#my party that i am having on thursday night | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

elixirfromthestars · 15 days

Text

Boulevard Confessions

Pairing: 1940s!Bucky Barnes x Nurse!Reader

Summary: Being a third wheel to Peggy and Steve wasn't your ideal Thursday night fun. However, when they tell you Bucky is tagging along you eagerly decide to join them. That is until a third party makes its presence known.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warning(s): drinking / fluff / jealousy / divergent from canon timeline / suggestive language / tipsy symptoms / mentions of war + the hardships that came with it

a/n: Here’s a little piece that’s been sitting unfinished in my drafts for ages. For context, this timeline is one where Steve and Bucky both made it back from the war safe and sound and are enjoying their lives now that the war is over. Thank you for reading! ₊˚⊹♡ As a little psa my writing challenge is still ongoing!! Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!! ♡

for ambiance 🎶

“ I am about to spew my dinner all over this table,” you grimace, downing the rest of your martini. The bitterness of the spirits was lost on you as your consumption grew in time with your sour mood.

Peggy eyed you from across the table, holding back her amusement, “ If you keep stuffing your face with martinis you will.” You reach out to grab another unclaimed drink, but before you could, Peggy slid the rest of them away from you. You crossed your arms, blowing out a resigned sigh. Even in your inhibited state, you knew better than to argue with an SSR agent.

Peggy shook her head at you, “ As your best friend I have an obligation to put a stop to this. Don’t you have a shift tomorrow at the clinic?” Your eyes went wide at the reminder.

You slump in the booth, dreading the bad hangover awaiting you in the morning. “ I do, but thankfully it's in the afternoon. I won’t feel it by then. . .” You trailed off, failing to convince Peggy, or yourself, you wouldn’t be miserable at work tomorrow. Peggy turned to look at the dance floor before returning her attention to you, “ You know, maybe you should dance the dizzy away. It might help you sober up.” Your lips purse at her suggestion, noticing a certain blonde-haired blue-eyed super soldier returning from the bathroom.

“ It's easy for you to say. You have a dance partner,” you motioned over to Steve.

“ You would too if you would only go up and ask him,” she pointed out.

You glanced at the dancing couples, “ No way. With the way that leech is clinging on to him—I’d never get one word in.”

She shrugged, “ You’ll never know until you try.” These were her parting words before Steve arrived at the table and escorted her onto the dance floor. You watched them, your head bopping along tiredly to the swing music.

Maybe you should have stayed home.

You almost didn’t come to the outing—being the third wheel to Peggy and Steve wasn’t exactly your ideal Thursday night fun. However, Peggy had mentioned Bucky would come along, and seeing as you hadn’t seen him in a few weeks due to conflicting schedules, you thought this would be the perfect opportunity to catch up.

That was until the leech—a woman named Darla—decided to hog Bucky all night. Darla had been trying to get with Bucky for over a month now. You found this out tonight when Steve made a comment about it. Bucky hadn’t paid it much importance, so you thought it must have not been anything serious. However, right about the time you and Bucky were starting to catch up, Darla came over and dragged him away.

Since then you’ve been inhaling martinis like your lungs preferred them over air.

You couldn’t help the way your eyes drifted over to Bucky’s figure. Handsome as ever in his navy suit—your favorite color on him—and hair neatly combed. Watching as Darla threw herself at him with the courage that you lacked. Pulling him every which way on the dance floor, holding his hands to her hips in a tight grip.

Your stomach contents were threatening to come up again.

When did things get so complicated? You scratched at your brain for an answer. Spending time with Bucky had been so easy back at the military base where you met. You were stationed there in the medical unit caring for wounded and ill soldiers. During that time, you became great friends with Peggy and everyone on the Howling Commandos team. Bucky would frequently visit the medical unit even when he wasn’t sick or wounded. Sometimes you swore he would fake injuries or aches just to come and see you. Anytime he came in with something new he would refuse to see any other nurse but you.

It made you feel special. While other women were smitten with his charms and stumbled over seizing his attention—you had it without effort. You had so much more than just his attention without even trying. On hopeless nights he shared his fears, on days where the war seemed endless you eased his worries, and when he felt like the world was crashing down on him his heart spilled all vulnerabilities to you.

You found refuge from the horrors of war in each other—a balm to each other’s wounds that went beyond the physical. In no time, something deeper for him bloomed within your heart.

Ever since the war was over, however, things have been different. It’s been a couple of years and Steve and Bucky work alongside Peggy for the Strategic Scientific Reserve. Going on missions has become their norm, so seeing your friends is a rarity nowadays.

You on the other hand were given a job at a children’s clinic in Brooklyn. You were grateful for this small piece of normality coming back to you. Treating smaller wounds on smaller bodies instead of lethal wounds during a relentless battle. Your senses are permanently burned with sights, sounds, and smells horrific enough to induce nightmares—and they do—managing to steal precious hours of sleep from you almost every night.

It was something you and Bucky especially bonded over.

“ May I have the honor of a dance, gorgeous?” A voice interrupted your thoughts. You looked up to meet a pair of unrecognizable hazel eyes. A handsome stranger stood in front of you, his hand outstretched for you to take. If you had but only one percentage less of alcohol in your system you would have declined his offer. This of course wasn’t the case, and not wanting to reminisce on more melancholy thoughts, you decided to listen to Peggy’s advice and dance the dizzy away.

Even if it wasn’t with the man you wanted to dance with.

“ You may,” you smiled at him, taking hold of his hand. Swiftly you were swept into the sea of couples on the dance floor. The handsome stranger—who you soon learn was named Thomas—was an impeccable dancer. With one hand holding yours, and the other holding you gently at your lower back, he spun you around the dance floor in rhythmic kicks and slides. Thomas’ energy was infectious and you couldn’t help but match his enthusiasm.

After two dances your footwork and Thomas’ were practically synchronized. Thomas twirled you, causing a giggle to escape your lips. It seemed the alcohol was stubborn about staying in your system as the twirl caused the dizziness to come back—for a split second—making you trip over your own foot. Thomas caught you and steadied you, both of you laughing at your clumsiness. The carefreeness of it all lulled the ache in your heart.

Behind Thomas, you caught a glimpse of Peggy who was dancing as joyfully with Steve. Her eyes met yours and she sent you an encouraging smile. Soon after, her eyes drifted to something behind you, turning her smile into a smirk. You went back to dancing with Thomas, but manoeuvered around to get a look at what caused Peggy to smirk. Your heart did a little jump when you discovered she had been looking at Bucky and Darla, dancing a few feet from where you were.

Correction. She had been staring at a Bucky you barely recognized. His jaw clenched and body rigid as he glared daggers at the back of Thomas’ head. Darla beside him looked snubbed, tugging on Bucky’s arm to get his attention. His tense demeanor didn’t move an inch no matter how much she protested. The pair were no longer dancing, merely standing in the sea of all the couples. This piqued your curiosity.

Why had he stopped dancing? And to glare at Thomas of all things?

You didn’t have much time to think about it as Darla, clearly fed up by Bucky’s lack of attention, grabbed him by his arm and pulled him away from the dance floor. You swayed to and fro with Thomas, controlling the direction you were swinging in to try and not lose Bucky from your line of sight.

Where was Darla taking him?

Your heart stopped when you realized where they were going. Darla was making a beeline for the back of the bar where the honey hallway was. The spot where all the couples went to have a little more privacy and fool around without having to leave the bar. If he was going there with Darla, then maybe things were more serious between them than you previously believed.

Your heart dropped to your stomach when reality sank in.

You excused yourself from Thomas, scurrying away in need of some fresh air. He offered to follow along, but you declined wanting to be alone. You threw the entrance door open into the Brooklyn night as a sickly feeling spread throughout your body.

You stepped into the street, the swing music fading into the background as the door closed behind you. You took in a deep breath, once again regretting the amount of alcohol you had consumed.

If you weren’t drunk seeing Bucky with someone else wouldn’t have hurt so much. It wouldn’t have knocked the air out of your lungs like it's doing now.

You know that’s a lie. That’s a damn lie you’re telling yourself to get you through the night. To give you the strength to focus on your surroundings and trudge home.

You’d eventually do that. First, however, your body seemed to want to cling to a street lamp to bring the world back to you. The cold metal underneath your palms grounding you for a moment. The breeze blowing past you threading through your hair as if to comfort you.

“ Doll, everything alright?” Your heart stuttered when you heard his voice, the thud of the bar door closing following it. You shut your eyes and bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from saying or doing anything the liquid courage in your system was trying to wrestle out of you.

You knew you needed to make a quick getaway.

“ I’m fine. Just heading home,” you were straight to the point before turning to walk away. Not looking at him as you put one foot in front of the other—and then stumbled.

Bucky caught you, his arms offering a strong support,“ Woah, Y/n, how much did you drink?” There was a slight annoyance in his tone. As if the mere thought of you having fun was preposterous.

Or at least that’s how your tipsy state interpreted it.

“ Doesn’t matter. I can have a drink or two if I want to. I get to have fun too,” you retort, trying to push his arms away from your body. Your arms are no match for his, as he doesn’t budge an inch—on the contrary, his hold gets more firm. The world started to spin more, but at this point, whether it was because of the martinis or his proximity—you wouldn’t know.

Bucky huffed and rolled his eyes,“ This isn’t having fun. This is going overboard,” he counters. His constant need to hold you steady and scold you for drinking irked the part of you that was already upset with him—fueling it more. Especially when you had the image of him heading to the honey hallway with Darla ingrained in your brain. And his arms, the ones around you now, swinging her around on the dancefloor.

There was something dark bubbling an envious brew within you.

“ Why do you give a damn?” you snap out harshly. He stills at your tone and it's enough to shake his hold off of you. You force yourself to look at him. Intending to shoot him an annoyed glare. Something to convey what your heart felt when your words failed to—but when your eyes met his you froze.

They were dark—virtually stormy—and yet, there was a hint of pain in them. Almost as if you had kicked him, but he was toughing it out.

“ What was that about?” He finally spoke after what seemed like too long.

“ What was what about?” You feigned innocence.

His eyes got darker, a disapproving half smile on his face,“ Don’t play coy. I come out here to check on you. You’re stumbling like a drunk fool. I try to help and you snap at me?”

“ I didn’t ask you to,” you’re quick with your dismissal.

“ You…unbelievable…” Bucky lets out a scoff, not knowing how to respond. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into you. In his mind, you’re simply too drunk to regulate yourself. He doesn’t know the vile jealousy that bubbles in the pit of your stomach and gnaws at your heart. He doesn’t know the intense battle your emotions are having with your brain—right in front of him—to stay silent before you truly say something you cannot take back.

“ Go back inside. I’m heading home,” you say simply, not wanting to dwell on this conversation any longer. You feared what might come of it if you didn’t.

“ No. I'm walking you home,” he shakes his head firmly, his tone matching in conviction.

“ No, you're not,” you reply, turning to make your way down the boulevard. Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose, “ Like hell I'm not, doll. I'm not letting you walk home alone.”

“I'm not letting you walk me home. I don't want you to,” you say adamantly as your feet start moving. Bucky is right beside you as they do, not letting you get away,“ I don't care what you want or don't want. I'm walking you home and that's final.” His voice leaves no room for argument.

The martinis in your system don’t particularly give a damn, but it is enough to quiet you for the time being. Your speed increases slightly, but Bucky can match it easily. For a moment you consider running—as ridiculous as an idea that may be.

The sharp patter of your footsteps against the pavement synchronizes with the thudding of his as they mingle down the boulevard. The city sounds around you are an otherwise low hum of the occasional car and distant conversation. The city still whispering its signs of life at this time of night.

The walk to your place isn’t too far. And you know if you don’t shake him off soon there would be an unpleasant conversation awaiting you when you arrive.

“ Don’t you have someone waiting on you at the bar?” You remind him with a little sting to your heart. Secretly hoping this wasn’t the reason he’d walk away from you.

Bucky frowns, thinking for a moment before speaking,“ What? You mean Darla?” The sound of her name on his lips bristles you.

“ Yeah, her,” the word her spills from your lips as if it was venomous. Bucky catches that and is taken aback for a second. His footsteps coming to a stop. You push yourself to keep walking. Taking this as a sign to ignore the tiny part of your brain that begs you to stop moving.

Not a minute later Bucky strides to your side,“ Doll…are you jealous?” He asks with the tiniest bit of doubt, his small smile overshadowing it.

“ Me? Ha! No,” your denial is quick—too quick. His small smile turns into a wide grin. You’ve just confirmed his conjecture,“ Yes, you are.”

“ No. Go ahead and marry her for all I care. I won’t be at the wedding anyway,” you don’t mean what you say and yet you said it anyway. Playing up the indifference act you’ve dawned.

“ You won’t be at my wedding?” He’s not upset when he responds, he's amused. He has to hold back his laughter at your train of thought. This gets under your skin and you grumble a snippy no before picking up your pace. You’re now imagining Darla in a wedding dress next to Bucky in his suit and it does devastating things to you.

“ That’s impossible.”

“ How so? I just won’t go.”

His tone takes a more serious turn when he replies, “ It’ll be hard to have a wedding without the bride there.” You come to a halt, your head whipping so fast to look at him you almost gave yourself whiplash.

“ What?” You manage to find your voice. His gaze softens,“ You heard me, doll.” He’s being completely sincere—you know this deep down. However, there’s still a part of you that doesn’t believe this is happening. That believes this to be a dream.

“ You don’t mean that.”

“ I do. If you were to ask me where I see forever—I see it with you.”

His confession takes your breath away. The mere admission of him thinking of you as his eternity—as the one he wants beside him for life—your heart could burst at how delightfully overwhelmed it feels.

“ But you—” you start and his pointer finger gently presses against your lips to shush you. He already knows what you’re about to bring up and he needs to nip it before your drunken mind jumps to wilder conclusions.

“ She’s just a friend. She’s a secretary at the SSR—nothing more. I was dancing with her to be nice. Honestly, I was trying to find a polite way to leave her and get back to you until I saw you dancing with that guy,” he removes his finger from your lips once he’s done explaining. At the mention of Thomas, his jaw clenches briefly and annoyance flashes in his eyes.

It dawns on you why he was glaring at Thomas earlier. The realization of Bucky having felt as jealous as you did sends your heart ablaze. Your heart had gone through so much tonight, you were surprised it hadn’t gone into cardiac arrest already.

“ Who’s the jealous one now?” you tease, an almost giddy smile on your face.

Bucky rolls his eyes playfully,“ Yeah, doll. Unlike you, I’ll admit it. I was jealous. I don’t like seeing you with another man. Laughing and dancing—should've been me, not him,” he says stepping closer to you. His eyes reflected pure adoration.

“ Why didn’t you ask me?” your question comes out quieter than you’d like. Enamored with the way he’s looking at you. You can barely focus on anything else.

“ Because when it comes to you I get all nervous and worked up. It's like I’m a punk again—a dumb kid with a crush. I don’t want to mess it up with you, Y/n. I would never want to do anything to lose you. Guess I got too caught up in doing things right I didn’t do anything at all,” Bucky opens up to you, his answer shedding away any last bit of hesitance in your body.

“ Bucky…I wish it would’ve been you instead too,” you say softly, stepping closer until you’re only a few inches away from him. His features match yours in fondness as he gently reaches out to grab hold of your waist, pulling you even closer, and closing the final bit of distance between you.

Your hands rest delicately at his chest. You can feel the way his heart races under your fingertips, drawing out a small gasp from you. Knowing you had this effect on him delighted you. It made you wonder how long you had been making him feel this way—and how long you had missed the signs.

“ Told you. I’m a dumb kid with a crush,” he reiterates with a soft chuckle. You giggle at his words, beaming dreamily at the way that all of this is real. That Bucky has feelings for you, and you two can only grow closer from here on out.

For a split second his eyes dart to your mouth. Having you so close like this tempts Bucky to no end. Everything he’s ever wanted to do with you crosses his mind and it drives him crazy. He has no idea where to start or if he’ll even let himself start anywhere.

Your body thrums with anticipation as it waits for him to make a move.

Bucky ends up tenderly kissing your forehead, “ Come on, doll. Let’s get you home.” Your lips form a light pout, disappointed his lips didn’t touch yours. He sees your reaction and he laughs, giving your hips a light squeeze, “ Doll, our first kiss will happen after you get that alcohol out of your system,” he says, one hand reaching up to lightly swipe at your nose—finding you endearing.

“ We’ve already had our first kiss.”

“ Doll we—oh, we have…”

The memory of you two drunkenly kissing in the medical tent on one particularly lonely night during the war flashes through your minds. The already tension between you rising to a palpable form.

There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes,“ Still. If I’m being honest, I’m not stopping at just one kiss. So let’s wait until you’re sober, alright?”

“ Not stopping?” Your tone is playful as you pry for further explanation.

“ Oh no, doll. I'll be doing so much more than kissing you,” he smirks, his words laced with suggestion. His hand goes out to cup your face, caressing your cheek. It warms under his fingertips at his implication. The air around you buzzes with electricity.

He can tell where your mind went and he’s enjoying every second of it,“ Yeah, doll. Like taking you out on a proper date,” he winks at you. A genuine laugh erupts from you at the way he side steps what he really meant. He joins you in the laughter, his eyes telling you the truth of what he really desires.

You. Every bit of you.

You interlace your fingers with his, knowing deep down he has a point. When you kiss Bucky you want to be all there. You want all your senses to be fully awake to drink in every bit of him.

Especially if it goes farther than a kiss.

Bucky moves you over so he’s walking on the outermost part of the sidewalk, holding your interlaced hands to his waist so you’re pressed right up against his side as you walk. You tease and playfully banter all the way to your apartment. The unspoken promises and unmistakable yearning for one another dancing around you two. Assuring you there was so much more to come.

612 notes · View notes

beautifulpaprika · 3 months

Text

Party Next Door; Jungkook

pairing: fem!reader x jungkook

warnings: smut, a cool massage

summary: Every Thursday is a struggle. The neighbor is constantly disturbing the peace with loud music. But Y/N has had enough and decides to go over there herself, but she sets herself up for failure when the owner turns out to be beautiful. Her hatred and annoyance towards him turns into a need.

word count: 4.7k

My head is a jumbled mess. I’ve tried headphones, my own speakers, going to the furthest corner of my room, but nothing can drown away the noise next door. Every Thursday night is a hassle to work. I’ve never met the party animal neighbor, but no matter how many times I call the police on them, they don’t seem to care.

Music seeps into my living room, interrupting my work. It’s not exciting by any means, but I would like to finish it before midnight.

I hear yelling from across the way. It’s the last straw before I decide that I’ll take care of it myself.

The music is even louder in the hall, itching my brain and raising my irritation. I raise my fist and knock, no, bang on the door, trying my best to make it louder than the music and chatter.

The attempt is a failed one when no one answers the door. I try once again. And one more time.

Nothing.

A stomping up the stairs causes me to turn to a small group approaching me. The man at the front, who seems to be the leader, gives me a strange look before walking past me and opening the door.

I watch them walk in. No knocking. No banging on the door. All I had to do was turn the knob.

“Thanks,” I yell at them, only to get no response.

The frustration dwells for a moment before I go back to focusing on the main task. Finding the owner of this place and giving him a piece of this. My mind. Not my body.

“Excuse-” the woman ignores me, walking into the living room and sitting next to others who seem to be enjoying a game of ‘Spin the Bottle’. “Can you tell me-” another man ignores me. This is a very welcoming group.

“You look lost,” the voice is behind me now. A woman smiles at me, a drink in hand.

“Is it obvious?” I ask her, my vocal chords rasping at how loud I have to be over the music. She simply shrugs as a response. “I’m looking for the person who owns the place,” I tell her. She nods in understanding.

“Jungkook? He’s out on the balcony, but I wouldn’t recommend disturbing him. He’s snippy,” she takes a sip of her drink, still making eye contact with me over the rim. It’s a bit intimidating, but I’m grateful for the information nonetheless.

“Thanks!” I head to the balcony, the apartment has the same layout as mine. I peek out of the blinds blocking the party from the outside. A man lounges on his lawn chair, his legs spread out and a drink in his hand. His eyes are open and touching the sky. There’s hardly any light, the balcony sitting in an alleyway. I almost forgot that I was here on a mission - his beauty a distraction. Maybe the police didn’t want to say anything to him.

I fling myself back to my cause, sliding the door open and stepping out.

He doesn’t spare a single glance at me.

“Are you the owner of this place?”

“Who’s asking?” he still does not look at me.

“The neighbor,” my irritation rises at the lack of eye contact.

“Yeah. I am. What about it?” he takes a loud sip of his drink, his eyes closing for a moment before opening again.

“Your music's too loud. The people in this place are too loud,” I tell him. I figure laying it out now is better than beating around the bush. Especially when it comes to this guy.

“Ignore it,” he says matter-of-fact. I’m not sure what I expected when I came over here, but the attitude catches me off guard. I scoff then look around. I’m not sure what I’m looking for - maybe some help?

“I’ve tried. Several times,” my arms cross in an effort to show that I won’t let this slide no matter how much he avoids eye contact and suggests I ignore it.

He closes his eyes, sighs, and finally his eyes glide down to meet mine. The stare stops my heart for a second. His eyes are intimidating, but there can be no mistake at what he’s looking at because his glance is hard and purposeful.

“You’re the one who’s been calling the cops on me, aren’t you?” he asks.

I don’t answer. Instead, I look out onto the city not wanting to expose myself for being a wet rag. Normally, it wouldn’t matter and I would have confessed, but I’m more out of place here, making it easier to be intimidated. He stands. His boots are like bombs as he steps in front of me. His face hovering over me.

“If the police didn’t work, what makes you think I would listen to you?” He whispers. I try not to focus on his breath smelling like a mix of mint and alcohol. It’s intoxicatingly good and annoying.

“I thought,” I make sure to make direct eye contact, “that if you had a bit of empathy and compassion,” I put emphasis on ‘compassion’, “you might consider others who are around you.”

He says nothing, only narrows his eyes. Those same eyes glide from my face, then slide down my body. Heat rushes from my head to my toes, reaching my core.

“Are you gonna say something or keep looking at me like that?” I don’t know what possesses me to say it, but it makes him chuckle. “Some of us have work to do,” I continue.

“I’m not turning down the music, do whatever you want with that,” he turns to sit back in his seat. My blood boils, but not from desire anymore. “I’d like to go back to my peace and quiet if you don’t mind,” he lounges back and his eyes close, facing the sky.

Peace and quiet? With all this noise inside? Oh no, no, no.

I pull the extra red lawn chair to sit beside him, lounging back.

“Does that look like the door to you?” he asks, his shoulders stiff now and his eyes wide open. I lean back taking in the chilly night air, adjusting myself to get comfortable.

“We all want peace and quiet, sir. Even me,” I throw him a pointed look. “I don’t give you yours until you give me mine.”

“Fine,” he says. He doesn’t argue anymore, still not giving in. It’s a matter of who can last the longest now.

***

My attempt fails as the next Thursday the music seeps right through the cracks of my apartment and into my ears. I breathe in, then out and pack my laptop. I sit with him on the balcony again until the music dies then return home.

And the next Thursday, it happens again and I make my way over with my laptop once more.

It takes one minute for me to leave my apartment, step into his, and out onto the balcony. Jungkook is there in the same spot as last week and the week before. He glances at me then back up to the sky.

“Me again!” I cheer.

“Yay. . .” his voice is dead.

I take a seat in the same red chair I did before.

“I brought some entertainment this time so I might last a bit longer,” I gesture to my laptop. “Hope you don’t mind.” He definitely minds.

I put on a video of someone playing a horror game. I don’t know the person, I’ve never watched the person, or a horror game for that matter, but my hope is the noise will be enough to annoy him.

He doesn’t say anything when it plays and his body language doesn’t change either.

“So, how come your party is inside but you’re always out here?” I ask, filling some of the awkwardness.

“Don’t you have work to do?”

“My question is more important to me,” I close the laptop and face him fully. I can’t place the emotion on his face when I do. It’s a mix of surprise and confusion. “I can only assume this,” I gesture to the party going on inside, “is not going to stop any time soon,” he grins at that, seemingly proud, “we might as well get to know each other a bit.”

“I preferred when you were watching your videos.”

“We can’t always get what we want. No matter how intimidating we might be,” I make sure to murmur the second part. The roll of his eyes tells me he heard it anyways. “Fess up. Why are you not in there?” I lean in to show my interest. It did strike me as strange the first time that the person throwing the party wasn't participating in it.

He stays silent, the sound of a few cars and people yelling on the street taking his voice’s place.

“Come on! Who am I gonna tell? Your sweet and kind friends in there?” he chuckles at that at least.

“I don’t want to party,” he says, shrugging. His answer confuses me even more.

“Are you sure?” I raise an eyebrow, “‘Cause the parade in your apartment says otherwise,” I laugh.

“They’re background noise,” he looks off into the distance now. “The music, the talking, the games. It’s all background noise,” his head leans back, smiling when a group cheers inside.

Background noise? My Thursday night is sacrificed every week for background noise? He doesn’t even enjoy the party?

“But . . . you’re giving up your space. You know there are an infinite amount of videos online that actually allow you to have a noise similar to thi-”

“I don’t want the video,” he snaps. I blink at him. “It’s not the same,” he goes back to his normal tone. “It doesn’t fill the space. What’s the point of this big apartment if I’m the only one in it,” he looks back into the city and there’s a voice in my head telling me not to press further. This isn’t about background noises, I realize. This is about loneliness.

“You could fill the space with someone else. Someone you care about and cares for you in return,” I suggest. He scoffs at that.

I’ve chosen the wrong words.

“Yeah? Simple as pie. “Find someone who cares for you.”” he mocks. “Give me a fucking break,” his hand lifts to chew on his nail. It’s a habit that I used to have. It brings back memories of all the feelings I used to have that resulted in me biting down.

I get up, and grab his wrist away from his mouth.

“That’s not healthy, you know?” I tell him. He’s frozen, stuck in the same position as before I pulled his hand away, then his eyes finally move to look up at mine.

Before I can say anything, I’m planted in his lap, my legs draped over his, his arms wrapped around my middle. My mouth opens ready to scream when I his nose grazes my neck, his breath brushing it and the top of my collarbone. I can’t say anything. There’s words but they’re stuck in my throat unable to escape as an effect of the sensation I feel from his fingers grazing the skin under my shirt.

“Maybe you should be the one to take care of me. You’re already telling me what to do,” his fingers move up to graze my cheek and push me to face him. His eyes are hooded when he looks up at me. It’s the perfect angle to kiss him.

Kiss him?

I push myself up out of his lap, broken from the trance he put over me.

“What the hell are you doing?” I ask. It’s a rhetorical question, because no matter what the answer is, it can’t be reasonable. I scoop my laptop up making my way to the sliding door.

I step inside. I squeal when a body collides into mine, the sudden feeling of a cold drink spilling down the front of my shirt.

“Woah! We got a spillage!” the man laughs. There’s heat rising to my brain, having the urge to take me thankfully safe laptop and break it over that empty dome sitting on his neck. “She’s feisty, too,” he purrs. My eyes narrow in an attempt to fend him off. “I haven’t seen you around here,” he leans in, grabbing me by the waist.

“Buzz off,” I’m able to push him off due to his sloshed state. I’m able to evade him, but a body pushes past me. The same figure grabs the drunk man by the neck and drags him to the front door, chucking him out and down the stairs. I blink at Jungkook who seems more pissed now that he can’t even look at me.

He retreats to the balcony without another glance at me.

***

This Thursday there is no music. No yelling. Only complete silence. This is what I have been wanting for weeks, yet keep opening my door a smidge to peek at someone who might pop up ready for a party.

I even start to pace from the living room, to kitchen, to dining room, to kitchen, to dining room. I’m growing restless at the silence. Why now? Why is it quiet the week after he almost kissed me. It’s a scene I play over and over in my head. I’m trying to answer questions like why he would do it. Why is he radio silent afterward? Why am I obsessing over a man I met three weeks ago?

My instinct pushes me to check outside of the door again, but before I reach for the doorknob a piece of paper slides under my door. I unfold it to look at the words scribbled on the lines:

I know there’s no music.

But it breaks my heart that you haven’t come to visit.

I scold my racing heart at the words.

But he’s inviting me this time- a funny way of putting it- but inviting me nonetheless.

I remind myself that this could not be anything romantic. Maybe he’s remorseful. If my mother could see me now pining over a man I’ve talked to twice.

But I can’t get that near kiss out of my head. I haven’t been touched in that manner since high school and the fact that it was unexpected adds to my anticipation.

My pajamas are exchanged for a skirt and a tank top. Nothing wrong with a bit of seduction.

I take the risk of humiliating myself and open the door to walk over to his apartment. When I swing the door open I’m surprised to find he’s already standing outside of his door. His head whipping away, his throat clearing.

“Were you . . .” I pause, “Did you have your ear on the door?” I tease.

He avoids eye contact with me. “I was wondering what time you were going to come over,” he clears his throat again, his face transforming from panicked to stoic.

“I-”

“My apartment’s empty,” his voice is back to a calm tone.

“I noticed,” I laugh. His lips pucker and he looks from my lips, to my eyes, to my lips, to my eyes. It makes me nervous.

“Not that I wanted you to be there in the first place, but if you’re not busy, you could be my background noise.”

I dwell on his invitation.

“You don’t want me there? But,” I hold the note up, “this says I’ve broken your heart,” I point to the exact words.

His eyes narrow on the lined paper, then he shakes his head.

“I don’t remember any of this,” he turns and walks back to his apartment before I get to defend myself.

I follow him in, now fully able to look around his place without people in the way. The quiet is unsettling considering that each time I’ve walked into this apartment, I’ve mentally prepared myself and my ears for speaker breaking bass.

The apartment feels as if no one lives here. There are no pictures or decorations that display any hobbies. I wonder how much time he spends here by himself. Most of it must be time spent cleaning after those Thursdays.

He walks towards his living room and throws himself on the couch, his head on the armrest. I follow soon after and stand near the wall next to the couch waiting for him to instruct me to do something.

His eyes open.

“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do,” I admit. “This is strange being here and not having hooligans yelling around us.

He laughs. One would think he would be angry that I called his friends hooligans, but I know now those were not his friends.

“Do what you would normally do,” he gestures to the coffee table. “Do work, watch horror videos. Do whatever you want. I just need a bit of noise,” he says nonchalantly, but all I’m hearing is “I like you as background noise more than the parties.” It could be my ego thinking that, regardless, my heart is racing.

He follows my moves as I sit on the floor and place my laptop on the coffee table. He relaxes by throwing his head back again.

***

I groan at the pains in my neck and shoulders.

Jungkook sits up, tilting his head at me.

“I should probably go.” It’s been about an hour and we’ve been exchanging a few words here and there. It’s pleasant. What is not so pleasant is the horrible pain on my lower back from sitting on the floor.

“If you want, I can massage your back there for you,” he offers. It catches me off guard. He pats the cushion, gesturing for me to come up with him.

The words “No, thank you,” are on the tip of my tongue, but he offered so quickly, it makes me think he doesn’t want me to go. Again . . . ego.

Instead, I rise up onto the couch, my back facing him.

“Thank you, I guess,” I say, scolding myself for letting my voice waver. The thought of his hands on me is intoxicating. I can’t say I haven’t thought about them since the night he snuck one underneath my shirt.

“I guess?” he chuckles, the sound right in my ear. It sends a shiver down my spine, awakening every nerve in my body.

“Well, it’s strange -oh!” his thumbs dig into my lower back. The sensation is wonderful. It’s more than I could imagine. “You’re being very nice today compared to the snippy personality that shows itself,” he laughs at that too.

“I can be nice if I want to,” his hand sneaks under my shirt again and I jolt at his warm skin rubbing mine. “I can be as nice as you want me to be,” his voice is low now. There’s an ache growing at my core. No. No! I am not getting horny over this man. This one man that I have barely had time to get to know.

Those same, enticing hands glide up my sides, relaxing me into him. It doesn’t help that he smells like mint again with something stronger this time. It’s difficult not wanting to fall into him.

“You can lean back,” he says, reading my mind.

Reject him, Y/n. Reject him!

“Sure. It’s been a while since I relaxed. You know, work, work, work,” I joke trying to ease the tension, but instead it comes off awkward. He hums in acknowledgement - the vibrations from his chest massaging my shoulders leaning onto him now.

This is paradise. I mean, there are big flashing red lights going off in my head, but I can’t deny that it also feels like I’m in the clouds - soaring high above the city and no one else can see me while I parade around giddy and relaxed at the same time.

His fingers still dig into my sides and when he massages into my lower back again, I involuntarily let out a moan.

We both freeze. I look up at him, his face a few inches from mine. He’s looking straight ahead then finally moves his head to look at me. There’s a hood over his eyes. He blinks once, then twice.

“I didn’t mean to-”

“You should stay tonight,” he interrupts. I can’t believe it’s possible to catch me off guard again after having done it a million times already, but I am.

“Why should I do that?” I whisper. I already know the answer. Of course, I know the answer. But I want to hear it from his mouth.

He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes glide to my lips sending goosebumps to every inch of skin.

But then he laughs and it sends me spiraling. His eyes move off of my face for a moment before coming back and into my eyes.

“You know, last week,” his hands move again now gliding to my thighs, and I’m the one who breaks eye contact, “when that guy was putting his hands on you after I just had you in my lap,” his hands slide up and down, massaging the inside and outside of my thighs, “I couldn’t stand it,” his face lowers to my neck.

“Jungkook,” I sigh.

“I was frustrated and pissed off. Not only because I just had you in my lap, but I was also frustrated that I couldn’t understand,” his nose traces a line from the bottom of my neck to my ear. “Why did I want you so badly?” I gasp when his hands push my thighs apart. “I was going to figure that out tonight - in the most innocent way possible. Then you come here in that fucking skirt,” I moan when his hand moves inside my skirt tracing patterns on the inside of my thighs and take a bit of pride that the outfit worked.

“I wore it for you,” I admit.

“God, don’t say that, Y/N,” his fingers finally land on my middle, sneaking underneath my underwear. “I’m already painfully hard,” he whispers, before slipping a finger inside of me. I moan out, my back arching and pushing my head into his shoulder. His lips are still hovering over my neck, but not quite touching it.

I slide my hand up, around his neck, and into his soft hair. I push him closer to me and he gives me what I want. His kisses trail from my shoulder, pulling my tank top sleeve down, to my ear.

His fingers move inside me for a couple more seconds before pulling them out. I take the opportunity to move from my position to turn and straddle him. I can feel how “painfully hard” he is when I settle my hips onto him, a small groan escaping when I do.

“I need to be honest,” I tell him while locking my fingers behind his neck, “I haven’t done this in a while, so forgive me if I seem inexperienced,” he pulls me closer by my ass, causing some friction between us.

He leans in, his lips centimeters from mine. I hold in my breath waiting for a kiss.

“You don’t have to do anything but enjoy it,” he leans in, starting with a peck, then giving me a real kiss. His hands sneak under my tank top, pulling it up. We break when he pulls it off of me. He rushes to unclasp my bra from behind me and pushes his hips into me when it finally comes off.

My brain is melted at this point. He’s almost panting underneath me and I can feel his desperation. There’s a want and a need that I’ve never experienced and it makes this all the more exciting.

“Your turn,” I whisper, tugging at his shirt then pulling it over his head. I’m not surprised when I uncover the chiseled chest and abs, but it does make me want him more (not that I knew it was possible).

I flip the tables and put my lips on his neck. He sighs and puts his hands on my ass again, rocking me into him. I moan over the hickey I left and come back up to kiss him, but he has other plans. I squeal when he lifts me up walking towards the balcony and opening the door.

“Wait, wait!” I hold my hand out to stop him from going out there while carrying me - a half naked woman! “What are you doing?” I panic.

“We’re finishing this on the place I started it,” he’s so nonchalant about it as if he isn’t suggesting something illegal.

“Are you out of your mind? There are people out there,” I scold. He gives me a look.

“It’s an alleyway, the only people who come through here are other people who want to have sex,” he explains, but I can’t help the paranoia settling in my stomach. It’s a bit exciting, I’ll admit, but I can’t say this is sensible.

He must notice the worry on my face when he closes the door.

“Alright, compromise,” he sets me down on the ground, and I’m worried I’ve disappointed him and he’s going to kick me out. Instead, he pulls his jeans down with his boxers, throwing both of them somewhere behind him. My eyes widen on his dick. What have I gotten myself into?

“We won’t go on the balcony,” his hands grab the back of my thighs and I squeal when he lifts me again, wrapping my legs around him, the only barrier being my underwear, “we’ll stay right here,” he presses my back against the glass door, the cold making me arch my boobs into him.

I’m ready to reject this idea as well, but I can’t get a word out when his mouth falls onto one of my nipples.

“Jungkook, oh God,” I cry out when his ministrations continue as he grinds into me.

“That skirt stays on,” he demands. I quickly nod.

He pulls away from my chest, flipping my skirt up and pushing my underwear to the side. With a little effort, we adjust ourselves, his dick sliding into me. My head rests on the glass door as a groan leaves him.

“I knew you’d feel amazing,” he sighs. I pull his face into my neck as he pushes into me. I slide up and down the glass door but I don’t mind how it feels. It’s not my focus.

Nothing could have prepared me for what this feels like. I’ve fantasized over and over ever since he pulled me into his lap last week, but I never anticipated that it would be this delicious.

“Fuck, I’ve been dreaming about this,” he whispers, catching me off guard. But it only takes one thrust to get my brain to malfunction again.

The door and one of his arms supports me when his face pulls away from my neck but is replaced with his inked hand. A pathetic whine escapes when his fingers apply pressure to the sides of my neck.

“Jungkook, please,” I rasp. His breath is shaky when I clench around him, my release on the way.

“I’m almost there. But I want to come together, understand?” I nod my head. “On the count of three. . . three,” he whispers, thrusting in, “two,” thrust,”one,” our highs are synced, his hand applying more pressure as I come around him.

Our breathing is synced as he pulls out of me and sets me on the ground. I can’t leave when his body leans onto mine, my back still pressed on the door.

“Normally, the background noise doesn’t stop until later,” He breaths into my neck. “You might have to stay for a while longer to fulfill the background noise quota,” I laugh. His face comes up to meet mine, while massaging my sides and ass. “Stay the whole night this time,” he offers.

“One condition.”

“Anything,” he whispers on my lips. A shiver rushes down every nerve.

“No more parties,” I tell him. A smile paints his beautiful face.

“No more,” he lifts me up again and carries me to his bedroom.

“You can’t just carry me everywhere!” I yell.

“You weren’t complaining earlier,” and he throws me on the bed- our night filled with getting to know each other and other noises filling the space.

#jeon jungkook #bts #bts imagines #jungkook #jungkook x reader #bts smut #jungkook smut #jungkook imagines #jungkook x you #jungkook bts

895 notes · View notes

dobrikobx · 2 months

Text

Silver Jewelry || Tyler Owens

A/N: Hi so it’s been a while since I wrote a fanfic so I really hope you all enjoy!! I have seen twister 4 times now and physically can’t stop thinking about Tyler Owens.

Inspo for this fic came from a Tiktok poem from the account raegan entitled “it’s just the little things”

pairings: Tyler x reader and asshole Scott x reader

Warnings: Scott as mentioned is an ass to the reader at times, toxic relationship (with Scott), no y/n

summary: You are dating Scott who doesn’t treat you right.

————

“Scott look at how pretty this is.”

you proudly hold up a beautiful gold necklace

“yeah babe real cute”

he said not really looking. You shrug and turn back to the sales lady

“I think it’s real pretty, honey”

You turn and see tyler looking at the necklace

“T when did you get here?”

You throw your arms around his neck

“Oh a little while ago. I came to get some food for me and the crew, we set up at the old motel if you two want to come by and see everyone”

“Yes we will be there right after we finish here. Right Scott?”

Scott walked up holing his hand out for Tyler to shake which they did even if they glared at each other.

“Sure baby, if you want. We will grab something to eat and head over, Owens”

And that’s exactly what you two did. you were having a great time catching up. It had been since last tornado season that you had seen everyone. You and Lily were chatting about her new girlfriend and how you and Scott were talking about moving in together when your phone went off.

“Shut up!”

you scream everyone turned to look at you

“What? What?”

Lily said slightly panicking you turn your phone to her so she can see that your favorite artist just announced a new album coming out next week. You were so excited and couldn’t stop thinking about it or talking about it.

“Oh my God Lily I can’t wait for it to come out I’m going to stay up all night to listen to it! If you want to you can totally jo-“

“Baby, I don’t think Lily is interested. Maybe you should chill a bit. Nobody really likes their music here.”

You start to blush. After being together for almost 3 years you shouldn’t be surprised by Scott’s lack of concern about things you care deeply about and it didn’t necessarily surprise you but that didn’t mean it still didn’t hurt when he brushed you off.

“I’m sorry Lily. Sorry guys, I guess I just got carried away”

Lily’s face scrunched up but before she could say anything Tyler cut in.

“Well I won’t speak on Lily’s behalf, however Boone and I happen to love that artist and I would be more than happy to have a listening party for the new album”

“Tyler it’s fine you don’t have to pretend to like their music”

You look and the ground more embarrassed than before.

“I am not pretending I love their music I own every album”

you slowly lift your head and see him looking back at you with so much sincerity you had to believe him.

“Okay then,if your sure, Thursday night”

you smile at him

“Sounds like a plan we can have it in my room so your boyfriend won’t be a party pooper”

He says giving Scott a go to hell look

After that everyone went back to their conversations. Scott came up to you and grabbed your arm.

“I got us a room here. Ready to turn in?”

You nod and say goodnight to your friends

“What the hell was that?”

Scott said the second your door closed

“What are you talking about?”

“You. Flirting with Tyler”

You scoff

“I was not flirting with Tyler! I agreed to hang out with my FRIEND. Besides it’s not like you wanted to listen to their new album anyways you can’t stand their music Scott so if anything I did you a favor your welcome.”

“You never asked me to listen”

“What are you talking about! Every single time I play their music you complain about how much you hate it and how insufferable it is. This way you won’t have to listen to it and I can enjoy it. If you really want to join, you can. I’m sorry I assumed you wouldn’t want to.”

“That’s okay. I don’t want to intrude”

“No please, Scott, baby, I want you to come”

you wrap your arms around his waist

“Okay if you really want me to come. I guess I will.”

he kisses your forehead

“I really do. I’m sorry again for assuming you wouldn’t want to join”

“Already forgotten let’s go to bed.”

Thursday night came and went and besides a few complaints from Scott and Tyler glaring at him through most the album you guys had a fun night.

“Javi!”

“Hey girl”

He says wrapping you up in a hug

“Just the guy I wanted to see I need your help with Scott’s anniversary present”

“I didn’t think it was here already?”

Javi asked confused

“Well I mean it’s not for a few months but, you know… I want to really make it special.”

“Alright then let’s see what we can do”

After months of anguishing over the perfect presents for Scott you had everything picked out and ready. Now if only you could shut your brain off and go to sleep before you had to wake up to see Scott off before he went chasing tomorrow.

Three years, three long years, with him. You laid awake staring at the ceiling you and Scott had been together three years it was officially your anniversary as of 25 minutes ago. You loved him you were sure about that. But, were you happy. For the last two years you wondered this… was it a coincidence that these thoughts doubled during tornado season when you inevitably ran into Tyler. No probably not.

Tyler was sweet and kind and caring. He showed you kindness even when your boyfriend wouldn’t. But you did love Scott. Plus, Tyler he is just your friend. That’s all you two would ever be.

You rolled over and looked at Scott. You loved him. That was enough it had to be. Your heart sank as you kissed his cheek and cuddled into his chest

“i love you”

you whispered even though you knew he couldn’t hear you

The next morning you woke up to kisses all over your face. You let out a giggle.

“Scott”

“Happy anniversary, baby”

you open your eyes and smile and stroke his cheek

“Happy anniversary, my love”

“Here I want you to open your present first.”

He said handing you a small blue box. You open the box to see the necklace you had shown him that day in the store only in silver.

“Oh.”

you tried to muster all you could to put a smile on your face

“I love it. Will you put it on me?”

“Of course, baby”

You look yourself in the mirror trying not to cry as Scott clasps the necklace. It’s not a big deal it’s just a necklace.

“Okay so what did you get me”

“Oh right let me grab it”

You go to your bag and grab the box of items that you had picked out making sure Scott would love.

“Wow babe these are perfect how did i get so lucky?”

you smile as he kisses you

“I’m going to hop in the shower before breakfast”

You say as you smile sadly at him

“Okay we’re stuck with everyone for breakfast since I have to go chasing today but tonight it’s me and you baby. I’m going to head down see you there”

you give him a closed lip smile and nod still fighting the tears.

you turn on the shower and look yourself in the mirror

“pull yourself together”

you say

“It’s a stupid necklace one that you said you wanted at least he took notice of the style”

That’s when the tears started and they didn’t stop. You got in the shower hoping that may help ease the nerves. When that didn’t seem to help you get out and get ready for the day making sure your necklace is out so Scott can see. Putting on a smile you walk to the cafe that is next to the motel.

You greet everyone with a smile and slide in the booth next to Scott

“I already ordered for you hope you don’t mind”

he said. you shook your head and grabbed his hand

“Three years it’s a big one Scott already bragged about his gifts you got him. So what did he get you.”

Lily asked excitedly

“Oh this necklace I wanted. Isn’t it beautiful”

You hold the necklace out for them to admire. They all admire it all but Tyler.

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear silver before.”

He says everyone turned and looked at you

“Um”

Suddenly the room was too small.

“Well I do sometimes. I’m actually not hungry so I think I’m gonna run to town and grab some stuff for tonight”

You get out of the booth and start to out the door to your car.

“Wait!”

Tyler.

“I really need to go T”

You had to go before he caught you crying. He would think you were stupid for crying over something so small.

“No hold it. Why are you upset?”

“I’m not”

“You are. I know you.”

“Just leave it, Tyler”

“No I can’t keep going on leaving it. He doesn’t deserve you.”

“I love him Tyler”

“I don’t think you do”

“I do.”

“Look me in the eye and say that and maybe I’ll believe it. I know you, I know you aren’t happy. I have seen you happy. And now might not be the right moment but I know I could make you happier than he ever has if you just give me the chance. He doesn’t even know you sweetheart. You’ve been together three years and he doesn’t even know you wear gold jewelry. What else doesn’t he know if he doesn’t even know that basic piece of information? I I know I might not know everything but, I know more than that. I know that if you gave me a shot baby, you’d be happier in a day than he’s made you the entire three years you’ve been together”

You look him in the the eyes

“Ty-Tyler”

You don’t even begin to know what to say but the tears you’ve been holding back begin streaming down your face. Tyler grabs you and pulls you against his chest. That’s when Scott decides to come out the cafe.

“What’s up? Owens why is she crying?”

He said irritated. You pull back from Tyler mascara running down your face.

“I think we need to talk. Lets go upstairs”

You two head back up to your room

“I I can’t do this anymore Scott.”

“Why it’s our anniversary”

“I know but, who is my favorite tv character?”

“I I don’t k-“

“What is my favorite show? movie? book? Hell, what’s my favorite snack?”

He just looks at you

“Nothing Scott really? We have been together three years and you can’t answer those basic questions. You got me silver jewelry for crying out loud.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I don’t wear silver Scott. Always gold. Just ignore the fact that we have seen each other most days these three years. We have plenty photos together I showed you the exact one I wanted. Hell Lily is right down stairs you could have asked her. I’m sorry I just I can’t do this anymore”

“But I love you”

“I know you think you love me and maybe you do but you don’t like me. If you did, you would know what I like you wouldn’t get annoyed by all my quirks. I thought I loved you, Scott and I’m sorry to both of us for me not realizing what we have isn’t love at least not the love we should have for each other.”

“That’s it. Three years”

“Three years that I wasn’t appreciated. I just I’m sorry Scott I really am. I’ll come grab my stuff after you leave”

You walk out your motel room

“Hey darlin’ want to get out of here?”

You look over at Tyler and smile

“Absolutely”

You climb into the truck after driving for a while he pulls into a field

“Did you mean all of that stuff you said at the motel?”

“Of course, honey. I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it. How did you feel about what I said? I know you just broke up with Sir Dick Wad-“

“Tyler”

You give him a pointed look

“Right sorry. I know you just broke up with Scott but I’m crazy about you”

He pushes your hair behind your ear

“I’m crazy about you too Tyler. So much so that I am in a random field in the middle of tornado alley.”

Tyler leaned over giving you plenty of time to pull away. you close your eyes and push you lips against his.

———————

I hope this wasn’t bad and I hope you enjoyed.

#tyler owens #tyler owens x reader #twister fanfic #tyler owens fanfiction #twister fanfiction #tyler owens x you

351 notes · View notes

lunarsturniolo · 10 months

Text

Body Shots | Frat!Chris

Not in the same universe as Pillow Talk Chris. Just another Frat!Chris au lol

Thank you @querenciasturniolo for proofreading!! This is longer than most of my fics, and there was no way I'd be able to properly check for mistakes.

I nod slightly, my fingers fidgeting with the button of my pants, “You gotta stop moving,” he says, making me still.

He hums a nod at my obedience, his mouth widening into a smile, “Look at you,” he says, “So pretty.”

My hand starts twitching again, a sign of excitement. Chris gently takes my wrist with his free hand and holds it down at my side, “You gotta stop.”

My eyes widened slightly in surprise, and I nodded again. “Sorry,” I mumbled.

Chris nods, “It’s okay. Just stay still,” he teases.

Chris teaches Y/N how to take body shots (and it escalates)

Warnings: alcohol use, unprotected sex, oral sex (m and f receiving), praise kink if you squint, cnc if you don’t read carefully. MDNI

Masterlist

“Hi,” I gave a sweet smile over the bar, “Can I please have another shot of tequila?”

Chris was working the bar today. After an overwhelming Wine Wednesday and a slightly unsuccessful mixer on Thursday, he didn’t want to go too overboard at the party his frat was hosting. So, there Chris was, working behind the makeshift bar, pouring shots and distributing Truly’s to the girls who were still there.

It was nearing 3 am, and the crowd was beginning to die down. Chris overheard my request and nudged the other bartender, “Got it,” he said, effectively switching places with him.

Chris leans over the bar, his left forearm resting in a few drops of alcohol as he leans closer to me, “You gonna let me take one with you?”

I look up at him with an innocent smile, “It’s gonna cost you.”

He barks a laugh in my direction, “You’re literally in my house,” he says.

I nod, “I am.”

“So you should be giving me somethin’.”

I give Chris a long look and leave a pregnant pause, “I might be open to something.”

Chris pushes himself off the bar and disappears into the kitchen. I take the moment alone to look around the house. I spotted my friend Kylie, whom I lost to a group of girls about 10 minutes ago when No Hands started playing. With a bit of flair, I watch as the DJ starts to play Sexy Bitch, “How fitting,” Chris says, finding his way back to the counter.

I roll my eyes with a small smile playing on my lips, “What do you want?”

“Wanna do body shots?” he asks with a smirk playing on his lips. He holds up his right hand. He was still carrying the bottle of Jose Cuervo. But now, in the palm of his hand, I see a lime peeking out.

My smile falters slightly, “I’ve never done a body shot.”

“Has anyone done one off of you?” He asks.

I shake my head, Chris’s eyes widening with amusement. “First time for everything,” he mumbles. He reaches under the bar, producing a wild berry Truly and passing it to a girl behind me that I hadn’t noticed.

“Who said I wanted to do a body shot?” I tease.

Chris shrugs, “You want to do one. I know you.”

I fold my lips in on themselves, “Okay. Teach me.”

He smiles victorious. “Do you wanna get on the counter?”

I look around once again. The room, by far, isn’t crowded, but there are people here you know you’re going to see again.

“Do I have to?” I finally ask, “It’s kinda embarrassing.”

“Why would that be embarrassing?” Chris deadpans.

“Because everyone can see me.”

“Who the fuck cares?” Chris says, “Now get on the counter, or I’ll spread you out myself.”

I decide it’s in my best interest to get on the counter. I step up into the kitchen before hoisting myself up onto the counter. Chris tells me to lie down, so I oblige. I can feel remnants of the bar from the night staining my bare skin and weighing down my hair. I cringe slightly at the thought before turning to look at Chris, my cheek resting on the cool surface of the bar.

“So, there are two routes I could go,” Chris begins, “I could pour this into your belly button and take the shot out of there, or I could just use a shot glass and call it a day.”

My eyes widened, “Yeah, can we do the second one?”

With a chuckle, Chris nods in agreement. “Yeah, that’s what I was thinkin’, too.”

He turns around and quarters the lime over the sink. He reaches across the bar, hovering a lime wedge over my face. He taps it gently against the parting of my lips, “Open up for me, yeah?”

I nod and widen my mouth, softly biting into the lime, a bit of juice rolling into the back of my throat, “Good girl,” he commends.

I roll my eyes, a slight mumble emitting from the back of my throat due to the lime I’m holding, “Shut up,” I tell him.

Chris gently guides my hands down to my sides and nudges my hip, “Can I lift this up a little?”

I hum a reply, the lime starting to become a proper hindrance. Chris gently tugs at my shirt, making me arch my back so he can lift it to my breasts. My hands itch at my side as he plants a series of wet kisses, making a line from right under my belly button to the waistband of my pants.

A blush forms on my cheeks as his nose nips under my pants, raising the waistband slightly and giving him a view of the black lace panties I had worn to the frat tonight.

He reaches for the salt behind him, grabs a small pinch of it, and sprinkles it over the slight sheen of saliva that is left behind. “Squeeze my hand if you want to stop,” he tells me, putting my hand in his.

Using his free hand, he grabs a small orange glass and flips it upright. He laxly pours a double shot of tequila into the glass, watching me wither under his gaze.

My right hand landed on my stomach, tapping a pattern next to the line of salt, trying my best not to make a mess around me. The music is still going, and I’m sure Kylie is about to text me, telling me she found a guy to go home with. Chris is still distributing drinks to the girls who are coming up to the bar, and I’m sitting with a ball of anticipation in my stomach.

He returns to me with a shy smile, “Sorry, mama, I’m here for real.”

I nod slightly, my fingers fidgeting with the button of my pants, “You gotta stop moving,” he says, making me still.

He hums a nod at my obedience, his mouth widening into a smile, “Look at you,” he says, “So pretty.”

My hand starts twitching again, a sign of excitement. Chris gently takes my wrist with his free hand and holds it down at my side, “You gotta stop.”

My eyes widened slightly in surprise, and I nodded again. “Sorry,” I mumbled.

Chris nods, “It’s okay. Just stay still,” he teases.

He gives me one last look before leaning down, his tongue making contact with my stomach. I flinch at the contact, slightly unexpecting, and Chris looks up at me through his eyelashes.

I drink in the sight of him, remembering every detail as his hands push me down against the table. His hair has fallen over his eyes, the dark ringlets tickling my stomach with his painfully slow movements.

Chris lets go of my left wrist, his hand taking hold of the shot he poured. My newly free hand moves without thought, entangling itself into his hair, tugging his further up my body in anticipation.

He hums out a moan with a taunting smile on his face as his tongue dips into my belly button, lingering for an extra moment. The salt sticks to his tongue as he brings the shot glass up to his lips, wrapping them around the glass before quickly throwing his head back. His jaw flexes as he stretches his neck, and I watch as his Adams Apple moves as he swallows.

Chris squeezes my hand as he swallows the bitter flavor, his lips coming down for mine to grab the lime. In a moment of weakness, I suck the lime further into my mouth so he has no choice but to graze my lips with his.

As anticipated, Chris’s lips make lingering contact with mine. His tongue pokes out and wedges itself beneath my lip and into my mouth, grabbing the bottom of the lime and pushing it into his mouth.

Moving back slightly, I keep him from moving any further with a hand in his hair. With hooded eyes, he looks at me as he bites into the lime, some of the juice falling into my mouth and some of it dripping down his chin in a sensual manner.

He turns his head slightly, silently asking to move. I let go of his hair, and he turned his head, spitting the lime out of his mouth and onto the kitchen floor. He looks at me with a smile, “Do you still want your shot?”

“Will it also be a body shot?”

“Whatever you want,” He tells me.

I pull his hand in between us, guiding his ear to my lips, “What I want is to go to your bedroom.”

Chris looks at me, “Beg me.”

“Please, Chris, I wanna go to your room.”

He smirks, “Again,” he tsks.

I roll my eyes in annoyance, “I’m not begging.”

“Then you’re not getting in my room,” he replies.

I leave a long pause before letting out a big sigh, “Please, babe? Can you take me to your bedroom?”

He hums in acceptance, “What do you wanna do in the bedroom, mama?”

I look at him and swallow harshly, “I want you to touch me.”

“But what do you want to do?”

My voice wavers into a whisper, “I want to take a shot off you,” I tell him.

“Mmmm, that’s a good girl,” Chris says, “Always telling me what you want.”

I blush, and Chris moves away to start cleaning up the kitchen. I see him gather a new shot glass, a lime, and some salt before helping me off the counter with a hand on the small of my back.

Together, we walk towards the staircase that’s slightly blocked off- he keeps a hand on the small of my back, nodding a slight hello as we pass his friends.

He lets me in front of him when we get to the stairs, watching my backside as I make my way up, stopping outside his room and waiting for him to unlock it.

With a quick twist of his wrist, the key had unlocked his door, and he led me into his bedroom, sitting on his bed with his knees apart. I made my way closer to him, standing between his knees and giving him a shy smile.

“Can you take your shirt off?” I ask him.

He nods, his hands falling to the hem of his henley, pulling it off in a swift motion, “Where do you want me?” he asks.

I cock my head as I look at him contemplatively, “Maybe just lay down.”

He nods and does as I say, “Can I, um-”

“You want me naked?” he asks.

My cheeks turn hot at his words, “Can I take off your pants?” I ask him.

He laughs at my shy demeanor, “You gotta get naked for me too, then, ma.”

Without a second thought, I drop my hands to my jeans, fiddling with the button before allowing them to pool at my ankles. His hands find the hem of my shirt, this time, pulling it over my head gently. He rests his hands on my back before letting me unbuckle his belt.

“Chris,” I whine lightly.

“Yeah?”

Instead of replying, I push him down onto his bed. His head stayed propped up by some pillows, and he brought his hands behind his head so he could watch me. The two of us were naked, and I finally decided to let the looks of him sink in.

His cock was sporting a healthy erection, just as arousal was beginning to pool between my legs- we were clearly both turned on.

“C’mere,” he says, motioning for me to step towards him. “Wanna see if my baby’s worked up for me.”

I happily make my way over to Chris’s head, legs spread slightly for him to feel my cunt. Without a moment's rest, the pads of his fingers made their way to my bare skin, feeling the warm, plush skin and rubbing my clit slightly to create some friction. I moan lightly at his touch before he pulls his fingers away and rests them on my bottom lip.

“You wanna taste yourself for me, mama?” he asks.

I dip my chin as a nod, his fingers now resting on the parting of my lips. My tongue darts out at his long digits, coating them lightly as I taste myself on his fingers, making Chris moan in appreciation.

I hollow out my cheeks before taking his fingers out of my mouth, a small smile growing on my face.

“Gonna use this on my stomach, okay?” he asks, referring to the fingers I had in my mouth seconds prior.

Wordlessly, I nod as Chris drags his fingers down his happy trail- from the bottom of his belly button to the base of his cock- at an agonizingly slow pace. My eyes watch his fingers desperately as they mimic the exact path my tongue will take.

I clear my throat, “Salt?” I ask.

“Yeah, baby. Add some salt.”

I took the metal salt shaker that made its way onto his nightstand and used it to disperse salt into a thin line along his body. Chris reaches under his bed and produces a bottle of tequila, “From my stash,” he informs me.

I laugh, filling up a shot glass most of the way, feeling slightly overwhelmed at the thought of taking another double tonight.

I pick up a lime wedge and hand it to Chris. Dismissively, he sets it back on the table, “You won’t need that. Promise,” he tells me, a hand making its way into my hair and pulling me close to his mouth.

I can feel his breath fanning on my face as I study his eyes up close for the millionth time tonight, “Okay,” I agree.

Chris hums with satisfaction, “You’re such a good, obedient girl for me, baby. Always listening to me so well.”

This time, I hum in reply, the praise making me feel extra warm. “I wanna listen to you, Chris,” I tell him. My lips pucker up slightly before placing a small, aromantic peck on his lips.

He smiles at me, “Good idea, baby.” He lets my hair go loosely, allowing me to lean back. “You’re gonna tell me if anything is too much, right?” he confirms.

“Yeah, Chris. I’ll let you know. You get to use me until I say otherwise.”

I watch as a satisfying grin spreads on his face, “You’ve always been my favorite girl, you know?”

With a small laugh, I bring my face down to be level with his naval. He gathers my hair into a makeship ponytail in one hand and holds my shot glass for me in another, “I need to see you, mama.”

I smile, my tongue darting out to lick my lips, “Okay.”

Looking at Chris out of the corner of my eye, I bring my tongue to the beginning of the line of salt, licking slowly down to the base of his cock. My left-hand finds his balls, fondling with them lightly as I make my way down to his cock.

He lets out a moan, “When you get there, keep your tongue out, baby. I wanna feed you your shot.”

I turn my head towards him, giving him a slight nod, my tongue still working its way down his body. Giving the base of his cock a light kiss, I tilt my head up for Chris to pour the shot.

Feeling the alcohol glide down my throat immediately, without the need to swallow or for a chase, made me gag lightly. I closed my mouth, savoring the flavor of salt on my tongue before Chris moved my head.

Directing me down further to where his cock is, he rests my cheek on his left thigh. My tongue darts out, lapping around the base of his cock as my hand continues to play with his balls.

“That’s right, baby,” he praises me, “You can get up on the bed if you want.”

With a nod, I crawl up onto the bed, my mouth moving from the base to the tip.

I begin slowly licking the tip, watching the precum develop, and swallowing it as it comes. With a keen fascination, I loosen my jaw and begin to put his cock into my mouth.

Chris lets out a groan, “Fuck.” He reaches around his body, one hand finding my breasts. He rolls my nipple between his fingers and fondles my breasts, eliciting a soft moan from the back of my throat and around his tip.

I continue to push his cock into my mouth before I gag lightly and call it my limit. My hand jerks off what is left outside my mouth, and Chris begins to lose it.

His hands are tugging at my hair, and he is gently pushing my head forward onto his cock, loving the way my throat closes around the tip when I gag. Chris was in a state of euphoria.

“You good, mama?” he chokes out, pulling me off his cock slightly for reassurance.

Instead of verbally answering, I push his cock further into my throat, humming a reply, sending vibrations up through his body.

My tongue flatted against the underside of his cock, my head moving faster as I prompted Chris to fuck my mouth. His thrusts grew from wary to forceful as I began to gag, drool, and moan around him with each movement he made.

Tears grew at the brim of my eyes from the intensity, “Do you like it when I’m rough with you, mama?”

Unable to reply, I affectionately squeeze his thigh, “I know, baby. It feels so good to please me, huh?” he says. His hand leaves my nipple, entangling it into my head roughly so he has more control to ride out his orgasm.

With an especially deep thrust, I let out a long groan, my eyes rolling back slightly with satisfaction. Chris’s cock begins to twitch in my mouth, and I instinctively hollow out my cheeks, sucking harshly on his shaft.

Chris looks down at me with a smile, “I’m close, mama, I promise. Then I’ll fuck you good as a thank you.”

I nod, my voice significantly hindered by his cock lodged in my throat. With a final few thrusts from Chris and a gargling noise that arose from my mouth, he emptied himself into my mouth with a loud, resonating moan.

Giving me a minute to recover, he slid his cock out from my mouth and found a water bottle on his nightstand to feed me.

With a smile, I look at him, “I love having your cock in my mouth.”

With a small laugh, he rests his hand under my chin, wiping away some cum that didn’t quite make it into my mouth, “I love fucking your mouth, baby.”

I bite my lip in excitement, allowing him to use me as he chooses one again.

“Lie down, hmm?” he asks.

I do as I'm told, taking his spot on the bed as he straddles my body. He leans down towards the mattress, his lips finding my cunt. I can feel his breath fan across my body as he begins to lap his tongue in a circular pattern, hitting each part of my cunt.

Unceremoniously, his teeth begin to nip at my clit, creating the perfect amount of friction to make me moan out loud- probably loud enough to be heard over the music playing downstairs.

“Chris, please,” I beg.

“What, mama?” he asks, coming up for air with a small pant. His lips were wet and puffy from the time he spent attacking my clit, and I could see a bit of my arousal begin to make its way down his chin.

“I need you inside me, please,” I whimper.

Chris hums, sending my hips upward with a jolt. The action makes him laugh, which in turn does not help my squirming, “I’ll get inside ya,” he promises.

With one last feathery kiss to my clit, he sends a series of kisses up from my naval to my lips. By the time he has reached my lips, there are drops of my cum trailing up my body as a result of my cum dripping off Chris’s chin.

He leaves a few soft kisses on my lips before I bring his head to mine, holding it there while I nip at his bottom lip. He smiles, sliding his tongue into my mouth and allowing me to take control of the kiss as he adjusts himself against me.

I feel the tip of his cock poking at my entrance before he slowly buries it into my cunt. I let out a gasp, my jaw falling slack as Chris’s tongue laps at the inside of my mouth, trying to regain my attention.

“C’mon, mama, I know you can take me,” he tells me.

“I can take you,” I parrot back.

“Yeah, baby,” Chris agrees, “You’re doing so good.”

He stills for a moment, and I look down between us to see his cock has filled me completely, and he’s allowing me a moment to adjust. I grind my hips against him, my clit rubbing against the base of his cock, making both of us groan.

Looking back up at him, I give him a quick peck of encouragement to start thrusting again. He gently rolls his hips before slowly pulling out and roughly pushing back in.

He began to make this a rhythmic approach, filling the silence between his skin and slapping on yours with a series of breathy moans and chants of both of your names filling the room.

Chris kept his mouth atop mine and intertwined our fingers as he continued to fuck me.

My mouth fell open, and I felt my pussy begin to quiver around his large cock. My orgasm was blinding, leaving me gasping and moaning into Chris’s mouth, giving him ammunition to go faster and harder.

With his bed rocking underneath us and the sound of wet skin repeatedly hitting each other, Chris finally released into my tender pussy.

Pulling out slowly, his hand brought mine to his mouth, leaving feathery kisses on each knuckle.

“You okay, mama?” he asks, “Do you need me to get you anything?”

With a shrug, I reply, “Can I please have another shot of tequila?”

915 notes · View notes

certifiedbueckethead · 5 months

Text

paige x gamer girl 🎮 ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

paige bueckers x gamer girl reader

warnings: jealousy, fingering, strap, bad language, explicit smut

word count: 2.6k

a/n: my first paige post on tumblr, unedited because I am tired lol, lmk if you have any suggestions dms are open <3

Readers pov

It’s a typical Thursday night for you, you’re sitting in your small dorm that you luckily don’t have to share with anyone. It’s about 2 am and you’re sitting at your desk, which has several monitors along with a few consoles, a keyboard and various other items. Your desk setup was your pride, since you spend so many hours playing some of your favorite games such as stardew valley, valorant, overwatch and occasionally gta online if some of your friends were on. You look at the time, it was still early for you so you close stardew valley, frustrated that one of your neighbors didn’t accept your gift, I mean who could say they don’t like daffodils? You open valorant, and message a few of your friends to get on. Azzi, Ice and KK join your party and you instalock your favorite agent - Jett. You have your headset turned on, and as the game goes on, your team ends up coming back and just as the score reads out 8 - 10 you hear a knock on your door. You move one side of your headset, muting yourself and yell out “doors unlocked, come in”, expecting it to be Paige.

You and Paige have an interesting relationship, you became friends through valorant and you both realized you went to UConn together, so that's when she introduced you to her teammates who you were currently in the game with. Little do your mates know that Paige comes in almost every night, around the same time like clockwork to play with you. The groupchat often is pinging Paige to come online and play, but all she says is that she’s been too tired from practice to play. Surprisingly, they never really pressed on when she wouldn’t join in.

“Hey mamas, keep yourself muted for a bit will you?”, Paige says, smirking while looking at your set up, you clearly in an intense match. You hum in agreement and in the corner of your eye you see Paige taking off her shirt and is sitting on your bed, in her light grey sweatpants and her light blue sports bra. She scrolls through her phone as you play. You hear her laugh as you curse under your breath, it’s a tough match but you guys are coming back pretty well. “Paige come on, if you’re not going to talk I am gonna unmute we have to win this fucking match, I am still ranked gold.”, you say, unmuting yourself, immersed in the game. Paige, getting jealous that all your attention is on your game when she was quite literally in your room with you unlike the other girls who were on the other side of the screen. You see her get up and walk towards you in the corner of your eye but you don’t give her your attention. “Fuck it, Azzi, Sage and Viper are heaven we gotta clutch this round or there is no coming back”, you yell into your mic. You get your shot and you move onto B site. Before you know it Paige is under your desk, rubbing your thighs. Subconsciously, you move your thighs farther apart, giving her more access and you lean back in the chair. Paige squeezes your thighs gently, but when you don’t look down at her she slaps them. You mumble a quick, “Not right now” to Paige, trying to be quiet so no one can hear you through your mic. You hear KK say, “Huh what was that?”, and you quickly say you were talking to yourself. Paige starts rubbing your thighs again, slowly going up to your core. You bite your lip while you’re in the buy phase, choosing your weapon and finding your mates on the map. Paige starts to rub your clit, from outside of your pants slowly, and you know exactly what she is going to do. It happens so often it’s part of your night routine at this point, if it’s not starting out like this you are probably at her place, in her bed.

You start to roll your hips to feel her touch more, the pleasure putting you into a trance to the point where you end up getting a AFK penalty in the game. You snap out of it when your mates call on you, and you quickly mumble, “Went to the washroom”, and Ice cursed at you, stating that you should've told them before you started another match. Paige, noticing this, pretty pissed off that you would even join another match when she was clearly trying to fuck you, she shoves down your pants. Since it happens often enough, Paige isn’t surprised to see that you aren’t wearing any underwear. “So you’re not going to give me attention then ma?”, she whispers, quiet enough for you to hear and not your mates. You roll your eyes, you have been getting a lot of wins lately and you can’t wait to move up tier. Paige suddenly pulls you closer to the edge of your chair, gripping your thighs as she takes a warm, long lick between your folds. Her grip is tight enough so you are unable to move your thighs apart. She pushes you back, so that your back is against the chair and your legs are spread wide enough and dangle from her shoulders. She latches her tongue onto your clit, sucking on it roughly. She usually was quite gentle with you but today, she was pissed that you barely even greeted her, you didn’t even get up to kiss her when she walked in. So before you know it she’s thrusting in a finger into your dripping wet cunt, and you quickly mute your headset, afraid your mates will hear the lewd wet sounds. You look down at Paige, her icy blue eyes glaring at you as she shoves a second finger into you. She removes her mouth for a second to say, “So now you give me your fucking attention, fucking unmute yourself. You’re going to have to control yourself, or your little friends will know how much of a fucking slut you are for me.”, Paige says, curling her fingers inside of you and you squeeze your thighs together, around her head and she stops. “Listen to me or I won’t continue.”, is all she says and you move your thighs and unmute yourself. Azzi is asking you to go mid, and you can barely respond, trying to hold back any sort of noises, as if the slick noises from your dripping cunt wasn’t enough. “Uh huh…”, is all you can muster. At this point you only have your hand on the mouse and the other on Paiges head, forcing her against you. “More…”, is what you say to Paige. You need her tongue against your clit, sucking harder. Your thighs start to shake and your breathing gets more shallow, and you accidentally let out “fuck I’m close”, into your mic and your face turns red. “To the spike?”, Azzi asks, confused and KK responds with “Nah, I got it don’t worry y/n”. Relieved, you focus on Paige, and your stomach starts to tense and just as you feel yourself about to release all your juices onto Paige’s face and your chair, she gets up. “What the fuck?”, you yell, staring at Paige. She always makes sure you finish, knowing that in all your past relationships you’ve never been able to until she came into your life. It was part of her ego, knowing that she only had this effect on you and made sure to let you indulge in it.

Paiges POV

How the fuck are you still playing your game, she can hear all the shot’s you’re making, seeing the screen say “Thrifty” on the reflections on your big glasses, that cover a large portion of your face. Clearly you are still able to play well enough. You haven't used it before on her, but you brought it today because you felt like there may be a need to use it. You open your bag, taking out a harness with a pale blue, 7 in dildo attached to it. Your face turns a deep, cherry red, a bit embarrassed taking it out. But you snap out of it, you know you have to fuck her hard enough that she can’t even focus on the game, that she gives you all her focus, her attention, her fucking love. You step into the harness, putting it on and you stare down into her eyes.

Readers pov

You were watching Paiges every movement intently, your eyes flipping back to the screen every so often to make sure you don’t get another AFK notice. You mates are literally yelling at you, “Y/N, come on what the fuck you always carry, why are you bottom fragging?”, Azzi states while KK is cursing at her end because you always carry her especially. “Uhm… yeah, bad match I guess.”, is what you respond with, and your focus is back on the game. You get a few kills and you make your way back to carrying your team when you see Paige pull you up, shove you against your desk with your ass up. Without any warning, Paige is behind you, pushing the tip of her strap into your still very drenched, sticky cunt and she starts to whisper in your ear.

“You don’t even kiss me when I walk in? And you expect me to let you finish? You are such a greedy slut, only taking and you never fucking give. Give me your fucking attention or I will force it out of you.”, she whispers in your ear, and you start to worry. You still have your head set on and your teammates know Paige, so they can recognize her voice. You reach for your mouse, and Paige smacks it away, before thrusting her strap into you. You quickly move your hand to your face, to help quit your moan that was alfully too loud, knowing that your mates for sure heard that. “Yo, Y/N you good?, you hear Ice say. You hum in a response, as Paige is thrusting into you at already an inhuman pace. She her foot on your chair, so can thrust into you at an angle that is moving you closer to your edge. At this point, you are full on moaning into the mic, feeling a tear slip down your face while Paige continues to abuse that one spot only she hits with her fingers, but feels so much better with her strap. Your mates clear their throats, a bit confused and you quickly say you have to go and take off the headset. You reach for the power button on your monitor and the game shuts off. You know you are going to get a penalty for this, but it was clear what Paige wanted.

She picks you up and places you on the bed. You feel yourself about to cry, you’ve been close twice already and she hasn’t let you release yet. Paige takes notice of this, but her eyes don’t soften. You feel her blue, icy glare almost pierce through your skin and you make it easier for her. You know what she wants so you reach up, and place your hand on her jaw, pulling her in for a kiss. This kiss is more heated then any of the ones before, she doesn’t hesitate to suck on your tongue and put her hand under your shirt, rubbing your already hard nipples. You knew you would get fucked tonight anyways, so you didn’t bother putting on a bra. She pulls away from you. “On your stomach, if you want to finish tonight.”, is all she says to make you obey her words finally. You bring your favorite plushie into your arms and bury your face into it as you get on your stomach, and Paige puts a pillow under your stomach, so you can feel the full depth of her strap.

She slowly enters you again, as if she hasn’t already fucked you against the table. You are already overstimulated from not being able to finish, feel a few more tears drip down your face. Paige places a hand on your lower back as she shoves her strap into you, making sure you take all 7 inches of it. “Why don’t get you get your fucking mates to fuck you? You clearly were having more fun with them when I was right here, trying to please you, trying to worship every inch of your slutty body.”, Paige spits at you. Her words were making you need her more and more and you arch your back, fucking yourself against her strap not caring how needy you looked.

Paige’s POV

“Oh so now you want to pay attention to me, look at you taking me so fucking well, I didn’t know you’d be such a fucking filthy slut for my strap y/n.”, you say, smirking to yourself. Finally she wants to listen, and oh my fucking god she looked hot listening to you. Her face was buried into her favorite plushing, you couldn’t see her face but you could hear all the lewd noises she was making. “Paige… Paige please, I’ll be your best girl, just let me fucking cum”, is what you hear her say. You know she’s close, you feel her body start to shake and she barely has that same energy she had fucking herself against your strap, so you give in and help her out. You thrust into her a few more times, before she finishes, spilling all her juices against your strap.

You notice her breathing deeply, not saying anything once she finishes. Usually she clung to you afterwards, wanting to be in your arms. You take off the strap, and get up. You figure she’s just tired, so you go to her bathroom, dampen a washcloth and come back to clean her up when you notice her face covered in tears. Your eyes soften as you feel worry fill into your chest. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong.”, you say quietly, pulling her into your lap. “I am so sorry if I was too rough tonight with you, I just really wanted your attention and it was selfish of-”, you begin to rant mindlessly, trying to explain yourself when she interrupts you and kisses you. “Felt good Paigey, too fucking good.”, she mumbles. “You were crying though ma, I didn’t even notice you crying before and I don’t want to do that to you.”, you tell her, looking into her eyes, feeling yourself tear up. You were too hard on her tonight, and it wasn’t for a good reason, you were purely just jealous and wanted her to want you. “P, no really, I wanted that, you just edged me and I was sensitive and needed to finish, I trust you don’t worry.”, y/n tells you and you nod your head. “Promise me, you are okay.”, you say, looking at her, still seriously concerned. You hold out your pinky, and she wraps her pinky around yours, “I promise Paigey,”, she says while returning your promise. You kiss her forehead and tuck her hair behind her ears, before carefully cleaning her, freeing her from the sticky wetness that covered her cunt and her thighs. Noticing her almost falling asleep, you pull the covers over the both of you, and she snuggles into you. “Wait fuck Paige, I am not going to peak platnim anytime soon if you’re going to keep getting me penalties like this.”

“Come on, you deserve at least the platinum tier for taking it so well mamas. I can send in a letter about it to Riot Games if you want”, you joke, watching her fall asleep on your chest.

#paige bueckers #uconn women’s basketball #uconn wbb #paige buckets #paige bueckers smut #wlw #wbb #paige bueckers x reader

345 notes · View notes

simpxxstan · 2 months

Note

hi i would like to req cheol x fem!reader with the song you are in love by taylor swift. thank you!

congrats on 500 followers btw 🫶🏼

this is part of my 550 followers celebration event (closed now)!

thank you for this request, really hoping you like it! i'm not a swiftie so i was unsure of how to interpret the song prompt. hope i did it justice! posting very very late, thank you for being patient for so long <3 happy bday month to cheollie!!! i love him so much and this couple too. i think i might write a few more drabbles for them later lol

genre: coworkers to lovers, friends to lovers, fluff

word count: 3.3k words

warnings: reader is fwb with an oc (not seungcheol).

"you are in love!" your best friend says. "yeah, i know." you sigh, "that's why i've been ranting for so-" "no, silly! not with jay. you're in love with seungcheol!" you had laughed off her words, wondering if she'd become tipsy way too fast into your girls' night.

but when you're lying in your bed later that night, the thought lingers in your mind- the alcohol clearing up and making you progressively more sober as the cold air from the open window hits you, while your friend snores soundly next to you.

"think about it." "i am thinking ab-" "no, you've never really thought about this before. think about it clearly." you'd laughed heartily at her faux-wisdom, which always appeared after finishing two cans of beer.

but she's right. you have actually never thought about this. you've been so obsessed with getting jay to like you that you've never really given a second thought about seungcheol... and what he really means to you now.

"i'd expect more from a stats major and a data analyst, honestly. aren't you supposed to be logical and rigorous-" you slap her arm while doubling over with laughter, knowing full well that she's imitating the words of an infamous professor in your college. "i am being logical. we're just coworkers."

were you?

now that you think about it, certainly not. you're more than coworkers. more like friends. more like best friends. in fact, he's the closest friend you've made since your days in college. just coworkers don't buy each other their favourite drinks when the other has a bad day. just coworkers don't hang out for hours after work nearly every other day. just coworkers don't invite each other to parties with their separate friend groups. just coworkers don't have inside jokes that prevent you from forming friends with anyone else in the office.

your mind travels back to last thursday, when seungcheol had saved your ass for the nineteenth time this year when you'd arrived late by preventing the boss from noticing.

and the thursday before that, when seungcheol had dropped you home after he'd found out that jay had made you cry during an argument in the break room just before work got over.

and the thursday before that, when you'd gone with seungcheol to taste the menu at three different banquets because he was busy planning the wedding of his best friend, joshua, and needed an unbiased taster.

did just coworkers know everything about each other? including his dentist appointment's dates, the last time you went grocery shopping, the last time he went to watch a movie, the vitamin supplements you eat after breakfast, and so much more.

you smile in the darkness. no, you and seungcheol could never be just coworkers. you're best friends, nothing less of that.

but love?

ah, no. you'll bet your life on this one. you've been in love before. and what you feel for seungcheol is nothing like it.

your heart hammers in your chest as you ring the doorbell again, the weight of the melting cake heavy in your hand. you distinctly remember jay telling you that he'd be home tonight, then why wasn't he responding to his calls nor opening his door?

you're answered about twenty minutes later. you're sitting on the stairs in front of his flat when you hear him walking up the stairs... and there's someone else's voice too. a female voice.

"y/n?"

words get caught in your throat when you see mina, the new intern fresh out of a college, walking right beside him, arm looped in his, a hickey prominent on her neck, freshly bruised.

"why are you here?" she asks you, and you wince.

"i wanted to surprise you... for your birthday! sorry, i- i didn't know you had plans."

jay smiles as he looks at mina next to him, and pulls her closer. "no, mina actually surprised me too. and we went out dancing. sorry, have you been waiting for long? you should've call-"

"i did."

jay pulls out his phone and checks it. "oh shucks. you've been calling for the last twenty minutes," he takes a step forward and leans in to kiss your cheek, lightly. "you can join us for dinner? i'm sure mina won't mind." mina definitely minds, because she looks like she's going to shoot you down in a matter of seconds.

"nah, i'll just leave. happy birthday though. i can see you had a good one." would you be petty if you didn't give him the cake?

"sorry for making you wait for so long, y/n-ah."

one year and four months.

"no worries, man. enjoy your night. bye mina!" and you smile, like the stupid people-pleaser you are. at least you brought the cake with you.

"what's up?" seungcheol opens the door and you smell the heavenly aroma of fried noodles from his kitchen greet you.

"thank you for opening the door."

seungcheol raises an eyebrow at you. "why would i not open the door? you're literally-"

"yeah no, that's cause jay didn't. he went out with mina, it turns out." you stuff the cake into his fridge and stand next to him where he's cooking in a wok.

"mina? intern mina?"

"yeah. they made out too... so i'm guessing it wasn't friendly."

seungcheol scoffs. "mina joined, like, last week."

"two weeks."

"he switched you up for her although he's been with you for a year and a half."

"she's twenty-two, cheol. i'm pushing thirty. i'm not sexy anymore." you bite your lip as you look at the word puzzle in the newspaper on the coffee table. seungcheol doesn't reply immediately, so your heart sinks a little further. even if he doesn't subjectively find you sexy, he could just say it to console you. well, but it's a stretch to even expect that from-

"you're the sexiest woman i've ever met." seungcheol says, his voice softer, as he plops down next to you, holding two bowls filled with the fried noodles. he begins to eat wordlessly, legs propped up on the coffee table, almost inhaling the food. if you move your leg a little, your bodies would touch.

you don't reply. you can't reply. you start eating the food too, relishing the flavours in silence.

"want some more? there's more egg bits towards the bottom, i know you-"

"it doesn't matter if you think i'm the sexiest woman. clearly he doesn't."

"is jay the only person whose opinion matters?"

"are you really asking me that?"

"what i am asking you is that you've wasted one year and a half pining over a man who doesn't care for anything more than sex, and you still hope he's worth your time?"

your breath stutters. seungcheol's staring at you, and you feel shameful and self-conscious suddenly. all the fire and rage from your earlier comments dissipate and you sigh.

"you think i don't have a chance at all?"

"jay is an asshole, y/n. i think that you shouldn't care about him at all. but that's just what i think. my opinion doesn't ma-"

"shut the fuck up," you extend a hand to grab his wrist and make him look at you again.

seungcheol does look at you again but doesn't say anything.

"my best friend says i like you."

seungcheol's fork clatters in his bowl and you both turn to look at each other.

you have no idea why you say that. sure, it's been on your mind all day, all evening, and suddenly you feel like you're on your toes around him through the day. even when you two sat together at work, you'd become oddly conscious of his presence in your periphery, which has never occurred to you before.

"do you?"

and you have no idea why he says it either. in all the million possible options of things he could've said right now, you'd never imagined him asking this to you right on your face.

so you have nothing to say, except a very shaky, a very feeble, "i don't know."

the next day, two things happen.

first, seungcheol isn't talking to you. well, he is talking. but not properly. talking like could you press the elevator button or do you want some grapes or did you read the mail.

second, jay's talking to you a lot. he follows you into the break room and apologises again for standing you up on his birthday night.

"it's okay really. i hope you had a wonderful time with mina." you don't make eye contact, not really interested in listening to his whining, instead more focused on making the espresso you know that seungcheol craves during the afternoon.

"i... just wanted to clarify. there's nothing between us, you know. nothing going on." "you don't have to clarify that to me-" "i know. but still. wanted to know if it's all good between us." you push your tongue into your cheek to stop a curse from coming out. finally you pick up the two mugs of coffee and face him. "yes jay, all's good." jay smiles widely. "so are we on for the annual company dinner for this weekend?"

shit. you'd forgotten about that.

"umm-"

"but we go every year!" and jay throws you those puppy eyes that bring out the wrinkles next to his eyes that were the first reason you'd fallen for him.

it, surprisingly, doesn't make you feel weak in the knees.

"i'll confirm by tonight, okay? gotta go."

you head straight to seungcheol's desk and put down the cup of coffee on his desk, making him look up from his desktop.

"do you have a plus one for the company dinner?"

his eyes widen, and he responds after a moment's pause. "no. but-"

"will you come with me?"

"what?"

"will you be my plus one?"

"but you're going with jay?"

"who told you that?"

"you did, genius. that's all you could talk about on monday."

you cringe internally. you don't even know why you do that- talking so much about jay, thinking so much about jay, just... caring so much for him. is it a parasocial thing? like people crush on their celebrities and make imaginary daydreams about taking care of their crushes? because jay certainly hasn't recicprocated even a tenth of your affection.

or maybe it's because of the sex. it is natural for friends with benefits to end up liking each other. well, in your case, liking the other without the other liking you. perhaps it's the physical intimacy. perhaps it's the consolation that you may be pushing thirty but you're still attractive enough to be on the market. perhaps it's the attention he gives you during your hookups. and perhaps it's the lack of attention from anyon-

wait.

you don't have a lack of attention. you have friends.

so it's not the attention bit.

is it specifically male attention?

but seungcheol is male. and he gives you a lot of attention, but only as a friend. you may be the sexiest woman he's ever met but he would never hook up with you. he's way out of your league.

"i don't want to go with jay." you finally respond back, clicking your tongue.

"huh? isn't that like your dream?"

"seungcheol. don't push it."

"i'm the one pushing it? i tell you not to like him, and you're mad at me. i tell you to like him, and you're still mad at me. what am i supposed to say, y/n?" and he pouts. fucking pouts at you like a little boy who's not allowed to eat sweets, and your heart breaks into a million pieces. you know he's not even trying to fake his cuteness (like jay does sometimes) and yet there's something so adorable about him right now that makes you want to-

fuck.

"just answer me, cheol. please. yes or no?"

"when have i ever said no to you?"

your mouth twists as you nod. he hasn't. ever said no to you.

"i'll tell jay i'll be going with you then."

you turn around to walk away, but seungcheol pulls you back, grabbing your wrist and pulling you up close to his chest so that you have to tilt your head up to talk to him. "what?"

"is this some let's make jay jealous mission?"

"what?!" your eyes go wide and you scoff.

"of course NOT. what do you think i am? i'm not that desperate."

seungcheol sighs.

"whatever you say, darling."

seungcheol looks as good as ever when he comes around to pick you up and drive you to the company dinner that weekend.

"red suits you," he says, taking in the dress you've brought out from your mother's closet specially for this event. this dress is made to impress. it's the dress your mom wore at the party where she met your dad for the first time, and you've heard from dad countless times how enchanting she looked in the dress. you're hoping you'll do the dress half the justice, but clearly you haven't inherited your mother's body proportions, so it doesn't look as good as it did on her. and yet, the plunging sweetheart neckline allows you to wear pretty accessories that you hardly get to wear to work. it is really a dress to impress. somehow, something inside you wants to impress.... someone. and for some reason, you don't think it's jay.

the car ride is silent. it's extremely uncomfortable because you don't remember the last time you spent ten minutes in the same space as seungcheol without talking to him. you knew you shouldn't have raised the my friend thinks i like you shit. but you've raised it and now you can't go back. his question still lingers in your mind, and it feels like a challenge.

do you like him?

when you look at him in the moonlight, his jawline is shaved clean and his hair is slicked off his forehead. it's not like you've never realised before this how handsome seungcheol is. in fact, it was the one of the first things you'd noticed about him. he's got an aura about him that's so attractive from the outside. but as you grew closer to him, the attraction somewhat wore off into a casual comfort... where you can exist in the same space with him without double taking at his beautiful smile or wondering why his dimples are so cute.

but that's not to say that his appeal is lost on you.

under the moonlight, he looks godly.

''i heard jay's going with mina." he finally tells you when he parks into the parking lot.

"good for them." he looks at you and cocks an eyebrow, and you shrug.

you're about to open the door and step out, but he quickly grabs your hand across the car, and pulls you inside.

"umm. y/n, i don't know what you're doing. but i- whatever i said that day- look, i don't like jay because i think he's rude to you? but apart from that i'm sure he's a great guy and you should like him if you want to. and i have no right to say anything about it-"

"what?" you're so confused by his little monologue.

"sorry i'm saying this poorly. what i mean is, please don't let what i said that night make you avoid jay or anything."

"this isn't about that."

"it's not?" he tilts his head in query.

"no. this isn't about how i feel about jay."

"it's not?" he asks you again, his face more confused. you're tempted to smile at the cute confusion on his features, but you know it'll make him mad for spoiling this serious moment.

"this is about how i feel about you."

seungcheol does not utter any more words to you after that. there's still a very prominent confusion on his face, but he masks it well with his natural charm.

but you're not confused at all for once. everything seems to become clear to you with 100% HD clarity. for some reason, it all makes sense now. why your best friend thinks you're in love with seungcheol.

because you've never been in love before.

you've always fallen for the toxic type of person, like jay. relationships that are more about hookups and drunken fights than emotional bonds and care. and your past experience has made you feel that love is nothing smooth. it's always been a rocky path for you. push and pull, where you're both pushed around and pulled to meet to other's conveniences.

but being with seungcheol is so... different.

there's no loneliness. no push and pull, no compromise. only laughter and memories. he makes you smile you more than any of your love interests have made you smile. he makes you laugh ever so often. he takes care of you when you're sick. he cooks for you whenever he comes over because you can't cook to save your life. he wrote you a birthday card. he bought matching t-shirts from a thrift store because you both happened to like the design. right now, when you see the way he's talking to another colleague, his pretty lips articulating every word clearly, your heart warms with fondness. a stray hair sticks out, and you fix it back. he doesn't notice. or he pretends not to. when jay comes around within your periphery, he pulls you closer, and you can't help but smile again. something about everything he does is so endearing.

it's not a eureka moment.

and yet, it feels good to feel love for real for the first time of your life. you can die tonight happily, knowing you're capable of real love. because you know you do love seungcheol. for all his pouty tantrums and all his whining complaints, you love him the most in the world right now, and you simply cannot imagine choosing a life without him.

"do you want to dance?"

seungcheol's been deliberately avoiding eye contact, but now he looks at you like a deer caught in the headlights.

"no."

you giggle at the sudden reply. "why?" his frown deepens, and you tug at his lips with your fingers. "you don't look good when you frown." "it doesn't matter." "it does." "no one's looking at me." "no one's looking at me either." "shut up. jay's boring holes into your dress with the way he's ogling you." seungcheol's face flares up, and you're mildly amused. "and what about the boy i want to ogle?" "huh?" "you. you're so handsome, cheol." his eyes unfocus from jay and back at you, his eyes wide and lips slightly parted.

"what are you doing, y/n? why are you playing with my heart?"

"i'm not, though? i'm just telling you how i feel."

"and how's that?"

"i feel like dancing with you under the moonlight. i feel like going on a long drive with you. i feel like hugging you on the warmth of your couch until we fall asleep. i've never done these things, seungcheol, will you come with me?"

"never danced? fuck, you're not being treated right."

and he shows you. he takes you to the centre of the hall area, where the roof's glass so that it's slightly isolated from the result of the expanse, and the moonlight's shining in like a spotlight. there are only a few people dancing there, mostly couples. but seungcheol and you dance at the very centre, lost in each other's eyes, forgetting that this is a public place. it doesn't matter. nothing does. except him.

you are in love, your best friend's voice floats into your mind. and you smile as you look into seungcheol's eyes, realising she was right all along.

so you tell him.

"i love you, cheol."

seungcheol stutters in his step for a second. but it doesn't matter. your pace was anyway too slow. he pulls you closer against his chest, and cups your cheek with one hand. "what's that?"

"i told you this night's about you. and i've realised it now. i am in love."

and when seungcheol kisses you later that night, you're downright thankful you've finally realised your feelings. because how did you ever think you'd survive without his cherry kisses?

#simpxxstan #simpxxstan's 550 followers celebration event #request answered!#seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #seventeen fluff #svt #svt x reader #seventeen x you #svt fluff #seungcheol imaqines #scoups fluff #svt imagines #svt scoups #choi seungcheol #scoups

151 notes · View notes

miraclewoozi · 10 months

Text

DRIVE. - l.c

DRIVE -- or, the night you realise it's actually very hard to stay mad at the guy who shows up at your house, throwing stones at your window on a Thursday night, to try and fix something that was your mistake in the first place.

pairing : chan x fem reader. content : fwb > lovers. angst, smut (MINORS DO NOT HAVE MY CONSENT TO INTERACT), fluff. more or less in that order. they’re both dumb as hell. not explicitly put in any detail but this was written with a more 70s vibe in mind so feel free to bear that in mind when thinking of the car/tech/styles etc if u like. w/c : 7.8k warnings : lots of swearing. it’s all a big fuckin misunderstanding because i am a whore for that. weed & alcohol mentioned (neither party is drunk or high at the time of this taking place). mentions of past cheating (neither mc or chan are the cheater). some pov switching because i said so. let me know if i've forgotten anything. proofread exactly once so if there's a typo, no there isn't. SMUT TAGS UTC. notes : dino. get the fuck off my ass. i’m so serious i am not strong enough to handle the very real feelings i have for you. go away. notes 2.0 : i listened to halsey’s drive for some inspo for this & took that as the title, so feel free to give it a listen if you want!

SMUT TAGS : dom!chan. car fuckin', making out, hair pulling, grinding/dry humping, fingering, finger sucking, dick riding, marking/scratching, unprotected sex (make good choices), overstimulation, multiple orgasms. praise. chan calls reader ‘baby’ & ‘sweetheart’. he’s a BIG talker during sex (sorry).

You’re not stupid. You heard his car pull up outside your house almost an hour ago.

Since then, at random intervals ranging anywhere between thirty seconds and five minutes, there have been clinks of a thrown stone at your bedroom window, a piece of the gravel that lines your driveway. Each time, it makes your jaw tense, makes your fingers tighten in the bedsheets you pulled all the way up to your chin in a foul mood at 8pm. It’s been the same now for almost two weeks — you’ve been getting home from work, showering the day away, eating your dinner and retiring to your room as early as you possibly can. Your roommate tried to find out what was wrong around day three but you very promptly shut her down — she’s since learned that the best she’s getting out of you currently is a dismissive wave of your hand or some kind of a grunt. She joked one evening that it was like she’d adopted a teenager; you scowled so violently that she went to her room.

Hardly any of your other friends have seen anything of you, either, despite the fact that several have come knocking to check if you’re all right.

You’re very much not all right, as it happens. This is perhaps the most upset you’ve ever felt, and that’s going quite some way. The angriest, too. It’s worse than when that middle aged woman threw her entire bucket of popcorn at your head when you gave her salty instead of sweet, and you were picking kernels out of your hair for the rest of your six hour shift. It’s worse than when your nasty supervisor ‘forgot’ you were in the bathroom and ended up locking you inside the cinema overnight, because you didn’t have your own set of keys to get out and the people whose numbers you remembered weren’t answering their phones.

It’s somehow even worse than when a summer crush from a few years ago broke things off by telling you that he already had a girlfriend back home and that you were basically just a means to pass the time and get his dick wet. God, and you thought that was the lowest you could possibly be.

Here you are, though, so far beyond all those things it would be comical, if it didn’t hurt. Chan has really done a number on you, and you’re not sure how you ended up getting so emotionally involved in your situationship with him that this is what you’ve been reduced to. For days now, you’ve been swallowing back tears of frustration (both with yourself and with Chan), rolling around in your bed night on night, unable to get to sleep because all you can think about is him.

Him, and the way he sounded genuinely horrified when his friends asked about the ‘movie girl’, and he laughed, ‘God, no – we’re just friends. That’s never gonna happen’. It was impressive, how quickly your face fell, in no way aided by the squealing giggles that rang through the house as a very, very drunk girl came running out of the living room and shut herself in the toilet, drowning out a chunk of the conversation you were listening in on. Somehow, it hurt even more when he went on to say ‘besides, there’s… someone else’.

And when you have managed to drift off after hours of staring at the walls and the ceiling, hearing those words on a loop on your fed up brain? Of course he’s been in your fucking dreams, too.

In your defence, all you were trying to do was use the mirror in the hallway outside the kitchen he and his friends were standing in, readjusting your top to cover the hickey that he had so kindly left on your collarbone just the night before. It wasn’t as though you sought him out to listen in; it was a coincidence. And okay, fine, maybe you should have walked away when the conversation turned to the topic of Chan’s love life. Maybe you should have not crept closer and held your breath to be able to hear them all better. Maybe, even, you should have stayed around long enough to ask what he meant by it then and there instead of hopping in a taxi and going home without saying goodbye to anyone.

Hindsight really is a beautiful thing.

Never gonna happen. Well, Chan seemed quite happy to ignore the fact that it already had happened. Several times. At least four of those being in the very car currently on the street outside your home. The car he’s used on countless occasions to drive you up to lovers’ lookouts in the dead of night, letting one of his many mixtapes play through the tinny speakers, where he’d kiss you breathless and cradle your face between his palms, as his fingers would delicately explore beneath your clothes, as his broad shoulders would slot between your thighs, as his hips rol–

And maybe you aren’t stupid, but Chan seems determined to prove that he sure as hell is. He came to pick you up from work the day after the party like nothing had happened, and couldn’t figure out why you said you would rather walk home in the rain than get in with him and stormed away without any further explanation. Then, he showed up on your doorstep on the morning of your day off with your favourite coffee and a breakfast bagel, asking if you could talk. He still didn’t realise what he’d done to upset you, so you slammed the door in his face. Finally, just earlier today, he ran after you in the mall, persistent as you’ve ever known him to be, and laid a hand on your shoulder when you didn’t turn around to just the sound of his voice calling your name.

You pushed him off so hard he almost fell over.

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?!” You had barked, shrugging your shoulders to try and realign your jacket. “I don’t want to talk to you. What’s not clicking?”

His face resembled that of a scolded pet when he took a step back and frowned at you. “I just wanted to–”

“I don’t care what you want, Chan,” you spat. “Give it up. I’m done.”

You could see the desperation swimming in his eyes as he scrambled for what to say and your heart felt like it was being weighed down all the way into your stomach. You supposed that was the part of you that was causing all this ache in the first place, and further that it was to blame for your current state of misery. But you steeled yourself and stood your ground nonetheless. He wasn’t going to win you over with puppy eyes and a pout. Not this time.

In his silence, you only then noticed how hard your breaths were coming, each slow and long but still dangerously unsteady. You lowered your voice, top lip curling at him as you muttered, “You’re embarrassed of me enough to lie to your friends? Fine. I don’t give a–… but shit, next time, tell a girl that to her face instead of behind her fucking back.”

It’s been seven hours, and you keep replaying the last thing he said to you as you stormed away (how his voice got quieter when he realised you weren’t turning back; how he sounded so hoarse, so sorry).

‘I’m sorry if I hurt you - I— I never meant to.’

If. If. If. Were you not making it completely fucking obvious that he had, most definitely, hurt you? Part of your brain is even now starting to go down the route that he’s doing this on purpose, that it’s some twisted sort of damage control, that he hopes maybe if he plays dumb for long enough, you’ll forget what you were mad about or maybe start to second guess what you heard. But if that’s what he thinks, he obviously doesn’t know you very well at all. That’s never going to happen.

Hell, for someone you were being so careful to keep in the appropriate lane in your head, Chan really has you thinking yourself in circles. You’re sick to your back teeth of him, and his stupid voice and his stupid smile and his stupid –

Clink.

Stupid. Fucking. Stones.

A groan loud enough to definitely catch the attention of your roommate sounds from deep within your chest at this interruption to your spiral and you finally, finally concede. Whatever argument he’s so clearly longing to have at 11 o’clock on a Thursday night? Fine. He can have it. If it means he backs off for good, you’ll give him his one last ruck.

You pull the window open none too gently and lean enough through it that Chan comes into view. He isn’t even looking up, you realise, too busy sifting through the driveway trying to find his next little projectile, and you hiss his name to get his attention. It startles him so much that he drops the indiscernible bundle in his right hand. He blindly scrambles to pick it up, those big, earnest eyes gazing at you as if you’re floating in midair before him.

“What the hell are you doing?!” You ask him, trying not to raise your voice too loud but at the same time, needing to generate enough volume for him to hear. He holds the bundle in both hands, now, and they catch the light of the lamp by your front door. Flowers, you register, squinting to try and make them out, your brows furrowing so much that your forehead hurts.

Black dahlias.

You choke back a laugh. Ah, the joys of fooling around with the son of a florist. Are they all so damn dramatic? (Or does he just know that they’re your favourites?)

Whichever it is, you tell yourself that’s not going to work. You won’t let it. Through gritted teeth, you say, “go away. I’m serious. I’ll call the cops on you.”

He shakes his head, begging as he steps just a little closer so his face is more visible in the amber light too. “Please–” he hurries, biting his bottom lip. “Please, don’t– just… tell me what I did. I want to make it right. Please.”

He never begs like this. In all the time you’ve known him, you swear Chan has said ‘please’ to you fewer times than you could count on your fingers. Which is by no means a bad thing — that’s just always been the very comfortable nature of your friendship, and later, the -with-benefits tag that you ended up sticking on the end.

“Why are you doing this?” You ask, pinching the bridge of your nose and fighting not to shiver in the cold nighttime air. Note to self: don’t do a Romeo and Juliet in the middle of the fucking winter without layering up, first. “What does it even matter?”

“What do you mean, what does it matter?” He asks, looking down at the bunch of flowers in his hands, then back at you. “I-... you know I’d never hurt you. Not on purpose. Please, just… if I did something–”

“There’s someone else,” you echo, fed up with his pretending. He’s a fair actor, you’ll give him that – he might even have been able to convince you, if you hadn’t already heard the other half of this tale he’s doing his best to spin in his favour.

His face screws up, thinking he’s misheard. It’s his turn not to understand now. If you’re telling him you’ve met someone else, he’s got questions, because you’d promised to be open and honest with each other if that ever happened, so that you could call things off and go back to being just friends without it becoming a big deal. That was always supposed to be a calm conversation, not… whatever this is. You talked about it, right at the start. But… those are the words you’re saying, aren’t they? And why would you be mad at him if you were the one whose circumstances had changed?

“What?” he asks, finally. “What do you mean?”

“God, no – we’re just friends. That’s never gonna happen. Besides, there’s… someone else!” You raise your voice without really meaning to, before swallowing hard and glancing back inside your room. “You said that, Chan. Don’t piss me off by coming here and pretending like you didn’t.”

Chan starts to look like he’s trying to figure out an algebraic equation in his head while only having half the required information; his eyes fall down to the gravel, his lips move without any sound coming out of them, his features tighten until there are definite lines between his eyebrows. Then, it clicks. The lightbulb moment. He slaps one hand to his face and shakes his head furiously, and you just know he’s going to wake up with an ache in his neck tomorrow because of it.

“Oh fuck,” he curses. “No, no, no, no, no – that’s not–”

“What did I just say?” You spit down at him. “Don’t piss me off–”

“Listen!” He shouts, and you gesture with your hand for him to lower his voice, interrupting his flow of thought and rendering him silent for a moment. “Fuck, please. Come down here and talk to me. That’s not what you think it is.”

You’re in every mind to slam your window shut and leave him out there in the cold. It would work if you got out your headphones to drown out the sounds of him trying to get your attention, which you have absolutely no doubt in your mind that he would do. And maybe then he’d get the hint; maybe then he would understand that you’re not just some pushover who he can just pick up and play with when it suits him.

But he’s still holding those fucking flowers like they’re a lifeline, still looking up at you without a single lick of anger on his face. Not stress at having been discovered, which you would have expected him to be swimming in right about now. He looks… kind of beside himself, as if nothing could possibly be worse than what you’re threatening to do.

All this, for you? It just doesn’t make sense.

“Please,” he says again, quieter, weaker. For the first time, you pick up on the hint of a shiver in his voice, and you swallow. Whether you’re gulping back your pride, or your resolve, or the last remnants of your sensibility, you don’t know.

Does he deserve for you to hear him out? You’re not sure.

But does he deserve to be stuck out in the cold in just his stupid leather jacket and a pair of jeans?

With regret, you think, no. He doesn’t.

All you give him is a scowl before you disappear from view entirely, pulling the window closed and drawing your curtains again. Faster than you think you ever have before, you throw on a sweatshirt over your pyjamas, grab your keys, and hurry down the stairs as silently as you possibly can.

He’s stood in exactly the same place when you edge outside and pull the door closed behind you. Up-close, you can see the tiredness on his face: this is a man who has exhausted himself in worry, you think, and yet he still smiles a little when he sees you in full. He still holds the flowers out for you to take. He still purses his lips and blows out a stuttered cloud of air. Nervous, and not in the way you think he ought to be. So when you walk straight past him and don’t take the dahlias out of his hands, instead standing by his car and waiting for him to unlock it for you, you start to feel overwhelmingly guilty.

Chan is many, many… many things. But he really isn’t this good of a performer, no matter what you’ve been telling yourself all week. For God’s sake, why is it so much easier to be angry at him when he’s not standing right in front you?

You slip into his passenger side as he fumbles to set the flowers down on his backseat again, and he joins you up front just a few moments later. His hands are shaking when he sets the keys into the ignition. His whole body is. When you cast a real look over at him, the tips of his fingers are pale and his lips are lacking their usual rosy, pink hue. Your own teeth are chattering despite only having been truly exposed to the cold air for a matter of seconds; you dread to think how frozen he must be.

“Are we driving?” You ask to break the silence. Since he got into the car and fiddled with the heating settings to try and warm things up a little, he hasn’t said a word. It’s awkward. It’s horrible. You already miss the comfortable way you’ve been able to sit for hours together, barely talking, just watching the lights of the city and the cars travelling through it.

You already miss him. Which is a strange thought, seeing as he’s only about ten inches away.

“If– if you want,” he says, stuttering through the frost in his lungs. “We can go—...”

“Drive, Chan,” you say. It’s not just because you want him to stop falling over his words – which, to be fair, you do. Chan has always been very confident, carrying himself with the air of someone who knows exactly their worth. It’s one of the things you treasure about him. So this? Is fucking weird. But a big part of it is that you know his car will heat up faster if it’s in motion, and right now, you think maybe he’s at risk of losing a finger or two if he doesn’t get some circulation back.

He steps on the gas and the car pulls away from your home. It’s the first time you’ve ever been in his car without there being some sort of music playing, whether that’s historically just been the radio or a tape he put together with the help of one of his older friends. (The tapes that always had your first initial on them. The tapes that he never failed to ask your opinions on when he dropped you home – as if he’d compiled them with only you in mind.) The silence feels jarring and you can hear every rumble of the engine, every squeal of the brakes he definitely needs to get serviced.

But the car does warm through, and you sigh out relief as the bones in your hands move a little easier, as your fingers curl and uncurl to less resistance from your taut muscles. Chan feels it, too; his body relaxes, his breaths stop coming out in fractions, his face gets some colour back. The timing feels a little less awful when you finally say, “go on, then.”

Chan glances over at you as he drives down an unlit street. Only for a second, like he’s checking you’re still there, before his eyes train back on the road. He’s going to one of your favourite spots. It isn’t a lookout – it’s somewhere completely shut off from the rest of town, hidden by the trees near the railway tracks, somewhere you’ve never had to worry about being seen or heard. Maybe he’s anticipating a screaming match. Maybe he’s expecting something else. Maybe, even, he just cares about how much you love it there.

“I didn’t know you heard that conversation,” he starts, sheepishly. You want to roll your eyes, reach over and thump him, ask if that makes what he said okay, but you don’t. You stay looking out the front windscreen too. Waiting. “I… all right. I was out of my ass drunk.”

You click your tongue, pressing it afterwards against the inside of your cheek, but again, you stay quiet.

“I don’t think you heard what you thought you heard, though,” he goes on to say. “‘Cause– ‘cause it wasn’t…”

But you can only be quiet for so long in the face of this mess. Especially when he’s apparently working towards a doctorate in beating around the fucking bush. “I heard you tell your friends that it was never gonna happen with ‘movie girl’.”

Chan’s face brightens, and you can’t help but wonder what on Earth is wrong with this man. Why does he find that funny? Why is his chest moving like he’s trying not to laugh?

“And you… thought you were movie girl,” he says, nodding. “Okay. Okay – shit. I’m sorry.”

You look at him properly, now, as he indicates to the right and takes the turn that leads him down the lane to your spot. “What are you talking about?”

“I get it,” he says. “You work at the–... but you’re not movie girl. Not that movie girl.”

“Stop talking in riddles before I get out of this car, Chan. It’s too late for this shit.”

He holds a hand up as if to apologise and settles back against the head cushion, suddenly looking far more comfortable than he did thirty seconds ago. He clears his throat, running his tongue over his lips, before sucking in a breath and letting himself go on.

“You’re not movie girl,” he says again, successfully clarifying nothing. “There’s this chick I used to dance with — years back, before… God, when we were in school, like, forever ago. She moved away when we were sixteen.” As he talks, he reaches your destination and sets the car into park, before he unfastens his seatbelt and turns to face you. You do the same, shifting your weight to tuck one leg up beneath you, and with your undivided attention, he goes on. “I ran into her recently. She’s back in town now, I guess. It was like, two weeks—?”

“I’m gonna be all-over grey by the time you finish telling this story,” you interrupt, raising an eyebrow. “Can you please give me the short version?”

“Not if you want it to make sense,” Chan shrugs. Begrudgingly, you let him keep talking. “She said it would be cool to hang out, maybe catch a movie or do lunch or something — and look, I didn’t know she was asking me on a date, I thought she was just being nice, y’know? Trying to be friends, but… you weren’t working that day, it was when you had that… that stomach thing going on? And I brought you the soup my mom made, remember?”

You nod; of course you remember. At the time, you wondered why on Earth this grown man’s mother was making you food — you asked yourself whether he’d told her about you, or if she thought it was for someone else. In the end you decided he must have just been bringing you leftovers. But you’d been too worn out to start asking questions; instead, after you’d eaten, you let yourself fall asleep with your head in his lap as he patted your hair and hummed his favourite songs. You hadn’t let yourself think too deeply about it since.

“Anyway. We were sat watching the movie and she, uh,” he glances down at his lap, tips of his ears burning pink. “She put her hand, sorta, on my thigh? And then I was like, shit, I didn’t read this right, like… at all. So I moved it off and she took the hint — and after it ended I said to her, you know, I was flattered, right? But I wasn’t interested. And then I went home and got that soup and—… yeah.”

He came straight to see you. To look after you. Hell, you didn’t even fool around that night; in retrospect, it was all uncharacteristically domestic. And slowly, the pieces you’ve spent days struggling to fit together start to fall into place. It makes sense. The only question that remains is do you believe him?

Well, tell a lie.

There is one more.

“You said there was someone else,” you add quietly.

You’ll die before you admit it, but this is secretly the part that was hurting you the most.

You can’t even look him in the eye, right now; your cheeks are burning with the embarrassment of even caring. As much as you want to tell yourself that the only reason you’re pissed is just because of the dishonesty, you can only stare at yourself in the mirror and point-blank lie so many times. Someone else. You hate it.

Just the thought of him seeing somebody else, taking them out on dates, smiling at them, laughing with them, kissing them the way he kisses you, touching —

A shiver runs the length of you and you cross your arms, thrusting your sleeve-covered hands under your armpits.

Chan takes a deep breath in and exhales it slowly, like he’s blowing smoke out of his lungs. “There is,” he admits, nodding slowly, avoiding your eyes, too. “There is someone else.”

“When were you going to tell me?” You ask.

Chan doesn’t respond straight away. You don’t notice, but eventually his eyes do land back at you; it’s only when he clears his throat to get your attention that you look at him long enough to realise he’s quite deliberately staring. His lips are lifted on the right in a lopsided smile, his eyes soft as he reaches across the seats towards you. You stare blankly down at his hand until he wiggles his fingers, and you think briefly that this is the most fucked up ending to a situationship you’ve ever been through.

You drop one of your hands down and let him hold it, though, staring at his face as his thumb brushes over your knuckles and you wait for him to finally say it out loud. For him to announce that he’s fallen for somebody and that he can’t see you anymore. To put the nail in the coffin. Don’t tell me their name, you think. I don’t want to know anything about them. Please, just don’t.

“For someone so frustratingly smart, you’re really fucking dumb,” Chan says, finally, swallowing around his words and squeezing your fingers. Whatever stoic expression you had forced onto your face at the start of this conversation dissolves into irritation and you snatch your hand away from him again, letting his own fall and collide with a thunk against the handbrake.

“Oh, sorry that I didn’t realise you were sneaking around behind my back when that’s the one thing we promised we wouldn’t do,” you snap. “God. The only stupid thing I’ve done here is get involved with you in the f—”

“You’re the someone else.”

Oh.

“I’m—?”

“You.”

The admission hangs heavily between you, as does your nonsense, unfinished insult. Neither of you really know what to do with yourselves except sit perfectly still and try to somehow deal with your increasingly dry throats. When Chan moves, it’s only to turn down the heating dial when his cheeks burn a bit too hot; you appreciate it, in part due to the bead of sweat currently running down your back, but you don’t say so.

“You could have started with that,” you say weakly, wrestling with all your strength to keep even some of your cards close to your chest. It’s not working though. Your attempt to conceal your elation is a bit like throwing a single leaf on top of a bison and calling it camouflage.

Chan commits to laughing, finally, your sentiment breaking him too. Now, you do crack that smile, albeit mostly just at the sound that comes from him. It’s bright and airy, lighting his whole face up as he drops all the way back and leans against his car door, pushing his fingers through his hair. “I was trying to build to a moment! It’s not my fault you hit every branch of the anti-romantic tree on your way down.”

“I am not anti-romantic,” you scoff in protest.

“Yes — you are.”

“Am not!”

“Are too.”

“No, you’re just an idiot.”

“Says she who didn’t realise her fuck-buddy had feelings for about six months, Jesus.”

“Chan—” You start, your voice laced with a playful warning.

“Here I was thinking I was making it completely obvious,” he rambles on.

“— oh my God, just shut up and kiss me.”

“Dropping hints left and r—” … “Huh?”

He stops short a fraction of a second after you finish, stumped and silent, frozen with everything but a little buffering symbol above his forehead. Kiss me, you said. Chan, […] just shut up and kiss me. All right, you’ve asked him to do that before, but not like this. Not as if you’ll wither away should you not get a taste of his lips this instant. It takes him some time to process it, but he does move in first, eventually. The way he always does, closing the distance between you like he’s been shot out of a cannon, one hand either side of your face, crashing feverishly against your mouth.

Every now and again, he’ll be happy to let you take charge and set the pace: mostly just if he’s feeling lazy or especially generous. Tonight isn’t one of those times, however. He holds you and kisses you possessively, like you’re his, like this is how he finally gets to lay claim on you, licking between your gasp-parted lips after he moans straight into your mouth. He’s spearmint sweet, edged with that one cherry flavoured chapstick he stockpiles as he grins up against you, rolling his body fluidly with every separation for air, every changing angle.

He pulls your sweatshirt up over your head and throws it down into the footwell on the passenger side, straight away hurrying to kiss you hungrily again, hands cupping your neck. His tongue is in your mouth once more, there’s no way you could possibly differentiate your breaths from his: you’re one, in every way you can be with your clothes still on, but it’s not enough.

“Want you,” you whimper as he nips at your bottom lip and pleasure rushes through you from head to toe.

“You’ve got me,” he groans with his eyes still closed. “I’m all yours.”

“No,” you insist, whimpering when his cute little nose drags across your cheek until he’s pressing hot kisses to your jawline. “I— fuck—” He suckles on the sweet spot below your ear and your spine tingles, head tilting to give him better access. “Chan, I want you.”

Chan settles back from you, his usually bright, sparkling eyes now darkened with desire. All he gives you is a singular glance sideways, but you know exactly what he’s suggesting. You nod, breathing deep, biting the inside of your cheek; he turns off the headlights and it’s all systems go.

There’s a rush to scramble into the back of the car. Chan takes the keys out the ignition and climbs through the gap in the seats; you opt for the less hazardous approach of getting out of the vehicle entirely and re-entering it instead. Not that it bothers him — no sooner is the door closed behind you, Chan’s hands are on your hips and he pulls you on top of him, your leg knocking the dahlias off the leather and onto the floor in the process. You gasp and glance down but he averts your attention with two fingers under your chin, guiding you to look back at him.

“What? You think this is the last time I’ll bring you flowers?” He asks, capturing your lips as he leans up to you; at the same time, his hands drop low and he starts to slide open the buttons down the front of your pyjama shirt. “Baby, m’gonna get you so many more.”

You sigh at the affectionate name, at the change in its use; until now, Chan has only called you baby while he’s buried inside you, bruising you inside and out with sharp thrusts and rough-gripping fingers. But as much as you can feel him growing hard against the inside of your thigh while you try to get comfortable, one knee planted either side of his hips, you can’t help but feel as if this time, it means something different.

(He’s had feelings for six months: it always meant what it does, now. You know that, deep down.)

Somewhere in amongst the never-ending sloppy kisses and constantly travelling hands, you manage to strip both his jacket and T-shirt off him and you’re pressed bare-chest-to-bare-chest with Chan, feeling every little hitch of his breath in his lungs, every thump of his heartbeat, every tiny increase in the temperature of his skin. Your desperate search for friction between your legs has you rolling your hips down against his hard-on, drawing grunts and making him squeeze at your tits when you rock against him the right way. His head eventually drops to your chest and he replaces one hand with his mouth, freeing his fingers to slide down the front of your pyjama bottoms.

It’s honestly rarer for Chan to get straight to the point than it is for him to tease you a little first, so when he flattens his palm against you and brushes his fingertips over your already aching clit, you let out a squeak of surprise. He shivers, releasing your nipple from between his teeth for a moment; once he’s collected a little more arousal to ease the friction, he continues to rub at the bud, slowly building the pressure inside you.

“No panties?” He asks, struggle clear in the roughness of his voice.

“I was in bed,” you gasp, eyes rolling back. It’s for the best that it happens out of pleasure, really, because you’re not sure you’d be able to stop yourself rolling them in exasperation at his remark otherwise. You shuffle a little, lifting yourself up on your knees more, breath hitching when he uses the newly granted space to dip his hand lower and press a finger against your hole. “Please, Chan — this can’t be comfy— just…”

“S’fine” he argues, shaking his head, despite the fact that the angle of his wrist is actually kind of painful, right now. The truth is that he can’t bring himself to care: not when he can smell your fabric softener on the shirt still hanging off your shoulders, the shampoo in your freshly washed hair, all so pretty mixed with the damp scent of your desire. Not when you clench around him as he slides his finger in and out of your cunt. Not when he could get you to soak all the way through these pretty satin pants.

Your arms snake around his neck as he dips a second finger inside you to join the first. The way your thighs tighten around his hips could — should — be embarrassing, the fact his sturdy lap holds you open enough for your pussy to be toyed with even more so. You almost always do this too music, too — for what might be the first time ever, you can hear every single wet sound your body makes, every hitch of your own breath, every grunt he gives even though he’s not the one being pleasured.

You don’t even realise how you’re rocking up and down against his hand until Chan licks from the base of your neck to your jaw, smirking over your pulse point and says, “gonna ride my cock this good too, baby?”

And if it was anyone else talking to you like this, you would be embarrassed. Mortified, at being so needy you’re here doing all the work for him. At the cry you give as he splits and scissors his fingers to stretch you out. But instead? You feel another rush of arousal drool out of you as you press your nails into his shoulders and nod, bouncing harder and watching how his bicep tenses up solid with the effort of keeping his arm steady for you to use.

“Wanna,” you gasp. “Want it so bad, Chan—”

Despite your pleas for this to move further, when his hand pulls back out of the elastic of your waistband, you feel like you could throttle him. The urge ebbs away when his soaked fingers press to your lips and he quirks an eyebrow at you, though — you end up suckling them clean, licking up every trace of your own slick. You lock eyes with him as you do, slumping on your thighs so your drenched core sits right over his tweaking length, the seam of your pants giving just enough friction to your clit for it to feel good as you grind down on him again.

“Get those off,” he instructs, trying to sound hard and dominant. Which would work, perhaps, if his voice didn’t crack in the middle of the sentence. “Now.”

Even though you’re overcome with a need to tease him, the desire you have to be split open on his length outweighs it, so you do as you’re told and hold it in for later. It’s not easy, but you manage to manipulate yourself in his lap to work the satin down your thighs and past your knees. He helps you tug them the rest of the way past your ankles and feet, shoves them onto the floor — Chan’s hands settle back on your hips and yours skim down his stomach at the same time, fingers grazing over the little hairs that trail from his bellybutton down into his jeans.

“Can I?” You ask, playing already with his belt buckle.

He hums assent and you slip it all the way open, tugging as he moves his hips underneath you so you can pull it free from the loops. Between you, you manage to get his jeans unfastened, to pull both them and his boxer shorts down over his ass and to his knees; finally, fucking finally, his cock sits pretty and leaking and free between your stomach and his. It’s getting cold in the car now the heating isn’t on, but you’re already burning up in anticipation for him to ruin you; the way his abs ripple as he takes his shaft into his hand and strokes himself a couple of times to prepare tells you he’s in the same boat.

It’s like clockwork, from here. You shift into position as easily as you settle into bed after a long day. Chan rubs his tip through your folds, feels the warmth of you and hisses through his teeth with fluttering eyes. Just like always. This never changes. He can’t ever get enough of that first feeling of his cock against your pussy: it’s like the first hit of a blunt, like the first sip of a cold beer, the first full-body stretch early in the morning. He’s sure it’s what arriving at the gates of heaven must feel like.

You sink down onto him slowly, fluttering around his tip and stilling to give you both a moment to get used to the feeling. He’s thick inside you. Thicker than his pretty, dainty fingers have ever been able to stretch you enough for. Even as wet as you are, you still need to suck a deep breath into your lungs before you can relax your hips further and let your heat swallow him all the way to his base.

Chan’s head is tipped back in pleasure, he’s biting his lip at the sting of your nails pressing hard into the back of his neck. He loves it, though — loves how the pain shoots in waves down his spine, how it tingles in his brain, how he knows you need to anchor yourself this way or you’ll lose control. He kneads at your ass as you sit against his thighs, listening to you whimpering at how deep he is inside you.

“So fucking tight around me still,” Chan groans, focusing all his willpower into keeping his hips down on the leather beneath him. “Shit, baby — you feel so good…” His neck softens and his head drops forward again as you start to move, rising and falling over and over. He kisses your throat and down to your collarbones while you work up to a rhythm, sliding his palms up your back, hugging you close to him.

He isn’t even the one putting in the hard work, but within minutes of this, his soft, fluffy hair clings to his forehead. A light sheen of sweat makes him radiant under the moonlight breaking through the trees. He’s breathing heavily, the top of his toned chest painted a soft pink — you don’t think he could possibly look prettier. Not until he cups your jaw with his hands and you look upwards: you land on his smiling face, those plush, swollen lips, his devilish but sweetly glittering eyes. The sight of him, looking at you like you’re some kind of Goddess, makes your pussy tighten and your tiring hips stutter. You slip your pyjama top all the way off your arms and curl your fingers into his hair, meeting him in an open-mouthed kiss, through which you’re both just beaming.

You’ve never kissed him this much. When it all started out, you sort of had a rule against it, but now? Neither of you can stop. As he starts to fuck up into you, taking the reins and letting your burning thighs rest, he keeps your face steady with his hands and freely allows his lips to slide against yours. It’s not refined. It can’t be. Not with how hard and fast his movements quickly become, not with the onslaught of curses and moans and babbled praise coming from the both of you. One particularly sharp thrust makes you yelp out a squeak of his name and he just swallows it down, making a point to keep aiming for— and hitting— that same spot inside you. You’re a mess.

He could do this all night. When your orgasm bubbles inside you and he starts pinching at one of your nipples, sending you over the edge, he’s nowhere near finished. Even though your cunt massages at his length, throbbing and pulsing through your climax; even though your voice is so high by now that only dogs can hear you; even though you nearly collapse on top of him with almost all your weight in his lap, and he has to work twice as hard to keep this going, he barely slows. He definitely doesn’t stop.

“You can gimme one more, right sweetheart?” He asks, grunting into your neck. “Always feels so fucking good when you come.” You choke up an ‘mhm’, to which he responds by slipping a hand between your bodies and down to where you’re connected. His thumb presses against your clit again — not moving, just applying enough pressure to make you stutter when you say his name.

Your thighs are still twitching when you try to lift yourself a little, try to meet his movements as he chases his orgasm too. The “problem” with Chan is that his stamina is otherworldly. You couldn’t keep up if you wanted to.

“Relax,” he says, tensing his jaw, doing the opposite himself. “Fuck — lie down.”

It’s pretty cramped and hard to move, but you lift yourself off him and only slightly lament at the sudden emptiness between your legs. There isn’t time to get too upset, however: moments after you get comfortable on your back, Chan shoves his jeans the rest of the way down and stands with one knee planted on the seats, lifting one of your ankles up to rest it on his shoulder. He slips back inside you easily then, gripping around your calf to keep you both steady. From the word go, his pace is relentless. You scrabble around for something to hold onto but the entire car seems to melt away; you ball your hands into fists at your sides instead, your eyes squeezed tightly shut.

“Mm-mm. Look at me,” Chan hums, tightening his grip on your leg. “Wanna see those pretty eyes.”

You obey, opening your lids to look up at him while he pounds into you hard enough to make the car shake. Over, and over, and over, and over. Rougher. Faster. For how long? Who even knows. All you’re truly aware of is how good it feels. How the windows grow foggy with the steam of your laboured breaths. How his sweat mingles with your own.

When his fingers on the other hand get reacquainted with your clit, when he bites down on his bottom lip, when his thrusts start to get messier and more erratic and the veins in his arms start to bulge out, you know he’s getting close. He doesn’t need to tell you out loud. The smirk he wears speaks for itself.

“Where d’you want it, baby?” He asks you, pressing a kiss to the inside of your ankle.

“In— mmh, in-…side me—” you stammer, hips jolting as you near your second orgasm to match his first. “Please, Chan — want it all…”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah—”

Well, he must’ve been holding himself back something spectacular, because a few thrusts later you watch all of his muscles contract as he tips over the edge, and you go hurtling with him. It’s all so much. All your nerve endings feel like they’re on fire and your vision starts to blur at the edges; it’s not long before you have to close your eyes to shut one of your overworked senses out, completely. Your muscles are sore. Your throat hurts. Even your lungs ache.

God, he hasn’t gone that hard in so long, you don’t know what to do with yourself. You can barely speak — it’s going to take you a week to recover from this, minimum.

He stills deep inside you, feeling his cock throb with the last pumps of his release. Your leg slips off his shoulder and your foot lands down with a thud onto the car��s (thankfully clean) floor; he bends forward to kiss you, still breathing heavily against your lips. You’ve come over completely boneless and reaching up to thread your fingers into his hair again feels like running a marathon at sprint pace. You’d fall asleep right here, right now, if you could, but with sweat cooling rapidly against your skin, you know that’s probably not up there as one of your finest ideas.

“You really think getting involved with me was stupid?” Chan asks, nudging your nose with the tip of his own. He’s never been less serious than this in his entire life, which stops you feeling too bad when you lightly slap at his rock solid chest and try to push him off you.

“Yes,” you lie, attempting to reach to the ground for your pyjama shirt while he grips your chin and attacks you with tiny little pecks all over your face. “Stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”

(Chan chuckles to himself and thinks that he’s quite happy to be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done, really. He can stay that way, as long as you promise never to stop.)

thank you so much for reading. i hope you enjoyed it - likes, feedback, comments, reblogs are all so appreciated.<3

#dino smut #lee chan smut #dino x reader #seventeen smut #svt smut #svt x reader #kpop smut #j writes.#*#this description is ass we're gonna pretend it isnt. ok THANKS bye <3

913 notes · View notes

creativewritersposts · 3 months

Text

concert ticket - Lando Norris

summary; Lando Norris x reader

You're hyped to get concert tickets for Taylor Swift - the Eras tour until everything is sold out and you're very upset about it. Lando gets very creative to cheer you up!

warning(s); none, little bit angst, fluff, maybe grammar errors

author's note; hi ✨ hope you enjoy this one!

Quickly reminder my request box is always open 💞

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

"hey babe, Taylor Swift is going on tour!", a squeak escapes your mouth, too excited since you heard the news. Lando huffs, rolling his eyes, "I'll not go with you!". It's not like he hates the singer, he likes her songs but for two or three hours nonstop?

You blink twice, "why not?". You put on your begging face which lando never could resist. He crosses his arms in front of his chest, "I'm not a fan of songs like "Stopp you're losing meee", he imitates the lyrics with dramatic body gestures. "You cry over her songs like you're lovesick and you're in a happy relationship with me!", he argues.

You can feel how your mouth changes into a small, thin line. "don't you dare to talk about this masterpiece like that, Lando Norris!". When it comes to Taylor, you're ready to fight. He bites on his nails, if it makes you happy, he would go with you.

"One deal, you have to organize these tickets and I'll go with you", he smiles apologizing. Here you are, one month later in front of your laptop since thee hours.

It's frustrating. You're not the only one with the plan to buy tickets and you need to wait. "argh!", you smash your hand on the keyboard, it could be such a happy day.

When you click to the main page, the worst nightmare came true; no tickets available. Sold out.

Of course you didn't call Lando - he would throw a party just not going to this. But for you it meant the world.

After three days Lando is worried, he was away for promotion and you were awkwardly quiet. Too quiet.

He knows the ticket sale started, you talked nonstop about it for one month straight. He's sure you got tickets, that's why he didn't bought any.

He was sure you'll get some.

Unlocking the door he steps in, ready to say hello to you with a big hug, kisses and good food.

"Hey darling", Lando steps in the kitchen and kisses your neck from behind, because you're cooking. "Hm", you mumble under anger about the world.

"Someone is in a bad mood, huh?", jokes Lando in love. You look so cute when you're grumpy.

"Shut up", you hiss in his direction under tears, bad mood is no explanation for your feelings. All hopes are gone.

"What happened?!", Lando got big eyes, shocked about your reaction. It's atypical for you. "We're not going to the Eras tour", you sob whilst holding the pan. Cooking his favorite meal. With his favorite tv show. And you're not even allowed to see your favorite artist, your biggest idol.

"I'm so sorry ", Lando steps closer and hugs you tight, "you're not!", you sob even more in his chest.

"I am", he lays his chin on your head, thinking about what he can do. He can't help with concert tickets but he can help you.

He kisses your hair, asking you randomly, "you're free thursday night?", you just nod. After this you sit down and eat the dinner without more conversations about this. But he has ideas.

Four days to get the ideas to your best night ever. He goes to shops, asks his friend to help him and learns Taylor Swift song lyrics. He ordered fan merch. It's not hard to hide from you because you have a busy time schedule at work so you're not coming home until 8pm.

"Lan-oooh!", you see glitter on the floor inside his apartment. "Lando?", you look through the open door, where you can see ballons, more glitter, different colors, colored snacks and letters on the ceiling, 'eras tour' on it. "aww how cute!", you can't believe he did it for you. A Taylor Swift themed night.

"Change into your fanciest, most glamorous dress because we're having the best night ever with Taylor", he dances like a goofball in the living room. Before you walk into your wardrobe, you walk back to Lando and kiss his lips, "i love you", thankful to have this man in your life.

He wouldn't say it loud but maybe he got two tickets. But that's a surprise for later.

#lando x you #lando imagine #lando x reader #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando fluff #lando norris blurb #lando norris imagine #formula one blurbs #formula one x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 #formula one

189 notes · View notes

unplugfromthesource · 4 months

Text

Viva Las Vegas

🎲About: When invited to see your childhood best friends perform at the International Hotel and Casino, things take a turn of events and reveal suppressed feelings for your once lover and now enemy.

♦️Jake Kiszka x reader

♠️Word count: 6k

♣️Warnings: mentions of sex, drinking, angst, crying, cheating, ldk what else 🙌🏻

🃏Authors note: enjoy this is my first story so I hope it’s good and if the format is messed up sorryyy😛

⭐️⭐️⭐️

If you were to be told that your childhood best friends were performing at the International Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas, you would die laughing. Growing up in the small town of Frankenmuth Michigan, you were always told you needed to live a big life and make the town proud, and that is exactly what you did. After finishing high school, you dropped the idea of college and found yourself working at the well-known store of Bronners, making a little less than minimum wage, but it worked. You saved up for 2 years straight, just to be able to rent out a small studio apartment in Nashville Tennessee, the music city. You landed yourself a job at a small bar that frequently hosted small and upcoming bands, one of them being the Orange Blossoms: the band you now market for full-time while working for RCA Record Labels. Life was good, really good; well until you got a very interesting call two weeks back from a very drunk childhood best friend, Josh Kiszka.

“Hello?” You asked rubbing your eyes. It had to be at least 3 am and you were woken out of a dead sleep to answer a call you should’ve just let go to voicemail.

“Y/N MY FAVORITE PERSON,” you could practically smell the alcohol reeking off the man you called your other half through the phone “HOW ARE YOU!”

“Josh,” you pulled the phone away from your ear and to no surprise the time read

3:05 am “It’s 3 am I was asleep just like you should be. Is there something you need?”

“Mama, do I ever need a reason to call the girl I love the most?” He asked almost slurring every other word

“No Josh but it’s a Thursday and I have work soon and need to sleep. Goodnight Joshua”.

“NO, NO WAIT. I had something to tell you but it slipped my mind.. Jake, what was I going to tell y/n again?” That name. The name of the man who had destroyed you. Josh’s twin brother, Jacob. Thomas. Kiszka. Silence hit the air and you could hear the long-haired man laugh and mumble something to his brother.

Jake and you had dated back in high school. It wasn’t a quick thing, it was a three-year-long commitment. Jake was your first and you his. He was there for the first time you got black-out drunk, greened out, ran away from home, lost your childhood pet, everything. Jake was not only your boyfriend but your best friend and you were beyond happy, you couldn’t ask for anything more. Well, all that joy and happiness, left in the blink of an eye on the night of your senior prom. It took no time at all for you to see the photo. There, in his jet black tuxedo and pink tye to match your flowing dress was an 18-year-old Jake pushed up against the wall with some dumb blonde. The dumb blonde in question? your best friend. Life had changed completely. All the sorries in the world couldnt make up for what he had done to you. You could care less about the skanky bitch you called your best friend but Jake? Your Jake? You have never felt more alone in your entire life. You broke contact with him for 6 years. Six years of your life you spent tip-toeing around him. You would exchange glances at parties Josh or Sam would host but not a single word would leave your lips. Josh had tried his best to break up the tension but you were stubborn, you always have been and that was partially the reason Jake had stopped trying so hard to apologize to you, because he knew you wouldn’t forgive and forget.

You broke the no contact on the twin's 24th birthday. You were invited to the party and you didn’t think twice about going, not for Jake but for Josh. Only for Josh. However, to lie and say Jake had looked nothing far from gorgeous would be wrong. He looked.. perfect. You found yourself drinking one too many martinis made by the fluffy-haired twin and ended up letting the alcohol take its course and finally speaking to the man who broke your heart. As you moved your body through the sea of people invited to the house located just out of Nashville, you found your glossy eyes looking upon a somber Jake.

“Hi.” you said quietly as you took a seat next to him outside by the small fire that had been growing rather dim as the night went on.

“Hi, Angel.” He said as his eyes met yours, using the same nickname he gave you all those years back in high school.

“ I uh, I just wanted to say Happy Birthday and wish you a year full of good memories or whatever you have in your life you want to be good.” God your mouth had never felt so dry as you were at such a loss for words. Why you were even speaking to him was beyond you.

“Thank you. How have you been? It's been what? Five-ish years?”

“Ive been good, I could be better but work is good and I got a dog of my own, yea lifes been, been going good.” Been going good and we should keep it that way, you thought to yourself.

“I'm glad. Ive missed you, Angel. Ive missed what we had.” His hand found its way to yours. Just as soon as it happened it was over as a girl was soon calling his name. A girl whose voice you’ve heard more than once before. As you turned your head, to no surprise you were met with the girl he cheated on you with all that while back. You sobered right up and stood quickly.

“It shows Jake. Happy birthday again.” and with that, you continued with your life, not speaking to the ghost of the man you once knew.

As you came back from your thoughts you were brought back to a drunk Josh rambling on about god knows what.

“So what do you say?” Jesus you must have been zoned out, I mean it was 3 am and this call was more than unnecessary in your eyes.

“Sorry, repeat what you just said, but make it short.”

“ I SAID, we're going on another leg for the US and were going to this fancy place in Vegas where Elvis played and I want you to come.” You had already seen the infamous Greta Van Fleet perform far more than once but a trip to Vegas didn’t sound too terrible.

“The International Casino?” you asked confusingly

“Yeah, that's the one! It's in a few weeks Angel so you have time to think but it would mean the world to all of us if you would delight us with your amazing presence.” You let out a small laugh, ignoring the fact that the nickname has made its way to stick with you for so long.

“Send me over the details in the morning Josh and I’ll look into it. Im going to bed now and I think you should too, love you lots Josh.” The short man let out a sigh wished you a good night and hung up.

Now, you sit in your hotel room, a suite not to mention, putting on the lash finishing details to your makeup, similar to that of which Josh does, and preparing for the night ahead. As you added the last rhinestone to your cheek, you moved to grab your favorite red lipstick, carefully applying it only to be interrupted by a phone call from no other than the man himself.

“Hello, mamas.”

“Hi Josh, to what do I owe the pleasure”

“I’m sending someone up to your room right now to grab you and bring you to the dressing rooms, then we're gonna bring you to your spot. Sound good?” You laughed knowing that by going on this trip Josh was going to do whatever he needed to make sure that you had lived it to the best extent, even if that meant reserving a special spot in the pit when you were more than happy to be in a seat, out of the way.

“Yes that’s fine Josh,” you said with a laugh “I’ll see you soon.”

With that, you continued applying your lipstick, sprayed your favorite perfume, and were met with a soft knock at the door to your luxurious suite. You opened the door to see one of the many men you'd seen running around with the band before and allowed him to escort you to a room that was titled “Greta Van Fleet-Josh Dressing” and let you inside.

You were immediately met with showers of welcomes, seeing that not only Josh sat in this room but Sam and Danny too, Jake nowhere to be found.

“Angel! We’ve missed you come in!” exclaimed Josh and he sat up from his spot in a chair and left the woman doing his makeup dumbfounded at the sudden change in focus. As he came up to hug you it felt as if any worry you had about the night had left you completely. His hug was soon followed by Sam and Danny which led you all into a deep conversation of how life had been. Well, as deep as it could go seeing as they had to perform in just short of 30 minutes. As Sam rambled on about Rose and his love life your mind drifted to the fact that the other, more serious, twin wasn’t present. It must have shown on your face for Sam cleared his throat and said

“Jake in his dressing room, “practicing” is what he calls it but im pretty sure he's in there taking shots to pregame.” You let out a soft “ah” to show your understanding. It didn’t come as a surprise to you that Jacob Kiszka was pregaming, you felt like you always saw him drinking before a show, even when he was back in Frankenmuth whether it be a beer or a shot of vodka. Soon you found yourself taking a shot with the boys as if to say good luck on the stage tonight, knowing they wouldn’t need that; I mean they were amazing, to say the least. You saw the effect these men had on some of the people in the crowd, not just from their undeniable beauty but from the fact that their music meant something, it changed people and you couldn’t be more proud of them. While you never imagined them this big, you felt like they had this written in the stars for them. After exchanging conversation they got the five-minute call and the next thing you knew you were being brought out of the room and down to the pit. As you walked down the small hallway leading you to the stage, you heard the voice of a man talking to another, but not just talking, he was mad, really mad. The security guard tried to hurry you along past the scene but as you passed him, you could see that black suit, shining in the light due to the amazing detailing from the rhinestones and diamonds, and you knew that was Jake. Your Jake. Why he was mad? You wish you knew. Maybe something happened with his guitar, or maybe he had just gotten bad news from someone, but whatever it was, you weren’t even allowed a moment to process it before you were pushed along to your “special spot”. You found yourself being lifted over the railing of the pit and put smack dab in the middle of the barricade. You almost felt bad, this could’ve been someone else’s spot so before he could walk away, you grabbed the arm of the security guard and pulled him close to the railing.

“Is there anywhere else I can sit? Maybe up there?” you yelled out as you pointed to the seats sitting at an angle to the side of the stage.

The guard just looked at you and sighed, “They told me they wanted you here specifically, so they could see you. Don’t worry we had someone hold this spot for you. Enjoy the show Ms.Y/L/N.” And with that, he was gone and the lights started to dim, followed by a beautiful violin cover of the songs off Starcatcher.

The curtain fell and the boys made their way down from their spots, going on with the show as normal, until it came to the point of what would normally be their switch to the second stage, except this venue, in particular, did not have one, so they stayed put and gathered around into a half circle, facing the crowd in front of them. Sam had started to play a melody on his keys you knew all too well and once Josh started singing, tears filled your eyes. It was always a joke growing up about how much you and Mrs.Kiszka adored John Denver, Jake, and Josh egging it onto you how much you were like their mom. You had always seen on social media postings of them playing bits from The Music Is You, to honor their mom when playing back in your home state, but it never once crossed your mind that they may do the same for you. Josh had sang beautifully as always and made it a point to look right at you and reach his hand out to you when he finished the little snippet of the song you adored oh so much. You wiped your eyes and mouthed a quick thank you to Josh. While it may have seemed silly to the girls around you, you hadn’t seen the boys in truly so long, and just to hear them sing, knowing it was for you, made you appreciate how much they have changed you and your life, good or bad.

As the concert continued you found yourself in a sea of screaming girls once the familiar tune of The Archer, began playing. Josh had told you over the phone about the many interactions he had with fans, going down to the pit, hugging, kissing, grabbing them, and showing his love during Jake's extended solo and you expected nothing different for tonight. Just as you expected, Josh made his way down to the pit, hugging as many as he could but your attention drifted elsewhere. Your eyes found taking in the image of the man you once called your true love as he shook back and forth with his guitar, dramatizing the solo more than it needed to be. You found yourself taking in his features; his long, wet hair, the way it stuck to his face due to the sweat running down his body to his torso, the way his hips shook back and forth as he damn near abused his guitar on the stage. You couldn’t draw your eyes away but were broken out of your trance as soon his met yours. The tension you felt was unreal and hard to differentiate between sexual or pure rage for what had happened all that time back. It wasn’t just the cheating that had you mad though and you knew that. Jake was a slut, a genuine slut. You felt like he was sleeping around with a new girl after every show and he made no point of hiding it as photos circulated on the internet of him leaving venues with different girls every other week. You watched as he would watch himself play, in awe with his state of himself, what a self-centered asshole you thought. Soon, you brought your eyes away from his but couldn’t help but feel them staring down at you throughout the remainder of the show, almost as if he tried his best not to look before but now couldn’t control it. As Josh reached the last note of the last song, they bid their farewells and wished their love to all in the crowd and soon exited the stage.

As the pit fully cleared out, you made your way from the front of the pit despite the security trying to escort you to the boys backstage, you broke out of their hold telling them you needed to go to the restroom and would find your way back there on your own. You felt like you were being babied and honestly needed a drink or two after whatever the hell that show was. You moved through the sea of people and found yourself standing at a bar waving down a bartender, ordering your usual Jack and Coke. As the cold drink met your lips, you could feel yourself loosen up in an instant. Three drinks later you found yourself too far from tipsy but not yet fully drunk, you would give yourself a drink more before you were completely dazed out. You closed out your tab and picked up your phone, being met with text after text from Josh asking where you went. You called him and asked where he was, telling you he was at some restaurant located in the hotel and would send Sam to come and get you. As you sat impatiently, you decided it wouldn’t hurt to get another drink; the boys were probably near drunk by now as well who cares you thought as you ordered another drink, asking for it to be stronger than the last one, asking for this drink just to be put on the room, to which Josh was paying for. As you finished the last drops of your drink it was only a matter of time before the alcohol worked its course and you felt ready to dance and let loose.

Soon, Sam's body found yours as you laughed to him about just how good the show truly was, showering him with compliments on the band's skill. He only laughed alongside you, letting the alcohol drift from his breath to your face, letting you know it indeed was ok to order that last drink. As he guided you back to the restaurant, you were met with surprise seeing as the restaurant was not only a restaurant but a dance club. The seats consisted of a few big, dimly lit booths, and many high tops and scattered lounge chairs. Sam led you to one of the booths and you slid your body right in, to Josh, except the booth was now only being filled by you and Josh, the other three boys out dancing or getting drinks by the bar. You leaned into Josh and shouted as loud as you could over the music.

“The show was amazing Josh,” you said partially slurring your words “thank you for playing my song for me; ‘meant a lot y’know.” You smiled at him, eyes glossy.

“Anything for my favorite girl.” He said, pulling you into his arms and hugging you tightly.

You found yourself being pulled in all sorts of directions as Josh danced the night away with you until your phone read about 2 am. You pulled Josh to the side and told him it was time for you to make your way back to your room and sadness filled his eyes.

“I don’t want the night to end either Josh but I’m tired and drunk and need to sleep.” you laughed lightly.

“Yeah, I know mama. When is your flight back to Nash? Maybe we can spend the day on the strip tomorrow before we gotta go?” You looked at the man like he had six eyes. You were in no state to think of such difficult things, or at least that's how they seemed to you. You lazily gave him an estimate knowing it was some time in the afternoon, but it was late enough for you to spend time with him and the rest of the boys. As you wished him goodnight you stumbled out of the restaurant-themed club and made your way toward the elevators.

As you pressed the elevator buttons and entered in, you pressed the button leading you to the twelfth floor where your room resided. Just as the doors were about to close, a hand wedged itself in between the two doors, opening them back up and bringing you to face a, at least you would think, equally as drunk Jake. You didn’t want to talk to him let alone look at him but god did he look good. As he walked in he let out a small sigh, almost disappointed on who was in the small box with him. Before you could even open your mouth to ask him what floor he was headed to, he leaned in front of you, almost far too close for comfort, and pressed the number directly above the one you lit up and returned to his place on the opposite side, not exchanging a single word. You were praying the floor would stop somewhere else and someone would get into the elevator with the two of you, breaking the awkward silence but no one did. As the elevator made its way up you cleared your throat and as soberly as possible said

“You guys put on quite the show tonight.” You couldn’t tell if it came off as rude or a compliment.

“Glad you enjoyed it, Angel.” He said, his eyes lifting from the floor to look at you, take in your outfit, tailored specifically for this evening. You were dressed in a shorter-than-short silver skirt to show off your height as Jake himself always joked how you should be flaunting your “long legs” whatever the fuck that meant, followed by a black corset that had detailing that was similar to that of what was embroidered on the twins suits. Your skin was covered in glitter, from your chest to your arms and you supported a few dainty necklaces gifted from the boys themselves as well as a bracelet you bought for yourself just for this event. You put on your cleanest pair of go-go boots and do your makeup to resemble Josh, followed by a red lip and your hair in loose curls. How it all stayed on to this moment was a surprise to even you but it did, and maybe this time it genuinely was the alcohol, but you felt hot, really hot. Jake had managed to find time to change so he sported a simple linen set you've seen him wear one too many times before, leaving all but the last two buttons undone to show off his toned chest against the silver of his plethora of silver coins.

“It's not polite to stare.” you stated flatly at the man before you, toying with the bracelet on your wrist to keep you occupied. God this elevator was taking forever.

“You seemed to have no issue earlier towards the end of the show.” He let out slightly with a smug smile almost as if to insinuate something more than what was there.

“I’m sorry? Am I supposed to stare at the floor during a concert?” You snapped back only to be met with a smile forming wider on his lips.

“Like I said, glad you enjoyed Angel.” He said, cooly.

Finally, the elevator reached your floor and you couldn’t help but sit for a minute, debating everything that’s happened between you and Jake, realizing that even after all the years, you find yourself feeling the same way you did for him all that time back. You looked up at the man in front of you in confusion about the way you felt, wondering if he felt the same.

“Goodnight Jake.” you said softly before exiting the small box and beginning the walk down the hallway. As you approached your room you felt like your legs were ready to give out. You pulled your room key out and entered the room, sleep taking over your body. As you walked in you immediately made your way to the bed, needing a minute to regain some energy before getting up again and taking off your ensemble. After a minute, you sat up, taking off your boots, followed by your corset and skirt, taking off your socks and undergarments, and moving to get a a baggy t-shirt and different underwear. Once changed, you made your way toward the bathroom to begin removing your pounds of jewelry. The weight being taken off your neck led you to focus on taking off your bracelet however to your surprise, it wasn’t there. Fuck you thought to yourself. If it was anywhere, it was back in that elevator where you stood fidgeting with it while talking to Jake. You would’ve just let it go had it not been as expensive as it was. You were at a loss of thought. Do you call Jake and ask if he saw it in the elevator? No Jesus no. You tried to collect your thoughts in your drunken state and decided to just go back onto the elevator and look for it there. It was almost 3 am so you would think no one would be out in the hall so you slipped on some ankle socks and crept out of the comforts of your room, making your way to the elevator. Just as you went to press the button to go back down, the doors opened, and before you stood the same man you had just seen minutes before, holding your bracelet. He scanned over your body before stepping out of the elevator, taking in your “pajamas” and smirking slightly.

“You look comfortable.”

“Just give me my bracelet Jake. I’m tired and I want to go to bed.” You snapped at him, almost too loudly.

“Yeesh someone's angry.” He said with a chuckle, reaching his hand out to you.

You snatched it out of his and turned making your way back to the room, not giving him a second longer of your time.

Once you got to the door, the harsh reality hit you. You missed him. He looked so good on that damn stage tonight, it made you realize that you did miss him. You missed the nights when you would spend laughing your asses off at the stupidest tv shows, or the way you would make fun of each other for the way they looked when they woke up in the morning. What you missed most of all? The feeling of his body against yours. The way he made you feel complete. You felt tears build up in your eyes. You had loved him, even from the day he cheated on you, you have always loved him. You never loved another. You missed your Jake. As you entered the room, tears streamed from your eyes, not just out of sadness but anger. Angry that even after he did do this, you still wanted to crawl back into his arms, and be told it was all going to be ok. You moved to grab your phone and opened up your messages. You knew you shouldn’t have but you opened a new conversation and sat, staring at what you would even say. Before you could even type the first letter, a knock at your door filled the silence.

You opened up the door to be met with the eyes of the same boy you had never stopped loving. You locked eyes before the sudden movement of him brought his lips toward yours. It was like he had been thinking the same thing, as his hands met your waist and yours locked around the back of his neck. Quickly, he backed you into the room, kicking the door closed behind him and guiding you towards your bed. Your hands wrapped up into his tangled curls, pulling at them as he deepened the kiss. His hands began to slip under your shirt, searching every inch of your body, stopping just before your chest. As he backed you through your room, you turned, leading him towards the bed instead, moving your hands down to his face. As you approached the bed, you pushed him back and stepped back, moving to lift your shirt off of your body as he worked on his own. Once both were removed, your lips met his again, this time holding more force, as your hands roamed his body, leading you down to his waist, running them over his legs, slowly working their way up to his member, painfully hard already through his linens. A groan hit your lips, letting you know that he wanted this just as badly as you did. All those thoughts of doubt and anger towards him left your mind as he started to work kisses down your chin while you worked on getting his pants off. Once off, you lowered yourself onto your knees, palming him through his underwear as he stared at you with lust-filled eyes as you moved painstakingly slow.

You looked up at him, eyes glossed as you were just as desperate with him and slowly pulled down his underwear, pressing soft kisses to the insides of his thighs. Moving your way up, you could feel his body shudder, struggling to keep the little composure he had left. Finally, you took him into your mouth, pushing him down until he hit the back of your throat and slowly started to move up and down.

“Fuck Y/N.” he whispered, collecting the hair draping around your face, making a ponytail in his fist but using no force and letting you have free reign.

As you got comfortable with the feeling, you began to pick up your pace, settling him at the back of your throat after a little and choking back a gag, tears filling your eyes but this time for all the different reasons. A string of praises and curses left his lips as he started to force your head back up, almost as an instinct. As you let him, he kept up with the pace until he felt it was too much and switched to holding you in place as he began to thrust up into your mouth, quickly, bringing him to let out a loud moan.

He continued to hit the back of your throat and the gag you tried so hard to suppress released itself, causing him to lean his head back in pure ecstasy.

“F-fuck Angel, you're taking me so well” he managed to say with eyes squeezed shut.

The words leaving his lips made the pool forming between your legs ten times worse as you squeezed your legs together for some sort of relief. As you looked up at Jake, his eyes met yours as he reached his hand down to play with your breasts, releasing a moan from your lips. Just as fast as it was happening, it stopped and Jake pulled himself out of your mouth and you up from the floor, pressing kisses along your torso and breasts, hooking his fingers into the sides of your laced underwear. As he pulled them down, he stood, switching positions with you as you slid yourself back towards the head of the bed, laying comfortably as he worked to situate himself between your legs. Following your same movements minutes ago, he began to press kisses into the sides of your thighs, moaning as he did so as if it was pleasure enough to be touching you. Your hand trailed down to the bundle of nerves as the ache growing between your legs began to fog your thoughts. Just as you began to touch yourself, Jake grabbed your wrist stopping you whilst continuing to kiss his way up to that very spot.

He moved your hand out of the way and his lips found your clit, rubbing slow circles with his tongue around the nerves, a quiet moan escaping your lips.

“I wanna hear your pretty little sounds, Angel, don’t get shy on me now.” he said, releasing his mouth from you and slowly moving it back.

As he did so, your breath quickened as he flattened his tongue along your core, taking you in. He refocused his tongue on your clit as his fingers slowly danced along your legs, making their way up to slowly find their way inside of you. Starting with one at a slow pace, your hips jolted forward as you begged for more, allowing him to add a second digit inside of you, picking up the pace. Moans streamed from your lips as he set a steady, fast, pace, whilst continuing to work his tongue over your clit. Your hands found his hair again, pushing his face forward, grinding forward against his lips.

“Holy shit Jake” you moaned out as you began to slowly feel a knot forming in your stomach. Just when you thought it was impossible, he picked up the pace even faster, slipping his hands under your legs pulling you closer, and anchoring you in place as your back arched with pleasure. Your head dug back into the pillows as you let out a close-to-pornographic moan release from your lips. His tongue worked quick circles around your clit, making your head spin with pure pleasure. You had missed the feeling of him on you, in you, and you never wanted to let go of the feeling you gained back.

“J-Jake I’m s’close,” you said a little too loudly “don’t stop, please.” you said with a moan as you could feel you losing yourself with pleasure.

As he continued to work quickly, he involuntarily thrust his hips forward into the mattress and you wanted nothing more than for him to be in you.

“Jake stop fuck stop.” you said almost defeatedly knowing you were close to pure bliss. Immediately without thought, he lifted his face from between your legs, keeping his fingers inserted, moving at a far slower pace.

“What's wrong?” he said breathily, still trying to get his bearings about him.

“Nothing I just,” you said fighting back another moan as his fingers still worked inside of you, “I want you in me, I can’t wait any longer.” you said quickly. He met your words with a smirk and finished by curling his fingers in you and pulling them out, leaving you wishing he didn’t stop. He brought his fingers to his mouth, wrapping his tongue around them and having you watch as his eyes rolled to the back of his head.

“Jesus you taste so good Angel” he said raspily, moving his way up to be over you, lining himself up. Rubbing his hands up and down his shaft a few times you took the opportunity to switch positions, straddling him. You leaned forward to press kisses to his lips and slowly down to his chin, then neck, sucking harshly assuring you would leave a proud mark for the morning, down to his chest and torso. Slowly, you reached for his member, giving it a few pumps before slowly lowering yourself down onto him, releasing a mouth from your lips due to the stretch his size brought to you. God how I missed him was all you could think to yourself. Slowly, you began to move, setting a slow back-and-forth movement before working yourself to move more intensely. He brought one hand to your hip as if to anchor you there and another to your breast, leaning forward to put one in his mouth and leave one in his hand, eliciting another moan. As his mouth worked over your sensitive breasts, you began to pick up your pace and slowly pick yourself up off him before quickly lowering you wereslef back down, setting a speed for him to adjust to. Eventually, his head flew back to the pillows out of pure bliss, continuing to move his hand over your breast.

You leaned forward towards his neck as he began to thrust into you, letting you leave more small bruises for the morning. His hands now switched from your legs to your ass, having a firm grip you were scared would leave you with bigger bruises to form.

“ I missed you,” he whispered into your ear “fuck I missed you so much.” God, he sounded needy, desperate, as if you could get closer and you just didn’t know it.

“Tell me, what’d you miss jakey.” you said weakly. As much joy as this brought you, you wanted this to last, to be able to do this with him whenever be able to be his again, and you wanted him to confirm your hopes that he felt the same.

“I missed it all Y/N, I-” he cut himself off with a moan as you tightened around him as you tried to hold back a moan, despite his command to be vocal “ I missed your laugh, and your beautiful smile, fuck, I missed every aspect of you.” Good enough you thought to yourself given that he was fucking you fast.

You brought yourself up from his neck, taking control once more, picking up where his pace left off.

“Shit m’close baby.” he said quickly, with eyes squeezed shut, similar to how he looked while you rubbed your tongue down his shaft. The sweat forming on his face caused his hair to stick to his face, similar to on stage, making you want him even more than you already had him. With that, he flipped you over, taking over once more, and quickened the pace ever so slightly, clearly impatient. One leg found its way around his waist as the opposite hand reached for his back, clawing, trying to stabilize yourself.

“M’close too,” you said with tears forming in your eyes out of pure desperation, “Jake, faster and don’t stop.” you said gravelly.

Following your command, he drilled into you as the knot that had been building up for so long finally came undone and euphoria took over your body, your heading stretching back, moans streaming from your lips followed by his name. Just as you had begun to start to come down, his high began as his movements began to falter, letting you know he was there. He began to move back, trying to put out. You wrapped your other leg around him and pulled him closer, stopping his action.

“Inside me.. I want it inside me.” you said quickly, whilst looking up at him.

Without a second thought, he fully pushed back in and released himself into you, continuing to fuck the release into you, slowly and painfully. Once he was done, he pulled out, plopping down beside you, both of you breathing incredibly fast. He wrapped an arm around your waist and pressed kisses onto the side of your face and chin. With the moment of calm, your mind began to race again, but his voice pulled you out of thought.

“I love you Y/N. I love you, only you, I’ve only ever loved you, ever since the minute I layed eyes on you, I knew that I wanted to be with you for every minute of every day. I’m sorry for what I did but I will never stop loving you till the day I die.” He said sweetly, a tone you’ve not heard in years. You turned to look at him, your face serious but eyes filled with shock. You couldn’t find the words so you pressed your lips to his. The kiss was not like before. It was slow, passionate, everlasting. You pulled away and pushed your forehead against his.

“I love you forever Jacob Thomas Kiszka.” you said with a smile forming on your lips. All that time you had spent angry with him, upset with him, you had just wished he was different and he was. Maybe it took years, but he changed. He was your Jake and he always would be. The smile that formed on his lips matched yours.

“I do have to say miss Y/L/N,” your eyes furrowed with confusion, “I think you outdid the rest of the girls in the pit with your outfit tonight,” he said as you began to laugh about how unserious he was.

“Jake”

“Hm?”

“You’re an idiot”

“But you love me so it works out”

“But I love you so it does work out I guesss” you said dragging out your s’s.

He simply wrapped you up to the side of him pressing a kiss to the side of your head as sleep took over both of your bodies, allowing you to feel content once again with your life knowing you were complete once again.

#jake kiszka #jake kiskza x reader #jake kiska fic #jake kiskza smut #greta van fleet #josh kiszka #sam kiszka #daniel wagner #enemies to lovers #greta van fic #greta van smut #greta van angst #jtk #jake gvf #greta van fluff #jacob kiszka #jacob thomas kiszka

107 notes · View notes

avastrasposts · 10 months

Text

A Baker's Dozen - One

Twelve Pedro boys, twelve stand alone short stories, all set in the same bakery.

Hello!

This is my first original fic after The Pilot and his Girl and it will be a very different read (just in case you're totally traumatised by The Pilot...😬)

Twelve Pedro boys, twelve short stories, each set in the same bakery. The plan is to post one chapter every Sunday night so hold me to that schedule when my procrastination kicks in!

Warnings won't be very serious, just lots of fluff, lots of food, some mention of drugs because you know some of these Pedro boys are just like that.

Series Master List

@harriedandharassed tagging you in this because you said you wanted to read anything new ❤❤❤

The drawback of being a baker is that your working day starts when others are still tucked in bed with hours left to sleep. Or just coming home from a party. But you don’t mind all that much, there’s a certain tranquil peace to being awake and working in the bakery while the rest of the world sleeps.

In the warmer months you prop open the back door so that you can hear the birds starting to sing as the sky slowly grows lighter outside, today is just one of those mornings.

The early morning radio show is on low in the background as you prepare the day. Yesterday's loaves have proofed overnight in the cold storage and are ready for the oven, the pie doughs taken out and softening while you prepare the cookie doughs.

People don’t often knock on the bakery's back door before you open for the day, but it happens, so when you suddenly hear someone shuffle and knock, you’re not surprised. Wiping your hands on your apron you turn the corner into the small back room. A man is leaning on the door frame, but not the sexy, romance novel leaning. No, this man is leaning in a ‘lean-or-fall-over’ kinda way. His eyes are covered by large black sunglasses that he pulls down as you spot him, a tired but cheeky smirk on his face.

“Hey, baker girl,” he grins, his voice gravelly like he’s chain smoked all night, “got any sna- oh whoops!” he giggles madly as he loses his balance and tumbles sideways, catching the other door frame before he grabs onto your arms and almost manages to stand up straight.

“You might need coffee, not snacks,” you say, holding onto him to stop him from falling face forward into your apron.

“I’m fine,” he grins, pushing himself upright again but still holding on to the door frame, “I just came from this party, were you there?,” he asks, giving you another over the glasses look, this time clearly checking you out as his eyes drag up and down your form, lingering on your pink crocs.

“Actually, I would’ve remembered if you were there, love the crocs,” he chuckles.

“What’s wrong with my crocs?” you ask, slightly offended, “They’re great for people like me, you know, people who actually work on Thursdays.”

“No, no, I mean it, I love your crocs!” the man says, wide eyed and shoving his glasses up in his wild curls, “I have like ten crocs, one pair is pink too.”

He furrows his eyebrows, giving you a confused look, “Wait, it’s Thursday?”

“Yeah, five am, Thursday morning,” you say, wondering how to get rid of this disheveled man so that you can get back to the cookie dough.

“Fuck, oh fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck….” the man groans, bending double and pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, “I’m so fucked…I thought it was Wednesday.”

He stands up again and you can’t help but feel sorry for him, he looks devastated.

“I was meant to fly out to San Antonio yesterday and take my nice to Six Flags for her birthday, and I fucking missed it!”

He slumps against the door frame and thumps the back of his head against it repeatedly, moaning, “I’m such a fuck up, I’m such a fuck up.”

“Hey, take it easy, I’m sure it’ll be fine, just apologize and take her another day,” you say, putting your hand on the man’s arm to stop him from giving himself a concussion in your bakery, “I’m sure she’ll understand.”

“You think?” he says, “I’m not the best at remembering birthdays, I may have missed a few in the past.”

“Well, then she’ll be mad at you, but all you can do is apologize right? And try to make it up to her as best you can.”

“Yeah…yeah…maybe you’re right, thanks baker girl.” He gives you a lopsided smile and you notice the smudges of dark eyeliner around his eyes, “How about those snacks? I’m fucking starving.”

You can’t help but laugh, the man’s a mess but somehow adorable at the same time with his wild hair and stained t-shirt.

“Sure, I’ll get you something, what do you like?”

“Do you have sausage rolls?” he asks, following you into the kitchen, “I fucking love sausage rolls.”

“What, like those things they made on the Great British Bake Off?” you reply, opening your walk in fridge to survey the snack options.

“Yeah, I did this movie once, in England, and there was a bakery next to my apartment and whenever I got back from a party, early morning, I’d knock on their back door and they’d sell me these fat sausage rolls, fresh from the oven, fucking amazing.”

“Sorry, no sausage rolls in this bakery,” you say, “but my cookies will be done soon, if you can wait.”

You turn back to the man and realize he’s wandering around the kitchen, sticking his nose in your bowls, sniffing loudly.

“Hey, don’t stick your finger in that,” you say, “Health and Safety are going to have my license if they catch you.”

“Sorry, I’ve just got the munchies, I’ve been high for like, two days,” he says, waving his arms around, “this place is torture for a high pers-OH! Do you know what I love?”

“No,” you sigh, exasperated, “I don’t know what you love.”

He completely misses your tone as he spins in a circle around the kitchen and you realize that he’s wearing what looks like very expensive pajama pants and no shoes, just socks.

“I love those…what do you call them, like…millionaire’s something?”

“Millionaire's shortbread?” you ask and he spins around to you with a big grin.

“Yes! Those! With like the chocolate and the peanut butter and they’re like the best Reese’s ever, only even more fucking amazing. Can you make those?” “I don’t know, maybe,” you begin and the man actually falls to his knees, shuffling over the floor to you.

“Please, I’ll do anything, I’m dying here, beautiful baker girl, make me happy!”

“Are you asking me to bake for you or proposing?” you laugh, this man is too ridiculous as he grins up at you.

“If you make them for me, I won’t marry you, but there are many other things I can do,” he says, pulling down his dark sunglasses from his head and winking at you from over the edge, his cheeky grin making it impossible to scowl at him.

“Fine, I’ll make them for you, just get up from my floor, please,” you say, reaching for his hand. He takes yours with a bright smile, kissing the back of it, before he stumbles to his feet and follows you over to your big workbench.

“I’m Dieter, by the way. Can I sit here?” he asks, pointing to the stool that stands next to the bench.

“Nice to meet you Dieter,” you say, “sure, go ahead, it’s got wheels on it though so be careful.”

“Awesome,” Dieter says and sits down, immediately speeding across the floor with a kick of his socked feet. He stops himself from crashing into the fridge door by grabbing on to the handle before he shoots off again, rolling all the way over to the open back door.

“Don’t fall out through the door please,” you call after him and you hear him giggle, a second later he comes spinning into the kitchen again.

“This thing is awesome, I need to buy one for my house.”

“Happy you’re enjoying yourself,” you laugh and walk to where yesterday’s bakes are stacked on trays. You’d made a layer of shortbread yesterday, you were planning on making lemon bars but Millionaire’s shortbread will work too. As you bring it over to your work station Dieter rolls past you and stops by the bench. “Can I help?” he asks, looking up at you, his sunglasses back in his messy hair. He’s kinda cute when you think about it, gorgeous brown eyes, and the smile he’s giving you is open and curious with an adorable dimple.

“Yeah, sure, you can be in charge of peanuts,” you say, walking over to the dry storage, “They need to be bashed into chunks with a rolling pin, something tells me that’s something you can probably handle.”

“That sounds fun, please, direct me,” he says, kicking himself over to the storage cupboard on the stool.

“Oops, sorry,” he giggles, grabbing hold of your hips to stop himself from crashing into the storage door, “I kicked too hard that time.”

“Go easy there, Dieter,” you laugh as he untangles himself from the stool and stands up. You get on your tiptoes to grab the peanuts and suddenly realize he’s still holding on to your hips, standing close behind you. You swear you feel his nose brush the side of your head, a quick inhale from him, and then he steps back, letting go.

“Peanuts?” he says, leaning past you and reaching up to grab the bag sitting just out of your reach. His arm brushes over yours and he’s suddenly very close again, his citrusy after shave, mingling with the heady sweet smoke of weed, fills your senses.

“Uhh…y-yeah,” you stutter, “thanks. And the dark chocolate if you can reach it.”

“Sure, this one?” he asks, grabbing the bag of Valrhona from the shelf. This time his chest is pressed against your back, you really should move out of his way, but he’s right behind you, almost pinning you in place, as he has to stretch to his full length to reach. And you find that you don’t mind at all, he’s warm and solid behind you, and this is more action than you’ve had in months.

“That’s the one, thanks,” you say, trying to keep your voice neutral.

Dieter brings it down to your level and you take it from him, expecting him to step back and give you room to go back to the work bench. But instead he stays right behind you, and this time you really do feel him bend down and brush his nose over your cheek, down to where your neck meets your shoulder.

“You smell delicious, like a cookie,” he mumbles and your heart literally skips a beat.

“Th-thanks,” you splutter and when Dieter steps back, letting you move, you avoid his eyes, feeling your cheeks burn.

“S-so the…umm…rolling pin is on that shelf there,” you say, pointing down to your right, “and there’s a measuring cup too, just…umm…just get a cup of peanuts, and put them in a plastic bag and bash away. Just wash your hands first.”

“Ok, I can do that,” he says with a grin and he walks behind you to the sink in the corner while you measure out the peanut butter into a sauce pan.

Dieter gets to work on the peanuts with great enthusiasm until you tell him they’re broken up enough.

“Just leave them there, you can come here and stir the peanut butter while I get the caramel ready,” you instruct him and he ambles over in just his socks.

“What happened to your shoes? If you don’t mind me asking,” you point at his stripey, multicolored socks.

“I’m not sure,” Dieter glances down at his feet, “I had shoes when I left home, I’m sure of it, but after that it gets a bit hazy.”

“You’ve really been partying since Tuesday?” you ask and he nods.

“Yeah, it was a good party so we just kinda kept going,” he grins, “there was a huge pool and we all went in. Actually, maybe that’s where I lost my shoes?”

“Maybe, you could go back and look for them?”

“And miss out on baking with a pretty baker girl? Never!” he chuckles and you’re not totally sure he’s being serious or not, but the grin he gives you makes you hope he is.

“I think this is melted,” he says, draggin the spoon through the silky smooth peanut butter, showing you the bowl.

“Yeah, that looks done. Just pass me that tray of shortbread and I’ll pour the caramel on top.”

“Can I lick the bowl?” he asks, looking over your shoulder as you let the thick golden liquid pool on top of the shortbread.

“I’m pretty good at scraping, there’s usually nothing left to lick,” you say, dragging the spatula around the edge.

“Can’t you be a bit sloppy, just for me?” Dieter grins, standing entirely too close, “It smells so good, I wanna taste it.”

This time he’s definitely flirting, the salacious smile on his face while he winks at you, makes you both roll your eyes and squash down butterflies on the inside.

“Fine, I’ll leave some for you,” you smile, looking back at the shortbread again and scraping out caramel, leaving the last of it on the spatula. Putting the bowl to the side, you hold out the spatula for him. But instead of taking it, he grabs hold of your hand, and licks the caramel off the spatula with a long swipe of his tongue. His eyes don’t leave yours and the whole thing is so over the top you burst out laughing.

“Jesus fucking Christ, tone it down maybe?” you snort, as he abruptly stops licking, letting go of your hand.

“What?” he blushes, “I saw it in this movie, it looked sexy.”

“Yeah, in a porno maybe!” you say, handing him the spatula, and only the spatula.

He takes it with a sheepish look, “Sorry, that usually works.”

“Not in this bakery, I have to work with that spatula when you’re gone, I can’t have it being used as a porno prop, Dieter.” You grab a new spatula from the holder on the counter and start smoothing out the caramel.

“You do smell good though,” Dieter says, still looking sheepish, “that wasn’t just a line.”

“Thanks,” you shoot him a quick smile, working over the caramel, “you smell good too, underneath all that weed funk.”

At this he grabs the front of his t-shirt and sniffs it, wrinkling his nose, “Yeah, it’s kinda obvious, huh.”

“Can’t believe you partied for forty-eight hours, I’d be dead on my feet,” you say, mixing the peanut butter into the caramel layer, sprinkling in some of the crushed peanuts, “Do you want coffee or something while we wait for this to set?”

“Fuck yes, coffee sounds amazing!” Dieter exclaims, dropping the spatula from his mouth, “And this stuff is amazing too, I’d eat a bowl of just this.”

“You’d die of a sugar rush if you did,” you laugh, sliding the tray into the large fridge and setting a timer on your phone, “C’mon, the coffee machine is out front.”

One of the advantages of being the sole owner of the bakery was that you got to decide what to skimp on, and what to splurge on. And the espresso machine was something you’d really splurged on. For a shop that mainly sold take out baked goods, it was way over the top, but it meant you always had great coffee on hand for your early mornings. The machine was already up and running, humming quietly as you started preparing two shots.

“How do you take it, Dieter?” you ask and he winks at you. “Anyway you wanna give it to me, baker girl,” he grins and when you sigh loudly, he laughs and holds up his hands in defense. “C’mon! I had to! You set it up perfectly!”

“How do you take your coffee?” you emphasis and glare at him, but your smile is breaking through and he gives you a playful poke as he comes up and stands next to the machine.

“Extra everything, cream, sugar, any of those coffee syrups if you have ‘em.”

“Why am I not surprised?” you smirk, “A guy who loves Millionaire’s Shortbread, of course he wants extra everything. I bet you’re lining up outside your local Starbucks the morning they start selling Pumpkin Spice.”

“I would never drink Starbucks!” he protests, “Fucking vile coffee and the worst of corporate America. But you can’t beat a good pumpkin spice if you’ve got quality coffee.”

“I’ve only got great coffee here, but no syrup, you want a latte? Double shot espresso?”

“Please,” he says, leaning against the counter next to the espresso machine as he looks over the front of your little shop, crossing his arms. You can’t help the glance up at his arms, the t-shirt hanging on for dear life as it clings to his biceps and broad shoulders. The many rings on his fingers look tiny on his large hands as he grips the outside of his arms, and you’re temporarily distracted by them, and his close proximity.

The hiss of the machine pulls you back to reality, coffee sputtering out of the spouts into the cup. You glance back up at Dieter and find him watching you with a crooked smile, a dimple in his cheek.

“What?” you say, looking back at the machine and begin to steam the milk.

“You really are beautiful,” he says, almost matter of factly, “especially when you zone out.”

“It’s early, and I’ve been up since two am, but thanks, I guess,” you reply, handing him the latte and pointing to the sugar bowl on the counter next to the till.

“I wasn’t trying to make a move or anything,” he says, sounding slightly hurt, “I just wanted to tell you I think you’re gorgeous.”

“No, I’m sorry,” you say, immediately regretting your tone, “I’m just not used to compliments I guess, I didn’t mean to sound so rude. I should’ve just said thanks,” you look over at him and give him a smile, “Thanks Dieter.”

“You’re welcome,” he replies, smiling back.

You knock out the used coffee grounds and fill it up again to make your own coffee. Dieter reaches over and grabs four sugar cubes and drops them in the latte, stirring while he watches you work. He’s watching you closely again and it makes your cheeks heat up. He’s got a strange energy of childish mayhem and intense magnetism, chaos that’s either going to make you laugh until your sides hurt or fuck you until you can’t walk straight for a week. And you’re not sure which one you want.

Your coffee done, you add a splash of milk and lean against the counter opposite Dieter, taking a careful sip. He’s wrapped both his large hands around the thick glass and is delicately licking the foam, drawing a pattern in it with his tongue. You watch him for a few seconds until he notices you and gives you a sheepish grin.

“What?” he asks, copying your tone from earlier.

“You really think I’m pretty?” you ask, the question slipping out before you have a chance to stop it, immediately regretting your filterless mouth.

But he gives you a disarming smile, “Gorgeous. Gorgeous baker girl that smells like cookies and caramel and chocolate.”

“You’re just high,” you can’t help but scoff at him, but he just shakes his head.

“No, not at all.”

He doesn’t say anything else, just looks at you, the silence stretching between you until you think something will have to snap and it’s probably going to be you.

The phone saves you, the timer going off just as you don’t think you can stand another second of his chocolate brown eyes looking at you like you’re the snack he’s been asking for.

“Thecaramelisset,” you rush out, breaking eye contact and hurrying back into the kitchen as if another second in the fridge would ruin the whole thing. Dieter comes in behind you at a slower pace, still drinking his coffee.

You pull out the tray and set it down on the workbench before turning on the burner under a saucepan of water, setting up a water bath.

“I’m just gonna melt this chocolate, and then I’ll spread it on top, it’ll set pretty quickly. And then it’s done.” You work quickly, too flustered to look at him and he hoovers just to your side, watching your movements.

The chocolate melts fast, you only need a thin layer, and then you pour it over the caramel. You scrape the bowl clean but leave a generous amount of chocolate on the spatula, giving it to Dieter.

“Don’t burn your mouth, it’s still warm”, you say when he takes it. He doesn’t grab your hand this time, but his fingertips brushes over yours as he nods, and it sends a sharp little jolt through you.

You turn back to the almost finished shortbread but can’t help glancing over at him. His pink tongue comes out and licks the chocolate, this time it’s not over the top, nothing provocative about it, he’s not even looking at you. But you swear you can feel every stroke of his tongue on your own skin, burning hot and wet.

You swallow and tear your eyes away, blindly reaching for the crushed peanuts, taking a handful and scattering it across the chocolate. The Millionaire’s Shortbread is done and you slide the tray back into the fridge, it only needs a few minutes. Dieter remains by the counter, finishing off the chocolate on the spatula as you start to clean up the kitchen and bring out the cookie dough that still needs to be taken care of. You see Dieters eyes widen as he sees the first scoop of dough land on the baking tray.

“Is that chocolate chip,” he almost whispers reverently, spatula forgotten, as he slowly comes over to stare down into the bowl.

“You want to try it? It’s double chocolate chip with browned butter.”

He makes a gurgling noise in the back of his throat, tilting his head back before he looks at you and nods, “Please, it smells so good.”

You grab a tasting spoon, giving him a generous scoop and watch with a smile as he puts it in his mouth. His eyes close of their own volition as he moans, far too enticingly, around the spoon.

“Oh my god…” he sighs, slowly chewing the dough, “This is like heaven, better than sex, better than fucking coke.”

“Knock yourself out,” you chuckle, “it’s not healthy but it’s sure as hell better for you than coke.”

“And sex?” he asks with a wink, still rolling the dough around his mouth.

“They’re probably on par, but this is tastier than cum.”

Dieter nearly chokes, coughing loudly as you giggle. Between repeated attempts at clearing his throat he points his finger at you accusingly, trying to grin between his coughing.

“You’re…” he coughs again, “You’re a dirty baker girl!” he finally manages, grinning widely as you go back to scooping dough, still giggling.

“I can’t believe I said that, but you did serve it up perfectly.”

“I did, but I never thought your mind was that filthy, I’m appalled” he laughs, placing a hand on his chest in a mock gesture of shock. “Better than cum huh? You have a lot of experience in that department?”

Now he’s winking again, poking to get more details out of you. So instead you take another tasting spoon, scoop up more dough and put it straight into his mouth to shut him up. It works, he grins around the spoon and smacks his lips at the taste.

“So fucking good, definitely better than cum,” he smirks, earning an eye roll from you. “Do you wanna taste it?”

“I’m good, I’ve already tasted the dough many times,” you reply, careful to specify that you’re talking about dough.

“Maybe not like this though,” Dieter says, suddenly bending down and pressing his lips against yours. It almost makes you jump, his soft lips against yours, his aftershave, it all envelops you in an instance. He’s not touching you anywhere else, just your lips, and you can’t taste him, his mouth is still closed. Maybe you should push him off, the thought flits through your mind for a split second. But you want to taste him, taste the cookie dough you know is delicious, mingled with him, so you part your lips, your tongue coming out.

Dieter lets a quiet groan slip out as he part his lips, letting you in, opening his mouth and tilting his head to come closer. You hear the spoon clatter to the floor as his hand comes up and cups your cheek, his big hand reaching behind your neck, another stifled groan from him. He tastes of sugar, coffee and chocolate, all flavors mingling into something enticing that pulls you closer.

There’s nothing delicate about this kiss now, you lick into his mouth, and he offers you all the space you want, holding you close and moaning softly as your tongues tangle.

“Touch my hair,” he mumbles, breathing into your mouth, “I want to feel your hands in my hair.”

“They’re all sticky, Dieter,” you protest but you feel him shake his head, his lips brushing over yours.

“I don’t care, touch me, hold me, I want to smell like you when I leave,” his tongue slips between your lips, and you run your hands through his hair. You can feel it sticking, tugging at his wild locks but he just groans, his hands holding you tighter and, encouraged, you let your own hands run across his body, eliciting another loud groan from him.

Tension is building between the two of you, he is growing hard against your belly, unmistakably turned on and doing nothing to hide it. You can feel heat radiating from your own core, so scorching he must feel it too through the thin fabric of his pajama pants. If this doesn’t stop soon he’ll have you bent over the workbench in a minute, and Health and Safety would definitely have something to say about that.

With a groan and tremendous effort, you put your hands on his chest and push him away. His lips chase yours for a few seconds, eyes closed, a protest coming from him, before he looks down at you with a sigh.

“You taste even better than you smell,” he says, not letting go of your cheek, his other hand still around your waist.

“The cookie dough goes really well with the coffee,” you reply, your mouth quirking up in a smile and he matches it, a dopey look on his face.

“Amazing,” he breathes, "you're amazing, baker girl.”

His adoration makes you tremble, you feel the heat in your cheeks, and he sees it, leaning into your lips. He stops and looks at you for a beat, to ask for your permission, and when you don’t pull away he presses a soft kiss to your warm mouth, so different from the hasty, heated kiss you just shared. This one lasts only for a few seconds, gentle, before he pulls back, his hand slowly trailing along your check.

“I should probably call for my ride,” he says softly, “it’ll take a while to get here.”

“Ok,” you nod, “the shortbread should be done too.”

“Ok,” he replies, but he doesn’t make a move to leave and you can’t seem to take your eyes off him.

“I really should…” he sighs, tracing his fingertips over your cheek again, “call that ride.”

“Go, do that, I’ll cut the shortbread, we can have some while we wait for your ride.” You lightly put your hand on his warm chest and push him away, smiling, but you really want to bunch your hand in the soft t-shirt and pull him closer.

“Ok,” he says, louder this time, as if making up his mind. He shoves his hand in his pocket, miraculously finding his phone intact as you bring the tray out of the fridge.

The whole thing has set into layers, so you take a sharp knife and start cutting rectangles, slipping them up and onto the tray that goes in your display case, some go into a take away box, two you put on a separate plate and then look around for Dieter, spotting his broad back out by the back door. Just as you come over to him he ends his call, turning around to you with a smile.

“My ride will be here in about twenty minutes,” he says, following you to the doorstep and sitting down. You sink down next to him, maybe a little bit closer than necessary, but he’s wide and takes up almost the whole door frame. Your cookie dough is still waiting for you, you’ll be playing catch up with your baking for the rest of the morning, but it’ll be worth it. This chaotic, disheveled man has made your morning a lot more exciting than usual and you’re a little bit sad to see him go.

“Here, what you came for,” you say, holding out the plate, and Dieter takes one of the Millionaire’s Shortbread.

“I can’t believe you made these just for me,” he grins and bites into it. You watch his face, this is your favorite part of baking, watching people when they taste the finished thing. And Dieter doesn’t disappoint, he groans, loudly, grabbing onto your arm and leaning his forehead against your shoulder, his whole body reacting to the flavors in his mouth as he chews.

“I Iive here now,” he moans, “I’m giving up my career, I’m going to live in your bakery and pay you to feed me for the rest of my life.” He lifts his head up and takes another big bite of the shortbread, groaning again as he looks at you, his eyebrows pulled together, big brown eyes pleading. “How is this so good?” he moans, his tongue coming out to catch an errant peanut crumb, “you’ve got to taste this.”

He holds up the last bite of the shortbread to you, and you open your mouth, letting him place it between your lips. You feel his fingers brush over them as he pulls back, his thumb coming up to swipe over your bottom lip.

“It’s really good, I’m pretty happy with this,” you say, trying to not chew with your mouth open as Dieter looks at you, his eyes on your lips.

“Do you want another one?” you ask, holding up the plate and Dieter nods fervently and groans again as he takes a bite.

“I can’t decide, this or sex, which is better,” he chuckles, and you nod. You know the cake is good, but you can’t help but wonder if sex with Dieter might not be even better.

You sit side by side in the early morning sunshine, eating the cakes. Dieter soon finishes his second one and cracks the lid on the take away box you’ve given him, sneaking a third one with a childish grin that makes you happy to see.

“Seriously, I live here now, I’m moving in tomorrow,” he mumbles, moaning between bites, leaning on you, his head on your shoulder.

“You do that Dieter, I might even let you lick the bowl once in a while,” you say, patting his messy hair.

“Lick the bowl or lick your bowl, baker girl?” he giggles and you give him a light smack, shaking your head.

“Enough with the porn jokes,” you scold him, no menace to your words, he can hear the smile in your voice and giggles again.

“Can I put my head in your lap?” he asks, “Nothing weird, I promise, I’m just really tired suddenly.”

“Ok, sure, but your ride should be here soon.”

“Yeah, I just wanna relax my eyes for a while….” Dieter yawns and slips down the stairs to sit on the last step, hooking his arm around your hips and putting his head on your lap. The warm weight of him on your legs is actually comforting, his arm a steady hold behind you. Without thinking about it you start carding your fingers through his hair, adding to the sticky mess, making it stand on end, but he doesn’t seem to mind. It takes him minutes to fall asleep, a low rumbling snore coming from him.

You keep stroking his head for a few more minutes before you carefully lift his head up and slip out from under him, letting his arm be his pillow. You need to go back to baking, your first customers will be arriving soon and you haven’t even put the cookies in the oven, you want them fresh and warm when the early morning commuters arrive.

Back in the kitchen you quickly scoop the rest of the dough on the trays and get them in the oven and start stocking the display case out front with what’s already done. You’re just sliding the last croissants into the tray when the opening hour strikes and you flip the sign on the front door. You’ve been listening out back for a car to pull up but you haven’t heard anything and once the morning rush starts, you’re swamped and a couple of hours pass before you even realize. When it finally calms down you wipe down the counter and clean your hands before checking out by the back door. It’s still open, but Dieter is gone, as is the take away box, not a trace of your chaotic, magnetic early morning visitor.

Hours later, as you’re about to close up for the day, a delivery van pulls up in front of the shop. A man in a uniform jumps out and comes rushing in with a box and an extravagant bouquet of flowers with a vase. “Delivery for you, miss,” he says, handing you a device to sign your name on, and then the flowers and the box.

“Thanks,” you say but the man is already halfway out the door.

The flowers fill the small shop with their scent, and you place them on the counter, next to the till, stopping to stick your nose into the white lilac and breathing deeply before getting the shop closed up.

You flip the sign and take the box into the kitchen, the back door is still open to let the warm spring air in. Sinking down on the stairs where you sat with Dieter just this morning, you open the box. It contains another box and inside that, a note. But there’s also a mouth watering, rich, smell of pastry and meat coming from the box. Intrigued, you open the lid, only to find a thermal container inside, like a small version of the ones used to keep delivery pizza warm. Inside are six fat, delicious looking sausages rolls. Your stomach gives a hungry grumble and you immediately grab one, laughing as you remember Dieter’s first request this morning; sausage rolls, like the ones he bought in England after party nights.

The sausage roll really is as delicious as it looks and you grab a second one before you pick up the note that came with them.

It's a double folded piece of paper, so thick it almost looks like part of a canvas. On the inside a note is scribbled in a looped, flowing handwriting.

“Next time I’m asking you on a date, baker girl /D”

Part Two

If you want to make Dieter's Millionaire's Shortbread, here's the recipe I used.

#dieter bravo #pedro pascal character fanfiction #a bakers dozen #pedro pascal #dieter bravo fluff #the bubble

254 notes · View notes