, walking you to a corner where a thick wooden table sits, a single wooden ashtray in the middle.

Gojo lets go of your hand to sit on the table, feet propped up and body leaned back on his palms as he smirks to himself, satisfied that you find the view just as nice as he does.

You’re completely absorbed by the scenery before you, leaning against the edge, wide starry eyes looking at every thing in sight. Gojo wonders if you know how pretty you are, if you know what you do to him. Every single time he sees you, he has to hold himself back from acting out of line thanks to all the cameras surrounding you. That, and the warning given by the producers to keep things professional.

But Gojo thinks fuck being professional, because neither of you are being watched right now, and he knows he’s not the only one out of the two of you that’s aware of the chemistry between you. Your lingering eyes, the way you always look out for him, the way you willingly let him cross the line sometimes.

Slowly, he comes up behind you, mirroring your pose, arms leaning against the edge too, enveloping you in between his body. It’s shameful really, that if you didn’t have restraint, Gojo won’t have it either, but it’s all up to you. His right hand comes up to brush against your cheek, and he can tell by the muscles on your shoulders that you’re stiffening up—he’s been paying attention to your body way too much. He can argue it’s his job, but never when it comes to you.

Even now, when he’s so unashamedly staring at how your top hugs your body so well, how your skirt is at a length tempting enough to hike over your ass. Just imagining what you look like underneath all that is enough to make him hard, his hips instinctively closing the gap between you.

Your head’s been muddled for a while now, and you gasp at the feeling of Gojo against you. You’ve thought of this situation before, of the physical attraction between you and Gojo coming to a head, but you’d always thought to leave these kinds of things until after the show’s over. Seems like Gojo has the opposite thoughts, those same views seeping into your own head, making you reconsider, and it looks like he’ll come out on top.

You can’t help but let out a whine as you feel his big hands on your inner thighs, beckoning you to spread them for him. It’s pitiful how easily you obey, and Gojo is just as desperate, your stomach being pushed further against the edge of the railing.

In spite of it all, Gojo’s trying his best to limit himself to this, his hands squeezing your thighs in frustration. “Fuuuck,” he groans as his fingers sneak up against your underwear, feeling how wet you are already. “If you don’t stop me I don’t know if I can control myself.”

It’s really unfair of him to say that, you think, when he’s the one who’s been coming on to you. Still, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying this, if you said you didn’t want this too.

“You’re supposed to be the teacher, shouldn’t I be the one following your lead?” You ask back, breathless from how Gojo’s already rubbing circles against your clothed clit, his dick only getting harder as he continues to press himself against your ass.

If you were being completely honest, you’d been waiting for this for a while. An entire month feeling the tension between the two of you without acting on it. An entire month of dancing together, training under him, sometimes with his big hands on your waist and you having to pretend that this doesn’t affect you at all. Your patience is wafer thin by now, and Gojo’s is probably even thinner.

You hear Gojo suck a deep breath before he forcefully turns you around, his half-lidded eyes filled with lust. Your gaze falls to his pants, the outline of his dick way too obvious against the expensive fabric. You swallow the lump in your throat; he’s so big you wonder if you can actually take him.

With a smirk, Gojo sneaks his fingers back up under your skirt, pressing against your clit, “just wanted to see what you look like when you feel good.”

This scene is so surreal that you wonder if you’re dreaming. Renowned celebrity Gojo Satoru who’s famous enough to be a household name with a fairly decent reputation is actually here with you, right now, aching for you so badly that he can’t control himself?

“What are you thinking about, pretty?”

His nicknames are going to be the death of you. He’s been controlling himself until now, so you’re not surprised if he’s pulling out all the stops tonight.

Your own eyes mirror his expression, the desire no longer tolerable to control. Usually you’re fond of playing games but this time you’re way too impatient to wait any longer.

“I think… I want you,” you tell him honestly, and for a brief moment you think you see the pupils in his serene blue eyes dilate before his gestures turn feral, his hunger blatantly obvious in the way his hands grip your waist, firm and strong as he kisses you, hips grinding desperately against you, chasing the friction he so badly needs.

“Fuck this is gonna be so bad if we get caught,” he mumbles in between kisses, both of you entangled with each other, your fingers grasping at his hair, his own hands squeezing your ass as he groans at how perfect this feels.

In the moment, you think you couldn’t care less. “Guess we just have to make sure we don’t get caught,” you tell him, and you feel him smirking against you.

“Knew I liked you for a reason,” he chuckles, lifting you up to sit on the edge. He can tell from the way your body reacts that you’re nervous. “Promise I won’t let you fall. Trust me?”

Do you even have any other choice?

You nod, and his childish grin gives you a whiplash. “Ha, good girl,” he praises you before kissing you silly, his one hand holding you in place while the other slowly slips your underwear off, discarding it to the ground. Gojo looks up at you one last time as though making sure you’re sure about this, and the moment you nod, he’s on his knees, trailing kisses on your thighs.

The only thing you can do is watch as he gets dangerously close to your cunt, beautiful eyes watching your expression as he gets closer. He always likes to look at you. He wants to observe just how insane he can make you feel. He wants to know just how badly you want him too.

His strong hands push you forward slightly, his head completely between your thighs now as he gives your clit a small lick, enjoying the sound of you squealing when he does so. He doesn’t hide his mirth, chuckling as he dares himself to taste more of you, licking a fat stripe up your pussy, groaning from how good you taste. Better than he imagined. Better than when he jerked off to you that one time after rehearsal. Better than anyone.

Your fingers yank at his soft white locks as he loses himself in you, groaning in satisfaction as his tongue flicks in and out of your warm pussy, your thighs locking around his neck, your hips grinding against his lips and begging for more.

“You’re driving me fucking insane, you know that?” Gojo asks, his eyes failing to watch your expression now that he’s busy staring at how wet your pretty little pussy is.

From above, you relish in the way Gojo can’t seem to get enough of you, his lips filled with your slick, cheeks and ears red from whatever he may be feeling. It’s a side you’re sure that’s hidden from public, and call you silly but you think that kind of makes this special somehow.

He doesn’t spare a second in standing up and lifting you off the edge, letting you down gently on the table, flicking the ashtray away. Gojo’s hands slowly hike your skirt up over your stomach, unbuttoning your shirt, the moonlight illuminating you in all the right places. His lips move to your stomach, pressing light kisses on your body, trailing upwards to the valley between your breasts, his free hand unclasping your bra in one swift motion.

“You’re so pretty,” he breathes against your skin, his lips grazing against the goosebumps that form. Your head tilts up, your back arching as you feel his fingers entering you, one first before the second one slowly joins, Gojo’s ever observant eyes watching as you moan from the pleasure, fingers picking up the pace because he decides he likes the way you sound. “Feels that good, huh?” He asks when he feels you clenching around him.

Your eyes fly open as you meet his own, the yearning from your gaze in full display, your whimpers are all you can let out because Gojo doesn’t let you breathe from his kisses now. He thinks you’re fucking addictive, thinks he was doomed from the moment he first saw how you moved, dancing with just the right force, eyes ogling at your body every single second, always looking for you in the crowd of contestants.

“Gojo—”

He immediately shuts you up with a forceful kiss, his fingers stilling inside you. Gojo’s eyes look into yours, a gentle dominance in his sneer. “Satoru,” he corrects you.

First name basis isn’t something you thought you’d ever get to do with him, but it’s not like you don’t like the thought of it.

“Satoru,” you breathe out, earning a peck on your lips as you say his name.

“What is it?” He asks, almost mockingly, because he knows exactly what you want. Gojo’s fingers move achingly slow inside of you, pushing against that spot you like—he’s already familiar with you just from this brief dalliance alone. “Hmm, can’t understand if you don’t use your big girl words.”

The way he sounds so condescending is downright humiliating, and yet your pussy clenches around his fingers that it takes everything in him not to concede so easily.

Thank god you do though.

“Satoru please fuck me,” you plead, tears in your eyes and looking just so absolutely delectable that he gets the flicker of a thought that he doesn’t want anyone else to get to see you in a state like this. Only him.

He plays right into your hands too, letting his pants and boxers pool to the floor, one of his hands pumping his cock, precum leaking from the tip, his mouth falling open as he slowly enters you, eyes rolling to the back of his head as you take him in.

“So fuck—fuckin’ tight,” he grunts, slowly pushing into you, your perfect tits earning a squeeze as you try to adjust to his size. Gojo looks at where you’re connected, praising you with a flurry of good girl and your pussy’s fucking made for me.

You knew he was big, but it’s so much more than you anticipated, even harder with his thumb pressing down on your clit, teasing you and waiting to see your limit. He’s smirking down at you, though your eyes are squeezed shut to see it.

“What? Wanna cum already? That fast, baby?” He mocks, starting to rub your clit. To think, he’s not even all the way in. God, you’re so fucking perfect. Gojo doesn’t think he’s ever felt so much satisfaction from teasing someone before that he wants to tease you even more. Pinching on your nipple with his other hand, he makes you squeal. “Baby baby, be a good girl, okay?” He whispers, pressing a kiss on your cheek, “better not cum until I tell you to.”

“I can’t-can’t hold it in—” You’re already struggling to think, let alone speak, and that’s exactly what Gojo likes. The way you’re so vulnerable for him, completely different from your demeanour when you’re dancing.

Tilting his head, he grins as he thinks of an idea. “If you can’t hold it in, ‘m afraid I’ll have to punish you,” he says, fingers tracing the outline of your jaw, loving how you’re completely at his mercy.

“Wha- how?” You’re quivering, your body so so close to your high, your willpower threatening to break any second now.

Gojo chuckles, low and deep, as his mouth moves to your ear. “If you can’t be a good girl for me tonight, I won’t touch you ever again,” he whispers, smug as he watches you pout, knowing he’s got you figured out. You want this as much as he does. He doesn’t think he can follow through with that at all, but you don’t have to know that.

All he knows is that you’re buying it as you nod, holding it in. He kisses your forehead as he resumes pushing inside you, watching as you struggle not to cum just from him entering.

“Oh god, you feel so f’kin good, baby,” he praises you again, watching as he’s fully inside of you now, tears falling from your eyes.

He starts moving slowly, getting your pussy to adjust to his girth, laughing at how you’re trying so hard not to let yourself go. You might possibly be one of the most amusing girls he’s ever met.

“Hmm, you’re so sensitive… want me that bad, pretty? Want me to fuck you again after tonight, is that it?” His tone has a lilt to it, and even though he’s mocking you for it, truth is, he’s throbbing inside of you, his own seed threatening to spill out at any moment.

Still, he supposes you’re being so obedient, nodding profusely like that, so worried that you won’t get his attention anymore that he guesses he can throw you (and himself) a bone.

“Mmm, maybe I should go easy on you, huh?” He acts as though he’s not completely a gone case, as though he’s not driven insane like you are. “Want that, baby?” Gojo’s fingers pinch on your clit, and god damn it your mewl is too cute to resist. You nod, not even knowing what for but knowing you need it.

“Want me to let you cum?”

You nod again, and Gojo’s chuckling.

“Still want me to fuck you after tonight?”

You nod again, much more, and Gojo’s ego has never been boosted higher. You’re holding it in so bad, clenching around him so tight that it nearly hurts.

“Fine, cum for me.”

Not even a second later, you’re screaming his name and cumming around his cock as he thrusts into you, riding you out, watching as you squirt all around him, using all his energy to keep himself from spilling inside you because that won’t do.

Gojo pulls out, spilling his load all over you—your chest, your stomach, your clit, watching him taint your body and watching as you let him, the sight of you an absolute hot mess as you pant under him.

It’s adorable, really, how you’re seemingly spent just from that. It’s even more adorable how you think he’s already done with you.

But before Gojo can say anything else, you hear a familiar voice cut in.

“Least you guys could do is lock the door, you know?”

Shooting your head to the side, you see Geto there, a mirthful smirk on his face as he waves hello. You’re mortified, already trying to cover yourself up, Satoru’s cum staining your clothes. Satoru himself, on the other hand, appears unfazed as he pulls his pants up, sighing.

“And maybe you shouldn’t be watching other people fuck, Suguru,” he says, completely unbothered still, and you’re wondering why until Geto speaks again.

“Aww, thought we could share this one too,” he sighs, and his disappointment sounds fake, like he knew all along Satoru wouldn’t go for it. But all you can think of is that he added too—so they’ve shared girls before? You can only imagine just how well they know each other.

In one swift motion, Geto is beside you, seemingly admiring all the places where he knows Satoru’s touched, his hand on your back while he kisses your cheek, before he’s pushed back by Satoru himself.

“Don’t touch her,” Satoru snaps, removing his shirt before you realise he’s offering it to you to wear, now that yours is dirty. He covers your body with his own while you change out of it, with Geto continuing his facade.

“Oh? This is a first, Satoru. You, not willing to share with me?”

Despite their words, the atmosphere isn’t tense at all, and you guess that’s just how close they are.

Satoru scoffs. “Told you, this one’s all mine,” he proclaims, a little hint of smugness in his voice. This time, without waiting for Geto to respond, Satoru grabs you by the arm and waves a hurried bye! to his friend before escaping his sight.

As you take the elevator back down, you’re still trying to process what happened, between fucking who’s supposed to be your teacher and judge in a competition to having Geto witness you nearly naked after getting fucked by his best friend.

Is this really your life right now? You’re really not just making this all up in your head?

In front of you, Gojo’s busy typing away on his phone until the elevator dings, snapping you both out of your reverie. He can tell you’re dazed, but to be really honest, he takes that as a good thing so he gleefully takes your hand and pulls you along with him, briefly giving you a once-over, loving how you look in his shirt. Maybe he should give you more shirts from his closet to wear for your performances. He’d definitely get a kick out of it.

When you reach his motorcycle again, you stop short before asking him again, “where are we going, Satoru?”

You’re still calling him Satoru. He grins. He likes that—likes the show of intimacy, even if it can only be in private.

Gojo revs his motorbike, gesturing for you to just get behind him, which you do—like the good girl he knows you are. He waits until he’s driving away before answering you.

“I was thinking my place,” he says, riding faster, his dick growing hard just thinking about fucking you again.

And it’s like the wind against your face knocks some sense into you again, realising that you and him aren’t just two people separated by your statuses in the world; that the Satoru you know is no longer just the Gojo Satoru you’ve read about in countless tabloids and videos. You came on the show, Satoru took an extreme interest in you, and you’re both now probably violating the rules by, well, fucking, and neither of you want to stop now either.

Just like he’s got you wrapped around his finger, he’s at your every command. Because he wants you. And you know that. And it’s fine if it’s just physical, because you doubt it will go anywhere either.

So maybe it’s okay to let loose.

Your fingers drop to the hem of his pants, palming his cock through the fabric, and Gojo grunts from how good it feels, the motorbike swerving a little when Gojo can’t keep control, distracted by your ministrations.

“Hah, you’re a little fucker, aren’t you?” He chuckles, going fast enough that no one can see what you’re doing, not that there’re a lot of people at this time of night anyway.

“Yeah, what can you do about it?” You tease, feeling a little more comfortable now, giving him a taste of his own medicine.

Satoru clicks his tongue, smirking as he looks at your reflection through the mirror. “Careful, pretty, or I’ll make you wear a vibrator the next time we have group rehearsals.”

You fall for it, furrowing your brows. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Satoru laughs out loud, going even faster now, your arms instinctively hugging him round the waist, not daring to tease him anymore—and you should’ve taken that he’s a professional racer before you started teasing him, really.

Daring to turn around to look at you, he smirks. “We’ll see,” he chuckles, “I’m supposed to be your mentor. Can’t let you off the hook that easy, princess.”

Of course, later that night, you’re caught in between Satoru and his inexplicably expensive silk sheets, situated in his all-too-big penthouse suite, moaning his name over and over, his teeth marking your breasts, cock dragging along your gummy walls and fucking you until you can’t think of anything else but him.

As Satoru watches you cum for the fourth time that night, he smirks, watching you writhe underneath him. Yeah, he definitely won’t let you off the hook. Who knows what’ll become of both of you once the show ends? But for now, as long as it’s still going on, he’s going to have his fun with you.

In secret.

[erimeows]

Everyone Adores You (At Least I Do)

Riza Hawkeye finds that she’s full of nothing but frustration and regret as she sits at a booth in the most high end bar in East City, her arms crossed and her second beer already finished. Rebecca Catalina, Jean Havoc, Heymans Breda, and Vato Falman are sitting with her, but Riza isn’t paying them much mind- no, she’s too busy focusing on how miserable she is. 

The building is too crowded, the drinks are overpriced, and Colonel Roy Mustang has already been approached by three different women and two different men. He’s across the room, leaning back against the bar counter as some gorgeous brown-haired, green-eyed man talks his ear off, buying him drink after drink. Riza hates watching it, but she finds that it’s hard to tear her eyes away. 

Apparently, the rest of the team feels the same way to some degree, because all they’ve been doing is watching the scene unfold and gossiping about the how and the why. 

“That’s five, and it’s only been twenty minutes,” Falman frowns, staring down at the watch on his wrist.

“Unbelievable. What the hell is he even doing to attract them?” Rebecca questions. “Do you think it’s alchemy?”

“I don’t think that kind of alchemy is even legal, Becs,” Havoc argues. 

“It’s not alchemy, it’s the hair. It’s all… Dramatic and swoopy,” Breda explains, twirling his wine glass in his hand. “Someone should throw a cup of water on him. He’ll look like a drowned cat for the rest of the night, and then one of us may actually have a chance at getting a date.”

“If you throw a drink on him, it’ll just make it worse. They’ll feel bad for him- women love the pathetic drowned cat thing,” Havoc sighs, pointing to somewhere across the room. “Just look at Fuery over there.”

Riza scans their surroundings for Fuery, and there he is, blushing something furious as a group of women drag him to their table, one of them pressing a kiss into his hair. He’s been gone for the last ten minutes, having been approached and pulled away a few minutes after Roy. Somehow, he looks like he’s simultaneously having the time of his life and about to combust. 

“It’s not the hair, anyway,” Rebecca pauses, tilting her head as she stares down into her margarita. “It’s gotta be the confidence. People like that sort of thing. He’s got the ‘I could ruin your life and make you thank me for it’ persona like I do… As much as I hate to make the comparison.”

“I think it’s the way he dresses,” Falman hums. He may have a point- Roy is much more fashionable than most men in East City. The outfit he’s chosen for tonight is one that he wears often, but it looks nice; a white-button up shirt, black dress pants, matching oxfords, his ignition gloves, and an expensive black overcoat that just reeks of new money. “Classy, but not overstated. His clothing offers a lot of coverage with the gloves included. It’s only natural that people would want to know what he’s hiding underneath it all.”

“Honestly, you’re all overthinking it,” Riza calmly interjects, gaze trained on Roy. The team can theorize all they want about why, but the truth is, Roy Mustang is appealing to everyone. He’s handsome and smart, brave and hardworking, accomplished and ambitious… Then, of course, there’s that gorgeous smile that lights up a room and that easy sort of charisma that allows him to navigate just about any social situation. For people who don’t know about the treasure trove of trauma that man has- and even for some of the people who do- the logical conclusion to come to is that Roy is perfect. Or, as close to perfect as one man can be. “It makes perfect sense. You can’t help but adore the colonel- it’s only natural.”

A hush falls over the group. Riza looks towards her friends and sees that they’re all staring at her now, eyes wide and jaws slack. 

“I’m sorry-” Falman pauses, seemingly flustered, and then shakes his head before continuing. “What did you just say?”

“I said that it makes logical sense for everyone to adore Colonel Mustang the way that they do,” She reiterates.

The stares don’t get any better. If anything, they get worse, with Havoc and Rebecca in particular burning holes into Riza’s head with their eyes. 

Suddenly, Riza feels like she shouldn’t have just said that aloud. And what was once a simple observation about the appeal of Roy Mustang has turned into something incredibly embarrassing, because the team is still just gawking at her as if she’s grown another head. 

Was her observation really that off base…?

“Adore?” Rebecca echoes, her eyebrows halfway to her hairline. “That’s generous. I fuckin’ hate the guy.”

Riza glances around the table, confused. 

“Why are you all looking at me like that?”

“Because we don’t get what exactly there is to ‘adore’ about Colonel Mustang,” Breda snorts into his beer. 

“Really?” Riza says with a tilt of her head, and before she can think better of it, she’s starting again. “Well, he’s… Intelligent, and brave. Loyal- to a fault, really- and he may not seem like it on the surface, but he actually has an amazing sense of humor. He always takes responsibility when things go wrong, even if it wasn’t his fault… And you can rely on him. That’s what people are drawn to, and considering that he also happens to be a handsome, high-ranking military man with amazing alchemical skill…”

“Wait,” Rebecca pauses, and then, she’s slamming her hands on the table and exclaiming- “You adore him, don’t you? You’re projecting!”

“What? No!” Riza rushes to defend herself, face burning bright red, because she is not in love with Roy Mustang- she just… Understands why other people would be. “I’m just saying, objectively-”

“That he’s reliable, brave, clever, selfless, handsome, and talented,” Havoc chuckles. “Right. Totally objective, Hawkeye.”

“He has a nice smile, too,” She says. Maybe it’s the beer talking, or maybe these are thoughts that she’s been holding back for too long, and now that she has the opportunity to air them out, she can’t stop- like a dam that’s been broken. The team looks to Roy. He’s not smiling, though- just giving that insufferable smirk that he uses when he’s playing the role of the irresponsible flirt that he’s so easily perfected… No wonder the others don’t see what she sees. He isn’t all too far away. For a moment, Riza wonders if she should stop- if he can hear- but he’s not looking at them, and the music in the bar is loud on top of the nonstop chatter, so she figures that she’s in the clear. “When it’s real. Not that one. The real one.”

Almost as if on cue, Roy turns, meeting Riza’s gaze from across the room. He raises a hand, waving at her- and when she waves back, he smiles. The real one that’s always made her face hot and her chest fuzzy; the warm one that’s just a little crooked and actually spreads to his eyes. The team follows her gaze. Just then, Roy looks away. 

“That smile that he just gave you, you mean?” Falman murmurs. 

Riza nods, unable to get rid of the grin that breaks out across her own face. 

The table explodes.

“Oh my god!” Rebecca gasps. “You’re really in love with him!”

“I am not-” Riza starts, but her voice falters, because her mind flashes traitorously. To last week when he brought her a coffee without her even having to ask; no sugar, no cream or milk, and hotter than anyone else would tolerate, just the way she likes it. To last year when he took a bullet in the shoulder to shield her and tried to play it off as ‘basic chivalry’ while bleeding into his uniform. To the way he held her in his arms and cried with her after he burned the array off of her back. To how, sometimes, when it’s quiet in the office, he glances up at her like he’s checking to make sure that she’s still by his side. And how she always is. “Oh.”

“You two are totally hopeless,” Havoc grumbles, lighting a cigarette and putting it between his lips. 

“I really don’t-” Riza tries to argue, to defend herself and pretend that she hasn’t just realized that she’s in love with Roy Mustang in front of her friends, but Breda is quickly interrupting with-

“You really do,” Then, he’s sliding out of the booth, looking towards the bar. “I’m gonna go get some food. Anyone want anything?”

Eventually, Fuery and Roy return. The team talks. Food arrives. More jokes are made.

Riza sits quietly, her fingers wrapped tightly around her beer glass as she does everything she can to avoid looking at Roy again- because if she does, she’s afraid the truth will be written all over her face- and she’s not ready for him to read it anytime soon. 

~

The end of the night can’t come fast enough. Riza spends the rest of it downing water, knowing that 1) she’s going to get stuck as the designated driver like she always does, and 2) she can’t afford to get drunk enough to let her newfound feelings slip to Roy, who- oddly enough- refuses to leave her side after his return to their booth. 

By the time that Rebecca mumbles something about being nauseous from her third margarita, Riza is all too happy to drag the team out. Falman, the only other responsible person on their squad, offers to take Breda and Fuery home in exchange for Riza driving Havoc, Rebecca, and Roy- something that she agrees to without hesitation.

The trip home is nothing less than exhausting with Havoc and Rebecca in the backseat arguing the entire time about… Well, Riza doesn’t know what they’re arguing about, but she does know that by the time she parks in front of Rebecca’s house, Rebecca is dragging Havoc out of the car by his wrist, and he’s following right behind her with a love drunk expression that makes Riza cringe so hard that the muscles in her face hurt. Not from secondhand embarrassment, but from something worse.

Jealousy. Because she wants nothing more than to drag Roy into her apartment just like that- nothing more than for him to look at her with that love drunk expression on his face. Instead, Riza is going to drop Roy off at his apartment before going home alone because she’s too much of a coward to tell him how she really feels. 

Her grip on the steering wheel tightens. 

“So, are we just choosing to ignore all of that?” Roy questions, crossing his arms as he leans back against the passenger’s seat and stares out the window.

“Yes, sir,” She answers with a sigh. The moment that Rebecca and Havoc tumble into the house, lips clumsily pressed together and door shutting behind them, Riza starts en route to Roy’s apartment. “It’s one less stop that I have to make. Havoc’s apartment is a little far from here.”

Roy pauses, as if considering it, and then shrugs.

“...Yeah, fair. I’ll keep it a secret if you will. I’m going to have to tear into Havoc about being so careless about it, though- the damn idiot’s gonna go and get them both caught like that.”

Riza merely nods in agreement and swallows the lump of anxiety that’s been building in her throat all night- because, arguably worse than what Havoc and Rebecca just did, she openly gushed about how in love she is with Roy in the middle of a public bar without even realizing it until it was too late. 

The rest of the drive is quiet. Not in the peaceful way that they’re used to, but in a way that’s so tense that it makes Riza’s heart pound. She doesn’t dare look in Roy’s direction even though she can feel those sharp charcoal eyes of his on her every couple minutes. His stare is a palpable weight on the side of her face, and she doesn’t know what she’ll do if she meets his gaze and finds something there. 

By the time she pulls up to his building, her hands are sore from gripping the wheel too tight. She parks the car with more force than necessary, both of them jerking slightly as the brakes catch. Roy unbuckles his seatbelt, but makes no move to get out. The silence stretches. 

“Goodnight, colonel,” She says, trying to usher him out so she can go to the range and unload her emotions into some poor, unfortunate target.

“Actually, lieutenant, I was thinking... Why don’t you come in for a cup of tea?”

A cup of tea… At half past midnight. At Roy Mustang’s apartment. Riza feels like she’s about to fall into some sort of horrible trap as she considers the question, blinking in surprise. 

“This late?”

“It’s just a cup of tea- nothing nefarious,” He offers a smirk that Riza thinks is meant to be disarming, but all it succeeds in is lighting every single one of her nerves on fire. “You can say no, of course.”

She should say no. She knows she should say no. Going into his apartment with him alone when her heart is thudding against her ribs like it’s trying to escape her chest- when she’s still reeling from her own stupidity and the terrifying clarity that’s followed- is a horrible idea, but he’s looking at her like he wants her here.

“You know I can’t tell you no,” She smiles. “Thank you for the invitation.”

Roy just nods and gets out of the car. Riza shuts off the ignition and follows him up the steps to his apartment until they reach the door, where he fishes his keys out of his pockets and works on unlocking it. 

“It’s late, so you can stay over if you want,” He suggests as if it doesn’t even matter. Great. Now he’s offering for her to stay the night? Riza wouldn’t have thought anything of it a few hours ago, but now, with the newfound revelation… The thought is all too enticing. Roy must be able to see how flustered she is, because when he looks back at her face, he quickly tacks on a quietly murmured- “Or not.”

“I’ll think about it.”

With that, he opens the door and leads her inside. 

His apartment is a little depressing- not well decorated and incredibly cold, not in temperature, but in atmosphere. It’s all too apparent just from looking at the place that Roy spends more time at work than he does here. He’s invited her over before, of course, but it’s mostly been during the day or with their other coworkers. This feels different… More intimate. 

They walk into his kitchen together, and she’s relieved to see that he at least has a small kitchen table with two chairs that are sat across from each other. She silently sits down at one of them as Roy starts a kettle on the stovetop. He moves like he always does, efficient but relaxed in a way that reminds Riza of watching a practiced dancer in the middle of a ballroom. 

“Peppermint or chamomile?” He questions, digging through the surprisingly large collection of boxed tea leaves in his cupboards.

“Definitely chamomile,” She answers. 

A few minutes later, the tea is done. Roy pours them both a cup- his loaded with milk and sugar and hers as is. He gently sets her cup on the table in front of her, and them moves to sit in the other chair, sipping his own. 

“Did you enjoy yourself tonight?”

“You could call it that. I didn’t have a bad time, though you know the bar isn’t ever my first choice.”

“We’ll have to go somewhere nicer next time, then… Preferably somewhere I won’t get dragged away from you like that,” He murmurs. 

Riza is dying to know what the expression on his face looks like, but she doesn’t glance up at him, instead staring into the tea in her mug. 

“I didn’t mind it. The team and I had a good enough time.”

“Is that so? Because you haven’t looked at me once since that little discussion you had with them in regards to me being… Ah, what was it?” Roy looks off to the side, as if trying to remember something. Meanwhile, Riza freezes entirely, the words echoing in her mind like the sound of a gunshot. He knows. “Adored by everyone?” 

“Don’t,” She whispers, screwing her eyes shut, but Roy just keeps pressing, his tone light and teasing in a way that makes her want to reach across the table and smack the crap out of him. 

“I’m just repeating what you said, lieutenant. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

Finally, Riza dares to look at him. He’s sitting there with a shit-eating grin and a mischievous sparkle in his charcoal eyes, his mug abandoned to his left so he can lean forward with his elbows resting on the tabletop and his chin propped on his hands. Riza’s throat suddenly feels all too dry, so she downs her hot tea in a couple of swallows and slams the mug down on the table.

“I can not believe you lured me with tea to talk about this!”

“You can’t?” Roy chuckles. In response, Riza stands, ready to storm out of his apartment and speed home, but Roy quickly interrupts her with a low, commanding- “Sit down.”

-and she does. She sits right back down, crossing her arms as she desperately tries to come up with a way out of this that doesn’t involve physically running away. 

“That bar was loud. You misheard-”

“It makes perfect sense,” He quotes with so much precision that it hurts. “You can’t help but adore the colonel.”

“It was a general, objective observation,” Riza says even though that couldn’t be further from the truth- she thought it was, for the longest time- but tonight has made her realize that her feelings for Roy Mustang are anything but objective. 

“Mhm,” Roy practically exudes disbelief as he crosses his arms and leans back in his chair, raising an eyebrow. That damn grin hasn’t left his face the entire time, and Riza wonders- is he amused by this? Getting somes sort of kick out of it? Or maybe… He returns her feelings? But if that were the case, why wouldn’t he have said anything sooner? “A very detailed general, objective observation.”

Riza looks away again. 

“It was just-”

“Look at me,” This time, it’s less of an order and more of a plea. Riza listens to him again, forcing herself to meet his eyes. Then, he smiles- the real one that always makes her melt even though she doesn’t want to admit it. “There you go.”

“The others were theorizing about it. I participated in the conversation... I was merely trying to make a logical point.”

“A logical point about my smile, you mean?”

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” Riza softly argues, and the words just can’t come out fast enough- concise enough- and she’s panicking, trying her best to deflect and failing miserably. The realization that there’s no way out of this crashes into her all at once. “They were exaggerating. They twisted what I said into something it wasn’t, and…”

And what? She can’t figure it out. What the hell is she supposed to tell him?

As if the situation isn’t already horrible enough, Roy stands from his chair and crosses the table to where Riza is sitting. When she bows her head to avert her gaze again, he kneels on the floor in front of her so he can stare up into her eyes- and there’s that smile of his, all too soft and warm and familiar. 

“And?” 

Riza screws her eyes shut, unable to look into his when she’s about to lie so blatantly.  

“I’m not in love with you.”

The words feel like chewing glass, or spitting out tar, or maybe some horrible combination of the two- something that’s painful and unnatural in the way that makes her head spin. 

“I didn’t say you were,” He says, softer now. When Riza looks away, he reaches forward and gently grasps her chin, tilting her head back down to make her meet his gaze. “But you are, aren’t you?”

“Even if I were…” Riza trails off, and even though her logical brain is screaming at her to pull away and run, she finds herself leaning into his hand as it rises to caress her cheek. “It wouldn’t really matter, would it?”

“It would matter to me,” Suddenly, he stands and pulls Riza up into her arms. She gasps, because this is the closest she’s been to him in years. And of course, she shouldn’t melt into it, but she does. It’s impossible not to when Roy holds her like she’s something worth cherishing- one of his hands cradling the back of her head, the other resting on her back, probably to keep her from trying to run again. He rests his forehead against hers, and then- “I’m in love with you, too.”

Oh. The confession should be a relief, but if anything, it terrifies Riza even more, because it comes with endless possibilities. What if they don’t work out? What if one of them dies on duty? What if one of their teammates- or worse, one of their superiors- finds out about them and separates them by force? Then there’s the issues that come with their relationship if Roy becomes the Fuhrer… Would he really want her as his first lady when he has so many other admirers? 

“We can’t afford to love each other,” She whispers and buries her face in his chest as she clutches the front of his shirt to hold herself up against the onslaught of emotion that threatens to weaken her knees. “Not in the way that I want us to.”

Roy, just as he hasn’t all night, doesn’t let her hide. Instead, he pulls back, cupping her face in his hands and running his thumbs over her cheekbones. When he speaks again, his voice is barely above a whisper. 

“And how is it that you want us to love each other, Riza?” 

The answer, lingering in the back of her mind since the day she met him, comes easier than she thought it would after so long spent trying to deny it. 

“Wholeheartedly.”

Roy doesn’t hesitate. He leans forward, pressing a kiss to her forehead- and Riza can feel his smile against her skin before he withdraws to respond. 

“I’ve always loved you wholeheartedly, anyway, and I always will. You might as well show me that you love me back the same way, don’t you think?” He laughs, something light and carefree that makes her face flush with heat- not the embarrassing, stinging kind that took over her cheeks when her teammates made fun of her earlier, but the pleasant, warm heat that always seems to come when Roy is around. “As nice as your little speech at the bar was tonight, I’d appreciate some concrete proof that you adore me like you said.”

At that, Riza pushes Roy’s hands away from her face, curls her fingers around the collar of his shirt, and pulls him down for a kiss. He slides his lips back against hers after the briefest of pauses, wrapping his arms back around her. 

“Well, if you really want me to show you how much I adore you,” Riza whispers against his mouth, mustering all the confidence she can for this despite the way that her heart is pounding in her throat. “Take me to bed.”

And, always eager to give her what she wants, Roy does exactly that.

[nanamineedstherapy]

Send Gojo? No. Send Nanami? Also No, But Less No.

Tsukumo Yuki x F!Reader x Ieiri Shoko - Pre-established but Nanami Kento & Gojo Satoru are also here.

Summary: In which Nanami gets emotionally & physically taxed, Gojo should never be left unsupervised, & Shoko, Yuki, & you hold an unholy amount of power over them both. or What if you, Shoko & Yuki, are in a poly relationship & somehow all your cycles sync? How much are we torturing Nanami???

A/N: This fic is a result of me staring at the ceiling at 3 AM, thinking, “What if You, Shoko & Yuki were in a polyship and had synced periods, but it’s a high-stakes psychological horror for Nanami?” Also, Gojo is a fool, Nanami deserves hazard pay, & Shoko & Yuki are the backbone of society. Anyway, enjoy this brainrot. WC: 1,165 Pure crack so no trigger warnings needed.

The night begins like all disasters do: quietly.

It starts innocently enough—Shoko's apartment at midnight, the air tense.

You’re horizontal on her couch, wrapped in a blanket like a burrito, clutching a hot water bottle to your stomach like it might perform a miracle. Yuki’s raiding the kitchen, muttering curses at an empty bag of chips, while Shoko nurses a lukewarm beer and an ice pack balanced on her head.

You’ve achieved the mythical synchronicity of an unholy trinity of cramps and PMS-fueled rage, and it’s terrifying.

It’s that kind of night.

“I swear I bought pads last week,” Yuki mutters, emerging from the kitchen with a singular, stale granola bar. “How the hell are we out of everything?”

Shoko shrugs. “You’ve been stress-eating chips like it’s an Olympic sport.”

Before Yuki can throw the granola bar at her, your phone buzzes.

“It’s Nanami,” you say, reading the text. Don’t call me tonight. I am already in bed.

“Oh, hell no.” Yuki grabs your phone and speed-dials him.

Nanami picks up on the third ring, voice groggy. “No.”

“Yes,” Yuki replies. “We’re dying. We’re out of pads, tampons, snacks, and basically everything else. If you don’t come, I will personally end you.”

A pause. Then, with the resignation of a man who knows he’s lost, he says, “Fine. Text me a list.”

Gojo, lying upside down on the carpet with his legs propped up on the coffee table, perks up immediately. “I can go!”

“No!” all three of you chorus.

1:00 AM

Nanami shows up, a grocery bag in hand, looking like the last shred of his will to live is dangling by a thread. He tosses it onto the counter and starts to leave when Yuki, halfway through a chocolate bar, asks, “Where’s the ice cream?”

Nanami freezes. Slowly, he turns around. “The what?”

“I specifically texted you about the caramel swirl.” Shoko says with narrowed eyes, beer bottle in hand, ready to weaponize it.

“Yeah,” you pipe up from under your blanket fort. “And I wanted mochi.”

Nanami takes a slow, deep breath. Then stares at all three of you, eyes hollow. “I’m going home; send Gojo.”

“Oh, I’d love to!” Gojo says brightly, halfway out the door before Shoko grabs him by the back of his collar.

“You can’t,” Yuki snaps. “Gojo will get it wrong.”

“Hey!” Gojo protests. “That’s not fair. I’ve gotten better!”

“No, you’re going to mess this up,” she snaps. “Remember what happened last time?”

Gojo pouts. “I didn’t know there were different kinds of tampons! I thought wings were for decoration!”

“You also brought back clove-scented tampons and one fun-size bag of Skittles. My vagina has PTSD because of you.” You add helpfully from under your blanket pyramid.

“Don’t remind me, he also almost got throttled in the parking lot,” Shoko pointed out.

“Yeah, by you,” Gojo retorts.

“Yeah, and I stand by that decision,” Shoko says.

“Good,” Yuki deadpans. “I will finish the job.”

Nanami is smart, so he sighes, grabs his keys and leaves. A few minutes later, he returns, arms loaded with supplies and a few extra snacks.

And because he is smart—he knows better than to face the wrath of three PMSing women. He drops the bag on your doorstep, rings the bell, and sprints away like he’s just defused a bomb, leaving you all to wonder if he’ll ever come back for a rematch!

2:00 AM

Against everyone’s better judgment, Gojo insists on “helping.”

“I read somewhere that massages help!” he chirps, already cracking his knuckles.

“No,” Yuki interrupts.

“Hard no,” Shoko echoes.

You sigh. “Fine. Just don’t be weird about it.”

Gojo beams, settling behind you. “You just need to relax,” he says, cracking his knuckles. “I saw this thing on TikTok—”

You eye him suspiciously.

Yuki glares at him, now a little too close to your couch. “If you try anything funny with my wife, I will kill you.”

“And I will revive you just so I can kill you again.” Shoko adds popping a nicotine gum in her mouth and chewing aggressively.

He waves a dismissive hand. “Pfft, no trust. Just relax!”

Gojo, it turns out, has the subtlety of a jackhammer. Five seconds in, you let out a yelp as his bony hands jab into your back like he’s searching for treasure.

“That’s her kidney!” Yuki shouts, grabbing him by the collar.

“It’s all connected!” Gojo whines, flailing as Yuki drags him away.

“Connected to your impending death, maybe,” she growls.

3:00 AM

Nanami gets called again.

This time, it’s because Gojo—unsupervised—tried to boil water for tea and somehow set the kettle on fire.

“How,” Nanami begins when he arrives, staring at the blackened kettle in the sink, “did this happen?”

“I was just trying to help!” Gojo protests, dodging a cushion thrown by Shoko.

“Tell him the real reason or I’m shaving your head!” You yell, spraying pain relief medication on your back.

Gojo holds his hair and mutters lowly. “I got distracted. Someone called me a ‘red flag with 20/20 vision,’ on Tiktok, and honestly, they’re not wrong.”

Nanami pinches the bridge of his nose. “This is why I don’t let you cook.”

“That, and I’m amazing at takeout,” Gojo quips, tossing Nanami finger guns.

Shoko leans against the counter, watching the exchange with mild amusement. “Are you two done flirting, or are we actually eating tonight?”

Nanami froze, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “We’re not—”

“Oh, please,” Yuki interrupts. “We’ve all seen the way you look at each other. Just kiss already.”

Gojo just shamelessly grins. “He’s shy.”

Nanami turns around to hide his burning ears and pulls up his hoodie sleeves and starts 3 A.M. dinner. He wonders, how did none of you in a polycule of three know how to cook? Or did you all lied to him and hoped for the best? Then he looks at Gojo—still somehow grinning—and decides he deserves hazard pay for this.

5:00 A.M.

The couch is now a war zone of blankets, empty bowls, and collective exhaustion.

Gojo has decided to make his final bid for redemption. “I’ll clean up,” he offers, sweeping his lanky arms toward the mess.

“Don’t touch anything,” Nanami says immediately.

“Wow, no trust,” Gojo complains, pouting.

“You set water on fire,” Shoko deadpans.

“You bruised my kidney,” you add.

“And you can’t even bring the right pad,” Yuki finishes.

Gojo throws up his hands in defeat. “You’re all mean.”

Nanami sighs, sinking into the armchair with the air of a man who knows this is his life now.

6:00 A.M.

By morning, Gojo is banned from the kitchen, Nanami is seriously contemplating resignation, and you’re all sprawled across the couch, eating ice cream directly out of the tub.

“This was a nightmare,” Yuki mutters, glaring at Gojo, who’s still trying to apologize.

Shoko just sips her beer. “Same time next month?”

Nanami groans.

Gojo beams.

A/N: Nanami survived, but at what cost? Gojo did NOT, in fact, redeem himself. Shoko & Yuki remain undefeated. Will they make it to next month without setting another household appliance on fire? Stay tuned.

Vote wisely. Or don’t. Chaos reigns.

All Works Masterlist

[daisyjonesgf]

songbird // billy dunne x f. reader

based off this ask

word count: 1.9k

masterlist

summary: your mood is down at a party when a girl decides to use the opportunity to remind you how little you really mean to billy dunne. although billy is quick to comfort you.

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, reader is a nepo baby and uses it to her advantage, talking down on groupies, some period typical misogyny, cussing, cigarette smoking, mentions of drinking and drugs, unedited, no use of y/n, insecure reader, mentions of speculated cheating, arguments, implied toxic relationship although not fully explored in this fic specifically, a happy ending though!

part of the museverse, but can be read separately

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Sometimes, when the sun went down, and the moon wasn’t shining brightly enough to echo back at you, the world feels like it’s about to stop. The days when all the work from the years before, all the things you’d put in your body, all the hurt you’d let yourself endure begin to catch up to you. The kind of nights where everything is simultaneously too loud, but also background noise, drowning out to your own thoughts. Nights, like tonight. Where, no amount of drinking or drugs even sounded like they would fix the problem. The longing for complete and utter darkness, to just let the numbness take over, to let your body shut down. That’s exactly what had you sitting on this couch while people shouted, and jumped, and laughed around you. Just let all the noise fade away. Billy was long gone, probably high off his ass and fucking some girl who would be far more entertaining then you anyways. That didn’t matter, you’re the one who let it get this far. Fuck, none of it felt like it mattered right now, just getting into bed, wrapping a blanket around yourself, and stare at the wall until the synapses in your brain would start firing off again. You’re not snapped out of your haze by the cushion next to you pushing down, no, it’s not until a finger is tapping your shoulder, and a voice is speaking directly to you, that you let yourself zone back in.

“Do you have a cig?” The girl asks, she reeks of beer and weed, but so does everybody else.

“Yeah.” You need one yourself anyways, and grab two out of your pack, feeling her looking at you, squinting as if she just can’t remember where she knows your face from. You hand it to her and she lights it up using the flame from the candle on the coffee table, a candle that couldn’t be working any less, and you follow suit.

“Oh my god, you’re that glorified groupie!” She finally explains, almost like she’s congratulating herself for remembering. “Of course you’d the one fucking moping around, I didn’t believe them when they said you were that much of a drama queen, but look at you. It is fucking pathetic, if you just got out there and had a drink maybe he’d actually be paying attention to you.”

You were long enough in the game to know that you could never let them know if what they said had any tear-inducing impact, “Excuse me, who the hell are you?”

“Oh, sorry, I forgot you thought you were better than us. Far too good to talk with the likes of me, you only buddy up with people who can get you somewhere, right? Even though everybody knows, at the end of day you will always be just like the rest of us. He will always go home with someone else the moment he gets bored of you, and then you’re really a nobody.”

Even if it stings, even if she’s reiterating things you’ve beat yourself down with over and over again, never let them know your weaknesses. Instead you laugh as you take a hit off of the cigarette, “What’s your name?”

For a millisecond she’s slightly taken aback, but she’s trying to hit back just as confidently as you appear to be doing. “Carol. Carol C.”

“Mmmm.” You nod, making each time you put that cigarette back between your lips create a pause. “So there’s more than one Carol then?” She nods, and you nod back. “What is it you actually want to do in L.A., Carol C.? Why’d you come here, I can bet it wasn’t to chase around rock bands.”

Carol is tossing her hair in a way she thinks looks chic, but it doesn’t look natural enough when she does it. “Everyone always told me I could be an actress, that I’ve got the type of face people want to see on the big screen.”

You’re nodding again, slowly, as you finish off the rest of your cigarette before stamping it out even slower, and then adjusting your position to face her with a smile. “And that’s never gonna happen for you, sweetheart.”

“What?” Her face is dropping again, and you can tell she’s right back to being pissed at you, which is exactly where you want her. If you know her words are picking at open wounds, why not get a few jabs in yourself?

“You’re never gonna be a Hollywood star. Maybe, you would have had a chance at being an extra in a couple things, but certainly not anymore. And you want to know why?” You don’t even give her a chance to try to answer, “Because I’m not Carol fucking C. I’m not one face in the crowd who can’t even be a groupie without having to use her last name to differentiate herself. I don’t have to fight for my chance to be on the screen, or to get attention from some stupid ass, goddamn rockstar. I’m just not you,and I never will be. You want to bitch and complain to all the other girls that I somehow both am not better than any of you, but also have everything handed to me on a silver platter? You’ve ruined your fucking career already with one comment, and I can mope or do as many drugs or throw as many tantrums as I want, and at the end of the day the industry is in my family’s pocket, not yours. At the end of the day, Billy Dunne can sleep with whoever he wants and yet I’m still the girl in his house at the end of the night. This world is being spoon-fed to me, sweetheart, I will never be just one of the Carol’s.” You grab the cigarette straight out of her hand and stamp it out before you’re standing up, “You better find a new dream, Carol C.”

You’re out of that house as fast as you can be. As good as it felt to snap back, to just say everything you could say to cut her deeper, it was still just self defense. Regardless of all the power you could have, all the attention, the influence, at the end of the day she was right. To Billy Dunne, you meant nothing until he snapped his fingers and decided you did for a while. You were no better than anyone else, hanging around, vying for his attention, for his love. No amount of reasoning could argue with the fact that you’d let your entire life now be defined by being the so-called girlfriend of a rockstar who didn’t even want to call it that. A man who couldn’t let him love you without trying to tear your life apart whenever it even so much as frightened him. You mindlessly walk past all the people drinking and chatting in the front, up the gravel driveway. You don’t even care where you’re going, you’re about to cry and you don’t need anyone else to see that. You don’t need any more fuel to the fire that will remind people how pathetic you really are. Letting some random girl’s comments get to you, even if they were the truth. You’re up the driveway, turning onto the road when your name is being yelled, you already know who it is, and you don’t have the energy to deal with it, with him. He’s probably pissed at you for making a scene, ruining his night, making it seem like he has some hysterical girlfriend that he’s tied down to and has to control. So, you keep walking, but the footsteps just start coming up behind you.

“Look, I’m sorry, I know, I’m ruining your night. I’m just tired, I’ll get home, you keep doing whatever you’re doing, Billy!” You turn around and he’s already a lot closer than you’d expected him to be.

“Hey, what’s wrong, baby?” Pausing you walking makes you realize the tears that were already streaming down your face, and you’re quick to wipe them off, as he takes a step closer. “Some girl started freaking out in there, saying you were gonna ruin her career or something.”

You can’t help but roll her eyes, “I’m sure she’ll get over it, I wasn’t actually going to do anything.” Before you can take a step back, his hands are on both of your arms, thumbs rubbing circles on your skin.

“What’s going on?” Billy is actually serious, sincere, and it feels like you’re just staring into his eyes for an eternity before you just start bawling. “Oh, hey, baby, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” So fast he’s got you in his arms, letting you soak his shoulder with your tears.

You don’t know how long you’re just sobbing there before you finally are able to choke out some words, “How long until you’re bored of this, Billy?”

“What are you talking about, baby?” He’s adjusting your head just enough to see your face, cold, calloused hands, rubbing your cheek in a way that makes you want to melt into him.

“The push and pull of it all, Billy. We’re a disaster, I’m a disaster, everyone knows it. How much longer until the cycle stops being fun for you?”

“You’re not the disaster, you’ve never been the disaster.” Billy takes a deep breath, shutting his eyes for a second, “I could never let my girl go. Okay? Do you understand me?” When you slowly nod he’s pulling you back into his arms, trying to hide that he wants to cry too. “I’m so scared that I’m gonna break you, but I’m doing it anyway. But, it’s you and me, baby. You are special. You always fucking will be.” He’s pressing your foreheads together when suddenly he’s laughing, just the smallest amount.

“What?” You can’t help but smile a little too.

“Nothing.” He’s trying to suppress it, but then he’s looking at you and laughing again, “Nothing! It’s just, um, we do have to go because I may have punched Richie Jarvis in the face for saying he’d be willing to “take you off my hands.”

“Billy Dunne!” You’re trying to scold him, but you’re smiling and laughing too. Ever so lightly shoving him, but immediately kissing him anyways. “Let’s go home, I’d never have picked Richie Jarvis anyways.”

“Good because we can probably never come here again!” Billy chuckles, arm around your shoulders as the two of you walk back to the car. He’ll always have you hook, line, and sinker.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱•⋅

thank you so much for reading, I appreciate all of you so much! as always likes, comments, reblogs, and asks are always very appreciated. thank you so much for the community and all the support ❤️

[seenoversundown]

Lonely Hearts Club

Daniel Wagner , Jake Kiszka (Caravel AU)

Warnings: This isn't a slash fic (just want to make that clear for either side) Alcohol/Drinking, some flirting, a bit of yearning, a double date of sorts, and some genuine platonic best friend love.

Word Count: 1.8k

Author's Note: Not every Valentine's day is celebrated the same! I was really struggling to come up with an idea and @edgingthedarkness suggested this one and my brain immediately ran with it. 🤭

Just to clarify- this is taking place pre-sparrow of the dawn!

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Danny POV

The best part of having a friend who’s a bar owner, is that you have a regular place to go to after work. The worst part is that the bar owner has a very niche aesthetic that does not assist in the ‘finding ladies’ department. 

“Rough day?” Jake asks as I’m plopping into my usual seat at the bar. 

The sigh coming out of me should have been enough for him to gather, but still, I tell him, “Yep.” 

Ever since Jake bought the bar and left the shipyard, I’ve been stuck there with a bunch of older men who definitely show their love by tormenting you. Not that I can’t handle it on my own, but it is draining everyday having to listen to them. 

“You’re alone tonight?” I ask him, trying to not acknowledge the fact that it’s a ghost town as he’s sliding my beer over to me.

He nods a few times, leaning back against the counter, “Yeah. Josh mentioned something about needing to go to Hobby Lobby again, I don’t know.” 

“Damn,” I breathe out, and rolling my eyes as I tell him, “Well, if it helps, Sam ditched me to go out with that girl again.”

His head falls back, shaking it subtly. “No wonder he wouldn’t tell me who it was. He just kept saying it was a blind date.” 

“A blind date on Valentine’s Day? Okay, Sam,”  I laugh, before sipping on my drink. 

“He’s not the best at lying,” he chuckles to himself. “I’m shocked you don’t have something lined up for tonight?” 

There’s not enough beer in the world for this one, Jake. 

“Yeah, I just..” I hesitate. I don’t know why I didn’t really try to get a date this year, something just felt off about it. “Wasn’t really feeling it. Plus, I had to work all day anyway.” 

There were plenty of chances for me to set up a date, but I truly just.. Didn’t this time around. It feels like I’m on a date with someone new every weekend and it’s not that I don’t enjoy going out and I don’t even mind being the one who pays for all of these dates– it just sucks that nothing feels right. 

“Well, I think our dates are here,” Jake whispers, leaning over the bar slightly. A smirk plastered on his face. The hell does he mean dates– OH.

“Look at that, Ellie!” Linda’s voice could cut through almost anything. “Cupid did help us out this year.” She plops down into the seat next to Danny, with Eleanor following suit on the other side of him. 

“Hi there, beautiful,” I let out, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “How are you this evening?” 

“Right now? No complaints!” she quips back. “How about you, Ellie?” Both of us looking over to her, who’s already making googly eyes at Jake. 

“Oh, I am just swell,” her sweet little voice chirps. 

“The usual for both of you tonight?” Jake asks, followed by a resounding ‘yes.’ 

Jake definitely plays into her little crush, but I can’t say anything with the way I flirt back to Linda. They’re both such wonderful ladies, it’s hard not to love them. Always coming in to visit us and being endlessly supportive of everything and anything we talk about. It’s like having some best friends who are just a smidge older than us. 

“Now, Jake, I know you have to be here,” Linda starts. “But, Danny, why aren’t you out tonight? There must be a line of ladies waiting for a chance with you.” She giggles, patting my chest a few times. 

Chuckling with her, “I don’t know about a line, but–”

“What did I take a number for?” She loudly lets out, with an exaggerated wink, making all of us laugh. If there’s someone who’s gonna make tonight better, it’s her.  

I pull her in closer to me, “I guess, I would rather spend my night with you then out with some random girl.” 

Her hand grabbing mine, squeezing it a few times as she laughs. Leaning her head against my shoulder when she breathes out, “Oh you’re too cute.” 

Looking over to Jake leant against the bar, Eleanor is grinning at him like a fool. 

“Nobody asked you out?” He asks her quietly. She’s shy until you get a few glasses of wine into her, then she livens up a little. “Must be playing hard to get huh?” 

“Oh,” she giggles quietly to herself. “You’re very sweet, but no, no dates and I’m certainly not playing hard to get.”

He leans forward a bit more, shooting her a wink when he says, “Their loss.” 

We spent a while just talking with them, which to be fair, were basically the only ones in the bar. A few stragglers every so often would come in, but it was a pretty tame evening. 

Watching this rather quiet man request Beautiful Loser by Bob Seger and then return to his seat. Taking turns peeking over so he wouldn’t notice, but a woman around his age came in and sat across from him. 

“It’s nice to see him find someone,” Jake lets out quietly.  

My brows pulled together, “Is he here a lot?” 

“Mhm,” he hums. “Typically alone or sometimes he’ll sit with Chuck. They both just look like old sailors, so they fit the aesthetic well.”

Linda laughs, “You are Josh’s twin, huh?” 

“He’s said it too many times!” He says through a smile, flipping the towel in hand around as he laughs. 

“You know who isn’t a Beautiful Loser?” Linda asks, loudly. She’s a few drinks deep at this point, and if you think her inhibitions are low when she’s sober, give her a couple hours at the bar. Her hand pats my chest a few times, lingering there as she says, “This young man right here.” 

Covering her hand with mine, “Thank you, angel.” Her head leaned onto my shoulder, and I can’t help but smile at it. 

“Lin, I think it’s about our time,” Eleanor pipes up. Looking at the clock Jake has hidden behind the bar and seeing that it’s after midnight. 

“Are you two okay to get home?” I ask them, knowing they live nearby, but you can never be too sure. 

“Oh we’ll be fine, my sweets,” Linda lets out. “Nobody’s trying to kidnap two old bitties.” 

I stand, helping them up, but looking over to Jake. “I’m just gonna walk them out.” 

He nods and then comes out from behind the bar, wrapping Linda up in a bear hug, she rocks him back and forth for a second. Moving to Eleanor, who is much more shy with him still, pulls her into a hug and lingers there for a moment. 

“Thank you for spending Valentine's evening with me, darling,” he tells her, pressing a kiss against her cheek. Despite being exhausted, her face lights up at the gesture. 

“You don’t have to thank me, dear.”

I gather the two of them, walking them out and lingering outside for a minute to make sure they seem okay before disappearing back into the bar. 

“They’re a trip,” I breathe out as I sit back down into my barstool. 

Jake laughs at the comment, quipping back, “I thought Linda was gonna take you home with her for a minute there.” 

“With the way dating has gone for me lately, that may be my best option,” I chuckle through it. 

He leans against the counter, “You’re telling me. Eleanor may be my only chance at love.” 

We both sit there in that silence for a moment. 

“Why is this so difficult?” I ask, not really to Jake but, just in general. 

He stares at the ground for a second before breathing out a quiet, “I don’t know.” 

“It just feels like,” I start, unsure of where I’m going with my thoughts. “None of these girls are any sort of what I want in my life.” 

He prints out a tab for one of the few people left, giving them a little wave after they sign the receipt. “No, I get it.” 

“It’s insane, dude,” I let out, shaking my head. 

He looks over at me, “All I want is to be happily with someone— be able to go home and have someone there… that isn’t my brother.” 

Jake is the more quiet one out of the brothers, but he also is the only one that truly struggles with dating. None of us understood why because he’s so nice to everyone but, nothing ever stuck for him. 

“You deserve that,” I tell him. “I’m sure she’ll show up when you’re not expecting it.. seems to be how everything works.” 

“Thanks. I’m counting on lucky stars at this point.” He chuckles to himself as the last customers walk out. “I hope you find someone who made you as happy as—“ 

“Don’t,” I cut him off. “Nobody is going to compare to her and I’ve accepted that.” 

He stays quiet, but then says, “You deserve to be happy, y’know?” 

“Yeah..” I breathe out, tapping my phone seeing the time, “Well, shit. I didn’t mean to stay out this late.” 

“Shipyard still sucks, huh?” 

God, does it. My eyebrows just about smack my hairline, “Oh, yes.” 

I can see the gears going in his head as he folds his arms in front of me. The solo eyebrow pop tells me he has an idea of some sort, when he finally chirps out, “Work here.” 

“Jake,” I shake my head at him. “I’m okay. Plus, you’ve only been open a few months. I couldn’t expect you to do that.” 

“No, I can pay you,” he tells me. “I’ll need more help by summer I’m sure, and I already trust you so..” 

It would be nice to get out of there.

I stand up, scooting the barstool in, and then tell him, “I’ll sleep on it.” He caved first, letting a smile creep onto his face and I was right behind him with mine. 

“Well, I’m glad we at least ended up on a double date,” he giggles as we walk through the back door. He flips the lock on it before turning to face me, “I’ll see you.. tomorrow probably?” 

I nod at him quietly. 

His hand lands on my shoulder, “Go get some sleep.” 

“Oh I will,” I laugh. Backing away, I point at him, and in the most comically serious tone, tell him, “Love you.” 

He barks out a laugh, but returns the point with, “Love you too, bud.” 

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CBFM Masterpost | Masterlist | FDOG Masterpost

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[abbatoirablaze]

The StiXXX List, Chapter 2: Ghosted

Word Count:  2.4k

Warnings:  mentions of a strip club, swearing in front of a little kid, cursing.

“Man...you look rough...you sure you’re alright?” Steve asked his roommate as he showed up at the dorm, “I mean, I know that you’re just getting in, but you don’t look to hot.  That walk of shame is doing more than shaming you...”

“It was all because of that fucking stripper,” he groaned, shaking his head, “she-she kicked me out of her place...I had to walk home.”

“You had your car last night.”

“And it ran out of gas this morning before I could get back to campus or even a gas station,” he grunted, “I didn’t have a gas can, so I had to walk to the Walmart a few miles away just to buy one, and then walk to the gas station to get gas.”

“You could have just called me,” he frowned at his friend, “I mean, I was sleeping, but I would have picked up at some point in time...and I have a car.  And a gas can.  Or you could have called Buck.  He’s always up really early with Jamie when Delilah goes to class and he lives off campus so he might have been close...”

“That would have been more useful information a few hours ago, Steve.”  

“I mean, it could have been worse,” he tried to offer, “nothing else bad happened, right?”

“Am I like cursed or something because I slept with that stripper?” he asked, “everything is just too messed up for me to be coincidence.”

Steve tried to bite back his laughter, “congrats man...you got ghosted...”

His brows furrowed as he looked at his roommate, who was practically shovelling the cereal from the bowl into his mouth, “What do you mean, ghosted?”

“You didn’t pay any attention to the warnings from your big brother, did you?”

“What the hell are you talking about Steve?”

“The stripper, last night..”

“Alright boys...first thing we have to do before we officially start the semester, and our season, is to come here!”

A few of the freshman narrowed their eyes at the glowing building that advertised the women inside of it. The neon lights were drawing men in from the college town like moths to a flame.

“Why did we get brought to a strip club?”

“I thought this was supposed to be a team bonding exercise.”

“How is this supposed to help our season?”

“Pooch, Jensen, Sam, great questions!” Tony grinned as he pointed to three of the freshmen, “does anyone know why we brought you guys here?”

“Because what better way to encourage male bonding than by looking at god’s greatest gifts to man!  Gorgeous full breasts, and jiggly asses!” Wade answered from beside him as he threw his arm around his friend’s shoulders, “boys...we’re going to make you men tonight!”

“Alright Wilson, calm it down,” fellow senior, and co-captain Ari Levinson chuckled, patting his friend’s shoulder, “guys, every year the senior class brings the freshman class to this very club behind us.  And every year, the hockey gods themselves give us a sign that we’re going to do well when one lucky freshman gets picked.  Now, as players, we know we’re all pretty superstitious...but it’s more than that.  It’s a tradition.  A tradition that we happily uphold because it’s us passing the torch onto you.”

Sam and Steve looked at one another happily as Johnny Storm wrapped his arm around each of their shoulders, “now...the second tradition is that you boys have to decide before we walk in...are you buying our beers?  Or paying for our girls for the night?”

“You got ghosted!” Steve repeated with a chuckle.  When his roommate didn’t respond Steve dropped the spoon back into the bowl, “come on.  You really don’t know what I’m talking about?”

“No,” he shook his head, “Steve, what the hell are you talking about?”

“I can’t believe you don’t know,” Steve laughed, “in the past few years it’s become one of the team’s biggest traditions.  And I mean, everyone knows about it!”

“Well, I don’t know what the hell you are talking about, so stop the foreplay and just tell me!”

“Well, what do we have here?” a voice giggled as the men entered the establishment.  Her hand ran along Tony’s shoulders, and he gave her a wink.   She giggled and continued on her path to the bar.

“Hey boys!” one of the other strippers smiled as she passed the group of hockey players, shooting Wade Wilson a wink, “Wade, come on back to the rooms when you’re settled in!   I’ve missed not seeing you all summer!”

“God, I love this place!” Wade grinned.

“FRESH MEAT!” another stripper cheered as she passed.

“Hey Wade!”

“Hey Tony!”

“Ladies,” he smiled as he licked his lips, “alright...tables up front.  Freshmen who said that they wanted to pay for lap dances, go to the ATM...you’re going to need a lot of ones.”

The freshmen formed a line courtesy of Johnny pulling them over to the ATM, while the rest of the seniors started giving a girl their drink orders and Steve and Pooch passed over their cards with grimaces on their faces. 

“Well, who do we have here?”

“Oh, hey there, Ghost,” Johnny smirked, “come to check out our newest incoming class?”

“Or here to just check out the prime real estate?” Wade teased.

“Maybe,” she smirked, eyeing the man up and down, “shame you’re not still on the menu.”

Johnny’s brows raised, “who said we’re not?”

“Oh, don’t tempt me, my sweet little flame.  I’d ruin you and then some, and enjoy every second of it!” She giggled.  He all but swooned at her words.  She ran a finger down his chest, and he grinned and licked his lips, but she already turned her attention to the last freshman in line at the ATM when he didn’t reply, “what’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Sa-Sam...”

Sam shook his head.

He didn’t know why this woman in front of him was causing him to stutter. 

“Sam...cute!  Simple.  I like it.” she smiled, shooting him a wink, “maybe I’ll see you later, Sam.”

“Oh man...it was so funny when you disappeared with her...” he laughed, “but hey...the guys said that since she picked you, we’re in for a great season.  You were the sacrifice.”

“Always the black guy being sacrificed!” he muttered to himself.

“What?”

“Why is her and I hooking up a good thing for the team?”

“Because she’s always around the house, hooking up with someone on the team.” He shrugged, “I mean, she’s usually hooking up with Pronge, but she always starts off the year with a Freshman.”

“What?”

“How do you not know about Ghost?” he laughed, “your older sister went here and dated one of the guys on the team and your brother was on the team.  I’m sure that they both came across her at least once or twice.”

“My sister didn’t tell me about puck bunnies.” He shrugged yet again, “and my older brother was here a few years before my sister.”

“Oh, Ghost isn’t a puck bunny,” Steve laughed, “she’s THE puck bunny.  She’s the tradition.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Buck told me about it last year...when the guys were talking about how they go to the strip club every year and the hockey gods smile down on them, it’s because every year Ghost picks a Freshman to sleep with.  After that, the team always has more wins than losses.”

“You’re joking!” he scoffed, “they can’t possibly think that this chick’s got a golden vagina that leads us to more victories.”

“Your words, not mine,” he shrugged, “but someone on the team is always hooking up with her during the season.  And when they are, we’re winning!  It’s only when she holds out that we lose...and bad.  Like I said...usually it’s Pronge...or a few others.”

“So what?” he asked, “she’s going to try to sleep with me the whole season then?”

Steve shook his head, “No.  She kicks off the school year by sleeping with one of the Freshmen on the team and then making them do the walk of shame.   Then she usually rotates between a few of the guys.  Usually, it’s just the defensive team so we don’t really have anything to worry about.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” he asked.

He shrugged, “I thought you would have known.  I mean, Buck told me about it last year when he was a freshman!  I figured that your sister warned you about her.”

“Did it happen to him too?” he asked, “Do i-do I need to get myself checked out or something?  Why are you still laughing?”

“Hell no, and the team was pissed, because Bucky skipped out on it last year,” he said shaking his head, “he has been with my sister since middle school, and the idea of going to a strip club is not his idea of a fun night.  Buck may seem rough and tumble and up for anything, but he’s downright obsessed with three things in this world:  hockey, school, and his family...but there were a few guys on the defensive team that stuck up for him since he’s been with my sister for so long.  No, last year it was Cougar.  Whoever it is, usually gets hell for the whole year though.  Cougar’s year was shit last year.”

“How long has she been doing this?”

“I think you might be the fourth guy...maybe...I know it was Thor the year before Cougar...not sure on who it might have been before that.”

“What?” he asked, “she’s been doing it this long?”

“It’s tradition, Sam!” Steve shrugged, and as Sam came closer to him to ask him what he meant, there was a knock on the door.

“It’s open!” Steve announced, “come on in!”

“Hey guys!”

“UNCLE STEVIE!” a little boy yelled, coming into the dorm.

“Hey buddy!” Steve smiled, picking up his nephew, “how’s it going, Jamie?  Where’s your mommy?”

“It’s me and daddy day!” the three-year-old grinned, “Right daddy?”

“Doll’s got classes and was out the door by six thirty...then she’s got her internship hours at the hospital from eleven to four,” he frowned, “we’re gonna get just enough time for him to go down for his nap, and make some dinner before I head out for evening classes at 5:30.”

“They never said being a teen parent was easy!”

Bucky chuckled, “it was a hell of a lot easier last year when our moms could switch off babysitting Jamie and your sister and him still lived with your mom.”

“Well, you two decided to get an apartment together!” Steve smirked, “you guys wanted to play happy little family!  Though mom was pretty sad to see all three of us out the door in one year...I guess she kind of expected Dee and Jamie to stick around to save up some money while she was in school.”

“We felt like it was the right thing to do by giving your mom her house back...last thing she needs is to have to deal with this little punk right here!” he smirked, messing with his son’s hair.

“HEY!” Jamie pouted, “Gamma loves me!”

“That she does...but so does daddy!” he reminded his son, “And I missed not being able to be around you and mommy all the time.”

“That’s why we move here!”

“Yup!  And I wouldn’t trade it for the world, punk!” Bucky grinned as he put his hand on his son’s shoulder.  Then he looked to his best friend and teammates, “you guys need any help unpacking still or...what’s wrong with you, Falcon?”

Sam went to open his mouth, but it quickly closed as he looked at Steve.

“It’s probably better if you don’t ask,” Steve frowned.  When Bucky didn’t move on from the comment he sighed, “He got ghosted.”

Bucky made a face then frowned at his friend, “sorry man...but your season is fucked!”

“Do I need to get tested or something?” he asked once more, “shit!  What’s wrong with this chick that-“

“Don’t worry,” Bucky sighed, shaking his head as he cut his friend off, “you’re fine.  Ghost is clean...just-the freshman she sleeps with usually incurs the wrath of another one of the guys on the team every year...and then...you know, any guy that sleeps with her that season as well.”

“What?” he asked, “who?”

“Watch out for Weiss,” he said quickly, giving him a heads up, “he’s been in love with Ghost since his sophomore year, but she’s never even so much as looked at him.  He’ll be on your ass all year, and since he’s on the offensive team like you are, you’re screwed.  You won’t have to worry about Pronge since he is one of the guys that leads the D, but Weiss is gonna be on your ass.  He was rough on Cougar last year!”

“That’s rough!” Steve grimaced, “is he at least gonna be pissed at her?”

“At Ghost?  Yeah right,” Bucky scoffed, “If anything, he’ll just try even harder.  Usually, he’s at the club every weekend after the game...dude spends all his extra cash on her.  If there was any hope of getting him off that train, someone’s probably tried.  But he’s hooked on her like she’s some sort of drug.”

“Shit...” Sam frowned, looking to Steve, “I’m fucked.”

“Could be worse,” Bucky shrugged, “Could have been Andy’s ex.  That’s her twin sister and she works at the club too.”

“I might have felt her up on accident this morning...” Sam admitted nervously, looking between his two friends.  Their eyes nearly bulged out of their heads and Sam shook his head, “i-it’s not what you think.  You see, she left her bedroom, and I thought she was making breakfast for us...but it was her twin sister.  And, well...I started, kinda trying to hit it again.”

“Oh, you’re super fucked when he finds out.”  Bucky frowned, “Andy’s possessive as all hell over her despite being engaged to another chick...swear, anyone even looks in her direction and automatically they’re on his shit list.”

“Shit...wait, why’s he like that if he’s engaged to someone else?”

Bucky chuckled, “dude...he’s got a kid with Glitter.  Fuck, if anyone ever did to my doll, like you did to Glitter...I’d kill em.  Then again, I’d never leave Delilah...I’m gonna marry her when we graduate.”

“Well, it was nice knowing you man,” Steve frowned at his friend, “when Barber and Weiss murder you we’ll do our best to notify your next of kin.”

“Oh man...I’m really fucked...”

Chapter 3

[ghost-proofbaby]

modern!steve harrington + mine cause i just KNOW he’d love that song and daydream about a future with his girl listening to it 😭💜

mine (steve's version)

warnings: hurt/comfort, my fingers slipped and put angst

wc: 2.1k+

an: okay i completely goofed here and made this far angstier than you wanted, and did not realize until AFTER it was done. 😭 i'm gonna apply the same logic as miss swift does with surprise songs - since i technically messed up, if you'd like a redo with more sweetness, let me know and i've got you haha 😭 i also just processed you wanted him to listen to the song and that image broke my brain so basically what i'm saying is this one will definitely get a redo haha sorry nonnie <3

It had all started over a stupid fight. A fight that he didn’t even recall how it had started. That’s how stupid it had been. 

Steve had been tired, coming home from a long shift at the diner. It had been a shit show for the entirety of the twelve hours that Steve had been there, instantly making him regret pulling a double to cover one of his coworkers who called claiming they had a fever, but that he’d definitely seen posting on their stories about being out for drinks very late the night before. But he wasn’t going to tell his boss that — he’d been there. One too many beers on one of his rare free nights with friends, and he too would call out, claiming something along the lines of food poisoning. 

He wasn’t fully lying. That much alcohol probably had poisoned him considering the way he felt like death the next morning.

The coworker wasn’t what had him in a sour mood, though. Nor was it the one elderly couple that had kept trying to have terribly long conversations with him when he knew he had food to run. Nor was it that obnoxiously large group of preteens that seemed to have no self awareness as they’d reeked absolute havoc on the diner for the final hour before closing. No, none of that really phased Steve anymore — he was just tired. He was tired, a bit too easily irritated, and just wanted to sleep. 

His plans for the night had been crawling into bed with you, watching some TV show or movie he wouldn’t pay attention to with his head in your lap as your fingers would scratch soothingly at his scalp. His plans for the night didn’t include this fight. If he could have stopped, God only knows he would have.

“They’re going to shut off the water, Steve,” you stress, on the verge of tears at this point. Steve didn’t know if they were from stress, exasperation with him, or if you were hurting from how flippant he’d been since he walked through the door. Regardless, it didn’t matter; seeing you misty-eyed twisted the knife in his chest all the same, “What the fuck are we going to do if they do that? This isn’t something to talk about tomorrow.”

“They’re not going to turn it off tonight!” he shouts right back at you, throwing his hands into the air in defeat, “Fuck, I- what do you want me to do about it? What can I do about it tonight?” 

You snap your mouth shut at that, lips pressed tightly to avoid any quivering. 

“I just worked twelve fucking hours, I just wanted to come home and relax, I’m not in the mood-“

“You’re never in the mood,” you flatly interrupt him, tone a stark contrast to all the overwhelming emotions prominent on your face. Your voice doesn’t even waver — he knows that whatever you’re about to say, it’s been on your mind a while, “It’s always we’ll talk about this tomorrow, or we’ll figure it out. But we never talk about it. We never figure it out, Steve. We can’t just- You don’t think I’m tired, too?” 

His heart breaks a little. You’re right. You’re standing there, still in your scrubs from your own twelve hour shift, and fuck, you’re right. 

Things hadn’t ever been easy. Back in high school, there had been the issue of Steve’s parents. After graduation, it had been the terrible decisions of what now. When you two had decided to pack up and get the Hell out of town, it had been the stress of finally dealing with all the uncertainty, all while desperately trying to keep afloat amongst stacks of bills and adult responsibilities neither of you had expected to drown in. Things had never been easy, but Steve didn’t care about easy — he just cared that you’d always been there, by his side, on his team. 

Right now, it didn’t feel like you and him versus the world. For the first time, it feels like there’s only you two in the boxing ring. 

“This isn’t a competition, we’re… we’re supposed to be on the same side.” 

There it was — your voice cracks, and the moment the first tear falls from your eyes, you’re quick to reach up and swipe it away, pretending it never happened. Pretending that one tear wasn’t ripping Steve apart from the inside out.

“It’s not a competition! But Jesus Christ, I feel like I’m suffocating-“

“I’m suffocating you?” the tears are falling more freely, and you make no move to erase them. 

That’s not what he meant. At all. He’s only making it all worse. So, so much worse.

“I-“ he starts, but he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know how to make this better. 

He doesn’t know how to fix this.

In an instant, his hands go from threading and angrily tugging at his hair to flaring at his side as he suddenly walks sharply down the hallway. He’s making a beeline for your shared bedroom, doing the only thing he can think of to fix this for you. For tonight, at least.

You’re quick to follow, only two steps behind him, “Where are you going?”

“I’m-“ he pauses, yanking a random drawer open to the dresser, finding himself staring at a pile of your clothes rather than his own. He huffs through frustration and his own building tears, “I’m gonna stay at Eds’ tonight. Give you some space.” 

“Give me space?” you laugh back in disbelief, not daring to take any more steps closer to him, “You’re the one who’s being suffocated-“

“You’re not suffocating me,” he stops all movement, hand still on the knob of his drawer. He turns to you suddenly, a new found confidence, “That’s- That’s not what I meant, okay?” 

He can’t make this right, but he can’t leave you thinking that’s what he meant. You could never suffocate him — and even if you tried, he’d find it to be the most heavenly way to die. But you didn’t know that, not in this moment, and that was what was currently killing him.

You take a deep breath, one step forward, before asking quietly, “What did you mean, then?” 

One last chance. An opportunity to make this right.

“You could never suffocate me,” all the shouting and the frustration has vanished, only softness and hurt left in their places, “Ever. Don’t you ever think for one moment that it’s you. It’s not, okay? I love you. You’re the best thing to ever happen to me, you are-“ he chokes up, looking into your glossy eyes. He can still recall the way he felt all those years ago when they’d first laid eyes on him. He’s memorized the way it felt, because every time you look at him, it still manages to feel like the very first time, “You are everything to me. You’re- Fuck, honey, you’re my entire future. When I think about the future, all I think about is you.” 

You take another step forward. Steve’s own tears now track his own face, his heart racing painfully.

“I love you so fucking much, it’s crazy. And I just- I feel like I’m fucking all of this up. You deserve more than this, and I try to give it to you, but I can’t-“

“That doesn’t all fall on you, Steve,” your hands shake as you lift them, finally close enough to touch him. Each palm rests delicately on his chest and you can’t look him in the eyes, “I don’t want you for your money. Never have, never will.” 

He laughs wetly. You’ve more than proven that. When his parents cut him off completely, you hadn’t blinked an eye. 

“I want you because I love you. I’m in love with you, Steve Harrington. Okay? I’m so in love with you, I followed you across the goddamn country.” 

“Eddie and Robin did too, to be fair,” he reminds you, almost jokingly. All the tension from the fight is quickly fading. His hand drops from the drawer. 

“They did, but I guarantee I love you more than them,” you scrunch your nose, almost grimacing before adding, “No offense to them, of course.” 

“Of course,” he echoes, slowly reaching up and holding your hands that had been pressed to his chest. You don’t pull back.

“I’m just- it’s stressful. We’re both stressed. Neither of us were prepared for this,” you look him desperately in his eyes, “I meant what I said, though. This isn’t me versus you — I never want it to be us fighting each other. It’s always us versus the problem, okay?” 

He nods when you wait patiently for his response, “Okay.” 

“And I want you here,” you continue, “I want you here, in our home and in our bed. I want you here, even screaming back and forth with me, as long as you’re here. With me. Go to bed mad at me, I don’t care. Just… don’t walk away.” 

You smile through the residual tears, squeezing his hands that hold yours. 

Steve thinks about all the examples of love he’d ever been shown. His parents, in a castle of ice. The way the fights always ended in separate rooms, sometimes separate houses. His father storming out to spend the night in a hotel rather than having to be around his mother a second longer. He remembers the way that even with an abundance of money, they were never happy. They never loved each other. A marriage of convenience rather than love. Lasting only out of obligation, not dedication. 

He didn’t want that with you. He couldn’t ever imagine what the two of you have being reduced to that.

When he looks at you, all he can see is happiness. All he can feel is that love bursting from his chest. Images of the two of you by Lover’s Lake, the way the waves of the lake had sent shattered and sparkling flares of light across your cheeks as you’d laughed at him as if he was the funniest person in the entire world. All the nights spent over the phone, talking about nothing and everything, desperate to just fall asleep to the sound of each other’s voices. The ridiculous nerves he’d felt on the first date, King Steve shaking at the thought of putting his arm around you because for the first time, he was truly scared of fucking this up. 

You made him a better man. You saw everything inside of him that was broken, that he had spent so long trying to hide, and you’d simply sat down beside him with glue in hand, prepared to spend as much time as he needed to piece it all back together. 

Go to bed mad at me, I don’t care. Just… don’t walk away.

“I can’t do that, sweetheart,” he finally sighs. Your face starts to fall, but he’s quick to clarify, “I can’t go to bed mad at you. Ever. And we can fight, us versus the problem like you said, all we want but… I don’t want to go to bed mad. I don’t want… I don’t want that. Whenever my head hits that shitty pillow every night,” you both break to laugh, because God, you both really did need new pillows (and a mattress, if you were being honest), “All I want to know is that you’re mine and I’m yours. Sound fair?” 

You smile, and it’s the best thing he’s ever seen. It makes all the long shifts worth it as you nod slowly, “Sounds fair to me.” 

“Good,” he guides the two of you to the center of the room before he drops your hands from his, sighing and letting his shoulders finally drop, “Then in that case, I’m staying.” 

Even with crying tears on your cheeks, you’re still the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. You’re still the best thing Steve Harrington has ever had the privilege of calling his, “Yeah?” 

“Yeah. So if we’re gonna fight — let’s fight, baby.” 

He puts his fists up comically, and you only giggle and grab at them, shaking your head.

“I think we've fought enough for one night,” you mumble, bringing one fist to your mouth, kissing each of his knuckles gently. 

Once you’ve placed your final kiss, he quickly placed the hand beneath your chin, lifting your lips to his. He kisses you in quick succession, and between each one, he repeats the sincerest I’m sorry he can muster. 

He only stops once you’re smiling too wide for him to continue. 

After his lips leave yours one last time, pulling back slowly as he savors it and you, he finally sighs, “I am curious, though — what the Hell are we going to do if they do shut off the water?” 

You shrug, “Like you said, we can talk about it tomorrow.” 

“Or we can use Eddie and Robin’s shower.” 

“Or we can use Eddie and Robin’s shower.” 

As it turns out, Steve Harrington was wrong — when it comes to you, he can always fix things. 

"brace myself for the goodbye, 'cause it's all i've ever known. then you took me by surprise, you said 'i'll never leave you alone'."

[honeyteawrites]

4ggravate headcanons! When they’re drunk: 

Cyno: Emotional in a melancholy way. There will be a deep sorrow in his eyes that you almost can’t look away from. No one likes seeing Cyno drunk because it’s unsettling. Fortunately, he doesn’t drink much.

Al-Haitham: Does a bunch of nerd rambling for a while, then he gets sleepy. People will still be partying and he’ll be asleep on a couch or table somewhere. Haitham doesn’t get drunk often. After all, he has plenty of snacks and he’s big.

Kaveh: Emotional af in a bratty sobby way. He’s a messy crier too. A lightweight that says some things that he definitely wouldn’t say sober. You can easily get Kaveh to spill his secrets in this way. (canon)

Tighnari: Has never been seen drunk before? Terrifying tolerance, especially since he’s short. Someone has to take care of the others and drag them back home.

Extra silly scenario, click read more to see the rest! 438 words of Cyno’s embarrassing yearning. (cyhaino flavored because I can’t shut up about them…):

Haitham finishes rambling about a book series that he recently completed before passing out on the tavern table. It’s a rare sight to see him this drunk. His friends only saw moments like this as an annoyance since drunk Haitham wasn’t particularly interesting and someone always had to drag him back home. He begins lightly snoring, cheek pressed against sleek wood. 

Cyno sits across Haitham with his head resting on his arms. He always felt an indescribable sorrow whenever he got drunk. At times like this, he disappears to some corner of the tavern to sulk. Tonight, Haitham somehow managed to find him only to be equally as drunk. Cyno let his dreary thoughts fade into the back of his mind as he listened to Haitham’s book plot analysis.

It was only a momentary distraction. Now, Haitham had fallen asleep in front of him. Cyno mindlessly plays with the sprout-like strands of hair on Haitham’s head. He looks around before staring back at Haitham’s sleeping face. Kaveh and Tighnari were out of sight. No one could see the longing in Cyno’s eyes, not even Haitham. He gently cups the taller man’s cheek and sighs. 

“Cy-” Kaveh hiccups from behind Cyno. 

Cyno yelps and instantly draws his hand back. He could only look back at Kaveh in horror. A finished beer glass was in his hand. To no one’s surprise, the resident lightweight was drunk. Cyno sinks into his arms and sighs again. He was so immersed in his thoughts that he didn’t notice Kaveh drunkenly stumbling over to the table. 

“Cy… I’m talking to you.” 

Cyno snaps up straight. 

“What do you have to say, Kaveh?” 

“You know that Haitham likes you too, right? In a grossly romantic way, since he’s secretly into theatrics and all. Although, I’m sure that’s how you feel too. I’m drunk as hell right now, but even I can see the yearning in your eyes.”

Kaveh laughs as Cyno looks at him hopefully. “Do you even believe me? You should see the things that he writes about you-” Kaveh is interrupted as Tighnari comes and smacks him hard in the back, right where the opening in his shirt is. 

“Kaveh. You foolish drunk! Did you forget about the bet that we made about them? YOU RUINED IT. Be ready to pay up soon.” 

“Nari please- I’m already indebted to that big green nerd-” he sobs. 

To Cyno, their voices fade into the background. He can only think about the comforting feeling rising in his chest as he looks at the man in front of him. Eventually, he falls asleep as peacefully as Haitham.