kiyosweb - Tumblr blog

kiyosweb · 12 days ago

Text

★ — After Hours

ᴄᴜᴘɪᴅꜱ ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛꜱ!

ᴄᴀꜰᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴋᴇʀ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ x ꜰɪʀᴇꜰɪɢʜᴛᴇʀ!ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ | 3ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ

TAGS : Size Difference, Age gap, semi-public sex, oral (r!reciving), fingering, on the counter

A/N : starts crying

SUMMARY : You’re a shy barista. She’s a bold firefighter who keeps coming back—just for you. One night, she shows up after close… and takes exactly what she wants.

The bell above the café door jingled—low and lazy—right as you were wiping down the counter for the third time that hour, trying to stay awake during your afternoon shift. You barely looked up at first. The place had been dead all day.

Then boots. Heavy ones. A shadow cut across the floor, long and slow like it had nowhere else to be.

You glanced up—and choked.

She stood tall in the doorway, tugging off thick gloves and tucking them into her belt. A black fire department T-shirt clung to her broad chest, streaked faintly with soot. Her cargo pants hung low on her hips, stained and dusty, and her sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, showing arms that had definitely done some damage.

"Afternoon," she said, voice low and smooth as smoke. Her eyes scanned the chalkboard menu, then dropped down to meet yours. "You the barista?"

You nodded too fast. “Y-Yeah. I mean—yes. That’s me. Hi. Hello.”

Her mouth twitched, one brow arching. “Cute.”

You wanted to die. Instead, you scrambled behind the espresso machine, praying the hiss of steam would cover how loudly your heart was trying to beat out of your chest.

She stepped up to the counter, pulling out her wallet. “Got anything strong enough to make a night shift suck less?”

“Um—yes, yeah. Our espresso blend is really strong. Like, double-roasted strong. Bold. It’s bold.”

She tilted her head slightly. “Bold, huh?”

You nodded. Your hand shook a little when you grabbed the cup. You prayed she wouldn’t notice.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?”

You blinked. “M-Me?”

That earned you a soft laugh. “You see another flustered barista hiding back there?”

You told her. She repeated it under her breath, like she was committing it to memory.

“Pretty name,” she murmured, sliding a twenty across the counter. “Keep the change.”

Your eyes widened. “That’s—that’s like a fifteen-dollar tip.”

She shrugged one shoulder, already walking toward the door. “Consider it a donation to the poor, broke college kid fund.”

And just like that, she was gone. Left you standing there red-faced, gripping the cup she never even touched.

You were sure you looked like a complete idiot—fumbling your words, face hot, apron twisted.

There was no way she'd come back.

Right?

The next afternoon, the café was a little busier—enough to keep your hands moving but not enough to drown out your thoughts. You were still cringing over yesterday. Every awkward stammer. The way your face had burned like you’d been cooked alive. You were halfway convinced she only tipped you out of pity.

You were wiping down the espresso machine when the bell jingled again.

You didn’t even look up this time. Not until someone leaned an elbow on the counter and said, smoothly—

“Bold, double-roasted, huh?”

Your heart skipped.

You turned—and there she was again. Same black T-shirt. Different pair of pants, same low hang on her hips. Her arms were even dirtier this time, smudged like she’d been in a crawlspace or a burning basement. She looked like sin in combat boots. And she was smirking.

You immediately forgot how to speak.

“I—um… hi.” You tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, then immediately dropped your hand, thinking it looked weird. “You came back.”

Her gaze dragged down your body and back up again, lazy and obvious. “Yeah. I got a craving.”

Your stomach flipped. You turned to start her drink without asking what she wanted, because god, of course you remembered.

She watched the whole time. Didn’t scroll on her phone. Didn’t look around. Just… leaned on her elbow and stared, like it amused her to see how red your ears were getting.

“Long shift today?” she asked, as you poured the espresso shot.

You nodded, biting your lip. “Till six.”

“Must be brutal.” She folded her arms, flexing just enough to make the fabric of her shirt strain. “Poor thing. Still working through school?”

You froze mid-syrup pump. Slowly nodded.

“Still broke?”

You flushed. “...Yeah.”

She pulled out her wallet again. You tried to wave her off—“You don’t have to, seriously—”

“Relax.” She slid a five across the counter. “Just buying the view.”

You made a sound that could only be described as a dying noise.

She chuckled, deep in her chest. “God, you’re cute when you blush.”

You nearly dropped the milk pitcher.

She took her drink, sipped it slowly, then held your eyes for just a second longer than necessary.

“Same time tomorrow,” she said. “Don’t let anyone else take my order.”

And she was gone again.

You stood there stunned, breath caught in your chest, pulse fluttering behind your ears.

This time… you hoped she came back.

It became a pattern.

Every afternoon, like clockwork, that damn bell jingled—and there she was.

Sevika.

Always a little dirtier than the day before. Always smelling faintly of smoke, sweat, and whatever soap they used at the station. Always leaning on the counter like she owned the place. Like she was there for something more than caffeine.

And maybe she was.

Because she never ordered anything different. Never asked your coworkers for help. Never looked at anyone else.

Just you.

“You gonna remember my drink today, or should I start quizzing you?” she teased on day three, when your hands fumbled the cup lids and one fell to the floor with a clatter.

You bent to grab it, cheeks blazing. “I—I remember. I’ve got it.”

“Good girl.”

Your stomach flipped. Your knees almost buckled. You didn’t know if she meant to say it like that, but from the slow curl of her grin, you were pretty sure she absolutely did.

You gave her her coffee without meeting her eyes. She handed you a ten.

“I’m supposed to tip the service, right?” she said, voice low. “And you’ve been very… attentive.”

You looked up at her through your lashes, trying not to visibly combust. “You’re such a menace.”

“And you’re such a mess when I walk in,” she murmured, leaning just a little closer. “It’s adorable.”

You swallowed.

The café was quiet. No one else in line. Her eyes dragged down to your lips and lingered for a beat too long.

“I’ve got tomorrow off,” she said casually, taking a slow sip. “Thinking I might stop by after close. When it’s just you.”

Your breath hitched. “Wh-why?”

She licked her lips. “Thought I’d ask what else that mouth can do.”

Your heart stopped.

Then she winked—and walked out the door.

You stared after her for a solid minute, trying not to melt straight into the floor.

The café lights were half-dimmed, the floor already mopped, and you were elbow-deep in wiping down the counter when the bell over the door jingled.

You didn’t even glance up at first. “Sorry, we’re clo—”

Then you saw the boots.

And the ash.

And the dark, sweat-clung curve of muscle under a black T-shirt.

Sevika stood there in the doorway, hair damp and wild, soot streaking her jaw, her arms, her neck. Her fireproof pants sat low on her hips, suspenders hanging loose at her sides, and her shirt—God, her shirt—was nearly see-through in the places where it clung.

You straightened so fast you nearly dropped your rag.

“Y-You’re—uh, you’re back,” you stammered, pushing your hair behind your ears with both hands. “But we’re—I mean, we’re almost—closed. I haven’t locked up yet, but—”

“Yeah?” Her voice was lower than usual. Rougher. She stepped inside, letting the door swing shut behind her. “Guess I got lucky then.”

You blinked at her, stunned. “Were you… on a call?”

“Kitchen fire. Dumbass left oil on the stove. No one hurt.” She walked toward the counter slowly, eyes dragging across your frame like it was the most interesting thing in the room. “Thought I’d stop by before hitting the showers.”

You swallowed hard.

“I—I didn’t think you were serious. About coming after close.”

She tilted her head, her smirk lazy and knowing. “Why? You hoping I’d forget?”

“No! I mean. Not—not forget. Just. I don’t know.” You looked down at the counter like it could save you. “I figured you were just messing with me.”

Sevika leaned her arms on the counter, close enough that you could smell the smoke still clinging to her skin. “I don’t come back to places for jokes, sweetheart.”

You looked up at her—and the heat in her gaze nearly knocked the air out of your lungs.

“I like watching you squirm,” she added, almost sweet. “That shy little act you pull. The way you bite your lip when you’re nervous.”

“I do not—”

“You do.” Her voice dipped, soft and amused. “You’re doing it right now.”

You clamped your mouth shut, biting your lip on instinct.

She laughed.

“I mean,” you mumbled, reaching for the rag again even though the counter was already spotless, “you really know how to mess with people.”

“I only mess with people I want to touch.”

You froze.

Her eyes locked with yours. The air in the café was suddenly too warm. Too tight. Her voice dropped again, low and close:

“You gonna lock that door, baby? Or should I do it for you?”

Your heart pounded like it was trying to climb out of your chest.

Sevika just stood there, staring at you—so casual, like she hadn’t just set the air on fire with one sentence. Her forearms flexed as she leaned on the counter, ash smudged along her jaw, her lips, the curve of her throat. She looked like heat made flesh. Wild and wrecked and too goddamn beautiful to be real.

You swallowed hard. “I should… lock the door.”

“Yeah,” she said, watching your every move. “You should.”

Your legs felt like jelly as you walked to the front, turning the deadbolt with trembling fingers. You flipped the sign to CLOSED and turned back slowly.

Sevika was already around the counter.

Inside your space.

You froze, hand still on the doorknob.

She moved closer, slow and heavy-footed, like a storm rolling in. “You looked real cute with your hands all busy on that counter.”

You laughed nervously, backing up until the register bumped against your hip. “That’s because I’m a very professional cleaner.”

“Oh yeah?” She stopped inches in front of you. “Bet you’re real good with your hands, huh?”

You bit your lip—and immediately regretted it, because the second her eyes dropped to your mouth, something in her shifted.

She stepped into your space, boxing you in, one palm planting firm beside your waist on the counter, the other brushing your wrist so lightly you could barely feel it.

But you did feel it. Every nerve lit up.

“Gonna let me find out?” she asked, voice rough.

You couldn’t even think. “I—I don’t usually—”

“Yeah, I figured.” Her lips twitched. “That’s why I’m asking.”

Your breath hitched.

You could smell the heat on her skin. Her sweat. The hint of smoke curling off her shirt. Her eyes never left your face, watching for the tiniest flinch. The smallest opening.

“I want to touch you,” she said, almost softly. “Tell me I can.”

You nodded before your brain could catch up. “Yes.”

Her hand slid up your side, slow and reverent, fingers dragging over the fabric of your uniform shirt, brushing just under the hem until her palm met bare skin. You gasped—quiet and sharp.

She leaned in, mouth grazing your jaw.

“Didn’t think you’d let me,” she murmured, lips ghosting toward your ear.

“I didn’t think you’d actually come back,” you whispered.

She chuckled, low and warm against your skin. “Yeah. You’re fuckin’ adorable.”

Then her mouth was on yours.

It wasn’t soft. It was hungry. Like she’d been waiting—like she’d wanted this since that first awkward stammer out of your mouth. Her hands grabbed your hips and pulled you forward, up onto your toes. You moaned into her, gripping the front of her shirt, fingers sliding across ash and sweat and heat.

She backed you into the counter behind you, lifting you up with both hands until your ass hit the surface, your knees parting instinctively.

Her mouth moved from your lips to your neck, biting just hard enough to leave heat blooming under your skin. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

You shook your head, dazed. “Don’t.”

She grinned against your throat. “Good girl.”

Her hands were already under your shirt. Up your thighs. Her touch was rough but deliberate—like she wasn’t here to play. Like she wanted to wreck you.

And God, you wanted to be wrecked.

Her hands gripped your thighs—firm, calloused, warm—fingertips digging into the soft skin just beneath your shorts as she pulled you forward on the counter. Your legs parted around her automatically, wrapping loosely at her waist as her body slotted between them, solid and hot and unbearably close.

“You gonna be a mess for me already?” she murmured against your neck, her voice a low rumble that made your pulse stutter. “Didn’t even touch you properly yet.”

You whimpered as she kissed up your throat, slow and biting, her teeth dragging over your skin before her tongue soothed it. Her hands slid under the hem of your shorts, fingers dragging over your inner thighs—up, up, up—until her thumb brushed right where you were pulsing through your underwear.

You jolted. “S-Sevika—”

She hummed, deep and pleased. “Fuck. You’re already wet.”

You nodded helplessly, breath catching in your throat. “I—I’ve been thinking about you all week—”

That made her groan, full and low in her chest. “Say that again.”

“I think about you,” you whispered. “Every day. Every time you come in.”

She pulled back just far enough to look you in the eye, one hand still resting between your thighs, fingers pressing the damp fabric closer against you. Her smirk was all heat and hunger.

“You touch yourself thinking about me?”

You flushed hard, nodding.

Sevika growled.

“Then I’m not being gentle.”

And she wasn’t.

She tugged your underwear to the side, her fingers slipping straight through your slick folds with zero resistance. You cried out—sharp and breathy—as she pressed her middle finger inside, slow but steady, dragging it out just to thrust it back again, harder.

“Goddamn,” she muttered, eyes locked on your face as you gasped. “So fucking tight. Bet no one’s ever had you like this.”

Your head fell back, fingers clutching the edge of the counter. “N-No one—like this—”

That made her grin wickedly. “Good.”

She added a second finger, stretching you just right, her palm pressing against your clit with every curl of her hand. You bucked into her touch, moaning loudly—thankful the café was empty, the lights low, the door locked.

Your shirt was bunched up now, your back arched, thighs trembling as she fucked you on the counter like she’d earned it. Like this was inevitable.

“Look at you,” she said, voice rough with want. “Sweet little barista getting fingered where she serves coffee. What would your manager say?”

You whined, too far gone to answer.

She leaned in close, her lips brushing your ear. “You gonna cum for me right here, baby?”

“Y-Yeah—please—”

“Then do it. Let me feel it.”

Her thumb finally pressed tight against your clit, circling hard and fast, and your body snapped. The orgasm hit so hard your whole body tensed, legs locking around her waist as your back arched and your moan punched out of your throat.

“Thaaat’s it,” she whispered, watching your face the whole time. “Fuckin’ beautiful.”

You sagged back onto the counter, shaking, panting, legs still wrapped around her.

She didn’t move—just watched you come down, her hands stroking your thighs gently now, slower.

“I’m gonna be late to work every damn day,” she said finally, voice low and satisfied.

You let out a breathless laugh. “You better leave a tip.”

She grinned, pressing a kiss to your knee. “Sweetheart, you are the tip.”

You were still catching your breath, legs loose around her waist, your heart stuttering from the aftershocks when Sevika leaned in again.

She kissed the corner of your mouth—slow, almost tender—before dragging her lips down your neck, over the sweat-slick curve of your throat. Her hands never stopped moving, rough palms sliding up your trembling thighs, across your stomach, under your shirt.

“You think I’m done with you?” she murmured against your collarbone.

You whimpered. “I—I didn’t think—”

“Didn’t think you’d be such a desperate little thing either.” Her hands squeezed your hips, pulling you forward again on the counter. “But here you are. Still soaking. Still mine.”

She lifted your shirt up over your head and tossed it aside, leaving you bare except for the panties already stretched out of place. Her eyes dragged over your chest like she was trying to memorize every inch of you.

“You're so fucking pretty,” she said roughly, cupping your tits in both hands. Her thumbs brushed over your nipples, slow and firm, and you gasped, hips jerking forward on instinct. “Bet you don’t even know how pretty.”

You flushed hot, trying to look away, but she grabbed your chin and forced your eyes back to hers.

“No hiding.” Her thumb dragged across your bottom lip. “Not when I’m about to make you come again.”

Before you could answer, she dropped to her knees.

You barely had time to process it—her shoulders pressing between your thighs, hands gripping your hips like handles—before her mouth was on you.

Heat. Tongue. Pressure.

You nearly screamed.

She licked you like she was starving, slow drags from your entrance to your clit, teasing at first, then suddenly firm—perfectly firm—her tongue flicking over you just right until you were clawing at the counter and moaning her name.

“S-Sevika—f-fuck—oh my God—”

She groaned into you, the sound vibrating through your whole body. One hand slid up to grab your breast, squeezing, tweaking your nipple as she sucked hard on your clit. The dual sensation made your body jerk, your head drop back as another wave hit you, harder than the first.

You came with a cry, thighs squeezing around her head, your body arching into her mouth like you needed it. Like breathing.

She didn’t stop until you were twitching, panting, too sensitive to take any more.

Only then did she rise—slow and smug—her mouth shining with you, her chest rising and falling like she’d just pulled someone from a burning building.

You looked dazed. Boneless. Ruined.

She smirked and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Bet you make a mean cappuccino, sweetheart,” she murmured, voice wrecked, “but this?”

She leaned in, her forehead pressing against yours.

“This is my new favorite afternoon routine.”