#two things immediately come to mind when thinking about tequila

[espinosaurusrexex]

pls do the “who did this to you” i just imagine and college!bucky x reader and they cant stand each other but share an apartment. reader comes back hurt, bucky sees it and becomes protective.

I think I wrote this before any other request, I loved it so much! Hopefully you do too 💕

"Who did this to you?" (Bingo Game)

!BINGO ASKS CLOSED!

College!Roommate!BuckyBarnes x Reader

word count: 1.4k

warnings: mentions of abuse, grumpy Bucky, angsty, sassy reader, fluff

You tried to blink the tears away as you roamed through your purse. There was really no need to cry at this moment, but you couldn’t help it. You were fucking shaken from what had just happened. 

A curse rolled over your lips when your shaky hands missed the lock on your apartment door a second time. Stupid hands. And the dumb tears in your eyes didn't help you see what you were doing either. You just wanted to get inside, hide away in your room and avoid all of humanity for a solid week. And you wanted it to happen fast. Because you knew the conversation pending about two doors from this one and you dreaded it. 

It was shameful enough you came home crying from a date at this hour, you didn’t need a lecture on top of it. But Bucky had told you. He had told you that all men were dicks and that nothing good could come out of a drunken number jot down at a sports bar at 2 am. But you didn’t listen. You never listened to Bucky. Hell, you tolerated him on a good day, so you most certainly wouldn’t take advice from him. 

And that’s why you went out with that idiot poser boy John, really just to prove Bucky wrong. But, shit, it bruised your ego to admit he had been right this time. Not that you planned on telling him that. 

Fuck, no. 

Because all your roommate would do is give you an ‘I told you so’ when you really needed a good hug and a tequila girls' night. But that wouldn’t happen. He would never let you live down the worst date in history. 

First, that dickhead had tried to order you a salad and then he pretended to have forgotten his wallet and then, after you had brought him home, he had really thought the date had gone good enough to expect more than a fucking smack in the face. And after you had politely tried to tell him to fuck off, that asshole really tried to force himself on you. Luckily, his roommate had put an end to it before anything more could have happened, but it was enough to shake you to your core. 

An annoyed groan echoed through the door before it unlocked and revealed a shirtless Bucky beyond the threshold. He was staring at you broodily as you scrambled to get your key back into your purse and push past him but his disheveled hair and gray sweats made you halt for a second. 

“What happened?” If you weren’t so scattered, you would have never thought to see his eyes slightly soften at the sight of you. Bucky would never, though. It was just your shocked mind playing tricks on you. 

“Sorry for waking you,” you grumbled as you pushed past him, but Bucky blocked your way immediately. 

“What’s your problem?” You snapped as you stared up at him. But he didn’t say a thing. “That’s what I thought,” you whispered to yourself when you pushed at his chest to clear the way.

But Bucky was fast to snatch your wrist. A painful scream escaped your lips as you yanked your arm back, holding it securely to your chest while trying to fight the tears brimming again.

Fucking tears. You didn’t want to cry. 

His eyes quintet smaller before he closed the front door with a thud, while simultaneously reaching out to pull your hand back towards him - gentler this time. He pushed up your sleeve to reveal a swollen wrist beneath the cotton. Fuck, that looked worse than it felt. You hissed when his gaze caught yours again. 

“What happened?” His voice was less angry suddenly - insistent and calm, somehow.

You pulled your hand back a second time. “Just forget it, okay?” Not the lecture. Not now. 

But Bucky was fucking persistent. God, he was annoying. “Y/N. Who did this to you?”

You wanted to just leave but the tone of his voice let a shiver run down your spine. He was staring at you with those damn eyes again and now you really couldn’t stop the tears from falling anymore. It was too much. Too frustrating, too embarrassing.

“You were right okay?!” It broke out of you, your arm flailing in the air. “Are you happy? John Walker is a fucking asshole just like you said. Now leave me alone.”

You turned to the hallway, your sleeve wiping at your eyes while you heard Bucky follow you through the darkened room. “Not happening.”

“What?” You turned back angrily. You were so ready to just punch him right about now. Why couldn’t he just leave you be? It was bad enough as it was. 

“I’ll get you some ice.”

“Bucky-”

“No. Just shut up for once and let me at least try to apologize for my species.” He grumbled and you snorted in disbelief. What was wrong with him? 

Bucky just stared at you again, and you couldn’t shake the feeling he was waiting for your permission. As if he had ever wanted permission for doing anything. But when he didn’t move for another second you got serious again. “Sorry.”

With a silent nod, he disappears into the kitchen and you went about your bedtime routine. When you entered your room, freshly showered and in your pajamas, Bucky looked up at you. He was sitting on the edge of the bed with a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a towel, and he was wearing a shirt now too.

Shame, you thought, and immediately scolded yourself for it.

The shower had helped calm you down a little, but now that he was gently pushing the ice back to your wrist, your heart began to race again. The night had been fucking traumatic so far. And having your annoying wouldn’t-touch-you-with-a-six-foot-pole roommate be nice to you for once was terrifying. But at the same time, you felt as though you got to see a side of Bucky today he rarely showed to anyone. And, as much as you hated to admit it, it was nice to not fight with or ignore him for once. 

Another then minutes passed of you just sitting in silence, your mind racing with memories of the night and Bucky staring against the wall for the majority of it. You didn’t want to think about what would have happened had Lemar not intervened his dickhead roommate’s plan. But you couldn’t stop. It was all that occupied your mind and it made a whole new wave of anxiety wash over you. 

You were so deep in your nightmares, you hadn’t even noticed Bucky get up.

“Are you going to be okay?” He asked with his hand on the doorframe. 

You just spared him a quick glance and mumbled a hasty ‘I’ll be fine’ before you moved to lay down and roll on your side, facing your back to the door and Bucky. 

“Are you sure?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t want to tell him the truth. That you were terrified of being alone right now. That you would sleep way better if John Walker had gotten a knee in his balls and a restraining order. But you somehow couldn’t bring yourself to lie to him either. So you just stayed silent, your arms hugging your body as a slow tear ran down to your pillow. 

For a while, it was quiet, and you really needed to control your breathing, your muscles tense as you lay there. Hoping - wishing - for this to be over soon. But then you heard Bucky shuffle a few feet away from you and soon, your mattress dipped. 

A small but relieved smile snuck on your lips when you felt him carefully inch closer to you. You just lifted your blanket in response until Bucky was snugly pressed against you. His arm wrapped around you and you could feel him relax when your hand covered his. 

It was unusual but it felt so nice to be held.

Your breathing evened out with every second and after some time, a steady rhythm had settled within you. You actually relaxed against Bucky’s chest, his face resting in the crook of your neck - you were drifting off to sleep slowly, calmly.

But before you entirely tapped out, Bucky whispered into the darkness, a gruff annoyance in his tone. “If he ever tries something again, you tell me. I’ll make sure he’ll stay the fuck away from you.”

But it warmed you all the more. You wouldn’t take his kindness for granted, though. It meant a lot to you. “Thank you,” you sleepily mumbled as your head buried deeper in your pillow.

You saw Bucky’s frown before your eyes when his face pressed back into your skin. Funny how relationships shifted sometimes.

as always, reblogs and comments are so so so appreciated 🥰 check here for a morning after drabble

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[leclsrc]

team effort ✴︎ cl16, cs55

genre: 18+, pwp (very little plot), filthy, fem!reader 

word count: 3.3k 

It was supposed to be a one-time thing, but now you’re in-between your boyfriend and his teammate again. So really, maybe, this could become a regular thing. (sequel of sorts to this but can stand alone just fine)

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because… alright. a threesome, penetrative sex, anal sex, oral sex (M receiving), handjob (F receiving), double penetration (crowd leaves), dirty talk (degradation), crying, breeding, rough sex, size kink, requires suspension of belief regarding the inner workings of anal and positions apologies, spit kink (crowd leaves again)

probably the most requested thing i get, and i felt like practicing my pwp writing so—i hope you like it everyone! :) love auds

“Hey, you brought the pretty girl,” teases Carlos, a glass of alcohol in hand. He pushes it into Charles’ hand and you watch as your boyfriend takes a sip, vision semi-obstructed by how dark the place is. “Mind if I get a picture?”

“Course I did.” Charles smiles, and his left eye drops into a subtle wink. “And sure, she begged to come anyway.” His teammate laughs. “Nothing I haven’t heard before. Come say hi to the others.”

Your face turns hot when it registers what he’s just said, but it’s too late to get a quip in; a gentle hand at your waist is guiding you through the crowd of people, by the DJ booth, and into the seats just beside it populated by several familiar faces. You accept and return a few hellos and heeeys from Lando and Pierre, among others, and when a shot is offered to you by Danny, you take it.

Charles lets you wander around the area for a while to get used to the place, watches you laugh about something with Carmen and try your hand at the DJ table with Lando, combing your hair over to one side. You take a few shots because George feels like “letting loose” (he takes two). 

He sees a patch of concealer just below your collarbone; granted, it’d have been hidden if you were wearing something less low-cut than your dress right now, but he spots it and he immediately realizes what it is with an amused laugh.

When his eyes glide upward from your cleavage, he finds you’re already looking at him, eyes half-lidded and mouth tugged into a pretty smile. He sees you excuse yourself, walking right into his arms, pouting. He tips his glass over to your lips, pours some of his drink in.

“What’s the matter, baby? Wanna smoke?” He leans against the railing of the VIP area, seating himself there and pulling you close so you’re pressed up against him. You inhale his scent, his cologne, nip at his jaw. You always get so touchy when you’ve got some alcohol in you.

There’s a blunt or three being passed around, you smell it. “Nothing. I think ‘m getting a little tipsy, I don’t want to crossfade.” You blink and it’s like your eyelids are droopy with honey. The party’s thick with the heady scent of tequila, mixed perfume, weed, and saturated with heavy bass. If you’re totally honest you’ve lost track of time.

“There you are,” goes a voice, and you tense. 

“I was looking for you, too, mate.” Your boyfriend’s arm reaches to someone behind you and shakes. “Girlfriend’s feeling a bit tipsy.” He pulls his hand back in, rests it over your the small of your back. 

“You okay?” Carlos leans in, his voice hot against your ear. You blink, in a daze of tipsy and hot, nodding. You’re in between them now, still pressed against your boyfriend. Slowly, your head lolls onto Carlos’ shoulder, exposing your neck. If you stepped back just a bit, you realize—

—you’d feel Carlos’ dick pressed against your ass. “A little tired,” you say, opening your eyes to meet your boyfriend’s. Normally they’re green, but now they’re so dark you can barely tell. The limited lighting doesn’t help. Your knees are weak with the way you resist the urge to grind back onto Carlos, who’s laughing, observing your ditzy face. 

“Let’s get you out of here, huh?” Charles smiles. He’s always so sweet. Doing what you want, what you need, a nice guy in that respect. So he can take what he wants later. He and Carlos down the rest of their drinks, and they’re both ushering you out the back exit and directly into the parking lot.

It’s a direct replay of what happened a few months ago, and what happened a few times afterward. After dinners, races, nights out—it wasn’t too frequent, but enough that it became a thing. Enough, too, that you could grow antsy if it didn’t happen for too long. 

Your boyfriend brought a different car today, his Range Rover with a spacious backseat you’re being guided into. The lack of heavy bass and strobe lights help you feel more sober, but don’t help with the arousal at all. As you climb, your dress hikes up a bit, and Carlos catches a peek of your panties underneath, white and almost see-through, showing the outline of your pussy.

They’re on either side of you, your breath hitching when they lean in closer, lip caught between your teeth and eyes screwed shut. Your boyfriend’s hand grazes your thigh and you spread your legs, involuntary, sighing a low please. Please what, you don’t even know.

“You want this?” Charles asks. He takes things slowly, a dreamy smile on his face, eyebrows knitted together. His hand moves upward, and he runs a few teasing fingers over the lace of your white panties, pressing them harder until you’re starting to squirm, breathless ahs leaving your lips.

“Please,” you say, voice small and desperate. “Yes.”

Your approval makes them more excited; they’ve both missed this more than they’re willing to let on. Your mouth is half open, letting out noises, eyes half-open; Carlos wonders what you’d look like covered in cum. Both his and Charles’, splayed all over your pretty waiting face.

The first time this happened, Carlos watched for the most part. He’d been chained to the driver’s seat, listening to the wet noises of Charles’ fingers fucking into you. He made eye cotnact with you right as you came, a long, drawn-out moan leaving your mouth. He fucked you another time. And he’s missed the feeling. He’s missed the sight of your fucked-out face, moaning on his cock, or his teammate’s, or both.

You press your lips to Charles and he encourages you to part them, slowly deepening the kiss until you’re moaning into his mouth, hips bucking up into nothing. “Please,” you say, “give me something.” Anything, you’ll take anything.

Carlos brings two big fingers to his mouth, laves his tongue over them, and brings them to the apex of your thighs, pushing aside the lace and fucking them into you, one by one. You gasp into Charles’ mouth—his fingers are so thick, pumping in and out at a brutal pace without waiting for you to adjust to the strength. You whimper, breaking the kiss because everything’s too much, head leaning back and eyes meeting the grey ceiling of the car.

“God, she’s wet.” You hear the teasing smile without looking up. “And tight.”

“I know,” your boyfriend says, smiling as he sucks a hickey onto your throat. Your legs quiver. 

It’s Charles’ voice again, sweet and deep against your ear. “Feel good?”

“Yes,” you say, nodding eagerly, lifting your head up and looking right at him. 

“Thank him,” he orders. They always do this, make you talk and use your words when your brain is all scrambled and going a thousand different directions. It’s only worse when they start talking about you like you’re not there, using dirty words and sliding into native languages you can’t understand, but they can, and they laugh watching you whimper for more.

“Thank—thank you,” you whisper, turning from your boyfriend’s face to Carlos.

“You’re welcome, princesa. You’re going to make us feel good, too, right?”

You nod.

“Why don’t you start now?” The instruction comes from Charles and you follow suit, hands going from your sides to the tents in their jeans, grabbing at the huge bulges there. You’re losing grip, Carlos’ big fingers are moving faster, feeling your orgasm approach faster. 

Already? Shiiit, your boyfriend says with a low laugh. Go ahead and cum first, baby. Go ahead.

His words are so sweet, kissing up and down your neck, the stimulation pushing you further until you’re cumming from just two fingers. The messy squelch of Carlos’ fingers moving in and out of you gets them both so hard, aching to fuck you, take you apart, make your voice raw. Your moans grow louder and louder, legs trying to close around the hand in between them—they’re held open by two free hands and you have to lie there and take it.

“‘M cumming,” you gasp, tension bursting inside you, pussy contracting around Carlos’ digits. You squeeze at their bulges again, wishing you had the coherency to undo the buttons and the zips. They get the message, undoing their jeans just enough to pull out their cocks.

“Wanna suck you off,” you say, turning to Charles. Shyly, you add, “Both of you.”

The only way to do that is by kneeling on the limited floor space of the car. There’s not much space, and you shuffle around a few times, but eventually you find a position, legs folded and on your knees, in between the two of them.

They’re both looking down at you with dark eyes and devious, teasing grins that feel downright evil, hands wrapped loosely around their cocks. They jack themselves off a few times, and you hoist yourself up higher to watch closely, brows furrowed.

“Open your mouth,” Carlos says sharply, tone low and rushed. You obey, sticking your tongue out, and watch as he rubs the precum off his tip and onto your tongue. He laughs, looking at your boyfriend. “Look at that. Like that?”

“Yea,” you mutter, turning a bit to let your boyfriend to the same, letting your spit drip down from the tip so the glide is easier. He slaps your cheek with it, laughs at the way you pout, and advises Carlos to do the same. You turn again, taking Carlos into your mouth until he’s prodding at the back of your throat and it’s wet all over.

They love seeing you like this—with their precum being smeared al over your shiny, spit-covered cheeks and lips, tongue peeking out to get a taste every time they drag their cocks closer to your mouth. “She’s pretty, isn’t she?”

“Sucks dick like she was made for it,” Carlos says, punctuating his sentence with a quip in Italian. They both laugh as you gag around Charles’ dick, jerking Carlos off messily. You’re choking, precum coating the back of your throat and wrist wearing out.

“You look so pretty, baby.” Your boyfriend says, grunting with pleasure.

“Pretty lips, too, yeah?” Carlos says, his hand shadowing yours and making you jack him off faster.

“She can’t reply, Carlos. Too busy gagging on my dick,” Charles says, and your eyes well up with embarrassment that you’ve basically soaked through your panties from their words alone. You want them to cum, cover your lips and eyelashes with them so you can scoop it off and let them watch you swallow it. Be good for them, their good girl.

But they never like cumming if it’s not in you, or after they’ve been in you, so you anticipate the way you’re guided off your boyfriend’s cock by your hair. They tug your head backwards, a bit on the edge of roughly, exposing the column of your throat, littered with spit and lovebites.

Your pussy is getting wetter, dripping through your panties and onto your legs folded underneath. It’s the first thing they inspect when they heave you back into the middle of the backseat, bent over Carlos’ lap so your ass is on full display for Charles and, if he cranes his head, Carlos, too.

It’s humiliating. Your mind’s so hazy you can barely tell whose hands are whose, groping at your ass, pulling away the lace to reveal your puffy, wet cunt and letting the thin strip of fabric snap back to make you yelp. Two fingers push into you, going fast instantly until you’re sobbing for them to slow down. It’s Charles. You can tell because you feel the metal of his rings.

There’s a third at that point, stretching you out further, getting you even wetter and more desperate. You cum easily, overstimulated, tears rolling down your spit-streaked face as you quiver with it, blinking them away as you’re guided back into the middle. They maneuver themselves so they’re facing each other, your pussy right above Carlos’ tip, which is just beside your boyfriend’s.

You’re itching to sit yourself down, feel the familiar stretch of his dick, big and barely fitting when he stuffs himself inside you. It’s addictive. But there’s something Charles wants to do first, evident because he’s not yet letting you ride Carlos, his big hands bruising at your hips. “We’ve done enough to your pretty pussy, haven’t we? Your lips, too, that cute mouth.” He coos, almost. “But there’s something we haven’t even touched tonight, baby.”

Carlos’ hands spread your cheeks apart and Charles’ spit-soaked thumb rubs over your tight hole, causing you to shiver. Oh, God. You squirm above their laps, heart beating with nerves and arousal, pussy rubbing over the tips of their dicks as you go. “I’m nervous,” you whimper.

“Aw, go give Carlos a kiss,” your boyfriend says, his voice teasing and goading. You lean forward, slotting your mouth onto Carlos’ soft lips, parting them with your tongue immediately. He gets you all needy when you kiss him, smiling and enjoying your mindless, needy little grinds. As you kiss him, messy with spit and tongues colliding, you feel fingers teasing you again.

You whimper, Carlos’ hands roughly pulling the low-cut top of your dress down to grope at your tits, roughing them up, flicking your nipples. You moan out loud, caught up in the multiple sensations; your boyfriend loosens you up until his finger goes deep, deeper, bottoming out and stretching your ass out.

He collects some of your slick to lube another finger up, stuffing two into your tiny little hole. You gasp with the new feeling, lips open against Carlos’, who wraps a hand around your throat to guide you into kissing him again. Distractions. Pleasure.

“Jesus, she’s tight,” Charles says, not addressing you at all.

“She’s being really good for me up here,” Carlos replies, squeezing your tits. “Taking everything I give her.”

“Give me more,” you beg, licking over his lips until he’s parting them to kiss you messily all over again. You’re unaware, lost in the numb pleasure and dull painful stretch, that there are three buried in your ass now. He should prep more, Charles figures, but he’s impatient, just wanting to wreck you already, fuck moans out of you until you’re crying.

He nudges the tip of his dick against your ass, slipping the head in and listening to your ohhh as he goes, groaning. It hurts, Charles, you whisper, but your whine is swallowed into a kiss. 

“Relax, baby,” he says, gritting his teeth. “Just relax.”

You’re so tight, squeezing him so, so tight as he bottoms out.

You’re clenching around him so hard he could cum, pump all his cum in you and watch it leak out. But he’s patient. He’s sweet. He lets Carlos finally coax his own cock up your cunt, where the glide’s easier, but the stretch now is unfathomable. You blink tears out of your eyes, ones of pain that slowly become unbelievable pleasure, moans spilling forth from your lips, slick gushing out of your puffy cunt.

Carlos thrusts upward, deep, and eventually Charles finds a rhythm too, your legs spread and eyes rolling back with how fast they’re slamming into you. You want to move, you want to avoid the pleasure from how overwhelming it is, the way it feels when they both bottom out at the same time ans you can feel the way your stomach bulges with Carlos’ cock.

“Slow down,” you whine, but they only laugh, watching your face grow more sweaty and flushed and debauched.

“Feel good?” Charles asks. “Use your words, love.”

“S—so fucking good,” you say, words punched out of you thrust by thrust. Carlos leans forward, brings his flushed forehead just flush of yours, both of you bobbing in time with their thrusts, and spits messily into your half-open mouth. Most enters, some splatters over your lips, and your eyes darken with it. You’re certain you’ve cum again just from that.

“Swallow it,” he laughs. “Be a good slut.” His eyes break from yours and meet Charles’, and they exchange a few quips in Italian before your boyfriend’s hand is raking you backwards, leaning over and spitting again. He pushes your cheek around a little, laughing at your docile, fucked-out face.

“Swallow that now,” he says. “Both of them.”

Obediently, you shut your lips, your whimpers pausing as you swallow their spit down. Your cheeks are burning with embarrassment.

“There you go,” Carlos says. You’re absolutely falling apart on their dicks, wet and messy and hot, your legs quivering with it. Carlos slams up harder, pressing your lips together again so he can feel your moans, hear your cute little voice saying Carlos please let me cum  right by his ear.

He pulls out, moving himself higher to use your mouth instead; the added space gives Charles the opportunity to fully bend you over, on your knees and too weak to use your elbows, face smushed against Carlos’ dick. You’re shaking, pussy still trembling and tears of overstimulation rolling down your cheek. You’re struggling to take his dick well, but Charles keeps fucking you, determined to finish.

He pushes you down so your back arches deeper, your lips parted around Carlos’ huge cock. “That’s right,” he groans. “Take it, come on, be a good girl for me.”  

“She’s so tight still,” he says to Carlos. The latter’s hand strokes over your hair, pulls at it, grips at either side of your throat so he can fuck your face properly. He fucks your throat hard, watches you cough and squirm around his spit-coated cock, his balls slapping your face every time he bottoms out. He’s close—Charles is close—and you’ve cum twice again now, pulling off and whimpering I’m cumming— before finishing, gushing release all over your thighs.

“It’s our turn now,” Charles orders. They pull you off at the same time, and you go on your knees again on the floor, gazing up at them with big eyes and a flushed, pretty face, lips pink and puffy from having just been fucked. 

You reach two hands up and jerk them both off again, both their hands guiding you to go faster, faster and faster until—

You flinch, the first hot spurt landing just on your cheek, then your lips, then a bit on your nose. Somewhere in between, Carlos presses his tip to your lips, coaxing them open so he can shoot cum on your tongue and chin. They lean back, collapsing onto the backseat, heaving sighs.

They both look down at you, your nasty, cum-coated face, smiling up at both of them. Carlos blinks a couple times and then smiles. “Hey, mind if I get a picture?”

[lottiecrabie]

don’t fuck the line cooks. part two – matty healy

ever since that night in the walk-in, you can only think about the next time. hopefully if you push and prod him enough, you’ll get your way…

warnings: 18+, fingering, oral sex (m and f receiving), unprotected sex, masturbation, public sex, drug use, sex under the influence, degradation, choking, overstimulation, dom/sub dynamics, authority kink, problematic age gap problematic age gaping, sleazy man is even sleazier in this somehow

part two of two

18,294 words

You lick the salt off the back of your hand, shooting the cheap tequila, immediately wincing from the taste and worsening it with a bite of tart lime. You shake your head, hoping to flick acid off your tongue. 

“God,” you say for good measure. “I can’t seem to get used to this.”

Beside you, Veronica laughs, eating the lime off the rind. She gives you a green smile, features uncrinkled. She is used to this. “It’ll come with age.” 

You roll your eyes. “You’re only four years older than me.”

“Yeah, but you were severely stunted for the twenty-one first years of your life, so the difference is staggering.” 

“Ar-ar. You’re hilarious.” 

“I know.” She flicks the lime rind on the counter, a disheveled green skin rid of meat. She licks the leftover salt off her lips— with some of her bright red lipstick, too. She grabs your wrist next, shimmying her shoulders as she reels you from the bar. “C’mon. Let’s dance.” 

“My feet hurt,” you pout in mock-protest, but your limbs are loose from the booze and you’re easily whisked away to the dancefloor. 

The Darling is the nearest bar from the restaurant with the cheapest alcohol. It’s a dirty thing, drenched in obscurity and the occasional neon sign, smelling like sweat and cigarettes, and sticky to walk on. It plays the same songs over and over again— every night for the past decade, the same playlist booms from the speakers. You know the tunes by heart now, screaming the lyrics without a single title coming to mind. 

The Darling is where everyone crashes after shift drinks, itching for a bigger buzz and a dance. Your coworkers crowd the place, talking to the bartenders like old friends, familiarly finding the labyrinthine way to the toilets. (Find the bar, take a turn to your right, follow a dark corridor, beside the kitchen to the left.)

You’re sore and tired from a double, a neck vein nearly popped when a customer dared ask for—no, insist on a steak half rare-half medium on each side uncut. Dread filled you when you approached the kitchen, putting on a dazzling smile to transmit the ridiculous request. Sighs, and swears, and that shake of head that makes his curls bounce filled the room as he got to work, frustrated and pissed, but obedient still. 

Him. You spin on your feet, finding Matty still at the bar, sipping on a dark drink with George. You smile, eyes twinkling, detaching yourself from your friend as you sway towards him. You practically fall on his side— his hand catches you at your waist, near your hip, decidedly inappropriate, but instinctive. 

“Hullo,” you say in a poor imitation of their accents. George snorts. “Watcha drinking?” You ask Matty, scrunching your nose. 

He arches an eyebrow, sliding the glass towards you. “Have a taste.” You grab it without hesitating, knocking a mouthful and immediately regretting it. You cough, shaking your head. That’s straight liquor. Matty laughs, soothingly rubbing a hand on your back. “You okay?” 

“What is wrong with you?”

“Aw, princess,” he coos, taking a sip of his whiskey and not even twitching as the bitter taste washes his mouth. “You’ll like it when you’re older.” 

Again, you roll your eyes. Taking an easy dig at your age when he’s been between your thighs some nothing-days ago is hypocritical. The retort burns your tongue, but you bite it back for present company. Matty looks at you a little gleefully, like he knows, like it amuses him. 

You turn to George with a smile. “What about you? Are you drinking something sane?” 

He snorts. “Just a rum and coke, sweets. I’m afraid it’s not very special.” 

You reach for his drink anyway and he offers it gladly, metal rings around the cool glass. You tip it, smiling at the sweetness, licking it off your lips. “George, you have much better taste.” 

“Hey!”

“I know.”

“Order me a drink, will you?” You say, fluttering your eyelashes at him. As though you would even need the extra persuasion; he’s already shouting a drink at a bartender, putting it on Matty’s tab with a point of a thumb. 

Matty rolls his eyes beside you, his fingers digging into your waist in warning. Something low simmers between your legs. You smirk to yourself. You like the feel of that. 

“There you go,” George says, passing you the orange drink that’s been slapped on the counter. “A sweet drink for a sweet girl.” 

You smile gratefully at him, tasting it. It’s fruity and light; your lips stretch up. “Thanks, George.” 

“‘Course.” 

Ross crashes in your group, swinging an arm over George’s shoulder, clearly smashed. “Mate, they fixed the PacMan machine.” 

“No way. Is my score still on it?”

“DICKH3AD bright and red!” With a laugh, the two of them whisk away to the arcade game, off somewhere to the left, tucked between two tables. 

You’re alone with Matty now. A thrill resonates within you— it’s silly. It’s not like he’s gonna bend you over this bar and take you right this moment, in front of anyone. It’s not like he’s done anything of the sort since the walk-in fridge. Still, you spin to face him, arching an eyebrow, practically inviting him to. 

He sees the meaning tacked onto your eyelashes, clear as day, yet he does nothing but grin to himself, taking a sip of his awful whiskey on rocks. 

You huff, opting for another strategy. “Are you upset I asked George to order me a drink?” You try instead, hoping to prod and poke until he snaps again— finally. 

Matty smirks. “I’d have picked something lighter. Little girl like you can’t handle her liquor yet.” He pouts, “She’s just started drinking.” Your fingers grip around the glass, something hot and shameful dripping inside of you. 

“Why? Have plans for me I can’t be drunk for?” 

Matty leans back on his stool, properly looking at you. His gaze licks up your naked legs, your short skirt, your white top. Your heart beats twice as fast. Subconsciously, you straighten, needing to be taller, older, more mature. To satisfy, to excel. 

“If I said yes, would you not drink it?” His eyes flick to the orange glass between your clenched hands. It’s barely sipped, condensation running on your fingers. He meets your gaze next. There’s a game of chess, and you can’t seem to figure out what he wants. How to win. 

You want to win. You need to win. You feel it throbbing between your legs, that desperate urge. 

You drop the glass on the counter. It clinks on the wood, then settles, pretty and discarded. His turn. 

Matty smiles, satisfied. He stands from his stool, and a surge of excitement shoots up your spine. You don’t need the alcohol when you have him anyway.

Matty leans in, then pats your shoulder. “The boys are waiting for me.” He sidesteps you, then gets lost into the crowd. You watch him go, mouth parted in offense and disbelief. 

What a fucking dickhead. You make a low noise of annoyance, taking your glass and slurping half of it down in rebellion. You march to one of the empty booths, rage twisting your guts. 

You just want him to fuck you. It’s been five days. What is he waiting for? 

You slide into the sticky bench, ruminating in your anger as you chew on the plastic blue straw of your cocktail. 

“Hey,” Landon, a server, nods at you as he pulls into the opposite side of the booth. You nod back. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but I’m growing tired of The Darling’s playlist.” 

“Take two shots. It’ll be back.” 

“Sage advice.” He tips his chin towards your drink. “Are you taking revenge for turtles or has this straw personally wronged you?”

You sigh, letting go of the plastic, pushing the glass away from you. “It’s killed my family. Arson, you see? It was brutal.” 

“I would offer my condolences, but that would mean my boss is dead, and I’m not the biggest fan of his. Would a muted hooray be acceptable?” 

You huff, smirking at him. “Bold of you to tell the boss’ daughter.” 

“Well, I’m quite drunk.” 

You smile. “I’ll cheer to that.” You knock your empty glass to his beer mug. 

Landon gasps. “In the eyes,” he chastises. “Or it’s seven years of bad sex.” You laugh, opening your eyes comically wide to cheer him next. You’ve just broken the curse. You’re not about to be pulled back into mediocre hookups now. “Better,” he nods, finally taking a sip of his beer.

You haven’t talked to Landon much before, nothing other than pleasantries and the quick quips exchanged between two tables. You quickly find that he’s funny, pulling snorting laughs out of your tipsy mouth as he recounts some of his worst customer stories like grand, epic tales. He offers sips of his beer graciously, then buys you your own when the supply is diminishing. You don’t even like beer, but you accept the gift nonetheless, letting the awful taste fizz in your mouth and slacken your head. 

A hand over your mouth, you half-hide your laugh as it bursts out of you. “I can’t believe you would say that!” 

“And I got fired for it,” Landon argues, screaming a defense. 

“Well, obviously—”

“What’s the funny story?” Both of you jump in surprise at the intruder. Turning towards the voice, you find Matty sliding in the booth next to you. 

Already, he takes his place like he owns it, spreading through the leather seats. His legs part comfortably, his thigh sticks to yours, his arm hangs over the back of the booth, tickling your nape. He wraps a hand around your beer, pulling it towards him, taking a sip shamelessly. He sits like he owns you. 

You roll your eyes, taking back your mug, though you hold it between your hands and don’t drink it. Silence reigns around the table. Neither you or Landon feel particularly inclined to talk. 

“C’mon,” Matty pokes, looking back and forth between the two of you. “I want to know the funny story.” 

“It’s just about this customer at my old job who was an asshole,” Landon laughs easily to his credit. “Bet you heard a thousand like it before.” 

“Yeah,” Matty nods, “I bet I did.” There’s something dark in his eyes, in the intensity of his gaze on Landon, like there is some hidden insult he’s supposed to catch. 

Matty’s eyes fall on you next, flicking to the beer and then back to your daggering glare, cocking his head condescendingly. “I didn’t know you liked beer.” He says it like some genuine question, but you know he knows the answer. 

“It’s okay,” you say tightly. 

“Mmh, yeah,” Matty smirks. “I’m sure Landon could give you a lot of okay things.” Your smile crisps on your face. The fucking asshole. 

“Landon,” you practically shout, turning towards him in a desperate attempt to ignore Matty. “I heard you were applying for the position of lead server?” 

Matty snorts. “Did your daddy tell you that?” 

You grit your teeth, “As a matter of fact, yes.” You smile at Landon. “He wanted my opinion. I’ll tell him I think you’d be great.” 

“Thanks,” he smiles at you genuinely. “I promise I won’t call anyone a raging hormonal grade A wanker.” 

You laugh. “Oh, please do if I ever need it.” You shake your head, twisting the beer in your hands, but still avoiding the aftertaste that would linger in your mouth. “Yesterday, I had a woman who—”

Matty’s hand rests on your naked thigh, cold from the glass and a smoke outside, rough in sinfully familiar ways, spreading over your leg like this, too, he owns. You stifle a gasp. The words die in your mouth. 

“Who what?” Matty encourages you, frowning at you like he’s not perfectly aware of what he’s doing under the table. 

As though he’s trying to entirely rob the words out of your mouth, he trails his fingertips up and down your thigh, raising goosebumps on the skin. You throw him a glance with some furious demand to quit it, but there’s a deeper need for him to do just the opposite. 

You rake your throat, flipping back to Landon. “She came in already pissed and prissy, telling me she’s never gotten a good experience here. Why she bothers to come back is completely beyond me. I mean, you would think she would give up then, because—”

Matty’s hand dips to your inner thighs and your lips hang open, mind shortcircuiting. Without even thinking, you spread them for him, giving him further space. He smirks at that, at the resounding blush on your cheeks as you realize what you’ve done. 

He presses into the meat of your leg, one finger at a time, so you’re so aware of him you might get dizzy. His pinky slips under the hem of your skirt, inching close to inappropriate. 

“Um, anyway,” you laugh awkwardly, desperate to get through this story. Your face heats up, the knowledge of Matty’s teasing under the table — in front of Landon — burning at your mind. Matty chuckles beside you. You rake your throat. “I try to do my best, you know— smile so fucking wide I could rip my cheeks— but she’s just asking me stupid question after stupid question like this is an interrogatory or something.”

Your eyes flicker between Landon and Matty, moving from amused eyes to a condescending nod, urging you on as a warm hand slips further and further up your thigh. Pleasure wakes up in your belly— just a little, just the idea of what it could be. God, you need him, and the worst is that he knows, staring at you so fucking cocky and proud. 

You stutter, “And— And she speaks to me like I’m the dumb one in this interaction! I mean, she’s asking me the size of our salad leaves because if they’re too big then I’ll have to cut them and yet—”

Matty’s finger meets the apex of your thighs. You jump, hips rolling into his hand, hand flying to your mouth to cover a moan you just barely avoid letting out. You need this story over. 

Matty seems to predict your plan to wrap it up, wasting no time to linger and tease and brush, instead rubbing his fingers up and down, pressing into your soaked underwear. You clamp around his hand, biting your lip. 

“So she pulled me every which way during my whole shift and—” He finds your clit easily, pressing on it through the cloth, making lazy circles that have your legs shaking under the table nonetheless. Pleasure rushes up them, burning with memory and apprehension. 

Your voice trembles as you continue, “—and I had to scream in the fridge so I wouldn’t lunge at her from the table—” You make the mistake of looking Matty’s way and he grins at you knowingly, the crow’s feet by his eyes denting as he licks mischief off his lips. His fingers push your underwear aside. 

You grip his wrist under the table, but he gathers a pool of your arousal still, as though to point out how much this little game is actually affecting you, no matter your useless protests. Your breath hitches. He pinches your bud meanly. Your head spins and spins deliriously. 

You focus on Landon, rushing out. “And then she tipped me 2%.” You grin at him cartoonishly big and fake, practically screaming, “Your turn!” 

“I think I remember that,” Matty cuts in before Landon can say anything. He teases your entrance and a jolt of ecstasy zaps through you. He smirks, “You screaming in the walk-in.” You glare at him, remembering being so wet and tired in the fridge you thought you might liquify and melt on the floor, holding onto his back for dear life as he thrusted inside of you, over and over, finding that perfect spot that had you screaming. 

You’re red and hot and fuck it. You stand up, his hand falling out of your skirt. “Actually, I need a smoke.”

Matty stands up beside you. “I have a pack.” You’re off before Landon can add anything, lost to the swallowing crowd of drunk service workers. 

You make a beeline for the bar. Matty catches up to you easily, knocking against your side, clearly so fucking pleased with himself. If you weren’t so turned on you think you could actually catch fire, you might tell him to fuck off. 

You turn to the right into a dark corridor. “He wasn’t flirting with me,” you say through gritted teeth because you would like to at least establish that. 

Matty snorts. “Don’t be naive. He fucking wanted you.” 

“It’s not because I have a conversation with a guy that we’re automatically about to get it on.” 

He scoffs. “I know guys, and I know that guy would have gotten it on with you right there on the fucking table if you had asked.” You roll your eyes, which only seems to piss him off. “And what were you doing giggling at him?” 

“Am I not allowed to laugh?” 

“Landon isn’t that fucking funny. The guy barely has enough wit to sustain a conversation.” 

“You don’t even know him,” you protest with a disbelieved laugh. Kitchen. To the left. 

“I’ve worked with the bloke for three years. If he’s told a joke in that time, I’ve yet to be around to hear it.” 

You push the bathroom door, giving him a prissy look behind your shoulder. “Well, you’re missing out. Maybe you should talk to people other than waitresses half your age—” The bathroom door slams behind the both of you. Matty grabs both your cheeks and crashes his mouth against your lips. He shuts you up with a heated tongue and sure, callused fingers on your skin, and it works. 

You part your mouth instinctively, kissing him back with fervor and unbridled need. Adrenaline shoots up your spine, alongside childish glee, the thrilled knowledge that this is finally happening. The argument is a faraway concept you don’t care about. 

Your hands dig into his back, clutching on the flimsy material of his washed-out white shirt, wishing to rip it off of him. He groans into your mouth, tilting his head and kissing you harder. 

Matty pushes you against the door, fixing you in place with a hand on your hip and another palming roughly at your breast. You moan in his mouth, lick into his with devotion. Your fingers hide in the mess of his curls, tugging. Hoping it makes him a little crazy— the instinct to poke and prod and tug for something still boiling inside of you. 

And it works. His fingertips dig into your hip, pressing meanly into the bone, and he shivers. He kisses you with abandon, stealing each breath from your mouth until you’re drunk on the lack of oxygen and him. He tastes like whiskey and cigarettes, and you kiss and kiss and kiss until your mind swirls lazily in your skull. 

He bites your lip, tugging it and releasing it with a smirk. You whine, so fucking wet it drips down your thighs, titling your hips in hope of finding some friction. You tremble between his arms and you know, desperately, deliciously, annoyingly, that he has you right where he wants. 

“Please,” you whisper in the dark of the bathroom, already pleading your case like you know you’ll have to. Matty licks his lips, digging under the risen hem of your skirt. “Please, please, please, Matty,” you rush immediately again, rolling your hips against nothing. 

“What do you want?” 

“You.” You take his wrist, puppeteering his hand up and up until it finds the wet patch of your underwear. You bite your lip, a gasp seconds away from spilling. “Your fingers.”

“Mine, huh?” He says, and indulgently slips your underwear aside. This time, nothing stops the resulting breathy moan. “Those fingers?” He brushes up your entrance, finding your clit and rubbing gently at it. 

You roll your eyes, letting your last hand fall to his shoulder and clutching it for support. “Yes.” As though satisfied with your answer, he rewards you with speed, circling and swiping at you until your face breaks open with a silent moan. Pleasure blooms in your belly. Finally. Every aching muscle in you sings in unabashed thrill. “Fuck, Matty.” 

He dips into your neck, kissing and licking at the delicate curve, climbing up your jaw. He’s unrelenting between your thighs and you simply grip his wrist, letting yourself be washed with euphoria. Those calluses might kill you one day.

“You’re so fucking desperate for me,” he says, and though the words are harsh, the tone is reverent. He looks down at you, at your body bending and parting just for him, at your pleading stare, at your red, panting mouth. Devours the sight. “Got you so fucking ready just from touching you under the table. Did you like it, princess? Liked being bad? Liked getting fingered in front of your little buddy?” 

You nod furiously. Pleasure loosens your head enough to lose the inherent need to be a rule-abiding, prim, moral girl. Yes to taboo, yes to indency, yes to anything if it’s him. 

“Bet he’d be so upset if he saw you now. Should we go get him? Give him a show?” Faintly, you shake your head, embarrassment and ecstasy spinning your mind. You moan into his neck, desperate. Your hips grind against his hand for more. 

He presses into your clit, making your eyes roll with a gasp. “He’d love to see you like this. Fucked out when I’ve barely even touched you. Making the prettiest sounds ever. God, I could fucking hear them all day. All desperate and whiney, like you can’t get enough of me.” He rubs at you twice as fast just to hear you whimper, muffled by a bite of his shoulder. His name drowns in the fibers, shirt wet by a slack mouth. 

“I can’t,” you admit, shaking in his arms.  

“Fucked the old, dirty man at work and now you can’t fucking live without his cock, right? What would they all think if they saw you, cockdrunk and fucking begging for it?” 

“Yes! Just— Fuck, just do something, sir.” 

“So fucking wet for me,” he coos, all proud and pleased. You grin, letting go of his shoulder to press kisses up his neck. He shudders. “We should show them, right? At least let them hear it.” Two of his fingers dip to your entrance and enter, slowly, letting the pornographic, squelching sound resonate through the quiet room. “There you go.”  

You’re too blissed out to care how it sounds, too busy getting used to the delicious stretch of his digits to fully notice how each thrust makes sopping, wet noises. You shiver, gripping his shoulder, biting wherever you can get your teeth into. Matty groans in your ear and you grin, happy. 

“No one can fuck you like this,” Matty whispers, and indulgently speeds up his movement, curling into you as a reminder. 

Euphoria coils in your belly, familiarly burning and tightening the strings of your body. You shake your head. “No one,” you agree, religious. 

“No one can get you off.”

Again, you grip his shoulders, promising, “No one.” And it’s true. Even your own hand has been a poor replacement to the art he can draw on your skin, making your body sing like his favorite instrument. His thumb rolls at you in tandem, a fast, harsh tempo. “Fucking hell,” you cry and scrunch your face. 

He smirks, whispering, “No one can see you like this.”

“No one, Matty. Only you.”

Matty kisses your cheek, a serpent smile on his lips. He coos in the shell of your ear, “Then why were you flirting with him?” He doesn’t want you to mistake his sweet tone: he pulls out of you. 

Your eyes flash open, fear gripping your guts. Your cunt already misses him, throbbing around nothing. The taste of pleasure lingers on your teeth, just out of reach. 

“I wasn’t,” you try to plead, but Matty’s already stepping away from you. Your arms fall to your side. Matty nods, but it doesn’t reassure anything in you, now hyperaware of the dangerous gleam in his eyes. “I swear, Matty. I didn’t— He just made me laugh.” You shake your head, chuckling, “Who fucking cares about Landon Williams?” 

Your hand reaches out, grabbing his and drawing it back under your raised skirt. You brush it against your soaked underwear, biting your lip as it makes contact. You whisper, “He doesn’t do this to me.”

Matty is unimpressed. “Of fucking course not.” He bites, pulling away. You pout, displeased, too empty to think. He crosses his arms before you get any other ideas. “Did you finish that drink, princess?” Your cheeks heat up and you look down, caught. He snorts meanly. “Say it.” 

“Yes, but—” 

He cuts you off, furrowing his eyebrows in a comical pout, as though speaking to a little child. “Where did my good little girl go? So fucking eager to please. Brought up with manners and all, right?” 

He takes a step, tilting your chin up with a strong thumb. You part your lips, readied and offered, pleading. “You taste like beer,” he whispers, and then offers a solution: two wet fingers, just out of reach. The message clicks. You don’t hesitate.

You get on your tiptoes, sticking your neck out to catch the digits and suck them between your lips. You roll your tongue around them, moaning with a full mouth, letting the tangy taste of you linger. You release him with a pop, grinning up at him proudly.

You keep it wide open, waiting, and he smirks at you. Knowing exactly what you’re asking for, he bends and spits in your mouth. Sick pleasure fills your mind and you moan, swallowing it, barely catching your breath that he’s muttering, “You’re so fucking dirty,” and falling on your lips. 

You kiss him back eagerly, trying to keep up with his angry, furious pace. You’re wound up so tight you might burst from any touch: just a brush, just a flick, just a thrust and you’d be screaming his name, falling apart on his callused hand. 

“Matty,” you beg between two kisses. You throb around nothing. 

“Taste much better, sweetheart,” he breathes.

He presses a kiss on your lips, then pulls away from you again. You’re whining before he’s even had time to unwrap you from his arms, release your tits from his palms. You frown at him. You’ve done everything he asked. 

“Let this be a lesson, princess.”

“Are you fucking serious?” You cross your arms, fuming. He’s really gonna leave now? Matty seems a bit too happy at your reaction, watching you like his favorite entertainment. 

He smiles, stroking your hair. “How else are you supposed to learn?” He pouts. “If I can’t have my good girl, I’ll make her.” He brushes the saliva and gloss off your lower lip, then opens the bathroom door. 

It falls close with a slam. You stare at the graffitied, dirty mirror and think you might murder someone.

—

Matty is sizzling some meat, twisting salt and pepper above it. The kitchen staff runs around him— they’re late, falling behind because of a missing aioli sauce. 

You wait for your plate and dagger him with a glare. You’re still sticky and unsatisfied from yesterday; you spent until the early hours of the day rubbing between your thighs, desperately trying to satisfy some itch. 

Matty’s eyes rise up as though feeling the handmark of your stare on him. They lock with yours, take in your displeased, furious look, and he smirks. Winks at you. You grab the hot plate sliding across from you with a huff. 

Walking away with a balancing tray, you secretly wish for him to tug you into the nearest bathroom until the whole restaurant knows his name. He doesn’t, of course, and you find your hungry guests with the fakest, biggest smile of all. 

—

The restaurant is eerily calm before the dinner rush, a few seated tables scattered across sections: rushed parents and elderly folks slurping soup. You have just enough of a break to chug the bottle of water you keep at the host stand, pestering Adam as you finally have a minute to quench your thirst. 

Veronica finds you at the stand, leaning both elbows on the wood as she smiles sickly sweet at you. Your eyes narrow in apprehension. “I just got asked something interesting.” You arch an eyebrow. “Landon wants to know if you and Matty are a thing. Said Matty practically pissed all over you two days ago.” 

Your lips don’t even twitch. “Okay.” 

Veronica gives you an expectant look. “Well?” 

Beside you, Adam turns to his computer and decidedly chooses to ignore this. “I am not part of this conversation,” he declares. 

You roll your eyes. “We’re not a thing.”

Veronica laughs. “Oh, come on. No one here is blind. You guys eyefuck so much sometimes we feel like we’re intruding just by picking up a plate.” Admittedly, your cheeks heat up slightly at that. You didn’t think you were that obvious.

She sighs, giving you a serious look. “Just be careful. I don’t think you know what you’re getting yourself into. He’s not like the little goody-goody boyfriends you’ve had. He’ll eat you alive.”

You flutter your eyelashes, faux doe-eyed. “Promise?”

“Reservations, tables, tables. Mmh, chairs.”

You give her a look, entirely ignoring Adam’s interjection. “I’m young, Vee, but I’m not stupid. I’m telling you there’s nothing going on. We’re just having sex.” You click your tongue. “And even then, we’ve only done it, like, once. Once and a half at most.” 

“And a half?” Adam pipes up, then seems to remember who you’re talking about. He raises one hand, shaking his head, defeated. “I don’t even want to know.” He practically bends over the stand to see the computer, as though if he just got close enough to the screen, he could be sucked into its world. 

“I’m leaving for college in less than two months,” you continue. “I’m not trying to date him, or whatever other tragic ways you think he’s gonna break my heart.” You smirk, shrugging, “I just find the gray hair hot.” Veronica snorts at that. 

Still, there’s something relieved in her eyes. Maybe even proud. She smiles at you, then turns to Adam. “And what does Matty have to say about it?”

“No comments.” 

She gasps, facing you with an excited grin. “That means he’s talked about you!” You bite your lip. Could he have? What did he say? 

Veronica is already on it. She pokes Adam’s arm, forcing him to look up at her. “What has he said? C’mon.” She gives him a solemn look, holding her heart. “This is a safe space.”

“That it’s none of my business,” Adam deadpans. “And neither is it yours, brat.”

Before Veronica can add anything, a family of four enter the door, wiping off their sweaty, red foreheads. They laugh as they approach the stand, mentioning the weather. Adam practically jumps to greet them, begging them to follow him. 

“I’m sitting them in your section. That’ll give you something useful to do,” Adam hisses at Veronica, and she pokes her tongue out at him. 

She waits until he’s just out of earshot to trail, “Now that he’s gone…” She faces you with a smirk, rounding the stand and joining you. She gives you a teasing look, biting back a grin. “How was the sex?” You can’t stop the smile shining on your face. It breaks your cheeks. She gasps. “Oh, I knew it. Julia said he was the best sex of her life, too.” 

“She didn’t lie,” you admit, flushed. You cock your head. “You haven’t slept with him?” You’re almost surprised. For all her don’t fuck the line cooks warnings, you had assumed she must have been burned before. 

“Nah,” she shakes her head. She trails, teasing, “I was too busy with Ross.” 

“Hypocrite!”

“I never said anything about bartenders!” But before you can tease her more, Adam calls her name and Veronica’s off with a spin and four menus, blowing you a kiss.

—

It’s dark outside. The street lamps slope over cars, bathing the street in semi-obscurity. You cross your arms, some pretend at a shield. The crew has long left for The Darling while you finished up your closing duties. You wiped your forehead and found yourself too tired to handle another boozy, dancy night, to wake up the next day still a little drunk and off-kilter for a grueling Saturday shift. 

Something catches the corner of your eye. Your head turns, squinting to be sure you’re not mistaken. No, it really is Matty’s car parked in the alleyway. You’d recognize the dirty, beat-up thing anywhere for all the rides it has given you—not in the sense you would like. At least you can ask for one now, avoid the stressful walk home, clenched and quick, holding keys between your fingers. 

You dip into the dark alleyway, walking the cigarette butts-lined path. The car is smoky, a gray curtain to the outside world. You frown, knocking on the window of his backseat. Matty opens the door, bloodshot eyes staring at you, eyebrow arching. He holds a joint in one hand and the door’s handle in the other. The earthy smell attacks your nostrils; you scrunch your nose. 

“Don’t let the smoke out,” Matty chastises, sliding away to leave a spot beside him. 

Your brain throbs in your head. Flashes of grand preachy speeches given to friends as they passed bongs at parties come back to you. Embarrassingly, you flush and step into the car, closing the door behind you. 

Matty grins at you, pleased, taking a hit of his joint and blowing the smoke into the car. The air is heavy and thick, pressing against your skin. This is such a bad idea. 

“What are you still doing here?” You ask. He pointedly looks at the joint as though obvious. You roll your eyes. “You could do that at home.”

He shrugs, “Didn’t want to.”

“Are you gonna drive?” 

“Was planning to, yeah.” Your lips part for a scathing, moralizing reply, but he cuts you off, repeating in that same tone of yours, “Are you gonna give me a sermon?” 

You scowl. “Was planning to, yeah.” Matty chuckles. He knows you far too well already. 

“I’d leave if I were you, princess. This car’s becoming a hotbox.” 

You should, of course. Weed has carcinogens, and causes lung damages, and slows development, and wrecks the body’s natural nutrient reserve, and all the other priggish arguments you’ve known and repeated by heart. 

But Matty has a loose grin you find a little adorable. Gray-streaked hair flops as he leans his head on the backseat, lips drooping with the weight of the joint. The shape of them is addictive, a perfect O as he blows smoke out, just like he would on the inside of your thighs to get you to jump and squirm for him. 

Your breath is heavy. You feel stuck to the leather seats, skin gluing you in place to watch and rewatch the show he gives you. 

And, really, you’re a little curious about what weed is. Your friends have all indulged at some time or the other; your dormmate used to crack a window, light a candle, and infest the room with the earthy smell as if it would cover any of it up; even your mom would laugh and wave smoke away when you caught her off the clock with her coworkers back in LA. 

Matty laughs, languid and slack and, fuck, it’s such a pretty sound. “You don’t want to, do you?” He teases. Your cheeks heat up. “It’s okay, princess. Don’t even need to smoke it. Just breathe the air and save your pretty pink lungs. You can even do your little speech to me if it’ll make you feel better.” 

“Don’t condescend me,” you say, as though there’s not something sick in you that enjoys when he does it. Matty raises two arms in a show of innocence, cheeky as they fall down. He knows you like it, too. 

“My apologies, darling.” In complete contradiction, he spreads his knees and looks down at his lap, telling you, “Come sit on my knee.” And in complete contradiction to your warning, you do just what he asks. 

You don’t even think about it; you’re scooping yourself up and dropping on his knee, biting your lip as you settle over his tough jeans. His hand loosely holds your hip, looking at you pleased. 

Now that you’re on his lap, close enough to count his eyelashes, to lick the smoke off his lips, you feel yourself growing needy. The memory of a stolen orgasm in a dark bathroom comes back to you in hot flashes. You have to think about stilling your hips to stop you from grinding on his knee. 

“Are you serious about this?” He asks, arching an eyebrow. You’re not sure what he’s referring to, but the answer’s the same anyway;

“Yes.” 

He taps your hip. “Open your mouth, princess.” You’re flushing as you do so, imagining him spitting in it, slipping two fingers and making you slobber your sermon around them. Instead, he takes a hit of his joint and blows it into your mouth. You inhale as he’s taught you. “Good,” he grins. “You remember how.” 

“It’s not rocket science,” you bite, deadpan. 

“You’re right. Smart girl like you. This is nothing at all.” It hits true, strumming the right chords inside of you. You shift on his knee, holding back the shameful groan that threatens to spill out at the friction. It’s really not fair that he makes you sit here, close enough to kiss and rub and grind until you’re dripping on his lap, and not do it. 

Maybe you’re starting to feel something. Your body is light and slack, a pleasant buzz resonating through you. You feel relaxed, more than you have in years, always strung high, clenched and straight-backed. A giggle threatens out of you. 

Maybe it’s why you say, “I think you should fuck me.” Though, really, it’s all just an excuse for the fact that it’s all you’ve thought about for the past week, ever since that night in the walk-in fridge. You should do it again. Right now. Please. Over and over, like the beating drums of an earworm song. 

Matty smiles, indulgent. “Is that so?” You nod frantically. His fingers dig into your hip. He takes another hit, ever casual. “D’you think you deserve to?” 

“Yes.” 

“How so?”

“I—” You huff. Well, yes, maybe you haven’t really been anything but a brat recently, wearing low-cut tops and winking at other line cooks in hopes of riling him up. But it’s really his fault for getting you so fucking ready you’re begging for him, then walking off. You pout at him. “Please.”

“Ah-ah,” he says, tugging on your lip with his thumb, smearing your lipgloss. “None of that.” Being cute won’t seem to work this time. 

“I’ll earn it,” you say desperately. 

“How?”

Your mind scrambles. An idea sparks in your mind. You rise from his knee, then you get on yours in the cramped spot of the backseat. 

You look up at him, blinking innocently, hand traveling up his thigh. Matty takes the joint to his lips, but you can see from the way his chest rises and falls in quick succession that he’s worked up. Good. You fucking have him. 

You might be inexperienced, an unknower of pleasure, but if there’s one thing you can do, it’s a fucking blowjob. 

“Go on, then,” Matty says, choked. “Earn it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Your greedy hands finally find his waistband. You undo the button, fingers frantic as they work his jeans down enough to reveal his half-hard cock. You lick your lips, staring up at him while you wrap around his length. 

He hisses, bucking into your fist. His dark eyes are locked in yours, barely willing to move away from your face to take a good look at the little show your hand is giving him. It’s like he wants to see you, pupils wide and lips swollen, so fucking turned on and ready just to suck his cock. 

You slide up, swiping your hand up to his tip, collecting the precum and spreading it down. It’s a slow pace, meant to tease, to beguile him. Get him so ready for you he’s begging for once. 

You repeat the motion over and over, never in any kind of repeated rhythm for him to really get used to anything. His cock hardens in your hand until it’s standing proud and ready. Matty breathes heavily, letting a low sound out every time you brush his tip. You smirk every time, teasing your nails on his sensitive skin. 

“Stop teasing,” Matty warns. His hips fuck into your fist every time you slide down, silently begging for more. 

You cock your head, blinking up at him innocently. “Where are your manners?” 

“Careful,” he says with a dangerous tone. His eyes gleam. “You don’t want me to teach you another lesson.” 

You giggle. You dip your head down, kissing his tip. A moan spills out of him and you flash your teeth at him. You lower a little, pressing another kiss, then again, and again, until his whole cock is covered in tacky lipgloss. 

Your tongue sticks out to lick a stripe up his length, rounding his tip. Just when he’s ready to feel your warm mouth embrace him, you give him another sweet kiss. He curses under his breath. “You think you’re funny.” 

You lick mischief off your lips, staring up at him with a cheeky grin. “Say please.” 

His hand free of the joint rakes through your hair, grabbing a handful of it and tugging until you look up at him. Pleasure sparks from your head to your toes, reveling in the sensation. He sees right through you. 

He lets go of your hair, soothing the sting as he travels down your temple, your cheek, your chin, pushing a thumb between your lips and parting them. Thrill gathers in your belly. Your mouth hangs wide open, breathing harshly. “Do it or I will.” 

It’s his turn to be cocky, spotting how you shift on your knees at the graphic images he puts in your head. His hands in your hair, sure and strong as he fucks up into your— No. You want to show him what you can do, prove you’re not just some lost little girl. 

You laugh, sucking around his thumb then releasing it. Saliva coats it, and it dries on your cheek as he caresses it. “You’re no fun,” you tease, pouting. 

“Shouldn’t fuck a crass man if you wanted pleases and thank yous,” he retorts. “But then, you wouldn’t enjoy it, would you? Need to be railed dirty to get off, right?” 

Instead of answering— too proud to give him the yes he’s right to expect, you suck his tip into your mouth. He makes a low whine, patting your hair, swearing under his breath as you roll your tongue around him. “That’s a good girl,” he coos. “Take me in now.” 

There’s the instinct in you to do just the opposite, the born and bred need to be difficult, but you give in anyway, a bigger want to be extra good for him. You push him past your lips, lowering until he hits your throat. “Fuck,” he chokes. You smile around him, then bob your head. 

You set a steady pace, stroking what you can’t fit with your fist. The car fills with wet, gagging noise and those puffy breaths he takes. Your tongue sticks out, licking his length as it passes him, making him shiver under you. 

“Give me your hand,” he demands. You offer it without thinking, reaching up towards him palm-out. 

He takes your wrist and spits on your hand. Saliva drips on your palm as he lowers it back to his cock. He wraps your fingers around him, pumping himself once, then twice, then releasing you. You keep going to the same pace he set, cursing around his length, somehow more turned on now. 

Your hand works in tandem with your mouth. You leave his cock just long enough to spit on it yourself, spreading the saliva until he’s wet and messy, then bringing him back between your swollen lips. Precum and drool sticks to your chin, but you bob with a mission, uncaring of the sopping sounds that come out of your mouth. 

“Ah,” he groans. His head falls back on the seat, spreading his thighs as if to give you more space. You quicken your moves in response, trying to coax more pretty sounds of him. “Shit. Fucking hell,” he laughs. 

His eyes roll back, and he takes a hit of his dwindling joint. You stare at his lips as he does so, still as sickly fascinated by him smoking as you’ve always been. The car drenches in smoke, an added mix to the condensation dripping on the windows. 

Matty’s face pulls down to look at you, right as you swallow him up with an especially deep trust. He makes a whine, caresses your hair. Sees the way your eyes are dark and aroused for him, obsessed. “D’you want another hit?” He asks, cheeky. 

You release his cock, out of breath. “Yes.” Your hand continues to jerk him as you smile at him. 

“Magic word?”

You scoff. “Coming from you?” 

He laughs. “C’mon. How many tutors taught you all those good girl manners? Can’t destroy all that hard work. I don’t want to corrupt you too much.” Your eyes narrow at him. Your thumb swipes on his tip, stroking him quickly. He jumps at that, moaning. Matty shakes his head, hair flopping with it. “Minx.”

“Please,” you say, because you know it’s a lost battle to do anything but. You brush his tip on your lips, kitten-licking him, like some added argument. He smiles proudly. 

“Of course, princess.” The joint comes to you, end faced towards you, just enough out of reach that you have to kneel up to wrap your lips around it. You take a drag, tipping your head back as you blow it out. 

Your body feels hazy, tingling pleasantly throughout. There’s a loose smile on your lips as you bend down to swallow him back in your mouth. Euphoria twists in your mind, pulling at the strings of you, and you double in efforts eagerly, happily. 

You bob quicker, deeper, moaning around his length. You breathe through your nose, trying not to gag every time he hits the back of your throat. It’s all worth it for the swears he mutters under his breath, low groans filling the car. Every fucked-out praise shoots you straight to the core. You’re dripping on the floor, wet and empty and begging for him. 

“My perfect girl,” he praises, a whiny, worshiping sound. “So pretty on her knees for me. Fucking drooling everywhere.” You laugh at that, feeling saliva drip down your cheeks. “You were made for my cock, weren’t you? Made for me.” 

You try to agree, but it’s a slobbering mess around his dick. The vibrations are enough; his eyes roll back into his skull, his hips jump. You choke on his length, releasing him with a cough, then diving back to work. 

“Can’t fucking get enough of me,” he says. His hand caresses your hair, a soothing motion. “D’you want more?” 

You nod around him. He smiles, gripping a hand in your hair. The sting gives you the same reaction as before; you moan around him, toes tingling. He pushes your mouth deeper around him. This time, you expect it; breathing through your nose, you welcome him in your throat. 

“There you go,” he whines. He can’t stop looking at you, at the mess of your mouth. “So fucking filthy.” Again, he presses you down. A moan spills out of him. You grip his knee with your free hand. 

Matty controls your head, pushing it deeper and deeper around his cock, making the most fucked-out noises from the feel of it. You pump him with your hand every time he pulls you up to his tip, stroking back to the base as he lowers you down. He does it quicker and quicker, setting a fast pace. Again, you shift on your knees, trying to soothe away that burning need between your thighs. 

Matty spots it immediately. “Are you wet?” He taunts, though it’s a little ridiculous when he’s out of breath and on the edge of a moan. You nod around him, a little whine coming out, and he smirks. “Soaked ‘cause you’re sucking my dick, huh? If I knew it got you going like this, I would have had your mouth around me every single fucking day, darling.” And it’s not like you would have objected, considering you’re the one who’s been practically chasing him for the past week. 

“Dirty girl. They all think you’re so innocent, but I know.” He smirks. “Bet your father would love to know what I’m doing to his precious girl.” Need and shame burn inside of you, and you can’t figure out which one makes you flush and your mind spin. Cockiness drips from his tongue as he trails, “‘S not my fault his daughter loves my cock, right?” You don’t know whether to nod or shake your head, instead moaning around him. 

Matty reaches the joint out, telling you, “Hold that.” You frown. It’s unlit by now, useless, and he could certainly throw it anywhere in the backseat to fish it out later. It’s not like his car is clean; trash litters it, cigarette burns scar the leather, and the smell of weed is permanent. Still, you don’t question it, unwrapping your hand from his cock to take the joint. 

It becomes apparent, then, why he asked you. Raking two hands through your hair, he keeps your head in place as his hips fuck up into you. With your hand gone and occupied, he thrusts deeper into your mouth. You gag around him, and he releases you just enough to catch your breath, before pumping past your lips again. 

He groans at every stroke, burying your nose in the faint hair scattering up his belly. Pleasure blooms on his face. He’s so pretty, so vulnerable and fucked out, face wrinkling and lips panting. 

His head falls down to look at you again. He makes a whine from the back of his throat. “Fuck, you’ve got spit everywhere.” It’s true, chin wet as slurping sounds resonate on the steamy windows. 

If your ex-boyfriend had even tried to lose a hand in your hair and push your head down, you’d have bit him with a vengeance. But kneeling like this with Matty using you only brings a sick pleasure out of you. You feel your core throb, thighs sticky with need. You don’t know what he’s doing to you, don’t understand how he manages to ruin you so thoroughly. 

Your nails dig into his knee, the other hand pinching the joint. Your eyes water at every thrust until tears roll down your eyes, mixing with the wet of your cheeks and chin. 

Matty awes, sickly amused as he sings, “Are you crying?” You feel suddenly embarrassed, attempting to shake your head, deny the proofs streaming down your cheeks. “Is Daddy’s dick too big for you?” The nickname strikes through the daze, shock and arousal coursing through your veins. 

Matty doesn’t even realize what he’s said, too gone to mind any words. A string of curses  comes next as he bobs your head. Still, it’s all you can think about, playing back the word in that filthy head of yours. 

“You’re doing so well, baby,” he promises. “Just a little bit more.” His hand strokes your cheek, wiping at the runaway tears. “Gonna make me come so hard. D’you want my cum?” You nod vaguely. He grins at that. “Yeah? Wanna fucking swallow it?” You hum around him, excited. He moans, “Fuck. You’re such a slut.” 

Again, there should be outrage, should be a dramatic tear off his dick as you tell him off, but he says it in such a reverent way, like a compliment, a praise, and you find yourself whining around him instead. Your cunt throbs, empty and lonely, and maybe you are a slut after all. You’ve been nothing but a needy, begging mess for him anyway. If it gives you this much pleasure in exchange, is there really something wrong with it? 

Matty senses the way you preen under the name. He smirks, fucking up faster, chasing an end. “My little slut. So perfect, made for me. Would spend her days on her knees, wouldn’t she? Till she’s all bruised and fucked out.” His thrusts grow erratic. “I’d take care of you, princess. I’d put you in the best bed and I’d pump you full of my cum until you’re dripping with it. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Like being my little fucktoy?” A yes comes out garbled out of your mouth. “All those smarts, gone for a dirty man like me. Fucking ironic, isn’t it?” 

You hollow your cheeks, run your tongue, hope to finish him. Hear his pretty cries, see his scrunched, coming face, taste his cum. Let it be your turn. 

You take back charge as Matty gets too hazy to make sense of anything, much less the furious tempo he’s set. You bob up and down with abandon, slobbering everywhere. His hips stutter, meeting you halfway. His cock twitches in your mouth. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Matty cries. His fingers dig into your hair, pulling vengefully. “Shit, princess, I’m—” With a scream, he comes on your tongue. 

His body shivers as the tangy taste of white ropes spill down your throat. You swallow everything, watching his face as it grows peaceful. A slack, happy smile shines on his lips. He strokes your hair, as if an apology. 

Only when he softens do you pull out of him, saliva stringing from his tip to your lip. You lick it off, chuckling. Show off your empty mouth. His cum is all gone. 

“Good girl,” Matty praises, out of breath. He tucks his cock back in his jeans. “What do we say now?” 

“Thank you.” 

He hums. “I think you deserve a reward for doing so well for me.” You grin at him, childishly excited. He laughs, taking both your hands and raising you off your knees. “You want that, don’t you?” You bite your lip.

As soon as you’re up, he digs under your skirt, pulling off your underwear. You gasp as the air hits your bare skin. He rubs a thumb on the wet patch of the pink fabric, arching an eyebrow for you. “So fucking ready for me just from sucking my cock.” 

“Not just from sucking your cock,” you say. “I’ve been ready for you all week.”

“Is that so?” Matty flips you around, sitting you square on his lap, your back against his chest. This close, you can smell the sweat and weed on him. Each leg hangs from the sides of his knees. He parts them, spreading you wide, putting you on display. 

There’s the knowledge that anyone could see you tugging at the back of your mind. No matter the smoke, and the fogged up windows, and the dark of the night, it’s still a public alleyway. They could walk in on you, cunt out, wet and throbbing. It’s nasty, and it’s hot, and now you’re grinding against nothing, hoping for friction. 

Thankfully, Matty indulges you, wrapping his arm around your waist and teasing two fingers over your swollen clit. You jump, already oversensitive, moaning at the little contact. He rubs in slow circles. 

“I could have had you any time, then?” He whispers in your ear. “Could have pulled you in the dry storage and had my dirty way with you?” 

“Yes.” 

His touch becomes faster, pressing harder, zeroing in on your bud with a middle finger. You scrunch your face, already so close. A little pout comes on your face. You don’t want to finish without his fingers inside of you, not when you’ve been this eager for them. Your pussy clenches around nothing, unsatisfied. 

“Any day, any time, anywhere?” His hand ghosts at your entrance, gathering a pool of your dripping juices. 

“Yes,” you repeat, almost frustrated he doesn’t get it. You need him all the time. He seems satisfied by your answer, dipping two fingers inside your cunt. 

You gasp, wrinkling your face with the overwhelming euphoria that spreads through you. The stretch is delicious. You’re already rolling your hips into his fingers, begging for more. 

He bites at your earlobe, licking down your neck. Husky and gravely, he teases, “You would scream my name so the whole restaurant knows whose cock is fucking you this good? So they know that little princess likes to get railed filthy by an old, sleazy man?” As though to demonstrate, he pumps his fingers quicker into you. Sopping sounds resonate with your answering whines. 

It’s a silly question. As if you haven’t had that exact fantasy before, playing over and over as guests criticize your every move. You insist, “Yes, Daddy.”

Matty’s fingers freeze inside of you. His heart races, the rhythm drumming on your back. Your eyes snap open, scared you’ve done something wrong. He’s the one who— A flush spreads up your cheeks. You’re so disgusting, using that nickname while he— 

“Say it again.” He’s choked and out of breath. Turned on. You smirk, victorious. 

You grip his wrist and make him pump inside of you again. You let your head fall on his shoulder, moaning, “Daddy, please, make me come.” 

“Fuck.” It’s all the incentive he needs, apparently, because now he’s thrusting and curling inside of you, finding that magical spot each time. The heel of his hand rubs at your clit, making jolts of pleasure spark through you. His other hand snakes around your chest and paws at your breast, digging under your shirt to rub the nipple. 

Every sensation works perfectly together to get you buzzing with ecstasy. You feel drunk— or high— mind swirling inside your head until all you know is his name. Your core tightens, toes curling and uncurling. 

“Come on my fingers,” he demands, voice low and hoarse. “Fucking drench Daddy’s hand. I wanna taste you.”

There’s something so desperate in his voice that makes you even needier. You throb around his digits, eyebrows furrowing, strings thinning. He pinches your nipple. You open your mouth with a silent cry, shaking all over. 

“That’s it,” he coos. “I got you, baby. You’re right there.” You nod frantically. “Just come for me. Come. Come—” Just like he demands, your body breaks and you shatter on his fingers. 

Euphoria spreads through you, that overwhelming sense of relief. His name burns your tongue, over and over, a plea and a reverence and a worship. He continues to slide in and out of you, slowly, tenderly, until you’re done shaking and throbbing. 

Your body hums pleasantly, bone-deep happy. You practically melt on his body, each limb letting go and settling into him. You sigh, satisfied. Finally haunts your head. Yet, you’re already looking out for next time. 

Matty pulls out of you. He brings his wet fingers to his mouth; you hear the pornographic moan he makes as he cleans them. You flush, too tired to make a chastising comment. 

“Best meal in town,” he says, cheeky. You half-slap him, half-giggle. 

His hand falls from your breasts, but wraps around your waist instead, pulling you even closer, trapping you in the heat of his arms. He kisses your cheek. “We can stay like this for a little while. I’ll drive you home after.” 

You crack an eye open. “Are you high?”

He scoffs. “No.” He grins against your cheek, teasing, “You’ve sobered me up.”

Being cute does not distract you. You hum, unconvinced. “What’s the alphabet backwards?”

“Are you fucking kidding—” He blows air from his nose. Resigned, he recites, “Z, Y, X—”

—

It’s fifteen past ten and the house is empty. Groceries linger on the kitchen island and you could, theoretically, put them all together yourself. Though it’s just not quite the same when you have to do the work under the orange light of the kitchen hood, alone except for some sad blues and a bottle of white and the sizzling sound of the pan. 

In your hand, an apologetic text flashes at you. You bite on a humus dipped carrot, bitter. You understand, you say, and pretend you believe him when he swears he’ll make it up to you. You take a long sip of your wine glass. 

You stare at the lonely apartment. An idea tickles the back of your mind. It would be a waste of wine, and space, and freedom if you dutifully went to bed now. Your hand lingers on his contact, then press on the picture of Matty’s frown, cigarette hanging between his lips. 

I have my place all to myself. Do you wanna come? You hit send before you overthink it. A rush of anxiety swipes through you. 

He’s quick to answer. depends. do i get to cum anywhere? You roll your eyes. He’s truly insufferable sometimes. 

Invitation retracted. 

i’m on my way

You can’t control the pleased grin on your face, but there’s no one to see it anyway. You can indulge a little in the childish thrill that blooms inside your stomach. You feel sunshine from the inside-out. 

He’s ringing your doorbell the next time you hear of him. By then you’re already a little flushed with wine, practically running to the door to buzz him in. 

A knock resonates just a few minutes later. You swing the door wide open. “Hi.” Again, you can’t seem to control your giddy smile. 

“You shouldn’t open the door just like that. I could’ve been a bad man.” 

“You are.” Matty snorts. You move out of the doorframe, gesturing for him to step inside. 

He walks your flat with confidence, though he hasn't been here since that fatal night and, even then, it had been a quick in and out thing. He lingers a little to take in the set-up. The open floor plan, the L leather couch, the massive dining table and the kitchen island that hasn’t seen any action in months. It’s a shame for a family of chefs how little you use it. 

It’s the first time you’ve seen him outside of a work setting, either a grueling shift or the drunk aftermath. He’s cleaner; white shirt rid of stains, jeans unburdened by an apron. He still sports a stumble, ever lazy to shave it off, but his hair sprouts in soft curls from his head. There’s a lack of gloomy energy, like what you thought was a permanent tired look was, in fact, reserved for the restaurant. He looks good is what you mean.

Matty stares you up and down shamelessly, taking in your off-duty outfit as well. A collared shirt buttoned conservatively, tucked into a black skirt, leather heeled loafers and white socks at your feet. Your hands shine with silver rings. You are, admittedly, much cleaner than him. Matty seems to dig your preppy look anyway, licking a gaze up and down your legs, rubbing his smirk away with two of his fingers. 

You side-step him, making your way to the kitchen. Matty follows behind you, taking the time to gaze at the paintings dotting your walls. Pretentious things your father bought because he was told by other people they were masterpieces, they were technical, they were touching. You get to the cabinets, searching for a matching wine glass.  

“Why’d you invite me?” Matty asks, seemingly an afterthought. He peers at your half-empty glass, raising it to examine the wine. 

“I was supposed to have dinner with my dad, but he’s too busy today after all.” You turn to Matty with a glass in hand. “There’s some sort of important event with investors that just came up. He couldn’t untangle himself,” you press. You don’t know why you feel the need to rehash your father’s excuses, as though you had to defend him to Matty. It’s silly; he doesn’t even care, instead bringing your wine glass to his nose and giving it a swirl.

“It’s a Chenin Blanc.” You say as you uncork the bottle, pouring him his own glass. You slide it his way, tsking regretfully, “It was gonna pair beautifully with the seared scallops.” There’s a tinge of bitterness in your voice, and you try your best to smooth it. You can’t sound annoyed. 

“Served with what?” 

“Baby spinach and spiced pomegranate glaze.” 

“Damn,” Matty shakes his head. “That does sound good.” He takes a seat at the dining table, shamelessly making himself at home. He cocks his head, bringing the glass to his lips. “So, what? You invited me to cook it for you instead?”

Your lips twitch. “I’ve already eaten actually.” A mismatch of carrots, humus, swiss cheese and chocolate-covered blueberries eaten standing up at the kitchen island, but a meal nonetheless. 

Matty hums. He leans back on his chair, smirking to himself. “You know, I feel a bit peckish myself.” 

Your arch an eyebrow, playful as you drawl, “Is that so?” The cheeky, knowing look on his face wakes the heat in your belly. You clench your thigh; he spots it, amused. “There’s food in the fridge.” 

“A miracle! She has more than kraft dinner.”

“I didn’t specify which food. Maybe mac’n’cheese is all that’s waiting for you.”

Matty smiles. “I think I’m craving something else.” His hand reaches out, grabbing yours until you stumble into him. 

You grip his shoulders to balance yourself, both legs siding one of his knees. He looks at you with those dark, dangerous eyes that announce nothing but trouble. You tower over him, see him blinking his spiderleg eyelashes up at you. His lips part, pretty and red. A rush of excitement shoots through you. Your breath hitches. 

“Wow,” you say, mocking. “You just got here and you’re already trying to bend me over the table. Didn’t even ask me about my day.” 

“Oh, sorry,” he says, faux-apologetic. His hands dig into your thighs, picking you up and hoisting you on the table. You sit before him, blush as he spreads your legs out for him. With a cheeky, shit-eating grin, he looks up at you and says, “How was your day, princess?”

You up your nose, ignoring his bait. “It was good. I—” His hands rise up your thighs, brushing against your silky smooth skin. You can’t stop the shivers. “Fuck, I went to the library and—” 

He bends down, peppering sweet kisses where his fingertips had been. Your breath hitches at the ghosting touch, teasing and tickling and lighting you up. He looks up at you, face nearing where you need him most. “Mmh, and what?” 

“Just— shit.” He spreads your legs further apart, giving him ample access to bite and suck at your thigh, which he does with worshiping abandon. He soothes away the hurt with a tongue. You pant, moaning lowly, “I started early on my first week readings for—”

Matty snorts. “Nerd.”

“It’s actually really essential to—” He slips your underwear aside, finding your clit and thumbing a lazy circle on it. “Ah, fucking hell, Matty!” 

He smiles, so fucking proud. His finger speeds up. “What book did you read?” 

“Well, the textbook. It was— It’s about—” Words escape your mouth when his tongue is burning your skin, getting closer and closer to where his thumb is hard at work. Euphoria shakes in your stomach. You bite your lip, gripping the edge of the table. 

“Yes?” He blinks up at you, condescendingly begging, “Please, educate a poor, simple plebeian.”

You bite your cheek, teasing, “I don’t know if I can. He’s really only good at fucking.”

Matty rolls his eyes. “You’re missing the other reason I’m good with my hands.”

And he makes it easy to forget all about his cooking skills when he dips two fingers inside your wet entrance, pumping you slowly on the dinner table. God-given hands, made to bring you to the very edge and back. You curse, gripping the wood under your palms even harder. 

“I’m waiting.”

You huff. “It’s microeconomics. It’s comparing comparative averages and absolute advantages of high.” 

He grins. “Well, which one wins?”

“Comparative. It’s always better as you lose because the opportunity cost is smaller and— Oh, fuck—” Your legs tremble, your face scrunching as he hits the sinful spot inside of you that has you singing. You pant to catch your breath, groaning, “It’s better when you— Matty—”

“My smart girl,” Matty praises, curling his fingers inside of you just so. “You learned all of this already. Don’t even need to study that you’re fucking moaning it for me.” He plants a kiss on the top of your thigh. “It’s better when…”

Your mind is languid, euphoria pumping inside of you with the rhythm of his hand. You try to blink to conscience, peering down at him. “It’s better when the opportunity cost—” He makes rapid swipes at your clit and pleasure jolts through you. You shake your head. “You know what? You don’t need to know all this. You can just be dumb and pretty and warm my bed all day. Be my trophy husband.”

He snickers. “Yeah? Gonna make me your little housewife?” 

You grin, volleying back, “Keep you cooking and fucking all day while I earn the big bucks, babe.” One hand rises up to his hair, digging into the mess of it. You smirk. “But you’d have to be very good for me. Keep me satisfied at all times.” 

“Oh, don’t worry.” His fingers quicken, thrusting in and out of you until you’re whining for him. “I’d fill you up every night and leave you sticky and happy.” The wet sounds of your cunt fill the kitchen. You don’t doubt him for one second. 

Your breath leaves in puffs out of your mouth. You tilt your head back, moaning for the ceiling, eyes wrinkled shut. Your hand tugs at his hair, rejoicing in his pathetic little groans. You fall back, smiling mischievously at him. “I thought you were hungry.”

His eyes flash. “Fucking famished.” He bends down and licks your cunt. 

You jump, rolling your hips into his face, chasing those delicious reverbs. He licks at your clit with a pointed tongue, pressing into the sensitive bundle of nerves until honey ecstasy is spreading through your veins. 

One hand fucks into you with calculated efficiency; hard and fast, just like you like it. The other holds your red underwear aside, fingers pressing into the meat of your thigh, leaving fingertip prints to remember him by. 

“Matty!” Pleasure boils inside of you. You’ve missed his tongue, missed the way he tastes at you: starved, diligent, fucking slurping the last drop. You cry his name over and over, a sweet chant that encourages him on. 

Thank fuck for his hands. They slide wetly inside of you, searching for hot ecstasy and pulling it out of you in drowning moans. You tug at his hair, grip the table, try to attach yourself to something as you;

“Matty, I’m—” He knows, of course, because you’re throbbing around his fingers. He circles your clit with his tongue, swiping at it, adding enough sinful pleasure that you feel your orgasm grow and grow. It expands in your belly, threatens your limbs; “I’m gonna—”

You come with a scream, falling apart on his tongue. He doesn’t slow yet. His mouth is hard at work, his fingers pumping into you still. He chases your orgasm until the end, until you’re shaking and whimpering from the intensity. You push his head, and only then does he release you, smiling up at you with sticky cheeks. 

“Good?”

You brush his curls back, smiling happily. “You might earn yourself a weekly allocation if you keep it up, babe.” 

“I’m the luckiest trophy husband in the world.” 

You twist one of his curls around his finger, so light and elated that you feel no shyness or shame to say, “D’you want to see my room?” 

He half-grins. “Yeah.” 

You jump from the table, grabbing his hand. He lingers by the table just long enough to shoot back half of his wine glass in one gulp, slamming it down on the table with a satisfied sigh. It stands there with a stain of your slick in the shape of his lips. 

You deadpan him. “Good wine shouldn’t be wasted,” he defends. 

“I don’t even think you let it stay on your tongue long enough to taste it.” 

You regret your choice of words as soon as you say them. Cursing, you already expect the joke when he quips, “Didn’t want to disrupt the other taste that’s in my mouth right now, you see?” 

You roll your eyes. “It’s down the hallway,” you say, and tug at his hand until he follows. 

You push the door into your childhood bedroom. It’s a clean, organized place, but it maintains its youthful element, like a time capsule. Matty steps in, intrigued. It’s the first time he’s ever been and he paces it with curiosity. 

The shelves are decorated with childhood trophies; debate, math, punctuality. Even a participation medal from fifth grade soccer hangs on the corner. Thick, leather books mix with colorful cracked spines of YA literature on the bookshelf, along with fake plants and gaudy trinkets. The walls host picture frames of dental braced friends smiling wide. You have awful bangs in some of them and you stick your tongue out at the flash. On the bed, Mr Snuffles — a leopard plushie — lays like a king. 

You flush. You hadn’t realized how childish your bedroom at home still was. You’ve got an uncomfortable need to tear it all down and build it back as a refined, clean look..

“Cute,” he says, and you want to bury straight into the ground. He taps a picture of prom where you hold the arm of a visibly nervous teenage boy. “Was that your little boyfriend who couldn’t make you come?”

“No, that was my friend. I wasn’t interested in dating back then. I was a very serious girl.” 

He chuckles, turning back to you. He jokes, “Hard to believe now.” You shake your head, pretending to be bothered. He eyes the photograph once more. “You look pretty.” 

“Thanks.” It comes squeaked out of your lips. You really didn’t expect the compliment. 

He continues to inspect until you grow tired of it. You huff, deciding to go on the offensive until he takes a hint. “You know, I’ve actually never had any guy here before.” 

Matty flips to you, grinning. “No?” 

“No.” Your fingers fly to your collar and slowly start unbuttoning the top one, a silent invitation. 

“Very, very serious girl.” Matty watches your fingers, devouring the skin you unveil for him. The cups of your red bra peek in view. His eyes grow dark, though he still doesn’t move to do it himself. 

“I was very studious.” 

You get to your very last button. The shirt parts, a cracked door vision into your needy body. Matty drawls, slow and nonchalant, unrushed, “Must’ve spent a lot of time with your hand between your legs, then, if no one’s been here before.”

You try not to grow embarrassed. You have spent a lot of time doing so, mostly in recent weeks. You push the shirt past your shoulders and it drops at your feet. Matty’s eyes immediately fall to your breasts, rising with panting breaths for him. 

“Maybe,” you whisper shyly. You bend down to slip off your shoes, sliding your socks off your feet. 

“Thought about me a lot during it?” He asks, cocky. 

You straighten up again. You dig in your cheek, feeling both of them heat. “Maybe.” You find the zipper at your side and draw it down slowly, teasingly. Your skirt falls limply around your hips and you shimmy it down your legs. 

It seems you’ve found yourself half-naked to a very much dressed Matty again. His gaze devours every inch of your skin, licking up your legs, biting your hips, teasing your navel. You grow wet between your thighs just from the promise in his eyes. 

Your hand reaches behind yourself to your bra, but Matty tuts. “That’s mine,” he says, and there’s an air of danger in his voice. Your arms fall back to your sides, burned. You stand a bit straighter for him, aching deep inside yourself. 

Matty takes long, slow steps towards you, letting the need boil and bubble inside of you. He stands before you, looking down into your eyes. Your lips part, your heart screams his name. He grazes two fingers along your waist, snaking to your back, and kisses you. 

You respond with an eager tongue, opening your lips up to him and kissing him back. He still tastes like you, like your slick that dried on his cheeks. You shiver at the thought. 

His hands find the small of your back, heavy and pressing into you, so fucking present you feel your mind twists on itself. You travel yours up his arms, finding his shoulders and sneaking into the hair at his nape. 

He tilts his head to change the angle and your legs clench. He draws out all your wanton needs with his skilled tongue, makes you putty and malleable. You’re ready for him, for anything. 

His fingers dance on your spine, climbing up each vertebrae until they catch on your bra band. Your breath hitches. He unhooks it. Matty stops kissing you to pull the bra off your arms. 

Your breasts lay in view, pebbled and peaked. He takes a good look at them, then bends down to catch a nipple into his mouth. “Fuck, Matty!” Your hands twist at his curls, tugging and patting as he sucks and nips your tits. 

He leaves bites on the underside, your sternum, kissing and licking down your stomach until he knees before you. You moan, still unused to the sight of him. Each hand hooks to a side of your underwear and he pulls it down and off your legs. You keep a stabilizing grip on his hair as you step out of it. 

Matty comes back up to you, breathing harshly. He kisses your lips one last time, then draws you on the bed. You’re laying on the purple sheets for him, naked and wet and flushed. Every body part is aware of him and looks it. 

Still, Matty takes a step back. “Show me what you do when you think of me.” You stare at him in shock. You’re naked for him, laying on your bed in godly offerance like a fucking daydream, and he wants you to finger yourself? 

Matty laughs. “Come on, princess,” he teases. “Show Daddy.” The nickname jolts you. Tiny, electrical shivers run down your spine and you bite your lip, brushing a hand down your stomach. 

You waste no time, too drunk on pleasure and want to bother teasing yourself. You part your legs and rub two fingers on your swollen clit, jumping at the sudden feeling. You bite your lip, cracking your eyes open to find Matty’s

His eyes watch you with obsession. You make a low whimper for him, circling your bundle of nerves, arching your back. A tantalizing show, hopefully enough to get him to touch you. You want him so deeply you’re shivering for him, hot and dripping all over. 

You’re efficient and quick; you know all the spots of yourself and press them just so. Pleasure is not something you draw out, pumping and rubbing until you develop carpal tunnel. You’re in and out, wiping your fingers clean on your thigh. 

It’s why you’re already dipping your digits inside yourself. You cry at the stretch, though never as delicious and fulfilling as his. Still, ecstasy runs through your body. 

“Matty,” you moan, and once again hope the breathy, needy shape of his name in your mouth is enough to get him to replace your hardworking fingers. 

“I’m right here, baby,” he says, transfixed by your hands, your mouth, your panting tits. You see his gaze and smirk, grabbing your breast and twisting the nipple. A low whine leaves you. “Fuck. Does that feel good?” 

You nod furiously. Your fingers slide quickly in and out of you. “Not as good as you, though,” you pout. 

Matty grins, cocky and a dick about it. “‘Course not.” 

Your eyes flutter shut. You let yourself be taken over by the euphoria swimming through you. Your mouth calls his name like it was him making you feel this way and not the three fingers fucking into you. In a way, it’s the fact that he’s here that draws this overwhelming pleasure out of you. It’s never been this intense with yourself. 

“What do you think of when you’re in your head?” He whispers, sounding affected by the spectacle you give him. 

You bite your lip, trembling. “You. You on your knees for me behind the bar. You bending me over the sink of the bathroom in the middle of two guests. You letting me suck your dick on the staircase of the alleyway. You fingering me at The Darling in front of Landon until I fucking come all over the booth.”

“All these nasty thoughts while you’re tucked tight in your little bed?” 

You nod. “I replay that night in the kitchen over, and over, and over. I know every little detail, everything you've done to me—” Behind your eyelids, graphic images of you pressed into the ground, giggling and coming, flash to you. It’s too much; you snap. Your eyes flash open. “Fuck me, Daddy. Please.”

“You need it?”

“I need it so, so bad.” Your wrist is tired between your legs. Still, you work, feeling the intensity build to an impossible degree. “Need you. It’s all I’ve been thinking about.”

“Shit,” he groans. You see the tent in his jeans and know he’s just as ready as you. “Don’t worry, princess. I’ll give it to you.” A grin shines on your face. You clench around your fingers in excitement. “Just as soon as you come for me.”

You pout. A whiny cry comes out of you. “It’s not the same without you.” 

“I know, baby,” he pouts, faux-broken over it as if he wasn’t the one putting you through this torture. “You’re doing so well for me. I wanna see you come now, though. Can you do that for me?”

Your stomach tightens and you know that you can, that you will. You’re still a little bitter, holding back as though in just a few seconds Matty was gonna get to his knees and finish you off yourself. 

“Your clit’s feeling a little neglected, isn’t it?” You moan, pressing into your bud like he silently demanded. Your legs kick at the sensation. You arch your back, crying to the ceiling. “That’s it. You’re so close.” You rub and fuck until you can taste the ecstasy. Goddammit. 

“You’re right there,” he says, and makes it true. You feel your orgasm threaten the edges of you. “Just a bit more. Come on, fuck yourself. Think of me, of my cock. That’s right, princess.” You scream, staring into his eyes. He devours each inch of you, so fucking eager. “You’re gonna come for me, aren’t you? Right now. Come for Daddy.” With a mewl, your climax crashes through you. 

Your body slackens, pleasure swooping through you in one grandiose wave. Relief washes you, and then the slight bitterness that it was all your own doing. Barely reeling from the orgasm and you’re already needing more. 

You don’t ride out the climax; Matty rips your fingers out of you and sucks them into his mouth. You sigh at the sight as he rolls his tongue around your digits. It’s sinful the way he moans, like the best fucking meal of his life. 

He releases them with a pop, then kisses your palm. “So good, babe. You did amazing.” He kisses your wrist. “You’re my little princess, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” you pout. His lips trail up your arm, tickling your sensitive skin. You shiver, moaning as he brushes your shoulder and licks up your collarbone. 

“How do you want me? Since you’ve been thinking about it all the fucking time.” He kisses your neck. You moan, fluttering your eyelashes. 

“I wanna ride you,” you breathe out. 

Matty smirks against your skin. “Yeah? Gonna get yourself off on Daddy’s dick?”

You grin, nodding eagerly. “Gonna make you feel so good, too.” 

He smiles. “Alright then, baby.” He rolls onto his back, pulling you on top of him. You sit on his lap like a throne. “Make me feel good.”

You shake your head, pulling his shirt up his chest. “Get naked first. I wanna see you.” 

“She’s demanding.”

“It’s my fantasy.” Matty chuckles. Still, he tugs his shirt off his shoulders, throwing it beyond your bed. 

You had been so drunk on his cock the first time it happened, you hadn’t been able to really get a good look at him. This time, your eyes lap up every inch of his skin, especially the tattooed ones. You draw the outlines of them with the tip of your fingers. He shivers at the feeling as you dance on his hip, his happy trail, his chest. You press a hand there, holding yourself up. 

“Pants,” you order. You have a finely tuned demanding voice; you’ve led many school projects with an iron fist and an unarguable tone. Still, you know Matty only humors you when he obeys, kicking off his shoes, unbuttoning his pants and pushing them off. 

His cock slaps his stomach. It’s hard and leaking, and your mouth waters at the sight. You feel your sticky thighs beg for him. Cunt fluttering, you take him in your fist, jerking him slowly. Matty moans as his head falls back on the pillows. Oh, you will like that. Already, the power rushes to your head, loosening it drunkenly. 

You hoist yourself on your knees, then hesitate. Quickly, you grab your leopard plushie and turn him around until he faces the other way. 

Matty stares at you in disbelief. “Are you kidding me?” 

“Mr. Snuffles doesn’t need to see that!” You cry out, defensive. 

“I can’t believe I’m about to shag in a bed with a stuffed toy right there.”

You raise your eyebrows, cocky. “Don’t get it wrong. I’m shagging you.”

Matty’s hands travel up to your hips, spreading over the bones possessively. He smiles up at you. “Do it, then. Fuck me.” You smile, taking his cock and leading it to your dripping cunt. 

You line it up, then slowly slide down on his length. Loud, relieved moans leave your and Matty’s mouth. A shared song drumming up both your spines in harmony. You bottom out and think fucking finally. 

“Oh, God,” you breathe, eyes rolling back. You take a second there, immobile, reveling in the heavenly moment. The way he fills you up so perfectly, stretches you in the most delicious ways. Your cunt throbs around him, eager. 

He makes a low curse, digging his nails into your hips. You sense his becoming restless, the insistent way he presses into your skin, as though physically stopping himself from holding you in place and fucking up into him. Indulgently, you begin moving. 

You haven’t been on top very often. You always used to find yourself sore and tired and bored after a few minutes, begging to either roll onto your back or end it right there. This time, however, there’s a practically all-consuming need to succeed. You want to fuck him, to permanently engrave his brain with the memory of you. 

You come at it like schoolwork; focused, diligent, persistent. You attempt experimental thrusts at first, getting yourself used to how deep he hits you. It’s slow, tentative things; you try different angles, sliding in and out, frowning as you analyze the different ways pleasure blooms under your skin. 

Under you, Matty groans, puffing out breaths. “I can hear you thinking. Stop it.”

You arch an eyebrow. “It was ‘what a smart girl’ thirty minutes ago, but now it’s ‘turn off your brain’?”

“Exactly. Want you to be fucked stupid now.” 

You snort. “That’s not gonna happen.” 

He hums, smirking. “Don’t give me a challenge.” You roll your eyes. 

You settled on a rocking rhythm, something that hits all the perfect places inside of you. Your hair sticks to your nape, effort trembling your thighs already. You moan, roll your head back. “Like that?” You breathe out. Euphoria begins to prickle at your skin and your smile slackens your mouth. 

“Yeah, baby,” Matty nods. “Just—” His hold on your hips is strangling. His hands clench, begging you to give something mindnumbing. “Go faster.” 

You ignore his request, continuing that slow, teasing pace. You love feeling every inch of his cock as you buck on it, love to hear him grow desperate for you for a change. Every pathetic, quiet groan he makes resonates straight to your core. Head still rolled back to the ceiling, you rock stubbornly, smiling to yourself. 

A particularly artful stroke has your nails digging into his chest. He shivers under you. “Fuck, faster,” Matty pants.  

You smirk down at him, cheeky. “What’s the magic word, princess?” 

Matty rolls his eyes. “Don’t get bratty,” he says, then gives your ass a warning spank. You jump at the sting, bucking on his cock. Low heat simmers through you. You bite your lip, quickening your thrusts dutifully. Matty smirks at you, all-knowing. 

You speed up, falling back on his length again and again until the slapping sounds of your skins fill the room. You sense the resonating ecstasy pull at your stomach. You’re aware, unfortunately, that he’s right. It’s better, stronger. 

“That’s right,” he says, and you want to slap that shit-eating grin off his lips. “Fucking faster.” You obey like some deep-seated instinct, bouncing above him. 

A part of you wants to slow to a snail pace and teach him a lesson — get him reciting all those patience proverbs he’s so keen on — but a bigger part of you melts and drips at the ecstasy pulsing through you. Speedy, deep rolls have you shaking, moaning his name like a worship. You’re irrationally convinced you might die if you even try to slow down, like losing the pleasure he’s coaxing out of you right now would be a fatal crash. 

Again, he gives you that teasing, devilish stares that tells you he’s well aware of the burning heat he causes you. His lips stretch up into a smirk, and he parts them to talk some more. You slap a hand over his mouth instead. “Shut it,” you warn. He laughs under your palm, too happy at your reaction. 

His tongue sticks out, licking your hand childishly, and you release him. “You only like my mouth for one thing,” he says, pouting at you. 

“Don’t give me ideas.” 

“Want to sit on it again, huh?” He teases, cocking his head. “Maybe when you’re done fucking me.” He licks his teeth. “Though I doubt you’ll have the energy to sit up then. I’ll have to lay you down and clean you all up. Would you like that, baby?” 

“Anything that doesn’t involve you talking.”

Matty hums, and you sense the danger in his tone. You’ve pushed him just a bit too far, and the low thrum of thrill resonates in your stomach. You hold your breath, sick apprehension bringing you sinful pleasure. 

“You’ve got a mouth on you today,” he says. “Should’ve filled it up before I gave you what you wanted. Wouldn’t have so much to say if you were drooling and crying for my cock.” You wonder if that’s exactly what he’ll do; pull you off by your hips and onto your knees for a lesson. 

Instead, his hand pinches your nipple, then snakes up your chest, your collarbone, spreading over your throat. You clench around him, lust flashing in your eyes, and he smiles at you. “My little slut,” he coos. “You’d let me do anything.” 

You rock on him furiously, humping his lap to get rid of that building pressure in your core. Your mouth hangs open, pathetic whimpers spilling out every time your clit rubs on his pelvis. “Yes, Daddy,” you say in that sweet tone he knows is nothing but trouble. 

“Touch your clit,” he orders, and you’ve got a hand flying between your thighs, swiping on the bundle of nerves with abandon. You mewl in his lap, fucking and rubbing until you’re dripping on him. When you’re halfway through a moan, pussy clenching around his cock, Matty presses into your neck. 

The moan dies in your throat, mouth hanging open as a rush of adrenaline spreads through you. Your head swarms with silence, a sort of calmness buzzing and tingling under your face, and you feel every thrust of his cock he pumps up into you like a true hit of ecstasy. You whine, suspended in the moment. 

“My pretty girl,” he whispers. You roll your eyes. “My girl.”

His fingers release your throat and the sudden breath of air buzzes through you. The world sharpens; you sense his cock, his skin under your palms, his hand still around your neck— like he owns you. Your cunt tightens at the idea, something pretty stringing up your spine. Pleasure intensifies, practically breathing with you, until your brain rushes with endorphins.

“There she is. So good for me now,” he says and your lips stretch up with a proud grin. You’re lazy on your bones, letting him rock you on his cock without a care. “You wouldn’t do this for anyone, would you?” 

You shake your head fervently. “Only you.” 

“That’s right,” he nods. “Only me.” He sneaks a thumb to your clit, pushing away your slack hand and working at it himself. “No fucking guy can make you feel like this.” 

“I know,” you whine, and there’s the faint heartbreak of it tugging at the back of your mind. Nothing tangible, just the knowledge of what you’ll spend the rest of your life mourning and missing once he’s gone. Once you’re gone.

He lets go of your neck, dropping it to your waist, and you whine at the loss. It quickly turns into a moan as he uses both hands to guide you on his length properly. A quick, hard tempo sets, shaking your legs with growing pleasure. You feel him in the deepest part of you, hitting again and again that sweet spot as he puppeteers your freely given hips. 

“God, Matty.”

He smirks. “That was redundant.” You roll your eyes, half from pleasure and half from annoyance. He chuckles at that, happily giving a deep stroke that has you purring for him, as though to prove his point. 

You hold your weight up with a hand beside his head, drooping into the mattress. You tilt your hips, angling yourself perfectly for his drilling cock. Your face breaks open with a moan, but you shake your head. You force your eyes open to take in his face; sweaty and flushed and overwhelmed with pleasure and work. You lick your lips. Pleasure swirls in your belly, tightening and tightening until you have to believe you’ve driven yourself mad. 

“Daddy,” you whine for him. Your free hand flies back to your thighs, rubbing at your clit until your lungs catch on fire. “Make me come,” you plea. “I need you. I need—” You press into your bud, groaning at the rush of ecstasy. 

Matty laughs and the mean sound only drives you further into lust. You grip the sheets, trying to catch on fire. “Thought you were gonna shag me,” he mocks. “Thought you were gonna get off all on your own.” He tsks, bucking into you wildly, sounding out of breath as he adds, “But you need Daddy to make you come, don’t you?” 

You shake your head, as if the evidence wasn’t dripping all over his cock, spilling from your lips in incoherent slurs. “No?” He says, again just as merciless in his taunting. He halts inside of you and you cry, shaking your head. “Do it, then,” he laughs. 

He raises his hands up your waist, dancing on the ribs. He gropes your tits, circling the nipples. It becomes apparent to you that he’s not joking. You pout, finding your balance again and rising to your knees, falling back with thunderous force. Your legs shake; you’re exhausted and sore, whiny as you obey him. 

“That’s it, princess,” he praises. It’s enough to spark some motivation. You furrow your eyebrows, bouncing on his cock, puffing breaths falling from your lips. Sweat pearls on your forehead, but you continue, undeterred. “God, you’re so fucking filthy.”

You mewl, redoubling efforts. You find something close to those quick, harsh thrusts Matty was giving, just slightly poorer. You fuck mindlessly, not bothering to rub your clit on his pelvis or find that delicious spot inside of you. Pleasure fills your mind anyway. 

“Doing so well,” he moans. His fingers play with your nipples; your head pulls back, crying out. “Use my cock. Ride it ‘till you come all over it.” You whine, nodding fervently. “Need to feel you again,” he pants. “Need to feel that cunt as it fucking squeezes me.” 

Ecstasy swarms through you. You moan, digging your claws into your sheets. You squeeze around him, over and over, a clear-tell warning. His name and a string of curses come out of your lips broken. He pinches your nipple. 

“I’m gonna—”

“Ask,” he groans, a choking sound that rips out of him. 

“Can I—” Your body trembles, the taste of climax spreading under your skin. You scrunch your face. “Daddy, please, can I—” You finish it with a moan, losing your train of thought.

“Use your big girl words,” he taunts, climbing one hand up. Your breath catches as he nears your neck; a swirling hit of excitement so true it makes you lightheaded. Still, he doesn’t linger, instead cupping your jaw and sticking his thumb in your mouth. 

Your hips are artless and loose, sliding and rolling and thrusting without any reason. It’s wild, brutal strokes that have you drooling around his finger. 

“C’mon, princess. I wanna hear you.”

He doesn’t slip his thumb out. You speak around his digit, drooling and slurring, incoherent. “Pleashe, pleashe, pleashe, Daddy, let me come. I want to come. I’ve been so good, I’ve— fuck, I’ve needed it for so long. Just—” You cry, shaking your head. “You’re so fucking deep in me.”

You take his hand away from your jaw, feeling spit drip down your chin as you spread it over your belly instead. “Fucking love you inside of me. Where you belong,” you moan. 

“Fuck, yeah.” He pushes on your stomach, making you feel his cock sliding into you. Your mind rolls inside your skull, drunk. “Made for this cunt.”

“Made to make me come.” He nods again eagerly. Your hips stutter, exhausted. “Please, then,” you say, hopeful. “Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplea—”

“Come for me, princess.”

“Ah—” You convulse, dropping on his chest, a scream drowning in his shoulder as your climax hits you in one drowning wave. Ecstasy sparks under your skill, overwhelming. 

Matty holds you in place with one soothing hand on your spine. Ruthlessly, he continues to fuck up into you, riding the end of your mindnumbing orgasm. “Fuck, I got you. Ride it out, princess. Ride it out on my cock. That’s it— Shit, I can fucking feel you.” 

Your fingertips buzz pleasantly, and there’s the distant shape of his words in your ear. You grin, loose and happy, heart filling up with his name. “D’you feel good?” He asks, kissing your cheek. You nod, humming. “Yeah? Came so hard for me?”

“Yeah.” You moan, his cock still thrusting inside of you slowly, waking you up again. Your legs shake. You tilt your hips slowly, ever so slightly rolling them. Matty grins against your cheek, kissing it again and again. 

He caresses your back, soothing away all those leftover shivers. “So fucking pretty when you come,” he promises. “The best girl. My best girl.” He grips your back, choking out, “Can you turn around for me?” 

You whine, tired, but still straighten up on his lap. You hoist up with great efforts, turning around with shaky knees. He coos some congratulations, hooking an arm around your belly and laying you back up on his chest. You practically melt on it, back against his stomach, head tucked in the crook of his neck. Each thigh hangs from his knees and he spreads you wide open for him again. 

“Don’t have to do anything, baby,” he breathes out, snaking a hand down your body to grab his still hard cock. “Let Daddy take care of you.” You groan, nodding in agreement. He likes himself up with your dripping entrance, then slides into you. 

He allows you a single slow thrust to get used to the stretch again, then wastes no time mercilessly ramming inside of you. You grip the arm around your waist, digging your nails into his tattoos, barely holding on from the brutal pace between your thighs. You mumble a strange mix of his name and the word Daddy, blurring out of you with all those pathetic sounds you shamelessly let out. 

You can tell he’s close too, chasing his pleasure with abandon, practically using you to get off. The knowledge makes burning heat spread through your lower belly. You throb around him, wanting him to come, to fill you up. Wanting him to feel as good as he makes you. 

Matty smirks against your cheek. “Oh, are you gonna come again?” His hips snap quickly, taunting. You stutter a response, biting down a scream. “What’s that? Can’t hear you when you mumble.”

“Shit,” is all you manage to say, already feeling pleasure grow inside of you again. He’s delighted to find this, grabbing a pebbled breast and playing with it. “I— Fucking, I’m—”

He hums, licking your neck. “Does Daddy’s cock make you forget how to speak?” You tremble in his arms, hot shame filling up your mind, a strange, sinful heat that has you yelling out absurdities. Matty’s relentless between your thighs, knowing exactly how to prove his point. 

His knees fall further on the bed, spreading your thighs wide open for him. He snakes a hand to your clit, rubbing at it with his palm. You jump in his arms, shaking your head. “Can’t—” It’s too much, too soon. You feel the edges of you unspool, unwind. 

“Can’t what?” He teases, merciless. “Can’t think? It’s okay, baby. Just lay there and take it. I’ll do the rest.” 

You practically buzz, incapable of taking in the pleasure that he’s already fucking and rubbing some more out of you. You choke, giving him some empty pleas, unsure of what exactly you’re even asking for.

“My dumb little slut,” he coos, kissing your cheek. “Fucked all stupid, as she should be.”

He dips his head in your neck, nipping and licking at the skin, peppering it with sweet love. It drowns your mind, makes it sticky and happy. You claw at his arm, desperate. 

Matty’s legs shake under you. You know he’s growing tired too, ready to burst anytime. The knowledge pokes at your mind, hot and eager. You grind on his palm. 

“Come in me,” you beg. You’ve completely relinquished the control of your tongue. “I’m on the pill now. Please.” Matty twitches inside of you. 

“Fuck,” he groans in your neck, choked. “That right? Got on the pill specifically for me?”

You did, searching up doctors and prescriptions, belly humming with the idea of him not pulling out this time. “Yes.”

His hand leaves your breast, climbing up to your neck. You throb around him, reveling in his presence around your throat, the silent mark that he owns you. “Needed me to fill you up that fucking bad? To have my cum dripping out of you.” 

“Yes,” you scream, wrinkling your face. 

“Gonna come for me first, though, right? Be my good little girl and come.” Though the words trigger something in you, you shake your head stubbornly. You’re almost afraid of letting go, as though the building euphoria inside of you could crush you to death, could blow your skin off your bones. It’s safer here, just on the edge of the fatal. 

His cock slams into you and his hand presses into your clit, driving you wilder and wilder. You choke a scream, feeling your limbs tighten in apprehension. You’re there, just there, and still you refuse. 

All the sensations are too much. You call his name, the only word you seem to know. Pressure presses against your skin, threatening to burst. You feel yourself begin to cry. 

Matty shushes you soothingly. “Oh, princess,” he says, kissing away your tears. “Shhh. It’s okay. I’m right there. I’ll catch you.” 

You pout, shaking your head, sobbing from pleasure. It’s a useless fight; Matty presses into the sides of your throat and suddenly the world catches on fire. You’re flying into orbit, imploding with ecstasy, screaming his name and all the curse words you know in worship. 

“Did so well,” Matty screams. “Fuck. Look at you coming all over my cock. What a good girl.” He releases your neck just when you come down from your high, shooting you up in another rush of pleasure. You moan, melting on him. “Gonna fill you up, now,” he warns. His words sound desperate, stretched thin. “Gonna come so deep inside of you, you’ll feel me for days. D’you want that?” 

“Yes!” 

His hips stutter. He twitches inside of you. “Say it— Shit.”

“Fill me up, Daddy!” 

“Ah, fucking hell—” He comes inside of you with a cry of your name, shaking under you. He groans, shaking, washed with pleasure. He continues fucking into you mindlessly, slower and slower, until he’s stopped, panting. His hold on you is murderous; it’s like he’s afraid you’ll slip away from him in his most vulnerable state. 

You watch him, observe his solemn face as he lingers in ecstasy, eyes shut and smile wide. Your chest warms, a grin teasing your own lips. Sweat and tears and drool dries on your face.

Matty softens inside of you. His cock slips out, cum spilling out of you. You moan at the feeling, getting on your elbows to watch the spectacle. Still laying down and catching his breath, Matty plunges two fingers inside of you, pushing his cum back in your cunt just so you can watch it fall again. You shiver, falling back on him with a sigh. 

“God,” he says. “I’m too old to fuck in twin beds.” You laugh in surprise and he snickers with you, his chest drumming against you. “You’re rich. Why don’t you have a king sized bed and feather pillows or some shit?” 

“I’m sensible,” you say, sticking your tongue out. You roll to your belly beside him, finally letting him take a full breath. He stretches on your mattress, taking up almost all the space. It’s a little ridiculous, this man in your childhood bed. 

You smirk, traveling down his chest and stopping near his soft cock. You lick the length, sucking him into your mouth to clean the mix of your wetness and his cum. He jumps, sitting up to push you anyway. “Fucking— Do you want to kill me?”

You laugh, falling back on the pillows, cheeky. “See? Not so easy.” 

“Well, you’re young and healthy. I expect more of you.” Matty opens his arm, inviting you to tuck your head in his shoulder. Your arm drapes over his chest, halfway across his tattoo. “When’s your dad gonna be back?” He yawns.

“I don’t know,” you admit. It’s always up in the air; often, you don’t know he even came back until you wake up to the strong smell of Ethiopian coffee and the ghost of him in the flat. You shrug, “You could always sneak out if he’s there in the morning.”

Matty rubs his face. “Ugh, I feel like a teenager.” 

You rest your chin on his shoulder, teasing, “Shouldn’t fuck such a young, innocent girl, then.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Innocent? You’ve seen the things you’ve done on my dick?”

“Shut up.” Quieter, you mumble, “I don’t think Mr. Snuffles’s ever gonna be able to unhear tonight.” His laughs rocks you, resonating against you. You grin on his skin. 

You nuzzle further into his warmth, exhaustion settling in your bones. His arm warms your waist, pulling you further into him. You know you need to clean yourself up soon, but you allow yourself a short moment to relish the shape of him. 

He tugs you out of sleep by piping up, voice sticky-tired, “If you want, I know the best fucking scallop place in town. We could go tomorrow.”

Halfway asleep, you say, “I’d like that.”

[allyeardepression]

@jegulus-microfic | march 8 bar | words: 747

did i use two tiktok sounds in this one? yes. yes, i did. am i sorry or ashamed? not in the slightest

enjoy <33

“We’re going out tonight,” Barty said without any preamble.

“Hello to you too, Bartemius,” Regulus replied with an eye roll. “Should I congratulate you on this decision or pity you?” His friend laughed at that.

“No, you didn’t get it. We are going out tonight,” the other guy said, emphasizing the word ‘we’. Regulus stiffened at the statement.

“Fuck off, I’m not going anywhere,” he said, going back to painting his nails.

“Yes, you are! You’ve been moping ever since that Max guy...

“Matty.”

“Same shit, anyways—he left you for some chick! C’mon, Reggie, it’ll be fun; maybe you’ll even get lucky and get some." Barty continued, catching his attention at the last part. Yeah, maybe a rebound with some stranger would make him feel better.

“What should I wear?” There was a loud ‘woohoo’ from the other end of the line, and then Barty started talking about outfits Regulus should put on.

***

An hour later, they both stood at the entrance to the pub called Thirteen Needles, waiting for Evan and Pandora. It didn’t look like a stereotypical British pub with its unmatched chairs and sofas and some colorful lamps thrown around the place. All in all, it was a nice place.

When the dark-skinned siblings showed up, they only managed to smoke half a cigarette each.

“Looking good, Reggie,” Pandora said as Evan approached Barty and started kissing him eagerly. Regulus looked down at his clothes; he wore a black DIY sleeveless crop top with Marina’s Electra Heart cover, tight black pants, and low Docs. Yeah, he looked good.

In response, he just smiled at the blonde girl, making a gesture to come in.

All four of them sat at a table with high chairs, not far from the bar. After their second round of tequila shots, Pandora leaned closer to him. “The bartender is looking at you like you’re the eighth wonder of the world,” she whispered in his ear. Immediately, he turned around to see the man she was talking about, and he was met with the most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen. The guy noticed him looking and smiled the brightest smile, at which Regulus spit his drink a little. The bartender had the audacity to chuckle at that.

Regulus turned back to his friends, thinking about the rebound he had considered earlier. He ended his drink in one big gulp, putting the glass back down with a thud.

“Anyone wants anything? No? Good” Regulus said this quickly, jumping from his stool and heading straight for the bar.

When he got there, the Pretty Eyes Guy was busy with another customer, and Regulus had time to look at him properly.

The Guy looked like some Latino god with his tanned skin, well-built arms covered in patchwork tattoos, messy hair, and gold accessories—glasses, earrings, and a single signet on his left hand’s middle finger. He had nice hands, Regulus thought.

When it was his turn to order, The Guy’s eyes sparkled with joy.

“Hi there, what can I get you?” Oh god, he had such a nice, deep voice.

“Um, one long island, please.” His voice, on the other hand, sounded like he just had a stroke.

“On it” The Guy winked and started preparing his order. Throughout the whole thing, Regulus's eyes continued to follow his movements. At some point, the guy smirked and said, “If you keep undressing me with your eyes, I’m going to catch a cold,” and it was Regulus turn to chuckle.

“Oh, nice one…”

“James” The Guy, James, filled in, stealing a glimpse.

“Nice one, James,” Regulus said softly.

When James finished preparing his drink and Reg took out his phone to pay for it, the bartender shook his head. “On the house. Enjoy…”

“Regulus”

“Oh. Oh, I like that." James smiled that bright smile again, and Regulus only winked in response.

He went to order three more times, only flirting innocently. He found the courage to speak his mind when he got there for the fifth time.

“So, listen, James. Would-“

“I’m off at one and live just down the street,” the bartender interrupted, tilting his head and smirking at him. “My roommate is out all night, so you can scream my name as loud as you need to, sugar,” he added, lowering his voice.

And Regulus, well, he just laughed at James. How can someone be so good-looking and talk so badly?

Either way, as Barty said, he got really lucky and actually got some.

[xannytranny]

Blurbs for Paige Bueckers x Caitlin Clark x You

So, I've been going a little feral over certain WBB players, so these are some blurbs I've had stuck in my head. If you guys want, I'll turn it into a two-parter fic. 

PLEASE DONT STEAL (or at least ask first, please)

----------------------------------

It started with you and Caitlin at a bar with friends. Your friends were giggling over a Paige edit, talking about how attractive the UConn star was. They asked your opinion, and you agreed easily, not thinking much of it past the haze of tequila shots you were in. Caitlin was less than enthused. 

On your way home, she grills you about your thoughts on Paige. You brush her off, giggling. 

When you get home, Caitlin is all over you. She's rough and fast, like a post-game loss. 

When you tell her to slow down, she immediately replies, "You think Paige would fuck you nice and slow, hm? Is that it?" 

You jolt back in surprise, "Cait, wh-" 

She doesn't let you finish before she's on you again. 

Caitlin makes quips about Paige throughout the night. Saying things like, "You think her fingers would reach this deep?" and "Who's fucking you like this? Say my name, baby,"

You're shaking and crying from overstimulation by the time she's finished. 

Once things have calmed down, you reassure her that she's the only one you want. She tells you she knows and apologizes if she was too rough. You tell her you enjoyed yourself and wouldn't mind doing it again.

-----------------------

Pt. 2: +Paige 

Caitlin tells you Paige is spending a few days with you for winter break. You agree, completely forgetting about the incident from a couple of weeks ago. 

You had met Paige a few times, and you liked her a lot. She reminded you of Caitlin in a lot of ways. She was a smart, beautiful, and funny girl who turned into a 6 ft beast when she got a basketball in her hands. It was hot, and in Caitlin's case, made you drip. (In Paige's case, too, if you were being honest). 

When Paige got there, you guys settled for a chill night in. Paige and Caitlin let you decide on the movie, so you chose a Twilight marathon (you found it pretty fitting). 

Halfway through "New Moon," Caitlin volunteered to refill the snacks. You get up to help her but get pulled into Paige's lap instead. Things quickly go downhill from there. 

By the time Caitlin comes back, Paige's hand is high on your inner thigh, and you're blushing up a storm. Caitlin scoffs at the sight. "I thought you were supposed to be the 'Ultimate Rizzler,' Bueckers."

They spend the rest of the night taking turns with you, trying to one-up each other. You can barely remember your name by the time they're done.

Bonus: 

Warning- Mommy and daddy kink

"You wanna tell Paige the special name you have for me, baby?" Caitlin asks you with two fingers stuffed in your mouth. 

You whimper around her fingers, blushing. 

"Come on, be good for me and tell her," Caitlin says, taking her fingers out of your mouth and wrapping her hand around your neck instead. 

"M-mommy," You stutter out. 

"That's cute, ma. Does that make me daddy?" Paige asks, grinning up at you from between your legs. 

You whine, keening. "P-Paige, please,"

"Ah, ah, ah." She tuts, stopping her fingers. "That's not my name, is it baby?"

"Daddy...." You say, blushing. Caitlin and Paige share a look before looking down at you. You shiver, knowing it means you're in for a long night. 

[simpforrooster]

you don't see it.

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x F!Reader

summary: Jake is sick of you talking about Rooster and takes matters into his own hands.

a/n: i'm sorry y'all. this is straight trash, but i can't go on until its up and posted LOL. i hope y'all are having a great weekend!

t/w: alcohol, some cursing, friend!jake, jealous!rooster

You didn’t like Rooster. Well, let’s back up.

You liked him, you just didn’t like Rooster. You didn’t like those silly Hawaiian shirts. You didn’t like those Ray Bans he wore and would look at you over the frames of them. You didn’t like that sandy hair and tan skin. You definitely didn’t like that 70’s ‘stache. Nor did you wonder what it felt like against your face to kiss him. 

Nope. None of it. Sometimes, it felt like you were the only girl in the word immune to the man called Rooster. 

Of course you never found yourself daydreaming about the man. Or wishing you were wrapped up in those strong arms. You found it easy to ignore watching him flirt with other women. You didn’t need to be jealous. 

No matter how much you wanted those words to be true, they weren’t. 

You are completely in love with the guy, and he only sees you as a friend. He’s even mentioned a time or two what a great person you were to have around. “I couldn’t ask for a better friend,” he’d told you. That comment resulted in throwing back several shots of tequila, and Jake having to bring you home. 

****

“He only sees me as a friend,” you whine to Jake later, hanging all over him, the alcohol making it hard to stand on your own. You hook an arm around Jake’s neck, holding on with all your might. 

“Why doesn’t he like me like that, Jakey?” you asked. You are the only one allowed to call him this. The first time it slipped out, Coyote immediately tried to make it a thing. Jake almost clobbered him over the pool table.

Jake hits you with a deep chuckle. “It’s his loss, babe.” His arm encircles your waist, keeping you upright. 

“Why don’t you just date me, Jakey?” you ask the blonde fighter pilot, your sober thoughts coming out of your drunk mouth. 

Jake chuckles again and the sound does something to you. Despite the man’s animosity and egotistical attitude toward the rest of the crew, he always seemed to have a soft spot for you. 

“You know I’m no good for you, babydoll,” his southern twang stirs emotions deep within you. 

“I’m sure I could handle you,” you quip. The flirting between the two of you is nothing new. It’s pretty much standard practice. Especially after a few drinks. 

But Jake knows Rooster is the one you want to be with. 

Jake grins. “Hmmm, but I don’t think I could handle you.” Jake pulls you closer, moving his mouth close to your ear. His hot breath causes a pink flush to fall across your cheeks. “Don’t look now, but the object of your affections seems to be mighty jealous.” 

You know when someone says, “don’t look now” you immediately look? Naturally, this is your first course of action. Rooster watches the two of you, a sneer on his face. A look you’ve never seen on him before. 

“He does seem jealous, huh?” You turn back to Jake, your eyes wide. 

“Wanna make it worse?” he asks, mischief in those green eyes. 

“What did you have in mind?” 

Jake expertly positions you with your back perfectly to Rooster. “Don’t freak out,” Jake warns. He places a soft hand across your mouth and leans in, placing a kiss against his own hand. 

You know exactly how this looks, and decide to play it up, locking your arms back around his neck. This whole façade has your face burning bright red, only to add to what you want Rooster to think.

“Go get me another drink, darlin’,” Jake winks. Going to get Jake a drink puts you right next to Rooster, and he seems itching to say something to you. 

“So you and Hangman?” his deep voice calls to you. His Hawaiian shirt is hanging off his shoulders, a white tank underneath tight across his chest. 

“We’re just friends,” you say lamely. 

Rooster lets out a whistle. “Yeah, that didn’t look like ‘two friends’.” 

“What’s it to ya, anyway?” you push. The tension between the two of you sucks the alcohol from your system, clearing your head. 

Or maybe it was the fact that Jake cut you off twenty minutes ago. 

“Just be careful is all,” he tells you, bringing his beer to his lips.

“You really don’t see it do you?” you mumble, your annoyance taking over. 

“See what?” 

“Rooster, I practically throw myself at you, and you just remind me of what a great friend I am.” Now that the confession has left your mouth, there is no taking it back now. You hold your breath waiting for his reply.

Rooster looks at you like you just asked him a difficult riddle and he has 2.3 seconds to answer until he’s done for.

“Forget it,” you resign, turning to join Jake at the pool table. Chills run down your body when a strong arm stops you from taking another step. Rooster’s calloused hand grips your wrist like a lifeline. 

Rooster spins you back toward him and crashes his lips against yours. It takes you a moment to fully register what is happening. Getting over the fact that the man of your dreams is kissing you, you grip the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer to you. 

“Get a room!” Jake calls from the back, satisfied Rooster finally came to his senses. 

“I’m sorry I was an idiot,” Rooster smirks. “Let me make it up to you.” 

Rooster slides cash across the bar to Penny, who is rolling her eyes at the two of you. He takes your hand in his, and pulls you from the bar and toward his old Bronco. 

He pins you against the cool metal of the car, trapping you between his body. “I gotta wipe that memory of Hangman’s kiss from your mind.”

You let out a crazed giggle, and pull the man back down to your mouth. 

“I didn’t kiss him, Roos. He was trying to make you jealous so you’d make a move. He’s sick of me gushing over you.” 

Rooster answers you with a kiss that would certainly be enough to make you forget a Jake Seresin kiss.

masterlist

[bro-atz]

do you remember?

in which: you are completely and utterly drunk and san just happens to be there to rescue you

pair: san/afab!reader

word count: 5k

content: smut, drunken kissing, drunk sex, completely consensual!

apply for the permanent taglist here!

You don’t have a drinking problem. You’ve never had a drinking problem. You drink when you have problems, but you don’t have problems that often.

The night you met San for the first time, you had a shit-ton of problems. You got to your favorite bar, sat on one of the stools, and immediately ordered five shots of tequila and your favorite mixed drink. After you downed the five shots, you sighed loudly and hung your head down.

“You alright there?”

San put his hand on your shoulder, and you immediately swatted it away.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you grumbled back.

You didn’t intend to be rude, but the truth was that you really didn’t want to interact with anyone other than the bartender, and that was only because you needed the bartender to get you more drinks. You paid attention to the drink in front of you and watched the ice clink as it melted in the cup. Staring at the ice for too long brought the horrible events of the day back to your mind, and you felt tears spring to your eyes.

“Fuck,” you whispered before chugging your drink. “Another!”

Another drink magically appeared in front of you. You brought the cup to your lips but stopped as you felt a pair of eyes locked on you. You turned to see the man who put his hand on your shoulder staring at you intently.

“What do you want?” You asked with a sigh, this time your words coming out a lot less rude.

“To talk.”

“Why?”

“Well, you look like you could use a friend.”

“Look, uh,” you turned to face him, and you finally made eye contact with him. You felt your face get hot as you spent a second observing his beauty.

“San,” he said, assuming that you wanted to know what his name was.

“Right. Look, San. I don’t want to talk about what’s got me acting like this, but if you really want to help, then just distract me, alright?”

“How would you like me to distract you?”

“I don’t know, but just don’t ask me if I’m okay.”

San was silent for a moment. You turned back to your drink— you knew that he wouldn’t have been of any help. You took a sip of your drink, unaware that San was going to say something.

“Did you know that cat urine glows under a black light?”

Immediately, you spat out your drink and started coughing. He held a napkin out to you, which you grabbed quickly. You wiped your mouth before glaring at him. San, meanwhile, had started laughing.

“What the hell?! Why would you say that?!”

“You said to distract you. Was that distracting enough?”

You stared at San in disbelief, only to burst out into laughter. He was right— you weren’t thinking about what pissed you off anymore. With a grin, you held your drink up, San tapping his cup against yours.

The five shots you took earlier in the night hit you fairly quickly after he revealed that fun fact to you. The only thing you could really do was laugh as he narrated story after story, but you didn’t process a single one of those stories. You were too far gone.

At some point, you checked your watch and saw that it was pretty late. Without even saying a word to San, you paid the bartender in cash, and you stumbled out of the bar. San followed shortly after.

“Hey, wait,” San grabbed your arm before you could get near the curb to hail a cab. “You’re going to leave without saying goodbye?”

“Oh, shoot, sorry,” you slurred. “Goodbye, Mr. San.”

You saluted and turned on your heel, only for you to trip over your two damn feet. San caught you in time before you could plant your face into the concrete, his firm arm wrapping around you. Thanks to his arm around your waist, you felt a fire dance inside you.

“Are you sure you can get home safe?” San asked, his voice low as he whispered to you.

You couldn’t respond. His hold on you was melting your brain faster than the alcohol did.

“What is it?”

“Come here,” you said as you tugged on his collar.

The last thing you remember was kissing him. His lips were incredibly soft and thick. You didn’t expect him to kiss back because the kiss was pretty nonconsensual, but when he did, you felt your legs buckle. The last thing you remember was kissing him and that his kisses were amazing.

When you woke up the next morning, you woke up with a blinding headache. You sat up and held your head as you took in your unfamiliar surroundings. You didn’t remember how you got to where you were or where the hell you even were. You let out a soft groan as you closed your eyes— the sunlight was way too bright for your hangover.

“Oh, you’re up? Good. I was beginning to worry that you were dead.”

You opened your eyes slightly to see a familiar figure standing in the doorway— San. Your eyes immediately widened upon realizing your situation. You looked down and saw that underneath the duvet wrapped neatly around your chest, you were completely naked. You weren’t even wearing your underwear.

A red blush covered your entire face. You couldn’t believe that you were naked, that a hot man was in front of you, that you were naked in front of this hot man, and that you were in front of this man in his apartment and naked.

“I, uh,” you croaked out, your voice still recovering from all the booze from the night prior.

“Don’t worry about what happened. We all go through it. I’m just glad you’re okay,” San said in a soft voice, somewhat easing your headache.

You stared at him as he walked to the windows and drew the blinds, making it a lot easier to keep your eyes open in the bright, now dimmer, room. He sat on the bed, and you couldn’t help but hold the duvet higher to cover more of your chest.

“Could you, uh, tell me what happened last night?”

“Well, you were pretty far gone, and you nearly stumbled into traffic, so I grabbed you before you could get hit by a car, and then you kind of passed out. I brought you to my place because I didn’t know where you lived.”

“You could’ve checked my ID?” You pointed out.

“Yes, but I didn’t want to risk having the wrong address.”

You nodded slowly. What he said made sense, but the fact that you were stark naked still made you extremely concerned about the events from the evening before.

“Well, I’m sorry about last night… And thank you for making sure I was safe. I appreciate it.”

San smiled at you, and you felt your heart skip several beats. There was a little moment of silence between the two of you. You were staring into his eyes and wondering how on Earth a man this beautiful was allowed to exist. As you pondered his beauty, the realization that you were naked hit you once more.

“Where are my clothes?” You asked timidly.

“Oh, I washed them last night. They should be good to wear now,” San responded rather casually.

“Washed them?”

“You threw up on them last night.”

Embarrassment hit you like a runaway train. You buried your face in the duvet and sunk into the bed as you cried, “God, I am so mortified…”

“It wasn’t that bad! You made it to the bathroom, but you just got some on you. I didn’t think you’d want to sleep in slightly soiled clothes,” he tried to reassure you, but you were still extremely embarrassed.

“You couldn’t have given me any clothes to sleep in…?”

“I, uh,” he looked away from you sheepishly. “I have yet to do my laundry… I didn’t have anything clean for you to sleep in. I just wrapped the duvet around you before carrying you to my room.”

Despite the embarrassment completely consuming your soul, you were amazed by the unreal being before you. You could feel yourself start to fall for him just a little, but the fact that you didn’t really know him and that the situation was just that traumatizing subdued any of the feelings that you started developing.

After thanking him profusely, San left the room and returned with your now clean and neatly folded clothes. He left you to get changed. You felt your entire body flush upon realizing that when San washed your clothes, he also washed your underwear, which meant he also folded your underwear. You were lucky that you wore a sexy little black lace number. Then, you wondered if you willingly took your clothes off or if he took them off for you. You shook your head— you didn’t want to think about any of that and turn yourself on so early in the morning.

You sat near the front door to his apartment and put your shoes on as he stood behind you. You turned to look up at the gorgeous man as you asked a question that suddenly popped into your head. “Oh, wait. Before I go, did we… Uh… Do anything last night?”

“No,” San responded almost immediately, his face turning bright red.

“Your face says otherwise.”

“Okay, well… You kissed me, but that’s it. I would never dream of making a move on someone who could barely hold a coherent conversation.”

“Good. Good…” you said quietly as you nodded. Without a second to lose, you stood up and said, “Alright, well, thanks again. Bye,” before briskly walking through the door.

Upon leaving his apartment complex, you crouched on the ground and hid your face in your knees. You got more and more embarrassed with each passing second.

“I’m never drinking again,” you lied to yourself, hoping that if you said it out loud then it would become the truth.

Your statement to yourself lasted one week. Seven days after waking up in San’s apartment, you were drinking again. At least this time you weren’t drinking an insane amount in such little time. You were nursing a cocktail when you saw a familiar figure enter the bar. You couldn’t quite place him, but as soon as you saw his face, you choked on your drink. It was San.

“Oh, hey!” San said the moment he laid eyes on you.

“Hey,” you replied, your voice scratchy after barely recovering from the alcohol burning your throat.

“Mind if I sit here?”

San pointed at the seat next to you. You didn’t know whether to shake your head or nod to confirm that it was okay for him to sit right next to you, so you gestured awkwardly to the stool. With a slight chuckle, San took his seat. The bartender slid his beer in front of him, and the two of you sat in silence as you sipped your drinks.

“Are you doing better now?” San was the first to break the silence.

“Somewhat…”

“I guess that’s good to hear?”

The two of you laughed a little before returning to your drinks. You couldn’t help but feel awkward around him because of how you acted the last time, which was also the first time, you met him. You shifted anxiously in your seat, and you couldn’t help but sweat when you felt San’s eyes on you.

“Did you know that wombats’ poop is cube-shaped?” San asked you.

“What the fuck?!” You were completely taken aback.

Your reaction to his fun fact made him laugh loudly and authentically, and you couldn’t help but notice how cute he was when he laughed. You noticed the deep dimples on his face and the way his eyes turned into crescents as his shoulders bobbed up and down with each laugh. You wanted to laugh with him, but you were so drawn into his beauty that the only thing you could do was stare at him with an unhinged jaw.

“What?” San asked with a hint of a laugh after noticing you staring at him, his voice still cheery.

“Huh?”

“Why are you staring at me like that? Is something wrong?”

You scrambled to regain your composure upon his commentary. You shook your head vehemently as you stuttered, “No, everything is fine.”

“Is it?”

Before you could even respond, you felt his hand on your knee. His fingers rubbed your knee lightly, sending tingles through your limbs and butterflies to your stomach.

“Are you sure?” San asked.

You didn’t— no, you couldn’t— respond. His hand went up from your knee to your thigh, and his hand cupped your thigh, the tips of his fingers pressing firmly into your skin. You couldn’t help but squeeze your legs together, hoping that your effort would keep him from turning you on any further. Your efforts failed when he leaned in closer to you and whispered, “How much have you had to drink tonight?”

“One drink before you came, and then this one.”

“So you’re not drunk.”

“Not in the slightest.”

Leaning back, San moved his hand away from you, leaving you longing for his hot touch once again. You had to bite your lower lip to hold back whatever horny noise that nearly came out of your mouth, causing San to smirk slightly.

“So you won’t need my help tonight?”

“No, I’ll definitely need you tonight.”

San kept his hands off you until you both got back to his place. Just as you put one foot through the threshold, San pulled you into his arms. He pressed his nose into the nook of your neck and inhaled deeply, his arms hugging you tighter to him. You closed your eyes and felt your body tingle. You only opened your eyes again when he pulled away from you slightly. You locked eyes with him. His gaze was so intense that your heart skipped a couple beats. 

Due to the state you were in the last time you were with him, San seemed a little hesitant. It was as if he was silently asking you for permission. Without uttering a word, you pushed yourself closer to him and brushed your lips against his. That was all he needed for him to pin you against the wall and for his lips to encompass yours. He sucked on your lower lip, pulling you deeper into his lust and desire.

“God, I can’t take it anymore,” you whispered to him.

“Good.”

San cupped the bottom of your thigh and brought it up, willing you to wrap your legs around him. You did so, and he carried you to his bedroom. You held his face in your hands as your lips continued to lock and your tongues continued to dance. When he pinned you on his bed, you heard him groan in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. His fingers pushed your shirt up and tiptoed along your skin, tickling your ribs. Within seconds, your shirt was lying on the ground. His lips pressed along your neck and trailed downwards. His fingers pushed the waistband of your pants down slowly, but you were getting impatient. You pushed yourself up, interrupting his trail of kisses. You quickly removed the rest of your clothes and sat completely naked before him. You watched as he bit his lower lip while his face turned red.

“What’s wrong? You’ve already seen me naked before, right?” You asked teasingly.

“Yes, and I had the same reaction then. You’re fucking gorgeous, you know that?”

Now it was your turn for your face to flush. You felt your face getting hotter as San leaned in towards you, his nose brushing against yours.

“Can I tell you something?” San asked you, his voice hushed.

“What is it?”

“When I carried you to my bed that night, I kept thinking about how I wanted to run my fingers up your calf…”

As he said that, he trailed his fingers from your ankle all the way up to your knee.

“Yeah?” You whispered back.

“And I wanted to grab your thighs…”

He grabbed your thighs. His gaze, although seemingly impossible, got more intense. You saw flames dancing in his eyes.

“And...?”

“And spread your legs apart,” San said as he spread your legs quickly. His lips were near your ear, making his words so much more sensual.

You couldn’t even ask him to continue verbalizing his fantasies because he moved his face down, his lips trailing kisses along your thighs towards your entrance. You gasped as you felt his tongue run up and down. Your hands grabbed his hair and pushed his head further into you. Just as one of his fingers slipped inside you, you felt your whole body convulse, and you came right on his face. It was only after the high of your orgasm subdued did you realize what you did.

“Oh my God, San… I’m so sorry,” you said as you tried to wipe his face with your fingers.

San sat away from you and dried his face with his shirt before taking it off and throwing it somewhere in the room.

“I guess we should do an even exchange then, huh?”

With that, San knelt on the bed and unbuckled his pants. He unzipped his fly, revealing what you could only describe as killer. Your mouth started salivating just upon seeing his dick. You took his dick into your hand and pumped a couple times before placing your lips delicately on the tip. You heard him groan as you took him in further into your mouth. His fingers trembled as he ran them through your hair and held your hair back. His hand started guiding you, making you go faster and pushing his dick all the way to the back of your throat.

“Fuck… Just like that,” you heard him say breathily.

Suddenly, he pulled away entirely. He stroked his dick a couple times and came all over your face. Payback. You licked whatever remained on your lips and watched him intently. His face got redder upon seeing you giggle and biting your lower lip suggestively. He grabbed some tissues from his nightstand and cleaned up your face quickly before grabbing a condom from the drawer. He kicked off his pants and rolled the condom on quickly, but he wasn’t going fast enough for you— you were thirsting for him bad.

“Hurry,” you whined as he pinned you down on the bed, his fingers lacing with yours.

“Easy there, gorgeous. I’m not going anywhere,” San responded with a smirk.

He licked your neck and left the sweetest kiss. Your curled your toes and held back your moans as he jumped to your breast. He let go of one of your hands to massage your breast while his lips were on your other breast, his teeth tugging your nipple upwards. The second he let go of your nipple, you felt his rubbing against you before slowly entering. 

“Fuck!” You gasped and clung to his arms, your nails digging into him the further he went.

You were not expecting him to be so goddamn big, nor were you expecting him to completely fill you up. You flung your head back and moaned as he completely entered you with a powerful thrust. Your eyes were tearing up the second he inserted the tip of his dick into you, but he only saw the tears after he was completely inside. He caressed your cheek and asked, “Are you okay?”

You let out a breathy moan instead of the “yes” you intended to answer with. A tear slipped out of your eye and down your temple. San lowered his head to yours and licked the tear away before kissing you gently. Your body relaxed ever so slightly before San moved, his dick sliding out of you. You bit your lower lip upon feeling the sensation, and when he thrusted into you again, you gasped— he felt incredible.

“I’ll stop if you need me to,” he said.

“N-no, keep going,” you breathed out. “I need more of you.”

With a nod, San leaned down and kissed you, your lower lip getting trapped. He tugged up slightly on your lip and thrusted at a steady pace, both sensations driving you insane. San went from his hands to his elbows, his thrusts getting faster. You wrapped your arms around his back, and every time he slammed into you just a little too hard, you dug your nails into his skin.

San pushed himself up and held the bottom of your thighs. He pushed your thighs towards you and sped up completely. You could hear the bed springs working overtime as he nearly obliviated you.

“San! Oh God!” You cried as you felt yourself nearing your climax again.

San let out a loud groan as his waist slapped yours one last time, and you felt him tremble inside you. He pulled out with a now filled condom, and while he pulled out, you came as well.

Disappointment pricked at your skin briefly when you saw San get off the bed and take the condom off. You sighed, thinking that San was done for the night, but you were sorely mistaken. He threw the used condom away and immediately replaced it with a brand new one. Your eyes went wide as he got back on the bed and kneeled in front of you. Wordlessly, he grabbed you by your waist and turned you over.

When San grabbed your ass, you felt yourself get turned on all over again. He leaned his body weight onto you and pushed your chest down into the bed. His lips were near your ear, and you could hear him breathing slowly but heavily. You felt his length rub between your ass cheeks, a feeling that you never thought you needed to know coming over you and flushing your body with heat. You suppressed your moans to the best of your ability— you didn’t want him to know how much you wanted him inside you.

“Why are you making me wait like this?” You complained.

“I’m trying to calm myself down…” he admitted honestly. “I want us to be able to last a bit.”

While his answer was valid, it still left you with an insane amount of impatience. You reached behind yourself and held his dick in your hands. You positioned him at your entrance, and before he could do a single thing, you pushed your own ass towards him.

“I can’t fucking wait anymore, San. Just ruin me. Destroy me and my pussy.”

Profanities spilled out of his mouth as he pushed grabbed your hair with one of his hands and pulled your head back, his other hand guiding your waist towards and away from him.

“Goddammit, the way your pussy swallows my dick is fucking mind-blowing,” he grunted out through grit teeth.

You couldn’t even respond. All you could do was moan, and your moans got louder as the sound of his waist hitting your ass got louder as well. When San started leaving dark hickeys on your back, you felt like you couldn’t even hold yourself up anymore. Your breaths were getting louder and more sensual with each passing second. Whatever remaining sanity you had completely disappeared the second you felt his hand on your breast, his fingers pinching and tugging your nipple.

San completely pulled out of you, and you came yet again. You whimpered as you slowly started melting in the bed, only to feel San’s hands on your waist again.

“Turn around for me, gorgeous,” San’s breath tickled your ear as he moved you so that you were facing him.

He leaned against the headboard and guided you to sit on his waist right above his dick. You felt his finger trace a light line up your spine. You arched your back to the point where you pressed your chest against San’s. Your faces were mere centimeters away from each other. Your eyes darted back and forth as you looked into his. You watched him open his mouth slightly and run his tongue over his lower lip as he stared at you.

“What is it?” You asked him, suddenly self-conscious about the way your face looked.

“You’re so fucking beautiful…” One of his hands caressed your face as the other one supported the small of your back. “From head to toe, you’re pretty… So pretty…”

San didn’t give you enough time to react to his comment— his lips claimed yours. His fingernails grazed your neck lightly as his thumb rubbed your ear. You moaned, completely unaware that your ear was such an erogenous zone. You felt San smirk in between the intense kisses, and in that same breath, you felt his waist impatiently squirming, his hot dick pressing in between your ass cheeks. He whispered your name when his hands was holding onto your ass cheeks and pulling them upwards, and you felt your heart lurch as he let out tiny grunts.

You pushed yourself up and adjusted yourself as well as his dick comfortably. He let out a shuddering gasp as you sat down slowly, unintentionally tightening when he was inside you.

“Oh, fuck,” San hissed through gritted teeth, his hold on your waist tighter as soon as you sat down all the way.

You, too, let out a moan. You felt like he was about to pierce through you due to his size, but you also felt so good. Your moans wavered as you began to move up and down, your hands pressed against his chest to keep yourself stable. You were moving a little too slowly for him, though. You yelped as he thrust upwards, the slap of his waist against your ass echoing in the room. Your hand slipped slightly on his slick chest, and your finger pressed against his nipple. San gasped loudly and trembled while you continued to move. His hands held your waist and pushed you into him with a final thrust. He hugged you to his chest, and you could hear him breathing heavily.

“Did you just cum?” You asked him.

San responded with a nod, and you connected the dots immediately. You got off of him and kneeled next to him. He tied up the condom and threw it away, but before he could replace it, you pinned him to the bed.

“What are you doing?” San asked with a laugh.

You decided not to answer him with words; rather, you answered by pressing your lips against his and stroking his dick. You wanted to test your theory out, so while the two of you were kissing intensely and loudly, you continued stroking his dick with one hand while you rested your other hand on his chest. You started to trail your kisses down his neck and over his collarbone. San sharply inhaled as you brought your lips and fingers to his nipples. You barely managed to suck and press his nipples before you felt his dick tremble and cum cover your hand.

“Why…” San breathed out after catching his breath. “Why did you…?”

“I wanted to know just exactly how sensitive your nipples are. They’re really sensitive, by the way.”

You shot him a small smile and bit your lower lip. San pushed himself up and wrapped his arms around you as his voice got considerably lower and said, “Let’s find your sensitive areas, then, shall we?”

San reached to his night stand and opened yet another condom. Your limbs tingled with excitement as he pinned you aggressively on the bed and explored your body throughout the night.

You woke up the next morning to see San’s face right across from yours and to feel his arms wrapped around you. All of the memories from the night before flooded your brain the second you saw his face, and you felt your entire body heat up. You were also hyperaware of the fact that the two of you were still very naked, but at least you were under the bedsheets.

He hugged you into his chest a little tighter as you shifted slightly, and he rubbed his nose slightly against your ear, his exhale tickling your neck. His eyes fluttered open, and upon seeing your face, a smile blossomed on his face. You stared at his facial features and wondered what his parents looked like if he looked this rakishly good.

“Hey,” he whispered and brushed your hair out of your face.

“Good morning…” you whispered back.

“Good morning.”

You remained in his arms for a solid half a minute before asking, “Could I get up?”

“That depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“Depends on whether or not you can take accountability for what you’ve done.”

“What have I done?”

San didn’t need to utter a word. He pressed his waist against you, and you could feel every inch of his throbbing dick. You felt yourself get turned on almost immediately, and you felt your face turn red as he looked at you with raw hunger.

“So, will you take accountability?”

Now you didn’t need to utter a word. You hugged him back and kissed him passionately. He pulled you on top of him and continued to kiss you like there was no tomorrow, confirming your plans for the rest of that morning, afternoon, and evening.

About a week later, you were sitting in the bar right by the bartender. The bartender set your regular drink in front of you. Just as you wrapped your fingers around the glass, you felt a tap on your shoulder. You turned to see that it was San.

“Hey.”

“Hey…”

“I haven’t heard from you since that night,” he said as he took a seat next to you.

You couldn’t respond. The memories of him giving it to you good flooded your brain, and all the proper words from your mental dictionary completely disappeared. You could only think about his piercing gaze as he fucked you hard. Your face flushed bright red upon remembering.

“Do you remember…?”

“How could I forget?”

[epicbuddieficrecs]

Weekly Recap | November 6th-12th 2023

Still struggling with putting these out on Mondays! (Also, I don't know if you've realized this by now, but when I discover an author, I sometimes go wild on their ao3 page so.... yep that's a thing that happened 😆 )

Complete

Got Weird by Daisies_and_Briars (Getting Together, Post-S6 | 10K | Explicit): Shortly after Buck and Natalia break up, Eddie gets tipsy and makes a rather forward move. Then immediately panics (not that Eddie panics, of course) and backpedals. Eddie spirals, Buck is confused. Lots of spontaneous kissing ensues.

next to your heartbeat (where i should be) by lecornergirl/ @clusterbuck (Getting Together | 2K | Teen): “You always look at Buck like that.” Eddie swallows. “Like what?” “The same way you look at me,” Christopher says and flips to the next photo like it’s nothing. 

you showed up just in time by lecornergirl/ @clusterbuck (Post S5E6: Brawl In Cell Block 9-1-1 | 1,4K | General): can i come over, typed out quickly and sent before he has time to overthink it. Eddie texts back almost immediately. No. A key turns in his door and Eddie walks in, Christopher in tow.

calling out for somebody to hold tonight by lecornergirl/ @clusterbuck (Eddie Coming Out | 3K | Teen): “Everything okay?” the bartender asks.  “I’m in love with my best friend,” Eddie admits, just for the novelty of saying it out loud. The bartender winces in sympathy. “And you don’t think—” “Oh, never,” Eddie says, with a laugh that sounds hollow even to his own ears. “Can I get another tequila?”

never know what you might find (when dreams come true) by lecornergirl/ @clusterbuck (Getting Together | 5K | Explicit): “Fuck, it’s so stupid,” Eddie says. “It’s embarrassing. I mean, I had one dream about the guy—okay, two dreams, whatever—and now I’m, fucking, tripping over my own feet and knocking things over, and like, my pulse is racing and my mouth goes all dry and—” “And you’re sure you’re not attracted to him?” Frank asks. 

(yesterday my life was duller) now everything is technicolour by lecornergirl/ @clusterbuck (Established Buddie | 1,4K | General): "Eddie," he says. "I love you, but did you really have to make your move five minutes before we started a twenty-four-hour shift?" "Sorry," Eddie says. "Next time, I'll make sure to plan my spontaneous, blurted-out love confession a little better."

cuffing season by lecornergirl/ @clusterbuck (Getting Together | 6K | Explicit): “Hen and Chimney think we won’t be able to make it twenty-four hours handcuffed together,” Eddie says. “Oh, we so could,” Buck says.

all for one and one for always by lecornergirl/ @clusterbuck (Getting Together | 1,8K | General): "Why am I here, anyway?" Buck asks, looking around at all of the parents and teachers milling around the foyer of Christoper's school. "I mean, you know I don't mind, but you made it sound really—" He's interrupted by the sound of a woman's voice, somewhere on Eddie's other side. "Mr Diaz, there you are! And this must be the husband." Buck whirls to look at Eddie, because—if Eddie has a husband, this is the first he's hearing of it. 

maybe even true by withoutthetiger/ @rewritetheending (Getting Together, Season 4 | 2K | Explicit): An argument between Buck and Eddie turns into something more. 

I Could Never Forget You, Not Really by browney3dgirl6/ @hoodie-buck (Amnesia | 3K | General): An accident at work leaves Buck injured, and when he comes to, he doesn't remember anyone, at least, not until his best friend walks in.

the one where they met because of chris by browney3dgirl6/ @hoodie-buck (Different First Meeting AU | 10K | General): the one where Chris meets Buck first, inevitably bringing his two dads together.

You Could Be The One I Keep by browney3dgirl6 / @hoodie-buck (Didn't Know They Were Dating | 6K | Teen): The one where Eddie thinks they're in a relationship, Buck oblivious to the entire thing.

if I asked you to stay, would you? by browney3dgirl6/ @hoodie-buck (Different First Meeting, Tsunami | 6K | Teen): “Sir, are you ok? Can you tell me your name?” What was with the formalities? “Buck. Evan Buckley of the 118. And uh, I’m fine.” Buck gestured to the air around him, sighing aloud, as he gave the guy a smug wink. “Just a little wet is all.”

I want to love you (but I don't know how) by browney3dgirl6/ @hoodie-buck (Post S5E10: Wrapped In Red | 11K | Explicit): Buck buys him and Eddie touch bracelets, not wanting either of them to feel disconnected after Eddie leaves. They help, but the real thing is still better.

Out Of Order, Still In Line by callmenewbie/ @callmenewbie (S6E07: Cursed, PWP | 6K | Explicit): When Buck finally gets to the Clinic, the long awaited release doesn’t seem to come; cue Eddie to the rescue.

baby, how'd we end up here? by withmeornotatall (Safe Haven Baby | 15K | Teen): the safe haven baby fic where buck falls in love and eddie asks him out on a date - not necessarily in that order

the fool and the lover by withmeornotatall (S6, Getting Together | 5K | Teen):  buck breaks down, eddie is there, and psychics are real actually

You're making my head hurt. by wikiangela/ @wikiangela (Getting Together | 1K | Not Rated): Eddie's really tired and accidentally confesses his love for Buck.

You love this, don't you? by wikiangela/ @wikiangela (Getting Together | 3K | Mature): Clipboard Buck makes a reappearance, and Eddie's forced to confront his feelings.

All I need is to call you home by wikiangela/ @wikiangela (Post S5E6: Brawl In Cell Block 9-1-1 | 2K | General): After being held hostage and threatened, Buck can't stop worrying about Eddie and Chris. And so he finds himself in front of Eddie's house at three in the morning.

I could get lost in the feelings (just say that you belong to me) by wikiangela/ @wikiangela (PWP, Getting Together | 15K | Explicit): Or, Buck's going on a date, Eddie's so jealous he finally snaps and reveals his feelings, which leads to a passionate evening in Buck's kitchen.

me and you only equals love by wikiangela/ @wikiangela (Post-Poker Date | 6K | Explicit): Eddie is horny and in love, and after the poker date, he finally kisses Buck - and things unfold from there.

I'd marry you with paper rings by wikiangela/ @wikiangela (Marriage Proposal | 3K | General): “If we’re not married by the time we’re, like, forty, we should just marry each other.” he chuckles, and downs the rest of his beer. And Eddie… Eddie knows it’s a joke. Obviously. It can’t be anything but. But still, it does something to him. “Why wait? Let’s just do it now and get it over with.”

There’s no way that it’s not going there (with the way that we’re looking at each other) by wikiangela/ @wikiangela (Getting Together | 6K | Not Rated): 5 times people wrongly assume Buck and Eddie are together + 1 time it's actually true.

I can't love you any more (than I do now) by wikiangela/ @wikiangela (Getting Together | 2K | General): Eddie's pretty sure he and Buck are dating and kind of living together. Neither acknowledges it, until Eddie finally does.

i'd swim to your call on my phone by heartbeatdiaz / @loserdiaz (Canon Divergent, Dad Buck, Dispatcher Eddie | 8K | Teen): Buck's daughter keeps calling 9-1-1 for help with her homework, Eddie is smitten and apparently 9-1-1 works better than Tinder.

i have dreams where i kiss you and it’s pink by fleetinghearts/ @shitouttabuck (Getting Together | 6K | Teen): or, jee-yun buckley-han's third birthday party is in dire need of some fairy tale magic and buck's attempt to save the day might just be the thing that finally kills eddie

his hand in the dark by hattalove/ @hattalove (Getting Together | 5K | Teen): in which eddie has a beer, dances with a stranger, and does some borderline indecent things in the street with the love of his life.

WIP

in my head by yourcatfishfriend/ @your-catfish-friend (Friends With Benefits | 5/8 | 17K | Explicit): Buck is confidently bisexual. Eddie isn't sure. Buck helps him figure it out.

🔥 Things We're All Too Young to Know by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon, S1 through S6 | 98/? | 257K | Mature): This is a love story. Even if it doesn’t always look like it. Even if it doesn’t always feel like it. A look back on Eddie and Buck's lives up to now, and what led them to each other, interpreted from the current 9-1-1 canon.

Re-Read

please? (can't say no) by withmeornotatall (S5, Getting Together | 5K | Teen): chris eavesdrops and misunderstands, buck mediates and overthinks, eddie tries desperately to communicate even as he's foiled at every turn

not all of us are heroes (not all of us are brave) by withmeornotatall (Post-S6 | 6K | General): buck and natalia break up, eddie decides to introduce his girlfriend to his son, christopher knows way too much, and the 118's wine night has never been quite so eventful

I Haven't Found A Better Title For This Than "Read This In The Six Months Before I Made This Blog And It Somehow Made Its Way To My History Now So I'm Reccing It Post-Facto"

🔥 the light's been out though, baby by hattalove/ @hattalove (Post S5E6: Brawl In Cell Block 9-1-1 | 15K | Mature): or, six months after the near-fatal shooting of a member of the LAFD, footage of the incident surfaces on social media.

everything's coming up milhouse by hammersmiths/ @henswilsons (Post-S5E10: Wrapped In Red, LAFD Liaison Eddie | 4K | Teen): or, Eddie mans the LAFD Twitter account. Buck tries to be supportive. (Part 1 of Mr LAFD Updates Man)

in you, darling, i trust by hammersmiths (LAFD Liaison Eddie 10K | Teen): or, five times someone recognises Eddie as the LAFD Updates man. (Part 2 of Mr LAFD Updates Man)

[sequinsmile-x]

Leap of Faith

It's a leap year, so Emily decides to propose.

But it's Emily and Aaron, so it's never quite that simple.

-x-

Hi besties,

it's a leap year - which means you get a whole extra day of me being insane about these two.

I had a lot of fun writing this one, so I hope you enjoy reading it. It got really soft because of how much these idiots love each other.

Please let me know what you think <3

-x-

Words: 3.5k

Warnings: Pregnancy, so fluffy in parts you will need to floss after

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

It’s Penelope who gives her the idea. Yet another girl's night that descends into her drunkenly asking Emily when she’s finally going to marry Aaron, a question that had lingered in her mind longer than it usually would. Her inability to drink along with her friends, due to the baby girl kicking along almost on beat with the music in the bar Penelope had dragged them to, means Emily can’t stop thinking about it, unable to shake it off as she’s passed a shot of tequila like she usually would. 

“When are you and Hotch getting hitched? It’s been too long since we had a BAU wedding,” Penelope asks, almost spilling a cocktail all over herself as the glass just about makes it back onto the table when she puts it down, “I never thought I’d say this but stop making babies and just get married.” 

Emily chuckles and shakes her head, sipping her alcohol-free cocktail and wincing at the overly sweet taste, “We’re happy as we are, Pen.” 

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to marry Aaron, it just hadn’t ever really had the chance to come up. Their relationship had moved quickly from the start, both of them well aware they were it for each other from their first kiss. Things had only accelerated when they found out she was pregnant just over a year after her return from Paris. She’d found out just before JJ and Will’s wedding, the check-up that Aaron had forced her into after the bank changing their lives more than either of them could have anticipated. 

They’d got lost in finding a home after that, the arrival of their son, Elliot, only happening just weeks after they moved into their house. Life had, as it always does, just carried on. Days turned into weeks, into months and then years as they raised their sons and loved each other. Before she knew it, it was almost four years later and she was pregnant again, something that she had planned this time, both she and Aaron aware they wanted one more baby, and the only people who ever brought up marriage were her mother and Penelope. 

She’d always dismissed their comments, saying that she didn’t need a piece of paper to show her love for Aaron, to prove that they were a family. She’d thought when she was growing up that she’d end up married to someone that she didn’t truly love, doomed to repeat the cycle she’d been born into, and when that hadn’t happened she’d been relieved. It was relief that turned into defiance, making her sure for years that she’d never marry anyone. But it would be a lie to say she didn’t want to call Aaron her husband, that she didn’t want to share the name both he and their children had, and all of a sudden it’s all she can think about. 

Penelope rolls her eyes, “I know, I know. You always say that,” she says, pushing another shot towards JJ who looks at Emily for help, but doesn’t find it, narrowing her eyes at Emily as she drinks her glorified fruit juice, “All I’m saying is that it’s a leap year, and tradition says that means you can propose to him if you want to on leap day,” she says, waggling her eyebrows playfully, “Speed things along if bossman is dragging his feet.” 

Emily’s back immediately straightens as she furrows her brows, her hormones going into overdrive as she feels defensive of the man she loves, of their relationship, even though she logically knows her friend means no harm.

“He isn’t dragging his feet,” she says, crossing her arms so they settle on top of her bump, “He’s been married before and it didn’t work,” her hand drops to where she can feel her daughter shifting under her skin, a feeling that was no less amazing than it had been when she was pregnant with Elliot, “Thats a big thing to get past.” 

“Em,” JJ says, cutting in before Penelope can make it any worse, a warning look thrown at their enthusiastic friend as she places her hand on Emily’s arm, “We know that. And we all know what it took for me to even consider marrying Will,” she says, smiling kindly as she squeezes Emily’s arm, a flash of something in JJ’s eyes that disappears as quickly as Emily sees it, “And whether you’re married or not, everyone can see how much you and Hotch love each other and the kids.” 

She smiles and nods, placing her hand over her friends and squeezing briefly before she looks over at Penelope, “I’m happy the way things are.” 

The conversation moves on, largely due to JJ forcing it onto something else, but Emily can’t stop thinking about it. When she finally excuses herself to leave and gets into her car she texts Aaron to let him know she’s on her way home and her eyes linger on the date on the screen.

February 8th. 

She smiles as she sees Aaron’s response come through, a picture of him and the boys snuggled on the couch, Elliot fast asleep against him and Jack halfway there, and for a reason she can’t explain thats what makes her decision for her. The image of her Hotchner boys all waiting for her, the roll of her baby girl in her belly, and Penelope’s words rolling around her head. 

She was going to propose to Aaron, and she had 3 weeks to plan it.

___

It’s Dave who makes it all come crumbling down. 

It’s two weeks later, vague plans running around her head about everything she wants to do that distract her from work. It means she’s behind on her paperwork, so she used that as an excuse to stay behind after Aaron left, leaving exactly the second work ended for once. He didn’t even try to argue with her, didn’t try to make her leave with him like he usually would, but she barely pays any attention to it her focus on her computer as she tries to finalise her choice of restaurant to take him to. 

She hears footsteps behind her and she knows it's Dave, and she sighs, raising her eyebrow without turning to look at him, “You can’t sneak up on me,” she says as he sits on her desk, “Even when I am 6 months pregnant.” 

He chuckles and sits and looks at her computer screen, “I thought you were meant to be working, not looking at DC’s finest restaurants.” 

She rolls her eyes and then looks back and forth between him and the computer, looking at him curiously before she speaks, desperately trying to sound casual, “You’ve proposed four times-”

“Three times-”

“How did you do it?” She carries on, acting as if he hasn’t spoken. She watches as the realisation dawns on him and he leans back slightly. 

“Who are you planning on proposing to, Bella?” He asks, his eyebrow raised as she rolls her eyes. 

“Well, you but you’ve just ruined the surprise,” she deadpans, “Obviously it’s Aaron.” 

He smiles at her, a look in his eyes that she can’t entirely place and he crosses his arms over his chest, “Why are you doing that?” 

She huffs out a breath, a hint of nervousness planting in her chest. She places her hand on her belly, the movement of her daughter calming her slightly just like it had when she was pregnant with Elliot. 

“Well, it was Pen’s idea initially,” she says, clearing her throat, unsure why she feels embarrassed, “But it’s a leap year and there’s a tradition where women propose on the 29th,” she says, smiling at him, “So I thought I would,” She says. Dave’s expression is unreadable, something she hates, and she starts to worry, her eyebrows furrowing as he tries to figure out what to say, “What?” 

He hesitates for a moment before he smiles sadly at her, “Are you sure Aaron wants to get married?” 

The question throws her, stunning her into uncharacteristic silence for a moment as she stares at her friend. The nerves that had planted in her chest start to bloom, the flowers of it taking up space in her chest until she feels like she can’t breathe. 

“Yes…” she says, clearing her throat, “Why? Has he said something to you?” 

He stares at her again for a moment and she wants to scream, but he sighs, “Don’t you think if he wanted to, he would have proposed to you already?” 

She laughs humourlessly, all the excited hope she’d felt for the last couple of weeks disappearing with one question, replaced with doubt she wasn’t used to and an ache she hadn’t expected. 

“You know what,” she says, avoiding his gaze as she abruptly stands up, shoving her things into her purse, “I promised the boys I’d be home earlier today so I should go,” she puts her back over her shoulder and walks away, knowing if she so much as looks at Dave she’ll cry, and she’s determined not to until she gets to her car, “See you tomorrow Dave.” 

She leaves so quickly she doesn’t see him shake his head at himself or pull out his phone, already sending Aaron won’t see until tomorrow morning. 

You’d better follow through with your plan. I think I might have just made things difficult. 

___

She cries all the way home.

Her hands tight on the steering wheel as she tries to steady her breathing, well aware that she has to pull herself together by the time she gets home. 

She could accept it if Aaron never wanted to get married, no matter how much she might want it now she’s thought about it. More than anything, she wanted him to be happy. And if that meant never being his wife, if it meant that they never took that step, she could live with it. Even if it hurt for a little while. She curses Penelope internally, furious at her for putting this idea in her head in the first place. She was fine before, she was happy. And she knew she would be again. 

She sits in her car in the driveway for a couple of minutes after she arrives to gather herself, wiping away the tears that had escaped from her cheeks. She blows out a steady breath and shakes her head before taking a moment to check her make-up in the rearview mirror. Once she’s satisfied it’s okay she she places her hand on her stomach and looks down, smiling sadly when she feels the baby kick.

“Come on, sweet girl, let's go see Daddy and your brothers.” 

She pauses again for a moment when she makes it to the front door, putting up the defences she usually didn’t need here, forcing a smile onto her face she hopes Aaron doesn’t see through, so she can fake being okay until she actually feels okay again. She pushes the door open and her smile becomes real the moment Elliot runs towards her, his excitement palpable as he throws himself at her. 

She bends down and picks him up, hauling him into her embrace and settling him on her hip. She kisses the side of his head, breathing in the scent of his shampoo, “Hi, sweet boy. Mommy missed you.” 

“I missed Mama,” Elliot says, pressing his face into her neck. 

She hums contently as she kisses the top of his head again. It’s only then that she realises she can smell dinner, the scent of her favourite meal on the air, and she sighs, love for her boyfriend overriding anything she’d felt on the drive home.

“Where are Jack-Jack and Daddy?” She asks, tilting her head to look at her little boy and he smiles, an almost coy edge to it she’d never seen before. She narrows her eyes at him and tickles his belly, laughing along when he starts to giggle, a quieter, high-pitched version of Aaron’s laugh. “What are you up to, huh?” 

“Dinner is ready,” he says, tilting his head in the direction of the dining room, “I helped.” 

She smiles and starts to walk towards the dining room, adjusting her hold on her 3-year-old so she doesn’t waddle quite so much between the weight of him and her bump, “I’m sure it’s delicious. It smells so…”

She drifts off as she steps into the dining room. The table is set for the four of them, but there are artificial candles on every surface, a choice she would later realise when she thought back on it that Aaron had made so the boys didn’t hurt themselves. There are a bunch of wildflowers set in front of the seat where she usually sits when they eat, and a bottle of sparkling cider next to two champagne flutes and two plastic cups, the faces of the boy's favourite superheroes staring up at her. She looks at Aaron and Jack, both of them standing proudly in front of her, smiles matching the one Elliot had given her moments ago spread across their faces. 

“What’s all this?” She chokes out, her voice shaking slightly, forcing her to clear it in an attempt to even it out. 

Aaron smiles and steps forward, taking Elliot from her and kissing his forehead before he settles him down on the floor. The little boy immediately walks over and stands next to Jack, linking his hand through his big brothers. Aaron turns back to her and reaches for Emily’s hand, squeezing it softly before he blows out a breath. 

“Emily, sweetheart,” he says, pressing his lips together in a clear attempt to stop himself from getting emotional, “You are the best thing that has happened to me in years. Before you I never thought I’d be happy again, but we’re standing here in our home, with our boys,” he says, looking over his shoulder at Jack and Elliot who are smiling widely, he turns back to Emily and reaches out to press his hand on her belly, “Our little girl, and I’m the happiest I’ve ever been, There’s only one thing that will make me happier,” his smile shakes slightly and her breath catches in her chest, her brain finally catching up with what’s happening as he reaches into his pocket. She places her hand over her mouth to capture a gasp as Aaron carries on, “So the boys have a question for you.” 

He turns and looks at the boys, smiling encouragingly, and they nod, speaking almost in unison, Elliot’s clearly rehearsed words coming just a second after Jack’s, an echo that reverberates around the otherwise quiet room. 

“Mom, will you marry Dad?”

“Mama, will you marry Daddy?” 

They fall into silence and she tries to suck in a breath but it shudders through her chest, catching on every rib. Her eyes meet Aaron’s and she can see the nervousness painted across his face, the treacherous hope shining in his eyes. 

Everything catches up with her. The excitement she’d felt in trying to plan to propose to him, the way it had turned bitter during her conversation with Dave, the joy that was threatening to break free from her chest, all mixed together with the pregnancy hormones that somehow felt worse this time around. And she promptly bursts into tears. 

“Sweetheart-” Aaron says as his eyes go wide and he steps towards her, his hand on her shoulder. A sob escapes her, painful and rough as it forces its way out and she all but collapses against him, her arms tight around his back as she sinks into him as closely as she can with her bump in between them, “I’ve got you.” He turns and looks at the boys, both of whom have matching shocked expressions on their faces. 

“Is Mama sad?” Elliot asks, his eyebrows furrowed, his little dark eyes shining with tears and Aaron knows he’s got to do something before everyone is crying. 

“Jack,” he says, looking at his eldest, “Why don’t you go take your brother to play that game he likes? I’ll come find you when it’s time to eat.” 

Jack frowns, his eyes fixed on a still crying Emily, “But Dad-”

“Now, Jack. Please,” Aaron says, rubbing a circle on Emily’s back, “We just need a few minutes.” 

Jack eventually relents, nodding as he leads his little brother out of the room. Elliot is just as resistant, looking over his shoulder at his parents, but he follows Jack willingly, his comments about how he thought mommy would be happy fading as they get further away. 

Aaron returns all of his attention to Emily and he kisses the side of her head, still rubbing soothing circles on her back as she calms down. 

“You know,” he says softly, kissing the side of her head again, chuckling wryly, “You could have just said no. I wouldn’t have been offended.” 

His attempt at a joke, the dry humour she usually loves, pulls her out of it and she stands back, still keeping her connection to him, her eyebrows furrowed, “What?” 

He clears his throat, “If you didn’t want to marry me.” 

She releases a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob, “I thought you didn’t want to marry me.” 

It’s his turn to frown, and he reaches up to tuck some of her hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her cheek, “Where on earth did you get that idea from?” 

“Dave said…” she drifts off and she narrows her eyes, shaking her head as she wipes tears from her cheeks, “He knew didn’t he?” She asks, tilting her head at him, “He knew you were going to propose.” 

He nods and wipes away another tear from her cheek, “He knew. What did he say to you?” 

She blows out a breath and shakes her head, “He said…he told me you didn’t want to get married again. So when you…when the boys…” she chokes on a laugh, unsure how to put it into words, how to explain how overwhelmed she feels. Her lower lip trembles as the laugh turns into a sob, “It’s been a hell of a day.” 

He feels a wave of anger rush over him at his friend, even though he knows Dave would have simply been trying to throw her off the scent, well aware that Aaron was at home setting up to propose. He pushes the feeling away for now, knowing it isn’t the time, and he focuses all of his attention on Emily. Aaron notices as she adjusts her gait and he guides her over to one of the dining room chairs. Once she’s sitting down, one of her hands on her bump, he crouches in front of her, putting himself in her eye line as he rests his hand over hers.

“Why did he say that to you? What were you even talking about?” 

She feels embarrassment wash over her, her cheeks burning with it, and she sighs, “I was going to propose to you,” she says, clearing her throat as she avoids eye contact, “On February 29th. And I asked him for advice on something,” she smiles tightly as she briefly looks at him, “I guess he was trying to throw me off the scent.” 

“You were going to propose?” 

She nods and laughs at herself, “Yeah, I was. Pen put the idea in my head, and I realised I really just want to be your wife.”

“Penelope put the idea in your head?” He asks and she nods, laughing at herself. 

“Yeah on girl's night a couple of weeks ago,” she admits, furrowing her eyebrows as she thinks about JJ’s behaviour, how she’d changed the subject so quickly and she sighs, “JJ knew too didn’t she.” 

“She helped with the ring,” He says, and he smiles softly as he cups her cheek, making her look at him, “I really want to be your husband, you know that right? I want that more than anything.” 

She places her hand on his on her cheek and links their fingers together, “I love you,” she says, sniffing as he wipes away a tear again, catching it before it barely leaves her lashline, “I love the kids. I love our life together.” 

“I love you too,” he says, leaning in to kiss her, “I love the boys,” he laughs, the sound catching in his throat as he clenches his jaw to stop himself from crying, “I love this little girl,” he says, his hand back on her belly, “I love it all,” he smiles as she leans forward and kisses him, her hand on the back of his head as she holds him in place. When they pull back she rests her forehead against his, both of them enjoying the silence for a moment before he speaks again, “You didn’t answer.”

She pulls back and tilts her head at him, “What?” 

His smile gets wider and he shifts into a kneeling position, pulling the ring box he never got the chance to show her out of his pocket. She presses her lips together to suppress her smile as he opens the box, a ring she would have chosen for herself staring back at her. 

“Will you marry me?” He asks, his smile nervous again, as if he didn’t already know her answer. As if it wasn’t written all over her face. 

“Yes.” 

-x-

....i guess i could write the wedding if y'all wanted it. And, more importantly, them getting their revenge on Dave.

-x-

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[ghost-proofbaby]

Drunk Eddie and Steve are the type to egg each other on to do stupid random things. Stealing road sings? They’d compete over who could get more and probably more then likely adopt a pet raccoon and fed it burgers

they would be such a fucking chaos duo when drunk oh my god. it would have gotten to the point where when the gang goes out, immediately they try to force one or the other to be DD because god forbid both of those heathens get to just get absolutely shit faced together.

steve let’s loose, giving up his need to always be caring for others and just fully leaning into his chaotic nature. which, on his own, is fine. but then you add eddie to the mix. and a drunk steve and sober eddie can be chaotic enough, really, because even eddie sober leads to him hyping the boy up beyond a threshold in which anyone else, even robin, can handle. but drunk eddie? oh. it is a recipe for disaster.

(apologies because i went so very steddie below the cut. not sure if that was your intention but… i’m thinking. so many. thoughts. either way, those two are chaos harbingers together when tequila is involved. or rum. or vodka. just… any alcohol they get their filthy grabby hands on.)

steve, a chaotic drunk who will run away at a moments notice and eddie, a clingy drunk who will succumb to his need to stick to steve’s side that lingers even when sober. if steve is going somewhere, eddie is following like a lost puppy. steve’s going for a cigarette? eddie’s providing the pack. steve wants to take another shot? eddie’s already pouring, anything for a chance to brush knuckles when they cheers. steve complains about the night ending? eddie’s silent, sitting in the car and mind racing a mile a minute before he starts blurting out possible ways to keep the fun going, even going as far as to just suggest steve comes over to his trailer and hangs out. an innocent invitation that the poor boy has been over analyzing and painstakingly trying to navigate while sober, just to slip out so effortlessly the moment he has a whiff of alcohol in him.

and then there was that new year’s eve party. no one really talks about it, and steve would never admit it, but he was far more sober than he’d ever care to admit when the clock struck midnight and eddie munson grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and planted one of the harshest and messiest kisses steve ‘the king’ harrington has ever had the pleasure of experiencing. sometimes he still thinks about it when he can’t sleep. sometimes, he misses the way eddie’s teeth clashed against his own and how jameson tasted on the boy’s breath against his own.

too bad eddie was too drunk to remember it and yearn about it the way steve did.

except he does. and steve will never know, because eddie regrets it everyday that he stained his first taste of steve’s lips on his with that goddamned alcohol. and when steve didn’t mention it that next morning, eddie swears a piece of him becomes frozen in time in that previous year.

[aliceisathome]

Time for My Stand In - I'm ready with things nearby to grab depending on how traumatised/angry/sad I am. Currently we have a G&T, some chocolate, a punchable stuffie and some ice cream within reach. There's tequila in the kitchen if none of these work.

So here we are, new house and helper for mum to be paid for by spending a year doing whatever Ming demands, which is immediately sex of course. But Joe doesn't realise that Ming's concentrating on his back not because he's trying to replace Tong now, but because he's trying to replace Joe. Joe's a stand in for himself the poor sod.

It's interesting that Ming can't bring himself to have sex with New Joe though. It's guilt, yes, but also because he never really had sex with Old Joe - in his mind he was always having sex with Tong . In trying to get New Joe to stand in gor Old Joe, sex isn't going to work - what he misses and loved is , well, JOE. it's the companionship, the cooking together, sleeping together and just being together. It's the lights on when you get home and the smell of cooking. Does the spoilt, manipulated prince realise that yet? He might be getting a clue this episode though.

Also my brain hurts

I like Ming's green bedding. In fact I like all the green teal in his condo - the man's got good taste in furnishings if nothing else. Did he get them to redecorate his hotel room to match? Wouldn't surprise me - he's the sort of person who'd put that in his rider. I must go and see what @respectthepetty says about the colours in this.

So - Ming isn't going to realise that New Joe is Old Joe because he thinks OG Joe is still alive but he's suspicous. It could be that Ming won't let go of the fantasy that old Joe will come back to him until they find the body* Wut might guess soon though. And Sol, if Ming hasn't ripped his head off after he sees the music vid.**

OH they pretended that Tong did his own stunts for that first movie in all the press. OK, I get why Ming didn't put two and two together now.

Enter the bastard Tong. Man, he's a piece of work - jealous of Ming paying attention to another man (AGAIN) plus now he wants money from him as well. Don't do it Ming! Loved that he was too distracted by Tharn & Joe to listen properly. Still, I think he's beginning to see through Tong - especially when he won't acknowledge his culpability in Old Joe's death/disappearance. Loved his slightly weary dismissal of him as well.

Tharn - nope. Don't like him one little bit. He can join Tong in the Pit of Despair. They are both manipulative bastards.

All the flashbacks made me sad, especially the watch. And now I'm feeling sorry for Ming even though he's been a bastard and a fool because, well, he was twisted into that by Tong.

Gah - I can't wait for next Friday. The preview implies that the psychic might let Ming know that Joe's soul is in a new body but I think it's Sol's voice at the end. I don't think Ming knows enough to stake out Old Joe's parent's graves. This is why I try to save to binge watch.

Anyhow, the stuffie took some damage points whenever Tong or Tharn were on screen and the gin is gone. Could be worse, and I'm sure it will be at some point. This bloody show has me in its grip.

*I get it Ming, I hope his comatose body is being looked after and worshipped by jungle creatures and he'll get it back. Mainly because Poom's SO cute.

**for the love of the sweet baby jeebus if you're going to cast someone as a Kpop star at least get someone who can sing or use someone else's voice.

[leclsrc]

Heyyy, congrats on 2000! ❤️❤️

I have a request for Carlos + [ FIVE CALLS ].

what i feel for you – cs55

genre: fluff, 2k celebration, title from this

send for five times the receiver nearly calls the sender and the one time they do.

You’d told him the night prior about your date, gave him the usual crash course that came with these flings. He made a joke about how you should take advantage of the handsome men in Madrid, even if his heart felt like a giant foot had just smashed it. Because, Carlos reminds himself as he awaits your text again, he’s supposed to be a good friend.

It’s a weird label, friends. It’s a label for a relationship that’s something else entirely. Yeah, he’s your closest friend, but he’s here hoping you don’t pursue a second date. Yeah, you two are best friends, but you sleep in the same bed on cold nights during the season even if there are two in the hotel room.

His phone dings. Went like shit,you text. I’m in a pissy mood :(

Lando would tell him to take the chance while he can, like this is God or whoever giving him a sign to finally try and do it. And Carlos would say no, Lando, we’re just friends even if the younger guy would 100% be right. He swipes on your contact, hovers his thumb over the telephone icon, tries to picture how all this would go. 

You’d sigh, pick up in the middle of the third ring, be all I’m okay, Carlos in an effort to save yourself the sympathy, but he isn’t here for sympathy—he’s here to tell you he likes you. In the stronger way, in that way. What? I like you, he’ll insist. Come to mine and I’ll let you know how much.

Think I’ll go for drinks somewhere first Carlito, don’t wait up. He swipes off your contact, texts back OK, and waits for you all night.

—

When you’re a hotshot in Formula 1, you’re bound to be pushed into the face of a myriad of journalists. 

There’s clicking, flash, rehearsed questions Carlos still answers. They all ask the same shit, you’d think they all belonged to one magazine. But he braves through it anyway, tries to let the answers vary so he doesn’t sound as robotic as they do. But there are a few questions that have stuck to him.

“I imagine racing is the love of your life,” chirped the journalist, who he could barely see behind the shadow of the huge TV camera beside her. “Would you agree?” He’d hummed, gauging the possible answers: there was the easy yes, which would’ve made a good impression on racing fans seeing him in Toro Rosso for the first time; there was the no, which might’ve been a bit too dicey.

“It’s very important to me, but it’s not the love of my life.” Carlos decided finally, laughing.

“Playing coy, I see!” She exclaimed.

But the truth was, Carlos wasn’t “playing coy.” He really didn’t name racing the love of his life—because there’s only one thing that enters his mind when he thinks of the phrase, and he wished to save the phrase for that and that only. Racing is fast, it’s passionate and rapid fire, but that—it’s so different.

He almost tells you about it a few years later, when he’s exhausted from Ferrari media day and the memory replays in his head. You’re in Asia for work right now, so he hopes the call he’s about to place will go through anyway.

He’s smiling, walking to his car, and line is just about to ring when he realizes—how can he tell you the story, if it means admitting you were the answer?

—

Everyone has high tolerance until it comes to tequila. At least Carlos thinks so—the state he’s in is definitely not sober and Lando, across him, is in even worse shape. They’ve drained a whole bottle at this point, laughing back and forth and dancing to the music at the bar.

“I’m only serving tequila at my future wedding,” belches Lando, wearing a pair of sunglasses neither of them owns.

“Amen.” Carlos squints at the thought of marriage, pulls out his phone and finds your name under the Favorites section of his contacts. The cheeky little shit Lando catches on immediately, whistling a high teasing tune to get under Carlos’ skin.

“I say ‘wedding’ once and already you’re off calling her,” he quips. “I better be best man.”

“We’re just friends,” he slurs, smelling Cuervo on his breath. “You know.”

The line rings once, twice—Carlos opens his mouth and says “Hello? Did you know I…”

He passes out before he gets to the rest of it.

—

The drivers make a night’s trip around the city, and they stop at the Trevi Fountain.

“Throw a coin in and you return to Rome,” Charles says factually, like he’s their tour guide or something.

“Does it allow normal wishes?” Carlos, already amused, presses the phone icon near your name to tell you what he’s up to. The spotty signal slows the call. 

“Depends. What are you wishing for?”

“Her.” Lando points at your name on Carlos’ phone.

He hangs up. “A world champion title, actually,” he lies.

—

“Hey Carlito, I’m on my way to the room.”

“With pizza?” Lando hollers into the speakerphone. Carlos laughs and rolls his eyes.

“Yes, obviously,” you say, but your voice is laggy through the phone. You’ve visited them in Italy for the weekend, taking a break from work to meet your best friend again after weeks of being apart. And of course Lando and Carlos sort of came as a package deal these days, so you dealt with him, too.

Carlos takes you off speaker after you say your byes and see-you-soons, pocketing his phone. The Brit doesn’t miss a beat in teasing him. “Dude! Even your voice sounds so down bad, mate.”

“It does not.” Carlos doesn’t even know what down bad means. 

“Low it! You’ve loved this girl for how the fuck long and you’re never going to tell her, will you?”

“How do you tell a friend you love them?” Carlos sighs. “It’s—dios mio, it’s difficult. I’m in love with her but it’s a risk to think she feels the same. And”—Lando opens his mouth to protest—“yeah, yeah I know that’s love, I know that’s the whole point, but I couldn’t live with myself if I lost a friend because of these estupido feelings.”

Two raps sound on the door, and he gets up to let you in. “Okay? So shut up.”

Lando watches his friend swing the door open, and sees you on the other side holding up your phone.

AA Carlito, it says, signifying the call was never hung up. You smile. “The feelings aren’t that estupido.”

[i-think-i-did-it-again]

Drunk

Prompt from @creativepromptsforwriting: ‘We’re roommates and you drunkenly passed out in my bed; move over I’m coming in.’

Warning: swearing, smut, drinking

The alcohol is coursing through your veins so strongly that you feel like you’re buzzing. The music is pumping and your body is swaying in tune to the beat. You scream the lyrics out at the top of your lungs, your two best friends joining in wholeheartedly. This whole night has been so much fun. You can’t remember the last time you enjoyed yourself this much. It’s been so long since you were single and you’ve been able to go out for a girl’s night.

Your ex had this ridiculous idea in his head that if you went out on a girl’s night, you were automatically going to end up cheating. The one and only time you went on a girl’s night while you were together, you ended up leaving early because he wouldn’t stop texting you. You’re glad to finally be rid of that controlling, self-centred, asshole.

You’re enjoying single life. Hanging out with your friends, doing whatever you want and not having to worry about how your choices will affect someone else. If you want to stay out until 3 in the morning, drinking and dancing, then that’s what you’re going to do! You usually text your roommate, Colson, out of courtesy to let him know if you’ll be home late or not but he always just sends back a thumbs up. You let the rhythm of the music take control and it’s like there’s no one else in the world right now.

……………..……………………………………

“Hey, I think it’s getting kind of late!” Your friend yells at you over the music.

You pull out your phone to look at the time, closing one eye so your drunk ass can read the time. You’re shocked to see it’s already 2:46am. You want to argue for one more drink but you know your friend has a work thing and your other friend is getting on a plane tomorrow night for her cousin’s wedding, so you agree to leave. Your friend orders the Uber and you each put in your own separate addresses.

A black SUV pulls up and you all pile in. You talk and laugh through the entire car ride, knowing that your loud voices are probably pissing off the driver but a little too intoxicated to care. You’re the first destination so you pull your heels off so you can make a quick jump from the car and into your apartment building. You wave and blow kisses to both your friends before stumbling into your building. You have to concentrate really hard on pressing the right floor number for the elevator and you stick your head out just to make sure you’re really on your floor.

You fumble for your keys and practically fall into the dark apartment. You drop your shoes, shushing them when they make a loud clattering noise. You tiptoe down the hallway to your room, not bothering to turn on any lights because you don’t want to disturb Colson. When you get to your bedroom, you’re surprised when you trip over a pair of jeans on the way to your bed. You’re not a neat freak or anything, you just can’t remember the last time you wore jeans. You pull your dress over your head, not bothering to take off your bra and panties, and slip beneath the sheets. The bed feels different somehow but you’re sure it’s just your drunk mind playing tricks on you. You close your eyes and hum with contentment.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you hear Colson’s confused voice, followed by a blinding light. You pull the blanket over your eyes and groan.

“Colsonnnn, turn the light off, it hurts,” you whine and you hear the light switch flick. “Thank you.”

“Have you been drinking?” He chuckles, flicking on the soft lamp and sits on the edge of the bed, kicking his Vans off.

“No officer, I swear. I’m as sober as a reaaaaaally sober person,” you laugh drunkenly.

Colson laughs and you hear the sound of his zipper, which makes you immediately remove the blanket from your head and sit up. The room spins and suddenly you don’t feel so giggly. You lie back and groan.

“Baaaaaad tequila.”

“Must’ve been a lot of bad tequila because you’re in my bed.”

You stare at Colson and his face is lit up by the glow of his phone screen. You look around the room and you can realise that he’s right. The walls are covered with his posters, photos of his friends. The floor is littered with his discarded clothes and his chest of drawers sits opposite the end of the bed. No wonder the bed felt different to your own, because it is.

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry,” you apologise profusely.

“Don’t be. There are worse things than finding a half naked woman in your bed, especially one that looks like you.”

Is he flirting? It feels to you like he’s flirting. His eyes dip downwards and you’re immediately aware of the face that your pink, lace bra and breasts are on full display. Your insecurity screams at you to cover up but your mind is too fogged with alcohol to do it. His eyes trace back to your face and the look in his eyes makes your stomach drop and liquid pool in your panties. He licks his bottom lip as he studies your face.

“So, are you going to let me lie in my own bed?” he stares down at you, shirtless, his briefs hanging very low on his waist. The tight material leaves nothing to the imagination and you gulp.

You scoot over to make room for him and he climbs in beside you. You know you should excuse yourself and go to your own bed but the look on his face makes you stay. You’re also not too sure how stable your legs are at this point and it would be super embarrassing to fall out of his bed. You follow Colson’s lead and lie down beside him, your breathing ragged and your eyes staring at the ceiling.

“How drunk are you?” Colson asks hoarsely.

“I’m feeling very sober all of sudden,” you confess, refusing his eye contact.

You feel movement under the sheet and the tip of Colson’s finger trails up the side of your thigh, rubbing against your pantyline before running back down. Your breathing stutters and you bite your bottom lip to keep from moaning.

“You know, sometimes I’d wake in the night to hear you and that douche of an ex fucking,” his finger continues to trace your thigh as he talks. “And I could tell he never once made you finish. You’re a very good actress to the untrained ear.”

“I…I don’t kn-know what you’re talking…about,” you have to concentrate so hard on every single word, willing them out of your mouth.

“He couldn’t make you cum,” his lips are suddenly at your ear, whispering the filthy words. “2 years is a long time to go without an orgasm.”

Oh fuck, oh fuck! Colson’s words are causing your insides to quiver and your skin to erupt in goosebumps. You know he’s trying to take it slow, tease you but he’s right, 2 years is a long time. You roll over so you’re facing him and the movement causes your boobs to spill from your bra a little more. Colson can’t help but let his eyes fall back on your plump cleavage. He licks his lips and takes in his own shuddering breath. You trail your index finger down his chest, outlining his tattoos.

“Do you think you could make me cum?” you ask innocently.

Colson swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. You like the way his jaw tenses at the feel of your fingertips on his skin. He’s warm and you’re pretty sure it’s not because of the blanket.

You didn’t realise you could have this effect on a man, especially someone as “active” as Colson. It never really bothered you that Colson tended to be seeing a different woman every weekend. He was discreet enough to not allow any awkward breakfast conversations with his overnight guests and you were grateful for that. You do not do small talk.

You lean forward to lightly press your lips to his chest, grazing the black ink on his skin. He tilts his head back to allow you better access to his chest and neck and you take the invitation gladly. You kiss up his neck, the feel of his rough stubble on your lips. You kiss along his defined jawline, stopping just below his earlobe. You trace your kisses back down, feathering your lips over his own.

You tease him a couple more times before he finally grows impatient, tangling his fingers in your hair and demanding your lips to attach to his. He moans into your mouth at the contact. He pulls you on top of him and you straddle his waist. You can feel his hardening cock pressing against your core and you purr at the feeling. Colson notices your reaction and begins to grind his hips upwards until you're squirming. You’re not even sure how it’s possible but you can feel an orgasm building just from the motion of Colson grinding your clothed pussy on his hard cock. You try to hold back but he can feel your control waning.

“Cum for me Y/N. Soak your pretty pink panties for me baby,” he moans.

You whimper, trying to resist but you lose all your control when he grips your hips and pushes you down on his dick, hard. You throw your head back and cry out as an animalistic orgasm tears through your body. You see stars as your high builds to a place you didn’t even know was possible.

“Fuuuuuck,” you growl as your body shakes. “That was, holy fuck.”

“Oh baby, I’m just getting started,” Colson grins and your inside quiver.

He flips you so you’re now on your back, his large figure towering over you. He traces his index finger lightly down the length of your body, stopping at the waistline of your underwear. He hooks his fingers into the elastic and pulls them down your body. He stares at your exposed pussy for a few seconds, drinking it in like he’s trying to save a mental picture. Colson slips a finger in between your folds, gathering the juices that have flowed out of your core. You gasp as he accidentally grazes your sensitive clit. He smirks at you before repeating the motion again and again. You’re practically raised off the bed at this point, need completely overtaking you.

Colson leans down to kiss your hip bone, one at a time. He lays himself flat, wrapping his arms around your thighs to hold your legs open. You’re not sure what he’s planning to do until out of nowhere, his face is buried in your pussy. You cry out as he eats you out like a starving man with a hot meal. You’re writhing, wriggling and convulsing all over the bed while his skilled tongue works you. He slips it in and out of your hole, licks up and down your slip, flicks and sucks your clit and makes your stomach tingle. He hums against your sensitive skin and the vibration travels right to the top of your scalp. Colson slips a finger inside you and curls it against your tight walls. You contract on his long finger, feeling a second orgasm building in your stomach.

The ropes in the pit of your belly begin to tighten and tighten as you chase your high. Colson slips another finger into you and begins pulling them in and out of you at a faster pace. Your eyes screw shut and you steam as the ropes snap and your orgasm ripples over you. You pull at Colson’s hair as your eyes roll into the back of your head.

“Oh my fucking god, Colson!” you sob as aftershocks rock your body. “What the fuck did you just do?”

“Please don’t tell me that your boyfriend never gave you head before?” he looks at you cynically and you shake your head in confusion.

“I didn’t even know girls could get head. I always thought it was the other way around,” you admit, feeling a bit silly now that you let that asshole convince you for 2 years that oral only went one way.

“I have so much to teach you.” Colson smiles and shakes his head. You sit up on your elbows, looking as innocent as possible while you stare up at him.

“One positive, after 2 years, I have a very skilled mouth,” you purr, licking your lips seductively.

The smile is completely wiped from Colson’s face and you smirk proudly. You pull him down to you, kissing his lips passionately. You can taste yourself on his tongue and it’s oddly intoxicating. You flip your positions so you're on top of him again and repeat what he did. You trail your finger down his body, stopping at the waistband of his briefs. You hook your fingers in and pull them off. His dick springs free and you gasp at the sheer size and girth of it. Now wonder he’d been able to keep so many women satisfied.

You kiss the tip gingerly and he flinches slightly. His dick twitches as you kiss the tip again, then down the length of it, following the lick vein underneath. You kiss back up and notice Colson’s head has fallen back against the pillow. You grip him with one hand and without warning, you swallow his whole length in one go.

“Uhhh fuck! Yeah Y/N…don’t fucking stop,” he squirms on the bed, grabbing your hair and calling out your name.

You bob your head up and down, sucking hard. You push him so deep that the tip of his dick hits the back of your throat but you control your gag. You keep up a steady rhythm and you have Colson in heaven. Your mouth works him with expert precision and without warning he pulls you off him.

“If you keep deepthroating yourself on my cock, I’m going to cum and I haven’t cum from head since the 8th grade,” he scolds you playfully and you snicker.

“It’s not my fault I came prepared,” you counter him, kissing his cheek delicately, the complete opposite of what your lips were just doing. He grabs your face in his hands and forces you to look at him.

“No but I want to fuck you,” he confesses, all joking tone gone from his voice. He stares at you, waiting for permission to continue. You nod and that’s all the approval he needs.

Colson pulls you down to the bed and rests his body on top of yours. He lines himself up with your hole and eases himself in. He’s even bigger as he’s filling you than you realised. It’s been a long time since you felt pain during sex but fucking hell does it hurt! You can tell he’s trying to go as slow as possible and once he’s all the way in, he doesn’t move allowing you to stretch for him. Once you’re feeling more comfortable you nod for him to move and he withdraws from you. He doesn’t pull all the way out and he pushes back inside of you.

After a few minutes, you’ve completely loosened for him and he begins to work you at a steady pace. You’re clawing at his back as he hits all the right spots. He reaches places you didn’t even know you had. You’re panting, writhing and moaning as he plows you again and again, each time tapping against your g-spot. It’s not long before the ropes in the pit of your stomach begin to tighten again. You’re breathing so hard that you feel as if you’re gasping for air and then just like the last two times, the ropes snap and an orgasm crashes over you.

“Ohhhhh fuuuuck yes. Oh my god, I’m cumming baby,” you scream as you carve your nails into Colson’s shoulder blades.

“That’s it baby, cum for daddy,” he whines in your ear and you spasm beneath him.

Colson slows his pumps and you tense every time he fills you again. He leans back on his haunches to look down at you, placing his hand in the centre of your chest as he continues to grind into you.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard,” he tells you between gritted teeth. You tense at the idea but your heartbeat begins to quicken your body can’t wait for him to start.

He allows you to catch your breath before slamming into you. He pounds you so hard and deep that you can barely make out his cock. It’s a blur of movement. As he continues to ram you, you cum one more time from his deep, hard thrusts, before he can’t take it anymore and he pulls out, exploding on your lower stomach.

“Ahhhh fuck, fuck, fuck!” rope after rope of cum spurts out of his tip and even he looks shocked at the size of his load.

He collapses on top of you and you both lie there, trying to regain your breath. After a little while, Colson lifts himself away from your body and reaches into his nightstand, pulling out a packet of baby wipes. He cleans your stomach and the tip of his dick before discarding the used wipe in the trash can near his bed. He kisses you again, softly this time but with a fire still burning behind it. He lies back beside you and you turn so you can continue to trace his tattoos.

“Feel free to mistake my bed for yours anytime you want to,” he states with a lopsided grin.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you snicker before resting your head on his chest, being lulled into a deep sleep by Colson’s soft humming.

[trash-king18]

m pt. 17

no warnings just reader with her sister

————

“you’re late” crystal says as she opens the door

“only by two minutes”

“two minutes that i will be later to work”

“lo se lo se lo siento”

i know i know i’m sorry

she shuts the door

“i thought you and miguel were on the outs”

“we are, what are you talking about”

“wet hair that was clearly washed with men’s products”

“hey!”

“-glowing skin” she sniffs “day old clothes. my guess? you were at his place not even ten minutes ago”

you turn around and roll your eyes at her but when you do your hair that you had positioned to cover your neck falls off your shoulder

she gasps “and y/n Pardo are those hickies?!”

“what?! no” you hastily pull your hair back into place

“oh. my. god.”

“it’s not a big deal”

“mana are you kidding. hickeys are how men claim their territory. they can’t pee on you so they mark your neck for every other person to see that you’re taken even when they’re not around. he’s essentially saying “hands off! she mine”

mine. the thought sends shivers through you

“i thought you were gonna be late to work”

“mm you’re lucky, but we ~will~ talk about this later.”

“Niños, ven a despedirte de tu mamá”

boys come say goodbye to your mama”

Diego and Matias run in and tackle her with hugs and then immediately run over to you next

“se bueno hijos”

be good boys

“tu tambien hermana. hey do yourself a favor borrow something from my closet and uh concealers in the bathroom” she winks

you too sis

she heads out leaving you to a whole day with your favorite boys in the world.

you help Matias with his worksheets for school while Diego showed you all the toys he had gotten for his birthday.. again.

Then you make lunch and decide take them to brighton beach for the afternoon. the water will be too cold to go in but it’ll be a good chance for them to blow off steam and get outside.

the day passes quickly, but you still find your mind wandering back to miguel every so often.

why was he being so… good. even though he was a super hero compared to every other spider man sometimes he didn’t seem like one. superheroes didn’t brood or throw things. and yet he had comforted you through a panic attack, cooked food for you, helped you in… a few other ways.

he had done a fair share of asshole things and you had no intention of mothering him into shape. still he was trying.. and you weren’t perfect either.

you weren’t necessarily thinking about a relationship but… it was starting to feel like you were in one.

before you could spiral any farther down that rabbit hole diego came running up with a shell he’d found.

“woah chico eso es genial”

that’s cool

“puedo quedármelo?”

can i keep it

“por supuesto, podemos enseñárselo a tu mamá”

of course we can show it to your mama”

“Matias, vamos, hora de irse”

come on, it’s time to go

after a lot of begging to stay and a little bit of bribery you were back in the taxi on the way home.

it was dark out and the boys were in bed, Matias was reading to Diego to help him practice. his teachers had apparently noted that he was a little behind but since he’d started doing story time every night he had definitely improved.

Crystal walked in the door looking absolutely exhausted. she came in and kisses your forehead

“i am so glad i never have to worry about you swallowing balloons full of hallucinogenics ”

“what” you laugh

she waves you off and goes to say goodnight to the boys. she comes back out in pajamas and flops down on the couch next to you

“wine?”

“tequila”

“ay ya veo, one of those cases huh?”

she snorts “si”

you pour some tequila and guava juice over ice and hand it to her. she takes a greatful sip and sinks into the cushions.

“wanna talk about it”

“god no. i don’t want to think about work tonight, tomorrow, or at work for that matter”

“fair”

“you know what i do want to talk about”

“the super cool seashell we found at the beach today” you ask hopefully

“yeahhh that and your super fine super hero friend”

“there’s nothing to talk about crystal”

“mm see if you were just fucking that would be true but you’re fucking and fighting and then fucking again”

“so?”

“soooo there’s feelings there. and you are not good at those”

“hey give me some credit here i’ve gotten better about it”

“mm fine maybe a little bit. seriously though y/n you need to talk about it, i know you enough to know you’re probably overthinking about it right now”

“no i- i mean.. maybe a little”

“cmon, spill it, gimme all the juicy details”

“we’re not teenagers im not gonna gossip about boys with you”

“uh yes you are because i’m your older sister and i’m basically the boss of you so talk”

and you do. the tequila makes it easier. you fill her in on every single thing, leaving out only a few select explicit details. when you finally stop talking she stares at you with her mouth hanging open.

“why are you looking at me like that”

“i’m not looking at you any way”

“yes, yes you are. i know that face, you have something to say”

“no no im fine im good”

“i gave you every detail you don’t get to hold out on me now”

“i just.. want you to be careful mana. i know you can take care of yourself but this sounds complicated.. not just physically, emotionally. don’t get caught up in the good moments if they don’t outweigh the bad.”

you look down at your drink

“i know. i’m trying”

“what is it tia may always says? for every bad day, a good man-“

“-makes a hundred good ones. yeah. shes such a bad ass.”

“yeah she is, she never let tío ben get away with anything”

“no she did not. I can still hear her “Benicio! no te alejes de mi”

don’t walk away from me

“Benicio! necesito un bolso nuevo”

i need a new bag

your laughter eventually dies down and you’re quiet for a while.

“i went to see him”

you don’t have to explain. she knows exactly what you mean

“oh you did?” something about the way she says it sounds weird but you dismiss it

“marcus suggested it actually, figured it was time”

“i miss him”

“me too”

she rests her head on your shoulder and you two sit like that until she dozes off. you gingerly take the glass from her hand and set it on the coffee table. it’s almost 1.

you support her head as you lay her down and cover her with a blanket. you check your phone and notice there’s multiple texts from jess and the kids asking about what happened last night. you scroll through them but you stop when you notice a text that had come through two hours ago.

it was from miguel. he never texted, hated using a phone, he just had lyla call you or showed up evidently.

will you be home tonight?

you knew he meant home as in your other universe, but if you were any other two people it could just as easily be a partner asking if you’re coming home, to our shared space. the thought weirded you out.

you weren’t sure wether or not to text back, you

knew he was probably awake working since you weren’t there.

you were so sleepy, you could’ve easily crawled into crystals bed and passed out but you didn’t want to spend another night away from home. you sneak into the boys room and plant a gentle kiss on both foreheads and then climb onto the roof because the living room is too cramped for opening portals.

you step in and step out into your kitchen. you tug your clothes off as you walk to your bed and drop your bag on the floor next to you. you don’t even have the energy to grab pajamas for yourself so you reach for the closest thing which happens to be miguel’s shirt that you’d stuffed in with your jacket on accident before leaving.

you’re asleep before your head even hits the pillow.

————

taglist:

@urmotherswhor3 @kirke-is-my-name @rexxesgirl

@simp4miguell @urmomisafinewoman

@dammittjanet @cheezit-luv3rr @miggyyyyohara

[daxwritesstories]

The Game: Chapter 20

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Max's P.O.V

“Ughhh,” Max complained, looking at his phone.

“What?” Jayce asked. 

Max turned off his phone and looked over at his date sitting across the table from him. The pair had spent the entire day together and now they were sitting at a table for two, eating dinner. Max had decided to skip Zoe’s dinner -slash cult- meeting since the date had gone so well. 

Jayce had really surprised him. He was fun to be around and he was great to talk to. He was honest and wasn’t afraid to say what was on his mind. It was a quality that Max had found annoying at first but it was slowly starting to grow on him. 

“Zoe’s harassing me about coming to her party tonight,” Max explained, waving his phone. 

“We should go! It sounds fun,” Jayce replied. That wasn’t the response Max was expecting but he never really knew what to expect with this kid. 

“You want to go?” he asked.

“Do you?”

“No. But I’ll take you if you want to go.” That came out sounding way more romantic than Max intended it to. He wasn’t even sure why he said it. He did not want to go to this party but if Jayce wanted to go…

The brunette smiled and rested his chin on his hands, elbows on the table. “You’ll really take me?” He sounded giddy, fully aware that he was being cute.

Max squinted at him, trying to ignore his embarrassment. “Yeah I’ll take you,” he responded.

“Yay! Thank you Max.” Jayce went back to eating his food, looking content. 

Sighing, Max joined him. He knew he’d be kicking himself for this later but for some reason he just couldn’t say no to Jayce today. Well, the past two days, actually. It suddenly became too difficult after he tried to reject the younger boy. At first he thought it was just guilt, and maybe it was, but it felt like more than that. For some reason, seeing Jayce cry made him sad. He didn’t think much of it the first time but the second time made him notice. It wasn’t even that he felt sorry for him, which he did, it was more of a selfish thing. Jayce being upset made Max upset and he didn’t want it to happen again.

Max took a sip of his water. He wasn’t used to this feeling. Normally he couldn’t care less when other people were sad, he knew they’d get over it. This was different though. He felt a strange protectiveness over Jayce. He found himself worrying about him at the most random times, wondering if he was okay. It was honestly freaking him out a lot but he was trying his best not to let it get to him.

When the pair finished their dinner, they went back to their room to freshen up before the party. It had likely already started since Zoe said in the group chat that people could come by anytime after dinner. Max took his time though, despite Jayce’s complaints. He knew he was only delaying the inevitable though.

There was no answer when Max knocked on Zoe and Naomi’s door. He raised his hand to knock again but froze when Jayce suddenly grabbed onto his arm. Max gave him a confused look.

“Sorry, I’m nervous,” Jayce explained. 

Deciding to just let him do it, Max said nothing and knocked again. The door unlocked a few seconds later and Zoe opened the door. For a moment she looked surprised to see them but then she put on her usual charming smile. 

“You made it!” she exclaimed. 

“Well yeah, we’re literally one door over,” Max said, annoyed. He noticed Zoe swaying a bit and she tightened her grip on the door to balance herself. “Are you drunk already?”

“Yes!” Zoe responded. “We’re doing tequila shots. Do you want some?”

Jayce naively took the offer and Zoe grabbed him by the arm, dragging him into the room. Max followed reluctantly, not wanting to abandon his date, although it was tempting. He found a fairly empty spot on one of the walls to lean back on.

Surveying the room, Max was surprised at the amount of people the girls had managed to fit in the hotel room. The rooms at the hotel weren’t necessarily small but they weren’t huge either. He immediately noticed the three girls Naomi was talking about at dinner the previous night. They were exactly as she described them, prissy and rich-looking. Probably somebody’s sugar babies. Max wondered what that was like. He had been propositioned by a couple guys to be their sugar baby in the past. He always turned them down though. That kind of lifestyle didn’t appeal to him.

Checking out the other guests, all people he knew, he saw Kelly, Tyler, and… fuck. Xavier was there. Of fucking course he was there, why wouldn’t he be? Max looked over at Jayce, who seemed to either not notice or not care, as he was doing tequila shots with Zoe and one of the valley girls.

Whatever, Max would just ignore the tattooed menace.

“Hey there, Max.” Xavier’s snaky voice almost made Max jump out of his skin.

Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a conversation, Max didn’t respond and just huffed in anger.

“Aww don’t be like that,” Xavier mused.

Max glared at him. He noticed that the dark-haired boy had a solo cup in his hand. Great, he thought. Drunk-Xavier was even worse than regular-Xavier.

“Guess what? I’m pretending to be straight for the new girls,” Xavier continued.

“Good for you.” Max couldn’t stop himself from making a snarky remark.

“Yeah, but,” Xavier paused and stepped closer to Max, leaning on the wall. “I decided to give up the act when I saw your fine ass walk in.”

“Go away.”

“And go where? We’re in a fucking hotel room,” Xavier said. 

Max just rolled his eyes and folded his arms. He looked over to where Jayce was standing. The brunette was still chatting with the girls. He looked like he was having a good time.

“How was your date?” Xavier asked, taking a swig of his drink.

“I dunno, it hasn’t ended yet,” Max replied.

“Lucky.” 

Glancing over, Max saw that the tattooed boy was now looking at Jayce too.

“I knew you were keeping him for yourself,” Xavier said. “I don’t blame you. He’s adorable.”

That was one thing they could agree on. Despite his best efforts Max couldn’t deny that Jayce was cute. 

“Well, you have fun with that,” Xavier said, backing away from the wall. He smirked at Max. “You haven’t topped in a while, have you?”

Max glared at him again. “You’re not funny.”

“I’m hilarious.” With that, the tattooed boy walked away, looking proud of himself. 

Max was surprised he didn’t take the opportunity to intrude on their date. That was one saving grace about Xavier, he got bored of people fast. Sure, he would come back when he decided he wanted them again, but he never stayed longer than his attention span allowed. Unfortunately Max learned that the hard way. It still made him sick to think about how many times he let that boy back in. He always managed to catch Max when he was lonely and desperate. Not this time, though. Max would never let that happen again. 

As the night went on, Zoe managed to talk Max into doing a couple shots and it made him feel a bit better. The party wasn’t that bad. They had to keep the music at a reasonable volume to avoid getting busted and there weren’t too many people since it was in a hotel room. Plus Jayce looked like he was having fun.

At one point the valley girls decided to jump on the bed together. Two of them climbed onto one of the beds together and the third girl, a blonde with short hair, went on the other bed by herself. Not wanting to be alone, she called Jayce to come join her. He obliged and the four of them jumped and danced around.

Naomi gave Max a nudge with her elbow as if to say ‘watch this’. With Max’s attention, she took a deep breath in and started cheering at the group. “Take it off! Take it off!” she chanted. 

The two girls, Max heard their names were Christy and Katrina, started taking each other’s shirts off. It looked like they were trying to do a strip tease but fumbled a lot in their drunken states. Katrina had expensive-looking lingerie underneath her shirt and Christy wasn’t wearing a bra. She probably didn���t need to wear one because her fake boobs held themselves up.

The girl who was with Jayce took her own shirt off and delicately grabbed the bottom of Jayce’s. She gave him a friendly smile, like she was waiting for him to stop her. She seemed significantly more sober than her friends. When Jayce gave her a nod, she pulled his shirt over his head. Jayce shrugged a bit in embarrassment and Tessa giggled at him playfully. 

Zoe drunkenly climbed onto the bed on her knees with Christy and Katrina. With an excited smile, she tugged at Christy’s mini skirt. Christy appeared receptive to the gesture, stepping closer to her. Zoe carefully -as careful as a drunk girl can be- pulled down the skirt, revealing a quite noticeable bulge in Christy’s panties. It seemed to be a welcomed surprise though, as Zoe happily stood up and reached around Christy to grab her ass. She pressed her body against the valley girl and the pair giggled.

Hearing Naomi move away from him, Max looked over to see her approaching the other bed. Tessa noticed her and bent down, reaching her hands out in excitement. 

“Take it off, baby!” Naomi exclaimed, grabbing Tessa’s hands. Tessa pulled her up onto the bed and Naomi teasingly tugged at her skirt. The valley girl got the message and started sliding the skirt off.

Naomi turned to Jayce and whispered something to him. Something that made the brunette blush and smile. Max furrowed his brow, wondering what she said to him. 

It soon became clear though, as Jayce sat down and undid his jeans before pulling them off. Now only in his boxers, he stood back up and went back to dancing. He seemed happy and carefree, it made Max happy. It was a nice sight too. Jayce had such a small frame, it was adorable. Max suddenly wanted to touch him.

Not feeling brave enough yet, Max rushed over to the table with the tequila bottle that Tyler and Xavier were standing next to. He quickly poured himself a shot and drank it. He heard Xavier start saying something to him but he walked away before he could hear it.

He walked over to the bed and looked up at the dancers. Jayce saw him and waved. Max gestured at him to come down and the brunette looked over at the girls next to him for approval. 

Naomi responded by playfully shoving him towards Max before turning her attention back to the valley girl.

Jayce jumped off the bed, stumbling a bit as he landed. Max caught him, steadying the drunk brunette.

“Let’s dance!” Jayce said. 

Max was never one for dancing but, again, he didn’t want to say no to his date. So they danced together for a while. 

After a few songs, Zoe jumped off the bed and approached the boys.

“It’s getting too hot in here,” she said.

“Okay?” Max responded, not sure what she was getting at. 

“We need to kick some people out,” Zoe explained.

“You mean us?” Max said, glancing at Jayce.

“Yeah. Sorry, guys.” Zoe took both of them by the arm and started ushering them towards the door. Neither of them tried to fight it, both too drunk to care. 

Soon they were at the door and Zoe pushed them into the hallway. “Thanks for coming! Sorry again.” And then the door closed and they were left alone in the hall.

The boys decided to just go back to their room and call it a night. When they got back Max immediately went to lie on his bed, exhausted. 

“Hey Max?” Jayce said, taking his jeans off.

“Hm?”

“Can I lie in your bed for a while?”

The question caught Max off guard. He kind of just wanted to sleep but he was too tired to come up with an excuse.

“Uh.. sure,” he said.

Jayce smiled in response and climbed into the bed beside Max. He snuggled up to him and Max let him do it, both boys still feeling the tequila. 

“I had so much fun today,” Jayce said. 

“Yeah, me too,” Max responded. 

“Do you think we could do this again?”

Max sighed. He didn’t even think about that yet. 

“You’re asking already?” he said. 

Jayce hesitated before responding. “I just wanted to know if I should get my hopes up or not,” he said. 

Fuck. Now Max needed to give an answer. It was true that he had a lot of fun, but was this what he really wanted? For once in his dating life he didn’t know what he wanted. He was so used to having a plan, knowing exactly what type of guy he wanted, what he wanted from them, why he wanted it. Things never seemed to go according to plan though and Max had gotten used to being disappointed. 

This situation was different. He couldn’t be disappointed if he didn’t have any expectations going into it. Maybe that’s what Damon was talking about when he said to try new things. 

“Yeah,” Max finally said. “We could do this again.”

Jayce didn’t say anything, just sighed with content. He nuzzled even closer to Max and a random wave of affection came over him. He wanted to hold the brunette, so he did, wrapping his arm around him. Without thinking about it, he bent down and kissed Jayce on the head. 

Again, Jayce didn’t say anything. He just closed his eyes and breathed slowly. Max knew he was going to fall asleep but decided he was okay with that. It was okay if he slept next to him just this once, right?

[pawsitivelymeow]

My Special Neighbor

She is my neighbour from my previous apartment.

She moved into that apartment a month after me. We never really met for a while because as an introvert, I strategically only leave the house when there is no chance of me meeting any of my neighbours.

The first time we met, I was from the mall and was a tad bit tipsy. I passed her door before getting to mine. Her door was open and she had a party. My tipsy self thought it would be a good idea to go say hi at that moment. I didn’t lock my door because, for some reason, my brain thought that the anxiety that ensues from leaving my door open would stop me from spending too much time at the party.

I knock on her already open door and she receives me. I introduce myself as her neighbour. Turns out she already knew that. She invites me for a few shots. I get in, and one of her guests offers me his space on the couch, she brings me tequila and shot glasses and introduces me to the immediate guests.

I take a few shots and wanted to leave but she insists that I stay. I promise to go lock my door and be back. I go lock my door and join the party immediately after. The introvert in me showed up with cigarettes. I don’t mind cigarettes but I don’t particularly enjoy smoking them. They come in handy when I need a break from humans at a party. It’s easier for people to understand “I am going to smoke at the balcony” compared to “I am going to the balcony because there is no one there and I need space from humans”.

After a few minutes of saying hi to people I did not know, I go to smoke. A gentleman joins me, he was smoking so I did not mind his presence. 10 minutes later, I decided to cut my night short and go sleep since the conversation I was having with my balcony mate involved him trying to figure out what was wrong with me as a woman.

I go say bye to my neighbour and she decides to walk me to my house and hug me goodnight.

Fast forward to two weeks later, she invites me for dinner and drinks. We get to know more about each other. We are both developers. We laugh about my resting bitch face that stopped her from ever saying hi to me whenever she saw me. She tells me that I am nicer in person which makes me smile. When the drinks kick in, she tells me that I am hot and respectfully asks if she can kiss me.

Is she beautiful? Yes. Is she hot? Yes. Is she smart? Yes Is she sexy? Yes. Does she have a beautiful personality? Yes. Am I attracted to her? Yes. SO, WHY THE FUCK DID I SAY “NO” WHEN SHE ASKED TO KISS ME!!!

Now the thought of kissing her is in my head and that is all I can think about. After about an hour, she asked if she could kiss me again. I nodded yes and our faces very naturally moved closer to each other. I got lost in that kiss. Everything disappeared. She was the only thing that existed. I have never had a kiss that passionate and that intense that all my problems disappeared.

With both her hands on my neck, she detaches slowly from my lips, her hands still in place, she looks at me and asks me to spend the night. I nod again because however much I tried, I could not let the word “yes” out of my mouth even though all I wanted to do was scream it for the whole world to hear.

We went to bed, and she helped me remove my clothes, made sure I was comfortable and then she got on top of me. I was not prepared for this. All she needed me to do was lie down and spread my legs. She had toys that I had never seen before. I lost myself in her which is something I had never done while having sex with a man. I felt safe. I felt special. That night, she existed to pleasure me. This feeling was foreign to me and I loved it. Sex with a woman hits differently.

She was happy to go on all night but for some reason, I felt guilty. I did not deserve that level of pleasure without giving anything in return. We cuddled all night and she made me juice in the morning which was quite helpful with my hangover.

She was the most overwhelming experience I have ever had.