#bob odenkirk x reader

[danoberry]

★ object of your affection (hank devereaux x reader) SMUT 18+

description: after many “private” sessions with your professor, you finally get what you’ve been wanting.

content: SMUT 18+!!!, age gap (reader is in her 20s), use of the word “kiddo” a lot, kinda cum play, teasing, more stuff but it’s unimportant and it’s 12:30am

pronouns: you/yours (female reader)

wc: 2.7k

afab genitalia

AN:

hi guys! i’m really back! new content, woo! when i fade out of my interests, there’s a gap of time where i really have no interests. after i stopped being OBSESSED with paul dano, i finished breaking bad and watched better call saul, which, of course, sparked a huge interest and an infatuation with bob odenkirk. with that being said, here is the new fic. i hope everyone, even my religiously devoted dano fans, enjoy!

The sound of your foot against the floor tip-tapped with the cadence of a song running through your mind. You stood at Professor Devereaux’s door, waiting for the one-on-one session that you had asked him for, for the fourth week in a row. After his outburst in class, you had noticed he had been more stressed than ever before. You wouldn’t have cared as much if you didn’t have such a good bond with him, but with your similar humor (and consistent effort) you both got along very well. It was never your intention to become so close to your much older professor, but lack of friends and need for validation led you to this friendship.

Professor Devereaux was an ethical man. So you thought, at least until the outburst. For what it was worth, you agreed with what he was preaching. The college he taught at, the one you went to, was mediocrity’s capital. There was nothing special about it. What he said was right. The idiotic kid who kept dragging on the situation knew nothing about the man you knew. Someone practical. Someone witty. Someone caring. So as you stood there tapping your feet, you thought about how off-topic this one-on-one session with your professor could get. Or on the contrary, how off-topic you could make it. 

“Hey, Y/N,” you heard a voice say as you looked up from your feet. 

“Hey, Professor,” you replied, getting out of the doorway and watching as Prof. Devereaux grabbed the keys from his pocket and unlocked the door. 

“Listen, kid, I’m super sleep deprived. I’ll look at your paper to the best of my ability, but I can’t promise world class advice.” 

“That’s okay. I kinda just wanted to eat somewhere besides the cafeteria.” 

He replied sarcastically, “Go right ahead, I’ll sit and watch you.” 

He sat in his chair across from you as you grabbed the salad from your bag. You pulled up your paper on your laptop, beginning to eat. 

“Jeez, you're making me hungry now,” he said, laughing and looking at his computer. 

“Yeah, well, I’d offer you some but I don’t want any cross-contamination going on.” 

“I’ll live. I think I have a vanilla Coke in the fridge out there. Be right back,” he opened the door, “before I die of hunger!” 

You ate your salad as you waited for him to get back, aimlessly scrolling on Pinterest. When he did come back, he carried two cans of Coke in his hands, one for him, and one for you. 

“See, I’m not as selfish as everyone is saying,” he said. 

“Definitely not. Thanks, Professor.” 

He sat down and leaned against the desk. “You gonna show me your paper?”  

“Oh yeah, here.” You flipped the screen and showed him what you were working on, and he invited you to sit on the other side of the desk with him, pointing out details that you didn’t need or needed to add. You took a sip of your Coke and grabbed a mint from across the desk after you were done with the salad. Slowly, you unconsciously started to scoot closer to him, closing the gap between your bodies substantially. You looked up at his gaze upon your screen, studying his facial features. You studied his hair and his beard and its color. You watched his eyes flick from each side of the screen as he read. Right then and there, you reached a breaking point. God, you couldn’t bear looking at such a handsome face and not being able to mess with it. He was so successful and attractive and intelligent. You wanted him to ruin you. 

You leaned closer to him, pretending to read your paper again. Slowly, you began to rub his shoulder as he read. He didn’t tense up or ask for you to stop, responses you could have received. Instead, he kept as he was. 

“What’re you doing?” He asked absentmindedly.

“I don’t know. I’ll stop-“ 

“No, it’s fine. I was just wondering if you could get the other shoulder.” 

You paused for a moment. 

“Uh, yes sir.”

“Don’t feel obligated. You just do it very well.” 

You blushed hard. “Thank you,” you nearly whispered. 

“Thank you. Could you get the blinds too?” 

You nodded your head while you got up, letting your hand linger on his shoulder until you couldn’t touch him anymore. As you shut the blinds, your professor looked over at you, tracking your body with his eyes. When you walked back over to him, you massaged his shoulders as he finished his reading and revising. You leaned closer to his head and watched your screen that he had control over. 

“There you are,” he said, taking his hands off of your keyboard, lifting one to rub your fingers that were resting on his shoulder. “Sit down, let me talk to you for a moment.” 

You let go of his shoulders and sat down next to him. “You’re one of my most promising students,” he started. “You’re not like these… ignoramuses I deal with every day…”

“Thank you, professor,” you said, nervous from the intimacy of the conversation. He leaned back and smiled. 

“I think we can get rid of the formalities now, don’t you think…? You can call me Hank when we’re alone.” 

You nodded your head, still blushing and timid from the conversation. 

“You don’t have to act so shy,” he teased. “I know what you’re trying to do. To be frank, it’s working… if that gives you any validation. You want one-on-one ‘lessons’ with me after class almost every week, and all we do is sit and talk. I’ve caught on. Scooting close to me while I read your essays, which I know you write just so we can have these ‘lessons.’ I know you want to mess with me. You’ve got me right where you want me.” 

You sat there in awe, the numbness in your thighs dialing down as you got more comfortable with the fact that he knew you were attracted to him. Hank leaned closer to you, and instead of letting him take initiative, you leaned into him and met his lips between his beard. He tasted the mint flavor on your tongue. 

“What was that about ‘cross contamination?’ Wintergreen, huh? How’d you know that was my favorite?” 

“Lucky guess.”

You kissed him again and felt the softness of his beard against your skin. It was a new feeling, something you had never experienced. You had only been with men your age. You melted in the thought; you were able to kiss such an experienced man, one who even knew how to speak to you so sweetly. You swooned over Hank’s quiet groans, ones he made when he was out of breath. Inching closer to the man, touring your hand up his knee and onto his thigh, he whispered to you, “Right here,” having you straddle his lap over the seat. He told you ‘atta girl’ when you adjusted your hips on top of him. 

“Jesus Christ, kiddo. I don’t know how you expect me to last long if I’m getting this undone from just touching you.”

“Who knows, maybe I could teach an old dog new tricks today,” you laughed. Hank kissed your neck, tickling you and making you giggle even more. 

“Who are you calling old?” 

“More like… mature,” you said, still giggling from the ticklish neck kisses. 

“Mature, huh? I guess you wanna know how someone so mature can make you feel then?” 

“I think I’d like that very much.” 

Hank took hold of your pants’ button and unclasped it, afterwards unzipping your zipper. You stood up quickly to kick them off, displaying a perfect pair of lace panties you had worn every single time you had a “session” with him. Hank unbuckled his belt, dropping it to the floor, and he undid his button and zipper. 

“I bet you wore those underwear just for me, didn’t you? How dirty.” 

“But you like them, right?” You asked jokingly, turning around squeezing your ass in your hands. You straddled Hank again and kissed him. “Talk about dirty, you’re about to have sex with one of your students in your office.” 

“Trust me,” he said, “if I could take you home with me right now, I would.” 

“And what would you do with me if you did?” You asked him, grinding a bit harder against his crotch than you were before.

“A lot more than what we can do right now.” 

“Why don’t you give it your all, then?”

“Pshh, ‘give it my all.’ You’re really asking for it, huh?” 

“Hank, I’m on my knees.”

You kissed him again and rubbed against his crotch, making sure he could feel the wetness seeping through your panties. Hank hummed when he felt you graze his cock. You stood up and watched as he pulled down his underwear and unbuttoned his shirt. Seeing his cock lay so perfectly against his stomach made your legs weak, and you swore you could feel yourself salivating. You bent down over his cock and watched as pre-cum leaked in little beads from his tip. You kissed the tip of his length, giving it kitten licks. You could see the twitch of his cock just from teasing him.

“God- ah- fuck, kid. Get on top of me.” 

With zero hesitation, you climbed back onto his lap and moved your panties to the side, giving Hank kisses on his lips and grinding against his cock, waiting for a moment before taking him all. You stood up and positioned yourself over his cock, sitting back down with an exasperated shudder, moaning into his neck. Hank expelled a large breath against your skin, feeling your pussy wrap around him so perfectly. 

“Ah- wow, you feel good.” 

“Who, me?” You sarcastically remarked, panting. 

Hank squeezed your ass and moved it up and down on his cock. “Don’t get all smart-elicy on me now. We both know where you get it from.” 

He breathed between his teeth, almost audibly whining, when you deliberately clenched around his cock.

“If you mean myself, then you’d be correct.” 

Hank pounded into you harder than before, shocking you from the abrupt change in pace. You worried to whine as quietly as you could into his shoulder. “Smart brats make good dumb bunnies, kiddo.” 

“I- ah- oh, fuck!” You moaned as quietly as you could in his ear. 

“Hmph, yeah, see what I mean?” 

He groaned with hot breaths against your skin, making you clench harder around his cock again. You drooled against his shoulder and whined, nearly incomprehensible.

“Ah- hng- I- feels so- good!” 

“You- fuck- like that?”

“Mhm..!”

Through his groans, Hank teased you again, “Hmm, I think you could have it a little more rough.” 

You moaned into his neck, drooling as he pounded his cock into you, stretching your hole. Whatever response you could have given, you couldn’t. He stopped pounding into you for a moment and tucked your hair out of your pretty face to look at you, holding your hand and rubbing his calloused fingers over yours. 

“You wanna bend over for me, kiddo?” 

You mewled and kissed his lips, nodding, despite how tired and sore you were. You got off of his lap, feeling cold and empty from the lack of friction. Wetness seeped around your pussy and around your thighs as you spread your legs and bent down over his desk. 

“I’m teasing you, but you really are doing so well for me,” he said, bending over and kissing your cheek. “Don’t lay your head like that. Here, sweetheart.” He put his hand on the left side of your cheek, creating a barrier between your head and the hard desk. Hank massaged your ass with his other hand, before shoving his wet cock back into you, making you moan at the feeling. 

Hank tried keeping the noises at a minimum, yet still trying to pound into you and hit the spots that made you arch farther up his stomach. You could tell he was close to cumming, but God, you didn’t want it to end. With every thrust, you could feel him becoming more tense, groaning, letting out hot breaths. His thrusts were becoming sloppier and quicker. 

“Where- oh fuck- where do you want- ah- it?” 

“Cum in me, please! Please, please please!” 

 Hank grunted as quietly as he could, almost moaning, when you felt his cock twitch inside you. Cum spurted over your walls, making your pussy clench around him. You felt bad about not being able to cum as he pulled out of you, kissing your shoulder. 

“Hank,” you said quietly as you turned around and played with your clit.

“What’s up, kiddo?” He replied in his chair, out of breath.

“I couldn’t cum,” you practically mumbled. 

“Poor thing,” he said, sitting up and kissing your face. “I’ll fix it, don’t worry.”

You played with your clit softly when he sat back down in his chair, scooting towards your pussy and spreading your legs. You watched Hank as his head moved down to your crotch, and he collected the cum that was seeping out of your hole on his fingers and raised them to your mouth. You sucked them gently, before he brought his hand back down to your hole and began fucking you with his fingers and flicking his tongue over your clit. You whined out and tried squeezing your thighs, but to no avail, because he was already using his free hand to hold your legs down. You heard the wet noises that he made as he sucked on your puffy clit, making the knot in your stomach tighten. 

“Ah- oh, fuck! Ah, hngg, Hank!” You moaned as you tried to bite your lip. You could feel his smile curl against your pussy, and you held your orgasm for as long as you could, trying to relax your muscles. Only a few seconds after, however, did you let go, pulsating and cumming all around his calloused fingers. Hank licked the mixture of his cum and yours from your hole, kissing you. 

You, sweaty and nearly incoherent from being fucked dumb, mustered up a, “You’re kissing me with cum in your mouth, but I’m the dirty one.” 

Hank laughed at your ability to joke, even though you were so tired and cum-drunk. “You got me there,” he said, kissing you again. You sat there, batting your eyes as you looked up and his foggy glasses. 

“Thank you,” you said, quietly. 

“Of course, kiddo. Thank you. You’re the best I’ve had in years.” 

You smiled. “Really?” 

“Well maybe not the best behaved, but…”

You laughed and rolled your eyes. Hank grabbed a few tissues from his closet, along with a blanket that he gave you once you hopped down from his desk. He wiped your legs off and around the base of his cock, getting himself ready for his class. 

“Don’t come to class today. Take a nap, I know you need it,” he said, putting his chair back. He kissed you when you sat down, and put his pants on after buttoning his shirt.

“I gotta get to my lecture and get this mess off in the restroom. Lock the door behind me, I’ll tell you when I’m back.” 

“Okay,” you said.

“You’re a good girl, you know that?” 

“I guess I do now,” you said, with a smirk on your face. Hank shook his head with a smile and kissed you again, before straightening himself out and walking out the door, shutting it behind him. He opened it back up and peeked in for just a second. 

“Same time next week?” He whispered. 

“Sooner.”

“You got it.” 

#lucky hank #bob odenkirk #bob odenkirk fic #lucky hank fic #better call saul #danoberry #better call saul fic #jimmy mcgill #jimmy mcgill fic #saul goodman #saul goodmanfic #saul goodman smut #jimmy mcgill smut #jimmy mcgill x reader #saul goodman x reader #hank devereaux smut #hank devereaux x reader #better call saul smut #bob odenkirk x reader

[quin-ns]

Taking Care (Saul Goodman x Reader)

Word count: 2K

Summary: after jesse beats up saul you help fix him up

Tags: brba ep. 5x11, canon violence, canon behavior, blood mention, hurt/comfort kinda, hurt!saul, saul being a bit sleazy but it’s goofy it’s fine, fluff, flirting, humor/comedy, very light hearted despite the episode, kissing, happy end :)

A/N: finished breaking bad and couldn’t get this episode out of my brain. im a saul simp now and even tho he lowkey deserved it i didn’t like seeing him get beat up. my self indulgent fix it- idk how big the fandom for saul fics is so I’ll just have to see lol

Cross-posted to ao3 • brbabcs masterlist • writing masterlist

As you headed into Saul’s office from the waiting room, you heard a commotion. Saul was screaming at someone. The door had been kicked in. You’d seen some pretty crazy things happen here, but you were in no way expecting to find Jesse being the cause of the chaos.

“Jesse! Stop!” you shouted, gaining the young man’s attention. He was standing over Saul—who was on the ground, hands raised in defense—with a gun pointed on the man.

Jesse stared at you in surprise, obviously not anticipating your arrival. His jaw tightened and he looked guilty. You were one of the only people left whose opinion of him actually mattered to Jesse. The two of you were friends; you could only hope he’d listen to you.

“Oh Y/N, thank god,” Saul said in relief when he spotted you in the room. “Call the police!”

You weren’t sure if he was serious or not—Saul never wanted police at his office—but it must’ve been bad if he was even willing to mention calling help.

“No need,” Jesse decided. He dug into Saul’s pocket and grabbed something out. Sounded like keys. “We’re done here,” he told you calmly. Huell, Saul’s massive bodyguard, tried to block the door. “Back up!” Jesse yelled, pointing the gun at him. You weren’t in the line of fire and you really hoped Jesse wouldn’t shoot you, but you stumbled back further away from him. Huell moved too and let Jesse out the door.

Huell ran over to Saul and tried to help him up. “Get off me! What do I pay you for?” Saul yelled at Huell and grabbed his phone. He frantically called someone and said, “hey, it’s me. We got a big problem.”

Huell ran off out the door and you turned to go after Jesse too. As much as he was deranged in the moment, you tried to convince yourself maybe you could help, but Saul interrupted your contemplation after making his call that you didn’t pay attention too.

“Leave him,” Saul coughed out. “He has a gun and is clearly not afraid to wave it around.” You looked back at him and became aware of the damage Jesse had done.

“Oh, you idiot,” you muttered, approaching Saul where he had slumped back to the ground. It was only the two of you in the office now. “What did you do?”

He let out a dramatic scoff. “Me?” Saul asked, offended, as you crouched down next to him. “I get assaulted and I’m somehow at fault?”

You took his bloody face in your hands and inspected the injuries. “Jesse wouldn’t beat you up for no reason.”

A guilty look crossed his face as your hands fell. “I’ll tell you about it later,” he grumbled reluctantly, sitting up straight. You weren’t sure if he ever would. “Can you help me out first, maybe?” Saul gestured to his face.

“Yeah,” you replied curtly, standing. You kept a first aid kit in your car. You were in a similar line of business to Mike and through him you met Saul (and Jesse, Walter, and Gus). Although, the only ones you became friends with were Jesse and Saul.

Your friendship with Saul was a little more… well, more complex. You had a good rapport with him and often bantered back and forth, flirting and what not.

You stopped by his office more than you probably should’ve and he was always pleased to see you appear. That’s how you thought today would go when you came by to visit. You had a couple minutes to spare so you figured you’d swing by for a few. He joked more than once that you could take up all his time in a day and he wouldn’t charge you a dime.

You went out and grabbed the kit from under your seat as quickly as you could. It was something you kept on hand given your past experiences in your occupation. And right now, it was about to come in handy.

Saul was standing when you walked in, looking around the room at the mess. His expression was defeated, which was only amplified by the cuts, bruises, and most of all the bloody nose.

“God, he did a number on you,” you commented, unable to hold back. You actually felt bad for him even though you weren’t sure whose fault it was—it looked like it hurt.

“I’m aware,” he replied, disgruntled, and dropped down into his chair.

You rounded the desk to his side with the kit and set it on the surface of it. You began to unpack the kit and set aside the things you needed. Saul watched you—your back was to him but you could feel his eyes on you.

The first thing you did was check his nose to make sure it wasn’t broken. Good news, it wasn’t. Just really, really bloody. And there was a cut on the bridge. You grabbed a packet of wipes and started to get to work.

You focused on wiping the blood away, but you noticed Saul’s eyes scanning your face. He was watching you almost transfixed. He had been quiet for a few seconds, which was longer than usual for him.

“If I knew I could get you this close I would’ve gotten my ass kicked sooner,” he finally spoke up in that sleazy manor you were so used to.

You scoffed out a laugh. “At least you’re not trying to say you won that.”

Blood was still dripping from his nose, layering onto what was already present, so you took care of that first. You cleaned it from his face which he groaned and whined about, but you wouldn’t have expected anything less.

“Don’t be such a baby,” you muttered.

You finished up with that and his nose finally stopped leaking fresh blood. It was a start, right? You threw bloody wipes away in a little desk side trash can and moved on.

You leaned in a little, glancing over the injuries. You dabbed at the cut on the bridge of his nose with one of those tiny square alcohol wipes.

Saul winced but recovered quickly.

“Are you gonna kiss it and make it better?” he teased while you rolled your eyes and reached for a band aid. “If so I think I might have a scratch on my lip.” You raised your brows with a look that said a sarcastic ‘really?’ “What? I—I thought it was a legitimate healing method.” The lie rolled so easily off his tongue you might’ve believed he believed it. Part of being a lawyer you assumed.

“You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if I did,” you said offhandedly (baiting him), unwrapping the bandaid and placing it on the bridge of his nose.

“What?” Saul sounded incredibly offended. “I so would,” he argued.

Before he could get another word in, you grasped his face in each of your hands and leaned down to capture his lips. Saul, as expected, was stunned. You pulled back with a light laugh while he stared at you dumbfounded.

“See?” you said with sass and a smile. “Now can I finish?”

Saul nodded, speechless for the first time in… well, as long as you’d known him.

Now that his nose was taken care of, which is where the brunt of the damage was, you could focus on the more minor things. Like the eye that was probably going to be a tad swollen and the cut on his forehead.

“You’re taking such good care of me,” he mused. “I’m starting to think you like me.”

“Maybe I do,” you replied smoothly, not missing a beat as you worked.

“I want a do-over,” Saul announced, referring to the kiss where you’d very effectively proved your point.

You ignored him, except for biting back a small smile to yourself. “I can’t do anything about the eye and the cut on your forehead is so small it probably doesn’t need a bandaid. Unless you want one.”

“It’s fine,” Saul dismissed.

“Alright then,” you stepped back to look over him one more time. “You’re good to go.”

“Thanks,” he told you, but was already distracted by prodding at the bandaid.

“I only had a few minutes so I gotta head out now,” you told him as you packed up the first aid kit.

You closed it and grabbed it, then headed for the doorway. Saul realized you were leaving and furrowed his brows, trying to find something to say. You only made it about halfway before—

“Wait! A date!” Saul scrambled to stand, but recovered and tried to act casual. “A date. We should go on one,” he suggested. “Like, for real.”

There it was. Something you’d been waiting for for a while. You knew he had a thing for you beyond just provocative comments and flirting, it was obvious, but he never actually asked you out. So you didn’t plan on taking him up on any of his offers until he was serious. It took a while, but that moment finally came.

If you were mean, you would’ve said the punch knocked some sense into him.

“Sure,” you replied after a beat.

“Really?” He sounded surprised. “I mean, really?” he repeated, much more collected. “That’s great. Okay. So uh, how about dinner this Friday?”

“You sure you don’t have… other stuff going on?” you asked vaguely, but he knew exactly what you were referring to.

Saul flashed you that charming grin of his. “For you? I have all the time in the world.”

You couldn’t help but smile and let out a laugh at that. Sure he could be coquettish but you genuinely did enjoy his presence. Besides, it suited him. You couldn’t imagine Saul being a perfect, boring gentleman. The flirting was like a game with him and you liked to play just as much as he did.

“Do me a favor, though—”

“Anything,” he responded a little too quickly.

“—try and keep that handsome face intact, alright? No more bloody noses,” you requested with a sarcastic tone (though you did mean it). “If you and I go out I don’t want people thinking I beat you.”

Saul chuckled at your joke. “I’d let you,” he said lasciviously. Despite the wicked glint you were pretty sure he was joking. Although with Saul you could never be too sure.

You scoffed, but with a sense of humor. “I don’t think that’s the compliment you think it is.”

“Whatever,” he said with a shrug. Saul strolled towards you, going overboard with how leisurely he tried to be. You laughed to yourself when he stopped in front of you. The sound made him crack a smile of his own.

“Can I get my do-over?” Saul implored.

“Hmm,” you hummed. “No,” you said unseriously. You laughed at your own joke and Saul sensed your tone.

“You sure?” Saul placed a hand on your waist and decreased the distance. His other hand rose to your cheek. You looked into those soft blue eyes of his.

“Maybe not,” you sighed out as he was already closing the gap between your lips.

Saul initiated and you gladly reciprocated. This kiss, unlike before, was expected. And not to prove a point. You weren’t sure what you thought kissing him would be like, but it was nice. Good. He had you practically swooning by the time the two of you separated.

“I gotta go, but um,” you said softly, eyes lingering on his lips. “I’ll see you Friday?” You flicked your eyes up to meet his.

“How about seven? I’ll pick you up,” Saul offered with a lopsided smile.

You clicked your tongue. “But your car is so tacky,” you teased.

“Hey! My car is awesome,” he defended. “You’ll look great in the passenger side.” Saul patted your hip (nearly your ass) and shot you a wink.

“You better make this date worth my while.” You poked him in the chest, all teasing and accusing like, and stepped back. You turned on your heal and headed out of the office.

"I wouldn't dream of anything less!" Saul called after you. You could hear the smile on his face and for the rest of the day, nothing could get rid of the one on yours.

#quin-ns writing #saul goodman #saul goodman x reader #saul goodman x you #jimmy mcgill #jimmy mcgill x reader #jimmy mcgill x you #breaking bad #better call saul #breaking bad fanfiction #breaking bad fic #bob odenkirk #breaking bad 5x11

[bowieandqueen11]

You Make Me Happy / Jimmy McGill Imagine

Request: May I request a fluffy/cuddly Saul Goodman x reader. Maybe they’re sitting on the couch eating ice cream out of the tub watching tv or something. I crave domestic fluff with this man.

Honestly this is such a mood I too crave the domestic fluff with Jimmy!! <3 Also this is the perfect time to write this because I am freezing and just gripping my hot water bottle lmao

Also sorry if I read this wrong but I’m basing it on BCS Jimmy/Saul rather than BB! Also sorry I love doing weird character studies of Jimmy so this turned out a little more wistful than I meant it to be I can’t help it bruh this show has me in a tragic chokehold

If you enjoy, please let me know by commenting/ reblogging! Thank you, it really makes the world of difference! <3

(I do not own Better Call Saul or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @lousolversons.)

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

‘Jeez, your feet are freezing.’

Considering how compact Jimmy’s little room behind the nail salon appeared to be, you expected his home to be slightly warmer during the winter season. Yet the cold seems to be sneering at the two of you; a sharp frost seems to be coating your bodies, glazing your skin until you nearly bump heads shivering down to huddle under the shared blanket. The boxy room seems far too enclosing, even in spite of the lack of space: the desk shoved up against the far wall, leaning until Jimmy’s coffee-mug turned pencil pot has nearly tipped onto the floor, seems more like a tomb of splintered second-hand wood than a table. Jimmy doesn’t seem to mind though, as he absently minded puts his take out box down onto the chair that has half its legs up on his side of the bed. You had tried to argue that there was space over in your half of the room if you pushed it against the door, but he wouldn’t hear a word of it. He would forgo any comfort, if he did it for your sake.

He blinked slowly, as if his mind was still unwinding from ‘high pressured failing lawyer mode’ and back down into the regular ‘ol Jimmy Mcgill that had been held in crumbling abeyance. He was still disgruntled from his earlier visit with Chuck, which he had animatedly thrown his tie on the floor and yacked at you about as soon as he had come back in the salon doors. He was tired of this: the constant fighting, the constant spiral back down into the pit, the claw back up into the empyreal light that only ‘Saint Chuck’ could bathe under. Tired, yes. He was tired, and he was distraught, and he was cold, and he was foiled. A failure, a scapegoat, ashamed, a kicking post for life to laugh at, thwarted. As Chuck had reminded him, yet again, as he sat in his armchair in his fancy house with its hollow empty walls and its silence and its lordly righteousness, he would never earn everything he had fought so hard for. Doomed to always and yet never be Jimmy McGill, he seemed so lost in himself.

‘Forget freezing’, you start, nestling down further into his side and rubbing your legs against his until you can feel his hairs rise, ‘I think if I kick them hard enough they might shatter off in shards of ice.’ You smile over at him, distressfully, and wait to see if he can draw himself back out.

He finally seems to realise you’re actually still there - still actually sitting there next to him, looking over at him as if he were a man of any actual importance. As if he weren’t a loser, living on seven hundred bucks a week in the squalid back of a nail salon, with nothing but the empty tones of his dinged desk phone to keep him company most of the night. It was almost enough to make him break down right there and then. Instead he turned to look towards you, his eyes lighting up almost immediately at the sight: the shadows drawing away from eyes and filling them with colour and life and love again. 

He guffaws at your statement, but doesn’t protest when you clamber your feet on top of his to try and make them soak up some of your warmth. The crimson red of his toe nails nearly makes you laugh out loud; the thought that tomorrow no one in the court room will be able to tell just how vivacious they are under his grimly shined shoes and bright purple socks. The red was a bold choice, but Jimmy didn’t seem to care. Or perhaps, he cared too much. You had tried to warn him against it, knowing if his brother found out it would hand him another chisel to scratch away at Jimmy’s professionality: but it had been yours, and so, in his mind, it was the best of choices. 

He wraps an arm around your waist, winding it uncomfortably back past the slightly askew spring on the side of the sofa bed and rests it gingerly against your waist. He’s still so unsure of himself, no matter how many times you say that it’s true: you really do love him, and want to spend time with him. He still sees himself as a pity case for you, and so he drums his fingers against your pyjama bottoms in the rhythm of some old country song he remembers his dad playing at the shop. It was one he would complain about listening to, sitting huddled up by the crisp shelves and using whatever magazine he had stolen off the magazine rack to shove against his ears, yet he still seemed glazed over, content as he tapped against you.

‘It’s the Irish in me. My dad was the same. You know, he could wear ten jumpers and still pretend as if the temperature was perfectly fine when he was freezing his yams off. Us potato eaters are just used to colder climates-’.

‘Jimmy you can’t play the Irish card every time. You’ve never even set foot in Ireland.’

Before giving him a chance to retort, you take the spoon of ice cream you’ve been nibbling on out from the side of your mouth, dunk it into the open carton resting on your knees, and shove it back against his lips. He snorts, but eagerly licks the mint chocolate chip ice cream off the spoon before letting you pull it away again. As he swallows, he watches the black and white movie that fizzles out from his banjaxed tv set eagerly: wide eyed, lips drawn tight in an almost childlike concentration. He looks almost as if he’s jumped out of it himself; he’s a man so buried in shades of sharp black and mute greys, piling over the vibrancy and glee that radiates out from his almost ingenuous smile. He catches you staring at him from the corner of his eyes, and tries to hide the smile that tugs at the corner of his lips. It turns into a real frown, though, when he sees how intently, how sadly you’re surveying his face: roaming over the dark lines that tire his eyes and the forehead crinkles that seem to have been brought on by a burdensome weight. He seems so old despite his youth, so weary and beaten. Yet so soft, so gentle at the same time, as his eyes doe in a concerned confusion and he reaches over to squeeze your shoulder.

‘Doesn’t mean I’m not Irish’, he says quietly, as if afraid to break the silence. ‘Like Old McDonald, you know... ee i ee i oh and all that jazzy crap.’

You laugh, and the sound is like the bells of heaven to his ears. Flinging the spoon back into the tub and throwing the whole thing to the side, he both quickly and blithely reaches up to steady your arms as you turn to stare at him. You let your jaw fall in mock abhorrence, and yet the grin only grows wider and wider over his face as his fingers spread upwards to massage your wrists. 

‘That’s MacDonald, dumbass. And I don’t remember him singing about how he was so Irish after every animal like you do.’

He looks almost shocked at your words. He bites on his bottom lip and looks up at the ceiling, clearly distraught at the idea that the nirvana of his childhood memories could somehow, in some way be impaired.

‘Wait... really? Are you sure it’s MacDonald. Because I definitely remember Chuck singing it like Old Mc-’.

‘That’s because you were five, Jimmy. It probably took all your effort to coordinate your limbs enough to clap along, let alone sing it too. Just take the hit on this one, okay?’

The phone rings, and Jimmy nearly jumps out of his skin, and out of his reverie as he lets it ring out harshly through the room, ignoring it for the first time in months. Instead, he coughs hoarsely and swallows the lump in the back of his throat, staring straight ahead at the wall. Finally, he manages to swallow his pride and waggle his eyebrows at you in defeat, sliding further down onto the bed and leaning up on his elbow to lean over you. He purses his lips as you wiggle down to join him, but he has the softest look in his eyes when your thigh comes up to rest between his own. ‘Do you think, one day maybe... we’ll have a conversation that actually makes sense.’

You snort. ‘Not with you about I won’t.’

He collapses down onto his back, clutching his shirt up into a balled fist in one hand, and pressing the back of the other flat against his forehead with an ostentatious ‘awoOH.’ He pretends to whine like a kicked dog, yappering and howling and mewling as he rolls about the bed. You, on the other hand, only try to suppress your giggles at the set of his antics as you rest your arm on the soft squidge of his tummy.

‘Oh, ouch’, he keeps going on, closing his eyes as if he’s in intense pain. ‘That one hurt. Look at that, look at my chest, I’m bleeding!’ He takes your hand and presses the tip of your pointer finger against the thrum of his heart, his hand cradling yours all the while he jammers animatedly at you. ‘You know’, he sighs and lets his head deflate back down onto the cushion, ‘you really kicked my ass with that one.’

You poke him in the bellybutton and enjoy the way his arms seem to spring up in reaction, curling tightly around your waist and tugging your squealing body down on top of him. Although he exhales, you know he doesn’t mind the new weight on top of him: his back still aches from time to time, and his hip joint still creaks in the winter, but he tugs you tight against him as if still pretending to be a spry chicken. His expensive watch: the only object worth any amount of money in this place, and one of the most gaudy of his possessions presses against the curve of your back, but his thumb rubs against your skin as if in apology as you settle yourself on his chest.

‘Your ass is on your chest?’

‘Hey, way to kick a man when he’s down. You know what you should do - oh ho, yeah, you should shut it.’

‘Make me.’

It takes him less than a second to arch his tired back up to kiss you, his lips needy and pliant and familiar against yours the second they touch. Once he’s done pressing his lingering, smushing lips over yours a thousand times (and once more for good luck), he pulls back to cradle your face in glowing content.

‘I promise, I wouldn’t want it any other way. You make me happy.’ You run your fingers down his chin, the dim glare from the rolling credits nearly shrouding the two of you in pervasive darkness. You choose to tip his head up so you can look at him properly, squinting in the lack of light; although you couldn’t tell before, tears have obviously been welling up in his bloodshot eyes, as they’re now splattering a damp grey down onto the dirty sheet.

‘Yeah’, he chokes. He brushes the back of his knuckles over the side of your cheek, shaking against your arms as he smiles. ‘You make me happy too.’

#better call saul #better call saul imagine #jimmy mcgill #jimmy mcgill imagine #saul goodman #saul goodman imagine #breaking bad #bob odenkirk #jimmy mcgill x reader #jimmy mcgill fluff #jimmy mcgill angst #saul goodman x reader #saul goodman fluff #better call saul x reader #breaking bad imagine #breaking bad x reader #bcs #bcs imagine #bb #bb imagine

[lovesugars]

❝pumpkin❞

summary ─ after a long day at work you help your husband relax. in more ways than one

pairing ─ saul goodman x housewife!reader

warnings ─ smut, +18, table sex, praise kink, housewife kink, older man/ younger woman, overuse of the nickname "pumpkin"

a/n— he’s so sexy in this gif. i want him so bad.

You were setting cutlery on the table as you prepared tonight’s dinner. 

Your husband usually came home with built-up energy from his day; his job could be very stressful sometimes, dealing with particularly dangerous or difficult clients. He always made sure you had everything you wanted, and more, so it was the best you could do to make sure he always had a hot dinner to come home to. 

You’d been married for little over a year now, and since Saul provided everything for you, you no longer needed to work, which meant you had all the time in the world to get dolled up for him. 

You smiled fondly at the thought. Not only did you spend all day cooking for your husband, but you dressed up for him too. Your hair was perfectly curled, and you were wearing one of the newer lingerie sets Saul had gifted you. 

As soon as you took dinner out of the oven, you heard Saul’s keys jingle through the door, and you mentally praised yourself for your timing. You placed the food down on the table and went off to greet your husband. 

You walked up to the front door, pink kitten heels clacking against the hardwood floors. “Hi, honey, how was your day?” You sauntered up to him and gently grabbed his briefcase from his hand, setting it aside and out of the way. 

“I don’t really want to talk about work..not when you look like that.” He smirked, “Come here, baby.” 

Saul wrapped his hands around your waist, pulling you closer to him for a kiss. He always tasted so good. It must've been part of the reason why you married him in the first place. You pushed yourself against his chest so you could be closer to him. He made sure to take a minute to grope at your barely covered ass, which made you squeal into his mouth. 

You took a minute to catch your breath before you said: “Dinner’s on the table, I made your favourite.” 

“Aww pumpkin, all this for little ole me? I’m touched.” 

“You know I love cooking for you,” you giggled, “Now eat before it gets cold.” 

“Yes ma'am.” Your husband mock-saluted before sitting down at the table. You fondly watched him as he ate, excited for what was going to happen once he was finished. You brushed your foot against his leg, staring up at him through your lashes. You’d been waiting for him all day, and you had to admit that your fingers just didn’t do the job quite right anymore. Not like he did. 

“Are you enjoying your dinner?” you asked innocently, “I think I added a little too much salt.” 

“It’s perfect, pumpkin,” he said, resting his hand over your bare thigh. You felt him squeeze the pudge at the top of your inner thigh, dangerously close to your barely covered cunt. He knew exactly what he was doing. 

As you both finished your dinner, each sharing stories about your day, you felt the ache between your legs grow stronger. You could barely ignore it anymore. Your husband teasingly pretended to be oblivious to your current predicament.

 You squeezed your knees together to try and relieve some of the pressure, yet it did little to satisfy you. You needed him. You waited eagerly for him to finish eating before you quickly cleared the table.

“I think it’s time for dessert, honey.” you said seductively in his ear, “I want you..” 

You kicked off your heels and propped yourself up onto the table. “I want you to take me right here. Right on the table.” You moaned, “please.” 

His eyes widened, “I won’t argue with that.” 

He started to rub your clit through the fabric of your teddy, the friction making you throb with desire. You let out a pornographic moan at the feeling. 

“You really are something, huh?” he chuckled, “Barely touched you and you're already soaked through this pretty little thing.” 

“Please Jimmy..” You moaned into his ear, “Please fuck me.” 

He didn’t waste any time ripping the lace fabric off your body, tearing it in the process. You whined in protest, and Saul shushed you, “Baby, I’ll buy you another one, hell, I’ll buy you five more.” 

Before you could respond, he bucked his hips up into you. Your body writhed with pleasure as he continued to pound into you with such force it made the table rattle. You’ve been waiting for this all day. It felt so good you could barely contain yourself. 

The ache between your legs slowly dissipated. You felt that coil in your tummy begin to unravel. You knew you weren’t going to last very long. 

“Please, I’m ─ fuck─ I’m so close..” 

“So am I,” he grunted, “Cum for me, pumpkin.” 

Your orgasm hit like a freight train, and almost immediately after you finished, you felt his warm cum filling you up even more. 

“That was perfect,” you sighed, “I love you.” 

You hopped off of the table with shaking legs, reaching up to embrace him. He held you close to him and you felt his chest heave against you.

Saul let out a deep breath, “I love you too.” 

You both stood there for a moment before he finally spoke:

"Fuck, that was murder on my back," he groans, "Think you can rub it out for me, pumpkin?"

#angelina’s love letters. #better call saul #bob odenkirk #jimmy mcgill #jimmy mcgill x reader #saul goodman #saul goodman x reader

[unhingedthirst]

Y’all I’m sick. I wanna write something.

Pls request something!! I’m begging and screaming

See my pinned post for what I write

#trailer park boys #ricky lafleur #tpb #tpb julian #trailer park boys fanfiction #better call saul #saul goodman #breaking bad #bcs #bob odenkirk #fan fiction #impractical jokers fan fiction #bcs x reader #better call saul fanfic #breaking bad fanfiction

[americas1suiteheart]

I think I should start writing Jimmy McGill/Saul Goodman x readers because knowing how shit NM is would probably make stories, plots, headcannons, all that jazz just so much better. (I just want an excuse to complain about how shitty this place is, but also because I'm craving Jimmy fluff rather than hardcore smut)

#jimmy mcgill #jimmy mcgill x reader #better call saul #bcs #breaking bad #brba #bob odenkirk #saul goodman #saul goodman x reader #this place fucking sucks im so tired of it #i think our state's motto is probably something to do with drugs and violence

[girlbloggerbae13]

Princesa Salamanca: Chapter 2

Chapter synopsis: Sarah misses Lalo, and Nacho isn't giving her any leeway in the relationship she's supposed to form with him in order to report back to her husband. But, lo and behold, he ends up getting shot (us viewers know why...good try pulling a fast one on Hector, Ignacio), and Sarah, along with the Salamanca twins and our local criminal veterinarian, is left to clean up the mess.

A/N: Part 2, though it's definitely not edited! I know this isn't exactly what happened between the veterinarian saving Nacho, but I wanted to show more Sarah. Any comments, reblogs, etc are much appreciated, and a special thank you to @wh0re4murdock @paigerzz and @slainmanca for liking the first part! :) I hope you enjoy part 2! Part 1 is also linked below.

Chapter 2:

“I’m telling you Lalo, he hates me,” Sarah said into the phone as she rolled her eyes. Nacho was stubborn, as promised, and he was not especially fond of her waltzing into El Michoacano like she owned the place, which technically, she kind of did.

How and why was this gringa so happy to be working with the cartel? How was she involved, and what did she contribute? And why does everyone treat her with so much respect? What has she done?

Nacho was sitting at his usual table, counting money, and he eyed the girl as she talked on the phone, twirling her hair.

“I’ve tried so much. I’ve tried asking about business, about family, about his two girlfriends at home. Nothing,” Sarah sighed in exasperation. Nacho was now giving her the death glare.

“I’m sure you’ll figure out something, sweetheart, and I’ll be there this week,” Lalo promised her. “Okay? Adios princesa.”

She closed the phone and crossed her arms. Sarah stared back at Nacho.

“What’s your deal?” She asked him. “I haven’t done anything to you.”

“What’s your deal?” Nacho asked back. “Why are you here?”

“I told you, Ignacio, I’m helping out the family business.”

“You don’t look like family. Maybe one of the side girls. A little white girl, needing help, or drugs, so she stows away with the men that run it all. And services them in return for their-”

“Marate,” Leo warned from the side of the room.

Damn right he better watch himself. She was helping him out, taking time away from her life, to come here and do what he couldn’t do himself. She was helping her Lalo. Anything for Lalo. He would be here soon, and she would be back to feeling secure. Everything was better when Lalo was with her. She would do anything for him to be with her. She would do anything for him. Anything. She was his and his alone. It was nice to think about every once in a while.

A few days later, Sarah was sitting in the back of El Michoacana, filling out her crossword book to pass the time while the twins were checking out one of the local guys that had apparently got hit. Nacho was with them. That would be one less stressor off her back if he was whipped into shape, or even taken care of completely. However, Lalo would be upset. She wiped the thought of finding Nacho dead at the accident scene out of her mind.

The phone rang. Sarah jolted up, expecting it to be Lalo. It was Marco.

“Hola primo,” Sarah said, looking back at her crossword puzzle. He spoke rushed. Nacho was shot, twice, and bleeding, but not dead yet.

“Es un veterinario en Albuquerque. Un Caldera. Encontrarlo. Encuéntranos en el garaje del padre de Varga.”

“Got it. Be there soon.” Sarah hung up the phone.

Outside was her 1970 Monte Carlo, a red one of course, a color Lalo said was his favorite on her, so it was natural that the car he would have waiting for her in ABQ was the same. Red slippers, red car, red lingerie, red blushing cheeks. It was supposed to be a lustful color, but it made her look innocent according to Lalo.

Sarah popped the trunk and switched out a pair of nude heels for black leather loafers, as well as grabbing a black leather jacket to cover up her sundress. Professional. The last thing she grabbed from the trunk was her gun, a Heckler & Koch P7 to match with her Lalo’s, and she was on her way to the veterinarian office. It took just two calls to find the right one. Doctor Caldera.

Upon her arrival, Sarah pulled down the sun visor. She pinched her cheeks and pulled out the eyedrops from her purse. Fake tears oughta get the doctor out to her car.

She ran into the office, feigning tears, of course turning the receptionist’s head away from her computer. “Please, please my cat was just hit by a car! Please, please, come out and help him!”

The woman at the front desk stood up. “I’ll grab a carrier and bring him inside right away. The doctor is in the middle-”

Sarah sobbed, protesting, “No, no, no I need the doctor please! Right away!” She rushed to the front desk, white knuckling the counter. “And my Jorge is such a skittish one, please, please just the doctor. I can’t make him any more scared than he already is. It could be his last moments! Please help my baby!”

The examination room swung open. “What is all the ruckus?” It was the doctor. “We have a waiting room-”

“No!” Sarah screamed behind tears. “Please, please doctor, you have to help me.”

The man with the glasses rolled his eyes and sighed. “Alright, Mary-Beth, I’ll be right back.”

The receptionist nodded solemnly, and the doctor, annoyed, followed Sarah out the door. Immediately after exiting the office, she wiped her fake tears away and sniffled her face back into place. “So what is it you were crying about?” The doctor asked. “Some Jorge, and a car?”

“Just get in the car.”

“Well, we can bring the animal inside,” the doctor suggested. Sarah rolled her eyes and got into the driver’s seat. “Hey, what are you doing?” He asked.

Sarah opened the passenger door and smiled sweetly. “Get. In. My. Car.”

“Is there even an animal?” Sarah tilted her head, dropping the smile, and pulled up the hem of her dress to reveal the gun in its holster. The doctor’s expression changed when he saw that, and she went back to smiling. “Woah, woah, I don’t want any trouble, ma’am.”

“Doctor Caldera. Please get in the car.”

He swallowed and sat down in the passenger seat, rubbing his now sweaty palms on his slacks.

“One of my guys, well one of my guy’s guys got shot, and we need you. He can’t go to the hospital. They’re not exactly cartel friendly, you know,” Sarah chuckled. “Anyways, they said you’re the guy to call. The Salamanca’s…you know them?”

Doctor Caldera’s jaw dropped. “No, no. I’m not helping some street gang.” Sarah revealed the gun again. “Okay, okay, okay! Just let me tell my receptionist.”

The doctor muttered to himself as he walked back into the office, shaking his head. After a minute or so, he walked back out holding a medical bag, looking just as peeved. Sarah honked. “Let’s go! We don’t have all day!”

The twins were at the garage when Sarah and the doctor pulled up. Sarah came to a quick stop, almost throwing the doctor’s medical bag out the windshield. She got out and strutted inside, where they were trying to carry Ignacio. “Let’s go, Caldera!”

This would have been much easier if they had just used the vet van to transport the dying Varga, but no, the vet didn’t want any “evidence” left behind in his place of work. Right. And leaving in a flashy red car in the middle of the day isn’t evidence in and of itself.

Sarah grabbed the bag from the doctor so he could help carry Nacho. Inside, she cleared a table full of wrenches and placed down a medical sheet that Caldera had brought along with them, along with another one folded up to be Nacho’s pillow for the make-shift procedure.

“Right here,” she said, and the men placed him down. Nacho winced and groaned in pain.

Marco helped the doctor pull off Varga’s shirt to reveal a bloody scene. Sarah grimaced as she noticed the two bullet holes, one in his shoulder and the other in his side. It appeared that there was at least an exit wound for the latter.

The doctor snapped on his blue medical gloves and clapped his hands. “You, English, come.” He motioned towards her for help.

The pair rolled Nacho onto his side so the doctor could clean out the first wound. As he faded in and out of consciousness, Nacho reminded Sarah of her son doing the same thing, moments before his final flatline. She inhaled deeply, and grabbed Ignacio’s hand out of instinct. “You’re gonna be okay,” she said calmly. Sarah didn’t know if that was the truth or not, but it’s what she used to tell Sam, and it comforted him, right? “Ignacio, look at me.”

It was almost like Nacho’s eyes rolled back into his head out of spite. Everything went black.

When he woke up, Marco was sitting next to the makeshift operating table. Nacho winced and struggled to breathe. Sarah snapped out of her brief slumber with a start, practically bouncing her head off of Leo’s shoulder. Something she still hadn’t gotten past from her time at Tuco’s was waking up like that, in a panic of where she was and who she was next to.

“Well, well, there he is,” Caldera said, moving to Nacho’s bedside.

Sarah moved towards his head and placed one of her hands on Ignacio’s unwounded shoulder, trying to comfort him. He looked at her standing above him, and since he had no energy left, Nacho begrudgingly let Lalo’s girl rub his shoulder in an effort to “soothe him”. Her mere presence pissed him off. Stupid little girl.

The doctor explained that he had to leave one of the bullets in, but the other one is fine. No nicked bowel, or at least that’s what it looks like for now, but he reminded Nacho to keep an eye on it. Then he leaned down to Nacho’s ear and whispered, “After I walk out of here, I never wanna see you again. Ever. This cartel shit is too hot for me. Got it?”

Doctor Caldera looked up at Sarah, pointing at her face. “You too. Got it?”

She narrowed her eyes, but said nothing. The doctor walked out without another word.

#better call saul #lalo salamanca fanfic #lalo salamanca x reader #lalo salamanca #lalo x reader #tony dalton #tony dalton x reader #michael mando #ignacio varga #ignacio varga x reader #princesa salamanca #nacho varga #nacho varga x reader #bcs #bcs fanfic #bob odenkirk #kim wexler #jimmy mcgill #breaking bad

[jujutsubaby]

after hours (part 6)

☆ pairing: satoru gojo x afab!reader ☆ summary: you go to the barcade with your friends, feeling dejected that toji hasn't messaged you back. not only that, you're horny as hell and the girl satoru brought with him doesn't like you one bit. ☆ warnings: 18+! MINORS DNI! sexting, slight dub-con (reader and gojo get to second base while drunk), grinding, kissing, slight exhibitionism, drinking, slight verbal harassment ☆ tags: modern au, academia au ☆ a/n: this one's a doozy (8k+ words sorry) 🤪 also the bob odenkirk uber thing actually happened to me in college ok i really thought it looked like him even tho there was no reason for it!! leave me alone!! 🖤🤍 series masterlist 🤍🖤

"ngh~ m'gonna throw up," you complain, rubbing your temples, as you and your friends walk into the popping barcade.

"jesus, how much did you drink?" suguru asks concerned.

"not much but i saw satoru-" you fake a gagging noise. "i saw satoru shoving his tongue down that girl he's with right now."

"i heard that!" satoru yells, a couple yards behind you. you quickly turn around and see him walking beside her, his hand resting way lower on her back than it should be. you grimace at the sight.

your complaints are drowned out by the loud music the DJ was playing, the sound of coin machines, arcades, and people shouting over the music. it wasn't as crowded as usual (still crowded enough to have to wait in line for drinks and games). you're sure the thumping of the music will definitely have your ears ringing at the end of the night.

your eyes take a while adjust to the dim lighting, and you and your friends approach the bar, crowding around in a circle. the girl satoru is with is all over him, her hands never leaving his chest or his face. she’s always making it a point to kiss his cheek whenever she gets the chance. it makes you sick. there's no way fate is this cruel that even someone like satoru gets laid tonight and you don't?

god, what the hell is toji even doing that's making him too busy to answer your text?

"alright, me 'n satoru will grab drinks for everyone, you guys get coins for the arcade," suguru says and you’re grateful he’s taking control of the chaotic situation and bringing your thoughts back to the present.

“’toruuu~ can you get me a vodka tonic?” the girl asks in a grating high pitched voice that takes everything in you to not make another face at her. god, where’s all this animosity coming from anyway?

“yes, princess,” satoru replies, pulling her close and squeezing her tight. you don’t dare cast your eyes down in fear of catching him squeezing something else, too.

you shake it off, trying to ignore every single excruciating detail your brain is making you pay attention to at this place. and yes, you agree, maybe you should’ve taken it easy when you decided to down an entire can of white claw at the pregame, but it’s far too late to lament about that during this time of the night. things are practically getting started, so you snap out if it, and do your best to focus on grabbing coins and finding someone to play dance dance revolution with you for the rest of night.

you and riko decline to have any drinks, while shoko and utahime both decide to share a moscow mule (”i won’t be able to sleep if i have an entire drink!” utahime says, which prompts satoru to tease her about being old even though she's just three years older than all of you). reluctantly, you look at the girl satoru is with and ask if she wants to join you and the girls to grab coins for the arcade, and she looks at you like you just called her a slur.

“oh…ummm…no? i’ll be getting my drink with satoru?” she says, ending all of her responses with a question.

you’re not sure how to match her energy, so you just nod, and wave to the boys before catching up with your girls.

“jeez, what’s her problem?” riko turns back to you and gives you an apologetic look.

“satoru really knows how to fuckin’ pick ‘em,” shoko groans. unlike riko and utahime, you, shoko, and suguru have known satoru since high school and, as a result, unfortunately gotten used to the kind of girls satoru tends to sleep with: conventionally hot, a little bit not there, and kind of a bitch.

you all giggle as you exchange coins for the arcade games, ranting about miscellaneous parts of the barcade before heading back to the bar to meet up with the boys, who already have their drinks in hand, and are joined by nanami and haibara. suguru, nanami, and haibara are already halfway done with their bottles of sapporo, while satoru is whispering something in the girl’s ear as she giggles and sips her vodka tonic.

“okay!” satoru clasps his hands together. “who wants to watch me beat sugu’s ass in street fighter?!” he’s met with silence from the group and is about to say something before he’s interrupted by nanami.

“me and haibara are gonna go upstairs and get a pool table…” nanami says, sounding almost bored.

“it’ll be fun! i invited some girls from the line outside to join us!” haibara chirps.

“what? you just met random girls outside? and you invited them to play pool with you? and they said yes?!” satoru is bewildered by haibara’s game, unable to believe he could just simply ask girls to hang out with them and they’d say yes.

“it’s actually not that hard if you have a good personality, you know?” you say, handing haibara a couple of your coins for the pool table.

everyone erupts in laughter at this except for satoru and his girl of the night.

“toru~ i think you have a sexy personality.” she gives a quick kiss to satoru’s neck. for some reason, everything she says sounds like a long exaggerated moan, and you find yourself biting your lip, trying not to laugh.

“personalities can’t be sexy though, can they?” utahime ponders, her voice littered with a hint of sardonicism. you, riko, and utahime both lock eyes and suppress a giggle. okay, maybe you should stop. actually, you know you should stop because you don’t know this girl and for all you know, she probably is very nice and you both just got off on the wrong foot, but satoru? satoru is always fair (and easy) game.

“okay, c’mon what is this? the satoru hate club?” satoru pouts and sighs.

“i think i might join you guys for some pool. i used to love playing with kuroi when i was younger.” riko smiles and looks up at suguru, and he doesn’t even think twice before agreeing. satoru’s face drops at the betrayal of his best friend leaving their barcade tradition for a girl (even though satoru has done this to suguru multiple times before). suguru gives him a look that screams “shut up”, but satoru doesn’t care.

“wait, what nooo! sugu, you have to play like at least a couple rounds of street fighter and then mario kart and then -” satoru’s objections are interrupted by haibara.

“that’s fine. you guys all go and play, and i’ll shoot a text when a table is ready for us!” haibara offers, soothing satoru’s childlike temper tantrum.

“then it’s settled!” satoru leads the seven of you down to the arcade, which also happens to be closer to the dancefloor, so the music is getting progressively louder and louder, the lights are flashing more chaotically, and people are drunker and sloppier. your boots are sticking to the floor, which grosses you out and you make a mental note to wash the soles at some point this weekend. god knows what could be on the floor of this place.

satoru easily beats everyone (including you - especially you - because you are never good at fighting games and he beats you so embarrassingly easily) in the group in street fighter, earning him an obnoxious and sloppy kiss from his girl of night, which you realize now you actually don’t know the name of. as everyone shuffles to play mario kart, you tap satoru and ask for it in a low voice, hoping she can’t hear.

“uhh…i actually don’t know. maybe it’s…mia? let’s go with mia.” satoru makes a face, knowing this is low even for him, and that earns him a moderately painful jab in the rib cage from your elbow.

you also kind of suck at mario kart, but you enjoy playing it more than street fighter. lucky for everyone, suguru emerges as the winner of the grand prix, allowing everyone to have a break from satoru’s constant gloating. you all move from donkey kong to killer queen (your team wins but you think it’s because satoru carried for you) to pac-man to random capcom legacy games. you don’t care that you’re losing most of the games, you’re having too much fun shouting at satoru for cheating and getting assists from utahime and shoko. and just as you’re all about to head to the game you're looking forward to playing the most (the game you know you would smoke everyone at), haibara finally shoots a group text to all of you.

haibara: pool table’s ready in 5!!! and the girls actually made it wtf!!! :))

you think it’s cute how haibara never uses less than 3 exclamation marks in his texts.

“oh shoot, okay, let’s quickly play dance dance revolution and then go?” shoko says, walking faster to approach the game, only to be met with a significantly long line. her face drops as she turns to you, and your heart softens at how much she seems to care that you get play dance dance revolution. “shit, okay…”

“maybe we can play pool first and then come back?” utahime suggests. “the line might be shorter too…”

“guys, it’s fine.” you put your hands up jokingly as a sign of defeat and smile earnestly. you won’t lie to yourself: you do really want to play dance dance revolution, but it’s not a big deal - there’s always a long line for the really popular games. “i think i’m too drunk to properly beat your asses at it, anyway.” you lie. you could beat their asses at this game even if you were half asleep, but you don’t want your friends to worry you’re not having fun and you’ve always been a go with the flow type of girl, anyway.

as everyone descends up the stairs, you overhear mia whisper to satoru something out of pocket that really tests the threshold of your patience. “honestly, dance dance revolution is kinda stupid, anyway.”

you are willing to really overlook a lot of things that went awry tonight, but this bitch makes it really fucking hard to do that, and you suddenly do not want to play pool if she’s going to be there, even if makes you look difficult. thankfully for you, you’re not the only one who wants to skip out on pool.

“hey, uh, you guys go ahead. i think me and ‘hime are gonna check out the photo booth and we might order some bar snacks. someone has the munchies.” she teases, poking utahime’s cheek playfully and she blushes under the blacklight and swats her hand away.

“i might follow you guys, if that’s okay…” you shoot shoko and utahime an apologetic look for interrupting their alone time, but they don’t seem to care one bit.

mia turns to satoru. “i’ve got some girlfriends upstairs too waiting for me so i’ll come with.” her voice is sickeningly sweet, and you think to yourself that of course someone with a sickening sweet tooth like satoru gojo would gravitate towards her.

“alright, we’ll see you guys soon then!” riko waves, and you watch suguru, satoru, mia, and riko disappear up the staircase.

as soon as they disappear, you whip around almost immediately to the duo. “hey sorry, i just didn’t want to play pool and i needed an excuse to latch on to. you guys feel free to whatever you want!”

“we can wait in line while one of us orders some food or something?” utahime says, and you suppress a giggle, knowing full well all she wants right now are some mozzarella sticks (you can’t count the number of times the three of you made late night trips to the drive-thru for them).

you wave your hand, and give them an earnest look. “no, i’m being serious. the line is ridiculously long. i’ll probably go to the bar and grab a drink. you guys go, utahime already has some drool coming down her mouth.”

she immediately goes to touch her mouth, only to realize you were joking, and she scowls, causing both you and shoko to laugh. “ugh, you guys are sometimes worse than gojo!”

shoko feigns offense, before grasping her hand, bidding goodbye to you, and heading off to the bar food area and photo booth.

the music is still so loud and you feel the bass deep within your chest. you’re grateful the music that the DJ is playing tonight is not that bad. there’s quite a few people on the dance floor that’s kinda making you want to join in, but not before having a little bit of liquid courage. just a little bit, you tell yourself, not wanting to go overboard. you approach the bar and you somehow become very aware that you’re the only person at the here on your own, and you feel awfully lonely.

it’s probably because of a lot of things, but certainly the fact that you sent a vulnerable photo of yourself to toji and was met with zero response (you just checked so you know he still hasn’t seen your message) isn’t helping. you feel so small and a bit embarrassed at your past self, despite knowing that he might simply be busy on a friday night. you’re never one to feel forlorn like this, but you came into this night to find some company and now it seems like all your friends have company but you don’t. what’s more is that the insecurity of it all is manifesting in your damp hands, and you awkwardly don’t know what to do with them once you approach the table. the signature tells of anxiety settle in you, and your armpits are slowly getting more and more damp, until you can’t bare to have your shirt jacket on any longer and place it on your arm.

you haphazardly pat down your hair (you pray the humidity of this crowded place isn’t making it frizzy) as you look around, hoping to see someone you know, but all you’re met with is a sea of strangers. you want them to notice you, but at the same time, you’re absolutely terrified of making proper eye contact with any of them.

your thoughts are interrupted by the bartender, handing you a frosty pink…slushy?

“s’from that fella o’er there.”

you have to really listen to understand his thick irish accent, but you follow his hands to see the stranger a couple seats down from the bar nodding at you with a slight grin.

“oh, thanks, i guess. umm…what is this drink?” you ask, quizzically looking at the oddly colored drink and then back at the guy who bought it for you.

“drink o’ the day, ma’am. strawberry ‘n’ cream wid rum. quite grand.”

you thank him and take a small sip of the drink. you almost recoil and dry heave just by how strong it takes, and you wonder how it’s possible to have a drink this bad (or strong) on the menu. you quickly fake a pained smile and make eye contact with the stranger, as you quickly decide that maybe going upstairs and playing pool suddenly might not be such a bad idea after all. you’re trying to be swift and polite about taking your drink and leaving the bar, but you're not fast enough as you are met with the stranger blocking your way. oh god, does he have tattoos on his face? what a fucking boner kill.

you give him a polite smile. ugh, he’s not even that cute. “sorry, thanks for the drink but i have to go.”

“oh, shame. you’re really pretty, by the way. i’m sukuna.” he flashes a smile at you and if it weren’t for the dark lighting in the barcade, you could swear his teeth almost look like fangs.

“nice to meet ya. thanks for the drink.” you try side step around him, but he moves his body just in time to block you from leaving.

“whatcha doin’ here all alone? you’re way too pretty to be here all by your lonesome...” he coos, and it grates your skin.

maybe you’re being reckless, but you’re not that terrified of him; you’re frankly a bit annoyed and inconvenienced. you feel safe knowing your friends are nearby and it’s later in the night now so the barcade is way more crowded with plenty of people (read: witnesses) so you know this guy can’t do that many things out of pocket. the most he’ll probably do is say some stupid shit that makes you want to spill your drink on him.

“i’m not here all alone, i’m about to meet up with my boyfriend.” the lie comes so easily to you after living your entire 26 years of life as a woman.

“shame. your boobs are really nice, just FYI. i could just-” he doesn’t get to finish, as the ice cold slushy drink he bought for you collides with his face and the startling gasp he makes causes him to snort some of the (strong) alcoholic drink up his nose. you use his discomposure to finally escape him and beeline upstairs, but not before turning around, making eye contact with him and flipping him off.

okay, you know that was a bit rash of you, and perhaps a bit stupid and unsafe (you hear it all in suguru’s voice, too) but god, you are so fucking annoyed. what? a girl can’t even have her lana del rey, fleabag-esque moody melt down in peace without someone coming in to interrupt it? maybe you should stop drinking that god awful slushy, too. you defend yourself from inner monologue by deciding it’s already three quarters of the way gone, so it doesn’t even matter anymore.

you spot your friends and mia playing an intense game of pool down the dimly lit mezzanine and walk over to them. haibara and nanami greet you with smiles, and that’s how you infer it must be a close game. you stand next to riko and suguru, who update you that it’s them and haibara versus satoru, mia, and nanami. except mia wasn’t really playing more than she was just chatting with her friends next to suguru. currently, satoru’s team was losing.

“nanami said yes to being on a team with gojo?!” you loudly whisper incredulously. looking over at nanami, he looks like he wants to die, having been separated from his trusted partner, haibara.

“he didn’t really have a choice. satoru picked the teams and you know he loves nanami.” suguru explains, putting an ironic tone when he said the word “love”.

you notice it’s satoru’s turn, and his blue eyes are intensely focused, his body bent over with the cue sliding between his long slender fingers. the top two buttons of his shirt are unbuttoned and his sleeves are rolled up. you swallow hard as you notice the veins on his on hands and arms, suddenly overcome with a desire to have those arms be wrapped around you. you try hard not to think of it, but you think of how his fingers would feel inside you.

you sigh irritably at your horny thoughts. you hate the lack of closeness you and satoru had throughout the night, and not just because your horniness was once again ignited with the disgusting slushy drink.

a split second before satoru hits the cue ball, he catches your eyes and you grin supportively and mouth a quick “good luck”. satoru gets 3 balls in pockets. he raises his arms in victory and looks at you and winks and is about to say something to you until mia cheers out an obnoxious scream of victory and jumps on satoru to kiss him deeply. he returns the favor, albeit rather hastily.

“no kissing! no kissing until your turn is over!” suguru points and them, looking peeved. “she’s been literally tonguing him after every turn and-”

“it’s so fucking annoying like wait until his turn is over at least?” riko completes suguru’s sentence with ease. oh god, they must’ve been going through it this entire time. also, cute.

“i really am not trying to be mean but i don’t think i can even be near her…” suguru says apologetically, wiping the sweat off his forehead. you give a sympathetic pout and place yourself between suguru and mia and mia’s friends. it’s the least you can do for your favorite up and coming couple.

bad idea. you forget how mean girls can get sometimes.

“oh my god, y/n, right? come sit down next to us!” mia approaches you and sits down in the booth next to the pool table. she pats the seat next to her. you say hello and reluctantly take the seat, expecting the worst.

“wow, your hair…is it always so…poofy like that? i love what you’re doing with it, babe.”

you’re miffed and don’t even know how to answer what mia just asked. you don’t even get to because she just continues.

“so how do you know satoru? i just wanted to clear the air with you about some stuff. i feel like i got some, like, really jealous energy from you at the pregame when me and him were, like, making out? remember? when you threw your drink at me?”

“uhh…i threw my drink at satoru-”

“i’m sure you did but like, it could’ve hit me too. and honestly, i’ve been talking to satoru this whole week and, like, i just don’t think he finds, like, desperation hot, you know?”

you’re at a loss for words. desperation? you’ve heard enough. first sukuna hitting on you, and now this? you smile at her with spite and quiet patience, as you get up from the seat.

“i’m gonna leave.” you choose your next words carefully. “you’re kind of a bitch, also.” you leave your empty drink behind and in your peripheral, you see a confused satoru watching you leave and taking your seat next to mia.

you put on your jacket and you’re not exactly sure where you’re going. the barcade is huge, and if the feelings of loneliness weren’t conspicuous before, they are unmistakable on you now. your palms are slippery and you figure you maybe just need some water, but not before you slip away from your friends and find an isolated row of tables in front of the mezzanine. you figure you can maybe get some peace and quiet here as you try to sober up. according to your phone, it’s only 10:37pm, so you have plenty of time before you have to go to bed. alone.

staring at the DJ screen, you chuckle to yourself at the absurd anime edits they are playing on the screen that’s supposed to relate to some reference that’s been going viral on tiktok. you idly stare at the DJ screen, letting your train of thoughts take you far away from this place.

you’re not sure how long you sit here by yourself but you’re brazenly brought back to the barcade by a familiar voice and an ice cold glass cup touching your cheek, causing you to yelp in surprise.

“where’d ya go?” you look up to see satoru hovering over you, holding a glass of ice water. “move over.” he takes a seat next to you without even asking and hands you the cold glass of water.

you take a sip and coldness of the liquid jolts your mind awake and now, you’re really back at the barcade, mentally and physically. and also, has water always tasted this good? you take a sip, and another, until you’re half way done chugging the glass and your throat is in pain from the cold.

“good girl.” satoru murmurs, putting his arms around you and gently rubbing your back in circles. normally, this would make your stomach do cart wheels, but you’re just too tired for all that. “how are we feelin’?”

you’re trying to answer his question but…oh god? why does your throat hurt? is it the cold water you just drank? no. no, it’s because you want to cry. oh god, nope. you cannot make it one of those nights where you get too drunk and cry. you refuse.

“m’feelin’…sad…if m’being honest…” your words are slurred as you look up at satoru and take another sip of your water.

“damn. that sucks. wanna go downstairs?”

the constricting feeling in your throat immediately dissipates, and is replaced by annoyance. wow, he responds with that? maybe it’s a good idea you won’t fuck him tonight.

he doesn’t wait for an answer as he gets up and helps you out of your seat and guides you downstairs. you interlock your arms with his for support so you don’t trip, and you’re perceptive enough to feel the viselike grip satoru has on your arms as you both descend the stairs.

“what are we even doing here?” your throat hurts even more as you have shout even louder on the ground floor due to the higher levels of music.

satoru continues to lead you down the floor into the arcade and looks back at you confused. “dontcha wanna play dance dance revolution?”

this makes you open your eyes wide in anticipation and excitement. no way. “what, really? the line is still so fuckin’ long though…”

“i’ll deal with it.” satoru tells you wait while he goes to the front of the line. you can’t exactly hear what the hell he’s saying to the people up front, but you do see him flash his signature pearly whites and flutter his bright blue eyes. he meets your eyes and motions excitedly for you to come to the front, and you hurry there, thinking if you wasted any time, you might never get to play dance dance revolution for the rest of the night.

“still got coins?” he asks, as you nod and hand him whatever was left in your purse.

“did you just flirt with the people in front to let us cut them?”

“maybe.”

that makes you uncharacteristically giggle. you want to pick a fight about how that’s so unethical to other people in line who have waited a long time to play, but you’re feeling a bit selfish tonight. satoru squeezes your hand tightly and you squeeze back as the game starts.

you’re not entirely sure how long you both play dance dance revolution, but you can’t remember a time where you’ve enjoyed playing this game more. satoru always says the funniest things in the middle of a game, and because you’re still a bit drunk, you laugh really hard at it and it just spurs him to continue making awful one-liners. by the end of however many rounds you’ve played, satoru is completely wiped. he’s sweaty, breathing heavy, and his lanky yet sturdy build is leaning against the railing.

“how the fuck are you this good at dance dance revolution?” he says in between deep breaths.

“it’s not made for people with long legs,” you tease.

“’kay, one more. this time i’ll really-”

“alright, you both need to leave this game station. immediately.” you both turn to find a club bouncer practically escorting the both of you off the platform.

“we weren’t even playing for long…” you start.

“you played long enough that several attendees complained about the both of you. please remove yourself from the station for the rest of the night. i’ll be watching so don’t try and go back.”

you and satoru stare at the bouncer in silence as he disappears in the back. soon as he’s out of satoru’s line of sight, the swears start rolling in.

“what the fuck? who the fuck was that? who does he think telling us what to do? honestly, y/n, give me the green light, i’m literally a foot taller than him. i’ll kick his-”

you don’t wait for him to finish his sentence and you don’t really care for him to either. you grab his hands and pull him to the dance floor, where coincidentally, a remix of “murder on the dance floor” starts to play. satoru doesn’t question it and matches your energy. he’s always good at matching your energy and being on the same wavelength as you. you clearly have more dancing energy left, and you want to dance with him. you let the music guide the both of you to the center of the floor.

the purple and blue dim lights illuminate both of your faces and both of you can’t really recall if there are other people around you. it’s just you and him.

you turn around and sway your hips and satoru takes a risk and puts his arms on them and pulls you closer to him. when you let him, he full sends it, and pulls your back (and coincidentally, your ass) flush against his front. you have some sense in you to not grind into one of your best friends, so you purposefully try to keep the movement to a minimum while still allowing your body to move freely to the beat.

satoru is trying hard to not get hard, and failing miserably. thankfully, you don’t notice anything, except in the back of your mind, you wish he would’ve kept his keys and wallet in his back pocket instead of his front. satoru can’t stand you on him anymore unless he wants to be stuck in a rock and (quite literally) a hard place, so he spins you back around so that you’re facing him.

you laugh and squeal at being spun. “do it again. spin me again.”

he spins you again and you laugh again. this time, he pulls the front of your body against him and sways his body with yours. you take note of his bashful smile and how his orbs have taken on a darker hue. the song melts into a slower, lo-fi city pop remix, and you feel like you can finally talk above the music now.

you try to open your mouth but you keep on giggling.

“what? what’s so funny?” satoru joins you, trying to hold back his giggles.

“i…i don’t know, i just love dancing, i think?”

“are you still sad?”

the question catches you off guard. “uh, no. i'm not. i’m glad we’re dancing and…i dunno why i said i was sad before.” you trail off, genuinely trying to remember. “i guess…maybe it was because of that pervy guy…”

immediately, satoru stops swaying and comes to a complete stop. his eyes try to make contact with yours, but your mind is still occupied with the euphoric feeling of grooving to rhythm so he has to steady your body and hold your jaw so that you’re looking directly into his now deeper blue eyes.

“what pervy guy?” you sense the genuine worry in his voice, and it snaps you out of the trance.

“wait, no sorry. it’s not a big deal, satoru. he just bought me a drink.” you hesitate to even continue, as satoru already looks upset. you swallow apprehensively, making sure to choose your next words carefully. “he just bought me a drink and, like, made weird comments about my boobs. it’s honestly kind of funny now because i dumped the drink he bought for me on him.”

satoru relaxes his grip on you upon hearing that you took care of the situation yourself, but only a little bit. his brows are still furrowed in irritation. “okay, i’m glad you’re okay…but promise me you’ll point him out if you see him, again?”

you nod, as you both let your body go back to comfortably swaying with the rhythm. “wait, where’s mia?”

satoru scoffs. “don’t bring her up, too fuckin’ clingy. also, she was being sooo bitchy to riko. and you know, suguru is finally getting some, so i can’t let a random hook up do something to fuck that up…”

you smile and shake your head. wow, so she was being a bitch to riko, too? red flag. “you know she was also being a bitch to me.”

satoru frowns. “yeah, i figured out kinda late. after you left from pool, i asked her what was up, and she was just-” satoru lifts his hands up in defeat. “she was a lot. sorry about her…”

“glad you also thought she was a bitch.”

he hums in response. the beat picks up a bit, and he spins again, and pulls your back against him for the second time that night. you both continue to sway to the beat, and you’re once again met with the uncomfortable, unshakeable, feeling down there.

it’s now or never, your body thinks before your brain has any time to process the ramifications of your actions. you’re significantly shorter than satoru, so you lift your head up and look at satoru’s face, and he smiles at you and leans closer to your face. your breath hitches at the back of your throat at the sheer lack of distance between both of your mouths. you almost chicken out. almost.

“m’horny,” you slur, pouting at satoru.

it’s satoru’s turn to choke on his words. he definitely did not hear that right. he definitely drank too much tonight, and he doesn’t know what he’s hearing or doing right now because there’s no way you said what he thinks you just said.

“w-what?”

you ignore satoru’s fumble. you whip around and put your arms around his neck, pulling him down to your level, while standing on your tippy toes. “i’m horny, satoru. i’ve been so stupidly horny this entire night because i took a stupid edible that shoko gave me and then i took that stupid shot and then-”

satoru pulls you away from the dance floor, and he’s practically running to the exit of the barcade. he doesn’t care that he’s leaving both of your friends behind because he needs to hear it again. he needs to hear you outside, where there’s no loud music, and there’s a cool breeze to wake you up from your senses. he turns to see you giggling, and he fights the urge to smile.

“okay, what’s the problem? daddy’s here to help.”

normally, this would make you annoyed, but it just makes you laugh instead.

“i said, m'horny and i dunno what to do 'bout it.” you pout, finally feeling free that you’ve let someone else know about this…issue you’ve been dealing with the whole night.

satoru grins widely. “y'came to the right person.” he cups you cheeks softly. he’s also slurring his words. “wanna go home? i’ll call an uber?”

you nod, and you pull out your phone to check your messages, and satoru does the same. you both have the same messages from the group chat:

suguru: satoru do NOT fucking come home me n riko are hangin in the living room

suguru: satoru are u reading this do NOT step a foot inside or i s2g i’ll end u w my bare hands

shoko: LMAO i’m crying also y/n - staying the nite @ hime’s :)

“i guess…uh…not sure where i’ll go but i’ll figure it out…” satoru fumbles again.

“are you stupid? you’re obviously coming back to my place? what was the other option? sleeping out on the street?” you berate satoru, sounding more like your normal self.

“wow, jeez, okay, chill woman. i missed it when you were complaining about how horny you are.” satoru says, as he puts in your address on the uber.

“i’m less horny now because you keep saying stupid shit.” you cross your arms, consequently causing your boobs to lift and almost spill out of your bralette - something satoru notices in his peripheral. he’s trying to look anywhere but your chest, but the cold breeze is nipping at your skin, causing goosebumps to rise and your nipples to get hard. satoru swallows and takes a deep breath before turning to you and taking your leather shirt jacket from you.

“put this on, you’re cold.”

“i’m not.”

“yes, you are.”

“how do you know i’m cold? hm?” satoru is getting really tired of you constantly challenging him when you’re both drunk, so he decides to be blunt about it, the same way you were blunt before about letting him know you were horny.

“because…” he gestures to your titties flippantly. “your headlights are on.” he also grabs your wrist and crosses the crosswalk, heading to the meeting point across the street from the barcade.

you arch an eyebrow. what on earth is he talking about? “what does that mean?” you say, trying to keep up with his strides. he looks back at you, and has to hold back a groan as he sees your titties bouncing up and down to match his pace and thinks the universe is playing the sickest joke on him.

“your nipples are so hard, i can see them through your bra.”

you stare at him as you both finally reach the meeting point. your mouth slowly furls into a frown your eyes widen. “it’s not a bra. it’s a bralette.”

“sorry, baby. your bralette is doing a shit job at covering your nips.”

you sigh. guess he has a point. you put on the leather jacket, but not without deciding to be extra cheeky towards him.

“my titties are so cold. you were right. i wish…” you pretend to take a dramatic sigh. “i wish someone could, like, i don’t know. i wish someone could warm them up with their hands.”

satoru wastes no time in picking up what you put down, and his palms immediately go straight to your titties. his large hands easily engulfs them, and he moves the fingers that are touching your bare skin back and forth creating a fiction that does nothing to warm you up, but it feels good at least.

“better?” satoru teases. he has a raging hard on now, so he shifts slightly in his stance to adjust himself. you hum and give a cheeky grin in response. something in your head tell you what this looks like, optics-wise, but you both don’t care. ever since the word “horny” came out of your mouth, both you and satoru have been running on the bare bones autopilot, just trying to get back to your place.

satoru keeps his hands on your chest until he spots the uber driver coming from a couple yards away, and pulls his hands away to flag them down. you frown at your chest feeling untouched, but keep your needy thoughts to yourself. you’ll have plenty of time to have satoru warm you up at home.

the uber ride feels like forever. and what’s worse is that satoru has become the chattiest passenger on earth, and it’s annoying you so much that you can’t even focus on being horny and wanting his hands on your chest or anywhere on your body. you’re not even sure what they’re talking about but you hear bits and pieces of their conversation as you stare out the window.

“i think rigatoni is a good pasta shape.”

“nahh, you gotta try cannelloni, my dude.”

“aren’t they the same?”

a loud gasp is heard and you know it’s from satoru. “don’t say that!”

“you kinda look like bob odenkirk. has anyone told you that? are you bob odenkirk? i loved you in better call saul.” this one makes you want to die from second hand embarrassment.

“i don’t know who that individual is.”

“ziti is also pretty good.”

you think you’re about to go insane with all the talk about fucking pasta shapes. you never want to see or eat pasta in your fucking life ever again after this uber ride. you’re about to burst and tell satoru to shut the fuck up (he gets so annoying and talkative when he’s drunk) when the familiar apartment complex comes into view, and you almost open the car door while it’s moving to get out of it.

“thanks for the ride, hector. i’m giving you a 5 stars, and i’m sending you a recipe for chicken and ricotta cannelloni.” satoru waves the uber driver goodbye, and turns to see you half way back to your apartment. he quickly sprints to catch up with you so he doesn’t get locked out.

“jeez, you’re so eager to get back home. what? you excited about something,” he teases, as he closes the gate behind you. you can hear the smirk in his voice and you want to either slap it or kiss it off of him, but you don’t dare look back at him.

“i need to pee, okay?”

satoru shuts up until you both get to your apartment and lock the door. he sighs and flops down on the couch, manspreading his long slender legs and arms across the couch and carpet.

“you can put something on the tv, don’t care. i’ll be back.” you quickly run to the bathroom and freshen up, and come back to see satoru watching a random episode of better call saul, and you scoff knowing exactly where this is headed.

“before you say anything…he didn’t look bob odenkirk.”

immediately satoru gets defensive. “you didn’t even see him properly. i was the one talking to him and interacting with him and it was definitely him.”

“you’re drunk.”

“so are you!”

okay, he has a point, but still. you sit on the couch next to him and pull his face to face you. “why would bob odenkirk, star of better call saul, be driving ubers on his friday nights, satoru?”

this shuts satoru up. he shifts in his seat and exits out of better call saul to the home screen, and plays some random reality tv show. meanwhile, you know it’s late, but you can’t help but check your phone one last time. you’re absolutely deflated that it’s almost midnight and you haven’t heard from toji at all. you sigh agitatedly and chuck your phone to the other side of the sofa while you stretch out your legs.

“toji still hasn’t texted you back?” satoru asks, shifting his body to face you. you mimic his actions, inching closer to him while frowning about your predicament.

“yeah, i just…i just feel stupid okay! i wish he would at least say something! i was kind of vulnerable sending that text…”

satoru sighs. he knows what he’s about to say next is so wrong, so pervy, so inappropriate, but he’s a bit drunk right now, and to be quite honest, he really wants to see this picture of you.

“can i see the text?” he asks quietly, holding his breath. he hopes he’s reading your signs correctly from the barcade. he doesn’t fumble this time.

you reach to grab your phone and unlock it. you turn the brightness up and hand the phone to satoru with the photo of your soapy titties on full display.

satoru’s breath gets stuck in his throat, and he’s choked up on words to describe, what he thinks, are the sexiest pair of titties he’s ever seen in his life. sure, he’s seen the outline of your titties through sheer t-shirts, and today he’s felt them and seen your nipples hard, but none of it beats the way they look bare and wet. god, he feels like such a perv seeing this pic of his best friend and getting wildly turned on by it.

he swallows, his breath unintentionally shallow. “toji’s a fuckin’ idiot.”

“what?”

“he’s a fucking idiot.” satoru says louder. and he believes it from the bottom of his fucked up horny heart. he looks up at you and meets your eyes. “if i got this from you, i would respond in a heartbeat. don’t give a fuck where i am or what i’m doin’.”

your breath starts getting heavy, and you feel your heart beating faster. why can’t you hear him properly? better get closer.

“what would you say?” your voice is barely a whisper now, your eyes are drilled into his. his once bright blue eyes are as dark as the murky sea now.

he scoffs lightly, and you smell the beer in his breath. “i’d fuckin’ beat off to it, that’s what i’d do. i’d fuckin’ paint my sheets white.”

you suck in a deep breath loudly. god, he sounds so vulgar. you’ve never heard him talk like this, and it feels like you’ve unlocked a new side to satoru you’ve never seen before. the adrenaline of the alcohol combined with the wetness between your legs makes your head spin and heart race.

satoru edges closer to you, ready to make a proposition you can’t refuse. “i have an idea.” he inches even closer and places his hands on your chin and bring it inches away from his wet lips. “let’s…let’s kiss. to make toji jealous. teach him a lesson. show him what he could’ve gotten tonight if he had the balls to message back.” sober satoru would’ve laughed after saying something this nonsensical and absurd, but drunk satoru can only think of shoving his tongue down your throat (and other places).

your answer doesn’t involve words. you close the pathetically small gap between your lips and his and it feels like you’ve locked on to something you can’t ever let go of.

satoru grabs your jaw and pulls you even closer to him, if that’s even possible. he leads the kiss and opens your mouth for his tongue to enter and explore uncharted territory. you let him, and your tongues fight against each other for dominance, and you lose every time. and it drives you fucking crazy.

you moan into his mouth as satoru straddles you on top of his lap. you feel his hard on, and you subconsciously start to grind your hips on him, moaning even more repetitively. your short skirt rides up, leaving nothing to imagination as your ass is on full display, which satoru takes full advantage of by kneading it and pulling you even closer to his hips. your moans get more shaky as he touches your ass and lightly slaps it, earning a squeal from you that gets drowned in satoru’s mouth.

“so fuckin’ needy.” satoru places open mouthed kisses on your neck and as your throaty gasps overpower the reality garbage playing in the background. he’s right - you’re so needy. you’ve been wanting this the whole night.

you miss the lack of contact of his lips on yours so you grab a fistful of his ivory hair and reconnect your mouths together. he pushes your back onto the sofa and you whine at the loss of friction on your clothed core. you immediately palm his raging hard on and satoru groans, his eyes closed and face flushed, which spurs you even more.

he grabs your hand away from his hard member, and places it above your head. he grabs the wrist of your other hand and hold them both with ease above your head while he continues to kiss you deeply. so this is what the other girls are getting when they kiss satoru, you think to yourself in the middle of all the ecstacy.

satoru uses his free hands to roughly pull your bralette down, and you hear a tear as continues to expose your titties. you break free from his lips and moan as he uses his hands to palm your titties.

“h-hey! you ripped my bralette!” you say between breathy sighs.

“i’ll buy you another one.” he doesn’t even bother to look up or sound apologetic about it, as he uses his long fingers to pinch and play with your hard and sensitive nub, causing your to moan wantonly.

“f-fuck~” you need him on your mouth again. you can’t get enough of his tongue inside you, and you pathetically beg for it. “please~ please kiss me again, satoru~”

who’s satoru to deny such a simple request? his mouth meets yours again and you playfully bite his lower lip and giggle. it doesn’t last long when he squeezes and starts to roughly play with your bare titties again, encapsulating your moans in his mouth.

you’re not sure how long you’re kissing satoru. you’re kissing so much your mouths are numb and swollen and red. satoru doesn’t dare go any further than just kissing you and playing with your titties.

you want him to fuck you. and you know he wants to fuck you, too. but your eyelids are getting so heavy from kissing him, and satoru’s fervor is also mellowing. you both are resorting to small pecks and quick kisses between soft giggles and playful bites.

eventually, satoru moves from your lips to your jawline, and leaves soft wet kisses ever inch of your neck down to the center of your chest. he wants to kiss your hard perky nipples and titties, but he sides with his better judgement to not take it further than just kisses — he’s already been so selfish playing with your soft titties with his hands.

you’re both too tired and quite frankly, on the last legs of your intoxication to get up and go to your bed. you also don’t want to leave satoru’s embrace even though it’s crowded and every joint is touching him.

similarly, satoru has no intention of letting your leave his side, your warmth more soothing than any blanket he could’ve used. you both lull yourselves into a slumber, the rising of both your chests being the rhythm you drift off to.

in between your heated makeout session with satoru and falling asleep, you don’t notice the texts that toji sends you in response to your picture from earlier today that you were obsessing about so much. you don’t hear the vibration of your phone when he calls you, demanding an answer for the tent in his pants right before he’s trying to fall asleep.

and you most definitely don’t notice you accidentally accepting the call while satoru was straddling you in his lap.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen toji #toji fushiguro #toji zenin #toji x reader #toji fushigro x reader #fushiguro toji #jjk fanfiction #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen gojo #gojo #gojo saturo #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #jujutsu gojo #satoru gojo #saturo gojo fanfiction #saturo gojo x reader #saturo gojo x y/n #toji fushiguro x y/n #saturo gojo smut #toji fushiguro smut #gojo smut #gojo x y/n #satoru gojou #gojou satoru #gojo x toji x reader

[quiltedgold]

baby blues - jimmy mcgill

pairing: jimmy mcgill x f!reader

genre: smut. 18+ please

wc: 2.9k

contains: unprotected sex (ALWAYS WRAPPIT BEFORE YA TAPPIT KIDS), age gap (early/mid20s reader), use of pet names “sugar”, “kid”, and “sweetheart”, hint of sub!jimmy if ya squint but both him and reader are switchy tbh, gratuitous eye description because gahdayum bob odenkirk’s eyes are MESMERIZING, ya that’s p much it

notes: back from the dead to share my silly lawyer smutfic with the world. haven’t finished bcs yet, so this takes place early s1! don’t take this too seriously because i didn’t either :) more ppl gotta get crackin on the jimmy fic train tho bc there’s a sad lack of content. anyway enjoy!

The first thing you noticed about Jimmy McGill were his eyes. Entrancingly blue, fringed with dark, delicate lashes. They drooped slightly at the outer corners, giving him that sad-puppy look. Even through the TV screen and newspaper article, his eyes stood out.

His other features weren’t too hard on your eyes either: that cutely crooked mouth that moved a mile a minute when it wasn’t screwed up in thought, a nice strong nose, neat hairstyle with a stubborn cowlick that you noticed him brushing aside out of habit. And of course, the gentle lines of his face, mouth, and under his eyes that only added to the basset-hound look he had going.

You weren’t sure it was him at first–the hero you’d seen on TV, a lawyer who scaled a billboard to rescue a worker in danger. The paper had gotten a kick out of his heroic stunt and you’d seen his face on the front page the very next day. Yet here he was now, across the bar, alone and nursing a drink, and the similarities were undeniable. This definitely was Jimmy McGill.

And gee, was he handsome. Normally you’d end it there; text your friends with an omg you guys guess who i saw at the bar?? and move on, but you already had a few drinks coursing through your system, were a few stale weeks out of a breakup, and ready to try something new.

You grabbed your purse and scooted off the barstool, adjusting your skirt and checking your top before strolling over to where he was sitting.

“Hi, this seat taken?”

Jimmy started upon hearing your voice, shaken out of whatever trance he’d been in, and blinked a few times. Your heart skipped upon having those eyes, those gorgeous blue eyes trained on your own. “Huh? Oh. No, no. Be my guest,” he gestured at the empty seat.

You thanked him and slid on to it, signaling the bartender over.

“I’ll take a martini, please.”

“That can go on my tab–thanks,” Jimmy said to the bartender.

“Oh, thanks! You didn’t have to.” You flashed your most charming smile at him, and he perked up a little. Always worked.

“My pleasure. I gotta say, though, you look a little young to be at a bar.”

You wave his implication away with a roll of your eyes. “I’m legal, I promise. Just young for my age, that’s all.”

“Hm,” he smiled. “Alright, miss…?” You supplied your name in response, and he repeated it. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“You might laugh at me for this, I’m sure you get it all the time…” you tucked a hair behind your ear, glancing at your shoes demurely. “I thought I recognized you from that news story. Jimmy McGill, right?”

Jimmy illuminated. “That’s me, alright! Though I gotta admit, the hero stuff is more of a part-time gig,” he said with a wink. “My day job is law.”

“Law, huh?” You knew this. You’d already looked him up. Still, you pretended to be surprised and a little impressed. “Wow. What would I have to do to get you as my lawyer?”

He chuckled, face a little pink, either from the alcohol he’d already consumed or your shameless flirt. “Just don’t go falling off any billboards.”

“That’s probably a good start,” you said.

Your drink arrived, and then your second and third as the two of you continued your conversation. Jimmy was sweet–a charmer, but you sensed there was a lot that was genuine about the way he listened to you speak and avoided flicking his gaze down to your cleavage, despite how much you wanted him to. As heat collected in your stomach from the alcohol and your growing attraction to him, you stopped listening to the anecdotes he supplied and began paying more attention to his hands, the ring on his pinky, the way he placed one hand on your knee and began rubbing his thumb lightly on your bare skin, how the pads of his fingers were just slightly rough and how nice his touch felt, how his soft blue eyes bored into yours.

Eventually, you reached your limit.

“How would you feel about getting out of here?” you interrupted, voice low and suggestive.

With no hesitation, he replied. “Best idea I’ve heard all day.”

Before you knew it, the two of you tumbled out of a taxi and through the door of Day Spa and Nail (weird place to live, but hey, who were you to judge?). Jimmy locked the door behind the two of you and then stopped rather awkwardly in the lobby, dragged out of his inebriated haze by his surroundings. The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the back area and the curtain of fairy lights decorating the door. It was cozy, but he seemed more embarrassed by it than anything.

You sensed this change immediately and approached him to rectify it, backing him slowly against the glass front of the store.

“Do you bring girls here a lot?” you said, one hand toying with the collar of his dress shirt.

“Can’t say that I do,” he chuckled sheepishly. “Couldn’t tell ya why. Maybe it’s the decor.”

“I, for one, like the open floor plan,” you hummed, sliding your hand down to his tie, playing with the tail of it. “Don’t mind the full length window, either.”

Jimmy swallowed. “We can always head to the back, if you want. This is a little public.”

“You know what?” you said, tilting your head. “I kind of like it that way.”

Gripping the knot of Jimmy’s tie, you tugged, leading his face down to your level, and captured his lips in your own. He groaned, melting into the kiss and bringing his own hands up to cradle your head, knotting his fingers in your hair.

The sound sent shivers down your spine and you opened your own mouth a little wider, returning his pleased noises with a few of your own.

Jimmy, without breaking the kiss, spun you so that you were the one backed against the glass. He pressed his body into yours, deepening the kiss and caressing your jaw with deft fingers.

“Shit, kid,” he huffed in between kisses. “Definitely wasn’t expecting this to be how I ended out the night.”

“From the moment I noticed you across the bar, this is how I wanted it to,” you returned lowly, pressing an open-mouthed kiss below his ear.

“Ah, geez,” he said (if you didn’t know any better, you’d say whimpered), breaking away to hold your face in his hands and examine your blown-out eyes. “Look, not like I’m complaining or anything, but why me? Why not someone your own age? I mean, you’re so gorgeous, you could get anyone you wanted, honest.”

“I’ve never much been into guys my age,” you admitted. “Not daddy issues or anything like that, just… older men are more attractive to me, that’s all. And bonus points if they’re famous.”

“Famous,” Jimmy repeated. “Don’t say that, it’ll go straight to my head.”

“Good,” you said, carding a hand through his hair with an experimental tug at the roots. “That’s where I want it to go.”

Jimmy keened, diving back in for another kiss. Meanwhile, you were at the perfect vantage point to observe the salon, and it caused another idea to blossom.

“Any desire for a massage?” you asked, and steered him over to the row of chairs. “We don’t have to pay for these, right?”

“No, no. But why…?” he asked, squinting.

“Sit down. I’ll show you,” you instructed.

He obeyed without further question, loosening his tie and situating himself in one of the plush seats. You grabbed a remote and quickly figured out the controls, setting his chair at a low setting, then set it aside.

He watched you curiously, waiting for your next move. Flicking your eyes towards his crotch, you couldn’t help but notice the tautly stretched fabric. You licked your lips.

As smoothly as possible, you slipped off your shoes and climbed into his lap, straddling his form with one of your legs on either side. You watched his face as you positioned your core right over his crotch, wiggling a little for good measure, and he gasped.

“Ah, shit, kid…” he groaned, hardness pressing up against you. “Sorry, lemme adjust myself–”

You grabbed the hand he’d moved downwards to shift his erection by the wrist and brought it up to your mouth.

Slowly, slowly, you slipped his pointer finger into your mouth, lathing over the callused skin with your tongue and teeth. He moaned at the sensation as you added another finger, then three.

To be frank, his erection’s throbbing presence against your clothed heat was making it near impossible to focus on the task at hand.

You removed his hand from your mouth and pressed yourself against his chest, laying a feather light hand against his jaw and whispering, “I want you to fuck me, Jimmy McGill.”

“Jesus, kid,” he hissed. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

The two of you scrambled to undo his pants and shift his boxers aside to free his dick, your panties not far behind. You didn’t even bother to shuck your skirt off, instead allowing his large hands to shimmy it up to your waist, squeezing at the softness there with a whimper.

“Wait, wait a sec, do you have a…” He palmed his forehead, flushed pink and sweaty.

You hovered over his rock-hard erection, teasing the tip of him at your entrance. “I’m safe. I’d rather you fuck me raw. Is that okay with you?”

“Is that okay? Jesus, what a question. Yes, absolutely, just please, please, I don’t think I’ve ever wanted something so badly in my life,” Jimmy begged, hands falling to your thighs and squeezing hard, resisting the urge to buck upwards into you.

You paused a moment before committing, drinking in the sight beneath you. Jimmy McGill, looking positively debauched. Unkempt hair, cheeks the color of cherries, a light sheen of sweat shining in the warm ambient lighting. His eyes were the definition of puppy-dog, the sweetest blue you’d ever seen, swimming with want, eyelashes fanned across his lids as he blinked heavily. The first few buttons of his shirt were undone, and almost without thinking, you dipped your fingers inside and trailed them down the light hair on his chest. He sucked in a shuddery breath.

“One more time?” you asked. Jimmy understood.

“Please,” he croaked.

You plunged your hips down, fully sheathing his length within you. The sensation sent sparks across your eyesight and you cried out, squeezing yourself around him. Jimmy reacted in kind, throwing his head back with a whine and jerking his hips upward to attempt to bury himself deeper. The two of you began to search for a rhythm, him canting upward with an arm wrapped firmly around your waist, you grinding in circular downward motions in return.

It didn’t take long to align, the two of you quickly establishing a steady rhythm to follow, listening closely for the other’s pleased moans and adjusting movements to allow for more of them to spill out.

You clutched Jimmy’s arms, his chest, carded your fingers through his hair, splayed your hands on his stomach for balance. He palmed your breasts, your ass, your thighs, each touch sending electricity straight to your core, but his hands always seemed to migrate back to your waist, which he gripped firmly and used to guide your movements, an action you were grateful for somewhere deep in your lust-addled mind.

You also quickly learned that he was a vocal partner, which made sense knowing his personality and profession. He let his mouth run, moaning about how good you were for him, how pretty, how much he needed this. At one point you could have sworn you heard him hiss “That’s my girl,” and you nearly came right then and there.

Soon, his movements began to speed up, thrusts becoming messier, and you knew he was near his peak. Truth be told, you were surprised he’d lasted this long at his age, but you certainly weren’t complaining.

Clutching your flanks, he pushed himself up to press against your chest and you wrapped your arms around him, twisting your fingers into the back of his dress shirt.

“Sweetheart, I’m close,” he huffed. “Where do you want it?”

“Inside,” you answered without hesitation. “Please, please, inside.”

Jimmy choked out a laugh. “Don’t have to convince me, sugar.”

Upon hearing the pet name, you clenched your walls involuntarily and whimpered.

“C’mon, you can’t–can’t do that…” he groaned. “Ya like being called sugar, huh?”

You couldn’t summon up a reply, nearing your own climax.

Jimmy, seeming to sense your proximity, snaked a hand down to your cunt and quickly located your clit, rubbing in small circles with the callused pad of his thumb to match the speed of his thrusts.

His touch sent a jolt up your spine and you squealed, to which he let out a hoarse chuckle in your ear. “Feels good?”

“Fuck, Jimmy, yeah. Please, please, I’m close…”

“Me too, kid. Just… a little… more…”

He increased the intensity of his ministrations on your clit, sending fresh waves of pleasure through your body, sending you soaring over the precipice of an orgasm. Tremors rached your body, radiating outward from the source of your pleasure, where Jimmy was still circling his thumb. You cried out a string of expletives, sagging against him when the pleasure started to seep out of your system.

Jimmy wasn’t far behind. A few more thrusts and he was coming, clutching your waist in a bruising grip as his seed flooded your insides. He released a shuddering breath and let his forehead fall against your shoulder, collapsing back into the still-undulating massage chair. Your ragdoll form fell with him. The two of you caught your breath in silence, listening to the slowing beats from within each other’s chests, slowly descending from your intense highs.

Slowly, you lifted yourself from his hips, his length slipping out of you followed by globules of white, collecting in little puddles on his soft stomach. You stared at his juices for a moment, then experimentally swiped a finger across them and stuck it in your mouth, sucking to evaluate the flavor.

Salty, bitter. Run of the mill. Except, his had a hint of sweetness, an aftertaste that bloomed after a few moments in your mouth. Interesting.

Your gaze raised, and you realized he’d looked up from your shoulder. His eyes were trained firmly on the finger in your mouth, and his pupils were blown as wide as the sun.

“Jesus, where have you been all my life,” he wondered aloud, then screwed his face up in that cute way you’d observed earlier at the bar, his mouth disappearing into a crooked line. “Nevermind. Don’t answer that.”

You giggled tiredly, grabbing a towel from a nearby table to wipe up the cooling cum on his skin, then collected it from your own leaking hole.

He smiled lazily, twirling a strand of your hair between his fingers. “If I were twenty years younger and in shape, I would suggest we go another round.”

You set the rag aside and pressed a kiss to his lips, sweet and lingering. He leaned into it, corners of his lips turning up against yours.

“I would have to agree,” you said, pulling away and trailing a hand across his jaw. He gazed up at you with those hooded blue eyes, gentle adoration practically radiating. “But I’d like to get cleaned up. I don’t want this salon looking like a crime scene when the ladies come back in tomorrow.”

Jimmy clucked his tongue. “You’re right. Bathroom’s down the hall on the right.”

You reluctantly hauled yourself off his chest and headed to the bathroom, legs sore from the intense upwards-downwards movement you’d sustained for the past fifteen minutes.

When you returned, Jimmy was finished tidying up the salon and waiting awkwardly outside the door to his room slash office. He wiggled a pile of clothes he had clutched in one hand.

“Change of clothes, ah, if you want them. You don’t have to stay, of course, I can call a taxi, or go back to the bar and get my car–”

“I’d like to stay,” you replied, taking the clothes from him with a peck. “Thank you.”

Snug in the law firm t-shirt and worn sweatpants he’d lent you, you watched as he set up his room’s nighttime configuration, tittering in amusement at the soft curses he let out when the futon mattress got stuck on the frame. Once he’d set the bed up, fretting abundantly about which side would be more comfortable and which pillow you might prefer, the two of you crawled in and you slotted yourself against his side, resting a hand on his broad chest.

From this position, you could peer up at him and meet his pretty blue eyes, and he could see you staring.

“See something you like, kid?” he yukked, half asleep.

“Mmhm,” you said. “Your eyes. I’ve been looking at them all night. They’re beautiful.”

Taken aback, Jimmy blushed. “Can’t tell you I’ve heard that before. Maybe it’s why I get all the ladies.”

“It’s how you got this lady,” you teased.

“What, that wasn’t my incessant charm or stunning fashion sense?”

“No, but that might have been a small part. The eyes were most of it,” you said, drawling the ends of your sentences as your brain urged you into drowsiness.

“Hm. Good to know,” Jimmy conceded, and the two of you fell into a sleepy lull.

You heard his heartbeat slow, pumping steadily against his chest, and the sound drifted you safely into contented oblivion.

#better call saul #bcs #jimmy mcgill #jimmy mcgill x reader #saul goodman #saul goodman x reader #bcs fanfic

[peterparkersnose]

Tumblr Wrapped @peterparkersnose

This account was launched January 8th, 2022 (Exactly one year ago) and I just wanted to share some stats because I love statistics and to see progress and growth.

I have 1,803 followers

I have 85 published works

I have 8 different fan groups I wrote for

I have 18 characters I wrote for

Marvel Word Count was 36,982 words

DC Word Count was 8,400 words

Star Wars Word Count was 26,324 words

Stranger Things Word Count was 11,957 words

Top Gun Maverick Word Count was 5,148 words

Klitz (The Girl Next Door) Word Count was 6,500 words

Javier Peña (Narcos) Word Count was 4,500 words

Joel Miller (The Last of Us) Word Count was 1,300 words

101,111 words in total.

Average of 1.1k words per posting.

There are about 70,000 to 120,000 words roughly in any usual book. Landing right in the middle of that statistic warms my heart.

A special thank you to my consistent tag list (love you guys) for their continued support of me over the last year.

{ @dani5216 @uwiuwi @alohastyles-x @samanthacookieone @maddieinnit0 @alexxavicry @scoliobean }

I know I’m not the best writer out there, I’ve read MANY fics this year that beat out mine by a long shot (check some of them out here). Thank you to all my readers, I’m glad you enjoyed my work. To another successful year, hopes for 2023!

I have a ton of Joel Miller fics queued for The Last of Us Show (Airing 1/15 on HBO Max).

My Favorites of the Year

Movie: The Batman (2022)

Album: Harry’s House (Harry Styles)

Dilf: Pedro Pascal

Character to write for: Din Djarin

Fan base (everyone is so lovely, it was so hard to choose): Druig/Eternals/Barry Keoghan

Fan Base to write for: Star Wars

Series I wrote: Pink Bra Strap- Klitz (Paul Dano)

Video Game: The Last of Us 1 (again)

Least Favorite Character I wrote for: Eddie Munson (sorry tik tok ruined it)

Show: Game of Thrones

Favorite Genre: Angst

Least Favorite Genre: Smut (I can enjoy on occasion but I like a good argument vs good sex)

Top Three Stories I Wrote

Secret (Din Djarin)

Body Lightweight (Kylo Ren)

Unreleased Obi Wan fic (sorry not sorry)

Dilf of the Month 2022:

December 2021- Adam Driver

January 2022- Andrew Garfield

February 2022- Barry Keoghan

March 2022- Pedro Pascal

April 2022- Paul Dano

May 2022- Oscar Isaac

June 2022- Eddie Munson/ Joe Quinn

July 2022- Matthew Gray Gubler

August 2022- David Harbor

September 2022- Rooster Top Gun/Miles Teller

October 2022- Evan Peters

Nov 2022- Hayden Christansen

Dec 2022- Ewan McGregor/Obi Wan Kenobi

Jan 2023- Bob Odenkirk/ Saul Goodman

Top Five Era’s of this year

Pedro Pascal Era (March-Now)

Bagel Era 🥯 (March-May)

Miles Teller Era (June-October)

Party Monster The Weeknd Era (October-Now)

Fletcher Meme Era (August-October)

(This is not a brag post in any way shape or form. I am extremely proud of myself. I worked hard for what I have. I have attention issues and I expected to drop this account when I got bored so I’m thrilled I committed to it. I am very appreciative of every single one of you.)

Thank you all.

Love,

@peterparkersnose

#peterparkersnose #pedro pascal #peter parker #andrew garfield #barry keoghan #din djarin #tom holland #eddie munson #paul dano #star wars #adam driver #oscar isaac #joseph quinn #matthew gray gubler #david harbor #miles teller #evan peters #hayden christensen

[mypoisonedvine]

bestie would you ever write anything for more 'realistic' dramas like better call saul, barry, succession, etc? or do you mostly stick to more fantasy/sci-fi series??

interesting question! I've seen and enjoyed barry but nobody on it I wanted to bang (bill hader is nice but no inspo for a barry x reader), and I never saw the other two! I am thirsty for bob odenkirk tho ngl...

I write for whoever inspires me, doesn't matter what genre they're from! I just don't have any muse for the shows you mentioned :(

[noellawrites]

Yandere Saul Goodman Headcanons

- you were totally a client of his at first

- you came into the office, desperate for the help of a criminal lawyer

- he is an amazing manipulator and very good with his words

- (of course, he's a lawyer for God's sake)

- when he's at the office and can't keep an eye on you, he employs Mike or his A-Team (Huell or Patrick) to do the job

- he has a tracker planted in your bag as well, just for good measure

- this man is so in love with you and devotes all of his free time to you

- you are so different than any woman he’s been with before

- if you refuse to accept him, he won’t understand

- he gave you everything you could ever want

- so naturally, he has you kidnapped, disappearing without a trace

- there was so much fanfare involved

- but when you woke up and the bag on your head was pulled off, you knew

- Huell and Patrick looked at you with half pity and half surprise that their plan actually worked

- you were locked in Saul’s house with no way of escaping

- Mike had installed the best technology on the market a few days prior

- but you had to admit, you did love his four-bedroom house in the mountains

- Saul had never thought about kids before you

- he always figured he’d be a shitty dad

- but something about you made him want a family

- he loves everything about you

- you hated the work Saul did, and worried constantly about your safety and his

- you learned to love Saul and it became a stockholm situation

- eventually, when he realized he could trust you fully, he let you back into the world

- by this time, you were six months pregnant with your first child, a son

- for the past year, your family and friends had thought you were on a “yoga retreat in Puerto Vallarta”

- you explained a fake scenario about how you met Saul and fell in love

- once the Walt and Jesse situation began, you actually became quite good friends with Jesse

- this was much to Saul’s dismay

- you were in the office one day, showing Saul some color options for the nursery

- when Walt and Jesse barged in, Jesse making a crack about what a hot pregnant girl was doing there

- “that’s my girlfriend, you idiot”

- you and Jesse were similar in age and liked some of the same movies, shows and songs

- but you swore up and down to Saul that it was just a friendship

- overall, Saul allows you a lot of freedoms if you obey his orders and love him in return

#yandere breaking bad #saul goodman x reader #yandere saul goodman #breaking bad x reader #saul goodman headcanons #better call saul x reader #breaking bad #better call saul imagine #saul goodman imagine #bob odenkirk #better call saul headcanons #breaking bad headcanons

[livelovelaug-h]

Helping the girl next door PT 1

Jesse Pinkman x reader

Summary ? instead of Jane being next door it's you. Jesse moves in & wants to help you from your abusive boyfriend. But is he abusive??? How can he help when you don't let him. Mr. White is an asshole ofc but see what he says.

Warnings: abuse, mentions of abuse.

~~

Jesse heard yelling again for the- what? third time in four days since he moved in. Hopefully it wouldn't always be this bad. The arguments got very heated and loud, he felt kinda bad for the girl. 

"YOU CAN'T LEAVE." 

"FUCK YOU, WATCH ME!!" The girl screamed. 

"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?!" 

Smack,  

thud

It was loud enough for Jesse to hear. He widened his eyes. 

Your pov 

You opened the door trying to get out of there, you stumbled down the stairs almost falling. You didn't notice the boy next door looking at you from smoking his cigarette. The door slammed behind you. 

"Hey are okay?" he asked rushing over to you. 

You froze trying to hide your bruised eye with your hair. 

You didn't look at him just at the ground "yeah I'm fine thanks." 

"Are you -?" 

You looked up a little, the wind blowing your hair not much but enough for Jesse to see a bruised eye. His mouth dropped open.

"Yo -" 

"Uh, I'm sorry I have to go." You rushed away. 

~~ 

Normal pov

It was a very long day and even longer for Jesse since he was waiting all day for you to get back. Of course you wouldn't want to go back there. 

Finally he seen you walking up towards the apartment. He had to play it cool though so it didn't look like he was waiting for you. He opened the door slowly and came outside, pulling his pack of cigarettes out. 

You were trying to pretend you didn't see him. 

You were about to go up the stairs when he spoke: "hey.. uh do you want a smoke?" 

"No it's okay I don't want to make you short or anything."

"No yo it's fine here." He handed you one. 

"Thank you." 

"No problem." He lit it for you, you having it in your mouth leaning over. It was silent for a little while, no one really knowing what to say. 

"So you're the new neighbor. What made you move over here?" 

"Just wanted to get away from my old house. Bad memories." 

"Ah yeah I get it. Well how do you like the place ??" 

"It's nice, I like it. Just need to get some furniture." 

"do u at least have a bed?" 

"Uh, no Actually?" You narrowed your eyebrows. 

"really?? What have you been sleeping on the floor?" 

"Yeah but don't worry I'm like getting one today." 

"Oh good." You looked at the time. "Oh! I really should get going, I need to clean up before Christian gets home." You looked worried. You put your cigarette out and ran up the stairs. 

"Well it was nice talking to you." The boy says rubbing his neck. 

"Nice talking to you too." 

He totally forgot to ask your name. 

Of course the next morning you two argued loud enough for Jesse to hear. 

Two days later -

Jesse hasn't seen you around Lately. He looks out the Window hoping to see you every few moments and he even waits for you longer when he smokes. He hasn't seen or heard anything from you guys since that morning fight, and that was two days ago now. He was starting to grow anxious. He was pretty sure your boyfriend was abusive, so what if he killed you or something else happened. 

He went to work being quiet all day Mr. White finally asked "what's wrong Jesse? you're not usually this quiet. Did you run out weed?" 

"No man. I'm just concerned about my neighbor." 

"Your neighbor? Didn't you just move in." 

"Yeah but I think her boyfriend is abusive. I heard him hit her and she has bruises yo. Man what should I do? I haven't seen in two days what If he did something to her?" 

"Woah slow down alright. You don't know if he's actually abusing her... Look Jesse it's best to just not get involved." 

"Not get involved? Dude she could need my help alright!" 

"If she needed help she would have gotten it by now." Mr White says coldly. 

"You're an asshole you know that."

"All I mean, is that you don't want to get in the middle of things, you could end up making it worse or he could end up killing you. I don't think you want that, do you?" 

Jesse just scoffs. 

Walter puts his hand on his shoulder:

"Don't do anything stupid like I know you want to okay? Stay out of it." He says and walks away. 

Now he's flustered. 

~~~ 

Jesse's pov 

Once I got home I made some dinner. I looked around, I really do need some chairs so I can eat yo. 

I was about to start smoking from my hookah when I heard the yelling. 

Yes okay she's alive. I gotta get my mind off of things, It's been driving me crazy on how I can help her. So of course getting high is the answer. 

I called badger "yo badge get down here man I got weed!"

#jesse pinkman x reader #jesse pinkman #aaron paul #bryan cranston #walter white #mr. white #skyler white #rj mitte #mike ehrmantraut #dean norris #hank schrader #marie schrader #betsy brandt #jonathan banks #better call saul #bob odenkirk #saul goodman #los pollos hermanos #lydia rodarte quayle #heisenberg #breaking bad #breaking bad el camino #brandon mayhew #matt jones #skinny pete #charles baker #gus fring #albuquerque new mexico #giancarlo esposito #jane margolis

[bowieandqueen11]

Mr. Spooktacular / Jimmy McGill Imagine

Request: GIRLLLL YOU WRITE FOR BETTER CALL SAUL???? IM ABSOLUTELY FOAMING AT THE MOUTH YOU ALWAYS KNOW WHAT'S UP IM DYING!!!! i would like to request something for Halloween with jimmy but idk what, something fluffy up to you! dealers choice! im so excited to see how you write him ♥️♥️

This is such a lovely request and I’ve made it so stupid @offbrand-slasher​ I’m so sorry I just feel like he’d be the type of guy to love dressing up to answer the door lmao ily!!

(I do not own Better Call Saul or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @santavenganza.)

🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃

‘Mwahahah, have a spooktacular Halloween! And don’t forget kids, to tell your lovely nanas and bobos where to come for some treats that don’t look like they’ve been shot out from a Chocolate Factory....’ 

Jimmy’s voice trails out as the kids recede down the outer apartment block stairs, shaking their pumpkin buckets in their hands to try and suss how many sweets they bagged this time; his smile finally drops as the last bit of mummy toilet paper disappears over the pavement, and he rubs his chin contemplatively as he turns  and shuts the door, once again, behind him. It takes him a moment to realise he’s managed to wipe off half of the gaudy cream ‘Dracula-esque’ makeup off his chin (as he had sardonically called it when he picked the half-price tube off the drug store shelf on your joint way back from the office that afternoon). When he sees it smeared across his fingers, he whines in exasperation and makes you chortle as he begins to try and wipe it off onto the bin bag looking cape he’s tied across his shoulders.

Pulling his fake teeth out, he points over to where you’re lounging on the couch, half-caught in a stretched yawn by his wagging pointer finger. ‘What, exactly, are you laughing at? I hope it’s not my stunning outfit - this thing cost me nearly twenty bucks, but I think it was worth it.’ He finishes his sad scan over his cheap nylon trousers and fake blood stained frilled shirt with a small smile and ostentatious flick back of his gelled hair. ‘At least it’s got great re-use value: I’ll be able to wear it into HHM next week and still look more sprightly than Howard does.’

You shake your head with as much indignation on Hamlin’s behalf as you can, but Jimmy still smiles and comes shimmying his shoulders towards you. Pressing the palm of your hand to your lips, you try to stop the snorting laugh from busting out as Jimmy drops the near empty candy bowl on the table and kneels down to start dumping freshly opened bags of hard sweets into its depths. Bless his heart, he looks so happy, so childlike and innocent again as he meticulously opens the plastic and grins at the way the sweets fall between his fingers. He’s humming gently to himself, an old country tune his father often used to listen to in the small store shop when Autumn time began to roll around the dusty grounds; when the two of them used to stay late after closing shop to huddle on overturned milk crates in the middle of the shop floor and choose a bag of sweets to share after the Halloween sales were over again for the year. Back in the days when Chuck used to roll up punctiliously after his extra evening classes and be glad to see Jimmy enjoying himself through the store window, sighing sweet relief as he perched down next to his brother and stayed there until the sun would begin to flood over the heads of the golden cornfields and blind his tired eyes.

He blinks back to himself, not realising he had been staring down at his hands for the past thirty seconds, when you gently kick your bare feet against the expanse of his back. He looks behind him, rising up to kneel between your knees and waiting, tenderly and expectantly and as if he had all the time in the world to just gaze and admire you, for you to speak. 

‘You know’, you start ‘it wasn’t even the outfit. It was the fact that they were literal nine year olds you were shouting elder law rhetoric at, Jimmy.’ You affectionately run your hand over his greased up hair, and appreciate the way his shoulders shiver as his head leans back to follow your touch.

‘Phhh’, he waves a hand, and quickly uses it to grab your retreating wrist and place it back on top of his head, like a lonely puppy just begging for someone to show him love. You run your finger down the shell of his ear, teasingly pulling at the lobe as he watches you with eyes wide enough to store all the burning love of the universe within, before snaking your hand into his shirt pocket and nicking one of the candy bars he had slotted in there to eat later. He bats his plastic cape behind him with a twisted frown, which soon falls into a pleading pout as he watches you unwrap and take a bite out of his caramel bar.

‘One: trust me, it’s never too early to get legal advice. They’ll be old people too one day! And trust me, Jimmy McGill will be a family brand for years to come - name up in lights kind of thing. Two: I think you’ll find... that was mine.’

‘Too bad, now it belongs to me.’

You take another bite and chew obnoxiously extravagantly, moaning after each swallow and pretending not to notice the way Jimmy’s eyes rove over your face with a flash of irk and clouding adamant awe. He comes scrambling towards you, crawling on his hands and knees until he’s levered himself up onto the sofa beside you. For a while, it’s peaceful: Jimmy lowers your head onto your shoulder, careful to turn his cheek so the makeup is just lingering above your skin. You wrap your arms tightly around his midriff and squeeze, and Jimmy snorts out a deep breath as he settles back to rest against your chest, the heavy weight in his chest flowing out of his body and bustling away to linger in the dark shadows that cut across the corners of the room, just slight out of the edge of his vision. He turns his head back towards the light: towards you, and tries to focus again on the double bill of horror movie that begins to roll to a close on the cable tv. 

Yet he can’t help himself. It takes less than ten minutes for his focus to wander, for his mind to claw its way back up to you, and the tilt of his head further up your neck soon follows. Like the soft moonlight dying away under the douse of the raging sun, he peers up at you from behind hooded, love struck eyes and just watches the flickers of black and white dance over your face. Without even batting an eye, you lower the half-eaten chocolate bar to his lips and shove it into his mouth so he can share a bite.

Your reverie is broken by the sharp sound of another trick or treater knocking fervently at the door.

‘Ooh, there’s the next lot to fall victim to my-’, he stops as he jumps out of your arms and spins round to face you, wiping the fake teeth back off the table and shoving them into his mouth. With an exaggerated comical baring of his teeth and raised eyebrows at you, he holds out his arms loosely in front of his chest and pretends to take small tip toe steps towards you. ‘The victims of my sharp wit and dashing legal pricing.’

‘You know, when you walk around like that you look more like a zombie than a vampire.’

He drops his arms, ignoring the sound of bustling, giggling footsteps marching around on the small veranda outside the door, and the constant ringing of the front bell. Scrambling towards you like a rat being bashed at with a brush, he launches: tickling your sides until you’re begging for him to stop.

‘You know, you’ve just lost your cuddling privileges for the night.’

#better call saul #jimmy mcgill #saul goodman #better call saul imagine #jimmy mcgill imagine #saul goodman imagine #jimmy mcgill x reader #saul goodman x reader #halloween #halloween imagine #bob odenkirk #breaking bad #breaking bad imagine #jimmy mcgill fluff #saul goodman fluff #bcs #bcs imagine #better call saul fluff

[lovesugars]

❝i’m not on the pill❞

summary— pretty please with cherries on top can you write a smut/fic for jimmy mcgill and a bratty younger girl 18+ obvs she’s a daughter of one of his clients possibly? and she pretends to be interested in being a lawyer to get closer to him and then they do the nasty and she tells him to cum in her and he does but after she tells him she’s not on birth control something along those lines? tbh i’ll take any kind of jimmy mcgill smut i’m desperate lol

parings— saul goodman x fem!reader

warnings— smut, +18, unprotected sex age gap, slightly bratty reader, office sex, and definitely not proofread whoops

"Your dad’s always telling me you want to be a lawyer.."

Saul pauses for a moment, "Is that true? Or did you just want an excuse to end up like this?"

Pressed up against his desk, ass up while he fucks you into next week is what he meant. He knew you too well to believe you only wanted an internship. He knew that you wanted to fuck him the minute your doe eyes landed on him. He knew once you strolled in alongside your father. You were the apple of your father's eye; his little princess.

If only he knew was his princess was doing right now.

"Of course I want to. Do you think I'm only here because I want to fuck you?"

Saul barks out a laugh at that. He's still pounding into you from behind, and now he's tightening his death grip around your hips. His cock stretched you out so good and you could barely even remember your own name. It felt so fucking good, you thought, you never wanted him to stop.

"See, I think that is the only reason you keep showing up. You're not overly subtle, sweetheart." He noticed whenever you would intentionally drop a pen, He noticed when you rolled up your skirt as you brought him his morning coffee. You wanted to fuck him since day one and he knew.

It was your turn to laugh now. “It's never been my specialty, but I don't think you mind. After all, you're the one fucking me." You mumbled into his desk, “At work, too. Don’t you have any restraint?”

“You’re so mouthy, Jesus, do you speak to your father like that?”

Actually, your father would kill you if you ever spoke to him like that. However, Saul loved it. He loved when you’d talk back to him.

“Don’t talk about him now!” you moaned, “You’re fucking me, not my dad.”

He smirked at that. “Such a brat.”

“Yes, but I’m your brat.”

You were. He wouldn’t put up with this from just anyone. You were lucky that he’d grown fond of you while working on your father’s case. You were lucky you looked so good under him.

“I don’t think i’m gonna last long,” he mumbled.

"Please Mr. Goodman, cum in me."

He groaned at that, "Wouldn't that be irresponsible of me?" He didn't really think impregnating the daughter of one of his most temperamental and unpredictable clients was a very smart idea. Especially not when she was only 19.

"Please, I don't care if it's irresponsible. I need you to cum in me." You weren’t at all phased by any potential consequences. Besides, you knew Mr. Goodman would always take care of you. He knew it too.

“Okay, Sweetheart. I’ll cum in you.” You practically begged him to do it; and how could he say no to you? You looked at him with such pretty eyes, he knew he was hooked.

He let out a string of expletives as well as your name as he came in you. You felt warmer with it inside of you. You didn’t want to let a single drop leak out of you.

“That was the best I’ve had in the longest time,” He sighed happily, “you’re awfully good at that.”

You stood up to kiss his cheek, “I know.” You said as you led him to his desk chair to sit down.

You gently started to massage his shoulders, easing any tension he might have post-sex. He mumbled a small “thank you”, and let his head fall against your hand. Once he was relaxed enough to almost fall asleep, you mumbled:

"Mr. Goodman? I'm not on the pill..."

#angelina’s love letters. #better call saul #jimmy mcgill x reader #saul goodman x reader #bob odenkirk #breaking bad #saul goodman

[reidscanehand]

The First Date

An Addendum to The Love Profile

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x BAUfem!Reader

Category: Fluff 

TW: anxiety from both, mentions of food, cursing...that’s it? 

I really thought I was done. I wrote the original series and then a requested additional chapter. And then a few more stories came into my mind. I might do a few more of these, if you’d like and want them, but this is the first one. And I’m sorry it’s taken so long, but work’s been insane. Plus, you know...life stuff. Anyway: Hope you like it; love you all xx 

~ “It’s dangerous to get calm.” - Bob Odenkirk ~

The moment you walk out of Dave’s office, it hits you: you’re going on a date with Aaron Hotchner. 

It’s something you’ve dreamed about, thought about for far longer than is appropriate, really. Imagining it before he even noticed you, you reckon. And now the most handsome man you’ve ever met, the single kindest man you’ve ever known, the strongest human being you’ll ever have the chance to encounter...is coming to your apartment for dinner. You practically faint at the thought. 

You shouldn’t be nervous. You’re fucking thrilled about this, but at the same time you know why you’re nervous. Because this isn’t just another date. This is you and Aaron. You’ve gotten through what should be the toughest part, really - telling each other how you feel. 

As though he can read your mind, the man of the hour damn near materializes next to you. And it doesn’t help that Aaron Hotchner looks handsome as hell in his work attire. Indeed the white shirt, gray suit, and black checked tie he’s wearing today make him look far too handsome for words. 

“Are you alright?” he whispers, an empty folder in his hands. You look curiously at the folder before meeting his eyes, realizing he brought it more as a prop than anything else in order to distract from the fact that he was checking up on you. The brilliant, handsome idiot. 

“Yes,” you breathe, trying really hard not to sound as stressed as you are. 

“Are you sure?” Aaron asks, his concern far too endearing. “You look flustered.”

“I was just...um...thinking about my plans for the evening,” you admit quietly, taking the folder from his hand and nodding surreptitiously. You flick your eyes to Aaron, only to meet his gaze as he stares down at you in a way that can only be described as adoring. 

“Isn’t that interesting?” he practically smirks.

“What is?” you swallow, trying not to look as flustered as you feel.

“I was also just thinking about my evening plans,” Aaron whispers.

“Ah,” you manage to say around your nerves.

“Yes,” Aaron nods. “I have evening plans I’m kind of...excited about.”

“Yeah?” you question, your heart rate picking back up.

“Mm-hmm,” he grins. “And I know you do too, right? Because if you’re ever not...excited about this-”

“That’s not the issue at all, Aaron,” you cut him off vehemently, but quietly. 

“But you admit there’s an issue,” he rebuttles. You meet his eyes again, regretting it the second you meet his rather piercing gaze. 

“Of course not,” you assure him, your eyes dropping again. “I’m just...nervous.”

The admittance releases a bit of the anxiety, allowing you to exhale a heavy sigh. Aaron reaches over and takes the prop folder out of your hands in order to get you to meet his eyes again.

“You know there’s nothing to be nervous about, right?” 

You swallow, but look at him steadfastly, “I know...it’s just...” 

You trail off, but he seems to get the message. He fixes you with the kindest eyes you’ve ever seen.

“You know,” Aaron whispers, flexing his hands to keep from taking hold of yours, “if it’s any help... I think this is the most excited I’ve ever been.”

“Really?” you laugh, trying not to cry. 

He beams down at you, “Really.”

~~~

The moment he’s standing in front of your apartment door, it hits Aaron: he’s going on a date with you.

It’s something he’s dreamed about, thought about for far longer than is appropriate, really. Imagining it before you even noticed him, he reckons. And now the most beautiful woman he’s ever met, the single kindest woman he’s ever known, the strongest human being he’ll ever have the chance to encounter...has invited him over for dinner. And despite his reassurances to you earlier this afternoon, he could faint at the thought. He hasn’t been on a date in ages, and surely never one that felt as important as this one. 

As though you can read his mind, the door to your apartment opens and you beam up at him. And it doesn’t help that you look absolutely stunning. Indeed, the simple black jumpsuit you’re wearing is only enhanced by the precious blue checked apron you’re wearing, you’re hair falling rather charmingly from it’s claw clip. 

“I thought I heard you,” you giggle. You step forward, but seem to lose your nerve. Aaron steps forward, meeting your eyes and staring down at you. 

“Hi,” he whispers, before timidly leaning in, relieved that you meet his lips for a gentle kiss. He wraps his arms around you, deepening it as you relax into him. 

And it’s in that moment that Aaron can practically feel the earth shift beneath his feet - but not in a terrifying way. It’s as though his world is finally clicking into place. You pull away and look up at him with a curious expression.

“That felt...right,” you breathe, as though scared to say it too loudly. 

“Yeah,” Aaron agrees softly, wrapping his arms tighter around you. 

“I’m starting to believe that everything feels right with you,” you smile, staring up at him so genuinely it causes his heart to flutter. 

“Really?” he asks, his own lips turning up in a matching grin. 

Your smile only deepens as you tip onto your toes, aiming for his lips again, “Really.”

The two of you kiss for only a moment longer before Aaron pulls away, all nerves forgotten, “So, dinner smells wonderful.”

“Oh!” you giggle, having forgotten the dinner altogether. “Yes, it should be done by now. Shall we?”

Aaron presses a quick kiss to your temple before allowing you to pull him inside, responding only with a delighted, “We shall, my love.” 

~ The sky is perfectly blue, the clouds are perfect too, and here I am with you. What could be more right? - Carl Johnson ~

~~~

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#aaron hotchner #hotch #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x you #hotch x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #hotch x y/n #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #hotch x fem!reader #aaron hotchner fluff #hotch fluff #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fluff #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #the love profile