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lobster-tales · 1 year

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Beat the Daylight

Sequel to Face the Noise, an Arcane Rock Band AU

Rating: M

Chapter 13: The Pub Part 3

Summary: Progress Day celebrates their victory in The Lanes || Lux and Jinx have their own celebration in Zaun

CW: Alcohol

This work is available here on AO3. Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12

True to his word, Vander had shooed away his regular clientele, hanging the rarely if ever used ‘Private Party’ sign on the wooden front door. The tables and chairs were stacked neatly, except for a few by the bar where their growing family could all fit. The TVs were off, though apparently the entire pub had been watching the contest rounds: when Progress Day won, they had all cheered and stomped their feet, making such a noise that Vander was afraid they’d break something.

Vi, Caitlyn, and Ekko were the first to arrive. Vander embraced them all, leaving Vi for last and holding her the longest. “I’m so proud of you,” he rumbled. “So proud.”

“Thanks, Dad.” When Vi pulled back, her eyes were damp.

“Where’s the rest of the band?” Vander asked. “I was looking forward to congratulating your lead guitarist. Quite the pipes on her.”

Vi exchanged glances with Caitlyn. “She uh… had something else to do tonight.”

Caitlyn added, “We’ll be sure to pass along your praise though.”

“And Jayce is on his way,” Ekko said, reading his phone messages. “I um… I also invited Zeri?” He gave Vander a hopeful look. “Is that okay?”

“Zeri? Ohh, from the opening band. Sure, I don’t see why not.”

They heard clanging sounds from the kitchen. Benzo, Vander explained, doing the dishes. Then he poured everyone a drink while they waited, asking questions about their band practices and methods.

The door opened, and in walked Senator Mel Medarda, with Jayce in tow.

As soon as they entered, Benzo’s voice resounded off the walls. “There she is!”

Ekko winced at the sound. “Dad, don’t-”

But he was powerless to stop Benzo as he barrelled towards Mel, sweeping her into an enormous hug.

The rest of the room held their breath as the senator was swung around. They were all shocked that Benzo would do such a thing, but even more shocked when Mel laughed. A real, genuine laugh, the way a child laughs when greeted by an overenthusiastic relative.

“Let go!” she giggled. “Set me down, you great thing.”

Caitlyn could tell from the polite wince on Mel’s face that Benzo already reeked of alcohol. He kept a large hand on her shoulders. “Come, let’s get you a drink.”

“Senator Mel Medarda.” Vander’s words were more of a muse than a greeting. “In the flesh. What can I get for you?”

“Ah, this must be the great Vander,” Mel said, ignoring his question. “I’ve heard much about you.”

“All bad, I hope.” He eyed her as she approached the bar. “Let me see… I know.” He moved to retrieve it. Though Vander was an extremely talented musician, his greatest skill was the ability to identify anyone’s favorite kind of drink just by looking at them. Tonight seemed to be no exception when he pulled out a mid-tier bottle of gin, holding it up to display for her.

Mel grinned. “Well done.”

He started pouring a drink for her, adding tonic water. “Welcome to The Last Drop, Senator.”

“Thank you.” She accepted the glass gracefully and toasted him. “And congratulations on the success of your daughters.” The air stilled. Mel immediately recognized her misstep, and said, “Th-that is-”

“It’s alright.” Vander raised his own glass. “Thank you. I’m very proud of them both.”

Clink. Ekko took a seat beside Mel at the bar. “Did you watch us?” he asked, eager.

“Of course, I always watch.” She put an affectionate hand on his shoulder. “Congratulations, Boy Savior.”

Jayce went to sit in the seat beside Mel, but Benzo beat him to it. He lingered at the edge of the group, and Caitlyn joined him there.

“Good job, Talis,” Caitlyn said wryly. “Didn’t think you could pull it off.”

He smiled and shook his head at her pestering. “Please, it was easy. I could drum in my sleep.”

“Well, maybe you should. You might be better at it.”

“Hey!” he laughed, jabbing her with an elbow.

The door opened again, and this time, Zeri entered. Her oversized coat nearly swallowed her, her sharp eyes darting around the room. Ekko contained his excitement, but barely, as he swaggered up to her, hands in his pockets, and gave a casual, “Sup. Glad you could make it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Zeri said with a smirk.

Ekko breezed through introductions: Caitlyn and Jayce just gave a simple greeting and wave as Ekko nearly dragged her to the bar to meet the rest of the group. Soon, they were all lost in conversation, swapping band stories, while Caitlyn and Jayce chose to remain on the outside.

“I um,” Caitlyn wasn’t sure where to start. She hadn’t checked in with him for so long. “I meant to ask, how are you doing?”

His expression turned quizzical. “Uh… fine?”

She could tell, though, up close. She knew him for far too long to not know when he was putting on airs. But it hurt to see how good he was at it now, how long he’d been wearing that mask. And the fact that he would try wearing it around her. Of course, she didn’t want him to dissolve into tears tonight, not when he was supposed to be celebrating.

“We should catch up,” Caitlyn said, though it was more of a command than a suggestion. “Get coffee.”

“Sure.” Ekko passed Jayce’s drink to him from the bar: an old fashioned, per usual. Jayce sipped at it, smiling to himself. “You know, I’ve been to a couple different bars in Piltover. Viktor even took me to one or two on the outskirts of Zaun. But Vander’s old fashioneds are the best ones by far.”

Caitlyn was more of a wine drinker herself, but she understood the sentiment. At hearing Viktor’s name, she cocked an eyebrow. “Have you… spoken to him? Viktor?”

Jayce’s broad shoulders drooped, just ever so slightly. “Not really. I send him funny pictures sometimes, but he doesn’t really respond. Not that he ever responded before, but…” He lowered his voice. “You’ve spoken to him, right? For the investigation?”

The rest of the family was too engrossed in storytelling to overhear, so Caitlyn felt comfortable enough to say, “Yes. There’s been a few roadblocks, though. The band takes up a lot of his time.”

“Is he… okay? Like, is he happy?”

The mask had slipped, if not fallen off entirely. He was like a puppy with those big, brown eyes. Caitlyn felt a twinge of guilt on Mel’s behalf: she knew firsthand how emotional Jayce could be during a break up. Especially since she had been there for every other one.

She answered, “He is. He asked about you.” Technically, that was true, even if Viktor only ever asked once. Of course, he was much more offhand, and only offered a cool “Hmm. Good.” when Caitlyn told him. Though she had never been able to guess Viktor’s inner feelings. Jayce’s externality was so much easier to analyze.

He nodded, reassured, though the sadness was still there. Caitlyn decided that when they got coffee, she would walk him to the playground, let him open up there. But for now…

“Buck up, Talis,” she said with a wink. “You’re having fun tonight, whether you like it or not. Come on.” Caitlyn led him to the rest of the group, where Benzo was pointing at Vander.

“You know,” said Benzo. “Vander’s the one who taught them all.”

“That’s right,” Mel said. “I’ve heard you’re quite the musician, Vander.”

Zeri asked, “Really? Will you play for us?”

Vi and Ekko both gasped, then started pleading. “Yeah!”

He took some serious convincing, but eventually gave in. They relocated the party to the basement, where Vander removed his bass from storage. Jayce and Ekko made quick work of setting up Benzo’s drum set and the keyboard, piecing everything together while Vi tuned the electric guitar. Zeri, Mel, and Caitlyn took their seats at a nearby table, Jayce joining them once the band was ready.

Vander and Benzo definitely needed a few songs to warm up, but once they started going, they couldn’t stop. Vander’s voice was slightly hoarse from age, but he still hit all the high notes. They played classic rock, songs that most if not all of them knew.

Every now and then, Benzo would hand off the sticks to Jayce, or Vi and Vander would switch instruments. Even Zeri sang a few songs, hopped behind the keys with Ekko. They asked Caitlyn and Mel over and over again to sing on the mic, but neither wanted to, both self aware and secure enough to recognize their lack of skill.

Between songs, Vi sipped from her whiskey neat. Which is how she ended up much drunker than the rest of them, and eventually staggered to the mic and said, a little too loudly, “I wanna sing one!”

Vander nodded to Ekko, who got her a glass of water. “Which one, Vi?”

She drank deeply, then whispered it to the rest of the band. They exchanged sly grins as Vi returned to the mic, her attention directed at Caitlyn. “This song… is for my girl.”

The rest of the table giggled at the dramatics of it. Zeri was sitting in her chair backwards, straddling the seat. Jayce and Mel began the night sitting apart, but had slowly gravitated closer together. Now, Mel’s legs were resting across his lap, his hand on her thigh.

Vi shouted into the mic, “1, 2, 3, 4!”

Can't count the years on one hand That we've been together

Caitlyn, amused, called out over the noise, “You very much can.”

Vi kept going. Throughout the verse, she started sauntering towards Caitlyn.

I need the other one to hold you Make you feel, make you feel better It's not a walk in the park To love each other But when our fingers interlock Can't deny, can't deny you're worth it

Now Vi was standing right in front of her. She placed her fingers delicately under Caitlyn’s chin, voice sweet.

'Cause after all this time, I'm still into you

Caitlyn leaned up to kiss her, but Vi pulled away at the last second, smirking. She sang the chorus, jumping in time to the beat as Ekko sang backup vocals.

I should be over all the butterflies But I'm into you And baby even on our worst nights I'm into you Let 'em wonder how we got this far 'Cause I don't really need to wonder at all Yeah, after all this time, I'm still into you

When they finished the second chorus, Vi got close to Caitlyn again, swaying forward with each line of the bridge.

Well, some things just, some things just make sense And one of those is you and I Well, some things just, some things just make sense And even after all this time

Vi straddled her on the chair, pressing their foreheads together.

I'm into you Baby, not a day goes by

Her volume started raising, and Caitlyn’s grin morphed into a wince as Vi sang passionately to her face,

That I'm not into you

On the last chorus, Vi leapt on top of the table, dancing as she finished out the song. Her thick boots scraped against the wood. Mel and Jayce leaned back, nervous, but Zeri whooped and cheered her on, pulling out her wallet and tossing crumpled dollar bills on the table. Benzo and Ekko laughed, but Vander was clearly concerned. As the last notes faded out, Caitlyn stood and held out her hand to guide Vi to the floor.

But instead, Vi threw her arms around Caitlyn and practically fell on top of her, kissing her as she did so. Caitlyn barely kept her balance, laughing against Vi’s mouth. She tasted of salt and whisky, her face slick with sweat. And Caitlyn wouldn’t have her any other way.

“Alright then,” Vander called, and they broke apart. “Vi, I think you should sit this next one out.”

And she did, with the caveat that Caitlyn sit on her lap. While Vi sobered up, the rest of them kept drinking, and eventually, Vander announced the last song. “Gotta get this old man to bed,” he added, nodding at Benzo.

“Who you calling old man?” Benzo slurred, pretending to throw a drumstick at Vander.

Zeri grabbed Mel and Caitlyn, insisting they sing the last one together despite their protests.

“Really, Zeri,” Mel said. “I’m quite tone deaf, I assure you.”

“I don’t care!” Zeri sang the words. “We’re all singing.” She whispered the song title to Vander, who grinned. He plucked out the opening notes, practicing a few times before he nodded at Benzo.

As soon as Vander played the opening hook, they all leapt to their feet, crowding around the microphone.

Coming out of my cage And I've been doing just fine Gotta gotta be down Because I want it all It started out with a kiss How did it end up like this? It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss

Mel was, in fact, tone deaf, Caitlyn had her usual tinniness, and Jayce was less than impressive, but their voices were joined in by the others. Ekko harmonized as Vi and Zeri took the lead, and as the chorus began, they all began to jump and dance in time with the music.

Jealousy, turning saints into the sea Swimming through sick lullabies Choking on your alibis But it's just the price I pay Destiny is calling me Open up my eager eyes 'Cause I'm Mr. Brightside

Soon, the microphone was abandoned, all of them spreading around the makeshift stage as they sang the next verse and chorus. Jayce twirled Mel around to the beat, Vi’s hands locked on Caitlyn’s waist. Even Zeri and Ekko held hands as they danced together. And when the bridge came, they all screamed out the final words to the song.

I never I never I never! I never!

As the song faded out, Vi put her hands under Caitlyn’s thighs and lifted her up. Caitlyn wrapped her legs around her waist and kissed her again. The way she kissed her their first time, here in this very basement. Everything else faded out, the cheers of the group, their embraces. All that existed was Vi, her silver eyes, warmer than Caitlyn had seen them in years.

As she was lowered to the floor, Caitlyn took a moment to step back, really take it all in. They were all so happy. Wonderfully, deliriously happy.

She wished the entire band was here. She hoped that Ezreal and Lux were at least okay, regardless of how the evening played out. And maybe it was her talks with Viktor, maybe it was her proximity to this family.

But she really, truly hoped that Jinx was happy.

☆ ☆ ☆

That poor chauffeur. But after the first three clubs, Jinx was starting to get too tipsy to feel bad. At least Silco would pay him well, especially for taking care of his star by driving her around for hours. Or maybe Jinx would push it to days. Maybe the night would never end, and Lux would belong to her forever.

And what a belonging she was. What a bright, beautiful creature to have on her arm. Jinx never used to socialize at the clubs, much less with other celebrities, but she couldn’t resist showing her off. And Lux acclimated well: extremely well. She connected with everyone, asked questions, told stories. And just when people were getting too close to her, just when they began to show a real, intentioned interest, Jinx pulled her away. And Lux let her, gladly. Because Lux was hers tonight.

Jinx kept a hand on her at all times. Her waist, her hand, her shoulder. She claimed every inch that she could, fingers trailing down the shimmery fabric. On Jinx, the dress came down to just above her knee, and had always been too bright and attention-grabbing for her taste. But on Lux, the dress stopped neatly on her upper thigh, barely concealing everything. She did wear a pair of Jinx’s boy shorts underneath, though, since it made her more comfortable. Completed by the white fishnets that laced themselves up Lux’s long legs, the entire outfit made Jinx’s mouth water.

She kept herself under control, though. At each club, she spaced it out: take a shot, socialize, get a drink, dance. The dancing was the best part. And that’s when Jinx would almost lose control.

Jinx had always been graceful, her body moving like water. At first, Lux was stiff, awkward on the dancefloor. After a few drinks, after a few sloppy makeout sessions in the alley, she started figuring it out. She even studied the other dancers, copied the girls who pressed their asses against their partner’s hips.

And that’s what really drove Jinx wild. That’s what caused Jinx to drag her to the bathroom, to shove her up against the wall of the stall, not even bothering to lock the door as she kissed her roughly.

Lux matched her energy, tugging at Jinx’s own dress, pulling off her pinstripe blazer.

Jinx’s hands were everywhere: her back, her arms, her hips, her thighs. Her lips seized the skin around Lux’s neck, sucking each sensitive spot and leaving a mark. She palmed Lux’s chest, and Lux gasped softly. Her fingers went beneath the pad of her strapless bra, pressing against and around her nipples.

Out of the corner of her eye, Jinx saw the stall door slowly swing open towards them. She didn’t let up, just kept kissing Lux while her boot slammed against the plastic, holding it shut. She thought she saw a sparkly gasp and a flash of pink hair, but maybe she imagined it.

Lux started at the sound, and it seemed to rattle her back to reality. “W-wait, Jinx-”

Jinx didn’t want to stop. She knew she had to, but allowed herself one more smatter of small kisses before she pulled back, panting. “What?”

“We-we shouldn’t do this.”

A chill ran down Jinx’s spine. No, no. Was she having second thoughts? “We shouldn’t… do what?”

“Oh, I mean, we can do this,” Lux said, realizing how it may have sounded. “Trust me, I definitely want to do this, I just don’t want to do this… here.” She nodded towards the toilet, the names and swear words scrawled on the walls.

Yeah, it was definitely a less than sexy location. “Hotel?” she asked in a breath.

Lux nodded, stealing another kiss before they left.

They managed to control themselves in the car, though Jinx sat as close as possible, hand on her thigh.

When they entered Jinx’s bedroom, Lux shook out her hair, stretching. “Man, that was fun. I’ve never gone out dancing before. Such good exercise.” She surveyed the room, the wide windows overlooking Zaun, the large bed, the light spilling from the bathroom. The hotel’s housekeepers had been surprised at Jinx’s growing level of cleanliness over the last few weeks, compared to her usual mess. Nowadays, they actually dared to step foot in the room and tidy up, which Jinx had never been so grateful for. “Can I use your shower?” Lux asked. “I’m stinky.”

Jinx came up behind her and pressed her lips to a newly bloomed hickey on Lux’s shoulder. “What if I like the way you stink?”

“You know, you could join me.”

Jinx hadn’t bathed with anyone since she was a child. The idea seemed… vulnerable. Really fucking vulnerable. Way more vulnerable than just sex. At least if they were intertwined, Jinx could hide the ugly parts of her body, the parts she didn’t want her to see.

But as soon as Lux saw the big tub in Jinx’s bathroom, her mind was set on it. “Okay, nevermind. We’re taking a bath.”

Oh. This was worse. So much worse.

Lux undressed, grinning at Jinx as she slowly pulled the dress over her shoulders. She was still a little drunk: not sloppy, just tipsy. Jinx admired the clean lines of Lux’s back. She was so used to seeing tattoos.

“Come on,” Lux said, kicking off her heels. She took Jinx’s arm and guided her to the tub. “How do you turn it on?”

They figured it out together, and soon the water rose and steam filled the room. Jinx’s fingers toyed unsurely with her own clothes. Why was she so nervous?

Lux noticed her hesitation: she still wore her own undergarments, having just removed the white fishnets. “Do you want help?”

Jinx’s instinct was to bite, protect herself. “I don’t need help.”

But Lux was unfazed, just went to her, ran her hands down Jinx’s dress. “Mmm I think you do. Here.” She gently lifted the fabric, distracting Jinx with a kiss as she did so. She was careful to work around Jinx’s braids as she removed the dress, letting it pool on the floor. Then Lux focused on Jinx’s black fishnets, rolling the tights down her thighs. She trailed kisses down her skin as more of it was revealed. Soon, she was kneeling at Jinx’s feet, freeing them one at a time from the nylon.

Lux paused there, on her knees, as she came face to face with Jinx’s underwear. A blush spread across her cheeks, and Jinx thought it may have been because her boy shorts were covered in raccoons and had the words ‘trash panda’ all over them: she probably should have changed beforehand.

But Lux stood, slowly, and muttered, “S-sorry, I’ve never… Not with a… girl.”

Oh. Ohhhhh. “So that’s why you want to take a bath,” Jinx chuckled, entwining her fingers in Lux’s silky hair. “Wanna familiarize yourself with the territory first.”

Lux grinned shyly. “Yeah, survey the landscape.”

“Gotcha.” They kissed again, and this time, Jinx’s hands went to Lux’s bra. She unhooked it without looking, letting it fall to the floor. Lux shivered against the air, but Jinx covered her with warm hands. Her panties were soon to follow, and then Lux was naked. Fully naked. In Jinx’s bathroom.

Life was fucking amazing.

Jinx was so distracted by the sight of Lux’s body that she didn’t even realize she was also naked until the trash panda shorts flew across the room. Their hands wandered over each other’s bodies, exploring, until Lux murmured, “I think the bath is ready.”

As they submerged, facing each other, Jinx wondered why she had never thought to use the tub before. Showers just seemed more convenient. Not to mention dealing with her braids. Which were now drifting in the water. And now one was in Lux’s hands, and she was undoing it.

Knowing how monumental of a task it was, Jinx helped by undoing the other braid. Soon, her loose blue hair floated around them. Lux said, “Damn. You got a lot of hair.”

“Yeah.”

“Like, a LOT of hair.”

Jinx chuckled, “Yeah.”

They exchanged a few more kisses, hands searching for each other under the water. Lux pulled away and reached for a bar of soap and a loofah. “Here, turn around.”

Jinx obeyed. She managed to get most of her hair over one shoulder so Lux had room to scrub. The suds felt sinfully good against her skin. Lux said, “I love your tattoos.”

“Thanks.”

“Why clouds?”

To be honest, Jinx had never really thought about it before. Something about explosions, maybe. But she didn’t have a solid explanation, so she just shrugged. “You ever thought about getting tattoos, Starlight?”

“Mmm maybe. My mom hates the idea though.”

“What would you get? If you want them.”

The loofah disappeared as Lux considered. “Maybe stars. Or music notes. Or animals.”

“You could match your guitar.”

Lux giggled. “I could.” Then her hands were on Jinx’s shoulders, gentle but firm. Lux’s fingertips were calloused from years of guitar playing. Her thumbs pressed against the knot of muscle at the base of Jinx’s neck. They both gasped: Jinx in a pained pleasure, and Lux in surprise. “You’re so tense, Jinx.”

“I got a lot on my- ah. Mind.”

“Yeah… Can I ask you something?” She kept massaging Jinx’s shoulders as she spoke. It felt so good: Jinx wasn’t in a state to deny her anything.

“Sure.”

“What happened to your head?”

Fuck. In all the rapture, Jinx completely forgot about the wound on her temple. She was surprised Lux didn’t ask earlier: maybe she didn’t want to embarrass her. Maybe she was waiting for the right moment, when Jinx was totally and completely at her mercy. Like she was now.

When Jinx didn’t answer right away, Lux followed up with, “I-I mean, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I didn’t remember you having it at the show.”

Jinx sighed. And she told her the entire story, how Finn lashed out, attacked both her and Viktor.

“He attacked you?” Lux asked, incredulous. “That’s awful. Are you going to press charges?” Jinx’s laugh echoed off the tile floor. It was enough of an answer for Lux, who then moved her hands from Jinx’s shoulders to her neck. “Are you okay?”

It was such an all encompassing question. There was no right answer. But Jinx reached back and kissed Lux’s knuckles, murmuring, “I’m better now.”

Lux’s fingers disappeared briefly, and when they came back, they were cold with shampoo. She massaged the soap into Jinx’s scalp. The sensation was heavenly.

They didn’t speak for a long moment, Jinx too lost in the pleasure to say anything coherent. No one had ever touched her like this, never put this amount of tenderness into her.

There were always thoughts skittering around Jinx’s mind. Even in her moments of greatest peace, they were still there, whispering. But now, her mind was empty. There was no more room for thought, only for feeling. And she felt incredible.

When Lux finished with the conditioner, she pulled back, lowering Jinx’s head back into her lap to wash out the product. Jinx gazed up at her from the water’s surface: she couldn’t stop smiling. She heard the gurgle of water, and realized Lux had unplugged the drain. “I didn’t take care of you, though,” Jinx protested.

“That’s alright,” Lux said, kissing her on the forehead. “You’ll get me next time.”

But Lux wasn’t done. She and Jinx toweled off, threw on matching black robes (provided by the hotel: both had a gold, embroidered eye on the back), then Lux sat her down at the tall, rarely used vanity, and combed out Jinx’s hair. Silco had specially ordered a chair tall enough so that Jinx’s braids were just above the floor, though she realized her hair must have grown since then, because now her locks rested solidly on the ground.

The combing was its own euphoria. Jinx had always just torn through her hair, not patient enough to deal with it. That was part of the appeal of braids: they were easy, and manageable. But Lux worked through every knot, every tangle.

When it was clear her hair was going to be a much larger and longer task, Lux started to sing. Softly, barely above a whisper.

Close your eyes and sleep Ignore all the burdens that you keep Come whatever may They could never harm you anyway

She vocalized in between the verses. The song was haunting and beautiful, the bathroom acoustics elevating the sound. Jinx closed her eyes, pretended she was a sailor and Lux was the siren pulling her in.

Waking from the dream Witnessing the smoke that's rolling in The end is what you fear The scent of embers lingers in the air

Lux finished with one braid, kissing Jinx’s non-wounded temple as she moved to start the next.

It's like a web There is no escape from It’s got you trapped And you long for freedom Every wish, every dream was granted Never knowing what they demanded

Lux stopped singing. Jinx sent her a questioning glance.

“S-sorry,” Lux said, sheepish. “I… forgot how intense that song gets.”

“I like it.”

Encouraged, Lux began to sing again. As the song came to a close, she finished the other braid.

Take your time but not too long Make it worth the time you own You woke a fire inside of me Fanned the flame and made it breathe You woke a fire inside of me Inside of me Inside of me...

Jinx stood and embraced Lux, holding her probably a little too tight. She wanted to thank her, truly and properly thank her for the amount of care she had shown her. Jinx had never felt so clean, so safe, so warm in her entire life. But words would fail. She could go on for hours and never fully express her gratitude.

So instead, she took Lux’s hands, kissing her calloused fingers. She felt a little guilty for roughing her up in the bathroom stall, now, especially after Lux had been so delicate and measured with her. “You know, we don’t… have to go all the way tonight.”

“No, I want to.” Lux rested her arms on Jinx’s shoulders, pressing the tips of their noses together. “I- I don’t know if we’ll get another one, so we should make it count.”

The words stung, even if they were true. Tomorrow was the last thing on Jinx’s mind, and she wanted it to stay that way. So she guided Lux to the massive bed, laying her down among the pillows, which now seemed like a ridiculous amount. To be fair, Jinx had rarely, if ever shared it with anyone.

In fact, the only affairs she had were quick, sloppy, usually fueled by a high. Jinx figured out quickly that those who ended up in her bed didn’t want to stay there. Mostly because she was a celebrity, and they just wanted the clout. Though, she did wonder if the myriad of bruises and bites she left all over them had something to do with it.

But with Lux, this wasn’t about that immediate satisfaction. They weren’t just having sex, they were… making love. Any other time, with any other person, Jinx would have been disgusted with the idea. But there was no other way to describe it.

She was gentle with Lux, since this was her first time. Sure, she sank in her teeth every now and then, unable to totally resist. But her fingers were light, working at her center. Lux let out the most delicious moans, at first shy about being heard, but forgetting all about it when she came the first time.

Lux trembled beneath Jinx’s touch, arching her back as she rode it out. There was not a drug on earth that was so immediately addicting to Jinx, as making Lux orgasm. And she hit that high again and again and again. Whether it was her hands or tongue that broke Lux open over and over, Jinx’s eyes were always glued to her face. The twist of her expression, the flush in her cheeks, her hands and legs shaking.

When Lux recovered each time, she would push against Jinx’s shoulders, insisting it was her turn to please her, but Jinx just held her down. She would hiss into Lux’s ear, fingernails scraping against Lux’s pinned wrists. “You’re mine tonight, Starlight. And I am going to make you cum as many times as I want.”

On orgasm…8? 9? Whatever. On one of her orgasms, Jinx was more intense, fingers working at a faster pace, teeth locked on Lux’s neck so that Lux’s gasps had a direct line into Jinx’s eager ear. Lux’s composure had been unwinding more and more with each climax, her words losing coherency and decency. The sounds that escaped from her now were a string of expletives.

“F-fuck, that feels- Ah! Damn, that feels so fucking good, Powder-”

Jinx jerked back, as if she had just been electrocuted. Lux, still breathless with pleasure, sat upright, horrified at herself. “Oh my god. Oh my god, I-I’m so sorry, Jinx, it was an accident, it just slipped out, I didn’t mean-”

She kept just saying words while Jinx processed it. She wasn’t… offended, just surprised. Sometimes, she forgot that Lux knew about that part of her life.

“It’s okay,” Jinx said, interrupting Lux’s strung out apology. “Really.” She crawled on top of her, trailing kisses down her neck. “It’s okay,” she murmured again, regaining her momentum.

This time when Lux wanted to switch, Jinx let her. If Lux hadn’t told her she had never been with a girl before, Jinx would never have believed it. Lux had her writhing with need in mere seconds, applying just the right amount of pressure. She liked dragging it out, delaying Jinx’s pleasure, seeing just how much begging she could elicit. Lux’s hands and tongue were precise and intentional. Jinx was a whimpering mess by the time she came.

After a few more rounds, the day's events began to wear on the two, and they ended up cuddling, entwined beneath the covers. Lux rested her head on Jinx’s shoulder, fingers tracing the cloud tattoos.

“Do you…” Jinx asked. “Do you want to call me that?”

“What?”

“Powder.”

Lux pulled back, trying to read her face. “Um… am I allowed to?”

Jinx shrugged. “Sure. As long as it’s just us, though.”

“... Okay.” Lux grinned, brushing her lips over Jinx’s skin. “Powder. Powder. I like that name more. Not-not that there’s anything wrong with ‘Jinx’, I mean that’s definitely a better stage name. But Powder is more normal, more… Well, not that ‘normal’ is better-”

She giggled: how could she not? “You’re good, Starlight, I know what you mean.”

A few moments passed. Jinx wondered what time it was. She couldn’t see daylight yet: maybe 4 AM? 5?

“Powder?” Lux asked. “Do you think… you’d ever go home?”

That was the million dollar question. Jinx answered as truthfully as she could. “I don’t know.”

“... They really miss you. And I’m not saying that to make you feel guilty or anything, because, you know, you’re an adult and your choices are valid and all that. But they miss you. I can tell they miss you, because when they talk about you… Well, obviously they didn’t talk about you until after I found out. And it took a while, but eventually Vi and Ekko opened up more.

“And then on girl’s night, when they were both pretty drunk, they told us all kinds of stories. Stories about growing up together, how you and Vi used to pretend you were monsters when you were really little. Ekko told us about all the graffiti you guys would do around town, though Caitlyn covered her ears during that part because she didn’t want to be an accomplice,” Lux giggled before continuing. “And they talked about the band you had, The Firelights. I actually listened to some of your songs the next day. I knew you were a drummer, but I didn’t realize how good you were.”

Jinx scoffed out a chuckle. “Way better than Talis.”

“Way better,” Lux agreed. And then she stopped. The room sounded so empty without the hum of her voice. “Why… Why haven’t you gone home?”

She knew the answer to that one. “Just like you said: they miss me. Except, they don’t miss ‘me’, they miss Powder. They want Powder back, just the way she was. But I’ve changed, Lux. I changed a lot. And if Jinx came home instead of Powder… I don’t know. I don’t know how they’d take it.”

Outside the window, Zaun’s neon lights thrummed. They could hear cars going by every now and then, the distant pulse of music.

Lux finally murmured, “I think… I’m gonna sleep.”

“Me too.” They snuggled in closer together. “Goodnight, Lux.”

Even as she said the words, she drifted off. “Goodnight… Powder…”

Lux was out. She was soon to follow.

And Powder slept.

#lightcannon #fluff #jinx #lux #vicait #soft smut #battle of the bands au #rock band au #my fic #arcane #face the noise #beat the daylight #this is my second favorite chapter

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imagineabuttercream · 2 years

Text

Nightmares (Josh Pieters x Reader)

Stumbling out of your room, you found the source of the noise that had woken you up. "Josh?" you asked, wiping the sleep from your eyes.

"Sorry. Did I wake you up?" he asked, standing by the door. He had his keys in his hand and he was fully dressed. That would have been normal except it was 4 in the morning.

"I heard a banging. What's going on? Are you okay?" you asked, still half asleep.

"I'm okay. Just heading to Caspar's. Gotta get an early start today." he answered, opening the door.

"Oh." you replied, a bit confused. "Okay. Just be safe." you turned to go back to your room. "Text me when you get there?" you added, catching him before he closed the door.

Smiling at you, Josh nodded his head and left.

You had been living with the boys for a little over a year and you couldn't have asked for better roomies. Everyone was really laid back, there were always people in the flat laughing and having fun, and since you could cook, the boys took care of most of the chores. You definitely had a thing for your tallest roommate, but you had decided to keep it to yourself. Best not to ruin a great thing.

Over the next few months, you had heard Josh slipping out of the house at weird hours more than a few times. You assumed he was hiding a girlfriend, but after it came out in a video that Josh would sneak to Caspar's when he had a nightmare, you started to wonder if that's what you were catching him doing.

One night when all of the boys were over, you decided to talk to Caspar about it. "Anyone need anything from the kitchen?" you asked the group after Caspar had gone in there to make another drink.

Making your way to the kitchen with a few drink orders, you walked up to Caspar. "Casp?"

"Holy shit! Y/n, you scared me." Caspar laughed.

"Sorry." you giggled, helping him clean up the tonic water he had just spilled. "I have a question, but I didn't want everyone hearing." you continued, starting on the drinks.

"Shoot, buddy." Caspar said, leaning back on the counter and sipping his drink.

"Have you and Josh been filming really early in the morning?" you asked, not getting an answer. Caspar looked like he was thinking about his answer, tilting his head to the side and biting his lip. "Or is he really having nightmares?" you continued.

Caspar nodded, taking another sip of his drink. "He doesn't get them all the time, but he's had quite a few, lately." Caspar sighed, making sure no one was coming into the kitchen. "He doesn't like being alone when he has a nightmare, so he comes and tries to go back to sleep at mine."

"Why doesn't he just tell one of us?" you asked, sad that someone you'd gotten so close to was suffering in silence.

"He's probably embarrassed. Especially to tell you. He feels like he's supposed to be the big, strong man of the house" Caspar replied.

"Having nightmares doesn't make you weak." you frowned.

"Maybe you should ask him about them." Caspar said, walking up to put his arms around you. "I know he cares about you, a lot. He might open up."

It had been a few weeks since you had last caught Josh sneaking out, but at about 4:30 in the morning you could hear him moving around and then the jingle of keys. Walking into the living room, you saw him sitting on the couch, ready to leave, staring at his phone. "Come on, Caspar." he mumbled, waiting for Caspar to text him back, not knowing you were in the room.

"Hey." you said, letting him know you were there. "You okay?"

"I'm good." He smiled up at you. "Just heading over to work on stuff at Caspar's." Walking over to the couch, you sat down and leaned your head against his shoulder. "What are you doing?" he laughed, putting an arm around you.

You didn't answer him. Instead, you grabbed the remote and put a movie on. Pulling the blanket off of the back of the couch, you threw it over the both of you and snuggled back into Josh. He didn't ask anymore questions, but you saw him text "Never mind" to Caspar. He kicked his shoes off and stretched out on the couch, wrapping his arms around you. The both of you fell asleep less than a half hour into the movie. Josh didn't bring it up later. You didn't want to make him feel uncomfortable, so you didn't bring it up either.

The next time you caught him after a nightmare, he was just pacing in the living room. "Wanna talk?" you asked, walking into the room .

"About what?" he replied, rubbing his sleeves over his eyes.

"About the fact that you aren't getting any sleep?" you said. "And I know you aren't going to Caspar's. He's on tour."

Josh stood there and hung his head. His eyes were puffy like he'd been crying. "I don't want to talk about it." he replied. "I'm sorry I woke you up."

"That's alright, love. You don't have to talk." you said, walking up to him and pulling him into a hug. "Come on." you said, grabbing his hand.

"What are you doing?" Josh asked.

"We're going to bed." you replied.

"I'm just being stupid, y/n. I can go back to my own room." Josh argued.

"I'm not going to get any sleep knowing that you can't sleep." you replied, crawling into your bed.

"I'm sorry." He apologized again, climbing under the covers.

Sensing how uncomfortable Josh was, you made sure there was space between the two of you on the bed, but he wasn't falling back asleep like he did on the couch. "Josh?" you said, about a half hour into the silence.

"Yeah?" he replied, looking over at you, sniffing.

You reached over and wiped his cheeks clear of tears. "Come here, sweetheart." you lifted the blanket and opened your arms.

Josh immediately snuggled into your chest, wrapping his arms around you. "I'm sorry." he repeated his words from earlier.

"Josh, please stop apologizing. You didn't do anything wrong." You slowly ran your hand in circles up and down Josh's back, feeling his breathing start to even out. Eventually you heard his little quiet snores.

You didn't actually go back to sleep that night. Instead, you laid there holding your friend. Whenever Josh would start to talk or fidget in his sleep, you'd run your fingers through his hair, calming him back to a peaceful sleep.

"Good morning." you smiled down at a very confused Josh. It was still pretty early for any of you to roll out of bed. "How'd you sleep?"

After looking around, Josh remembered why he wasn't sleeping in his bed. "Better than I have in a while." he said, a small embarrassed smile on his face as he started to untangle his legs from yours.

"I'm glad." you replied. "You don't have to leave."

Josh looked up at you and nodded, laying his head back down against your chest. After a moment, Josh blurted out "I've been having nightmares."

"I know, love." you replied, running your fingers through his hair. "You don't have to talk about them, but know that I'm here if you want to."

You felt Josh nod against your chest. "Last night..." Josh started, clearing his throat. "Last night I had a dream that uh...someone called me for help but I couldn't find them." He continued. You could feel his arms tighten against you as he told you about his nightmare. "And I just kept hearing them begging me to help, but I couldn't find you and I started panicking and when I woke up I couldn't breath..." Josh started talking faster, letting it slip that his dream was about you.

"Hey, calm down." You wrapped your arms around him and held him tight to you. "I'm fine, love. I'm here, safe with you. You don't need to worry."

Josh didn't reply. He scooted up, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. When you felt Josh's lips press a kiss to your skin, you let out a small gasp. Josh slipped his arms under you and rolled the two of you over so that you were laying across his chest. "Lets go back to sleep." he said, leaning down to kiss the top of your head, pulling the blanket to lay over the two of you.

Surprisingly, you hadn't heard Josh waking up in the middle of the night for the last few weeks. One night, you could have sworn you heard your door open and close. Creeping into the hall, you walked straight to Josh's room. "Josh?" you whispered into his dark room.

"I knew I was going to wake you up." He said, standing up and walking to you.

"Everything okay?" you asked, feeling him pull you to his chest.

"I was just checking on you." Josh replied. "Just a bad dream."

"You should have come in, love." you said, feeling around for his hand to pull him back to your room.

Instead of following you, Josh pulled you back to his bed, sitting down. "Stay?" he asked. Pulling you to stand between his legs, he wrapped his arms around your middle. "Please?"

"Of course." you replied, ducking down to press a kiss to his forehead.

The two of you never talked about the fact that you slept in the same bed more often than not. You never asked him about the kiss. The two of you had fallen into an innocent routine, but everyone else assumed the two of you were dating. You avoided talking about it because you didn't want to lie and say that you didn't have feelings for Josh. In fact, your feelings had only grown since you first caught him sneaking over to Caspar's.

One night that you had opted to just go to sleep together in your bed, you woke up to Josh talking in his sleep. "No. Please. Where are you?" It was obvious he was having a nightmare so you tried to wake him up.

"Josh. JOSH!" You rolled over and shook his shoulder, startling him awake. "You're having a bad dream. It's not real."

"Y/n?" Josh sounded surprised, putting his hands on either side of your face. You went to answer him, but you were interrupted by his lips crashing against yours. Josh pulled away, looking up at you. "I'm sorry. I just..." Josh started apologizing.

You shook your head and met his lips with yours, again. Josh sat up, pulling you to straddle his lap and hiding his face in your neck. "Why are you having this nightmare, love?" you asked, holding Josh tight to you.

Pulling his face back to look at you, Josh took a deep breath and tried to explain. "Every time we go out I see all of these guys that I don't know and don't trust talking to you and dancing with you. I'm scared you're going to go home with someone and I won't be there to keep you safe."

"Sweetheart." you said, pulling him back to you. "You're going to make yourself sick worrying. I'm never going to go home with someone else."

"You will eventually." Josh replied, his voice sad.

"Josh, I've actually been caught up on the same guy for about a year." You confessed. "I'm not going to go home with someone. I promise." Josh scooted you to the bed and went to leave. "Where are you going?"

"I wouldn't want to get in the way." Josh said with a bit of snark.

"What are you talking about?" you asked, standing up to follow him.

"I should sleep fine knowing you've got someone else to keep you safe." he said, closing your own door in your face. You heard him close his door.

*Well, no better time than the present* You said to yourself, slipping out of your room and walking to Josh's. "Josh?" you said, knocking.

"Go to sleep, y/n." Josh replied.

Taking a deep breath, you opened his door. "Josh, can we.." you started.

"I'm an idiot. I should have known you'd find someone else." Josh interrupted you, sitting up on the edge of his bed.

"You're not an idiot, love." You said, walking towards him.

"I always fall for people that don't fall for me." He replied, his head hanging between his shoulders. "Just go to bed. I don't want your pity."

Lifting his chin, you pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. "I don't pity you." you said, lowing yourself down to sit in his lap. "And I didn't fall for someone else." you continued, wrapping your arms around his neck and running your tongue over his bottom lip, trying to deepen the kiss.

Josh hesitantly placed his hands on your sides, parting his lips and allowing your tongue access. When you finally pulled back, you rested your forehead against Josh's.

"I guess I am an idiot." Josh laughed, pulling you to lay back on the bed with him.

"How so?" you asked, laying against Josh.

"I just should have talked to you about it a long time ago." He replied, pressing a kiss to your lips.

" I could say the same." you smiled against Josh's lips.

"at this rate, we're never going to get back to sleep." Josh chuckled.

"I can think of a few things to pass the time." you replied, pulling Josh's lips to yours.

#josh pieters #josh pieters x reader #josh pieters imagine #josh pieters fic #the buttercream gang

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blackberrywars · 2 years

Note

The Behemoth

Alrightttttt hi my dear my darling!! The Behemoth is just the new title for the version of Berry Content I edit on, and since you've already read it, I'll just paste the most angst-filled section, because it is, in my opinion, some of my best writing.

Lambert is having a the definition of a terrible time.

TW: abortion, domestic abuse, PTSD flashback.

Stone bricks press against her back, but all she feels are the cracked, mud-caked walls of the small house she’d spent her first nine years in. She can hear her father slamming the door on his way out of their home and how it always rattled the wooden frame, hears the creak of his ax being yanked from the stump he leaves it in, hears his boots crushing fallen leaves all the way to the forest. Watches the way Mama’s shoulders release. They wait another few minutes more, just in case he forgets something and circles back. Then, Ma falls to her knees. She reaches below the bed and pulls out a ceramic jug, breaking the seal —the alcohol inside burns Lambert’s nose from across the room. It’s her father’s, they both know it well. But Mama drinks and drinks and drinks until she nearly vomits onto the floor, forehead pressed against the packed dirt and hand clamped over her mouth, forcing back the liquor.

“Ma… Mama, why?”

She gets no reply, not until her mother levers herself up off the floor, bracing herself against the bed and heaves her body onto it. Mama laughs, the sound cracking apart as soon as it leaves her lips.

“I hope you never have to know.”

“Ma-”

“No. I won’t —not today. Go to the woods, fetch me some scotch broom and wormwood. We’ve enough pennyroyal here.”

Mama clasps her hands under her chest, almost clinging to herself for comfort, when it occurs to Lambert, suddenly, how small she is. How thin her arms are. How her eyes sink into her skull. How the bruises littered across her pale skin last a month when they should last a week. How her clothes hang off her body everywhere… except her stomach. A little bump, harder against her touch than a belly should be, when Lambert crawls onto the bed and tries to hug her mama. She’s swollen. Like the other omegas and women sometimes are, in the square, before the announcement goes out: a baby. Lambert presses in tighter, one hand on the swell. Mama sighs.

“You’re too smart for your own good, little lamb of mine. But maybe it’ll save you.”

“You don’t want it?”

“No. Not how I am and not with him.”

And Lambert understands. Knows that another person in the house would bring only pain —less food, less space, another target for her father to beat. Knows it would hurt Mama, to have it. Knows she could die, and the baby could die, and then she’d be alone. Alone with her father, and nothing could be worse than that —she crushes the wish for a sibling right then and there. Scotch broom, wormwood, and pennyroyal. If it’s a medicine, she doesn’t know it, or else Ma’s never made it when she’s with her, or sold it at all. But if she needs it, Lambert will get it for her.

“Okay, Mama.”

Walking to the forest with a small pair of shears, she avoids the distant sound of her father’s ax, thudding off on the other side of the hill. The wormwood doesn’t take long to find. Ma keeps a few healthy patches of it close to the house for their pain, and to jar for when she can sell salves and tonics of it in the village. Every copper she makes goes into a small pouch, hidden in the dirt of their small garden. Hope, Ma calls it. All their hope in a roughspun sack that fits in her palm, stained with earth and stitched up where the worms dig through it in the springs. Lambert takes several extra sprigs, just in case. Market day’s around the corner, and Mama might want to make more for anyone who buys it. ‘Every copper counts,’ she says.

Scotch broom has pretty yellow flowers and it’s taller than she is, but it still takes her longer to find it. Every rock on the ground hurts her feet through the thin soles of her shoes, but she keeps walking until she sees a flash of yellow. After tripping over a root, she clips a few sprigs of that too. Should she take more? Ma hasn’t sold it at any other market, but if it fixes this…… someone else must need it too. Another Ma, with another baby she won’t have. With a few more snips, she makes a bundle of it, with some twine in her pocket, and walks back to where she knows the house is.

Inside, Mama’s completely asleep on the bed. Arms limp, one hanging over the side. Head lolling back, flat on the bed without so much as a pillow to cushion her from it. Lambert shakes her to no response, and something awful rises in her throat, choking her. She never wakes her father when he’s gone like this. In a fit of desperation, she pinches down on her mother’s inner thigh, where she knows there’s a dark bruise in the shape of her father’s hand. The pain wakes her, makes her flinch, but she sinks back into the straw mattress.

“No, Mama, wake up. I have what you asked for, right here, but it’s almost noon.”

“Mmm, good jobb, girl.”

“Ma, he’ll be here in an hour.”

That makes her mother jolt again, but instead of settling back, she throws herself up to sit on the bed. But instead of getting up, she lurches forward, and Lambert catches her by the shoulders, helping her sit back again, pushing a few pillows under her back to prop her up. The smell on her breath makes her feel sick.

“What do I do?”

“A tea. Tea, boil the water and put the herbs in. He…… he hass a lunch, made it forr him before he left.”

Lambert struggles to lift their heavy copper pot full of water, but she manages to snag the handle onto the hook. After far too long, the water reaches a weak simmer over their fire, but she doesn’t know how to stoke it hotter, and she doesn’t dare touch the poker, lying still on the floor. It has to be enough. She dips a wooden mug into the water and leaves the fresh herbs to sit with the pennyroyal until it’s a bitter, ugly yellow, and hands it over. Mama sips once and grimaces, mouth twisting downward before she gulps the rest down fast. She lurches forward again, clamping a hand over her mouth again, and Lambert watches her throat move around the tea, swallowing it again. Mama clutches at her stomach.

“Hahh. Godss, I’m sorry, little lamb.”

“It’s okay, Mama. It’s okay.

“S’ not.”

And it isn’t. It isn’t, not then, when she’d followed slurred instructions to make them dinner because her mother was too drunk to stand, body shaking with cramps. Lambert spent the next three days washing bloody cloths from between her mother’s legs, even though the stains never came out. She kept the house up, taking over every morning to cook and clean when her mother couldn’t hold the act any longer. When she collapsed from the pain. Clutching her abdomen, crying into the dirt floor. They never made it to market day, and their coin pouch got lighter, just a bit, when Lambert dug it out to buy the bread she couldn’t make. She sobbed into the dirt as loud as she dared with her father inside the house, pretending to pick the weeds in their little garden, planting tears with the seeds.

#berry's games #berry's fics #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #lambert

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scuttling · 3 years

Text

If I Should Linger

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 6,979 (what is wrong with me??) Tags: 18+, NSFW, Best Friend's Dad Hotch, Confident reader, Flirting, Oral sex, Protected sex, Dirty talk, A little angst with a happy ending Summary: Your best friend stands you up at the bar, but it actually turns into the best night you've had in a long time—maybe the best night of your life. Unfortunately, things don't stay uncomplicated for long... *Requested by @hotforhotchner11 Link to A03 or read below! “I can’t believe you stood me up to have sex with a frat boy,” you hiss into your phone from your seat at the bar. Your best friend Julie—better known as Jay—is on the other end, and she’s completely ruining your plans for the evening at later than the last minute. She’s never on time for anything.

“He’s not a frat boy… yet. He’s rushing.” You pick up your gin and tonic to take a sip, but her comment makes you pause.

“He’s rushing? How old is he?” The breath she blows out before she answers tells you everything you need to know. Goddamn cradle robber.

“Twenty? Or, almost twenty.”

“Oh, you nasty girl. He’s nearly ten years younger than us.” At 28, you literally could not imagine being interested in a 20 year old. Anyone under 25 is practically an infant; what would you talk about?

“The pussy wants what it wants, babe. It’s more fun when they barely know what they’re doing.” Then again, you figure, she isn’t exactly doing much talking.

“That’s gross, Jay.”

“Is it any grosser than your thing for older guys? You’d fuck my dad if I let you anywhere near him, which is exactly why I don’t.”

“I would not fuck your dad—actually, what does he look like?” She groans down the line and you laugh. “I’m kidding. I’m trying to fuck someone’s dad tonight, but not yours.” You hear a choked laugh from beside you and you glance over at, objectively, one of the most attractive men you’ve ever seen: he’s Black, bald, muscular, with a neatly trimmed goatee and a killer smile, and apparently your thirst for older men amuses him. You smile back. “Jay, I have to go; I’m embarrassing myself in public.”

“Okay, and what else is new? Bye!” When she hangs up, you lock your phone and turn to face the man at the bar.

“Sorry about that. Sometimes I forget people are actually listening in places like these; there’s so much talking it’s all kind of white noise to me.”

“It’s kind of my job to listen to what no one else does, but I forget to turn it off sometimes,” he says, and no, that’s not intriguing or anything. “So you’re into older guys?” he asks with a raised eyebrow, and you lean in with your chin in your hand, elbow on the bar.

“Almost exclusively. You don’t look old enough to be someone’s dad, but I’d probably make an exception.” He laughs again; he doesn’t have a drink, so maybe he’s waiting for the bartender, but you sip yours.

“I’m flattered, but taken. I have a friend who’s probably your type; he doesn’t do one night stands, though. He doesn’t really do anything. We’re trying to loosen him up.” You hum thoughtfully, take a cursory glance around the room.

“I happen to be great at loosening older men up. Is he here?” He shoots you a smile, looks at you like you kind of amaze him.

“You don’t beat around the bush, do you?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Would you, if you weren’t taken?” He nods a little, like you’ve got a good point, and you both laugh. “Yeah, it’s a double standard. If you can walk up to a woman and ask her if it hurt when she fell from heaven, why can’t I walk up to an older man and ask if he believes in love at first sight, or if I should walk by again?”

“That tired line would not work on my friend,” he says, and you grin.

“I think you’d be surprised. But, you know him better, so why don’t you just invite me back to your table, since I got stood up by my friend and I’m all alone, and let me do my thing?” You swirl your straw in your drink, try to look flirty, and he leans in on his elbow like you did before.

“You know what? What the hell. If nothing else, he gets some attention from a pretty girl and maybe it boosts his confidence.” You smile—you like this guy already.

“Aw, you think I’m pretty?” He rolls his eyes, and then the bartender presents him with his drinks. You take two—one is a neat bourbon, that has to belong to the older man friend—and follow him to his table while he just shakes his head.

“Looks like you brought back more than drinks,” a pale woman with dark hair and bangs says with a smile when the two of you approach the table. He hands her one of the beers, takes the cocktail from your hand and gives it to a petite blonde with fair skin.

“Her friend bailed on her and we got talking at the bar, so I invited her to come sit with us.” You introduce yourself to the group, and the friend Derek mentioned might be your type? Egregious understatement.

He’s everything you like in an older man: polite, well-spoken, handsome, clean shaven, with a great head of thick, dark hair—he’s wearing an expensive watch, a goddamn suit, a tailored suit that fits him perfectly, and if Jay were here, you’d be catching her attention and panting like a dog, with your hands up near your face.

To someone without your more refined palate for older gentlemen, he may look like an average white guy in his early fifties, but you have to look down to make sure your panties haven’t dropped involuntarily. Just in case.

“Is this seat taken?” you ask, gesturing to the one next to him, and he shakes his head, pulls it out for you before he sits back down—yes, he stood when you approached the table. Manners, check. You’re trying not to drool.

You smooth out your skirt before you take your seat—you always dress for the man you want to attract, and tonight is no exception, so you’re wearing a black lace dress and nude heels; the dress is fitted, but not clingy, and not too short, and you know the right kind of man will find it appealing. So far, your handsome potential love interest Aaron seems to be looking respectfully; that may change, but you’re happy to see it, for now.

“So Derek mentioned you’re all in the FBI; are you the boss? You look like the boss,” you say with a playful smile, and Aaron looks a little nervous when he nods, makes eye contact.

“Until someone decides to overthrow me,” he jokes, deadpan, and your smile gets brighter. Dry sense of humor, check.

“I’d like to see them try; I definitely sense that you can handle your own.” Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Derek hiding a smile behind his hand. He knows you’re flirting, even if no one else does, and another reason you hope to take Aaron home is so you can wipe that smile off his face—but mostly because Aaron’s gorgeous, and you know it would be a very good time for the both of you.

“Let’s play darts,” Derek says to the other people at the table—you can’t remember their names at the moment, all your attention focused on Aaron—and they get up and walk over to the board, so it’s just the two of you.

Aaron clears his throat. “Thank you. What do you do for work?”

“I’m in publishing; a copy editor. Mostly Tom Clancy type action novels, and romance novels. Lots of heaving bosoms and cries of overwhelming pleasure, you know?” You take a sip of your drink through the straw, looking over at him as innocently as you can. He’s a little flushed; you’re a huge fan of that look on a man. “Do you ever read romance novels?”

“Uh, no. Not my genre.” He takes a sip of his drink, and you watch his mouth while he does.

“Not mine either. When you edit enough of them, they become wholly unsexy… and they never compare to real life.” You flick your eyes over his body, briefly but not subtly, and he gives you a glance back. Your heart beats a little faster in your chest. “So what do you like to read? Wait, may I guess?” you ask, setting a hand on his arm. He nods, and you carry on, leaning just a little closer. “So I’m going to guess you’re a fan of the classics, novels you’ve read a hundred times. I think you would tell me your favorite is To Kill a Mockingbird,” you say, tapping against his sleeve, “and maybe intellectually it is, but you actually feel more when you read Moby Dick. I bet your heart yearns for adventure—not that life as a crime solving FBI agent is boring, but it's all too real. Moby Dick is the perfect blend of adventure and fantasy for a man like you.”

“You’ve known me for all of ten minutes,” he says with a raised eyebrow, and you shrug and take a drink.

“True. But am I right? Or close?” He smiles, the first full, unguarded expression he’s given tonight, and you feel awesome for making that happen.

“My favorite book is Moby Dick. I make a point to read it at least twice a year. You’re good.”

“Thank you.” You pull back, take your hand off of his arm; you’ve laid the groundwork for touching, and he’ll have to make a move if he wants more. “People often tell you a lot they don’t intend to, and books are my thing, so it’s easy for me to connect the dots. I recommend books to people as a kind of party trick.” You stir your drink, and he shifts a little, sitting closer.

“Have you disappointed many people with your recommendations?”

“Oh, I make it a personal mission to never leave anyone disappointed,” you say, your voice low and sweet like honey. His eyes move to your mouth. You sweep your tongue over your bottom lip. “Derek said your friends are trying to get you to loosen up; can I ask why?” He flicks his eyes up to yours, frowns a little, like he’s not sure that’s something he’s ready to tell you; ultimately, he just sighs.

“I’ve been divorced for five years, alone for five years. They think it’s time I…” He trails off, shrugs.

“Get back in the saddle?” you offer, and he laughs lightly, agrees. “Is that something you’re interested in? You shouldn’t feel pressured into it if you’re not ready.” You might want to sleep with him so badly it’s sickening, but not at the expense of his well-being.

He exhales deeply and lifts his arm to rest it on the back of your chair; you want to smile, but the conversation doesn’t call for it, so you hold off.

“I think I’m ready, but how do you really know?” You turn toward him a little more, lean against his arm; it feels easy, comfortable, almost like a real date and not you flirting like your life depends on it and hoping to get a bite.

“I think you should wait to meet someone who makes you feel a spark, and then explore it. Maybe it burns hot, but doesn’t last. Maybe it’s a slow burn. Maybe it’s a bit of both. I think when you’re really ready to put yourself out there, you’ll know.” He holds your gaze, wets his lips, takes a breath.

“You’ve been flirting with me.” You do smile a little, then.

“Yes, Aaron, I have.”

“Did Derek put you up to it?”

“Absolutely not.” You touch his arm again, gentle, lean in close. “I’m genuinely interested in you. You’re everything I’m attracted to in a man.” His smile doesn’t touch his eyes.

“Old and uptight?”

“Older, and kind, and capable of having a conversation about more than just sports and money, and handsome. Very handsome.” You lift your fingers from his arm, brush them through his hair over his temple. “I feel a spark. Do you?”

“Yes,” he breathes, and when you set your hand on the table, he covers it carefully with his. His hand is big, warm, softer than you’d expected, and you’re met with the sudden urge to feel it all over your body. “I feel a spark.”

“Good. Do you want to come home with me tonight? No strings attached—just to get you back in the saddle,” you say with a tilt of your head, and he nods.

“I want to.” You’re certain that the smile that crosses your face is softer, inviting, but you get the feeling he won’t kiss you while his friends could be watching. You’re actually surprised he’s touching you so openly.

“Okay, so why don’t you give me a ride home? I was going to have to call an Uber, since my friend didn’t show up, but you’re a gentleman, aren’t you? You wouldn’t let me do that.” He catches on to what you’re saying, the excuse you’re giving him to give his friends, makes a noise of understanding.

“Of course. I wouldn’t rest not knowing you made it home safely.”

“I’m not sure how much rest you’ll be getting tonight,” you murmur, and you rest your free hand on his thigh under the table, squeeze a little. He’s very firm, and you kind of melt. “But that’s a very sweet sentiment, Aaron. Are you committed to staying here much longer?”

“Not at all. Would you like to leave now?” You hold his gaze for a moment, want to be really sure about this; you’re no expert on body language, but you’ve been here before, and he really does look less tense than when you first showed up, more comfortable and open. All really good signs.

“Yes, please.” He squeezes your hand, then stands, smooths out his jacket, and tells you he’ll be right back while he goes to say goodbye to his friends. You stand too, finish what’s left of your drink, and pull out your phone to text Jay.

Taking home the most incredible man. Guess I don’t need my wingwoman after all.

J: Tell grandpa I said he better treat you right.

Please. He’s not that old. If anything, you can call him daddy. :P

J: You can call him daddy. Have fun ;) The ride to your apartment starts out quiet, but you try to fill it by asking Aaron more about himself. You keep your hands on him while you chat, leaning as close to him as you can while wearing your seatbelt, running your hand up and down his leg, over his arm while he shifts gears. You know it’s turning you on, and you’re fairly certain it’s turning him on as well.

You learn more about his job, that he basically solves crimes by judging people, which is kind of funny; before that, he was a lawyer, which you can definitely see. He has one child, a daughter who’s upset with him because of the divorce (someone’s dad, check), and a brother who lives in New York, no living parents. It’s more information than you usually get out of someone you plan to sleep with, but you really do like him, and since he’s not the one night stand type, you think more conversation is the right way to go.

He asks about you too, about your family and your job and your lame friend who bailed on you, and when he arrives outside your building, parks in the lot, you unbuckle your seatbelt and lean in closer, smoothing a hand over his waist.

“I’m really glad I met you tonight,” you breathe, looking up at him, and he puts his hand on your cheek and you meet for a slow, easy kiss. “Hmm. I knew you’d be good at that.”

“I knew you’d be good at that, too. You have the most beautiful lips.” He brushes his fingers over them, and you take his hand, bring two of them into your mouth to suck softly. His breath hitches, and you feel your panties getting damp. God, he’s gorgeous. “Let’s go inside,” he whispers, and you slip his fingers out, drop a hand to his lap where he’s—oh, so perfectly hard it’s unreal.

“We could get started out here, have a little adventure,” you say playfully, fully prepared for him to say he’d rather not, but he just licks his lips and looks at you like you’re going to be the death of him, but at least he’ll die happily. That’s another look you’re a huge fan of on an older man.

You undo his belt, his button and his zipper, pull his cock out of his pants; he’s of average length, thick, makes your mouth water, and you lean in to use that to your advantage, getting him wet with your saliva and then stroking him in your hand. You look up at his face, and he’s got his eyes closed, head back against the headrest—so fucking sexy. You reach your free hand under his shirt, where he’s hairy, strong, but a little soft, just the way you like it, and he opens his eyes and pulls you close for a kiss that’s a bit harder than the last.

“You’re absolutely perfect,” he sighs against your lips, and you press closer for another kiss. You almost regret the adventure comment now, because you want to undress him, and touch him, feel him all over, but you’ll just have to be patient. (That’s never been your strong suit.)

“Are you kidding? You are… everything. If I could build a dream man, he would literally be a copy of you.” He makes a sharp, self-deprecating sound, and you lean down to get him wetter, move your hand a little faster. “I’m completely serious. I’m a little upset I’ve been going to that bar for so long and our paths never crossed.” One of his hands moves to your hair, and he pulls you close for a kiss; he’s ready to come, you can tell, and you want him to more than anything, so you cover his hand with yours and dip your head, sucking his dick like you’re desperate for it. When it comes to Aaron, you’re kind of desperate for everything.

“Oh, god. That feels so good, baby.” You moan at the pet name—is there anything better in the world than an older man calling you baby? Maybe just Aaron specifically calling you baby—and he tightens his fingers in your hair while you glide over him, tight and wet, until he comes in your mouth.

You swallow it down, pull off breathless, and then swipe your tongue over him so he’s clean enough that you can tuck him back into his pants. You look up at him from his lap, and he’s panting too, rubs his fingers over your lips, your chin, down your throat. You’re desperately horny now, soaking wet, and when you shift to sit up, he catches you for a deep, steamy kiss, and that does nothing to help your situation.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, and ugh, your heart flutters. Seriously, who created this man? He’s incredible. “Now let’s go inside so I can make you come, too.”

“Definitely,” you agree with a nod, and you kiss him once more before pulling back and climbing out of the car, straightening yourself up. He does the same, then walks over to you, takes your hand, and follows you into your apartment.

Sex with Aaron is… talk about adventure. He fucks like—well, like he hasn’t done it in over five years. As soon as you get inside the door, he gets on his knees, pulls your panties down, lifts your skirt up, and eats your pussy with such enthusiasm you come with your hands in his hair, rocking against his face, in less than three minutes. Seeing him down on the ground in the full suit, just going to town on you, is not an image you’ll soon forget, that’s for sure.

After that, the two of you stumble to your bedroom, hands all over each other, tugging at zippers and discarding clothes—he has you keep your shoes on, and that makes you feel slutty like a porn star, and super hot—and you kiss, touch, moving your hands all over each other's bodies until he’s hard again. You stay in missionary, and after he slips on a condom from your bedside table, he slides into you, kisses your lips and your neck and your shoulders while he rolls his hips against yours.

It’s slow and sensual at first, and you drag your nails lightly across his back, tilt your head when he nips at your throat.

“Aaron, oh. You feel so good,” you breathe, scraping your fingers through his hair, and his thrusts get a little deeper, his kisses a little rougher.

“You’re incredible. So gorgeous.” He moves a hand to your breast, massages it while your bodies work; you hitch your legs up higher, moan, and pull him closer, your hands on his body, and he fucks into you more frantically, humping against you hard, wildly. You’ve never really gotten fuck you like an animal, but that’s kind of what he’s doing, and you’re into it, clinging to him, pushing into his thrusts like it’s possible to take him deeper than you are now.

God, he’s going to spoil you, ruin you for all other men. You’re going to have your best sex at 28 and then be chasing this feeling the rest of your goddamn life. It’s both amazing and horribly unfair.

“Yes, Aaron, yeah. Fuck me hard, fuck me deep.” He groans, pounds inside you, moves his hand from your breast to the back of your neck and stares down into your eyes while he absolutely destroys you. You come clenching around him, pulling his hair and digging your nails into his shoulder, and his mouth comes crashing down for a kiss while he thrusts through it and then stutters, his orgasm right behind yours.

You sag against the pillow behind your head, and he puts his weight on you, hand still clamped around the nape of your neck, and breathes hot against your throat.

You stare up at the ceiling, catching your breath, and thank fucking god Jay stood you up tonight. Aaron is very sweet, kissing you and holding you, murmuring against your skin, and the two of you go to the bathroom, get cleaned up, and then raid your kitchen for snacks, talking easily and laughing. He doesn’t look like he’s about to bolt, which you’d been a little worried about; in fact, he actually suggests taking your snacks back to bed, jokes about not getting any crumbs on your white sheets. Never one to kick a man out abruptly after sex, and especially not a man like Aaron, you agree, and you end up in bed again, which means…

Another frantically torn condom wrapper later, and you’re on your stomach, your nipples rubbing against the sheets. Aaron’s hands are on your ass while you work yourself on his cock, rolling your body, moaning desperately like you aren’t already two orgasms deep; his dick hits just right, and between that and the nipple stimulation you’re coming fast, bucking hard against him so he’ll follow.

“Fuck, baby, coming already?” He tightens his grip, slams inside you, plants one hand on the bed to change his angle a bit. “Let’s try for another; your body is so perfect, built for sex, built for me.” You groan, roll your eyes back because his dirty talk is hitting the spot, and the two of you fuck together, noisy and eager and hot, until he shudders, squeezes your ass hard and starts to come.

You’re so close, right on the edge, and you sound wild because of it, your moans high, whimpering, your fingers digging into the sheets.

“Yes, yes, don’t stop, please don’t stop,” you beg, grinding against him, and he puts both hands hard on your hips, rails you into the bed.

“I’m not stopping until you come for me. Come for me,” he murmurs, and he wraps one hand around the front of your body, rubs your clit, and you climax, squeezing your eyes shut, seeing stars. You moan his name, drop your hand to cover his where it rests against your pussy, and this time when his body drapes across your back like a weighted blanket, you sigh and close your eyes.

He kisses your back and shoulders, runs his big hands over your hips and ass, then slides off and guides you to the edge of the bed, lifts you up and carries you to the bathroom. You think absently that you could get used to being treated this well, and you must say it, because he presses a kiss to your lips and whispers, “I will if you let me.”

There’s a little talk in bed, after you’re cleaned up and cozy beneath the comforter, about going on a real date; Aaron seems nervous, like he thinks you won’t go for it, that all you wanted was this night of sex. And yes, while that’s typically your MO, something about Aaron is different. He makes you want more, things like dates and picnics and sweet lovemaking at night and kisses—all the kisses, everywhere, all the time.

You ask him to stay, and he promises he will, and you fall asleep in his arms. It’s the best you’ve felt in a really long time.

You wake up to Aaron’s sleepy, handsome face, and you kiss and smile into each other’s lips, because last night was great, but this is even greater. Your plan is to take a shower together and then go out for breakfast, but there’s a knock at your door just as you’re planning to step in.

“You go ahead, I’ll catch up,” you tell him with a kiss, and you pull on your robe and peer through the peephole, then pull the door open. “Well, well; now you decide to show up.”

Jay steps in with a box of doughnuts and two cups of coffee, looking properly shamed.

“I know, I’m a horrible friend. I broke the slut code: stay slutty, but never at the expense of your best girl.” You crack a smile, because you could never really be mad at her, but especially not after last night. You’re about to say that, but she looks over your shoulder at the clothes still strewn about your living room and grins. “Holy shit. Is your old man still here?”

“He’s not an old man, and yes, he’s in the shower, so shut up.” She shoves the doughnuts and coffee carrier into your hands and brushes past you, toward your bedroom, and you groan. “Jay, no, come on.”

“I just want to get a glimpse of him,” she says, peeking her head into your room. She sees more clothes, and the condom wrappers, looks back at you with a cocked eyebrow. “Okay, someone had a good time last night.”

“Yes, it was fucking incredible. He’s a sex god, I’m not even kidding. He ate my pussy like he hasn’t had a meal in months, then fucked me twice, so hard and sexy, and then he asked me if he could take me on a date, Jay.” You smile wide, can’t help it. “I really like him, so I actually owe you for not coming out last night.” She smiles back, pulls you close for a hug, and you step back with your hands on her shoulders. “So thank you, and thanks for coming to apologize, but can you please leave? I really don’t want to miss out on some potential good morning shower sex.”

She rolls her eyes, but it’s all from a place of love, and she turns to head out of your room.

“Okay, but only because cockblocking you would mean breaking the slut code again, and I can’t have my membership card revoked. I have a date with the almost frat boy again tonight.” She grins, and you shake your head, pull off your robe when you hear the door shut and head for the shower.

Good morning shower sex has never been so good. One month and twelve dates later, and you’re head over heels for Aaron. He is so sweet, and smart, and secretly funny, the perfect gentleman when you’re in public and an absolute manic in private, and you seriously could not have imagined a more perfect man.

Jay is maybe a little tired of hearing you talk about him.

You’re out for breakfast on a Saturday morning—Aaron is on a case in Indiana, or you’d probably be with him—and she sighs around a bite of french toast.

“I get it, he’s the best lay you’ve ever had in your life. He makes your pussy wet and your heart horny, or whatever. When do I get to meet the old man who’s got you wrapped around his big sexy fingers?”

“He’s supposed to be home tonight, maybe I’ll see if he’s feeling up to drinks?” Sometimes he’s really worn out after these cases, and you don’t blame him, but occasionally they must touch him in a way that makes him want to enjoy life, because you’ve had some nice dates the same day he gets back. You’ll ask, and if he’s not up for it, you’ll reschedule.

“Ooh, yes. I can’t wait to finally get a good look at the hunk who turned my maneater best friend into a monogamous whore.” You gasp, affronted, and she cackles, takes a sip of her iced coffee. Sometimes you can’t even remember why you’re friends—but she never fails to do something completely unexpected and sweet that reminds you eventually. “Hey, maybe now that you’re obsessed with this guy, you can finally meet my dad, since I don’t have to worry about you trying to suck his dick at first sight.”

You know that Jay’s relationship with her dad has been a little rough since her parents split up, and you’ve always thought that maybe you could get her to open up to him, to talk to him, if you could get to know him, but her fears about your taste for older men have always been hilariously real. As if you can’t control yourself; as if you’d ever actually date her dad.

“Well I’ll have to ask my old man; maybe he’s down for a threesome?” It’s her turn to act offended, and you laugh and send Aaron a text about this evening before you forget.

Can’t wait to meet the infamous Jay, he replies, and you won’t lie, you’re feeling really good about your two favorite people finally getting to know each other.

That night, you and Aaron beat Jay to the bar, because of course you do—that bitch is never on time for anything.

You’re feeling cute in a sexy turtleneck dress (the neck of which Aaron tugged down to place a hickey under when you rode him on the couch before coming here) and a set of earrings he bought you—you’re wearing a set of lingerie he bought you, too for later—and he looks gorgeous in a dark blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

You can barely keep your hands off of him, squeezing his thigh, kissing his neck; you only give him an inch of space when he gets up to run to the restroom, and even then, the way he smiles and presses his lips to yours before he goes makes you want to cancel drinks and take him home so you can be alone.

But Jay asked to meet him, and you have been a little obsessed lately, so you want to do this and make her happy.

You look down at your phone, ready to hit her with some inflammatory where the fuck are you??? texts, when she drops into the seat Aaron had just vacated, breathless.

“Sorry, sorry. Traffic was really bad, and I got into this huge fight with my mom on the phone...” She pulls off her jacket, drapes it over the back of the seat.

“Is everything okay?” you ask, concerned. The two of them usually get along pretty well.

“Yeah, she’s just pissed because my dad has a new girlfriend—which is stupid, because she’s the one who wanted to divorce him, so why does she care? But anyway, I told her I’d meet her and be nice to her, because it’s important to him, and she expects me to take her side or something. I don’t know. Let’s just say I’m really glad I’m out for drinks with you and your old man so I can forget about my problems for a while.” She takes a deep breath for practically the first time since she started talking, then looks around, realizes it’s just the two of you. “Hey, where is he, anyway?”

“Restroom,” you say with a smile, but something more must creep onto your face, because she rolls her eyes playfully.

“And you didn’t follow him in there for a little stall action?”

“Ew, no. That’s more your speed than mine; we had sex before we came, anyway, look at this hickey.” You pull the neck of your dress down and she whistles, impressed.

“Congrats on having such good pussy, babe. I know you’re sickeningly obsessed with him, but it looks to me like he’s got it bad for you too.” You grin, instinctively want to gush over him, but you see him walking over out of the corner of your eye, so you hold off.

He’s frowning, though, and you’re not sure why.

“Julie?” Jay whips her head around at the sound of Aaron’s voice, and her eyes get wide.

“Dad? What are you…” You stand up abruptly, looking up at Aaron, and Jay stands too, looking between you, confused. “What are you doing here?”

“I… We…” He swallows, looks at you like you’ve both made a terrible mistake. You’re surprised how much that look hurts, but you know you have to take care of Jay before you can feel sorry for yourself.

“Jay, listen to me, okay? I swear to god I didn’t know.” You’re begging, pleading with your eyes, your hands on her shoulders. “I did not know.” She shakes her head like it’s not making sense, but when she lets herself connect the dots, she brings up a hand to cover her mouth.

“Oh my god. Are you fucking kidding me?” She pulls away from you, looking at you like you punched her in the face. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Jay, I didn’t—”

“Julie,” Aaron says, reaching for her, but she steps back, palms up.

“I seriously can’t believe this. You two… After every joke we made about me keeping you away from him?” She looks at you like you betrayed her, and you exhale, shrug sadly.

“It’s not like I went looking for him, Jay. We just… found each other.” You don’t look at Aaron, because if the last month hasn’t meant the same things to him, you’ll have to be okay with that. “I know it’s shocking, and I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what it feels like to find this out, this way.”

“You’re right, you can’t imagine. I just fought with my mom about my dad’s new girlfriend, and it’s-it’s you.” She laughs, humorless.

“You fought with your mom? When?” Aaron asks, crossing his arms, and it’s so clear how much he cares about Jay. Her eyes fly to his.

“On the fucking way here. She told me about your new slut girlfriend, and I was defending you! I told her I’d meet her if you asked me to, that I’d be nice because I know she’s important to you! And it’s you,” she practically spits, turning to you. “Such a whore that you’ll fuck anyone over forty who can still get it up, including my fucking father.” Her tone stings, and people are looking at the three of you, but you take a breath, remind yourself that she’s just angry right now, and she loves you, doesn’t mean that.

“Julie, that's enough. I’m taking you home and we can talk about this there.” Aaron steps past her, picks up her jacket, and glances over at you, but you’re collecting your things and and pulling up a rideshare app to get yourself the fuck out of there.

You head for the bathroom to wait it out until your ride comes, and you definitely don’t cry because the two people who bring you the most happiness in the world are gone and they barely even looked back. It’s five days before Jay shows up at your door with apology doughnuts and a bottle of rosé. You eat and drink and cry on each other, and then laugh at each other, and your heart feels a little healed by the end of it.

“I’m sorry I called you a whore. It’s just… what are the odds, after everything we said, that you would actually hook up with my fucking dad.” You laugh and take the last bite of your doughnut.

“You don’t think I was a little startled by that turn of events? I was as shocked as you. I knew he had a daughter around my age, but that’s not really what we talked about, you know?” She shoves half a doughnut in her mouth and cackles.

“You don’t talk a whole lot, from what I’ve gathered.”

“Didn’t,” you say, and your whole mood shifts. She looks confused. “We didn’t talk a whole lot. He hasn’t spoken to me since the night you found out.” She pulls out her phone, starts texting.

“Okay, I told him I was okay with you guys like, two days ago, so this probably means he’s spiraling. He tends to do that—get in his own head and beat himself up for things that aren’t his fault.” She looks up from her phone, gives you a soft smile. “Will you forgive me if I tell you he’s moping at home right now, and that I know he’ll be happy to see you?” You roll your eyes a little.

“I already forgive you, Jay, but if he hasn’t called me, maybe there’s a reason. Maybe he was looking for an out, and I gave him one, or maybe he can’t feel the same way I do because he knows we’re friends.”

“He told my mom about you, remember? He wouldn’t have done that if he wasn’t serious about you, and I don’t think he’d be acting this emo if he didn’t have feelings for you.” She reaches out, covers your hands with hers. “I’m really, really sorry I fucked this up for you guys. Weirdness aside, I know what good people you both are, and I hate that you were happy and I took that from you guys. I’m 100% supportive of you being my future step-mom,” she says with a grin, and you roll your eyes again and give her a hug and then jump up to get a shower.

You’re going to go get your old man.

When you knock on Aaron’s door an hour later, he looks surprised to see you.

“I thought you’d be Julie,” he says softly, and you sigh.

“I know. She sent me. She wants us to get our heads out of our asses, but I told her I don’t know where your head is, because we haven’t spoken.” Seeing him makes you feel a little better, because he does look like he may have been moping the last few days, so that must mean the spark is still there, right? “If you want me to leave, just tell me, and I’ll go; I’ll get out of your life and you can pretend it was just a casual thing, if that’s what you want.” Your heart aches at the thought, but you’d understand, if being his daughter’s best friend is an obstacle he can’t overcome.

“I don’t want you to leave,” he says after a long, painfully drawn out moment. “I don’t want you to ever leave. And I could never pretend this was casual.” He steps forward—so handsome in a t-shirt and jeans it makes you long to press kisses all over his face, to hold him and be held by him—and his eyes are trained on yours. “I know nothing about us is conventional, but it doesn’t matter to me if it doesn’t matter to you. I want to be with you.”

You take a deep, calming breath, exhale and nod. Your hands ache to reach out and touch him.

“I want to be with you, but only if you can promise that if something comes up with Jay—Julie—we can figure it out together. I don’t ever want to feel the way I felt the other night, and while I get that you had to take care of your daughter, and I’m glad you two talked things out, I can’t just be abandoned if things get weird.” You approach him, wrap your arms around him, and sigh. He hugs you so tightly, rests his cheek against the top of your head.

“I promise. I know I could have handled that better, but the situation was just so...”

“I know, that’s okay. Family comes first—but just so you know, she gave me her full support to campaign to become her new step-mom,” you say, pulling back with a teasing smile, and he shakes his head and grins. “So, one last question: Are you ready to get back in the saddle, Aaron?” He leans in and kisses you so hard you’re breathless, weaves his fingers into your hair.

“Sounds like my kind of adventure.” Message sent with high importance: Do not disturb! Your dad’s indecent.

J: Gross. Thanks for the warning, mom.

That’s step-mom, to you. Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader #ask answered #prompt #request

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masterwords · 2 years

Note

Hi Angela! If you’re looking to fill a Sicktember prompt, how about “excessive use of tissues” for Hotchgan or whoever strikes your inspiration. Thanks!!

Yes! Of course, Hotchgan and I hope you like where I took it. Thank you thank you Elle! It's lovely to see you popping up again. (Prompt List HERE if anyone wants to send one my way.)

Words: 2.1k

Derek has never been good at being sick.

When he was a kid, he got sick a lot. Two working parents, daycare, public school...he was friends with everyone and so he came home with everyone's germs. All the time. He was the first kid in his class to get the chicken pox, he'd be the first out with the flu, and by the time he came back to class everyone else was gone. He'd have the room to himself. And he hated every bit of it. When you're sick, you can't do anything. Derek likes to move, he's always been fidgety and active. Being sick means rest and his body is not exactly drawn to that.

He used to fake sick a lot too. Use it to his advantage to get out of class. His father was convinced he was faking sick to get out on the day he died. The last conversation he remembered ever having with his father was colored by his father gently prodding for the soft spot in his lie. Except there was no lie, he was sick. Life had a way of quickly making him forget the way his stomach hurt, the way his head swam. It no longer mattered after that shot rang out.

He's not a germophobe, either. He's never shied away from someone he loves when they're sick. When someone else is sick he'll show up with every trick his mom ever taught him. Every homegrown tried-and-true recipe for soup and tonics, every old mother's remedy passed down from generation to generation. He'll even do your laundry if the situation is dire enough. He likes to be useful, he loves to be needed. His mom taught him how to nurture the people he loves.

But he's not good at being the sick one and that's just all there is to it. His body is a temple, he treats it well, he eats (mostly) right and he exercises. He's fit, dammit. It's almost insulting when it shuts down on him.

Except this time. This time he's taking one for the team. Hotch has been knocked out with two ear infections in the last couple of months because of Jack and his overabundance of daycare bio-warfare. The explosion really did a number on his ears, and he didn't exactly do a great job of letting them heal. That's on him. But Jack is a faucet of mucus, and Haley stares at them both incredulously when they have the nerve to ask if she's had him looked at again and again. Did you take him to the doctor?How is he sick so often?

“It's daycare, you guys...that's what you get. One kid shows up with a snotty nose, touches every toy in the place, then the rest of them put those toys in their mouths and voila. Jack is going to be sick until he graduates high school. Deal with it.” Derek can hear it in her voice, the things she isn't saying. The way she's pointing a finger at Hotch for putting any of them in this situation in the first place. Jack wouldn't be in daycare if she hadn't filed for divorce, if he'd just taken the transfer, if he'd just been home more. It's not a point of contention anymore, they don't argue or get angry, but it is a fact, and all three adults standing in their little circle know it.

That's okay. She's not wrong. But Derek knows Hotch has to spend the whole week with the Deputy Director doing things well above his own paygrade, and the last time he asked for any insight he was met with that stony glare. “I'm not at liberty to say,” he'd said, and that meant to drop it. If it would ever come down the line and be important to Derek or any of the team, his loyalty would lie with them and Derek trusted that so he let it drop. Even if he did really, really want to know. Even if he was considering getting Hotch a little wine drunk one night to see if he'd spill the beans. Or even just one bean.

“I have to work the next six days in a row, Aaron, I need you to keep him. I don't care how important your meeting is in the morning.”

“Haley, you know I can't guarantee...” he tried another angle, the might-have-to-go-out-of-town angle. Just to see. It didn't work. She wasn't taking that bait.

“Six days, Aaron. You're not the only one who has a demanding job. I kept him home through strep throat and two ear infections so you wouldn't get sick, you owe me this one. Figure it out.”

“I'll stay in Jack's room with him,” Derek offers after Haley has gone, filling Jack's Superman sippy cup with ice water. “That way you can get some sleep.”

They always stayed at Derek's house when Jack was going to be over for more than a few hours. Derek's house was big, they had gates on the stairs for Clooney already, there was a backyard for him to play in. He was happy at Derek's. He wasn't happy at Hotch's. Hotch's apartment was sad, it was quiet, it was still partially in boxes he had no desire to unpack. Derek called it his cave of sadness. Hotch didn't call it home, so he had no argument. It was just a place. Nothing but a place for his things. A very expensive storage unit that he used to sleep at but now...well now he spent most nights at Derek's house. He didn't feel so sad here.

He'd had chronic ear infections as a child. There was a story there, he was certain of it, but he couldn't remember, and he wouldn't make any accusations now. He'd had tubes placed, his tonsils removed, they put him under the knife in every way they knew how to try and stop the constant infections from taking him out. And all of those interventions worked. He didn't have another one until adulthood, until after the bomb in New York. Now...well, he'd had two in just a few months. He wasn't keen on a third.

But he has something on the tip of his tongue, he wants to refuse Derek's offer but he knows he shouldn't. Derek is right. This is a big week, maybe one of the biggest of his career, and he can't afford a sleepless night, let alone the near guarantee of getting sick.

When Derek gets sick almost immediately, he's sort of up a creek. It starts out with just the sniffles and his eyes are a little puffy, but it takes him down fast. Then it's Jack and Derek and box after box of Kleenex. Hotch can't keep it stocked, he's stopping by the store on his way home from D.C every night for provisions. His people are sick he's not able to be there. Derek has moved into Jack's room, he's sleeping curled up around the little snot monster on the twin bed and Hotch is leaving them bowls of chicken soup and tea and medicine at the door. Derek won't let him come in, not until his important week is over. After that he's taking his bed back and Hotch can fend for himself. At least that's what he's telling himself, but he really just wishes Hotch could be here with him.

He could use a hug from someone a little bigger than Jack. And a little less oozy.

They're watching Disney movies on repeat. Silly old nostalgic things that make Derek pull out his phone and text his sisters with feverish memories at all hours of the day and night. He's lost track of time. They're not dying, at least Jack isn't. Derek is lying in bed irritated and unable to move while Jack sits on the floor and builds legos and sneezes all over them. The whole room is going to need to be burnt to the ground. Hotch slides a beat up old copy of The Velveteen Rabbit under the door with a card that says he misses them and that there are more boxes of tissue and some assortment of vitamins and Gatorade and tiny easy peel oranges outside the door.

It's all he can do for them, Derek won't let him in.

Derek reads the book to Jack and is instantly irritated by Hotch's little joke. He doesn't remember this book, doesn't think his mom ever read it to him, and he doesn't think the implications here are very funny. He's sort of glad he never heard it as a child, too, because it's making him cry and crying just makes him need more tissue. It's really a problem.

Hotch sits outside the door at night dramatically, like they're in a quarantine situation, and says goodnight to them. “I'd rather be sick than ever do this again,” he says and Derek chuckles.

“Me too. I'd much rather it be you. Next time, I go meet with the Deputy Director of the FBI...you ge the kleenex mountain. This fucking sucks.”

Hotch smiles a little sadly to himself and hugs his knees to his chest. He's tired, and he's lonely. He's wearing Derek's clothes and feeling more or less pathetic. “Thank you for doing this for me. I appreciate it.”

They finally cross paths at 2am, after nearly a week of the germ fest. Derek has been in the shower with Jack for almost an hour. The two of them have been coughing and blowing their noses, unable to lay down and get any time with their eyes closed before the coughing starts. It's the worst night yet. The trash can beside the bed is overflowing with tissues and no matter how many times Hotch has offered to come in and clean up their mess, promising to wear a hazmat suit if he needed to, he was denied. “I can clean it up,” Derek would croak and Hotch just had to let that go. He was lonely though. Just he and Clooney wandering around aimless, wishing their people would come out and sit with them, take walks with them, eat with them.

Hotch creeps into the bathroom slowly and takes a minute to let his lungs adjust to the assault of hot steam. It's thick and coats his skin. He closes the door behind him and approaches the shower, listening for sounds of life but it's only the spray of water until he's right there, and then it's Derek humming. It's more of a vibration than a sound, low and gravelly.

“Derek?”

“Shhhhh...” came the voice from the shower, and Hotch can't help smiling. He peels back the curtain and it's hard to stop himself from crying at the sight. Derek is leaning against the wall in the swirling steam with his eyes closed, Jack asleep in his arms. Jack who is too big to be held for any length of time, somewhere between baby and big boy, his legs still chunky little rolly things but he doesn't like to be held. Except by Derek.

Derek can do no wrong. Derek is his favorite. “You want me to take him?” Hotch whispers, reaching into the shower with ready hands. Derek takes notice of the way Hotch is swallowed up in his oversized Chicago PD sweatshirt and shakes his head.

“This is the first good sleep he's had in days.”

Hotch can't fault him for that. He's been here with Jack at night plenty of times. Hell, he's done it on his own more times than he can count. The shower is a place of peace and healing. When the nightmares won't release him back to sleep, he comes here. When Jack was a baby and fussed over painful teething, he would sit with him in the steam and soothe him. Soothe both of them. He knows this. But he also knows Derek can't stand up in the shower all night. Something has to give. “You need to sleep too.”

Derek isn't going to let him take Jack, though, and there is no amount of logic that will change his mind. The shower is helping them both breathe. He'll turn it off when the water goes cold or his arms go numb, whichever comes first.

Hotch sleeps on the couch that night with Clooney curled up behind his knees. He can hear the movement and noise in Jack's room in the morning, but it sounds almost happy. Derek is singing the good morning song and Jack is giggling, signs of life. And Hotch is glad, because he can already feel the telltale burning in his sinuses. Isn't that how Haley said this worked?

Despite all your best efforts, you just pass these things around.

#aaron hotchner #derek morgan #jack hotchner #haley hotchner #criminal minds #hotchgan #sicktember 2022 #sicktember day 10

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evita-shelby · 3 years

Text

Between the Shadow and the Soul

Chapter 22

“You shouldn’t do that, Esme. It's bad for the baby.” Eva doesn’t bother asking and takes the little blue bottle from her pregnant sister-in-law.

“Oy, not you too, Evie. Is that why Tommy doesn’t let anyone smoke near the kids?” she asks trying to take back the blue little botte before Lizzie takes it and tosses it into a waste basket.

“Yep, smoke inhalation causes babies to develop asthma and other breathing problems, cocaine, alcohol and tobacco cause babies to be born sick, if they are born alive that is.” Eva knew it was an unpopular medical theory, but it would be proven true in the future, little Diane had said so last night.

“Then the betting shop ain’t a good place for us expecting women, then?” Esme jokes struggling with her massive belly. Second baby for her, seventh for John.

“You’re pregnant again, then.” Lizzie hides her bitterness well. Poor woman had lost her first serious boyfriend in a long time even before he was murdered, Tiago ---that whore--- was off sticking it in the duchess and the occasional envious looks she threw her were not lost on Eva. The faster Tiago stopped fooling around with other women and Lizzie, the better things will be for all of them.

“Nearly two months along, a girl.” Polly sways in and as guilty as Eva feels for dosing her with a very light sleeping tonic, Polly has kept on drinking going by the stink of alcohol and her swaying to the safe. “What’s the code of the safe?” Polly asks loudly and then mutters, “Unless you are keeping me out of that too.”

“Twenty-four, eight, twenty-two.” Lizzie answers back just as loud.

“How do you know the codes?” Polly asks wondering if her nephew has told Lizzie anything else. It wasn’t Tommy who had told her the combinations, it was Tiago who was Lizzie’s friend, co-worker and occasional lover.

“Tiago talks in his sleep.” Esme jokes and Lizzie looks flustered.

“Shut up, Esme.” Lizzie looks embarrassed, unaware that everyone knew they were fucking.

“It didn’t work, he must’ve changed it,” Polly’s hands are shaking, but she’s too nervous about something she can’t notice she put it wrong.

“I’ll do it, you might’ve put it wrong.” Lizzie walks up happy to be out of the hot seat and returns to it as soon as the safe door is opened.

“And actually, I am sleeping with Tiago, okay. Now and then, because we want to, now and then when the mood takes us.” she says defensively as if any of the women in the room had any room to judge. “Except we don’t sleep because it's hard to sleep bent over a desk.”

They have troubles, she and Tiago. If only he could finally get the courage to stop fooling around and pursue a woman who loves him even when he is not the suave Mexican spy who knows six languages and how to kill a man without getting blood on his designer suit.

Before anyone can say anything, someone knocks on the door and it isn’t any of the female workers, they all just came in and are all accounted for.

“Those bastards so desperate to part with their money?” Esme says and Polly goes to open the door as she is closest.

“Arthur said you'd be short-staffed today because they are on a works outing.” she looks perfectly cheerful today, must be the protest and the baby that has her in such a good mood.

“Piss up, actually.” Esme grumbles.

“Hello, Linda.” only Eva looks happy to see her. She brings food, drinks that aren’t alcohol and the word of saintly Jessie Eden. How the spunky activist hasn’t been murdered yet is still a pleasant surprise for Eva. Protest like the ones she is doing today would’ve had everyone involved killed by the army and then the bodies dumped into the ocean, if it was the Mexico Eva grew up in.

“I brought sandwiches and the lemonade I made myself. I'll make tea and empty ashtrays, but I won't handle money or slips. Arthur says what you do here is illegal, but not immoral.” she tells them, but really reassured herself as she put the picnic basket on the bar.

The food would not go to waste, they’ll share amongst the women at the protest while Eva horrifies people with her stories from Mexico. Then Jessie Eden will ask her to get on the stage when her friend, Kitty Jurossi tells her who the Mexican lady is.

“Depends at what time you come, Linda.” Esme jokes and Linda tries her best not to look flustered.

“Anyway, I thought I'd offer you my physical and spiritual support in your time of need.” the blonde says itching to tell them about the protest. No one here has much in common, but they are all pro-union and equal rights.

“Out with it, Linda, what is it that you’re dying to tell us about?” Eva says playfully, knowing what it is, but too impatient to let Polly ask for cigarettes.

“Jessie Eden, She's the lady shop steward at the Lucas factory in Sparkhill. She's bringing all the female workers in the spot-welding and wire-cutting shops out on strike for the day. In protest at being

made to work on a holy day. Poor conditions, lack of holidays, unsanitary lavatory provisions and lower pay for female workers.” Linda looks subdued, but her excitement is clear as day in her eyes. “Apparently, all the female factory workers in the city are joining the protest in sympathy and will walk out of their places of work at 9 a.m. to march on the Bull Ring. All oppressed female workers welcome.”

“Them bastards down there shooting deer. Me five months gone, sat here like a pudding.” Esme says already liking the sound of the protest. Won't take much to get them to close the shop and go, Eva wanted to get home, but she’s never been part of a protest that doesn’t end with bloodshed.

“And the government won’t retaliate?” Eva probes, it feels like a trap even when she knows it isn’t.

“No, the right of protest is a legal right here, Eva. No guns, no soldiers and no need to burn down a building.” Linda assures her. “Ladies, I honestly believe those who march on Good Friday will have God on their side.”

“Its nine am, ladies. Open the fucking doors!” an already drunk man bangs the door giving them the reason to do it.

They all turn to look at Polly, even if Eva is Tommy’s proxy half the time, it is Polly Gray who has the power.

“Fuck it. I’m not in the mood today. Let’s go to the Bullring."

“Never in my life did I think I’d join a protest that doesn’t end with at least fifty people murdered in the streets! Still took my gun just in case.” she laughs as she barges into her husband’s office, wanting to bring their employees’ list of demands. That had been left up to her because if anyone can get Thomas Shelby to do something it was the woman with his ring on her finger.

Even if Diane has made her second sight the greatest it has ever been, things will happen that will catch her off-guard. Like the presence of the exiled Duchess in her husband’s office.

“Hello, Mrs. Shelby.” Tatiana says from her place in the couch. Eva knows Tommy isn’t the type to cheat on her, but the sexy position the Russian exile is on the couch she picked out makes the hairs on the back of her neck rise in warning.

“Good afternoon, Duchess. Had I known you’d be here, I would’ve come home sooner.” Eva looks at her husband and he answers silently that he didn’t know she’d be here either. Eva will get to him later, but for now she settles with talking with the Russian woman as her car is brought around.

“You seemed to have had fun at the protest you went to, did you participate in them in your home country?” it’s a loaded question, protests had been illegal in Tsarist Russia, after all the aristocracy didn’t give a flying fuck about the people, hence why Tatiana’s jewels were all cursed and the Romanovs as dead as Porfirio Diaz, Victoriano Huerta and Venustiano Carranza.

“I participated in the biggest one of all: the second revolution. Served as a soldier for three years until the female army corps were dissolved.” Eva was jealous, but she hated unsettling rich people more, especially Tatiana who wanted her husband even if his wife was right there. “They used to call me the witch because the federalists could never catch me, and neither could the American soldiers waiting for me on the other side of the border.”

“Is that how your husband came to know Father Hughes is working against us?” she asks as if she needed the proof or to trap her in a lie.

“No, actually, I found something worse than spying, but if that doesn’t bother your uncle, it will bother you and your aunt.” Eva takes the notebook out from her purse either way. It was small, but it had a list of all the children the creature with the cassock raped throughout his career. Among the names were Michael and Anna Gray, ages seven and ten respectively. “One of his victims is very willing to send him to hell.”

“Then you must give me his address, so I may properly thank him for his service.” Tatiana hides her disgust when she flips through the pages. Who would have thought a slightly unhinged Russian Duchess would want the priest gone as much as they did?

#thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby fanfic #between the shadow and the soul #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby fanfic #thomas shelby x oc #peaky blinders fanfiction #ocappreciation #oc appreciation

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xjoonchildx · 4 years

Text

last call | jjk x reader

pairing: jungkook x reader

rating: 18+

word count: 4.4K

synopsis: jeon jungkook is the hottest bartender in the city. everyone has their sights set on him, but it seems he has his sights set on you.

warnings: oral (female receiving), protected sex, jungkook thirst, excessive jungkook thirst, hello we’re talking about jungkook here -- there is a jungkook-sized amount of thirst, unsanitary use of a space designated for food and beverage

A/N: this fic is a commission for the @ficswithluv special project “Changes with Luv”. The awesome @dee-ehn made a donation to BLM for this fic and she asked for sexy times with long-haired JK with tattoos and dammit that’s what she’s gonna get. Thanks so much for making the donation, this is a cool way for authors like me to pitch in for an important cause!

*********************

Jeon Jungkook is the sexiest man in this city.

That’s not a matter of opinion, that’s an actual fact -- voted into law by you and the rest of the Council of The Thirsty after a night of downing shots at The Black Swan. The four of you piled into the bar’s single-stall restroom to check lipstick and chat shit and it was decided, that was that.

The Black Swan is open long after the other nearby bars and restaurants have locked up for the night. After the tables have been cleared and the tips have been counted, it’s where just about everyone who works in the service industry in this part of town ends up for a post-shift nightcap. They’re drawn by the late hours and the strong drinks and, well --

Jeon Jungkook.

On any given night, his bar is packed with flirts -- men and women alike -- all hoping for just a taste of his attention. You can’t blame them, really. It’s far too easy to get lost in Jungkook’s massive, dark eyes, or that slow, confident smile. And it’s far too hard to look away when he tucks an errant strand of inky hair behind his ear or when he rolls his sleeves up to reveal those toned forearms covered with tattoos.

Jungkook works his bar with the confidence of a man who understands his magnetism, a man who understands why people get sucked into his orbit and never want to leave.

Suckers just like you.

*************************

Jägermeister is totally fucking disgusting and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

You’ve just bellied up to the bar to grab a drink when Jeon Jungkook drops a shot of the foul shit right in front of you. The look you give him is equal parts confused and revolted.

“What’s this?”

“Oh, come on,” he teases with a smile, “You work at a bar. Don’t tell me you don’t recognize a shot of Jäger.”

“Oh, I recognize it,” you tease back. “I just refuse to acknowledge it. Who sent this to me?”

Jungkook narrows his eyes playfully, pulls another shot glass from under the bar and pours himself a shot of the dark, thick liqueur.

He holds it up in the air and waits for you to do the same.

“I did.”

Your eyebrows shoot sky-high in surprise. Jeon Jungkook buying you a shot?

You’re probably just in the right place at the right time, you reason. The lucky recipient of a free drink because he’s in the mood to get one, too.

Or unlucky, you correct yourself -- looking down at the glass. But one more look at Jungkook and you know there’s no way you’re going to refuse the offering.

You’re picky, but you’re damned sure not stupid.

You raise your shot glass in the air and Jungkook looks pleased.

“Bottoms up,” he says, eyes twinkling.

***********************

Something strange happens a few nights later.

You’re seated at a high-top near the bar with your girlfriends when you hear Jungkook call something out across the room. Your friends freeze, wide eyes and shocked stares focused on you for one awkward moment.

He says it again, this time louder -- and there’s no mistaking it.

It’s your name.

You ignore the frantic whispering of your girlfriends and stand up from your seat at the high-top to approach Jungkook’s bar. He’s leaned over it, hands bracing the dark wood -- pen tucked neatly behind his ear. His long dark hair is pulled back into a glossy knot, but one lock has fallen into his eyes.

He looks insanely good -- but honestly, what’s new?

You clear your throat before you approach so you don’t croak your way through whatever comes next. Spine straight, you get close, slide into a barstool and do your best to appear casual.

“What’s up?”

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna threaten you with any more shots of Jäger,” he laughs, flashing his million-watt smile. You smile back, hoping he can’t hear the holy shits and what the fucks flying at the table behind you. “I’ve got something else for you tonight.”

“Okay,” you breathe, dazzled by the personal attention he’s bestowing on you. “What’s on the menu?”

Jungkook reaches for two fresh shot glasses and pulls a heavy amber bottle from the well behind his bar.

“Grand Marnier,” you answer for him, watching as he pours you both a shot. “An upgrade from Jäger, that’s for sure,” you tease.

He laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling in the most goddamned adorable way possible. “I figured this might be more your speed.”

Figured how? As far as you know, he doesn’t know a thing about you -- apart from the fact that you usually drink a vodka tonic.

And your name, apparently. How does he know your name, anyway?

“Cheers,” he says in that low, sexy voice, and you shiver.

“Cheers,” you agree, tongue swiping at the taste of the sweet liqueur on your lips.

Jungkook’s eyes darken for a split-second and heat creeps up your neck.

“So, um -- how do you know my name?”

You can thank the alcohol for giving you the courage to ask. Sober you wouldn’t be nearly so forward.

Jungkook shrugs. “I’ve seen it on your credit card.”

“Ah,” you smile. “Well, thanks, again. Next time, I’ll be the one buying, okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” he grins.

But as you’re walking back to your table something dawns on you.

You turn and head back to the bar.

“Hold on a second,” you say, eyes narrowed at Jungkook. “I’ve never paid with a credit card here. I always pay my tab in cash.”

“Hmmm,” he murmurs -- and fuck if the slow smile that spreads across his features doesn’t make your panties wet right then and there.

“Is that right?”

**************************

“Jeon Jungkook wants to fuck you.”

“For the love of God, Tifa,” you hiss, ducking your head. “Keep your voice down. Jungkook and every last one of his ancestors can hear you when you’re talking that loud.”

Tifa shrugs, unbothered.

“I said what I said,” she sniffs, checking for non-existent dirt under her nails. “You see any of us getting free shots from The Golden One? Or any of the other women in here, for that matter?”

Well, she’s kind of got a point there, doesn’t she?

You have no idea why you seem to have captured Jeon Jungkook’s attention, but you’re not going to question it, that’s for sure. You’re going to enjoy your good fortune while it lasts.

“He’s being nice,” you argue, and even you aren’t buying it the second the lame deflection comes out of your mouth. Tifa rolls her eyes.

“You know what else would be nice? Getting dicked down by the hottest man in town. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

You sigh.

It would be, actually. The part of your brain that entertains such outlandish fantasies has been working overtime these days, imagining exactly what that would be like. Imagining the body that lies underneath that sinfully fitted shirt and the almost-too-tight-but-not-quite jeans.

Jungkook certainly walks and talks and moves like a man who knows exactly what he’s doing in bed. You’d love nothing more than to know if there’s any truth to that theory.

You chance a glance over your shoulder, back to the bar -- and Jungkook is deep in conversation with a patron. She’s leaning over the bar, practically throwing herself at the man, but he looks away from her to catch sight of you. His picture-perfect face breaks into a wide smile and you break into a sweat.

“See what I mean?” Tifa asks, brow raised when you turn back to face her. “The man is trying to fuck you. I’ll be right here after he does, waiting to say I told you so.”

You sputter a laugh into the rim of your glass.

“We’ll see about that, T.”

*************************

Nothing ruins the end of a night of drinking quite like last call.

All the fun screeches to a halt when the house lights come on. No one looks good under the harsh fluorescents that hum to life as tabs are being paid and drinks are being slammed and tables are being wiped -- no one.

Well, no one except for Jeon Jungkook, of course.

He’s in the weeds tonight -- trying to settle tabs for at least twenty people all trying to cash out at the same time. He nods in your direction to confirm he’s seen you, that he’ll get to you -- that eventually you’ll get your chance to pay.

So you wait. And wait.

The crowd starts to thin as Jungkook closes tabs at top speed -- tip jar flush with obscene amounts of cash. No one tips better than people who make a living on them -- and tonight is no exception. From what you can tell it’s been a good night for Jungkook.

Hell, every night is probably a good night when you’re Jeon Jungkook.

You sip what’s left of your vodka tonic and scroll through your phone while you patiently wait for your turn -- then promptly lose track of time.

How long have you been sitting here?

It’s only when your ears pick up on the echo in this place that you look up from the screen. Jungkook is cashing some guy out -- and as you take a look around you realize this guy must be the last person in this place.

Correction -- you are the last person in this place, or at least you will be in about thirty seconds.

Your pulse picks up as Jungkook wraps the transaction and sends the guy out the door with a friendly wave. You’re definitely the only two people left in The Black Swan now, no doubt.

“So uh -- ” you drag the sound out on a nervous breath, “ -- I still need to pay my tab.”

Jungkook flips the house lights back off before sauntering to your end of the bar, wearing his most dangerous smile. He dries his hands with the towel at his waist then sets it aside.

“Your tab was paid hours ago.”

Oh.

“Because you paid it,” you say slowly, forcing yourself to drag your eyes from the man’s muscled thighs and trim waist to his flawless face. Your heart stops a bit at the smirk you find when you finally get there.

“Yup.”

You grab for what’s left of your vodka tonic and slug it down.

Jungkook laughs.

“You want me,” he says, fingers working the top buttons of his fitted shirt open. You watch with wide eyes, so distracted by the action that you barely process what he’s said.

“Wait, what?” you ask in a daze.

“You want me,” he repeats casually, like it’s no big deal. His fingers stop only a few buttons down, the tease -- but he chooses that same moment to pull his hair out of the loose knot he’s been wearing all night. The dark strands fall into his face and you stare like a moron.

“What makes you say that?” you ask, weakly.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Jungkook teases. “My vision is 20/20. My hearing is pretty good, too -- though it would be pretty hard not to overhear the things you and your friends say about me.”

Dammit, Tifa, I told you to keep your voice down.

“Yikes,” you murmur on a shaky laugh. “That’s embarrassing.”

“Doesn’t have to be,” he says with no hesitation. “‘Cause I want you, too.”

You pull back from the bar so far, your stool nearly tips over. Jungkook waits for you to right yourself in amused silence. Then he waits for you to speak.

“I’m, I -- “ you sputter, searching for things like words and thoughts. Jungkook’s brows lift as he awaits whatever is on the other end of that sentence. “ -- I think I need another drink.”

Jungkook winks before reaching down to pull glasses from under the bar. He sets a brown bottle with a familiar orange label down beside them. You hold your breath when you see him walk out from behind the bar to slide into the stool next to yours.

“Fireball,” you say thickly, watching him pour the cinnamon liqueur into the shot glasses. He nods, handing you your glass.

“Think this will help?” he asks, smiling wickedly.

“No way to know but to do it,” you smile back.

You clink the glasses together before draining them.

You can almost feel the alcohol working its way through your veins. The warm burn of it starts in your throat, slides low into your belly and spreads out through your arms and legs.

“Think that did the trick?” he asks in a low voice, dark eyes fixed on your every move. He leans closer.

“I don’t know,” you admit. He’s close enough now you can smell the warm cinnamon on his breath. Between the booze and the hormones, you’re starting to feel a little reckless. “That depends. Are you trying to fuck me in this bar?”

“Absolutely,” Jungkook deadpans. You suck in a breath.

“Then I think we’ll probably need one more.”

Jungkook chuckles as he refills your glasses. His eyes glint with unconcealed mischief when you knock the second round back. This time, the warmth that spreads down your throat seems to pool between your thighs.

You dip the pad of one finger into the remnants left in the shotglass, emboldened by the buzz you can feel coming on. Jungkook watches rapt as you slip it between your lips. You are weightless and shameless by now, more than prepared for the moment he slips two fingers under your jaw to tip your mouth up towards his.

He tastes like the pleasant spice in the alcohol and he smells like sweat and bodywash and your senses are overwhelmed. Your fingers dive right into his hair, desperate to feel the silky strands between your fingertips.

“Fireball was a good idea,” Jungkook groans between kisses, hands going to your back to pull you close. You stand out of your barstool to position yourself between his thighs. “I like the way you think.”

He pulls away to tug at the hem of your shirt.

“Take this off,” he orders with a quiet authority that makes you desperate to comply. His eyes are heavy-lidded; glued to the nipples pebbling underneath the thin cotton. You cross your arms across your body and lift the shirt over your head.

Jungkook doesn’t bother to take your bra off. You jolt with surprise when he surges forward, mouth seeking the skin peeking out of the soft cups. He plants hot, open-mouthed kisses across the heated flesh before leaning low to graze the outline of one nipple. You jerk at the sensation -- at the way his lips and tongue and teeth make the fabric rub against the straining buds.

“Oh, God,” you hiss, “That feels good.”

Jungkook pushes the straps of your bra off your shoulders, eyes dark and focused when your breasts spill out of the cups and your nipples are exposed to the cool air in the bar. You shudder.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, touching his tongue to your nipples now without a barrier. You allow yourself to run your fingers through his hair again, anchoring yourself to him to keep steady in the onslaught.

It’s bad manners that you haven’t pulled yourself together enough to thank him for the compliment, but how can you be expected to think straight when his teeth are scraping against your nipples?

Jungkook pauses to look up at you -- eyes smoldering, lips swollen with use -- and you squirm in his hold. “You should take these jeans off,” he whispers, fingers slipping into the belt loops. He tugs at them gently. “I wouldn’t want them to get wet.”

Oh honey -- that ship has sailed.

You nod slowly and Jungkook leans back in his stool, eyes hooded as you unbutton the denim, slide it down your legs and step out of it.

“You gonna take any clothes off, or am I the only one stripping tonight?” you tease, shivering at the loss of his body heat.

A slow smile spreads over his face. “We’re getting to that, I promise.”

He reaches across the bar for the bottle of Fireball and your mouth falls open in surprise.

“Wait, are you gonna -- “

“Yeah,” he cuts in, dripping the cool liquid onto your breast. His lips swipe at the liqueur that spills over your nipple and you groan out loud. “I own this bar,” he teases, his warm tongue a stark contrast to the cold alcohol. “I can do whatever I want in here.”

You certainly can.

He drips more of the liquid onto a nipple and watches with satisfaction as it slides down your skin. He laps at the cinnamon taste as his hands roam the sensitive skin of your stomach and down to the band of your panties. Your breath hitches in your chest.

“I can do whatever I want on here, too,” he smirks, nodding at the bar. You laugh.

“You’re the boss, right?”

“Exactly,” Jungkook winks, before his hands drop to your waist. His grip is firm as he helps lift you on to the bartop.

You brace your hands against the wood and watch as he slips his fingers under the satin seam of your panties. In this position, you have a front-row seat to what is sure to be the hottest sexual experience of your life. Jungkook’s brows knit in concentration and his tongue swipes across his lips as he pulls your soaking panties away from your legs. The sight of him preparing to debauch you on top of his bar alone could make you come.

He steadies you with firm hands to either side of your hips before dipping his head down to test your taste with a light flick of his tongue. You buck in his grasp and he muffles his laughter against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. “You’re not allowed to fall off of my bar,” he teases. “Agreed?”

“Agreed,” you laugh, fingertips gripping the bartop for dear life.

Jungkook pulls his mouth away from your aching center and you damned near whine at the loss of his warmth. But in a split-second he’s back, and so is the Fireball.

“Just a little,” he rasps, tipping the bottle to the side. You hiss as the frigid liquid seeps down into the crux of your thighs. Jungkook purses his lips and blows a puff of air against you, sparking an intense tingling sensation and earning a loud whimper. He’s satisfied with your response, if the look on his face is any indication -- but his wicked smile disappears from view when he lowers his mouth to your center again.

“Fuck,” you gasp, head dropping back between your shoulders. “God, that feels good.”

“Tell me what it feels like,” he whispers, slipping one long, calloused finger into your channel. The added sensation makes you whine when he swipes his tongue against your clit.

“Like --,” you gasp and try again to formulate a thought. “Like fire and ice.”

He hums his approval of that assessment right into your cunt and you nearly break your promise not to fall off his bar. Your arms are shaking with the same tension that is building between your legs. Jungkook pulls back to drip more of the Fireball onto your sensitive center and you shudder.

The alcohol burns a bit, a pleasant pain that is somehow heightened by Jungkook’s warm, wet mouth. He doesn’t rush, seemingly content to take his time as you slowly come undone.

“I’m so close,” you whimper, elbows threatening to buckle underneath you. Jungkook finally picks up the pace, tonguing you deep as your thighs tighten in anticipation.

“I can feel how bad you want to come, sweetheart,” he goads, finger crooking inside of you, stimulating that spot that makes you feel like you can’t see straight. “Do it.”

The moans Jungkook pulls from you in those final seconds are made all the more obscene by the echoing inside this empty bar. Every muscle in your body tightens and then melts as your orgasm hits with the intensity of a freight train. Jungkook seals his mouth over your cunt to capture the wetness he’s earned, prolonging the sensations, prolonging your moans.

It takes a moment for the roar in your ears to subside, for your ability to focus to return. When you can hear and see and think again, you look back down to the space between your thighs and find Jungkook wearing a look of utter satisfaction.

“Believe it or not, that’s the first time I’ve eaten pussy on top of my bar,” he teases, dimples emerging as his lips quirk into a smile. “How has your service been tonight?”

“Pretty good,” you taunt, a lot ballsier with a few shots and an orgasm under your belt. “Would be a hell of a lot better if my bartender would take his clothes off.”

Jungkook feigns a wounded look as his fingers work the rest of the buttons on his shirt open to reveal a tight white tank underneath. He pulls that overhead and reveals the body you’ve been fantasizing about for so long. Whatever you’d imagined was lying underneath those clothes pales in comparison to the real thing. His body looks cut from stone, his smooth skin the perfect canvas for the tattoos that run across his arms and onto his chest.

“Better now?” he chuckles.

“Not yet,” you say, savoring the power of your position on the bar. You watch his one-woman striptease with the hint of a smile on your lips. “The jeans have to go.”

“Bossy,” he mocks, fingers unbuttoning the dark denim. Your jaw drops about the same time the jeans do.

“Well,” you laugh, slipping down off of the bar to stand in front of him. “Your review has just improved.”

He smiles into the kiss you plant on him as your fingers snake between you to wrap around his cock. He thrusts firmly into the tight grasp of your fingers as his tongue delves deep into your mouth. He sucks in a breath when your thumb teases as the moisture gathered at the tip of his cock.

“My cock is gonna explode if I don’t bury it between those thighs,” Jungkook groans and you shudder from head to toe. “Turn around for me.”

You do as you're told, turning away from him to brace your weight against the bartop. You can see Jungkook’s reflection in the mirror that lines the back wall of the bar. You watch as he grabs a condom from the back pocket of his jeans and makes quick work of rolling it down his thick length.

He presses the length of his warm body against yours, and you tense when the blunt head of his cock teases your entrance. One hand lines up his cock and the other grips the soft skin of your hip. He looks at you in the reflection of the mirror and your knees almost give out when he leans down to whisper in your ear.

“Let me in, sweetheart.”

You arch back just as he sinks inside -- going to the hilt in one firm stroke.

“Shit,” he groans between gritted teeth. “Fuck, that’s a tight fit.”

“Oh, God --” you gasp as he begins to rock against you. After a few languid strokes he sets a steady rhythm, hips smacking against your ass with the force of his thrusts.

He leans over you, bracketing you in with one arm braced on the bar while the other helps guide your hip. Your eyes fall closed and your head drops forward as you push back against him, rendered boneless by the thick slide of his cock. The sound of his skin slapping against yours echoes loud in the empty bar.

Jungkook leans down to take your earlobe between his teeth and you whimper.

“Look at me,” he orders in a whisper. “Open your eyes.”

Your eyes snap open to find Jungkook’s reflection and the sight nearly makes you come undone for a second time. His damp hair is falling into his face, body covered in a sheen of sweat and his mouth is curled into a dangerous smile.

“That’s it,” he murmurs when your eyes meet in the mirror. “I want you to see how good you’re getting fucked.”

Your rhythm falters at his provocation but Jungkook refuses to let either of you get off track. He drops both hands to your hips and begins pounding into you with relentless strokes, huffing a laugh when you squeak in response.

“Just like that, sweetheart,” he groans, thrusts going frantic. “Can you come for me again?”

You nod -- completely out of words -- reaching one hand down to the aching button between your thighs. Jungkook pulls your body back against his, angling deeper into your aching cunt at the same time your shaking fingers manage to apply a light pressure to your clit.

That’s all it takes.

You come apart a second later and Jungkook pulls your hair back to expose the column of your throat as he rides you through it. His teeth scrape against the sensitive skin of your neck as his own orgasm starts to ignite.

His fingers grip your hips so hard you’re certain there will be bruises in the morning. But it’s worth it -- so damned worth it when you get to watch Jeon Jungkook come undone for you. You’ve never seen anything sexier than Jungkook with brows knit in utter concentration, mouth slack with pleasure and coming for you. Inside of you.

You lean against the bar, legs like noodles as he comes down from his high and seconds later, he’s slumped over you, body lax against yours.

“Hey,” he says after a moment of silence, as you’re catching your breath. He leans his chin against your shoulder.

“Yeah?” you manage, craning your head to face him.

“Come back tomorrow and we can break open my bottle of Goldschläger.”

*********************

You wake with an ache between your temples and an ache between your legs.

The pounding in your head is your punishment for drinking way more than you should have last night.

The pleasant soreness lingering between your thighs is an entirely different story. That’s the only souvenir you get to keep to commemorate the best sex of your life. And it’s not going to stick around.

You roll over in bed and reach for your phone.

Tifa picks up on the first ring.

“I’m not even going to play the game with you, girl,” she says, in lieu of a proper greeting. “I just wanna know how it was.”

***********************

#jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #ficswithluv #changeswithluv

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nerdzzone · 3 years

Text

Luckless Romance

Summary: When Whitney Taylor was lucky enough to get the job of a lifetime doing a photoshoot for Marvel Studios, she didn’t expect to come away from the experience with a new friend. Especially not a friend that she quickly fell head over heels for.

Convinced that those feelings were completely one sided, she kept them to herself - until one night changed everything.

Chris Evans x OFC

18+

Prequel to: Once Bitten - Twice Shy + -More Hearts Than Mine-

Note: While this is set before the other two parts of this story, I would definitely recommend reading the other two first if you haven’t already. I know that might seem odd, but I do think it flows better that way. This is more of an aside than an introduction, I think, but it could just be that I wrote them in this order so that’s how it makes sense to me.

Anyway! Thank you to everyone who has been eagerly awaiting this part of their story. The support has been so motivating and I’m already working on more little snippets of their lives together that should hopefully be posted soon.

Please let me know what you think!

_____

August 2015

Growing up in Los Angeles - especially with a rather well known uncle - I was very aware that celebrities were really just normal people who usually weren't deserving of the obsessive adoration they received from the general public.

That being said, it still felt very surreal when I found myself sitting around a table with some of Hollywood's biggest stars as we celebrated the end of a long and tiring photo shoot in which I was the photographer. Three weeks earlier, I had been slaving away at a department store portrait studio taking boring, uninspired family photos, so the contrast between that and where I was now - sharing drinks with the cast of Marvel's next big movie after wrapping my first real photography gig - would be enough to make anyone feel a tad awestruck.

It didn't help that it had all come together so quickly that I'd hardly had time to wrap my head around it. The photographer that they originally had lined up to do the shoot had some kind of family emergency and had to drop out at the last minute. They were going to postpone the shoot indefinitely, but my family connections with Iron Man provided another solution. My uncle Rob wasted no time in giving Marvel my name and portfolio and less than twenty-four hours later I was signing a contract for the biggest career opportunity I'd ever had.

I was endlessly grateful - the pay was far better than I was getting at the department store and there was plenty of potential for more Marvel related photo shoots in the future - but the pressure was nerve wracking. I'd hardly slept at all in the few days leading up to it and by the time we wrapped, I was exhausted. As the adrenaline faded and the relief that I survived kicked in, I was very much looking forward to crawling into my bed with a nice glass of wine to get a good night's sleep before I started the editing process the next day.

But there was no time for rest with this crowd and it was quickly decided that we were all going out for some kind of unofficial wrap party. The official one had been two weeks before when they'd finished filming in Georgia, but now that they were reunited in L.A., it seemed another celebration was necessary. I'd protested at first and tried to sneak off before they could realize I was gone, but my uncle thwarted my plan and, after a few minutes of heavy guilting about how long it had been since I'd spent any time with him, I reluctantly agreed.

Which was how I found myself sitting at a table in a private room of a popular bar with my uncle - Robert Downey Jr - my Aunt Susan, Chris Evans, Anthony Mackie, Sebastian Stan, Scarlett Johannsen and Paul Rudd. There were other cast members and their friends dotted around the room, some sitting by the bar while others played pool, and I couldn't help but take a moment to be grateful that I'd been given a chance to join this team of incredibly talented people in some small way.

I was also taking a moment to be grateful that my placement in the booth we were sitting in gave me the opportunity to be sandwiched between the wall and Chris Evans - who smelt so good that it should probably be illegal.

There'd been a spark between us all day. He was attractive - I'd known that going in, it was a pretty beautiful cast - but seeing him in person with all his Captain America muscles was really quite a sight.

But it was more than just that.

There was something about the way he looked at me, flashing me those blush inducing smirks along side his teasing comments and the way he was so genuinely kind and polite to me throughout the whole day. I was sure that my uncle had warned them that this was my first high profile shoot, but Chris had been incredibly supportive and he never came across as condescending if he offered me any suggestions. He checked in with me throughout the day to make sure that I wasn't getting too overwhelmed and it was very much appreciated despite the fact that his effortless flirting often left me more distracted than productive.

Sitting next to him now, feeling his thigh pressed against mine due to the tight squeeze needed to fit our whole group around the table, had me very distracted again until my uncle dragged me back into the conversation.

"So, Whitney, how's Trent?"

His question, or more likely the displeasure in his voice when he asked it, captured the attention of the table and all eyes were on me as I shrugged.

"He's great as far as I know, but I haven't talked to him in a while," I admitted. "We broke up a couple of months ago."

"Thank god for that," Robert grinned. "It's about time!"

"Don't be insensitive," Susan scolded him, which probably would have been deserved if I didn't know how accurate of a statement it was. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"I think she means 'what horrible thing did he do that finally made you come to your senses'?"

Susan swatted at her husband, but I cringed at the memory.

"It was really bad. I don't even want to tell you."

His jaw tightened at that remark as his glee shifted to something more like concern.

"What did he do? Do I need to assemble my team of Avengers and kick his ass?"

I giggled at the thought of that happening as all the men around the table voiced their willingness to help.

"Thank you, but no, I'd rather you didn't," I assured them. "It wasn't anything horrific, it's just embarrassing that I ever went out with someone as sleezy as he was."

Chris glanced down at me with a smirk on his face.

"Well, in that case, you gotta tell us now..."

The rest of the group nodded in agreement and I, rather foolishly, looked at my uncle for support, but all I received was a shrug and a raise of his eyebrow as if to say 'go on'. So, against my better judgment and with a sigh of shame and regret, I explained.

"He took me out for drinks on my birthday and invited some woman that he met on Tinder to join us," I informed them. "Apparently, without my knowledge, he'd advertised that we were looking for someone to join us for a threesome that night which was his birthday gift to me."

There was a collective widening of eyes and, after approximately two seconds of stunned silence, a howl of laughter came from my uncle. The rest of the group, however, seemed unsure what to say until Paul spoke up.

"Well, was that was you asked for?"

"No!" I shrieked in protest. "I mean, to each their own, but no! Absolutely not!"

My uncle looked like he was about to cry from laughter as the rest of the group joined in with him. All except for Chris, who was biting back a smile with what seemed to be a considerable amount of effort.

"Guys, c'mon, don't laugh at that!" He scolded them. "That's horrible!"

"Oh, don't feel too bad for her," Robert warned him, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. "The guy took her to Hooters on their first date and she still agreed to see him again."

It was true and looking back, I had no way to justify such a poor choice. I felt my cheeks heat up as I took a long sip from the gin and tonic in front of me.

"Shut up," I huffed. "He said he just liked the wings there..."

"That's classic," Sebastian smirked. "That's what they all say!"

"Why did you even agree to go out with a man named Trent?" Anthony chimed in. "There's no way someone named Trent isn't going to be a douche bag."

Chris laughed then, throwing his head back as his hand came up to rest on his chest.

"That's true!" He howled and, as embarrassed as I was by the situation, I couldn't help but feel a different kind of flush at the sound of his heartfelt laugh.

"Okay, okay, that's enough," Susan chimed in despite the smile on her face as well. "It sounds like poor Whitney has learned her lesson so there's no need to make her feel any worse."

Robert shrugged and gave me a pointed look.

"As long as she promises to make better choices."

I appreciated that he had my best interest at heart, but I rolled my eyes anyway in a show of annoyance.

"Don't worry," I assured him. "I'm swearing off men for a while so there will be no choices made at all, good or bad, for the foreseeable future."

Susan frowned at that information, clearly displeased by my resignation to being alone, but luckily, a distraction arrived at our table and forced a change of subject - a distraction in the form of Jeremy Renner with a very full tray of shots.

Everyone cheered at the sight of him, but my uncle nudged me under the table to draw my attention back towards him.

"This is why I call him the Lord of the Underworld," he warned me. "Be careful..."

"Don't listen to him!" Jeremy insisted, handing out two shots to everyone except my aunt and uncle who weren't drinking. "I just know how to encourage everyone to have a good time."

"Does this group need any encouragement?"

Scarlett's question earned a laugh from the crowd, but Jeremy nodded his head.

"Apparently so or you wouldn't all be sitting in a corner, nursing your first drinks!" He pointed out. "So, drink up!"

He lifted a shot glass in the air and we all copied the action, giving a 'cheers' before tossing back the sharp tequila he'd chosen. The second shot went down almost immediately after and as I felt it burning down my throat, I knew we were in for quite a night.

"So, how are we going to do this?" Chris asked as we stood around a ping pong table with Anthony and Scarlett a bit later in the evening. "Girls against boys?"

"No way, man," Anthony shook his head, putting his arm around Scarlett's shoulders. "I want this one on my team."

"Ouch," Chris smirked. "But whatever, I was just trying to make it fair. If you want to play against the two best players then that's your choice."

"You literally met her today," Scarlett reminded him with a laugh. "How would you know what her ping pong skills are like?"

I opened my mouth to defend myself, but my uncle beat me to it as he chimed in from where he sat at a nearby table.

"She's terrible at almost every sport, but what she lacks in skill, she makes up for with competitive spirit."

"Terrible is harsh!"

My protest did nothing to reassure Chris though as he shook his head.

"Good thing I have enough skill for the both of us then."

"I have skills!" I insisted. "Let's stop messing around and I'll prove it."

Anthony joined in the laughter at my expense as he bounced the ball on the table.

"Alright, do we all know the rules?" He asked. "The ball has to bounce once on your side of the table before you can hit it back."

"First to ten?" Chris suggested. "We'll let you guys go first."

We all agreed and Anthony bounced the ball again as he prepared to serve. He started off slow and gentle, lobbing it over slowly enough that I returned it with no trouble. However, when Scarlett hit it back, Chris made it clear he was here to play as he hit it with enough force that Scarlett had to leap out of the way to avoid being hit.

"Yes!" I cheered, reaching over to high five Chris. "Nice one!"

"Okay, I see how it is," Anthony shook his head as he tossed the ball back to us for our serve. "No holding back now."

Chris smirked as he easily caught the ball. He didn't waste any time before throwing it back with a hard serve, but this time they were ready for it and Anthony hit it back easily. He aimed it at me, which I could only assume was deliberate due to my uncle's doubts of my abilities, but I managed to send it straight back. His surprise at my success was clear as he was unprepared for it to be heading back in his direction and we scored another point.

"Beginners luck!"

Robert's interjection from the sidelines earned him a rude gesture from me, but I knew he was probably right - unless the last couple of drinks had somehow sharpened my reflexes and I seriously doubted that as I was already well on my way past tipsy.

However, the next few rounds showed that my uncle had been wrong and I, apparently, had quite a knack for table tennis. Chris and I worked together like a dream and were absolutely decimating Scarlett and Anthony. The game was almost over as fast as it started, but when we only needed one more point Chris suddenly appeared to give up. He missed shot after shot and we were quickly losing our lead which was making me lose my temper.

"Dammit, Chris," I huffed, trying to suppress my annoyance as he missed a very easy ball. "Get it together over there!"

"Me?!" He gawked. "I thought you were going to get that one!"

"It was clearly on your side!"

"If that's what you think," he started as he picked up the ball and came back to the table. "Then you need to get your eyes tested, sweetheart."

"Don't 'sweetheart' me," I shot back. "Start paying more attention before you make us lose."

"Whatever you say," he smirked at me before adding: "Sweetheart."

I shot him a glare and - without thinking - I swatted his very hard to ignore, perfectly sculpted bum with my paddle. He yelped, catching the ball that he'd just thrown into the air with the intention of serving and stared at me wide-eyed. I was almost as surprised by the action as he was and I opened my mouth to apologize, but I was interrupted before I could.

"Careful there, Whitney," Sebastian warned from where he sat with my uncle at the spectator's table. "That's Marvel property!"

"They're very protective of it too," Anthony joked. "It's one of their best assets."

"Yeah, so show it some respect," Chris demanded, looking cocky despite the slight red tint to his cheeks. "And anyway, if you're trying to get me to focus then I don't think making me think about spanking is a great strategy."

"Ooh," I giggled. "Someone get me the number for TMZ! I've got tomorrow's headline ready for them: 'Chris Evans likes to be spanked'!"

Chris barked out a laugh, shaking his head as he gently served the ball.

"Who said I like to be the one receiving?"

My mouth went dry when I realized what he was implying and several uncalled fantasies flashed through my brain. With that short little sentence, images filled my mind of him using his large hands for something entirely different to what they were currently doing - something that perhaps involved bending me over his lap. I felt a wave of heat wash over me at that thought as my gaze was drawn to him while I wondered if he was aware of the effect that he had on me. I was so pathetically distracted that I didn't even see the ball coming back towards us until it hit me on the side of my head.

Despite my embarrassing blunder, Chris and I managed to get ourselves together quickly enough to still win the game and our victory was promptly celebrated by another round of drinks.

My aunt and uncle left not long after that as they were eager to get home to their young children, but my uncle couldn't go without a few parting words when I hugged them goodbye.

"Chris is a good man," he informed me. "I'm not sure what his stance is on threesomes, but he wouldn't take you to Hooters on a first date, that's for sure."

I could tell what he was implying, but I questioned him anyway. The only answer I could pull out of him was a teasing wink and Susan ushered him out the door with a roll of her eyes and firm instructions for me to call them soon.

I tried to push his comment from my mind because the thought of a man as handsome, funny and intelligent as Chris Evans even considering the idea of taking me on a date seemed like insanity, but I would have been lying if I said it didn't instill a tiny flicker of hope in me. I was fairly certain that he had been flirting with me so maybe it wasn't entirely as far-fetched as my low self-esteem would have me believe.

I tried not to dwell on his words too much through the rest of the evening, but it was hard to shake the idea from my mind. Especially with how tactile he was with me. Whether it was when we moved on to dancing and he pulled me close, whenever we were walking to the bar and kept his arm draped around my waist or when we eventually settled on a pair of bar stools, sitting close enough that my knees were tucked between his.

That was how we were sat, tucked together at the bar, when I finished another drink and realized that the fuzziness in my head and the weight of my eyelids were telling me that it was time to head home. I wasn't eager for the night to end, I wanted to stay in this little flirtatious bubble as long as possible, but I could feel the alcohol induced fatigue hitting me and I knew I needed to leave before I no longer had the energy.

"How are you getting home?" Chris asked when I announced my departure. "Do you want some company while you wait for a cab?"

"Oh, that's okay," I assured him as I slid off the bar stool I'd been sitting on. "I'm just gonna walk."

"Walk?" He raised an eyebrow. "Where do you live?"

"Only about twenty minutes away," I shrugged. "It's no big deal."

I was being purposely vague, but Chris' questions persisted until I finally confessed what neighbourhood I lived in. Once I did, a worried look clouded his face.

"Really? That's not a great area..."

"It's not that bad!" I insisted. "I mean, I'll definitely move once the photography thing picks up and I would appreciate if you don't tell my uncle, but it's not that bad."

"He doesn't know?" Chris raised an eyebrow, giving me a look that could only be interpreted as one of judgment. I nodded in answer to his question and he sighed, tossing back the last of the beer in front of him before standing up as well. "Just let me say goodbye and I'll walk with you."

"No, no, you don't have to do that! Stay with your friends."

"My Ma would kill me if she found out I let a woman walk home alone and I'm guessing Robert would have something to say about it too from what you just said," he insisted, flashing me one of his dazzling smiles. "Besides, I was gonna head out soon anyway."

"Are you sure?"

He nodded in response.

"Absolutely."

I felt bad that he was leaving because of me, but I had a feeling that any arguments would be futile. I followed him around the room, saying goodbye to the few people who were still at the bar before we headed outside. As soon as the fresh air hit me, I really felt the full affects of the several drinks I'd had throughout the night and I was quite grateful for Chris' company on my walk.

"Thanks for doing this. I'm sorry you had to leave early."

Chris had pulled his baseball hat lower on his head, probably in an attempt to hide his identity a bit more, but the people bustling in the streets were too oblivious or drunk to pay much attention.

"Don't worry about it," he smiled down at me. "It was time for me to go anyway. I've had enough wild nights with Renner to know that nothing good happens after midnight."

"Oh, I see how it is," I smirked. "I thought this was a chivalrous gesture, but it's just an act of self-preservation."

Chris laughed, a deep laugh that made my smirk slide into a grin, as he held out his arm for me to take which I happily did.

"Can't it be both?"

"I suppose. I guess you must be pretty chivalrous to take on a role like Captain America." As soon as the words left my mouth, I felt my cheeks heat up. "Sorry, that was dumb. I sound like some shitty interviewer. Like, 'tell me what aspects of the character you see in yourself'."

I'd put on a bad, faux news anchor voice for the last part of that sentence and I felt Chris' arm shake as he chuckled, but he shook his head.

"Nah, it's fine. It's a fair question," he assured me. "I think I've always been pretty chivalrous. I'm close with my mom and two sisters so they made sure I knew how to treat a lady. But that is one bonus of playing a character like Cap, he has such strong morals and such a steady sense of right and wrong, it inspires me to be as much like him as I can be."

Just as he finished his thought, I stumbled over an uneven part of the sidewalk and was only saved from face planting by his grip on my arm. I flushed with embarrassment again, but the alcohol in my system had me dissolving into giggles.

"Sorry, thank you. Wow, I'd say you really do have some Captain America traits." I flashed him a smile. "Was it like a lifelong dream for you? If you don't mind me asking, last question about it, I promise."

"You can ask all the questions you want," he shrugged and it seemed genuine, not just an expected assurance. "But no, it wasn't. I actually turned it down several times."

"Really? You did? Isn't a role like that every actor's dream?"

"Probably," he nodded. "But I did the Marvel thing with Fantastic Four and even that little taste of fame was almost too much for me. Don't get me wrong, I love what I do and I'm so grateful for all the opportunities I've been given, but it can be a lot to deal with."

"Those obsessive fangirls too much for you?"

"Sometimes," he admitted. " I was already having panic attacks, so I wasn't sure that I could handle taking that next step. But it's more just the total lack of privacy that comes with fame. Not just for me either, I knew it would affect my whole family."

"That makes sense," I nodded, knowing from my own experience that he was absolutely right. There'd been a few unfortunate incidents on slow news days where articles about 'Robert Downey Jr.'s niece' had popped up after some of my poorer choices in life. "Are you glad that you went for it now?"

"Absolutely! It was the best thing I've ever done. There are times when I still struggle, I don't do well at the premieres with all the pressure and the people, but the whole cast is like a family so the support is amazing."

"It's really sweet how close you guys all seem to be."

"It makes a big difference," Chris agreed as we turned off the main street in the direction of my neighbourhood. "But what about you? Have you always wanted to be a photographer?"

I paused for a moment as I tried to get my rather tipsy brain to figure out the simplest response to his question.

"Yes and no," I finally answered. "I've always loved photography, but I never really considered it as a career until about two years ago. I actually went to university to study accounting."

"Accounting? Wow, so you're a math wiz?"

"Hardly," I giggled. "It was what my dad wanted me to do to guarantee myself a solid career, but I hated it. I flunked out within a year. I'm not entirely sure that my dad has ever forgiven me for it, he was really disappointed in me."

"But surely he just wants you to be happy, whatever job you have..."

"You would think so," I shrugged. "Doesn't feel like it all the time though. He's very against the whole starving artist thing. He's not a bad person, but he's very practical and just can't understand how suffocating an office job would be for someone who likes to be creative. I get the impression that just being around me these days exasperates him."

I felt another blush cover my cheeks as I realized I was over-sharing. It could easily be blamed on the alcohol, but Chris was a good listener and I found him very easy to talk to.

"Sorry," I mumbled. "That was more information than you probably needed."

"You don't need to apologize so much," Chris assured me. "I wouldn't have asked the question if I didn't want to hear the answer."

"Sor-" I paused. "Bad habit, I guess."

Chris squeezed my arm and shot me a reassuring smile before getting our conversation back on track.

"So, what made you persevere with photography in the end?"

"I just really enjoy doing it. I love capturing those unexpected moments, like the awkward laughter in between poses, the moments when people have their guard down and don't realize how beautiful they look. Then, when I get to share the photos I've taken with people and they see themselves in a different way, the joy it brings them makes it worth any financial struggles." As I finished my explanation, a thought struck me. "I actually got some good ones today, just on my phone when you guys first came in, not doing the planned and posed stuff."

They'd all been so excited to see each other even though it was just a few short weeks since they'd wrapped the film. It was sweet and I hadn't been able to resist capturing their reunion.

"Really? Could I see them?"

"If you give me your phone number, I can send them to you," I smiled up at him. "That would actually be helpful. They're obviously different than the ones I took for the actual shoot, but you can tell me if they're any good or if you think I just got the job because of my connections."

I reached into my bag and handed my phone to Chris so he could type in his number which he did before shooting me a skeptical glance.

"Do you really think your connection to Robert is the only reason you got the job?"

"Well, it was all so last minute. I can't help, but assume it's a mix of desperation and some pulled strings," I admitted. "But I know this is my one shot. Robert really believes in people making their own way in life so if I totally blow this opportunity, I know he won't fight for them to have me back again and I wouldn't want him to."

We turned another corner, taking us just a few blocks from my apartment building as Chris answered.

"I'm sure he wouldn't have gotten you the job if there was any chance that he thought you would fail," Chris assured me. "But he is a good person to have in your corner. I probably wouldn't have taken the Captain America gig at all if it wasn't for him convincing me I could do it. He can be very persuasive."

I smiled at that information. I knew my uncle didn't like to take no for an answer so I could imagine how that conversation went.

"He can be very encouraging when he needs to be," I agreed. "Even if that encouragement sometimes comes out in the form of publicly shaming someone for their taste in men."

Chris let out another deep laugh and shook his head.

"C'mon, you gotta admit you deserved that."

"I did not!"

"He took you to Hooters and you didn't run away as fast as possible," Chris reminded me as if I could have forgotten such an embarrassing decision. "If that's not deserving of some public shaming then I don't know what is."

"Dating is hard these days," I huffed. "Maybe it would be easier if I had giant muscles like you, but it's hard to meet people."

"I think having muscles the size of mine would actually make you less hot."

I couldn't bite back the giggle that slipped from my lips as I looked up at him with a questioning raise of my eyebrows.

"Less hot?" I asked. "That would imply that you think I'm hot now."

"I do," Chris smirked confidently. "I think you're fuckin' gorgeous."

His words instantly made my cheeks heat up again. I'd baited him into the compliment, but I didn't expect his blunt and honest answer. I was stunned into a momentary silence that only made Chris' smirk grow wider until I giggled once again.

"You're just drunk."

"I am not," Chris chuckled. "Well, maybe a little, but that doesn't change the facts."

There was a grin on my face and I felt like a little schoolgirl with a crush. Chris Evans just called me gorgeous. Any woman who said they didn't swoon in that situation was probably lying.

"That's very sweet of you to say," I told him, trying to play it cool. "You're pretty easy on the eyes yourself."

Chris squeezed my arm again as he flashed me a smile.

My apartment building was in sight now, just half a block away, and I was disappointed that our evening was about to end.

I was comfortable with Chris. He was nice and easy to talk to and I'd had more fun and laughs with him in the last few hours than I'd had throughout most of my last relationship. But despite our harmless flirting, I knew he was too good for me. I knew that I didn't stand a chance with him and that when the alcohol wore off and the sun came up, he would see that. As much as I wasn't ready to say goodbye, I could hardly keep us walking in circles around the block without him noticing so I reluctantly slowed to a stop outside my building.

"This is me..."

Chris looked up and nodded slowly.

"It doesn't look so bad."

"Because it's not!" I insisted. "Honestly, this isn't that bad of a neighbourhood."

"Well, it's not that great either, Whitney."

Another giggle slipped from my lips as I pulled my keys out of my purse, reluctantly slipping my arm from his.

"Your accent makes my name sound funny," I teased. "You don't say Whitney, you say Win-ney."

Chris laughed, but shook his head.

"Now who's drunk."

"Oh, definitely me," I admitted. "But that doesn't mean I'm wrong."

"Okay, Winnie, whatever you say."

He said my name wrong on purpose that time, but there was something about it that put a smile on my face. Emboldened by the alcohol and by his flirtatious nature, I decided to take a chance.

"Do you want to come up for a bit?" I asked. "One last drink maybe?"

Chris hesitated, but after a moment of thought, he shook his head.

"Nah, I should probably get home. I think I've had enough drinks for tonight." His solid reasoning eased the blow of rejection slightly, but it still burned me up inside. "Thanks for the invite though, maybe I'll take you up on that offer another time."

"Sure," I nodded, hoping I was masking my disappointment. "That would be nice."

"Great," he grinned before pulling me into a hug. "It was nice to meet you, Winnie. I have a feeling that we're going to be good friends."

Friends.

Good friends.

His words echoed in my head as I agreed and slipped out of his grasp. We said our goodbyes, I thanked him for escorting me home and I watched as he walked back down the street before I went inside.

Friends. F-R-I-E-N-D-S.

At least he'd made himself clear and subtly let me down easy before I had chance to form any wrong ideas about what our relationship was or could be. It hurt and I would be lying if I said it didn't feel a bit like a stab in the heart, but I was glad that he'd put me in my place before I made a fool of myself by making a move.

I knew I'd been getting ahead of myself anyway. I knew he was way out of my league, but he'd called me gorgeous and walked me home. He'd even given me a nickname. Maybe I'm just easy to impress, but it felt like he was interested. I guess being a big star in Hollywood requires a certain level of charm though and he was probably just used to being naturally flirtatious with most of the women he encounters.

I sighed as I let myself into my apartment and tossed my bag on the table by the door. I'd felt like the luckiest girl in the world only moments earlier and now I was back to feeling like I was a romantic lost cause. I dragged myself through the motions of getting ready for bed and flopped down on top of the blankets - it was too hot to be under them and I didn't have the luxury of air conditioning.

Perhaps it was for the best that Chris declined my invitation to come upstairs, I thought to myself. This apartment was hardly up to Hollywood standards, it was hardly up to my own standards even if it was all that I could afford.

As my head laid on the pillow and my heart sat heavy in my chest, I told myself that it was fine. If Chris wanted to just be friends then I would be grateful that he even wanted that. I made a mental note to send him those pictures in the morning - because I'd promised to and not because I was curious to see what kind of response I would get when he was sober - and fell into a restless sleep filled with dreams of my new friend.

---

July 2016

And so, we were friends. Good friends, maybe even great friends.

I sent Chris the photos he’d asked for the day after we met and we spent most of that day messaging back and forth. Our friendship only grew from there and, whenever he was in town, we spent as much time together as we possibly could.

But we kept things very much friendly.

There was some flirtatious exchanges, but I respected his wishes and kept the feelings that I'd developed to myself.

My career really took off in the year after we met as well. That first Marvel photo shoot had gone incredibly well which led to several more contracts with them as well as other high profile jobs. It was a long, busy year, but I was grateful and relished in my success.

I'd even managed to move into a new apartment in a much nicer neighbourhood which felt like quite a big achievement and had finally silenced Chris' fretting about my safety. I moved in May, but our busy schedules kept him from seeing my upgraded home for himself until that summer, almost a year after we met. He was returning to L.A. from a trip home to Massachusetts and we hadn't seen each other in months so I was very eager for our reunion. Despite the fact that were still in constant communication, I'd missed him terribly and had been counting down the minutes until he would be arriving at my place.

"So," My friend's voiced echoed through my phone from where it sat on the bathroom counter while I finished curling my hair into beachy waves. "Are you going to finally make a move tonight?"

"No," I scoffed. "Of course not, Hannah. I've not seen him in a while now, I want us to have a good time. I don't want to make him uncomfortable and ruin everything."

"I will bet you a thousand dollars that it wouldn't ruin everything," she insisted. "Honestly, I will give you a thousand dollars if you make a move tonight and it goes badly."

I rolled my eyes as I finished the last curly wave and reached for my hairspray.

"You can't put a price on my friendship with Chris."

"Oh my god," she groaned. "He's told you that he thinks you're gorgeous, he makes time to hang out with you whenever he can and he texts you every single day. He treats you better than any boyfriend you've ever had. How can you think he doesn't have feelings for you?"

I took a moment to spray my hair and give myself one last look over before taking her off speaker and answering the question as I walked towards my kitchen.

"Because he straight up told me that he wants to be friends," I reminded her. "And he's never given me any other signs that he's interested in anything more."

"He doesn't need to give you any signs. When someone looks at you the way that he looks at you that says enough."

"Well, I'm going to need him to say a little more."

Another groan came through the phone as the buzzer to my apartment rang.

"You're impossible."

"I know, I know, and my lack of self-esteem will make me die alone," I said, repeating the words she'd told me a hundred times. "But he's here now, so you're going to have to save your criticisms for another time."

"Just tell him how you feel," she huffed. "I expect a full report in the morning."

The buzzer rang again as I agreed and said my goodbyes to my friend. I took a deep breath and a moment to push Hannah's words from my mind before pressing the button on the intercom.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Win, it's me! Let me up."

I pressed the button to unlock the door and felt my lips slide into a cheek aching grin just from the sound of his voice. It had been too long since we'd had a chance to hang out and I was very much looking forward to a nice evening together.

It took him barely a minute to get up to my apartment, knocking twice before letting himself in.

"Hey!" I grinned, rushing towards him as he held his arms open. I threw mine around him as soon as I was close enough and squeezed him tightly. "I missed you!"

"I missed you too," he smiled. "Nice place you got here, someone's doing well for themselves."

"Oh, please," I giggled, slipping out of his arms. "I've seen your house, Mr. Evans. This is a dump compared to where you live."

"Nah, this place is great!"

"It's definitely an improvement," I admitted as I led him towards the kitchen. "Would you like a drink? I bought that beer you like."

"You didn't have to do that. I would have been fine with whatever you have in," he chided me, but I waved him off and assured him it was fine. "What's the plan for tonight anyway?"

I shrugged as I opened the fridge to get a beer out for him and a bottle of wine for myself.

"I don't mind. Do you want to go out for drinks later or just stay here? It is a Saturday so everywhere around here will be packed with women in their early twenties if you'd like your ego stroked a bit."

I was referring to the last time we'd gone out and made the mistake of going to a bar that turned out to be pretty unfriendly to celebrities. A lot of places in L.A. made it easy for celebrities to go under the radar, but the place we'd gone to apparently wasn't one of them. There was a steady stream of beautiful young women trying their luck with Chris all night until we eventually fled and went back to his place just to give him some peace.

Chris laughed, clearly understanding what I was referencing, but he shook his head.

"Honestly? I'd prefer to stay in tonight," he admitted, but a smirk slid onto his face as he very obviously gave me a once over. "But you got all dressed up and it would be a shame to waste an outfit like that on a night in."

"Oh, this old thing?" I glanced down at the short black sundress I was wearing, a blush covering my cheeks from his compliment. "I just put this on in case we did decide to go out, but staying in sounds good to me. I'm well stocked with supplies."

I gestured to the wine and beer on the counter and the few bottles of hard liquor behind them.

"Then we'll stay in?"

"Sure," I nodded as a thought hit me and I gasped with excitement. "Oh, we can sit on my balcony! It over looks the park and I just got a new little couch for it."

"Very fancy," Chris laughed. "You really are doing well for yourself."

"Shut up," I rolled my eyes. "I don’t think Ikea patio furniture is a particularly high aspiration for anyone."

"Don't sell yourself short! You're finally getting recognition for your talent and that's worth celebrating."

I smiled as I led him through the living room and opened the door to my balcony with a flourish. The heat of July in California hit us immediately, but the balcony was shaded which made it a more reasonable temperature.

"This is nice," Chris nodded approvingly. "Well done, Winnie."

He sat on the couch and held his beer up towards me. I gently clinked my glass against it before sitting next to him. I thanked him once I was settled, hiding the width of my grin with my glass as I took a sip.

"So, how was Massachusetts?" I asked, curling my feet underneath me. "Do you have much more time off or are you back at it pretty quick?"

"I've actually got some time off," Chris informed me. "I think I'll probably spend most of it back home. It was great being there the last few weeks. It just feels better than L.A."

"Most places probably feel better than L.A.," I pointed out with a scoff. "This place is exhausting."

"You should come visit some time," Chris suggested before flashing me a smirk. "I feel bad leaving you here when I'm clearly your only friend."

"Excuse me, that is not true!" I protested, my jaw dropping at his insult as he chuckled at his own joke. "I have plenty of friends, thank you very much. All those liquor bottles on the counter are leftover from my very crowded house-warming party."

"Oh, no, Winnie," he laughed, his hand coming up to his chest. "Don't try and provide evidence that you have friends. That makes you seem even more pathetic."

"More pathetic than what? I have friends!"

"Imaginary ones don't count."

I couldn't help, but laugh at that insult as I shook my head.

"You're so rude. I don't know why I put up with you."

"Because you have no one else." He shot me a very over the top look of pity until I swatted his arm and he dissolved into laughter again. "Okay, okay, I'll stop. Seriously though, you should come out to Massachusetts sometime. I'll show you around."

"That would be fun," I agreed. "I'm pretty busy with work over the summer, but I think I'm in New York for a shoot in September. I could maybe tie a trip in with that if you're still out there."

"I should be if nothing else comes up," Chris nodded. "And fall is a great time to come. It's gorgeous."

"I bet. It would be nice to experience a season instead of just this sweltering L.A. heat all the time."

I made a face to emphasize my point as I sipped my drink and Chris eyed me suspiciously.

"I can't help, but get the impression that you're not loving it here at the moment..."

"I don't know," I shrugged. "Not really. I thought moving into a better apartment would help, but I'm just kinda tired of it, I guess."

"It can be draining here," he nodded. "Have you thought about moving somewhere else?"

I sighed and shook my head.

"Not really. I'd miss my family too much. I'd have to have a good reason, I think, or know someone wherever I was going."

"Well, you'll always know someone in Massachusetts," he smiled. "And my Ma would love you. I'm sure she'd take you in right away."

"Awe, Mama Evans. I'd love to meet her...Mostly so I could demand an apology for her part in raising such a horrible man."

Chris threw his head back with another chest grab worthy laugh.

"Oh man, I know. My brother is pretty awful."

I snorted a laugh at his comeback, but shook my head.

"Scott was delightful the few times I met him," I informed him. "I was clearly talking about you."

"Me?!" He gasped dramatically. "What are you talking about? I'm a total gentleman."

"Imaginary friends don't count," I repeated his words back to him in a very bad impression of his deep voice and Boston accent. "Yeah, you're such a gentleman."

"It's called a joke, Winnie," he teased. "Try having a sense of humour."

I stuck my tongue out at him in response, but I had to admit that the teasing was nice. I really had missed him while he was away and I was relieved that we fell back together so naturally that it was like we'd never been apart.

Our conversation continued to flow well into the night and so did our drinks. A few hours later and several alcoholic beverages down, the temperature was starting to drop a bit as the sun set, but our conversation was just starting to heat up.

"So," Chris turned to me with a smirk as he sipped the tequila sunrise I'd just made for him. He'd sworn he wouldn't like it, that it would be too sweet, but apparently he was too tipsy to really care. "How's your love life these days? Any more trips to Hooters?"

I snorted a laugh as I shook my head.

"I need more alcohol if we're going to delve into my love life."

Mostly because the biggest detriment to my romantic life was currently sitting on the couch with me, but I wasn't going to volunteer that information. Chris nudged the bottom of the glass in my hand, gently enough not to spill any but firmly enough to lift it slightly.

"Drink up then because I'm curious. Especially after a statement like that."

The irony of someone who was very vocal about how much they hated being constantly interrogated and harassed about their love life trying to do that exact thing to me wasn't lost on me, but I knew he'd keep pestering me until I opened up. I did as Chris suggested and took a large swig of my drink before answering him.

"No, there hasn't been any more dates at Hooters lately," I assured him. "But I did go on a date last week that was disappointing in it's own way."

Chris raised an eyebrow.

"Oh? How so?"

"He turned out to be a Robert Downey Jr. fanboy," I admitted, rolling my eyes as Chris let out a laugh. "It was going well until I made the mistake of mentioning that he's my uncle. He wouldn't shut up about him - stop laughing! - It was awful. Honestly, he went on and on! I eventually asked him if he'd rather be on a date with my uncle than me."

"And what did he say?"

I scowled at the memory.

"He said yes and asked for his number." That admission drew another howl of laughter from Chris and I couldn't help, but giggle along with him despite my shaking head. "Honestly, Chris, it's not funny. I have the worst luck."

"You have the worst taste in men." He corrected and I wondered briefly if he'd be less confident in that statement if he knew that he was my taste, even more so when he continued. "You're only interested in the douchey guys and then you're always shocked when they act like assholes."

"That is so not true!" I protested. "How am I supposed to know they're going to be douche bags? We talk for like two days on a dating app before we meet up and they always seem normal!"

"What was this one's job?"

I cringed and took another big swig of my drink.

"A club promoter."

"Exactly!" Chris groaned. "And hadn't the one before him quit his job to try and get famous on YouTube?"

"Instagram," I corrected. "But, so what? I struggled for a long time before my career went anywhere. You can't judge people by something like that."

"For the most part, I agree with you," Chris nodded. "But there are some careers that only attract a certain kind of person."

I huffed at his logic, but there was some truth to what he was saying.

"Dating is just hard these days," I insisted. "Besides, from what I've seen online lately, you're one to talk about messy relationships."

Now it was Chris' turn to take a gulp of the drink in his hand as he raised an eyebrow at my claim.

"Everything you read about me is bullshit, you know that. I haven't dated anyone lately, people just like to make things up."

"Oh, what I was reading the other day wasn't really about who you were dating."

That got his attention as he shot me a surprised look.

"What was it about then?"

"I thought it was all bullshit?" I smirked. "Does it matter what it was if it's not true?"

Chris shrugged.

"Even if it's not true, I like to know what people are saying about me."

"And you don't have a team to provide you with that information?"

"I do," he nodded. "But they don't tell me everything so I'd love to know what you read."

I swallowed hard, suddenly feeling shy about disclosing what I'd seen. I took a moment to figure out how to say it before telling him.

"I stumbled across an article that claimed an anonymous source, who recently spent the night with you, told them that you are not particularly skilled at going down on a woman."

Chris' jaw dropped and I couldn't help, but laugh again at the outrage on his face.

"That's fuckin' bullshit!" He protested. "Why would anyone believe an anonymous source? It's obviously not true! Why would they even write that?"

I smirked again as I tried to hold back the laughter bubbling up inside me. Of course, I didn't believe an anonymous source and I felt bad for Chris that mean rumours like that were being spread around the internet, but that didn't mean I wasn't going to tease him about it anyway.

"I don't know. She must have had some kind of proof, they wouldn't have published it without fact checking."

"They absolutely would!" Chris laughed incredulously. "They publish anything that gets clicks!"

I shrugged and tried to stifle the giggles still fighting to come out.

"It seemed pretty believable to me. I'm not trying to be mean, but maybe just take the criticism and use it to grow."

"I don't need to use it to grow!" He insisted. "I have plenty of skills in that area, I've never had any complaints."

"Until now."

"It's not true!"

"Unfortunately, I'll never know..."

I froze, hearing my words echo through my head as Chris' eyes widened in surprise for a brief moment before a twinkle appeared. It was a simple statement, but we both picked up on what it implied, especially with the hint of intrigue, almost challenge, in my voice.

Chris tossed back the last of his drink and then shifted, sitting up a bit straighter as the look of annoyance on his face had changed into something almost cocky. I took a sip of my own drink, hoping to drown the nerves that were bubbling in my stomach as the cool evening breeze suddenly did nothing to ease the heat that surrounded us.

"Well, how am I suppose to prove it to you?"

He moved his hand until it was resting on my knee and I had to stifle a gasp at the sensation. We were fairly affectionate and much more touchy with each other than many friends were, but this felt different. There was a tension between us now and I swallowed hard, not wanting the alcohol in my system to make me misinterpret anything.

"I don't know." I bit my lip as he stared me down, a smirk back on his face now. "Why don't you de-describe it?"

Demonstrate.

Demonstrate was the word that I was looking for, the word that was on the tip of my tongue.

Describe was not quite as flirtatious. It was like I'd just set him some kind of essay assignment. I cringed, but Chris was unfazed as he chuckled and nodded his head.

"Alright," he shrugged. "Where should I start?"

Before I even had time to answer, he began his explanation.

His voice was low as he spoke, sparing no detail. He described every kiss, every touch and every little tease. By the time he was describing how much he liked to watch whoever was he was pleasuring, looking up from where his face was buried to see her orgasm roll through her body, I was almost shamelessly panting. His hand was still on my leg, stroking higher and higher on my thigh and I felt more aroused from his words than I had from the last few sexual encounters that I'd had.

He was watching me when he finished speaking, a smirk on his face and his eyes narrowed in a seductive stare as I took a shaky breath.

It was now or never.

Tossing back the last of my drink, I put my glass on the table. Then, I took the glass in his hand and did the same.

He was watching me the whole time, meeting my eyes as I sat back on the couch. My mind was running a mile a minute as the gravity of the situation hit me, but I tried to push all thoughts of doubt from my head as I bit my bottom lip in anticipation. His eyes flicked down to watch the movement and that was all the confirmation I needed.

I darted forward fast enough that I wouldn't have time to change my mind and pressed my lips against his.

There was a brief moment when he froze. I felt his hand tense on my thigh and his body seemed more rigid than it had moments ago, but he recovered quickly and a low growl came from his throat before his hands moved to my waist and effortlessly lifted me into his lap.

I gasped at the movement, momentarily taking my lips away from his, but before I could even mumble out any comments on his strength, he'd pressed our lips together again.

It was a sloppy kiss. Spurred on by our mounting tension and the panic bubbling inside me that any minute now he would change his mind and push me away in disgust, our movements were frantic and desperate. My hands slid around his neck, one moving up to the back of his head as if I needed to hold him in place, but his fingers digging into my waist made me think that he was having the same thought.

Eventually though, the need for air forced us apart and I rested my forehead against his as we fought to catch our breath. The pause in our actions gave my brain time to catch up to my body and I immediately felt the nerves kick in.

Logically, I knew we should slow things down and talk about what this meant. My feelings for Chris went deeper than a drunken hook up and I was setting myself up for heartbreak if he wasn't on the same page. However, there was a more impulsive part of my brain that didn't care. I'd wanted this for so long, surely I deserved a chance to just enjoy it.

As if Chris could read my mind, his deep voice cut through my thoughts.

"Are we really doing this?"

I bit my lip, knowing this was the time to voice any concerns that I had, but as I stared into his eyes, I couldn't make myself jeopardize the moment.

"Yes," I nodded. "I'm in if you are?"

A smirk slid onto Chris' face as he nodded as well.

"I've been waiting almost a whole fuckin' year for this," he admitted. "I'm absolutely in."

I felt my heart flutter at his confession. If he'd been waiting for this as long as I had then that must have meant that we were on the same page. No one waits that long for a meaningless fuck, he would have made a move by now if there wasn't more to it.

In an effort to silence my overactive brain, I pressed my lips back against his which proved to be the perfect distraction. All worries and cares slipped from my mind as his tongue slipped back into my mouth and his hands drifted down to cup my ass. I could practically feel them burning through my thin dress and as they squeezed slightly, pressing my hips closer towards his, I could tell that my panties were already much damper than was probably reasonable.

But the anticipation was practically killing me.

My body felt like it was on fire as every brush of his tongue, every caress of my skin, every sigh that fell from his lips against my mouth, had me writing against him like a cat in heat. Often, when I'd imagined what this moment would be like, I'd assumed it would be slow - we'd take our time and savour every touch - but I hadn't factored in just how desperate we'd both be or how quickly I would be filled with the absolute need for there to be less layers of fabric between us.

Chris sucked in a deep breath as his lips moved from mine, sliding lower to kiss along my jaw. I could feel a bulge growing between us, telling me that he was as overeager as I was so, as shivers tingled down my spine from the trail his mouth was taking, I fought through the distractions to speak.

"Chris," I panted. "Let's go inside."

His lips paused their movement as he nuzzled into my neck.

"Not much of an exhibitionist?"

"Not on the first date."

My words were teasing and a shrug of my shoulders accompanied my response, earning a chuckle from Chris.

"Alright, that's fair."

I nudged his head away from my skin so I could press another soft kiss to his lips.

My intention was to then climb off of his lap and lead him into my apartment, but he had other ideas as his hands slid under my thighs and his grip tightened. With one smooth motion and an impressive show of strength, he stood from the couch and lifted me up with him. I gasped and rushed to wrap my legs around his waist for stability, but the smirk on his face and the bulge of his bicep told me that it probably wasn't necessary. He was incredibly strong and it sent another flush of arousal through me at the thought of the beautifully sculpted physique under his clothes.

"Are you bulking up for Cap again?"

I mumbled the words in an attempt to keep my mind busy and stop myself before I started rubbing myself against his stomach. With the way my legs were positioned there was merely a shirt and my panties between us and it was entirely too tempting.

"Nah, got a month or two before that starts again," he informed me, quirking an eyebrow. "Why do you ask?"

I pointed him towards the door of my bedroom before answering as I tried to keep the shock out of my voice.

"So, you're like, always this strong?"

Chris chuckled slightly as he kicked my bedroom door open.

"Well, I'm no club promoter," he teased. "But I do tend to stay at a certain level of fitness for when the job does require it."

My jaw dropped at his audacity to bring that up again at a moment like this, but I couldn't stop the snort of laughter that slipped out.

"Shut up," I demanded, letting my thumb stroke against the soft skin on the back of his neck. "Before I come to my senses and ask you to leave."

Now it was Chris' turn to laugh as he gently tossed me onto the bed before crawling over me like a lion stalking it's prey.

"C'mon," he smirked as he hovered over me. "I think we both know that the last thing you want me to do right now is leave."

With that, he pressed his lips back against mine before I had chance to argue. Not that I would have, because he was absolutely right. There was a long list of things I wanted him to do, but leaving was not one of them. In fact, as I let my arms slid over his toned shoulders, I pulled him even closer.

I couldn't get enough of him. I wanted to hear every little grunt and moan, I wanted to feel every inch of his body against mine, I wanted to see his muscles quiver and twitch with pleasure, I wanted him inside me and we'd barely even started. A year of waiting would make anyone desperate and, as much as I was revelling in his talented mouth as it moved against my own, I was eager to see what else he could do with it.

Sliding my hands down along his back, I ran them over his waist until they were at the hem of his shirt and, in an attempt to move things along, I slid them back up over his stomach, bringing his shirt with them. I paused, taking a moment to trace over his abs and he chuckled, moving his lips down to nuzzle them into my neck.

"That tickles," he mumbled against my skin as I smiled.

"Sorry, I'm just trying to wrap my head around the fact that these muscles are real."

"They are," he smiled up at me. "Are you impressed?"

"Maybe a little," I admitted with a smile of my own. "I'll be more impressed if you get these clothes out of the way and let me admire you properly."

He chuckled again, but didn't fight as I pulled his shirt over his head. The light in the room was dim and the way we were positioned didn't give me an optimal view, but what I could see was enough to draw a soft gasp from my lips.

I'd seen him shirtless and in even less from a few sneaky Google searches and watching his old movies, but seeing it all right in front of me was quite a treat. I had to double check that I wasn't drooling at the sight as I openly stared, my mouth slightly agape.

I realized I was probably ogling him a little too long when a faint blush covered his cheeks and he ducked his head back against my neck. He placed another soft kiss against my skin before he spoke.

"Now, it's your turn."

"Okay," I agreed, swallowing hard. "But just keep in mind that I don't look like that."

I ran my hands up and down his sides to emphasize what I was referring to and I felt more than heard him chuckle as he peered up at me once more.

"I'd be disappointed if we had the same upper body," he teased. "I mean, if I'm being honest."

I rolled my eyes despite the smile on my face.

"You know what I mean," I insisted. "I'm not sculpted by the Gods like you are."

His head fell back against my shoulder as he shook with laughter before shaking his head.

"You have nothing to worry about," he assured me. "You're too hard on yourself. You're fuckin' gorgeous."

His words took me back to the first night we met as the sincerity in his voice was the same as it had been back then. And there was something about the confidence with which he spoke that had me believing him.

So, as his hands slid under my dress - teasing the outside of my thighs in a way that had me biting my lip to force back a moan - I pushed any negative thoughts or doubts about myself from my mind. I even felt a hint of pride when my dress was discarded, exposing my lack of bra, and making Chris' eyes darken as they scoured over my body.

"Fuck, Winnie," he groaned as he soaked in the sight of my exposed chest. "You're beautiful."

I felt my heart flutter at the genuine awe in his voice and at his word choice. Gorgeous, hot, sexy - those are all compliments I would have loved to receive from him, but beautiful. It seemed deeper, more romantic. There was a brief reminder from the voice in my head that perhaps the importance of such a simple word was a signal I shouldn't be moving forward with this without having a very serious conversation about feelings first, but I was quick to ignore it as I pulled Chris back to my lips.

It seemed he was as desperate to move things along as I was though as his mouth didn't linger against mine for very long before it was trailing a path down my neck. He paused when he got to my chest, letting out a groan as he nuzzled the skin before sucking it just hard enough to leave a faint mark when he moved back. The sight had me squirming beneath him and he shot me a smirk before moving his lips to my nipple.

Gasping at the sensation, I arched up towards him as he continued to nip and tease me. If his current actions were anything to go by then whoever wrote the article that I read was very sorely mistaken. He appeared to be incredibly talented with his mouth and by the time he moved away from my nipple to continue his path down my body, my chest was heaving and I was sure that I was just one gentle touch away from my peak.

However, I was disappointed when he got to the top of my panties and, after licking along the skin of my lower stomach, pushed himself up and moved off of me to stand at the foot of my bed. I whined in protest, wanting him as close to me as possible, but all I got was a smirk in response.

"Patience," he mumbled as he unbuttoned his jeans.

I wanted to pout, to argue that I'd been patient enough in the last year, but any complaints died on my tongue as he pushed his jeans to the floor. As he stood in front of me, only in his underwear, my sense of urgency was replaced by an appreciation for the chance to admire his chiselled body. I propped myself up on my elbows to get a better view and he chuckled at the look of wonder that I was sure was on my face.

His underwear was the next thing to go and the anticipation turned quickly to shock as my jaw dropped at what he revealed. I could have assumed from the large bulge that he was quite well-endowed, but seeing it confirmed sent a whole new flush of arousal through me. I mumbled out a 'wow' as I bit my lip and tried to take it all in - he truly was a gorgeous man.

"Like what you see?"

His question snapped me out of my daze as he knelt back down on the end of the bed.

"Very much so," I nodded, desperate to feel his body over mine once again. "Come back up here."

"No," Chris grinned as he ducked down to place a kiss on my ankle. "Not yet."

Again, part of me wanted to argue and demand that he return his mouth to mine and get things moving, but before I could even open my mouth, he made his intentions clear - by tracing his fingers up my leg with his lips close behind.

I was quivering under his touch, still leaning up on my elbows when he reached the edge of the panties I was wearing. He glanced up at me as he licked along the lace before he bit into the material and tugged. I lifted my hips to ease his struggle as he yanked my panties down my legs with his teeth. The sight of it had me squeezing my thighs together, desperate for any kind of friction, but as soon as my underwear joined the rest of our clothes on the floor, he was quick to pull my legs apart again.

"Keep 'em open for me," he demanded, that damn smirk still firmly on his face. "I've got something to prove."

I giggled at that statement, but did as he asked. I was still watching his movements, until he dipped his head forehead and pressed his lips against me. That first moment of contact was enough to have my head flopping back against the pillows as my hands shot down to grip his hair. I was vaguely aware of him mumbling something about how wet I was, but my brain was too busy trying to process the pleasure he was giving me to take in his words.

He wasted no time demonstrating everything that he'd described to me earlier that night. His tongue was focused and precise in its movements and, contrary to what I read, he clearly knew what he was doing as he easily narrowed in on my clit. It wasn't enough though. I needed more pressure, more friction, and I pushed up towards him with a moan on my lips to urge him on. He wasn't having any of that as his hands looped under my thighs to settle on my hips, holding me in place, but he increased the pressure as he apparently understood what I needed despite my lack of ability to verbalize it.

I immediately felt a familiar feeling starting to build.

He sucked and licked with an urgency that I very much appreciated, flicking his tongue in just the right spot at just the right speed to have me trembling beneath him. I managed to gasp out a warning 'oh god' as my hands gripped his hair even tighter and I fell apart into a puddle of whimpers and moans. My orgasm hit me more fiercely than I'd imagined in my wildest fantasies of this moment and I arched up against him, his name pouring from my lips like a chant as he continued his efforts with a low groan of his own only adding to my pleasure.

As my breathing started to slow, Chris gently ceased his movements and moved his head back before resting his chin on my thigh. He cocked an eyebrow as he looked up at me.

"Well?"

"I'm going to write my own article," I told him, feeling that wonderful post peak bliss wash over me. "Because someone was obviously very misinformed."

Chris chuckled before pulling his hands from my hips to plant them on the bed and drag himself back over me.

"I'm glad I exceeded expectations."

"Mhmm," I hummed in agreement as his lips hovered above mine. "Now, let's see what else you can do."

Chris flashed me a smile and kissed me briefly before leaning back just enough to reach down and take his cock in his hand. Another moan fell from my lips as he rubbed it against me for a moment before nudging against my entrance and finally pressing inside. He moved slowly, but even so, I winced at the sensation. The slight burn as I stretched around him felt good but there was an undeniable ache as well. Sensing my hesitation, Chris paused and dropped his head for another soft kiss. I waited a moment, until the initial spark of discomfort had passed before pressing my hips up towards him.

He took the hint and continued his slow, almost torturous, movement until he was fully inside. The burning pain returned as it felt like he was taking up every inch of space I had to offer, but it felt incredible.

"Fuck," he breathed against my neck where his head had settled again. "You're tight..."

He shifted his hips pulling another gasp from my lips.

"Only because you're huge."

I felt a puff of laughter before he nipped at my shoulder.

"Thank you."

I would have smacked him for his cocky tone, but he moved then and suddenly my mind was blank of anything other than how good it felt. His movements were slow at first, every thrust dragging every inch of him against every nerve inside me, but his restraint quickly waned as his pace increased.

I let out a moan as my head fell back against the pillows and I hitched my leg higher on his hip. He moved his hand to the back of my thigh to hold it in place as he built a steady rhythm that had us both panting as I fought to match his thrusts. My fingers dug into his shoulders as his short beard rubbed against my skin.

The sensations were overwhelming. It was like he was completely encompassing me, smothering all of my senses and I could feel the pressure building again in the pit of my stomach in a way that it all felt like too much, but not enough all at the same time. I clenched around him, earning a groan of approval from Chris as I swore I could feel him twitch inside me. The pleasure was building quickly and his thrusts got sloppier and more frantic until suddenly he pulled out of me completely.

I felt empty and immediately wanted him back inside of me, my disappointment only growing as he pushed himself up to kneel back on his heels. The only compensation was how good he looked, muscles tight and his cock hard, practically throbbing and shiny from my being drenched in my wetness.

"Turn over," he instructed, his raspy voice bringing me back to the task at hand.

It took a moment for me to process his words, but I giggled as soon as I did.

"What?" He asked, a smile on his face.

"Nothing," I laughed again as I pushed myself up to do as he asked. "You just really are 'clearly' an ass man."

A look of realization crossed his face as he cringed slightly, his hand pausing from where he had reached down to stroke himself. I settled on my knees with my back to him as he answered.

"You heard about that?"

He was referring to the comments that he made on Anna Faris' podcast and I nodded my head.

"Everyone heard about that," I teased.

He chuckled, but didn't deny it as I leaned forward to rest on my hands. The wetness between my legs felt cool from the air in the room and I suddenly felt very exposed, knowing what the view must look like from his position. Again, my worries were brief though as his hands settled on my ass, kneading and squeezing as he let out a low groan.

"With an ass like this though, can you blame me?" He asked, sliding the fingers of one hand down towards the part of me that was practically throbbing with need. My head fell forward as he gently brushed over my clit before sinking two fingers inside me. It wasn't enough, not after the stretch of his cock, but he moved them with almost criminal precision against a spot that made me tense as I moaned with pleasure. "You've been drivin' me wild ever since that night we met. Those black jeans were so tight, it was like you were poured into 'em."

His words were muttered low and quiet and as much as I appreciated the compliment, I was such a puddle of mush from the movement of his fingers that I couldn't string together a sentence in response. He kept talking, whispering words of encouragement and adoration and it only added to my pleasure, but it wasn't until his thumb pressed against my clit that I felt myself start to bubble over. With a cry that I hoped served as a warning of my impending climax, I arched my back to press myself further towards him.

"Atta girl, Winnie..."

His breath was hot against the cheek of my ass and he continued his actions, placing a soft kiss on my skin. I was close, so close, but just not quite there until he did something that surprised me and sank his teeth into the spot his mouth was resting on. It wasn't enough to break the skin, but it was enough to leave a mark and it was definitely enough to send me over the edge. Moaning out his name again as I pressed back towards him, I felt myself quivering around his fingers as the pleasure tore through my body.

My elbows were quaking with effort as they tried to hold me up while he kept his fingers gently working until my orgasm came to an end. I wasn't sure how much more I could take, but I knew I wanted him inside me again so I shot him a look over my shoulder.

"Chris," I panted. "Fuck me, please."

His eyes darkened at my request, but he wasted no time, quickly shifting until he was positioned behind me and sliding himself back inside. He felt even bigger in our new position and his need was made clear as his hands settled on my hips to use them as leverage, thrusting into me at a much more frantic pace than he had before.

The stretch and feel of him deep inside me had me moaning and arching my back once again, but I was doubtful that I would reach another peak - until Chris slid one of his hands from my hip, over my stomach and back down to my clit. The sensation combined with his movements and all the noises pouring from his mouth had a tightness in my stomach forming again with shocking speed. It was just shy of overwhelming as my two previous orgasms had left me feeling rather sensitive already, but when Chris picked up the pace even more, his grunts and groans getting more desperate, I leaned into the sensation. It only took a minute or two more before he finally pressed himself deep inside me, stilling as he let out a low moan and I followed him over the edge once more.

After a few final thrusts through his release, Chris leaned forward to press his chest against my back. I could feel how hard he was breathing and soaked in the moment of bliss until my arms finally gave out underneath me. We landed in a heap face down on the bed, but Chris quickly rolled off of me before pulling me tight against his side.

"Wow," he breathed out. "Winnie, that was...wow."

I smiled as I rested my head on his chest.

"It was," I agreed. "I take back any doubts about your abilities."

He chuckled and placed a soft kiss on the top of my head.

"Thanks," he smiled as I peered up at him until he let a yawn slip out. "Mind if I stay here tonight?"

His question made my own smile widen even more.

"Of course not!"

He breathed out a sigh of relief at my words as I felt a wave of reassurance myself. He wanted to stay. He wasn't about to rush out the door the moment we were done and I filed that information away as more evidence that we were on the same page.

I felt like I should get up - to use the bathroom and offer my guest some water - but our activities had my whole body feeling like jelly. I was vaguely aware of a mumbled 'goodnight' from Chris, but I found myself drifting off to sleep before I could even respond.

The next morning as I slowly woke up, it took me a moment to remember why I was naked and why there was a pleasant, but very noticeable ache between my thighs. As the memory came back to me, a smile slid onto my face, but when I rolled over to find the bed empty, a flicker of worry sparked in the pit of my stomach. Especially when a glance at the clock told me that it was only seven in the morning. We couldn't have fallen asleep much before one so there was no good reason for him to be out of bed already.

I called out his name, hopeful that he would respond, but I wasn't entirely surprised when he didn't. The dread I was feeling intensified at the silence around me and I dragged myself out of bed with the intention of checking if he was in the bathroom or perhaps back out on the balcony. However, the sight of what was on the floor, or more accurately what wasn’t on the floor, made me pause. My dress and panties were laying where they'd been tossed, but his clothes were no where to be seen.

Trying to keep a level head, I quickly pulled on the oversized shirt that I usually slept in and ventured out of my bedroom, but my fears were quickly confirmed. My apartment was empty.

At first, I gave him the benefit of the doubt as I desperately tried to rationalize his disappearance. Maybe he woke up early and went out to get us breakfast and coffee? The dull throbbing in my head told me that I could certainly use a good shot of caffeine and it was a pretty safe bet that he was feeling the same. But, when he didn't return after half an hour, I assumed that theory was just an optimistic wish.

After forty-five minutes of sitting on my couch, watching the door - willing it to open and for Chris to appear - I sent him a text. I tried to keep it low key and chill, but after another hour of staring at my phone, the words "Hey, where'd you go?" started to seem more and more desperate.

By ten o'clock with no response and no sign of Chris returning, I accepted the situation for what it was.

He wasn't coming back.

It was a drunken mistake that he clearly regretted.

We'd risked our entire relationship for one night of wonderful, incredible, but meaningless sex and he didn't even have the guts to stick around long enough to talk to me about it.

One stupid night and I'd lost one of my best friends.

The thought brought tears to my eyes and, before I could stop myself, I was blubbering like a baby as I curled up on my couch. I was devastated and heartbroken. I'd let myself believe that maybe he wanted me the same way that I wanted him because we were so close and I never would have imagined that he would let it go that far just to ditch me in the morning without even a goodbye. Surely, after a year of such strong friendship, I deserved more than that.

But no matter how stupid and naive I felt in that moment, nothing would compare to the level of utter foolishness I felt later that day when I was tiding up and realized that there wasn't a condom in sight.

Part Two

Tags: @maggotzombie @moonlacebeam @mizzzpink @zaylaugh @flowery-mess @flowerjewels @njrronaldo7 @hockeychick10 @partypoison00 @theladybiers @sidepieces

#chris evans fanfiction #chris evans smut #chris evans fanfic #chris evans fic #chris evans one shot #once bitten/more hearts

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