#i had 6 shots of tequila

[sweet-like-hypoglycemia]

Wildly hungover - does my leg look like it has muscles?

[chumbie]

convinced i am undrunkable

[itsalwaysforyou]

i think im actually still a little bit drunk from last night

[seafarersdream]

Last Friday Night | Modern AU! (Cregan Stark x Y/N)

In the realm of scandalous misdeeds, slumbering with your brother’s best friend should be a cardinal sin—dangerous liaison that Y/N Velaryon ought to steer clear of, now nor in any future reincarnation. But, oh, how the rules bend under the weight of temptation. A night of drunken sex with Cregan Stark, Jace’s insanely hot best mate and a towering 6-foot something alpine skier with ice in his veins. What a night it was! Only problem? They were both so tipsy that the details are a hazy blur, and now they awaken in a tangled mess beside each other. Word count: 5,6k

TW // Strong language and profanities, sexual content, mentions of alcohol, smoking.

“Fuck.”

That was the first coherent thought Y/N Velaryon had when she opened her eyes. Her head throbbed like a drum, each pulse a reminder of why tequila shots are the devil’s work. The room was unfamiliar—definitely not hers. The bed was too big, the sheets too expensive, and the body lying beside her too…well, fuck again.

She turned her head slowly, hoping against hope that her suspicions were wrong. Maybe it was some rando, some nameless, faceless guy who she could shove out the door with minimal awkwardness. But when she finally caught a glimpse of the dark, messy hair and the broad, bare back that could only belong to one man, she groaned internally.

Cregan fucking Stark.

Of course, it was him. It couldn’t just be some forgettable one-night stand. It had to be her brother’s best friend, the guy Jace had always been crystal clear was off-limits. And here they were, in bed together, like the setup to some bad rom-com, except this was way more fucked up.

She pressed her palms to her eyes, trying to piece together what the hell happened last night. There were flashes—Jace convincing her to go to some ridiculous party at a mutual friend’s country estate (more like a palace really), the champagne flowing, the ridiculous number of shots, and the way Cregan had looked at her from across the room. Not that she'd paid much attention, or so she thought.

And then…nothing. A blank slate. Well, at least until now, when the reality of waking up next to the man Jace had declared off-limits hit her like a truck.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Y/N muttered under her breath, shifting slightly to get out of bed without waking Cregan. But the sheets rustled, and before she could even swing her legs out, a deep voice rumbled beside her.

“Morning.”

Her heart nearly jumped out of her chest. She froze, mid-escape, and slowly turned to face him. Cregan was wide awake, propped up on one elbow, smirking at her like the cocky bastard he was.

“Morning,” she croaked, her mouth dry as hell. “This is, um…”

“A fucking disaster?” he suggested, his grin widening.

“Yeah, something like that.”

Cregan chuckled, the sound rich and annoyingly sexy, even through her hangover. He looked far too pleased with himself, considering the circumstances. His dark eyes held hers, and for a second, Y/N was painfully aware of the fact that she was still very much naked under these sheets. So was he.

This was beyond bad.

“I remember bits and pieces,” she admitted, rubbing her temples. “But not…this. Why didn’t you stop me? Or yourself?”

“You think I could have stopped you?” Cregan raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “You were pretty damn determined.”

Y/N groaned, slumping back against the pillows. “Fuck. Jace is going to kill us. You know that, right? He’s literally going to skin you alive.”

“Pretty sure he’s got more important things to worry about than who his sister hooks up with,” Cregan said, stretching lazily. “Not that I’m planning on telling him.”

She shot him a look. “And how exactly do you think we’re going to keep this a secret? He’ll know. Jace always knows when I’m up to something. He’s like a damn oracle.”

Cregan shrugged, like he wasn’t at all fazed by the prospect of Jace’s wrath. Which, Y/N supposed, he wouldn’t be. Cregan Stark was all ice and steel when it came to handling pressure. Professional alpine skier, always on the edge of danger—like he didn’t have enough adrenaline in his life without adding ‘sleeping with his best friend’s little sister’ to the list.

“We just pretend it didn’t happen,” Cregan suggested, as if that was the easiest thing in the world. “Last night was a blur, and this morning’s just a bad dream. We’ll go our separate ways, no one’s the wiser.”

“You really think that’ll work?” Y/N asked skeptically.

“We won’t know unless we try,” he replied, his tone almost teasing.

She couldn’t believe this was happening. She’d just finished uni, started her internship at a nice law firm, and was supposed to be focusing on her career. Instead, she was tangled up in the sheets with Cregan Stark, about to engage in the most complicated cover-up of her life.

“Fine,” she finally said, exhaling sharply. “But if Jace finds out, you’re the one explaining it to him.”

“Deal.” Cregan’s smirk softened into something almost genuine, and for a moment, Y/N’s stomach did a weird flip.

She quickly pushed the feeling down. This was a one-time thing, a mistake—one she couldn’t afford to repeat, no matter how tempting it might be. The last thing she needed was more complications in her life.

“Okay, I need to get out of here,” Y/N said, sitting up and scanning the room for her clothes. They were scattered across the floor, a chaotic mix of her dress, shoes, and underwear. Cregan’s clothes were mingled with hers—of course, he didn’t seem to be in any rush to get up. Typical.

As she scrambled out of bed, trying to gather her things, she felt Cregan’s eyes on her, and when she looked back, there was something in his gaze that made her pause. It wasn’t just the lazy, post-hookup look she expected. There was something else, something deeper that she couldn’t quite place. But before she could analyze it further, he smirked again, shattering the moment.

“Need any help?” he offered, his tone suggesting anything but.

“I’m good,” she replied quickly, slipping into her dress and trying to maintain whatever dignity she had left. “I’ll just, uh, see myself out.”

“Sure thing, Y/N,” Cregan said, his voice holding a hint of something she couldn’t quite identify—teasing, maybe, or was it something more?

But she didn’t have time to dwell on it. She needed to get out of here, get back to her place, and pretend this never happened. As she slipped her shoes on and made a beeline for the door, she could feel his eyes on her the whole time, and it took every ounce of willpower not to look back.

The walk of shame had never been so literal.

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Y/N finally made it back to her flat in South Kensington, pushing through the ache in her head and the overwhelming need for a gallon of water and a hot shower. She fumbled with her keys, silently praying to every god she didn’t believe in that Jace would still be at the photoshoot he’d mentioned yesterday.

But as soon as she swung the door open, she knew her luck had run out.

Jace Velaryon was sprawled out on her couch like he owned the place—legs kicked up on the coffee table, remote in one hand, a half-eaten bowl of cereal in the other. He looked up as she entered, and his face lit up in that way only big brothers get when they know they’re about to cause trouble.

“Well, well, well,” he drawled, a grin spreading across his face. “Look who’s doing the walk of shame this morning.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, trying to play it cool. “Shut up, Jace. I just went for a…walk.” Even she cringed at how lame that sounded.

“A walk?” Jace repeated, raising an eyebrow. “In last night’s dress and heels? That’s a new one, even for you.”

“I wasn’t—” she started, but Jace cut her off with a laugh.

“Please, sis. Don’t even try it. I’ve known you too long to fall for that bullshit.” He sat up, clearly enjoying himself. “So, who was the lucky guy? Or girl? I’m open-minded.”

She shot him a glare, trying to ignore the heat creeping up her cheeks. “It’s none of your business, Jace.”

“Oh, come on,” he whined. “You’re my little sister. It’s literally my job to make your love life my business.”

She snorted, moving past him toward the kitchen. “Right, because you’re such an expert on relationships.”

“Hey, I’ve been in plenty of—” he began defensively, but she cut him off.

“One-night stands don’t count, Jace.”

He laughed, unfazed. “Touché. But seriously, you look like death warmed over. Was the party that wild?”

Y/N could still feel the blood rushing to her face, and she kept her back to him, rummaging in the fridge for a bottle of infused water. “Yeah, it was…something.”

“I knew it!” Jace crowed, slapping his knee. “I knew you’d have a good time once you loosened up. See, you should listen to me more often. You’re always so serious with your work stuff, but you gotta live a little, Y/N. You’re too young to be so…responsible.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. Because as much as she hated to admit it, Jace had a point. Her life had been all about exams and internships lately, no time for fun or the kind of reckless behavior that usually ended with waking up next to a Stark.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Party more, work less,” she muttered, twisting the cap off the bottle and taking a long drink.

Jace leaned forward, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “So, was he hot at least? This guy you left with?”

Y/N almost choked on her water. “What? I didn’t leave with anyone.”

“Right,” he said, dragging the word out. “That’s why you’re sneaking back in at ten in the morning with bedhead and makeup smudged like a panda. Come on, just tell me who it was. Was it that guy Luke introduced you to last week? What was his name…Liam? Leon?”

She shook her head, exasperated. “Hells, Jace, can you just drop it?”

Jace grinned, leaning back again. “Oh, this must’ve been a really good one if you’re getting this defensive. Come on, Y/N, I’m dying here. Give me something.”

For a second, she considered telling him the truth—just blurting it out and watching the chaos unfold. But then she thought of Cregan’s lazy smile, the way he’d suggested they just forget about it and move on. The way her brother would probably explode into a million pieces if he knew. And she decided against it.

“Fine,” she sighed dramatically. “If you must know, it was some random bloke, okay? No one you know. Just a guy. But yes, he is fit. Satisfied?”

Jace considered this, squinting at her as if trying to detect a lie. Finally, he shrugged. “I guess. But if you don’t want me to know, that just makes me want to know more. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, well, good luck with that,” she replied, moving past him again, hoping he’d drop it.

He watched her go, still grinning like an idiot. “You know, you should bring him to the next party,” he called after her. “Introduce me. I promise I won’t bite…unless he’s into that sort of thing.”

Y/N groaned and flipped him off over her shoulder. “You’re disgusting, Jace.”

“Love you too, sis,” he shot back, laughing. “And don’t think I won’t find out who it is. I always do.”

She shook her head, muttering curses under her breath as she retreated to her room. She needed a shower, a coffee, and about ten years of therapy to figure out how she’d ended up in bed with Cregan Stark of all people. But first, she needed to figure out how to keep Jace in the dark. Because if he ever found out…

Well, that wasn’t even worth thinking about.

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Cregan Stark stood in the middle of his wrecked bedroom, hands on his hips, surveying the chaos. Sheets twisted, pillows on the floor, a lamp somehow knocked over. It looked like a tornado had swept through, and that tornado’s name was Y/N Velaryon.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his tousled dark hair. He tried to piece together the events of last night, but the details were hazy, like trying to grab smoke with his bare hands. He remembered flashes—the way she looked at him, the heat in her gaze, the sound of her laugh, and the taste of alcohol on her lips.

But everything after that? A blur.

Goddamn shame, too, because if there was anything he wanted to remember clearly, it was Y/N Velaryon in his bed, under him, her nails digging into his back. Fuck, he’d have liked to play that on repeat in his mind forever, but the alcohol had betrayed him, stealing away the details of what was undoubtedly the hottest night of his life.

He started picking up his last night’s clothes scattered across the floor and cursed himself again. How could he forget? He rarely drank that much, being an athlete and all, but last night…last night had been something else. He found his shirt flung over the back of a chair, his pants half-hanging off the edge of the bed. His brief were bunched up in the corner, and then—

Oh.

A small, red scrap of lace was tangled up in the sheets. He picked it up, grinning as he realized it was her G-string. She must’ve been in one hell of a hurry to leave it behind. He turned it over in his hands, feeling the delicate fabric, imagining her wearing it, and smirked.

“One hell of a merchandise,” he muttered with a chuckle, tucking the lace into his pocket. “Score.”

It was stupid, really. A goddamn G-string, and here he was, acting like he’d found a winning lottery ticket. But there was something about Y/N—something that had always pulled him in, even when he’d been trying his hardest to ignore it. Jace’s little sister, forbidden territory. He’d spent years pretending he didn’t notice how fucking gorgeous she’d grown, how smart and sharp-tongued she was. But last night had shattered all of that pretense into a million pieces.

He shoved the rest of the clothes into a messy laundry pile, wondering how long it would take for Jace to find out. Y/N was good at keeping secrets, he’d give her that, but Jace was practically psychic when it came to his sister. Cregan could already hear his best friend’s voice in his head, pissed off and protective, probably ready to bash his skull in.

But for some reason, that didn’t bother him as much as it should. He found himself smiling, still, as he started straightening up the room. Maybe it was because he liked the idea of having something that was just his and hers—something Jace didn’t know, something they could keep between them.

And hell, if it was anything like last night—at least, what he could remember of it—he wouldn’t mind making a habit of it.

As he finished tidying up, he spotted his phone on the nightstand, the screen lighting up with a new message. He picked it up, already knowing who it would be.

Jace:

Yo, brunch? Need to talk to you about something.

Cregan snorted. Of course, Jace wanted to talk. He always did when something was up with Y/N. He hesitated for a second, wondering if Jace had already figured out what had happened. But nah, if Jace knew, the message would’ve been a lot less polite.

He typed back a quick reply.

Sure, mate. Usual spot?

There was a pause before Jace responded.

Jace:

Yeah, see you in 30. And don’t be late, you lazy fuck.

Cregan chuckled, tossing the phone back on the bed. Yeah, this was going to be fun. He grabbed a fresh shirt, slipped it over his head, and, with a final glance around the now semi-clean room, he headed out.

He might not remember every detail of last night, but he’d be damned if he let that stop him from figuring out how to make it happen again.

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Cregan arrived at the little brasserie they always met at, a tiny spot tucked away on a quiet street. The kind of place with faded awnings and mismatched chairs that served strong coffee and even stronger Bloody Marys. Jace was already sitting outside, a cigarette dangling from his lips, dressed in designer shades and a leather jacket that probably cost more than most people’s rent.

“You’re late,” Jace called out as Cregan approached, flicking ash into the street. “I was starting to think you’d bailed.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, mate,” Cregan replied, sliding into the chair across from him. “But, you know, mornings are a bitch.” Especially when you’ve just spent them cleaning up the aftermath of what could’ve been the best mistake of your life, he thought.

Jace smirked, passing him the pack of cigarettes. “Yeah, looks like you had a rough one. Big night?”

Cregan shrugged, playing it cool. “Something like that. But hey, speaking of big nights…” He leaned in conspiratorially, lighting his cigarette. “What’s this I hear about Aegon?”

Jace snorted, taking a drag from his own cigarette. “Oh, mate, you haven’t heard? It’s fucking priceless.” He leaned back, tapping the ash off with a grin that was half-amused, half-disgusted. “My dear cousin managed to land himself in the hospital. For his cock.”

Cregan choked on his first drag, coughing out smoke. “What?” he managed between laughs. “His cock? You’re joking.”

“I swear to god,” Jace said, holding up his hand like he was taking an oath. “Apparently, he was trying to pull off some kind of…threesome, foursome, who the fuck knows, at one of those clubs he’s always getting kicked out of. Anyway, things got out of hand, and next thing you know, he’s screaming in agony and they’re rushing him to A&E.”

Cregan was in stitches, wiping a tear from his eye. “You’re telling me Aegon actually managed to break his dick?”

“That’s the rumor,” Jace replied, chuckling. “Doctors said it was some kind of penile fracture. Can you imagine? Poor bastard was probably halfway to heaven when he got dragged right down to hell.”

“Thoughts and prayers mate, that’s rough,” Cregan said, still laughing. “How the hell does that even happen?”

Jace grinned, leaning in. “Apparently, he got too enthusiastic. Girl was on top, he was thrusting up, and…” He made a snapping motion with his fingers. “Snap.”

Cregan winced, half in sympathy, half in amazement. “Fuck me, that’s got to hurt. How long’s he gonna be out of commission?”

“Couple of months, at least,” Jace replied, blowing out a stream of smoke. “He’s already whining about it all over social media. You know Aegon. Can’t suffer in silence.”

Cregan snorted. “Sounds like him, alright. Bet he’s milking it for all it’s worth, too. Getting the sympathy votes.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Jace agreed. “He’s already got half the city sending him flowers and chocolates like he’s some kind of war hero. Even Mum’s getting involved—sending him a care package like he’s gone off to battle instead of just fucking his way into the emergency room.”

They both laughed, loud and unrestrained, the way only friends who’ve known each other too long can. The kind of laughter that turns heads from the neighboring tables, but they didn’t care. They were in their own world, swapping stories, cigarettes, and coffee.

“Honestly, though,” Cregan said after a moment, shaking his head. “Only Aegon could turn a night out into a medical emergency. Guy’s got a talent.”

Jace grinned, flicking his cigarette butt away. “Yeah, but you know what they say about talent and stupidity—it’s a thin line.”

Cregan chuckled, taking another drag. “And Aegon’s crossed it, time and time again.”

“Too right,” Jace replied, nodding. “But it makes for good entertainment. Can’t wait to see how he spins this one. You just know there’s gonna be some kind of dramatic story about how he risked it all for love or some other bullshit.”

“The hero’s journey,” Cregan quipped, smirking. “Except with more broken bones and fewer dragons.”

Jace laughed. “Fewer dragons, more dick injuries. Welcome to the modern world.”

Cregan took a long drag, blowing out smoke slowly, his mind still partially elsewhere, still thinking about the G-string tucked in his pocket. Yeah, this was the kind of gossip he could get behind, but there were other things—better things—on his mind. Like how he was going to see Y/N again without Jace getting suspicious. Because if Jace found out…

Well, he’d just have to make sure Jace never did.

Jace was mid-sip on his coffee when he caught a glimpse of something on Cregan’s neck. He blinked, did a double take, then broke into a wide, shit-eating grin that could have lit up all of London.

“Oh, no fucking way,” he practically howled, slamming his coffee cup down onto the table and leaning forward. “Is that…what I think it is?”

Cregan, who had been in the middle of stubbing out his cigarette, froze. “What the hell are you on about?”

Jace pointed, still grinning like he’d won the lottery. “Your neck, you dumbass. You’ve got hickeys all over it.”

Cregan felt his stomach drop, but he didn’t let it show. Instead, he reached up, rubbing his neck as if he is already aware of them. “Oh these?”

Jace let out a loud, triumphant laugh. “Come on, don’t play dumb with me. Whoever you were with last night really went to town.”

Cregan could feel his face heat up, but he kept his expression neutral. He was an expert at this game; he’d been friends with Jace for too long to let him see he was rattled. “Maybe I just ran into a really aggressive mosquito,” he shot back dryly.

“Bullshit,” Jace cackled, smacking Cregan on the arm. “Come on, bro, spill the beans. Who was it? Who’s the lucky lady leaving marks on your neck like you’re a piece of meat?”

Cregan shifted in his seat, trying to keep his cool. He could still feel the faint burn of Y/N’s lips on his skin, and damn if that didn’t send a shiver down his spine, even now. “Just a random girl,” he said casually, waving a hand like it was nothing. “Nothing serious.”

“A random girl, my ass,” Jace scoffed, leaning closer, his grin wider than ever. “Come on, mate. I know you better than that. You don’t let just anyone mark you up like that.”

Cregan rolled his eyes, trying to deflect. “And how would you know what I do or don’t let happen?”

“Because I’ve known you for a decade,” Jace shot back, grabbing another cigarette. “You’re picky. Way pickier than me, and that’s saying something. So, whoever it was…must’ve been special.”

Cregan fought the urge to wince. If only he knew just how “special” the girl had been. He could almost see Jace’s face if he ever found out. Cregan could already imagine the explosion—the yelling, the accusations, and Jace’s unrelenting fury. Yeah, best to keep this under wraps.

He leaned back in his chair, shrugging. “You’re reading too much into it, Jace. It was just a fun night. No big deal.”

“Fun enough to leave those,” Jace said, still grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Seriously, they look fresh. Did you at least get her number?”

Cregan snorted, taking another sip of his coffee. “Nah. It was just one of those things, you know? No strings attached.”

“Huh, strings,” Jace snickered. “Or no strings…left, eh?”

Cregan’s hand twitched towards his pocket, where Y/N’s G-string was still tucked safely away. He felt a momentary thrill of panic, wondering if Jace could somehow read his mind, but his best friend’s smirk told him he was still in the clear…for now.

“Look, mate,” Jace said, putting out his cigarette and leaning in with a mock-serious expression. “All I’m saying is, whoever she was, she clearly had a good time. And you…you’ve got the evidence to prove it. But come on, give me something. I’m dying here.”

Cregan laughed, finally slapping Jace’s arm in return. “Alright, alright, fine. Maybe I’ll tell you…someday.”

“Oh, you will,” Jace replied, eyes twinkling with mischief. “One way or another, Stark, you will.”

As Cregan leaned back, smiling like he hadn’t a care in the world, he knew this was a situation he’d have to play carefully. Because if Jace ever found out the truth, those love bites on his neck would be the least of his worries.

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Monday arrived like a slap in the face, and Y/N was not ready. Not even a little bit. She sat at her desk, her fingers hovering over her laptop keys, but her mind was a million miles away. She was supposed to be working on some due diligence report, but instead, she was spiraling.

Full-on, out-of-control spiraling.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t had her fair share of one-night stands before. She was young, single, and sometimes she just needed to blow off steam. But this? This was different. Because it hadn’t been just anyone. It had been Cregan Stark. Her brother’s best friend. The guy Jace had practically tattooed with the words Do Not Touch where she was concerned.

And it wasn’t like she was worried about Jace finding out, not really. She was a lawyer, for fuck’s sake. She lied for a living, spun stories into gold, and could argue her way out of anything. But every time she closed her eyes, she saw Cregan’s face, felt his hands on her, and heard his deep, rumbling laugh in her ear. The memory alone sent her into a panic.

She’d needed to talk to someone. Someone who wasn’t Jace. So, of course, she’d turned to her cousin, Baela Targaryen, who was currently perched on the edge of Y/N’s desk.

“You did what?” Baela practically screeched, her voice loud enough to turn a few heads in their direction.

Y/N winced, shooting her a look. “Keep your voice down, for fuck’s sake,” she hissed.

But Baela was having none of it. She was practically vibrating with excitement, her violet eyes wide. “You slept with Cregan fucking Stark?” she repeated, but at least this time she whispered. “Holy shit, Y/N. This is…this is epic.”

Y/N buried her face in her hands, groaning. “No, it’s not. It’s a disaster. A full-blown, Jace-will-kill-me disaster.”

“Are you kidding?” Baela snorted, leaning in. “Jace doesn’t have to know. And besides, Cregan’s hot as hell. I mean, have you seen him? Those shoulders? That jawline? And he’s an athlete. A pro skier. The man probably has a body like a fucking Greek god. Why are you freaking out?”

“Because it’s Cregan,” Y/N said, exasperated. “It’s Jace’s best friend. And I’m supposed to be focusing on my career, not getting tangled up with guys I shouldn’t be touching.”

Baela rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. You’re young, hot, and brilliant. You can focus on your career and still have a little fun on the side. I mean, who hasn’t wanted to sleep with their brother’s best friend at some point?”

Y/N gave her a look. “Most people, Baela.”

“Well, most people are boring,” Baela shot back, grinning. “Look, you’ve always been the responsible one. The one with the plan, the one who does everything by the book. Maybe it’s time you let loose a little. And besides…” She leaned in, her grin widening. “How was it?”

Y/N felt her cheeks heat up, and she hated how easily Baela could do that to her. “I don’t know,” she muttered. “I mean, it was…good. Really good. But that’s not the point.”

Baela laughed, her bright, melodic sound echoing through the open office space. “Oh, that’s exactly the point. Come on, Y/N, you’re practically glowing. It must’ve been better than good if you’re this messed up over it.”

Y/N shook her head, trying to pull herself together. “It doesn’t matter. It was a mistake. A one-time thing. It can’t happen again.”

“Why not?” Baela asked, still smiling like a psychopath. “If it was so good, why can’t it happen again?”

“Because…” Y/N started, fumbling for the words. “Because it just can’t, okay? I can’t deal with the drama. And Jace will find out, and then it’ll be this whole big thing, and—“

Baela waved her off. “Jace doesn’t have to know, alright? You’re smart. You can handle it. And who knows? Maybe Cregan’s just the kind of distraction you need right now. Especially with all these dry, boring cases we’re stuck with.”

Y/N sighed, leaning back in her chair. “Yeah, a distraction is the last thing I need right now. What I need is to keep my head down and avoid any more…complications.”

“Oh, Y/N, you can do that,” Baela teased, nudging her with her elbow. “But where’s the fun in that? Life’s too short to be boring. Especially when you’ve got a Stark on your side.”

Y/N shot her a glare, but she couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re not helping.”

“And you’re overthinking it,” Baela replied. “Look, you had a wild night with a hot guy. Enjoy it. Don’t spiral. Just…see what happens. You might surprise yourself.”

Y/N wanted to argue, wanted to tell Baela she was wrong, but deep down, she knew her cousin had a point. She was spiraling, and it wasn’t getting her anywhere. Maybe Baela was right.

Or maybe she’d end up in even deeper shit. But what’s done is done.

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Cregan slammed the barbell back onto the rack with a grunt, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. The gym was quiet on a Monday afternoon, just the rhythmic thud of weights hitting the floor, the hum of the treadmill belts, and the occasional grunt from the other athletes scattered around. It was exactly how he liked it—minimal distractions, just him and the iron.

But today, he couldn’t focus for shit.

He was supposed to be prepping, getting his body in peak condition for the winter season. Autumn was crunch time for a professional skier. Every session counted, every rep, every second shaved off his sprint time mattered. And yet, here he was, barely keeping his head in the game, because all he could think about was Y/N Velaryon.

Fuck, he needed another go.

He dropped down onto the bench, grabbing a towel and rubbing it across his face, trying to clear his thoughts. But it was impossible. His mind kept replaying the brief flashes he remembered from that night—the way she’d looked up at him, her lips parted, her hands pulling him closer, nails digging into his skin like she couldn’t get enough of him.

And the way he couldn’t remember every goddamn detail was driving him insane.

He needed a do-over. A second chance to burn the memory of her into his brain properly this time. The half-forgotten fragments weren’t enough. Not even close. He wanted to remember everything—the way she tasted, the sounds she made, the way she moved against him. He wanted to savor every moment, replay it in his mind during the endless hours of training and competition.

He grabbed a medicine ball, slamming it down against the floor with a force that rattled the nearby weights. He knew he needed to get his shit together. He couldn’t afford distractions, not now, not with the season so close. But the harder he tried to focus, the more his thoughts drifted back to her.

To the way she’d looked that morning, rushing out of his flat, her hair a mess, her dress askew, and the small, scrap of lace she’d left behind like a calling card. He felt a grin tug at his lips just thinking about it. Fuck, she’d been gorgeous. And he’d been too smashed to enjoy it properly.

“Get a grip, Stark,” he muttered to himself, slamming the ball down again, trying to burn off some of the frustration coursing through his veins.

But it was no use. No matter how many reps he did, no matter how much weight he lifted, the image of Y/N wouldn’t leave his mind. He remembered the way she’d smirked at him from across the room at that party, the way her eyes had lingered on him just a little too long, like she’d been daring him to make a move.

And, oh, he’d made a move, alright. He just wished he could remember every damn second of it.

He switched to the rowing machine, gripping the handles tightly, and started pulling with quick, powerful strokes. His muscles burned, sweat dripped down his back, but it still wasn’t enough to push her out of his mind.

The problem was, he wanted her again. He wanted to see her, touch her, hear her laugh that low, teasing laugh she had. But this time, he wanted to be fully aware of every single thing he did to her, every little reaction he could coax out of her. He wanted to watch the way her pupils dilated when he touched her, hear the way her breath hitched, see that flash of challenge in her eyes when she bit her lip.

He wanted to remember. All of it.

He needed to see her again, needed to make that happen. But how? It wasn’t like he could just call her up. She was Jace’s sister, for fuck’s sake, and Jace was already poking around, suspicious as hell. No, he’d have to be careful, play it smart. He needed to find a way to get her alone again, away from her brother, away from prying eyes.

The rowing machine beeped, signaling the end of his set, but he barely heard it. His mind was already spinning with possibilities, ideas forming as he wiped the sweat off his face.

Yeah, he’d find a way. There was no way in hell he was letting this go. Y/N Velaryon was under his skin now, and he’d be damned if he didn’t get a chance to do things right this time.

Cregan cracked his neck, a determined smile spreading across his face as he headed toward the free weights. He’d figure it out. And when he did, he was going to make damn sure he remembered every single second of it.

[guillotine-drop]

Ranking New Vegas companions by their alcohol tolerance

Arcade - 6/10: Hear me out, Arcade is a fairly big guy and between his genetics and the work he does, he’s bound to have some weight behind him. Do I think he’s going toe to toe with the average Wrangler patron? No, but I do think you could sit him down with a bottle of wine and by the end he’d be juuuuust tipsy enough to follow you into that Nightstalker cave with minimal complaints.

Boone - 4/10: Despite being a miserable boot boy with a dead wife, I think Boone is on the lower end of alcohol tolerance solely because he’s a sniper; I feel as though the job description means that you can’t exactly be swaying with your shots, so his tolerance would be piss poor. You could probably get him to drink a 12 pack with you, but just watch out: he might start showing a human emotion, and that’ll be uncomfortable for both of you.

Cass - 8/10: There’s something to be said about the fact that you need at least 8 Endurance to be able to beat her at the drinking contest to recruit her. Obviously she can hold her liquor, but I WILL dock points for being sloppy about it. (Girl how did you manage to wake up with a random soldier after the battle??? Don’t you know what your mailman looks like???) Share the whiskey but make sure you loop her belt around a pipe or something so she doesn’t run off.

Veronica - 3/10: I love Veronica. I love her so much. I don’t think she can hold her liquor to save her life. I think Ronnie is a ‘3 drinks and she’s out’ kind of girl. That being said, I also think that she could probably get through most of a box of hard seltzers before she starts feeling it, and I think she’d shotgun them with her Power Fist to be funny.

Raul - 10/10: He’s a ghoul, he’s old, and he’s miserable 95% of the time. I think if you handed him a bottle of Dubious Liquid he wouldn’t even hesitate to drink it. I think he’s drank rubbing alcohol just to see what would happen. I think if you give him a totally intact, unopened, top shelf bottle of tequila, he’d have to excuse himself to the other room for a minute. Definitely the one I’d want to go drinking with.

Lily - 15/10: Mamaw’s 7 feet tall and 500 pounds of sheer muscle with a super mutant metabolism, I don’t even think conventional liquor would affect her tbh. I think she’s drinking that Jacobstown Moonshine that melts spoons and eats through glass. I think she could drink a can of turpentine and it would be like a White Claw. Go grandma, but for the love of god not to the bar. I do NOT have the caps for that.

Rex - 6/10: Okay hear me out (again). He’s an old as hell cyber dog who went through multiple owners, he’s probably got more metal than organs, and the last guys who had him were Elvis impersonators who do fuckall all day but day drink and watch each other do cabaret. You look me in the face and tell me that dog hasn’t had more booze pass through his system than the average wastelander. It’s still only a 6/10 because he shouldn’t be getting it, but are you gonna tell him no? Look at that face. And lower your glass.

ED-E - 0/10: Please do not pour liquor into the orb.

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

Down Bad — Spencer Reid x Fem Reader (Smut 18+)

Summary: After seeing that her ex boyfriend is engaged to his “rebound girl”, Reader finds herself missing the comforts and pleasures of sex.

Notes: ahh!! @reidsbookclub thank you my absolute love for reading this ahead of time. your enthusiasm and support and love is so so so appreciated <3 and this is my piece for @imagining-in-the-margins Friends with Benefits challenge

Word Count: 6 K

Content Warnings: Alcohol consumption (not drunk), oral sex (female receiving), p in v sex, (kinda) dom Spencer ( hopeful ending?), unprotected sex, some negative self body image (reader), finishing inside with birth control, breeding kink, possessive language, dirty talk/crude language (I know Spencer's probably a tab bit OOC but this is me trying here)

Down Bad

There was no way for my situation to turn crappier. My finger stood, haunted and frozen above my phone screen. The bathroom sink ran unattended as I attempted to defrost my heart. It had dropped to my stomach as my eyebrows shot up.

I still followed Lydia, my ex's younger sister on Instagram and Facebook. Her brother might have turned out to be a terrible communicator, but she was cool.

Just a couple of months ago, she was a student in Geology and the last time we spoke she was writing a paper on Ancient Rocks in communities that used aqueducts systems. What you could do with a Master's in Geology was beyond me and my office job. I'm sure she hears too many "you must live under a rock" joke from her dad. He was always cracking the most dad jokes that have ever dad-joked; I missed it. And Lori's South Chocolate Gravy Pie. I didn't even want to know how many sticks of butter it took.

Lydia had her arms thrown around a tall, leggy, blonde girl that looked like her name was Sarah or Hannah. The post was in black and white and Hannah/Sarah showed off her gorgeous ring.

lydia-nielson99 The best honorary sister ever <3!

When my ex and I dated, the idea of fine dining was a night out at a movie sharing a bucket of popcorn and an honest-to-God-attempt at moving hopping. We talked about marriage; he'd slip on fake rings made from grass blades braided together meticulously on my finger, kiss it, and promise me that he'd earn me something worthy of my finger.

The post had only been up for 43 minutes and already had gotten a hundred or so likes. I scrolled the comment section, ignoring the rushing tap, to read the comments from my friends, our couple friends. They must've liked Sarah/Hannah better, or at least liked her and Shane better together then Shane and me. I haven’t heard from them since the breakup.

Aren't most geologists analog? I slipped my phone back into my pocket and washed my hands, wishing that I could crawl under a rock, one of those ancient ones that Lydia studies.

I couldn't decide. I couldn't decide between a red that would give me a headache I could feel in my teeth or straight gasoline that would make my face, and heart, as equally numb.

I wanted something quick and something strong. I was so, so, so over Shane it wasn't even funny. But that didn't stop him from being the love of my life, to the loss of my life. I just wondered, as I roamed the supermarket with my metal carriage holding tequila, limes, Kraft Mac and Cheese, and frozen pizza bagels, if he told Hannah/Sarah the same things.

If he would sit across from her, now probably able to splurge on a dinner fancier than Taco Bell or Denny's, and hold her hands. Would he move her ring from her middle finger to her ring finger like he did on mine?

God, I cringed, dropping in a box of Double Stuffed Oreos, I let him, shit talk me under tables with promises of rings and cradles in the other breath.

I reached for the pint of strawberry as another text pinged. Internally I knew that I would soon face an onslaught of future wine moms just jumping at the chance to "check in with me" during "such a challenging and emotional time" for me. I ignored the message, but it pinged again.

Spencer: Penelope said that the new season of that show you like is on. We can watch it tonight. I think that Hotch is actually gonna let us out at a normal time.

Spencer, my roommate, always texted with formality and correct grammar. I actually think that it would be impossible for him to do anything, but use proper spelling and grammar.

Unlike certain geologists, Spencer is actually analog. When I was searching for a roommate after my break-up, our mutual friend Penelope put us in touch. And just mere months later we've formed a friendship that most days is closer to a partnership than it is to anything else. Friends were hard for me, and relationships even harder. Looking back, I think that allowed Shane to bulldoze through boundaries I didn't even know I should have.

Spencer, a certified genius and self-described technophobe, couldn't tell me the purpose of Instagram, let alone that my ex-boyfriend's sister posted a picture with her newest soon to be sister-in-law, Sarah/Hannah.

I dropped a pint of Rocky Road ice cream and looped around for an extra box of Kraft Mac and Cheese before replying back to Spencer.

Me: Worst. Day. Ever!!! Ice cream & carbs @ 7

I stared at the bottle of tequila, understanding that ever since my 31st birthday, me and excessive drinking due to external crises would result in bloating, headaches, backaches, anxiety, and an entire weekend of recovery. Maybe instead of several shots, but I already finished half of the bottle of red I bought as a bottom of the ninth decision.

"Tequila?" Spencer mused, dropping his bag on the table. "This must be like Defcon 4? And I should know, I work in national security."

I grunted, my fingers drumming against the table. The cheap speaker connected to my phone plays sad breakup music. I saw Spencer's wheels turn as he sat down with me at the table.

"Want boxed Mac & Cheese?" I asked, standing up to scoop some of the dinner into a plate for myself. I didn't seek it out often, but there was something familiar and comforting about Kraft Mac & Cheese. "I know it's got a lot of shitty stuff in it. But I'm actually going to lose my mind tonight."

My voice turned shrill and unsteady. And my eyes flooded with sharp, salty tears. Spencer stood and then backed away, his eyes and face melting in mutual pain. "What happened?"

"Shane's getting married."

"That explains the tequila."

I laughed. Spencer didn't offer any condolences as the seconds ticked and ticked. Instead he looked at me. He must've noticed the groceries. The Oreos, ice creams, and boxes of incredibly processed macaroni and cheese all screamed classic crisis for me. Being as smart as he is, Spencer could probably have told something about me within weeks of meeting me.

"Well, I already drank some of that red wine." I said. "The tequila doesn't sound like a good choice. But bad choices can be fun choices when you want to hide under a rock for the rest of your life."

Spencer still didn't offer anything, he kicked off his shoes and grabbed a bowl from the cabinet. "No tequila."

“You’re no fun." I huffed, grabbing my bowl and heading to the living room. "You promised me new episodes of The Queen's Court."

Spencer still frowned, his arms crossed as his steaming bowl of processed cheese pasta sat to his side on the counter. "I didn't think that Shane still was someone you thought about."

I sighed.

“It’s understandable. He’s marrying the girl he started dating right after breaking-up with you.”

I didn't think about Shane, not that often though. But he still was my first love. The love I shared with Shane was something he stole from me. I had given him all that youth for free; now I was thirty-one. Don't get me wrong, thirty-one is young, I don't feel old. But it's this weird, almost off-putting subliminal feeling when all of my friends either smell like weed or little babies.

"I don't love him. I don't want to be with him."

Spencer had rolled up his sleeves, revealing his forearms. He had a couple pictures of himself when he was younger. Him with his mom at one of his many post-graduate celebrations. One with his co-workers at a bar. He changed a lot; in pictures of the past he was thin and lanky. But now, when he would wear pants or cardigans or button downs with the sleeves rolled up, I found it difficult to not stare in appreciation. My sex life with Shane was good, consistent, and effective. While it might sound clinical to some, I think we both enjoyed knowing that we both knew how to, simply, get the job done for each other. I must be missing sex an awful lot to be getting flushed at the sight of Spencer’s arms.

Two years older than me, Spencer had had a life harder than most people. Penelope explained to me that he was finding it hard to live alone after he was falsely incarcerated. And working the hours he did at the BAU, he found it hard to find someone okay with someone coming home all hours of the night.

Like Spencer, I hated living alone. So together, we built a little home as roommates, as friends, and somewhere along the lines, as partners. And over the last couple of months, Spencer had never brought a date home. I had one hook up about two weeks after we moved in together. It was fine, but not enough to tempt back onto the horrid, vapid, devoid of anything promising landscape that was Bumble and Hinge.

"I just..." I bring my face into my hands in embarrassment. "I miss having someone to come home to who wants to see me."

Spencer crossed through the living room, bowl in hand. He sat criss cross on the floor like he did most nights. "I want to see you. I always want to see you, Y/N."

"You know what I mean, Spencer…And if I'm being honest...sex. God, I miss sex. Good, consistent, effective sex from someone that knows me."

Spencer and I never talked about sex. When we would watch movies that had sex scenes in it, neither of us would talk. One time we watched a movie starring whatever current Hollywood Pretty Boy had captured the hearts of the Internet at the time, and I commented that I would "ride that cowboy into the sunset." I remembered looking at Spencer for his reaction. Usually he would blush or roll his eyes or kick me playfully in the shin for being crass.

But that time he didn't. Instead, his jaw set, grinding firmly and unyieldingly. After that I didn't make sexy jokes or talk about sex in front of him. I thought it made him uncomfortable, till now I suppose

The music changed, and the breakup anthem of the century played. I stood up on the sofa, solo cup in hand and swayed to the music as Spencer stood below.

"You want sex?" Spencer asked. "We can have sex on this sofa right now if that's what you want. I mean, how much wine have you had?"

I busted out laughing, sipping the red wine from my solo cup. I didn't bother for a fancy wine glass. Besides, it was cheap and . And clearly it was working if it made me imagine Spencer Reid, my hot, stoic roommate with dreamy brown eyes, offering me sex.

"Spencer! Come, dance. Please!" His eyes shifted over my body. And he must have noticed the way my knees wobbled under the insecurity of the sofa cushions or the way my eyes must have been glazed and sparkly.

He obliged me, and his hand wrapped around mine. He raised my hand above my head to twirl me and then walked me down from the couch. "Let's get you on level ground. I hurt my leg a couple years after I started the BAU and it's no fun healing up."

He sat me down on the couch and placed a throw blanket on my lap. My bowl of Mac & Cheese was missing, but returned back to my lap, reheated. Spencer also replaced my solo cup, cutting me off, thankfully, from alcohol for the time.

"Peach flavored electrolyte water. And tomorrow I'll make you breakfast." He offered, sitting down on my right as he started the show.

"I didn't mean to be annoying and buzzed. I know you don’t like it" I said, not looking at Spencer. "I don't love him. Or like him. Or even want to be with him. Ugh. No, I just...I want…sex."

Spencer nodded, not even looking at me as the scene between the Queen and her lady's maid wore on. I kept trying to convince Spencer that the Queen was actually the villain and the warring clan would take over and let the series run on and on for an infinite amount of seasons. But it was campy and dramatic and exactly what I needed as I licked my, apparently, very open and painful wounds.

"What's the matter?" I asked, pausing the television. "You look pissed off."

"You know that he was the one that lost out when you guys broke up." Spencer's eyes didn't meet mine, even though the television remained paused. "He didn't deserve you. Not if he didn't know how goddamn lucky he was when he had you."

I don't let my heart think this means anything."What?" But I feel my cheeks prickle with

heat, just like they did when Spencer, albeit jokingly, offered to have sex with me.

"I said, it's his loss. If I had you, I wouldn't ever lose you, Y/N."

"I'm nothing special." I admit. I wasn't the most positive or confident girl, in my mid twenties I went to therapy for a good three years to sort out some baggage from my childhood. We all have something and mine was having a hard time seeing myself. I couldn't maintain positivity, to my brain it was better to remain neutral than to jam positivity down my throat that I couldn't honestly accept.

"You're not nothing special, Y/N." Spencer's voice cut through, sharp and confident. He sat up, his body sliding so close to mine that his knees touched my thighs. "You're the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. And you're smart. And funny. You make me laugh like no one has during a time in my life when I was convinced no one would be able to."

Our apartment isn't big, but it's enough space for Spencer and I to feel like we're could interact when we wanted, which was most of the time. But there was enough space for us to find our alone time when needed.

As Spencer's knees rubbed against mine and his soft eyes met mine, the room seemed to collapse. It was as if all the air was sucked out.

“And I am so...I've never been happier to have you be the last person I see before I go to sleep and the first person I get to see when I wake up. And if I...and if I had that with you the way he did? I wouldn't have messed it up."

"Spencer…" He raised his hand, showing me his palm, a sign that I think signified he meant no harm, but as he words, heated and charged sliced through me, I could feel them ricochet upon impact.

"I know…But, when I said I would fuck you on this couch, Y/N, it wasn't an empty promise. I meant it. And it wouldn’t have to mean anything.”

Spencer shifted on the couch. It creaked with his weight. The bowl of Mac & Cheese burned against my leg— even through the throw blanket. My heart was racing and racing till it skipped a beat. It nearly stopped. He sounded so sure of himself. I wanted to laugh it off again, as if the thought of me and Spencer hooking up…no fucking on the sofa was something comedic or entertaining.

“Are you…Spencer…are you sure?”

I tried to keep my voice steady, unwilling to let him know that the thought of his hands on my body lit a fire inside of me, a fire that I had yet to challenge. But God do I want to tame it. Sex with Spencer would be messy and complicated.

Spencer’s eyes narrowed in on my face. I would’ve thought that being stared at so intensely would have made me want to sink into the couch so I’d be as forgotten as stray hair ties and pocket change. But I wasn’t. Spencer’s brown eyes, liquid bronze bore into me. I felt a hot excitement wash over me that I knew was arousal.

“Yes.”

“Is it bad that I want you to kiss me?” I sighed. “It’s bad timing for either of us. But…”

“But you want me to kiss you?” I nodded and Spencer moved closer to me on the couch. “You want me to help you forget how that man has made you hurt.”

“Spencer…” Before I could rescind my desire, not that I would ever think about it, his hand cupped my cheek. Spencer’s thumb brushed against my jawbone as his eyes scanned my face. I could smell his lavender mint body wash; crisp and clean.

His mouth was anything, but crisp and clean. It was hot and dirty. Spencer kissed me with a hunger that couldn’t be sated with just one kiss. I knew for the moment his lips touched mine, I was done for. I wasn’t a whiskey drinker; I hardly knew what it even tasted like. But Spencer’s kisses felt like it. He doesn’t drink, but his warm body was flush against mine and I tasted the heady, smokey warmth of a strong cocktail. His arms and torso were thick and solid.

I brought my hands up to his neck and carded my fingers through his scalp. He groaned, the vibrations tingled against my lips as he kissed me. Spencer’s teeth tugged at my bottom lip, pulling it out before he kissed it again. He shifted so his back was against the couch and I was hauled up to his lap.

“There you go, baby.” Spencer said. His hands were large and imposing against my back and I could feel their heat through my shirt.

My muscles and resolve transformed to liquid when he called me that. I could feel my heart surge and lurch and leap as Spencer’s lips nipped against my skin. It was so good, so warm, so achingly wonderful that I felt myself wondering if I could do this over and over. I loved my vibrator and I would continue to love my vibrator long after this once-in-a-life-time situation with my roommate would end. But there was nothing like straddling a man’s lap.

And Spencer Reid was a sight to behold. I knew he used to be skinny, but in the years that I didn’t know him, Spencer had grown up. He filled out his pants with his strong thighs and softer stomach. His pants were strained and tented. I grinded down, enjoying his haughty moan in my ear.

I arched my back, exposing my neck as Spencer’s wet, hot mouth pressed kissed along the column of my throat. Feeling him grin as he kissed me I tugged at his hair sharp and hard. His grunt is a mixture of surprise and pleasure. I didn’t think that he’d be this vocal but with me writing in his lap I felt him try to hold back.

“Just touch me.” I whined, kissing Spencer. “Please just touch me.”

His pants tented against my core. I tensed at the feeling of his erection. My pajama pants and underwear, though thin, offer only a sliver of the friction I desired. Spencer’s fingers, quick and nimble, didn’t hesitate to undo the drawstring bow.

“I know, sweetheart. I know.” Spencer murmured, kissing my temple. His lips are like a tattoo kiss as he resurrects something inside of me that I had long buried. “Sit on the couch.”

I scrambled to sit, my body acting of its own accord as Spencer’s words rattled through me. He was so confident, so sure, so certain. And his hands never left my body. It was as if there was some internal pull between the two of us. He sank to his knees and swung my right leg over his shoulder. I lifted my butt and he slid my pajama pants off my legs. Tossing them to the floor, Spencer licked his lower lip and looked at me as if I was good enough to eat. I supposed that we were about to find out just exactly how good I was.

“Open up for me, baby girl.” Spencer whispered, his breath landed on my skin and made me jump. “Let me see just how pretty you are.”

Spencer Reid had a dirty mouth. My cheeks and chest and belly burned with arousal. He kissed along the edges of my panties. Spencer’s middle finger dragged along my underwear, teasing my clit through the cotton fabric. With the patience of a saint, Spencer tormented both of us. He looked at me as if he could commit me to memory. His eyes were heavy with lust and something that I swore could mean something more. But that line of thinking had red wine written all over it. It wasn’t drunk. Hell, I wasn’t even buzzed anymore.

“Jesus, I’m a lucky fucking bastard.”

Yet, I sat there. With my legs spread, held open by Spencer’s large hands, practically humming with need and desire.

“Please. Please. Just touch me.” I begged, beyond caring if I sounded wanton with need. Spencer smirked as he hooked a finger underneath my panties and slipped them down my legs. And there I sat, legs spread. Finally he obliged. With two fingers, Spencer dragged them up my exposed core. The heel of his hand brushed against my clit. His skin was soft and his fingers deft and skilled. I closed my eyes as the pleasure took control of my body.

Spencer slipped a fingertip inside of me. He could feel the wetness dripping from my cunt. I grabbed his wrist, forcing him to hold his hand against my core. Our eyes met and I could not tell which one of us decided to let his finger sink inside of me. I watched as he slipped inside and released a throaty moan. My cries were extinguished by Spencer’s unyielding mouth. He pumped in and out, in and out, before slipping out of my cunt all together. I lunged forward at the sudden loss and was met by Spencer’s wry chuckle.

“I am going to eat your pussy. And you are going to cum against my face with your legs around my shoulders.”

I groaned. It’s as if Spencer knew that my brain needed to be switched off. He nipped at my inner thigh. Blood rushed throughout my body and I felt my pussy heat at the sensation. Spencer’s soft breath was hot against my skin as he kissed. He licked a line up my aroused core before flicking his tongue over my clit. It was a teasing, tormenting motion that coaxed a wave of pleasure to build. He’s a man possessed, so far gone that I didn’t even attempt to hold back as a moan rises in my throat.

“Jesus. You are a sight to behold. I’m going to show you how a man takes his time.”

As if he could possibly spread me apart even further, Spencer squeezed my thighs. Clearly he wanted to see all of me. Taste all of me. I could feel a coil tighten in my lower stomach and as Spencer lowered his mouth to my core, I felt the coil snap.

His licks aren’t shy and timid like I imagined. They’re purposeful and powerful. And threaten to melt my carefully crafted guard. He’s already gotten me well past the point of foreplay. I’m so wet that I’m sure cock that tents his pants can slip inside without much resistance. But he didn’t stop. His tongue continued lick and nip and suck against my most intimate area.

“Is this all for me? So wet. So pretty, sweetheart. Your cunt is dripping for me.”

I panted, unable to form a coherent thought as Spencer’s heated gaze spread over me. “All for you. Only for you.”

“Well in that case, I think I have a job to do.

All I could see was red. His hands gripped my thighs. I hated my thighs, usually. They’re too soft and squishy and usually ruin most pairs of pants eventually.

“Fucking hell.” Spencer cursed as he sunk two fingers into my needy cunt. “You’re so hot and tight for me, Y/N. Look at you. All splayed out. All for me.”

“You don’t have to do it until I finish.” I blurted out. “I—I know this isn’t….I want tonight to be for you as much as it is for me.”

Spencer’s eyes shifted.

“Ssshh, shhh,” He cooed. He looked up at me with his eyes big and blissed out. It was almost too much for me to handle. I watched as he kneeled in front of me; pants had become too tight from the moment my fingers groped him. At this point it was nearly impossible to withstand.

“I’ve thought about this way too much for us to rush this. I’m going to take my time with you, baby. You are going to ride my face like a good girl.The only thing that’s keeping me from cumming in my pants is the thought of burying my face into your pulsing cunt followed by my fucking you raw with my leaking cock.”

I yelped as he and sucked along my inner thigh. My skin was impossibly soft and tempting. “Fuck. Fuck, baby. You’re perfect. You are a fucking dream.”

I fisted his hair, feeling the familiar rush of pleasure from my head to my toes. For a while it only set my own bedsheets ablaze, but now it spread to Spencer. He groaned against my core, still lapping me up as the wall of pleasure threatened to come crashing down.

One second I was moaning, feeling myself toe the precipice before I teetered over. The feeling built and crashed before I could even enjoy it.

“Fuck! No. Damn it.” I cursed myself for not being able to climax, despite the down right sinful things Spencer was hell bent on doing between my legs. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I can’t…sometimes I have a hard time.”

“Don’t worry,” Spencer assured, his thumb brushing against my kneecap, “We’ll find our rhythm. Together. Anything you want. And I think I might actually die if I don’t get inside you this second.”

I laughed, dragging Spencer up by the shirt collar. He placed his hands against my hips and pulled me forward for a kiss.

I tasted myself against his lips and it turned my on beyond belief. “I want you. I’m on the pill and I want you. It’s awful timing because I don’t have any condoms and it’s a terrible idea but—”

I’m cut off by Spencer’s lips again. His mouth seared against mine, hot and needy. “I’m clean. I want this. I want you. So badly, sweetheart. So bad.”

I nodded, my mouth unwilling and unable to leave Spencer as he knelt in between my legs. He stood to his full height and took my hands. “I know I have promised to fuck you on this couch, but I have a bad knee and once I’m buried inside you, baby, I don’t think I’ll be able to hold back.”

“My bed’s made.”

Spencer’s hands didn’t leave my waist as I walked him to my bedroom. I should’ve been more embarrassed as I walked with him, considering I looked more akin to Winnie the Pooh than a sexy hook up. But once I felt a sharp sting on my ass, I quickly realized that Spencer thought the opposite.

“Don’t blame me.” Spencer said. “With that ass you’re lucky I haven’t had the sense to take you over my knee already.”

I turned, facing Spencer and standing with just an oversized pajama shirt covering my chest. His hands hovered over my waist, pulling me towards him by the fabric of my shirt. “I need to see those tits, baby. They drive me fucking wild in the morning. When you’re sitting on that damn counter with your messy hair and no bra. You’re a sight to behold, baby.”

“On one condition.” I presented, attempting to act as if the dirty words that fell between us had no effect on me. “Those pants? They find their way to the hamper. And fast.”

Spencer chuckled as his fingers brushed stray pieces of my hair away from my face. He touched me with such tenderness that I could feel myself craving it long after it was gone. He dropped his pants, followed by his boxers. I meant to tease him about the mini double helix DNAs printed all over his boxers, but I was effectively silenced by his erection.

I felt him the entire time I sat and made out with in his lap. I could feel how hard and thick and long he must be, but seeing him out in the open made my body lurch with need. He devoured me with his lips, pushing me down into the bed as his quick hands rid me of my shirt. Spencer’s teeth met my nipple, nipping and twisting it to elicit the dirtiest moans from my lips. He smiled, sucking marks into my skin that would last even after all what stood between us shattered.

Licking my lips, I could still taste myself from his kiss. Never feeling anything quite this intense with anyone, I suddenly felt so naked and bare. But Spencer’s calm hands, big and gentle, soothed me wordlessly.

“I need you.” I begged, wanton with need, “I need your cock so bad.” I wasn’t a begging woman, but as Spencer pressed the tip of his cock at my entrance I figured that anyone can learn how to relent now and again.

Sweet kisses to my sweaty skin replaced his dirty words that made me flush. As Spencer hovered above me, I drank him in. His eyes were hazel, but sometimes, depending on what he wore, they were brown or green. I quickly unbuttoned his top, eager to have his warmth spread all over him. He was thick and solid— all man. From the muscles in his back to the furrow of his brow and the slight curl pattern to his hair, Spencer sucked all the air from my lungs.

I was weightless. I was floating. I was soaring.

When he finally slid into me it was with an excruciatingly slow speed. “Don’t wanna hurt you.” He mumbled, a hand brushed my hair and a pair of lips kissed my forehead. “Give ya a chance to see what you can handle.”

Emboldened, I wrapped my legs and interlocked my ankles around Spencer’s butt. He lunged forward and his forehead dipped towards my breast. His kisses were fast and erratic as I felt him sink deeper and deeper inside of me.

“You’re so thick…ah!”

“Oh fuck.” His voice was as raw and as affected as mine. “It’ll be fine, darling. You’re so perfect like this. Taking this cock like a good girl. I know how to make it better for you.”

His thumbs, rough and sharp, circled around my clit helping me to take his cock deeper and deeper. I whined, desperate for the relief and embarrassed at the way I’m at center stage. Spencer took me, made me his and I’m nothing but a mess for him. My bones are liquid as he reaches out for my hand.

It was like there was a blueprint to my body. I had it locked away somewhere. But somehow, somewhere along the way Spencer figured out where it was stored. He read the blueprint. And he knew exactly what to do to make my foundation crumble. With each stroke of his fingers against my clit or pulse of his cock in my pussy, he knew exactly what I needed.

Spencer’s lust filled voice rang clear. “You feel close. I’m so close. Can you come for me? Huh? Show me how you play with that pretty little pussy. How do you do it, Y/N?”

His hands and fingers dug into my lush body with an unrelenting desire I wasn’t accustomed to. Magic fingers. God. And I magic fucking cock. I grabbed his hair, dragging him down to my lips as I teased my clit. Looking down to where our two halves met nearly sent me over the edge. My cock swallowed Spencer’s thick cock, it was hot and erotic and I watched with my mouth hanging open in pure, unadulterated desire. My pussy, wet and hungry for more, begged him for more. I grabbed his ass with my unoccupied, dragging my fingernails down his skin as I begged for him to fuck me harder.

“Harder. Spencer. I need it.”

Spencer brought his face into my neck, kissing and biting my neck as he pounded into me. The angle set rockets of pleasure from my core to my toes, spurring me on as I practically chanted his name. Spencer moaned, his teeth sharp and mouth hot and heady as his kisses grew more and more frantic.

His thrusting was still sharp and calculated as his cocked continued to fuck me. “God, you look gorgeous when I fuck you. All fucked out from my cock. My girl.”

I liked the way he called me his. It was nice to be claimed. To be wanted and desired so badly that two letter little words were tacked on. It was a tiny word, but it changed the entire meaning. It was the sort of word that could make foundations falter and buildings collapse and roommates morph into something else entirely. Endorphins and hormones and who else knows what coursed through my veins.

It was just me and him. Together in a limitless space that neither of us would care to ever leave.

“So close.” I groaned and Spencer knew well enough to just continue rather than to change anything up. “That’s it, baby. Oh! Fuck. Spencer.”

My high came crashing down around me. I felt my cunt clamp around Spencer’s cock as he continued to thrust into me. His eyes watched me with an analytic level of observation. I knew he had a good memory; one that refused to allow him to forget much of anything. But as he watched me fall apart, naked and vulnerable and oh so aroused, it was like he was trying to commit me to memory.

“Come inside. Fuck! Spencer. Please. I need it. I want it.” I begged him, desperate for him to climax inside of me. I wanted to see what it would feel like to have his cum dripping from my needy, spent pussy. I wondered if it would feel different, if it would change something, something fundamentally.

His voice was hoarse and strained as he came, shooting spurts of hot cum into my cunt. It was unabashedly erotic, watching him fall apart with his bare cock stuffed inside me. “Fucking, hell. It’s never been like that before.” He kissed my jaw, holding me in place by my chin while still sheathed inside of me. It was a lovely feeling. Full and safe. I must have been so drunk on him because I thought I could stay like this forever.

The silence that fell between the two of us lingered for several months. Spencer’s fingers danced along my hip bone and up to my rib change. His eyes were closed and his hair was matted with sweat against his forehead. He had creases near his eyes and deep, well set-in bags under his eyes. I wondered how inappropriate it would be for him to spend the night with me. Naked of course. I don’t think either of us could handle having it any other way.

I never fucked my roommate. Nor have I been ballsy enough to have “feel better” sex with a friend. It’s not like I expected him to lay out a red carpet and get down on one knee after he gave me a handful of (earth shattering) orgasms.

“Y/N.” Spencer breathed. A beat passed before I dared to reply.

“Spencer.” He stirred beside me, his hand resting against my thigh.

“I think…I think we’re gonna need to try that again and again and again…” He rolled over onto me, kissing along my jaw. I felt the pads of his thumbs against my bare breasts and sighed.

God, help me. He’s my man.

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[leclsrc]

do you want it? ✴︎ cs55

genre: summer love!!!, slight age gap, porn w plot basically...

word count: 10.5k  

Whatever preconceived notions you have about your summer at the beach house are all toppled over when your parents announce the arrival of a guest, who happens to be your dad's friend. title from this

auds here… hiii :) req'd by several people! few notes... carlos is aged up a tad, the age gap is 21/33 so not too bad (i aged him up bc the age gap was 7 yrs and i was like. Huh. thats tame). if ur not into that (tho everything is consensual and reader is legal) its ok! anyway im sorry this came so late i had like 6 anons asking ab carlos and lana haha. also big thanks to dani whose work got me thru 4 writing ruts

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... sexual tension, penetrative sex, dry humping, oral sex (m and f receiving), deepthroating, semi public sex ish?, praise central, size kink, like a flash of spit kink sorry..., overuse of the term good girl

Half past noon and after a particularly snappy call from his manager, Carlos bites the bullet on summer plans and decides to accept what is arguably the least glamorous offer on his roster. By no means a dazzling standout, the offer to stay at a family friend’s house in Comporta seems to be the most comfortable option—besides, he doesn’t feel himself to be in the glitzy mood for cities like Los Angeles or Monaco.

Lando, beside him, is thus the first to get wind of the news that “grumpy old man” Carlos will not be accompanying him to the ultimate, tequila-flavored “summer extravaganza” in Morocco.

“You’re boring,” Lando moans, pacing the room. Outside, London’s skyline moves passively. Carlos hangs up his phone call with his assistant, receives a picture of his flight details, and looks up amusedly.

“Portugal is not boring.”

“Morocco. DJs, drinks, girls.” Lando raises one hand. “Comporta. Family friends, apple cider, sand in your eyes.” He raises another hand a few inches lower. “See the difference?”

“I appreciate the difference.” Truth is, Carlos has needed this kind of quiet, calm time off for a while now. The season gets heavy and intense and tiring, and sometimes just staying by the beach with a beer is the best kind of reprieve.

“You’re getting old,” Lando says with a sour grimace. “Old.”

“That is,” Carlos says, searching for the word, “defamation.”

Lando shrugs, moves off the subject as he shoves a handful of crisps into his mouth. “Are you meeting family there?”

“No.” Both of his parents are out of the country for the next few weeks; Carlos was invited by his dad’s friend, though the bond they share is more friendly than just the standard uncle-nephew type of relationship, and they often refer to each other as just friends. “Just friends. Gallery owner and a company owner, I think.”

Lando whistles. “Rich.”

In response, Carlos nods. “And their daughter, who’s visiting from university in the States.” The details are fuzzy in his head, but the gist is about right.

“Sounds boring,” his friend snorts. “Come on, mate. You, me, Daniel. One last chance to watch Peggy Gou’s set and take shots and have fuuun.” He says the last part with the suave that would only rival a preteen’s.

Carlos, for a second, lets his resolve waver. Maybe it would be better watching loud DJ sets, dancing, getting all flushed with alcohol. But he blinks and shakes his head anyway. He hopes his decision is the right one, that summer in the beach house ends up being worth it. It’s a few weeks by the beach, anyway—what’s the worst that could happen?

—

Any recollection of your childhood almost instantly connects to the beach house in Comporta, big and wide and right by the coast. You spent fall, winter, and spring in a constant bumbling state of excitement to spend summer there. Your parents owned it, and often offered family friends to take up residence there when summers in the city got unbearable; for the most part, though, it was the three of you and, on rare years, a guest.

Your summers there have since smudged into the same few memories, of your mum and dad’s faces, of swimming and the learning curve of sailing, of bonfires by the beach on cold nights. And they have since become just that: memories. Summers grew sparse with time, and eventually the idea of meeting distant family friends became more embarrassing than exciting; by the time your parents moved you out of Europe for college, you’d lost almost all memory of the house.

So when your parents ask if you want to fly back to Comporta and spend a few “quiet” weeks there, you figure there’s no harm in seeing what the house is like and what summer can offer you beyond the weekly club outings. Instead of the usual quiet and overall lack-of-bustle that comes with summers, however, you open the front door to three housekeepers dusting every surface in your immediate eyesight.

“Are we hosting a wedding?” You ask when you find your parents tending to two sweaty glasses of champagne. You gesture faintly to the cleanfest inside. “What is going on?”

“We have a guest,” your mother says as she gets up to hug you tight. “Staying for the summer.”

“You said this summer would be quiet,” you deadpan, eyes narrowing underneath your sunglasses.

Your mum pinches your elbow. “I wasn’t lying,” she defends, raising her eyebrows. “Carlos’ son is coming.” She pats your arm. “You know? The race driver! He’s close with your father.” And, leaving no space for you to voice your dissent, she slips back into the house through the screen door, your father kissing your cheek then following suit. Your mouth parts, thoughts beginning to rush with implications of what your mother has just told you.

Carlos—if you’re correct—is Carlos Sainz, Sr., a good friend of your dad’s, and his son is Carlos Sainz, Jr., another good friend of your dad’s, because if there’s one thing rich Europeans do well, it’s the repetition of names. You’ve never met his son, only heard of him and seen a few pictures, but being so far detached from life here, you can’t even shape his face.

All you recall is the fact that he should now be thirty or older, which makes him rather older than you—and therefore effectively incapable of providing any break from any possible summer boredom. For fuck’s sake, he’s close to your dad. You’re at the top of the stairs when you hear the commotion by the front door, peeking at the foyer to catch a glimpse of him.

He’s solo, you observe; upon a glance into the front parking, you notice he’s driven here in a Ferrari, one a bit too modern for your taste but beautiful nevertheless. He carries only two pieces of luggage, and the sun blinds you for a moment before he’s finally at the doorframe, smiling politely, talking to your dad in casual Spanish.

He is, for lack of better word, insanely handsome. He wears a polo that shows off much of his arms, that flex as he puts down his luggage to shake hands with your parents; you follow the movement of his hands to watch one comb through his thick hair, then down to his smile, back up to his brown eyes, deep and so, so pretty.

Maybe this summer deserves a little less begrudge, you decide as you retreat back into your room, still brewing with residual annoyance.

Your parents send him off after a drink and a brief conversation, catch-up, tour of the downstairs area. Carlos knows his room is supposed to be upstairs, but the problem arises in the fact that there are two upstairs rooms and he doesn’t know which one he’s supposed to be staying in. Setting his luggage down for a minute, he knocks on the first door; permissive silence greets him for half a minute, so he turns the knob and prepares to enter.

To his surprise, he finds somebody already inside, a figure by the mirror on the other end of the room. What catches his eye is not the tiny skirt, but the half-tied bikini top currently being wound around two fingers at the centre of your back. You’re basically clothed, but Carlos can’t decide if he’s thankful or not—he doesn’t have time to when you catch him in the mirror and turn around quick, mouth agape.

“Can’t you knock?!” You ask, catty.

“I did—I knocked, but you—there was no answer,” he explains profusely. “I’m Carlos. Sorry, apologies. Truly.”

You introduce yourself. You’re his friend’s daughter, this and that, and you’re visiting from the States to spend summer here. He apologizes again when you finish. 

“Well, seeing as though this is my room,” you shoot back, “that must be yours.” You gesture vaguely to the one down the hall. Amused and a little embarrassed, he mouths apologies as he closes the door.

Carlos exits, departs and doesn’t have time to take in the room before he’s facedown on the bed. Any sleepiness he’d collected from the trip over, from the day drinks, from the headache that’d been blooming at the temples of his head, has dissipated. His mind’s been imprinted with one image only, and it’s down the hall in a tiny skirt.

—

Lunch brings lemonade and pasta, two staples for every summer meal. You, however, find yourself hopelessly distracted by the presence of your guest, and despite your best efforts, the churn in your stomach disables you from fully enjoying the carbonara on the table. The conversation between Carlos and your dad ends up taking your attention instead. “So you’re racing again in a few weeks?”

“Sí,” Carlos nods in-between forkfuls. Then, to add, “Busy, busy times.”

“Well. It’s the worst of our days,” your mum says, a quote she picked up from—of all places—a BBC sitcom she watched to tears last winter. “You are a talented driver, Carlos. Very cultured. I’m sure you’ll enjoy Comporta.”

“I have not been around much,” he says; his gaze flutters over to his glass, which is devoid of water or lemonade. “Any recommendations?”

“A lot, cabrón. Our daughter will be happy to take you around,” your father says on your behalf. He turns to you. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Oh, sure,” you say, allowing a terse smile. “There’s some places around here that aren’t so boring. But that’s being generous.” Carlos laughs at your joke, raucous and goofy, and you would definitely be lying if you told yourself it didn’t get you blushing a little bit, eyes casting themselves to your still-full plate.

“While you’re here, Carlos,” your dad continues, “I have an old car in the garage that could use some looking at. Are you—would you know how to—?”

Carlos nods, accepting the favor—then the conversation naturally slides into one of cars and racing. Carlos chronicles his journey in Formula One, his Toro Rosso days back then when he was younger, his McLaren period, and now, his time representing Ferrari. He talks of pet peeves on the grid, annoyances but also praises for the sport.

“I’d appreciate the downtime, actually,” he explains, “that I’d get from working on a car instead of in one.” He laughs, eyes briefly meeting yours. He looks away, then looks again. He can’t help himself. He wonders if he’s being obvious, if you can tell the way his looks are anything but casual. “Can you pour me a glass?” He adds.

“Yeah,” you mutter, sitting straight to pour lemonade into his waiting glass. You meet his eyes and almost pour it over the pasta. The rest of the lunch is uneventful, a series of adult conversation you can’t seem to engage yourself in fully, and whether that’s because of personal preference or Carlos’ presence, you don’t make an effort to try.

“…ney. Honey.” Your mum’s voice distracts you from your thoughts; when you look up, half the table is clear and Carlos and your dad have ventured inside to deposit plates at the sink. 

“Sorry. Wh—sorry, what?” You blink.

“Your father and I are heading out for the evening. Carlos will be working on the car. That okay, or you want to come along?”

“Um…” You pretend the latter is even an option before shaking your head. “No, I’ll stay.”

“Good.” She strokes your hair. “He could use the company.”

You follow her walking figure inside, where you station your eyes on Carlos. He’s sipping a lemonade. His eyes meet yours for a second and your face is outrageously flushed when you realize you’ve been caught staring, just like his had been earlier when he walked into your room.

—

You’re hellbent on solving a Sudoku puzzle when the dinner bell rings, and you have to finish it on the stairs. Your dad’s always been a stickler for arriving to dinner on time—every meal, but a gargantuan emphasis on the last—and you’ve been victim to scoldings about being five to six minutes late, an instance you don't wish to repeat.

9, you scribble, bare feet moving with speed through the living room, indoor dining room, then to the patio door. 4 comes next, your footsteps following the smell of grilled meat. 8, you write as you turn into the outdoor dining area. You’re halfway through 2 when you stop, look up, and find Carlos preparing dinner.

“Oh—” You pause. “You rang the dinner bell? Are my parents not…?”

“They are at a dinner,” says Carlos, eyes meeting yours briefly. It reminds you of earlier and you clear your throat, looking away. “So I hope my cooking is good enough.”

“It smells great,” you offer, seating yourself down and pouring a glass of wine. He sets the plate down—just-cut steak, a smear of potatoes. “Christ, you cook better than Dad.”

“I take that as a compliment,” he laughs, sitting across you. “Listen, I want to apologize for accidentally walking into your room earlier.”

Your face warms. “No, it’s okay. I was just surprised.”

“It was wrong of me. Let’s start over. I’m Carlos.” He reaches over to shake your hand, still standing. You take it, eyes flitting over his hand, spotting no glinting ring on his finger. With a saccharine smile, you assure him it was an honest mistake, so he segues into a different topic, the corners of his mouth turning up. “So, do you have an itinerary for me tomorrow?”

You hum, passing the wine over to him. “A bookstore, an ice cream parlor, and a bike ride. Anything else is seriously not worth it. You’ll have the next few weeks to explore town. If the house gets that boring.”

“I haven’t been bored so far,” he says, eyes glinting.

“Oh?”

“You know, with the car fixing.” He points vaguely to where the garage is. “But it’s only been a day.”

“Car fixing is boring,” you state matter-of-factly. “You’ll have fun tomorrow.” You cut into the steak and bite into the forkful you stab at, eyes fluttering.

“Good?” Carlos asks, smiling a little.

“I love it,” you mumble. “You’re so good at this, Carlos.”

Carlos retires to his room that night, and finds that today has held a collective motif of losing his shit. He’s anything but sleepy. Restless, wild-eyed, combing hand after hand through his hair. God, if he’d known you were this pretty—this hard to resist, on his first night here, no less—he would’ve been watching some DJ spin out a set with Lando right now.

Instead, he finds he can’t stop himself from thinking about you, the way your eyes had fluttered when he tried saying something on the edge of flirty. Your hair. Your hands, your fingers, lithe around the stem of your wine glass.

I love it, you’d said, you’re so good at this, Carlos. You knew exactly what you were doing, skittish tone putting him on edge. Despite himself, he can’t help but squeeze himself through his pants when he sits down on the edge of the bed, breathing heavy to purge himself of thoughts so low and dirty.

You’re so pretty. You’d be so easy to wreck, make his, goad little moans out of you, get your lips around him, puffy and pink and pretty. He wedges his eyes shut tight and hopes these thoughts will dissipate as the week passes.

Something tells him he’s wrong, though.

—

The tour is delayed because your dad insists he go fishing with Carlos three days in a row, but eventually (likely due to your mum’s insistence) it pushes through. You greet him with a smile, waiting by the door, wearing a sundress. Sundresses will definitely be his demise.

You’re a good tour guide, though, Carlos figures when you’re finished pointing at every turn and sign and dictating what goes where and where the passage to the coast is, when you’ve even quizzed him about where you are and where the house is supposed to be.

After he points in the correct direction, you nod approvingly. “That’s how my dad made sure I wouldn’t get lost,” you explain when he laughs at your choice of tour guidance. 

“And you were what—twelve?” He asks, walking beside you. It’s fairly empty in town, a few tourists mulling about carrying shopping bags and plastic cups of juice.

“Try fourteen,” you argue. 

“Well, quizzing a, uh—a fourteen-year-old is really not the same as quizzing a grown adult.”

“Ha. Call me when you can’t find your way home tonight,” you diss sarcastically, making a turn toward the bookstore down the street. “Okay, here we are. Don’t get too excited. They’re just books.”

For a relatively empty town, the bookstore always has new batches of titles, displayed proudly for natives and tourists alike front and centre. But you’re already going to the right side of the store, busying yourself with looking at the signs. 

“The classics shelf is always my favorite,” you say, already walking ahead of him. Your dress bobs softly with your legs as you pace, short and sweet and white. You turn and his eyes slide back up instantly, and he hopes he was quick enough. “Do you have any authors you like?”

“I am not a big reader. You?”

“Huge,” you say, smiling a little. “Okay, we can browse. Are you into any genre…?”

Carlos proceeds to tell you his track record in the literary field includes: reading half the Harry Potter series, a car manual, and a few other titles in Spanish he cannot recall the name or plot of. But, he adds, he’s always wanted to read, found the activity so quiet and still and perfect, so he allows you to lead him through the titles stacked on each table and condensed on each shelf. He points at, sometimes, or picks up covers he finds appealing.

“How about—?” He reaches for a pink cover that reads It Ends With Us, but your hand loops around his wrist before he can pick it up and you’re pulling him into another aisle.

“…Not that.” You continue perusing the books around you, your hand still wrapped around his. With your free finger, you point at the top shelf, and tiptoe against the bookcase to try and get it. You come close, but not close enough.

Carlos, behind you, is successful, not even needing to tiptoe to reach for the red hardbound you’d been pointing at. It also means he’s pressed up against you, heavy and big, and the sensation dizzies you. When he finally pulls it off, you turn to him and find respite in the proximity—you two are so close, every exhale out of your lips causes a puff of air to blow against his hair.

He steps backward. You smile and gesture toward the book he’s holding. “That’s a good one.”

“Gabriel Garcia Marquez.” He reads out the author’s name in one fluid sentence, his Spanish accent becoming naturally more obvious.

“Okay, colonizer.” He knits his brows. “Trust me,” you insist. “One Hundred Years of Solitude—so good. It was one of the first books I read front to back twice in a row.”

“Wow, what an honor,” he teases sarcastically as you move along the aisle, fingertips brushing against the indents of the books. You turn to narrow your eyes and stick your tongue out. Unfortunately for Carlos, the effect this inflicts upon him is not oh she mocked me, but oh how would it look if—

He needs ice cream. Or to just get out of this aisle.

—

You punctuate the day with two cones of it, melting way too fast in the heat of summer. He’s already half-finished with his vanilla, and you’re taking your time with the lemon sorbet you’d gotten for yourself. Apparently, this is the only other highlight the town has to offer, and judging by the fact that most of the other stores are expensive clothes, souvenir shops, and a Bible bookstore—yeah.

Carlos is also more than sated with the three books in the paper bag he’s holding. Scratch that—six books, you bought a haul for yourself—but it’s not a particularly heavy load, so he’s fine. His phone has been buzzing with Lando’s update requests that he’s been deliberately ignoring.

“They make the best ice cream,” you rave, smiling. You lick over the melt on your lips. “Right?”

He might actually drop his cone now. “It is delicious.”

“Well…” You look around, your hair flying with every turn of your head. Lick over lips again. Again, and again. He has to look away.

“…Do you wanna stop by anywhere else?” You turn to him and ask, licking over the tip of your ice cream cone.

It’s hard for Carlos to pretend he’s looking around your surroundings, at the signs and storefronts, and not at your sticky lips, your pink tongue just peeking out to lap at the quickly melting gelato around your hand. His eyes flit downward, to where the hem of your tiny white dress has flown up in the coastal wind, exposing more of your thighs.

“Carlos?” You repeat, voice sweet and waiting.

He snaps his eyes back up and wills his voice to remain passive. “We can head back.”

So you do, meaning your tour ends around noon, and your parents greet you both with lunch and the round of inevitable questions. Did Comporta live up to your expectations? What books did you get? Was our daughter a good tour guide? The latter, Carlos answers with a smile—very good. You allowed your face to flush, blamed it on the sangria.

Now, though, it’s the brink in-between chilly and hot, sticky traces of the summer afternoon still lingering in the air, mixing with the cool of dusk when you decide to exit your room and fix yourself a glass of something, preferably sweet and alcoholic. An empty driveway save for a Ferrari means your parents are gone, leaving you and—if you’re lucky, which you hope you are—

“Carlos,” you call out from the window you’ve just tugged open with the expertise of somebody who’s lived here for twenty-one summers. “Thirsty?”

He looks up from where he is, outside, continuing his operation on your dad’s car. The hood’s been cranked open, and his long hair is damp with sweat, flying gently in the face of the sunset breeze. He smiles when he sees your figure peeking out.

“For what?”

“Whatever you want,” you respond, taking your bottom lip between your teeth. His white shirt’s stained with oil and dirt, tainting it beige and grey, the tight fit even tighter from his sweat. You can make out the outline of his abs just underneath. 

He squints. “Beer?”

You make an exaggerated eugh face to tease him, but duck back inside to bring your homemade aperol and an open, frosty beer outside. When he sees you, he walks closer, smiles and takes a swig of the drink you offer. He makes a noise of satisfaction and you have to make a real effort to maintain a semblance of normalcy, eyes averting from his lips to gaze instead at his solid shoulders, his build, big and tall.

“What’s the problem with beer, hmm?”

“Tastes like shit.” You raise your aperol. “The sweeter, the better. How’s Dad’s car?” You blink, sidestepping him to try and gauge his progress.

“Casi termino.” You look at him, raising your eyebrows, and he translates. “Almost done. It wasn’t that destroyed, if at all.”

“You think he’ll let you drive it when you’re done?” You ask playfully, swiping your condensation-wet finger over the side of the car. You turn, smiling expectantly; Carlos laughs a bit, shrugs.

“It is just a favor. But if he does, I’ll make sure you get to come along.” He says. “You like that?”

“Mmm,” you nod, sipping on your aperol. You part from your straw, lips stained, and smile up at him. “I do.”

His gaze is stuck on your lips. You lick over them, and he looks away with a slow blink. You watch as he ruffles his hair, rounds the car and crosses his arms to view it from the back.

God, he’s handsome. You think of the long-winded nights you’ve been spending trailing your fingers over your legs or texting inspired paragraphs to friends back in university about him. Their responses are almost always Send pic now and a cacophony of heart eye emojis when you manage to snag a stolen shot of him doing just about anything.

His gaze is scrutinizing, every little detail of the car, and eventually he closes the hood again. “Should be good by tomorrow.”

“Where’d you learn to fix cars?” You ask sweetly, nearing him. The wind bites at your legs, your flowy skirt bouncing sporadically and held down by your free hand. When your eyes flit to his, waiting for his response, you find them snapping upward. He’d been distracted.

“I work with cars, so it comes natural.” You lean on the hood of the car and he comes to stand in front of you, his eyes pointed downward at you. “That’s not a very good habit,” he adds.

“Drinking?” You pout, raising your half-empty glass. You blink up at him, the corner of your smiling lip caught in your teeth.

“Biting your lip.” His gaze is intense. “You do it a lot, I noticed.”

You smile, leaning backward a little. His resolve is breaking. “Can I borrow one of the books you got earlier?”

“The three ones you bought not enough?” He raises a brow, downing beer again. Some of it dribbles out of the corner of his lip. You’ve never been one to like the taste, but you’d lick it off him if you could.

“I just wanna browse it,” you push. “I’ll return it tomorrow.”

“Fine,” he relents. “I’ll give it to you tomorrow.”

—

He sees you the next day after lunch, which you’d skipped because you “weren’t hungry.” You’re wearing a dress, hair clipped into a bun when you excuse yourself to pick up an earring in front of him. He almost thinks it’s a fib until he sees it, the pink gem on the floor.

“Sorry,” you say, voice mellow, and then you’re bending over to pick it up. You’re wearing pretty lace panties underneath.

Carlos clears his throat and excuses himself, adjusting his shorts as he goes upstairs.

—

He gives you Norweigan Wood after dinner, like he promised earlier in the week. Two raps on your door, and when you open it, he’s already handing it to you with a quiet smile. “Goodnight,” he says, his voice clipped.

“Our tour isn’t over yet,” you tease, tossing the book onto your bed and descending the steps back downstairs. Confused and interested, he follows you, to the back area of the house, past the swinging screen door, down the steps, and onto the sand.

“Tour?” He repeats, for clarification. The only things to tour are sand and twigs.

“Yeah, Carlos. This is the real tour,” you joke, walking backwards. Every step sends your foot sinking into the cold sand, slowing your pace until Carlos catches up, matching your steps once he does. “Comporta—real and unfiltered.” You both laugh at your hyperbolic, MTV-worthy statement, and he waits for more, entertains you further.

“What is so real about this?” Carlos laughs, allowing himself to humor your little schtick.

“Well, mister. This isn’t bookstores and ice cream parlors.” You point to a nearby spot in the sand, just by a rogue stick. “This is where I smoke without getting caught. Near enough that I can run back in seconds, but faraway enough that my parents can’t immediately see what I’m doing. Granted, I don’t need to be sneaking around much, but if you ever want to do something in secret—”

The implication sends Carlos into a spiral of thought.

“—here’s your spot.”

“So you smoke,” he says when he sits himself on the sand, observing the now-dark skyline of the area. You continue pacing around a little, and when you raise your arms up to stretch, he catches a glimpse of your abdomen, the waistband of pink lace underneath the low rise of your denim shorts.

“Occasionally. Don’t play Holy Mary,” you warn, standing in front of him and stretching your hand out to reveal a box of Marlboro Reds. 

“Wasn’t planning to,” he responds, taking a stick and inserting it in between his lips. “Got a light?”

“No,” you tease, taking one for yourself and sliding your lighter out from your pocket in one quick motion. The flame illuminates your face, casts a light on your thin white tee and on the bikini top you have on underneath. You puff out a small cloud of smoke, and Carlos reaches up to take the lighter.

“I said no,” you giggle, your lips knotting into a pout. You hold the lighter just out of his reach, red and bold against the bleak evening. 

“Give it.” He sits up higher, reaches harder; he almost gets it, but you step backward and raise your arm out of reach. Again your shirt rises with the movement. The view he gets, this time, of your hips, the lace that hugs the area there, is much more close.  The laugh you emit sends a cloud of smoke out.

“No, no,” you continue, laughing, a sweet sound.

Carlos gets up, tries again to lunge for the lighter. At this point he doesn’t even care about the cigarette in between his lips, just wants to entertain you. He tries again but you’re quick with it, ducking every lunge just in time.

“Come on,” he goads, laughing himself. You pace backward, smoking, until your ankles hit the shallow shore water, water that goes deeper and deeper until you’re knee-level, still smiling at him mischievously. 

“Fine,” you relent, shrugging. You throw your hands up in surrender, in the process taking the stick out of your mouth to blow smoke out. “Do you want it? C’mere, then.” You beckon him closer, wave the lighter tantalizingly so he steps closer, closer, until you’re holding the flame to the cigarette between his lips.

He’s so tall, he has to bend a little to let you light it, his eyes meeting yours, illuminated by the pale moon and the orange of the flame.

It all goes to plan. Once you light it, you place two hands square on his shoulders, whirl him so he’s behind you and thus even deeper in the water, and with all your might, push him into the sea. 

“Brat—” he manages to gasp out as he goes, the word leaving his lips in the first and last puff of smoke he lets out. He surfaces, every dip and ridge of his abs and chest accentuated, his linen polo near invisible with how saturated it is with water. His long hair, too, sticks to his forehead; he combs it backward, reveals his amused-irritated eyes, the dead cigarette spouting seawater and ash.

He spits it out. You stare and pinch the soggy stick in between two fingers, stuffing the trash into his chest pocket. “That’s bad for the environment.”

“I am freezing,” he says in response, but you’re just stifling a laugh.

He narrows his eyes, and with unsurprising ease given his build, picks you up and carries you over his shoulder. You barely have time to protest, almost dropping your own cigarette into the water, kicking and pounding on his back to please put me down. You can feel the water getting deep, deeper, and when he finally dunks you in, it’s only a second of dryness before you’re submerged in the chilly water.

Your cigarette dies, and you manage to collect it, because you’re not in the interest of leaving your stick floating; you wedge it into your pocket.

“You’re such”—you gasp for air—“a dick!”

You’re smiling, though, flailing your legs to stay afloat. Carlos can’t help but stare, entranced with the way your eyelashes stick together, damp, the droplets of water on your cheeks, your two hands wringing saltwater out of your hair, and when you swim upward, the way your white tee leaves nothing to his imagination.

You can tell. He can tell you can tell—because the next thing you do, with some faux exaggerated sigh of annoyance, is say, “Can’t swim, too heavy,” and you’re taking off your shirt so all he sees is the red of your bikini top underneath. The white tee bobs softly with each passing wave, and you’re smiling up at him. Checkmate, you’re saying. I’ve got you. A skittish, playful smile on your lips.

“I can help you swim,” he offers—retaliates, more like, his height offering him great advantage. He finds your bare ankle underwater, guides it to wrap around his waist. Naturally, your other leg follows until you’re flush against him, held up by him so you don’t need to wag your legs around just to stay above water.

Your hands go on his still-clothed shoulders first, then eventually around them, fingers linking at the nape of his neck. Your smile is wicked. You’re so sinfully pretty. He wades deeper, holds you all the while, two big hands on either side of your waist, thumbs rubbing over your sides so you can shiver.

“‘M so wet,” you say, voice shaky with chill and laughter. His grip tightens and he has to squeeze his eyes shut to try and pretend you didn’t just say that.

He dips you underneath the surface to surprise you, and your shriek is cut off by the water—he pulls you up quick, laughing, but underestimates his strength because as he tugs, you barrel right onto him, forehead bumping his.

Your eyes are closed, and you momentarily detach from him to wipe salt out of them. “Ass.”

“Brat,” he responds.

You open your eyes to find he’s close, so close you could just lean forward an inch—an inch—and you’d be meeting his lips. You wonder how they feel, how he kisses. He’s confident everywhere else, would he kiss you like that, too? You lean closer, a wrecked gasp escaping you.

“You’re so pretty,” you say, and it’s supposed to be teasing, but your breathy voice is genuine, honest. A thumb swipes over his eyelashes, causing him to blink, then the bridge of his nose. He leans upward, tries to catch your lips, but pauses, his eyes fluttering open and closed.

“This is wrong,” he says in a quiet breath, making no move at all you stop either of you from kissing right now.

You want—need—to kiss him, but you can play the long game if he wishes to. Your eyes flit back up to his, dark brown and reflecting the moon.

“Then let’s head back,” you suggest, even if both of you want anything but.

Long game. He guides you back to shore, picks your tee up, uses it as a sieve for any loose ash and cigarette bits in your path back to shore, even finds your red lighter that’s now dispensing water. He apologizes for not having anything to dry you with, and drops you off at your room with a puddle in both of your wakes.

“Thank you again,” he says, his voice a whisper through your ajar door. He observes your room with what little vantage point he has. The posters on the wall, the art, postcards. The laptop on the bed, open. The phone charging on the nightstand. The thong hanging out of the hamper.

“No problem,” you say back, voice saccharine. Your hand wraps around his wrist. “See you tomorrow.”

Even if you’re doused in seawater, he can still smell the traces of your perfume, the summery sweet of it, when you close the door. He stays for a second, blinks, relishes in the hint of floral.

—

You spend three days walking on eggshells around each other, testing the limits of interaction.

Your night at the beach was risky, dangerous, thrilling—but it was fun, sending you both into antsy, restless trains of thought. Carlos self-medicates with coffee, beer in the afternoon, working on your dad’s car, and the first two hundred pages of the Marquez book you insisted he pick up. He spots you sometimes, lounging on the beach with his book in your grip, the waistline of your bikini bottoms leaving a tanline he can’t stop staring at when you walk back into the house.

But he can’t act on it—he was the one who labeled it wrong, the one who suppressed himself, held the urge back. He told you it was wrong. And it is wrong. He’s older, he should be wiser; he’s close with your dad; and a cacophony of other rational reasons he shouldn’t be playing into this skittish summer crush.

“Dad said the boat’s free,” a voice says, and he looks up from his book to find you standing in front of him, wearing nothing but a bikini top and a skirt, loose and riding low on your hips. Your lips stretch into a sweet smile. “Wanna come?”

He really shouldn’t. “Sí.”

So he goes. He’s thirty-five. That’s a grown age. If anything, he’s capable of making sure he stays responsible. He dog-ears his page and picks up his beer to follow you to where the boat is docked. He’d been on your dad’s yacht earlier in his trip here, to go fishing, but it’s quieter today, bobbing softly atop the water. You lie yourself down on the sunny side of the boat, sunglasses over your eyes.

“Stay anywhere you like,” you say charmingly. It’s silent for a while, Carlos seating himself on one of the lounge seats in the shaded area, and then you’re moving around on your towel.

You peer over your lenses, blinking and sitting up, and this is when he knows he can’t do it.

“Carlos,” you call out. “Can you put sunscreen on my back?” You get up again, rifling in your bag for the bottle of sunscreen, dragging a hand through your hair to comb it out. It falls in loose waves, swishing when you turn to hand him the bottle. He pretends he’d been distracted on page 210 when he accepts it, watching as you sit in front of the seat, your back turned to him, your little figure in-between his spread legs. 

A minute passes with no hand at your back. “Go ahead, move even slower,” you joke, and the tension breaks a little; he humors you, laughs and apologizes.

“It’s because hour hair is in the way,” he says, touching it gently, combing it to the side.

“Wait—” You dig through your bag again and pull out a blunt pink ribbon, slipping it into his hand. “Can you braid it for me?”

“Braid?” He doesn’t know jack shit about braiding hair. “I don’t know how.”

“At that age of yours and you don’t know anything about how to please a girl,” you whistle lowly. “Adult virgin?” 

But you guide him through it despite your teasing, teaching him to divide your hair in threes, weaving one strand over the other until “it looks half decent.” He fucks up a few times and your hair looks odd at some point, but in the end, it’s—well, it’s a braid.

“How is it?” You ask, and he can hear your smile.

He does the job well enough for a first-timer, he thinks, finishing it with the ribbon, which he ties loosely lest you’re unhappy with the finished product. It becomes easier to move your hair out of the way, and once your back is saturated with sunscreen, you unfold your legs and get up, turning around and smiling down at his sitting figure.. Loose tendrils of hair frame your face, the braid resting at your back softly, already loosening.

“Your hair can be braided, too,” you comment quietly, knotting a rogue few strands in your fingers. It hasn’t been this tense since that night at the beach, but that ended before the tension rose further—this, now, keeps going. You step closer and he leans back, smiling. “Can I?”

He blinks, nostrils flaring, then nods, his grip on your hips gentle when you sit on his lap, your legs on either side of his. You smile coquettishly, feeling how hard he is underneath you, the denim of his jeans rough against the skin of your bare thighs. Your skirt’s riding up on them with every little shift you make, just to rile him up.

Carlos drinks in the sight of you, sunkissed and on his lap, legs sprawled out, pretty little face framed, bottom lip in your teeth. You’re inviting him closer, your gaze meeting his with sleepy, demure eyes—do something. You look so fucking precious, so pretty. It makes him want to give you everything right now.

You reach forward, make an attempt to try and weave his hair together—but he grinds upward, your breath hitching and a whimper punched out of your mouth.

Your hands are shaking now, barely able to piece his hair together with how good his clothed cock feels pressed against you, where you need it most. 

“Carlos,” you gasp, and all he can really think is—where’d all your fight go? You were so used to being a brat and a half, now you’re whimpering, on the edge of begging.

“Be quiet,” Carlos grunts, digging his fingers into your hips. His other hand lifts your skirt, bunching the fabric around your hips for a better view of your cunt rubbing against the bulge in his pants. The damp fabric of your panties is swallowed between your lips with every grind you make forward and he has to stop himself from cursing out loud at the sight. “Good girl.”

Your hands move from his hair to his shoulders, sturdy and broad; you can feel him squeeze your waist with both hands, then pull you down against him, just once, so your weight presses down on the hard shape of his cock. It makes him shudder and you whine out loud. You resist the urge to grind over it; you’re already so wet you’re making a mess on his jeans.

His praise, mumbled deep and slow in your ear, gets you feeling all warm, almost ditzy. Your hips roll on their own, chasing the delicious drag of rough denim against your clit, slick soaks into and through your panties, making the material cling to the shape your folds. Carlos’ hands are rough when they wander and grope, hiking this godforsaken skirt up so he can press a thumb against the centre of your folds.

“Been so good for you, Carlos,” you whine, circling your hips against him. He can’t stop staring at your pretty, fucked-out eyes, your bitten lips. He shoves two fingers in-between them, imagines how they looked just a few days ago slick with ice cream—now your tongue is laving over his hand. The braid you'd just taught him is quickly unraveling with every nod of your head. “‘M gonna—can I—” The pleas leave you quick, your voice choked.

Euphoric, your mind lifts, foggy and saturated with pleasure, the braid almost completely undone now. His praise is so addictive, gets you worked up and needy. Come on, he says. Make a mess. His accent, his deep voice, the way it rumbles right through you—his voice drops, his touch a little heavier as he presses harder.

You gonna cum for me? His thumb rubs faster until you’re gasping, shuddering, little ahs leaving your lips. He’s got the upper hand now, but you can hear the strain, the suppression in his voice as he rubs over the soaked fabric; you feel his cock growing under you, getting harder. 

P—please—I want to—please let me, you say breathlessly, and you’ve never needed it to the point of begging before, but Carlos is different. He keeps going, doesn’t give you permission, rubbing faster, your heart hammering in your chest.

Feel good?

Y—yeah, you whimper, trying your best not to fall apart here, on your dad’s boat, where anybody could walk on—or maybe see you from afar, humping your dad’s friend in broad daylight. He loves watching you like this; you’ve somehow become even prettier, face flushed and voice shaky.

Come on, he goads. Be a good girl. Cum for me.

It’s the only instruction that matters to you right now, your body seizing with it and cute little moans escaping you as you finish. You catch your breath against his chest, craving warmth even if it’s hot—maybe you’re craving him, his touch, Carlos, just Carlos. You maneuver yourself so legs, exhausted from shaking, are on one side of his body—he holds you close, humming.

He rubs a steady hand across your lower back, gentle and firm and you want him so much more now. “Are you okay?” He asks. “Talk to me.”

“Perfect,” you pant against his polo, fingers playing with the stitching, tugging the collar down so you can mouth at his skin. His hand plays with what’s left of the braid, winds the pink ribbon around his fingers. “Let’s go for a swim.”

—

“And we drove the jet ski around, too,” you say gleefully, your damp hair bobbing with every move of your head. Your face is sunkissed, a little sore from being in the sun for most of the afternoon. Carlos laughs along from where he is at the grill—he’s cooking for dinner, on a quest to make burgers because he’s known for making the best ones back in Madrid, apparently. Your dad, of course, insists on joining, and the two have been asking and answering questions while you and your mum sip rosé at the table.

“Did you have fun?” Your mum asks, her head turning to address Carlos.

“Yeah, tons,” he replies with a smile, his eyes meeting yours for a brief second. You know what he means. It’s been only two days since the afternoon on the boat, and since then you’ve mostly swam and ridden around on the jet ski with Carlos—nothing more.

“See, sweetie,” she adds, placing a hand over yours. “I told you this summer would be fun with him around!”

“Mmm, yeah,” you say, nodding and parting from your glass, “I can really count on him for some excitement.” The statement catches his attention and he almost trails off, eyes returning to yours, before he continues speaking in Spanish to your dad about something or other.

The burgers’ reputation precedes them, and is warranted, you learn later when you’re biting into it for the first time. The remainder of dinner passes by in lively conversation, the sun setting low underneath the Comporta horizon, wine taking the place of rosé. Carlos mentions the racing world again, about how he’ll be back into the thick of it sooner than later, and you pulse with something akin to sadness.

Your parents, apparently so grateful for the blessing that is Carlos’ burgers, offer to clean up and before long, they retreat to their downstairs bedroom. Upstairs, you marinate in your thoughts, blinking up at your ceiling, twining your pink ribbon around your fingers as your hair dries splayed over your bedding. You let your arm down, in the process bumping your elbow against a hard surface.

Upon investigation, you find it’s a copy of Norweigan Wood. 

Carlos is at his desk, taking a timezone-separated call about simulation and season prep, when two soft knocks go at his door and it creaks open. He turns the chair away from the desk to see who it is. An ankle steps in first, then more leg, and then you—in a lovely, pretty pink lace dress, your face illuminated by the moonlight outside. One hand clutches a copy of his book; the other, the ribbon he’d used on your hair earlier.

He’s nursing a bottle of beer, just to help ease the drag of the day, and he watches you approach him, your footsteps quiet against the hardwood of the floor. Wait, he mouths, finishing the call in a hushed tone, and when he hangs up you approach him again.

“I thought you should have this back,” you say, offering him the book. Your eyes rake over him, wearing the same getup he’d worn to dinner—denim jeans, because he’d ducked out to buy food, except he’s ridden himself of his shirt. 

He takes the book, places it on the table, continues staring up at you. “And I thought you should keep this.” The ribbon, pale pink, is now looped around his wrist and tied into a delicate ribbon at the apex of it. You admire your handiwork with a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

You lean down, face just shy of his. “We shouldn’t,” he manages to eke out, his voice strained.

“But you want to,” you respond softly. “No one’s going to know. Our little secret.”

His eyes are shut, contemplating, and then he’s kissing you—the only thing you’ve wanted, craved, touched yourself to the thought of over the course of the summer. You reciprocate immediately, parting your lips to let him kiss you deeper, a whimper leaving your mouth. He kisses like he knows he’s a good kisser, and he really is. His scent is intoxicating, a drug, sending arousal and desire straight through you.

You part, eyes half-lidded as you stand straight again. You cock your head slowly to the side, and with your head’s movement your hair follows, gathering on one side. It exposes much of your shoulder and collarbones, which lay underneath the thin lace dress you wear to sleep, and which is now subject to Carlos' unwavering stare. He has no shame, eyes raking over you, up and down and back up. One hand curled around a bottle of beer, the other coming up to slowly graze the back of your thigh.

Your breath hitches. “Do you like the dress?” You ask softly, teasingly. It’s nothing special, Carlos, you seem to say; it’s just a nightie.

His hand is rough against the thin skin of your leg, traveling upward. He gives you a nod in response; he does like it, the sheer material, the pink color, the loose way it hugs your body. Roughly, he voices his assent. “Come sit on my lap.”

“Wait,” you say, pouting. Your knee rubs softly against the material of his jeans, and you slowly sink onto your knees, hands placing themselves on your thighs. His grip goes from the back of your thigh to your hair, combing it softly, cradling your face. 

“Let me,” you say, letting your silence imply everything unsaid. He’s going crazy, losing his mind.

“So pretty,” he says, nodding. his voice thin. “Go ahead, baby.”

The petname gets you dizzy. You lean forward, resting your face on the hard bulge in his pants, smiling up at him. You’ve got these big, doe eyes, begging him, and he’s not so sure he even has the upper hand anymore—he would do anything you asked, any request that left those pretty bitten lips. He gathers your hair in two hands, forms a messy, unclean braid, crisscross at the back of your head just so he has something to grip while he fucks your throat.

You make quick, deft work of unbuttoning his jeans, and he watches, leaned back on the chair, legs spread wide with bent knees on either side of your body, caging you in. Carlos’ eyes are half-lidded, a hand at your braid, bringing his beer to his lips, swallowing before he sets it onto the adjacent desk.

His cock is big—thick, intimidating—and you can’t help but wonder how you’re going to fit the whole thing in your mouth without choking. It twitches in your palms the longer you stroke him, precum weeping from the head and slicking up your palms. Gruff expletives, in Spanish and English, slip past his gritted teeth and the sounds travel directly to your core, causing you to instinctively press your thighs together to soothe the ache blossoming there.

You take head of his cock into your mouth, feel it roll over your tongue, heavy and warm. Drool gathers in your mouth and your fingers dig into the muscle of his thighs in anticipation. The hand wound around your braid, pressed against your head, presses heavier slowly, slotting the first few inches of cock into your mouth while avoiding the back of your throat. You relax, letting your lips seal around the length, cheeks hollowing and tongue lulling at the underside. He curses.

You continue bobbing your head, lewd noises leaving your mouth with every move you make; it embarrasses you, but also sends slick gushing out of you.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes when the tip of his cock grazes the back of your throat; you cough, fingers heavy as they dig into the flesh of his still-denim clas thighs; drool trickles onto his balls. The hand remains there, though, pushing you and keeping you pinned in place as he slowly thrusts upward. You haven’t even gotten him all the way.

You gag and sputter, eyes fully watering the harder Carlos bullies his cock into your throat; you’re dizzy with arousal and submission, maybe one, maybe both, you’re too far gone.

“Easy,” he orders, and you will yourself to breathe nasally, relaxing, burying more of him in you. He loves seeing you like this, hair all pretty—his braid, too—and on your knees, trying your best to please him. “Being so good for me, good girl,” he says, losing resolve. You’re so pretty when you cry, eyes rimmed and bloodshot, tear streaks all over your cheekbones.

He ruts shallowly into your throat, every move punctuated by a guttural gag from your end—once, twice, a third time, before finally he releases you. You let out a cough, and a gasp, breathy, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his tip. He doesn’t want to cum yet—not like this. You gaze up at him, big eyes anticipating, and he guides you upward, on the bed.

He kicks his jeans off and readjusts his briefs, watches you scramble to position yourself on the bed, sitting down properly. “Will you fuck me now?” You ask, your sweet voice raspy. He likes knowing he’s the reason why.

You inch yourself backward so you’re fully on his bed, a hand traveling to stop your tiny dress from riding up any further. He steps closer, one knee on the bed, caging you in again, and stops you. His gaze flickers down to your legs, forces your knees apart so he can see in between them. Your pretty cunt’s soaked through your panties. “Don’t hide from me,” he says, voice rough as he steps back off the bed and kneels beside it.

“Carlos,” you breathe, letting him have his way with you. Your mind’s all fuzzy, but it’s okay—he takes care of you. 

Strong arms snake around your thighs and pull you toward him until your cunt is level with his face. His breath, warm, fans against you, muted by the thin fabric of your panties and it does nothing to help the unadulterated, dirty arousal throbbing in your cunt. He bites at the flesh of your inner thigh, then hooks two fingers into your panties and pulls them aside.

The taste of you is so good; it goes straight to Carlos’ head. And all of your embarrassed, whiny whimpers, the way your fingers knot helplessly into his hair as he drags his tongue up your cunt — that drives him absolutely crazy. He licks at your pussy, sticks his tongue in, nudges your clit with his nose, ekes whimpers and debauched moans out of your lips.

He pushes two fingers into you, doesn’t give you time to adjust before he’s fucking them in and out, moans spilling out of you involuntarily. It’s lewd, it’s dirty, getting his friend’s daughter all spread out for him like this, but Carlos loves it. More, you sob, more, please, I need—yeah—

His skilled tongue doesn’t let up, continues toying with you, licking up all the arousal oozing out of your cunt. He eats you, fucks you with his fingers, until your eyes are welling up with overwhelm and the need to release, your hands pulling at his long hair—your pussy dripping, quivering, right at the edge of your orgasm.

Any of the reservations you had are now out the window. Your grip on Carlos’ hair is tight, pushing his head deeper into your pussy and grinding against his mouth mindlessly.

I’m cumming—!

Your voice is so dirty, so lewd, so needy, when you finally finish around him, slick dripping out and your pussy twitching, clenching and unclenching around nothing as you release. Panting, you hoist yourself on your elbows, your braid surprisingly intact, and pout down at him.

“I said fuck me.”

“So you complain,” he responds with a coy smile, his lips shiny with your slick. You want him to fuck you stupid.

He does eventually, gets you all calm and lying down on the bed, knees to your chest. Your feet cross and uncross with anticipation. He lets his cock rest first on your stomach, where it twitches, smearing precum under your belly button.

“That’s where you’ll be,” you say, stroking him. When he finally does begin thrusting into you, he wishes he could save the image of your pretty eyes fluttering closed, puffy lips open in a whimper.

Your legs tremble with the size you’re taking, his hand gentle as it is firm on your hips, forcing you to take him, take him good, take him better. Good girl, he’s saying, good fucking girl. Inch by inch, you struggle to take all of him, his girth thicker than what your cunt is willing to take. You’re positive you’ll feel him in your stomach.

“Carlos,” you whimper, voice aching.

“Fuck,” is all he can muster, watching your pussy swallow him. “So tight.”

He’s drunk on the feeling of you, wet and clenching around him, so tight. He can tell you’re high on it too, on the stretch of him, the way you keep trying to meet every thrust, legs already beginning to tremble with pleasure and deep arousal. He bottoms out, an expletive leaving him in Spanish, and then slowly begins to fuck in and out of you.

He watches your face, the way your brows knit as you take him, take his cock, eyelides fluttering. “So good,” you moan, mouth open. He drops a glob of spit onto your tongue, tells you to swallow—you do, presenting your empty tongue to him. Good girl, prettiest girl—any and all praise leaves him in dizzy, heady breaths.

“Teasing me for so long,” he pants, his dick splitting you in half. “This what you wanted? Hmm?”

But even in your cloudy mind, you find the grit to retaliate, teasingly, a cloy smile on your lips. “You said it was wrong,” you gasp out with every thrust. “Fucking your friend’s daughter.”

“But you love it,” Carlos goads. “Do you?”

You nod, cockdrunk, but it’s not enough. “Use your words, pretty. You can do it.”

“I do, I love it. I need more,” you whine, getting off on his teasing, on the implication that this is all wrong, that neither of you should be doing this. “Needed this so much, Carlos.” You crack your eyes open to watch the bulge in your abdomen, the shape of his girth splitting you open. He slams into you harder and you try to squirm away, but he keeps you pinned in place.

“And if your dad walked in?”

You gush slick all over him. “Carlos,” you plead.

“Saw his daughter taking his friend’s dick?” He says it low into your ear, bending to make sure you hear all of it. “Taking it like a good girl, too.” He pulls out, slaps your ruined hole with his dick, then shoves it in deep again, groaning when you cry out—getting off on you whining about how sensitive you are, the way you tremble under him and around him. Your pretty little face, all sweaty and ruined.

“I’m gonna—fuck—I’m, Carlos—I’m gonna cum,” you say, nodding. You’ve probably cum twice already, little bursts of pleasure causing your cunt to twitch around him, sensitive. “Can I—?” 

“That’s it,” he praises. “Come on, cum for me. Been so good for me.” You tremble around him as you finish, broken moans fucked out of you with every surge of his hips forward.

He’s close, too, having held off fucking you for the past how many days, and you can tell; his thrusts get shallower, faster, until his hips are stuttering and he’s panting your name out, long hair framing his flushed, pretty face. You reach up to comb a hand through it. “Cum inside me,” you beg, watching him go crazy, his nostrils flaring and eyes blinking quick. 

He pumps his cum into you, thrusting several times as he rides it out, fucking you full of him, of his cum. You relish in the feeling, of being his girl, his good girl. “You’re a mess,” he comments, his face buried into your neck. He pulls out, both of you sighing at the sight and feeling of his cum dribbling out of you, onto the bed.

You unfold your legs, sitting up despite how sore you feel. Your dress is damp with sweat, and slick, and cum. “I feel a mess.” You pout.

“You look pretty.”

“Can I sleep here tonight?” You ask, voice meek. He nods, holds you tight as you both drift off, like he knows that you won’t be his to call his by the time the summer wanes and Comporta is left empty again.

—

“It’s the post-race interview,” Ali calls. “Hurry!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” You hop into the living room, tossing her the bag of popcorn she’d requested you to cook. Fall has officially dawned upon the city, adorning it with orange and red leaves, jazz music and cold nights—and weekends watching races.

Around you, all your university friends watch with intense gazes at the winner of the latest Formula One grand prix—something none of you had been remotely interested in just months prior.

You watch, eyes glittering, at the winner. Tan skin, long hair, jogging over to the journalist. Sainz, what a stellar drive! She sounds awestruck, genuinely taken aback by his dominance on the track today. She asks for a message in Spanish, as always; a few words of inspiration, and then, just as a fun little tidbit—did you have a good luck charm today?

He smiles to himself, like he’s just heard an inside joke and seems to think for a minute. “No, not really.” Then he combs a hand through his hair. There, looped around his wrist, is a pretty, pale pink ribbon.

[bell4lan]

Nightclub

Genre: Smut

DNI: NON-MLM/NBLM, fujoshis, mlm/nblm fetishizers, trans fetishizers

CW: Semi-public sex, bathroom sex, feminine words used for privates (cunt, pussy), words like t-dick, dick, and folds are used to describe reader's privates too, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, reader is called "good boy", "baby boy", and "whore", age difference (6 years), alcohol use, they're not too intoxicated to consent I promise

Character(s)/Reader: Top Wriothesley x Bottom Trans Male Reader

You slammed the door as you stormed out of your apartment. Your boyfriend was being a total ass, trying to gaslight and manipulate you into thinking he never cheated on you with one of his friends. Although you didn't explicitly say the words "we're done", you both knew it was over, and he hated that. You still had to get your stuff out of the shared apartment, but you were far too hurt and angry to even see him or anything he owns. Archons, you needed a drink.

You found yourself in a nightclub surrounded by intoxicated college students having the night of their lives. You wish you were in their position. Instead you're a sober college student having the worst night of your life. You scanned the room for the bar and quickly pushed through the crowd once you found it.

"3 shots of tequila please." You said tiredly as you sat down. The bartender nodded and quickly grabbed the shot glasses and filled them with the alcohol. You downed one, face contorting as it burned your throat, it was a good burn.

"Bad night?" A man to your right asked as he watched you down the second shot. You nodded, and then downed the third and ordered 3 more. "What's on your mind?" He asked before sipping his drink. You glanced over at the man expecting some desperate and tired looking college student, but no. The man was older, definitely out of college but definitely not 10 years older than you. He was muscular and tall, dressed in a button down that wasn't fully buttoned up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and some slacks. He was sexy as fuck.

"My boyfriend cheated on me." You replied flatly and grabbed a fourth shot. The man shook his head disapprovingly as he sipped his drink again, waiting for you to continue. "At first he tried to deny it and say it was all in my head and that I was overthinking, but once I showed him the proof I had he started blaming me for it." You scoffed before downing the fourth shot. You didn't know why you were telling your dirty laundry to a man you started talking to maybe 5 minutes ago, but you needed to get this anger out of your system somehow.

"What a prick." He said, all you did was nod and stare at him.

"So, why are you here? Waiting for someone?" You asked, not wanting to get any angrier from the topic of your ex boyfriend. The man shook his head and sipped his drink again.

"Just relaxing after a long day at work." He said. That explained the outfit he was wearing. You continued the conversation from there, wanting to get to know the sexy man beside you. You barely understood what exactly he did for a living, but you did know he was a powerful man with a powerful position.

"You're a very interesting man (Name), so far the only interesting one i've met here." He chuckled after you told him more about you, making you smile.

"You know, i've learned so much about you and yet I don't even know your name." You pointed out. The man smiled at you before properly introducing himself.

"My name is Wriothesley." He said. His name was unusual, but it suited him well.

"My name is (Name). How old are you Wriothesley?" You asked.

"30. You?"

"24." You responded. He nodded, a little shocked from the age difference. He was expecting you to be at least 26. You smiled at his look of shock and decided to tease him.

"What? Too young for you?" You said, playfully nudging him.

"Not at all, it's only 6 years." He chuckled. Fuck his laugh was hot. This man was the sexiest man you had ever seen in your entire life. It wasn't just his looks. His personality, sense of style, voice, they were all enough to make you squeeze your thighs together in an attempt to calm down.

"I don't think you'd be able to keep up with me old man." You teased.

"You'd be surprised as to what I can do." He replied, smirk growing from your words. The sexual tension between you two was so thick it could be cut with a knife. You wanted him, he wanted you, but you both were hesitating to make the first move.

"Oh yeah? And what can you do?" You asked, moving closer to him. His left hand moved to your thigh and gripped it firmly.

"How about I show you?" He smirked. Your breath hitched and you quickly nodded, not wanting to pass up sex with such a fine man. You both got up and he led you to the bathroom, closing the door once you both were in. The moment you heard the door click closed you kissed him, pushing him against the door as you desperately moved your lips against his. His strong hands gripped your waist and pulled you against him, the both of you moving your hips to grind on each other. He started walking you toward the sink, pushing you up against it as he kissed you. His hands unbuttoned your pants and pulled them down along with your underwear, breaking the kiss to get a good look at you. You realized you never told him you were trans and instantly felt insecure.

"Shit- sorry I should've told you. I was too caught up in the moment and-" You were cut off with a passionate kiss. He pulled away again and cupped your cheek with one hand, the other one on your hip.

"It's fine, don't worry. There's no need to apologize." He said calmly. His words were so kind that you didn't know what to say, so you just nodded. His hand moved from your cheek down to your cunt and felt up your folds and t-dick.

"You're so fucking wet for me. How long have you been thinking about this hm? Be a good boy and tell me." He commanded, voice dripping with seduction. His thumb went to your t-dick and stroked it as he waited for a response.

"S-Since I saw you." You breathed out, trying your hardest to not moan as you spoke. He chuckled, and ran his middle and ring finger along your folds to get them lubed up. He ran them down to your hole and pushed his middle finger in. You moaned quietly at the intrusion, not used to such a thick and long finger inside you. He thrusted it in and out a few times before pushing his ring finger in, biting his lip as you squeezed him.

"You're so tight, I think you'll be the one unable to keep up with me." He whispered as he thrusted the two fingers in and out. Your moans got louder as he sped up, your hands gripping onto his shoulders to help you keep your balance.

Before you could cum, he pulled his fingers out and sucked on them, humming at the taste of you. He unbuttoned his pants and pulled out his cock. Your eyes widened at the size, he was thick and long, longer than your ex that's for sure. He chuckled at your reaction and told you to turn around and bend over the sink. Once you did, you felt his tip rub against your pussy and nudge your t-dick before going back to your hole. Slowly, he pushed himself in, hissing slightly at the tightness. You moaned loudly as your pussy stretched around his cock, getting fuller and fuller and he pushed in.

It wasn't long before he started thrusting into you, thick cock destroying your hole. You held onto the sink as tightly as you could as he pounded you, legs shaking as he fucked into the spot that made you see stars.

"Wr-Wriothesley- Wrio- fuck~." You whined, trying to get his attention. He slowed down a bit so you could speak properly.

"What is it baby boy? Everything alright?" He asked gently. Although he treated you roughly and said the filthiest things to you, he was worried about harming you. All he wanted was to make you feel good.

"U-Uncomfortable- ngh." You stuttered as he slowly thrusted into you. You didn't know how much longer you could stand like this, and the sink pushing against you with every thrust was starting to hurt. He pulled out and turned you around, picking you up so your legs would wrap around his waist. He pushed you against the wall and carefully inserted his cock into you again, biting his lip when you moaned out his name. His pace picked up and soon you were screaming out his name again as he fucked you against the wall.

"Wrio-th-thesley i-i'm so cl-ose!" You whimpered, bucking your hips trying to get him to give your dick some attention. He got your hint, and held you in one hand as the other stroked your t-dick, still thrusting into you.

"Yeah? Y-You gonna cum all over my cock baby boy? How does it feel getting- f-fucked like a whore by a man you met two hours ago h-huh?" He stuttered, feeling himself get closer as your pussy clenched around him, faces just inches apart.

"F-Feels so g-good Wriothesley!" You responded, voice breaking from how close you were. Your thighs tensed as he kept thrusting into you and stroking your t-dick. The thing that pushed you over the edge was him whimpering your name into your ear. You came hard all over his cock, squirting a little bit as he kept fucking you.

"Fuck i'm gonna cum." He whispered as he kept fucking you.

"C-Cum inside me." You whined, tears streaming down your face from the overstimulation. He looked at you a bit worried.

"A-Are you sure?" He asked, dick twitching at the thought of finishing inside you. You nodded quickly and squeezed your cunt around him. Soon after, he came with a groan, hot cum spilling inside of you. His thrusts came to a stop as he softened inside you, both of you trying to catch your breath. He kissed you passionately as you both recovered from your orgasms, tongues intertwining and hands gripping onto each other.

"Fuck i've never met a man as sexy as you (Name). You're fucking perfect." He panted as his thumb ran across your bottom lip. Carefully, he pulled out and grabbed you since you couldn't stand on your own. He looked down and saw as his cum dripped down your leg. You heard him whisper "fuck" before he kissed you again. You couldn't believe you had found such a man, one that showed you more love and care in 2 hours than your ex had in 2 years. You didn't know what kind of relationship you wanted with him, but you knew for sure you wanted to fuck him again.

You broke the kiss to catch your breath and tell him you both should clean up. He nodded, but didn't move. He swallowed heavily as he looked into your eyes, seemingly nervous.

"Would you like to spend the night at my place?" He asked politely, his hand cupping your cheek. You smiled at him and nodded, moving your hand up to hold his.

"Of course, but if you don't clean me up soon I'll change my mind." You said, making him laugh. He quickly yet carefully cleaned you up and helped you get dressed. He held onto you as he led you to the exit, but before you got there you stopped.

"Shit I didn't pay for my drinks. We need to go-"

"Don't worry about it." He cut you off. You looked up at him confused.

"What? Wriothesley i'm not going to leave without paying." You said firmly.

"I own the place baby boy, you don't have to pay." He whispered into your ear. Your eyes widened, a smile forming on your face as you looked at him.

"Do you say that to every guy you take home?" You joked.

"Only the ones that really peak my interest." He said smoothly.

"But you said I was the only interesting guy you've met here?"

"I know." He replied, not looking at you as he led you to his car. You could feel butterflies erupt in your stomach as you realized what that meant. You were the only guy he's taken home? Were you really that special?

Maybe you do want something more with this man. You hoped he felt the same, little did you know he's felt that way since he saw you.

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

I was not expecting to start and finish a story today but I really hope you guys enjoy it! I really like this story and am quite proud of it ^^

[babybluewoso]

Drunkie II Alexia putellas x reader

They were engaged at this point. Y/N finally had herself someone to love truly, to trust. It was a huge party in the Patri’s house. All the staff members and the whole team were there to join the party.

The party was fun. Though due to that it ended with a heavy boom. Alexia was still somewhat sober having drunken two cases of beer. Though, Y/N had gone hammered after winning the drinking contest against her and another staff member of the team with a staggering 6 bottles of beer, 2 shots of vodka, and three shots of tequila.

Y/N was at her most tipsy, but it wasn't enough to make her pass out or drunkenly spin circles to do something stupid. Thankfully this was all stopped as Alexia brought Y/N back to their house.

Y/N had smelled of alcohol after she practically swam in beer because of a dare Patri made her do. Because of that her shirt and pants were dampened with beer, showing off her toned abs. Yet alexia couldn't complain, Y/N had it less. Mapi and Lucy swam in tequila.

Y/N lays on the bed drunkenly. She was muttering some phrases off.

"She's pretty." Y/N mutters.

Alexia turns her head as she grabs some of her new clothes from the wardrobe.

“Who is Y/N?" She asks before setting the clothes by her side.

"My wife." Y/N Says. She lets out a drunken laugh. "Like ... she is gorgeous. I LOVE HER!"

She lets out a chuckle rolling her eyes. "Well, she must be a lucky person to have you." She Says.

"Nah !! " Y/N slurs.

She then begins undressing her button down. Y/N's max drunk mode made it nearly impossible as she tries wiggling her shirt off. Yet Y/N manages to slap her hand off her without fail.

"Y/N!" She scolds.

“No." Y/N Says. "She'll get mad!"

She looks at them confused. "Y/N you smell like beer. Don't make this complicated, it's late night." She complains. "Who’s going to get mad anyway?"

She tries again to get her shirt off. She swat her hand away.

“Staahhhp! She's going to get angry." Y/N hisses. "And if you don't stop, I'll make her use her powers on you. My wife is La Reina."

"Y/N what?"

Y/N swats her hand away. "No, I don't love you." She say angrily.

Immediately Alexia’s chest hits with hurt. "What?"

"Only Alexia can touch me." She scold. "My wife can only do that. Stop it!"

Her faltered expression immediately lightens up. She couldn't help but let out a giggle at Y/N's behavior. No doubt Alexia’s fiancé is the stereotypical golden retriever masc. The thought itself made her smile widely. Even when Y/N was drunk she had a conscious to be loyal to her.

She then places herself right over Y/N’s body. She grabs the sides of her face firmly. "Y/N, you drunk idiot ... " She says sternly.

Y/N opens her eyes slightly. A once annoyed expression is replaced by a smile. “Hi babe.” Y/N Says with a laugh. “Thank god you’re here.”

She smiles. "You're drunk Y/L/N." She comments.

"I know." Y/N admits. She then touches her hair, circling it around her fingers. "You know you are really pretty."

"You tell me that every day."

Y/N smiles before telling it back. "Because I mean it." She say.

She lets out a happy sigh. "You know in the least can we get your shirt and pants off."

"If we do it now, I might vomit on you." Y/N slurs.

"I'm just changing your clothes babe." She Says. "You, Mapi and Lucy swam in liquor today."

"It was Patri's idea." Y/N retorts.

"I know." She Says. "And I'm gonna kill her for it." She adds under her breath.

Finally after some time she finally gets the needed clothes off. She throws them in the laundry. She was about to leave to go and grab some of Y/N’s medicine when she feels a something tugs at her.

"Ale baby ... stay!" Y/N groans.

She turns her head. "I have to go get your pills for your hangover so you don't complain all tomorrow.” She Says.

Y/N laughs. "Fuck the hangover." She mumble. "I want my wife here."

She rolls her eyes. Knowing if she fought back, it would take another hour for this to calm down. Willingly she slides right beside Y/N in bed.

Alexia let Y/N spoons her.

“Why won't you face me?” She asks.

"Because my breath smells like alcohol." Y/N murmurs quietly. She hold her hand though as their legs tangle within each other.

“Goodnight babe." She Says.

Without missing a beat Y/N reply back slurring her words heavily.

"Love you." She manages to say.

-------

thank you for reading.

[artyandink]

𝙾𝙻𝙳 𝙵𝙰𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙾𝙽𝙴𝙳 | bartender!dean winchester

Summary: Dean Winchester needs a job after his little brother left for Stanford, and he’s good at mixing drinks. You happen to work at Harvelle’s Roadhouse, which is the place he chose to work at. He finds a family. He finds a new life. But he also finds you. But you have problems of your own.

A/N - My first reader series, do make sure to comment and/or reblog feedback. Set with S1/2 Dean cause I love our baby boy 😁 and pretend group chats exist on old phones lol

SERIES MASTERLIST

one - gin and tonic

Harvelle’s Roadhouse.

It was rather a homely place, with the constant chatter of the different people that stop by for a quick drink, the tunes playing from the jukebox, followed by the clatter of pool cues that ended with the clinking and tappings of glass on glass and glass on table. The place was lit with warm light, bulbs hanging from the ceiling and the distinct musk of whiskey, vodka and tequila that burned people’s throats without the liquid even going down them. It was chaotic.

It was home.

You shared a look with Jo, who was busy serving a passer-by with a cheery smile on her face while Ellen was walking a first-time drinker through the right options, rather than ordering fifty at once and getting so hammered that you three would have to drag them off the floor of the bar and mop up their sick. You sneakily poured a shot for yourself, downing it before anyone but Jo had a chance to see what you were doing and washing out the shot glass. You were a bartendress, you could hold your liquor without a problem.

“Hey.” Jo nudged you after serving a whiskey and nodded to the opposite corner, where a clearly wasted man was trying to grope a poor girl passing by, grabbing her wrist and trying to tug her back with slurred words and bedroom eyes. The sight made your blood boil and your hand itch to reach for the baseball bat that laid behind the counter. “Reckon we should 86 ‘em?”

“I don’t think there should be reckon anything.” You frowned, pursing your lips. “Dude needs to go.” You kept your eyes on the guy, while your co-worker and good friend Benny approached you two with narrowed blue eyes and cap pulled low over his brow.

“Everythin’ alright here, darlings?” He drawled, and his eyes follow the trajectory of yours and Jo’s until he finds the drunk man across the room, a small hum of acknowledgment leaving his mouth. “Y’all can relax. I’ll handle this-”

“Hey, pal?” A hand with a silver ring on it gripped the shoulder of you guys’ target, the voice sounding a bit stern. The hand was connected to a leather jacket-clad arm, which was worn by a man who was about 6’ 1” in height, and rather devastatingly handsome. He had sandy blonde hair and startling green eyes, with pouty pink lips and rather a defined jaw. He was built well, and clearly benched or at least worked out. You found yourself staring at his easy smile that masked some well-controlled anger towards the guy. “The lady doesn’t want you touching her. I’d hate for that handsome face of yours to be ruined.” The sarcasm in the comment got you grinning, and also got Benny over to the scene to roughly take the drunk dude’s hand off the girl, pulling him up and throwing him out while Jo ducked out from the counter to take care of the poor thing and get her a drink.

You found the stranger who helped Benny out at the counter, eyes twinkling as he looked into yours with a grin that twinkled in the light of the flickering bulb above your heads that you quickly twisted and got properly working again. “Harvelle’s Roadhouse, what can I get you today?” You greeted automatically, giving the man a smile that held a hint of gratitude. Gratitude, yes, but your eyes betrayed knowing. You could see the lost look in his eyes, almost searching for a place, and your heart went out to him. You knew all too well how that felt. All too well.

“A job, hopefully.” He answered with a nervous chuckle, looking down and then up at you with his eyes scanning you almost imperceptibly. “Saw the hiring sign outside, thought I might try my hand here.”

“Well, your hand got lucky.” You grinned, tapping the counter twice to get Ellen’s attention while she was serving another customer. “Can I get a name?”

“That’d be helpful.” He smirked, then put out his hand for you to shake. “Dean Winchester.” You shook his hand while giving him your name in return, Ellen stepping to stand beside you.

“We got a new hire, huh?” She chuckled, shaking Dean’s hand. “Hi, I’m Ellen. I run the place.”

“Dean. Winchester.” The name made Ellen’s eyebrows raise in surprise, and yours did too in curiosity. She seemed to know Dean, and that intrigued you.

“You’re one of John Winchester’s boys.” Ellen noted, which made Dean look between you and Ellen, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer.

“You know my old man?” He asked curiously, his emerald eyes almost giving a puppy-dog look as he addressed Ellen, his hands clasped on the counter in front of him.

“John stopped by often, was like family once.” She nodded with a soft smile. “Also knew you through Bobby, also a regular. Said you were a good kid. Well, I guess you’ve met our golden girl.” Ellen gestured to you with a tender hand, patting your shoulder. “She makes the meanest Cosmo around. She’ll show you ‘round, get you acquainted with the rules and regulations and also introduce you to the others working this shift. Take him through it, sweetie.” Ellen moved away to serve more customers, while you lifted up the gate to the counter to allow him inside. Dean stepped in, already looking mesmerised by the atmosphere and simultaneously the large selection of hard liquor to get through. Jo and Benny left their posts, strolling over to join you two.

“A new hire.” Benny held his hand out for Dean to shake. “Benjamin Lafitte, brother, but call me Benny.” Benny took one look at shared a look with you; he saw it too. The need of a metaphorical map in this stranger’s minuscule mannerisms. He was in need of support, and even though you two didn’t know what for, you were happy to give it.

“Benny, got it.” Dean shook Benny’s hand with an easy grin. “Dean Winchester, but call me Dean.” He turned to Jo, his eyes flicking up and down her as he’d done with you, and you noted that it might be a natural thing for him. Checking out pretty ladies. “And who might you be?”

“Jo.” She shook his hand, flicking her blonde hair out of her face.

“Don’t be shy, Joanna Beth.” Benny teased, piquing Dean’s interest.

“Joanna Beth?” He repeated with raised eyebrows and a small smirk.

“It’s just… Jo.” Jo chuckled, swatting Benny’s shoulder. “Ignore him.”

“Duly noted.” Dean nodded, then Benny took his shoulder. Their eyes met, and Benny’s lips twisted into a smirk.

“One question for you, brother.” Benny drawled in his slow accent, his eyebrow raising under the cap. “Can you handle your liquor?”

“I can mix ‘em and drink ‘em, if that’s what you’re getting at.” Dean answered confidently, that devilish grin still on his face.

“Then you’ll fit right in.” You clapped his shoulder- his surprisingly muscular shoulder - and brought him over to show him the ropes. “Initiation’s gonna be fun.”

Later on, when the Roadhouse closed up and all the patrons were out, we gathered around the bar. You introduced Dean to your resident party animal, Ash, who was busy being a genius in his room out back. You all were relaxing with glasses of whiskey, making sure to make Dean feel at home. He fit in well, and had instantly become a popular with the ladies and Benny’s new partner in crime. Jo pulled out ten shot glasses, which made everyone but Dean whoop and clap their hands.

“Time for initiation, young man.” Ellen cackled, taking out a bottle of bourbon, scotch, hard whiskey, vodka and tequila. Dean stared at the five bottles in confusion as they filled up the shot glasses, two shots per bottle in the order described.

“Complete this test and you’re officially one of us.” Jo smiled, pushing all of them forward in a neat line while you prepared a stopwatch. Dean registered all of the five drinks lined up with a small smirk, and then glanced around at the others in the room.

Had everyone done this before?

The prospect was thrilling. Getting to be part of a surrogate family that seemed to be so… happy. Especially since Sammy had left for Stanford and his old man wasn’t the keenest where he was concerned, being a part of this was all he wanted.

“All you have to do is down all ten of these shots within forty five seconds.” You grinned, holding up the stopwatch. “Level one is bourbon. Then scotch. Then you have hard whiskey, but not too strong. After that’s some tangy vodka, and you have the final level. Our strongest tequila.”

“Strong as hell. Beauty’s got a kick.” Benny whistled, then nudged you. “Remember when Bela thought she could handle more of that stuff and was passed out on the pool table five minutes later?”

“Like it was yesterday.” You laughed, then gestured to Dean. “Take your mark, soldier.” Dean stepped up to the counter, assessing the situation with careful, determined green eyes. They always seemed to captivate you. That and his winning smile. He’d taken off his leather jacket, which was over a blue flannel and grey undershirt. He had a boyish charm to him that you couldn’t help but warm up to as well. “Ready?”

“Born ready.” He nodded, mentally preparing himself as he took a deep breath, waiting for his cue. Then when there was the loud shout of ‘go’, he started slamming back the shots, the liquid burning his throat as we went. The bourbon and scotch were easy, the whiskey went down quicker than expected, but he faltered slightly on the vodka, the tang making one of his eyes close instinctively.

It felt like a goddamn barrage of sour candies at once.

However, Dean braved it and threw back the other, picking up the tequila and downing the first one. The burn made him cough and shake his head as the room went off kilter for a moment, but he grabbed the other and took it down in half a second before slamming the glass down on the table. You stopped the timer, and Dean straightened up as he got what felt like a million claps on the back. He met your eyes with a wide grin that matched yours, gratefully downing the glass of water that Ellen gave him before letting out a whoosh of breath.

“You’re one of us, brother.” Benny chuckled deep, gripping his shoulder. Dean couldn’t help but think about how mismatched this little gang was. There was mama bear Ellen, who doted on everyone as well as being a badass in her own right, mother of the sweetly fierce Jo, or Joanna Beth, who could flash a sweet smile at one point but stare daggers the next that can chill bones. Benny, with his distinct cap and fashion sense, paired with the slow drawl of an accent and rough-around-the-edges demeanour.

And then there was you. By what he knew of you, you were a firecracker. Cheeky smiles and a confident way of moving about pairing beautifully with your suave way of handling and mixing drinks. Paired amazingly, like a gin and tonic, or vodka and soda. Beginner’s drinks, but a classic and something he’d walk back to every time. Or maybe you were like whiskey on the tongue. You had an almost irresistible burn to you. Maybe a bourbon, with the hint of sweetness to your demeanour.

Ah, he’d find out someday.

You woke up the next morning, in the bed that was in your room at the Roadhouse to a texts from the group chat you all had, which didn’t include Ellen otherwise she’d chastise you all for the messages you left on there sometimes. You knew that today would be rather an eventful day, since Bela, Meg and Ruby were coming to work on your shift. The trio were alike in every sense of the word, but there was a respective increase in the level of savagery. Bela was smoothly rude, in either a way you couldn’t fault her for or one that you just couldn’t argue back to. Meg could roast you without a second thought but she made it sound like charisma, which it was, rather than outright hatred. If she wanted to, however, she could let you know she hated you. Ruby was just downright honest. Brutally honest in every way possible, but she couldn’t help but be one of your best friends. For all her sharp insults and snarky comments, she just had a wow factor you couldn’t ignore.

Since Dean was in need of a place to stay, Benny graciously offered to let the newcomer stay over. You and Benny had found the Roadhouse together, and you knew a lost soul when you saw one. A kindred spirit. You’d lived at the Roadhouse, courtesy of Ellen and Jo, and even when it wasn’t your shift, you always managed to make it there for a good day of relaxing, laughing and playing pool and maybe poker. Today, since it was a Sunday, the Roadhouse closed early, which meant you all could play random games and jam to karaoke and old songs on the jukebox.

You checked the messages on your phone, snickering at how many there were. But what caught you off guard was the latest one.

Queen B: Alright, what’s the deal with the new guy? Is he hot?

You: Bela, chill. Don’t go hitting on Dean already.

Megolodon: Dean? Even his name sounds sexy as hell

Ruby-gina George: Y’all are desperate

You: Right? Jesus, you haven’t even met the guy yet

Queen B: I call dibs on him 😉 Megolodon: I hope he has a brother, if you know what I mean 😏 older or younger I don’t mind at all, but I prefer younger

Ruby-Gina George: We haven’t even seen him yet

You: Stop thirsting over a guy you haven’t met

Queen B: You’ve seen him- is he hot?

Megolodon: C’mon, spill

Queen B: IS. HE. HOT

You: You two need to STOP

Ruby-Gina George: Touch freakin’ grass

Ben Dover: Leave the poor girl alone, Bela, she needs a breather

You: FINE. He’s attractive, alright

Queen B: HE’S MINE

Megolodon: Dibs on his brother

ScarJo: My god, stop blowing up my phone or mom will see these messages and fire us all

Queen B: Worth it

Megolodon: Yeah, I’m cool with that, just give me the hot bartender’s brother, please and thank you

Casanova: Who are we talking about? I’m confused.

Ben Dover: New hire

Casanova: Ah.

You shook your head, shoving your phone in your pocket as you stood up, heading over to the cupboard. You pulled out a red plaid shirt, taking off your tank and pulling the chosen clothing item on, doing up the buttons before heading to your mirror and trying to tame your hair for the first time in ages. Eventually, you settled on a simple rope braid that still had a few strands coming out of it, taking off your sweatpants and replacing them for jeans. Rolling up your sleeves to your elbows as you went, you zoned out while staring at the silver band on your finger with a snake engraving.

The delicate welts in the ring.

You weren’t married, no, but it was a part of where you came from. You weren’t proud of your history. The one part of it that came out good was your siblingship with Benny.

You met the sunshine streaming through the window, along with the sight of Dean already working at the bar. His flannel’s sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, his hair was short and spiky and he wore a soft smile on his face that suited him. However, his eyes flickered to a girl at the bar you knew all too well. What with her penchant for the finer things in life, hence the perfectly styled brown hair and clever green eyes, complete with a British accent.

Bela Talbot.

She was giving Dean what looked like bedroom eyes until his eyes flickered over to you, his face lighting up instantly with a chuckle at whatever she was saying. You seemed to pick up your sleepy mood as well, returning the grin. Bela smirked slightly, pumping her eyebrows twice as she took a sip of her wine. Wine in the morning. It made you grin at your friend.

How very Bela.

“Mornin’, sweetheart.” Dean rumbled, his morning voice sounding deep and rich. “Sleep well?”

“Slept great, thanks.” You replied softly, pouring yourself a glass of water and sipping it. “You settle in ok? At Benny’s?”

He nodded. “Oh, yeah.” He chuckled a bit, looking down with a bashful smile and a bite of his lip. “He’s great. And it’s great at his place.”

“Had I come earlier, I would offer you a bed at my place.” Bela smirked, then winked playfully rather than flirtatiously. “There’s only one, but I wouldn’t mind sharing.” The comment got a laugh out of both Dean and you, knowing it was all in good fun.

“An offer that I probably wouldn’t refuse.” Dean replied with a suave tone that had Bela grinning at you, nudging you before pointing at Dean with a manicured finger.

“I like him. He’s funny.”

“Good to know.”

“Well, you’re quite a handsome one.” Meg swayed up to the counter, dark brown hair swaying as her equally as dark eyes scanned Dean. She delicately put out her hand for him to shake. “Hi. Meg Masters, darling.”

“Dean Winchester.” Dean shook her hand with a sideways look, seeming rather flattered by the attention of so many women. “And thank you.”

“Just for research purposes-”

“Meg, don’t say it.” You whispered, but she waved you off with a sultry chuckle, her eyes focusing on Dean as she stole a bottle of vodka from behind the bar, pouring a shot which she threw back expertly.

“Do you have a brother? Out of curiosity.” She asked blatantly, smiling innocently at Dean, but you knew the smile wasn’t so incredibly innocent. Meg was like a demon; she corrupts easily. But she was a loveable little devil.

“Oh, shut up, we don’t have to be so touchy feely and up close.” Ruby groaned as she walked in, blonde hair swinging. “And get me a shot of tequila, it was a long and insufferable car ride.”

“You must be Ruby.” Dean noted, pointing at Ruby and smirking slightly. “Bela’s given me the rundown on who’s who. And yeah, I do have a younger brother. Sammy. He’s a dork.”

“Even better.” Meg winked as she poured Ruby a shot of tequila and passing it to her. “Where’s Benny at? I need my daily dose of that accent otherwise I might go insane.”

“You’ve already got the image of the newbie’s little brother so far up your ass, I’m surprised you remembered Benny.” Ruby snorted, taking her shot. “He’s out bein’ errand boy with Ellen and Jo. Texted him when I got here.”

“Earning some brownie points, are we?” Bela giggled. “How very like our suave gentleman.”

“Wine before breakfast.” You quipped, sipping your water. “How very like our expensive Brit, hm?” A round of laughter came from everyone around you, including Bela.

“You got me there.” She sighed playfully, sipping her wine. “Damn you.”

“Damn me.” You winked back, and then a nervous chuckle came from Dean.

“Don’t mean to be a downer on the party, ladies, but I’m feelin’ kind of out of place here.” He gave you all a nervous smile, and the lost puppy look was starting to come out again. You laid a comforting hand on his forearm, tilting your head.

“Don’t worry about it.” You smiled softly, letting out a breath through your nose. “We all love you already. Even if these three are too much.”

“Too much looks good on me, biatches.” Ruby added with a drawl, which got a grin out of Dean and you.

“We get it, Ruby.” You giggled, then glanced back at up Dean and his gorgeous green eyes. “You’re doing great, Dean. Don’t sweat it too much.” The comment got a suggestive ‘ooh’ out of the other three girls in the room, which had you and Dean looking to the counter and the floor respectively with dumb grins on your faces.

“BREAKFAST!” Startled all of you when Ellen walked in with Benny and Jo, the women holding two grocery bags while Benny carried four, most likely out of pure gentlemanliness.

You shared a soft look with Dean, followed by a reassuring pat on his forearm before you stood up and moved to help Benny with the bags. He glanced down at his forearm with a slight smile, fighting off a blush as his tongue darted out to lick his lips. His hand rubbed over the spot before he got to unpacking the grocery bags, feeling assured. Feeling safe.

Feeling like he was part of a family.

bDe: so this is the group chat, huh

You: Hey, Dean 👋

bDe: hey, sweetheart ;)

Ruby-gina George: Where did SWEETHEART come from

Queen B: You wish you were someone’s sweetheart, Rubes

Ruby-gina George: In your dreams, Bell-bottoms

Queen B: But you hate bell bottoms

Ruby-gina George: Exactly 😊

bDe: are they always like this

Ben Dover: You get used to it, brother

You: It’s all uphill from here

Casanova: Can someone please tell me the name of the new hire? I need to add him to my contacts.

bDe: dean winchester

Casanova: Thank you. I am Castiel Novak.

ScarJo: Cas, the perfect spelling, punctuation and grammar is NOT necessary

You: Yeah, how can you type that without getting bored

Casanova: How do you type without perfect spelling, punctuation and grammar?

Megolodon: We just type, Cassie baby, it’s not that hard

Queen B: Even I don’t type that fancy, and I’m British

Ruby-gina George: Part fancy Brit, part asshole

Queen B: I hate you

Ruby-gina George: You’re such a flirt

You: Like I said, Dean, uphill from here

ScarJo: Yeah, doesn’t get much worse than this

bDe: nah this right here is gold

Ben Dover: *eats popcorn*

bDe: can I have some

Ben Dover: sure, brother

You: All of you are unhinged- @Casanova are you gonna be there on your shift tomorrow

Casanova: Yes, I am.

Queen B: Our dear Cas, bland texter by day, expert mojito mixer at night

ScarJo: Sounds accurate to me

Casanova: I hate you all.

You : You love us ☺️

Casanova: I suppose that’s true.

After closing, everyone had gone to their respective houses, or so you thought. You were about to change and get into bed after a long day of supervising the bar in case Dean needed help or the girls were being far too flirty for their own good, but then you heard clinking glass from downstairs that piqued your interest. You prepared to grab the baseball bat from the cupboard on the landing as you crept out, but only heard the humming of a low voice you recognised as Dean. You walked into the main bar to find him cleaning the glasses, the clink coming from when he set them down with the others. But he heard you enter, and he looked up with the washcloth still held in his large hand. “Hey, sweetheart.”

“Dean, what are you…” You quickly moved to his side, ducking under the counter and taking the cloth. “Why are you here so late?”

“Thought I should clear up. It makes a good first impression.” He shrugged, and you got the whiff of ‘I’m lost and just want to fit in’ again. Dean mentioned a brother yesterday, so it had you wondering why he found the Roadhouse in the first place. Everyone was a lost soul who came here to work. Castiel divorced his wife and left his daughter, and needed a job after he was fired. Ruby left her abusive family, and Meg was in a toxic relationship. Bela had been on the run from her family and had become a pocket thief in the process until Ellen gave her a place at the Roadhouse. As for you and Benny, well, that was a topic neither of you were fans of touching that topic.

“You don’t have to work for that, Dean.” You reassured, squeezing his shoulder. “You’re already fitting in. Just don’t change yourself for insecurity’s sake. It’s gonna bite you in the ass later.”

“Good to know.” Dean chuckled, fiddling with the ring on his finger. “And I prefer my ass to be unbitten.”

“Don’t we all.” You joked, then gave him a smile. “C’mon, if you really wanna make a good impression, then get some rest.”

“You sure?” He frowned a little, his hand twitching to take the cloth from your hands, but you moved it further away. “I could help out, y’know.”

“Not that we don’t want you here, it’s just that we value physical well-being. And mental.”

“Gotcha.” He laughed, nodding as he picked his jacket off the coat hook. “Are you absolutely sure?” Dean wore a concerned look on his face, not wanting to leave you alone to do work. “I could save you some time.”

“I’m gonna drag Bela, Meg and Ruby’s asses to do this.” You chuckled, setting the cloth down on the counter. Dean felt comfortable as hell around you. Maybe it was because you were the first one he knew at the Roadhouse. “Go on, get.”

“Alright, alright, Jesus.” He took out his keys, winking smoothly. “Have a nice night, darlin’.”

“You too, Dean.” You waved as he left, a minute later the loud purr of a car, crunching gravel and screeching tyres gracing your ears.

3:00AM

Queen B: Anyone awake, I’m boredddddd

Megolodon: Same girlie

Ruby-gina George: Some people value their sanity you know

Ben Dover: Why are you up at 3am

bDe: so much for being told to get some sleep

You: You two are insufferable

Casanova: We have work tomorrow.

Queen B: Ohh god, I’m so drunnnnkkkkk

ScarJo: How much hard liquor have you had?

Queen B: Mmmmmmmaybe three

Queen B: b9ttles of tequ8la You: Three WHAT

Ruby-gina George: She’s so slammed she’s typing numbers

Megolodon: Awesome

Ben Dover: Bela, darling, where are you

Queen B: in your lap

bDe: damn

NEXT UP:

“So, darlin’, what do you do in your free time?” Dean asked you, cleaning out a glass with a rag and shooting a wink to a couple of giggling girls nearby. You poured a whiskey for a patron, sliding it across the table.

“Well, I’m a big fan of joyrides.” You answered with a goofy grin. “My Mustang’s always fun to take a spin in.” The mention of your Mustang got Dean’s eyebrows up to his hairline as he pointed out of the window.

“That beaut’s yours?” He exclaimed in disbelief, laughing. “Damn. That’s a serious muscle car.”

“Yeah, my Valkyrie. Val’s my sweetheart, always will be.” You looked up wistfully at the mention of your beloved car. “And your Chevy Impala, she’s absolutely gorgeous. I could listen to her purr all day.”

“That’s my Baby.” He bore the same wistful look you did, then nudged you. “We should take ‘em out for spins. Y’know, joyrides.”

“You sure?” You chuckled, looking up at him. “I don’t drive easy.”

“Even better.” He gave you a little wink paired with a click of his tongue. He flipped a bottle in his hand, pouring a whiskey shot expertly and handing it to you. “Ma’am.”

TAGLIST:

@hobby27 @jackles010378 @deans-spinster-witch @kr804573 @eexphoria @onlyangel-444

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[darsynia]

Heyyy. I hope ur requests are open. Anyways. Can I get a shot of tequila w/ Steve Rogers and the reader reunited after like 6 months apart because he went on the run and didn’t want to disrupt her life. Like maybe she was on Tony’s side in Civil War but helped Steve anyway because they were together since CA:WS. She tracks him down in Switzerland and he comes home to the safe house to see her heels by the door like they usually would be back in New York. Then he sees her sitting in the dark, save for the fireplace, and they argue about how he can try to leave but she will find him everytime because she loves him. So they have some “reunion fun” and maybe after, they’re having some pillow talk where she’s worried that he’s been with other women in 6 months apart. because let’s be fair, we can’t blame her. have you seen the nomad-hair ‘n beard?… 😭

Thanks for the request, nonnie! I couldn't work in the very last bit, but hopefully you'll enjoy. Rating is NC-17, minors DNI. 1,800 words. (I forgot to add, 180F is a good temperature for green tea--and yeah, a kettle would be in C probably but bear with me for the metaphor ❤️)

180

The chilly wind is not the reason Steve feels cold on his walk home. He’s living in a fully furnished home for the first time in six months, but nothing about the space feels welcoming. He can’t settle. Somehow the many barracks he’s lived in over the years made him feel more comfortable, and he knows the reason why.

You’re not there.

The thought stings, and he grits his teeth, keeping his eyes on the road. The last thing he wants to do is look familiar, and maybe that’s the problem. If he’s not allowed to be Steve Rogers, no amount of handmade quilts and cozy living room furniture will make him feel at home.

He rounds the corner, pulling out his key with a half of a block to go. The rental is quiet, out of the way, obscure, even. Half the time even he struggles to find it. From three houses away, he sees a pair of deep red heels next to his front door, as incongruous among the quaint townhomes in Willisau as a palm tree. The spasm in his chest isn’t something the serum in his veins can heal, but Steve tells himself nothing’s really there. He’s imagined your shoes waiting outside of almost every place he’s laid his head since he left, and now it’s Switzerland’s turn.

He studiously ignores his lintel as he unlocks the door and goes inside.

 Steve’s sure he’s right when everything is the same as he’d left it. You've never failed to leave your personal touch in his living spaces--a hand knit scarf hung next to his coats, a delicate bunch of flowers on the table in a vase he'd long ago forgotten he owned.

The orange of sunset stretches across the floor from a back window, and he can smell the tang of woodsmoke, a familiar occurrence in this neighborhood. It isn't until he puts his shoes and keys away and pads into the kitchen that he finally realizes he’s not alone.

The smoke smell isn’t from outside. The fireplace is lit, and when Steve steps into the doorway, he sees a familiar, precious silhouette. Even though you have to have heard him, you don’t turn around, so he chooses discretion as the better part of valor. You’ve always said a warm cup of tea is comforting after a long day, and it has been that.

He sets the temperature on the kettle, places two mugs, and then goes looking for tea, concern and frustration growing. You've never not greeted him, but those had always followed a goodbye, something Steve hadn't had the courtesy to give when he'd left. The first two cabinets yield nothing, and you haven’t spoken or come in, yet.

Then, suddenly, you’re there, walking in and showing him exactly where the tea is, right in time for the kettle’s finishing beep. You’ve always been like that, exactly what he needs at exactly the right time, and that hasn’t changed. It’s damning and loving all at once.

Steve grabs at one of the tins, but you set a light hand on his, leaving it there are you say something about temperatures and tea leaves. He’s barely listening, focused on the way your touch has jump-started his heart, his lungs, and… everything else.

“Steve!” you say, snatching your hand back and giving him an affectionate, frustrated look. It’s more the latter than the former, but at this point he’s parched soil grateful for a slight drizzle. “Did you hear any of that? I asked what temperature you set the kettle.”

“Uh, whatever the default is?”

Brand new to this kitchen though you are, you pick it up and start it again, noting that the water bubbles up right away. “212 is my guess. That’s too hot for this. It’s green.”

Steve very much wants to point out that all tea is green, but he knows better. Instead, he says, “We can pour it out and start over?”

You look at him for a long moment, your body a foot and several hard conversations away, and finally nod. Neither of you say anything as the new water heats up, but Steve feels the metaphorical distance between the two of you narrow as you breathe each other’s air for the first time in forever.

When the kettle finally sounds, it’s somehow familiar. In his head Steve feels another timer go off, and he heeds it.

“I’m--” he starts to say, but you interrupt.

“I know.”

To hide his apprehension, Steve grabs the sugar, a spoon, and an amused look. “You don’t know what I was going to say!”

“I know all of them. You’re sorry. You’re not coming home. You’re doing this for my own good. You’re lonely.”

“You’re right.”

“I know.”

The two of you settle next to each other on the couch with a not inconsiderable amount of painful distance between you. That doesn’t translate to the conversation, though. It’s full of honesty (“I didn’t want to leave. I wish it didn’t have to be this way, but I’m not done with the things that need to be done, and it’s not safe for you here.”) from both sides  (“You’re physically gone and I hate that, but emotionally, I know you don’t want to let me go. I’m always with you, and I’ll always find you. There’s no one that can keep me safer than you can.”).

Once the tea’s long gone and the fire has died down to embers, neither of you have said the most important words, the healing words. 

Finally you whisper them, tears welling up in your eyes. “Steve, I love you. It doesn’t have to be like this.”

He opens his mouth, certain of his mission, as sacrificial as it is--but you slide up beside him, warm and loving and his.

“It can be like this,” you rasp, sliding your hand along his chest and up into his hair to pull his lips down to yours.

Steve groans in gratitude, angling his head in welcome and grasping at your hips to drag you onto his lap where you belong. He sends up a prayerful apology to any member of his family that still checks the earthly realm to watch him live a sinless life. Today is not that day. 

You’re wearing soft dress pants, just loose enough for him to slide his hand past your waistband, thumbing caresses along the heat of your inner thigh until your hitching ‘yes’ of a sigh gives him more explicit permission. He’d missed your body, missed this, the warm slick of your welcoming folds, the way you gasp and tense when he strokes you. This angle shouldn’t work, but he’s strong, and he knows how much you love that, so he nuzzles the join between your neck and shoulder, breathing you in.

You release your deathgrip on his shirt to snake your hand up into his hair, dragging your fingernails deliciously against his scalp. Your movements are imprecise and shaky, a testament to his own erotic movements, and Steve groans aloud at the realization. The timbre of your voice as you whisper his name hints at how close to orgasm you are, and he takes the opportunity to escalate his onslaught.

“Let go, sweetheart,” he whispers against your skin, thrusting his fingers inside at unpredictable intervals to prolong your pleasure. You have always both loved and hated that, wanting instead to lose yourself in the rhythm of predictable movements--but your most vocal climaxes come just like this.

Steve backs off again, and you roll your hips, tempting him to return. “I’ll never let go,” you growl, pushing off just far enough to start unbuckling his pants. “You should know that.”

It’s an inflection point, and though Steve’s a soldier, he doesn’t fight you. You’d been so close your whole body had started to tremble, but instead of taking what you could from him and then shifting the mood, you’d taken the route of self-sacrifice. Those thoughts flee the battlefield when you urge him to lift up enough to tug his pants out of the way. Impatience sings through his veins. He wants to take charge and--

“Oh,” he says. The whole world shifts from black and white to color as you slide down between his legs, taking him in your mouth. He’s almost too sensitive for this, grabbing a fistful of the couch instead of your hair, knowing his own strength. You anchor yourself with a hand grasping that same forearm, moaning as you suck as if feeling the flex of his muscles is itself erotic.

Steve knows the whining noise he can hear is coming from his own throat, but doesn’t care about anything but the surging joy of this moment. You know exactly how to work him, adding everything he loves about you, about the ‘us’ he’d wanted to build with you. When he’s almost, almost there, when he knows your next move would be a deep-throated encouragement to spill in your mouth, you pull back.

The lesson is sharp and warranted, but Steve’s trust doesn’t waver. He looks down at you--‘submissive’ at his feet but fully in charge of the moment--and nods. I get it. Your light smile and little squeeze of his arm before you get up feels more like home than anything in months.

“I love you,” he says, and means it more than he ever, ever has.

“Hasn’t anyone told you not to say that in the middle of sex?” you tease, moving fluidly to shed the rest of your clothing. The only thing you keep on is your electric blue bra, and Steve lets out a tiny little noise of want when he sees it. It’s his favorite. Eight months ago you’d tried to get rid of it and he’d snatched it up out of the ‘to toss’ pile and buried it in his drawer, the drawer you’d given him in your bedroom for when he slept over.

He hadn’t wanted to leave it behind, to leave you behind, but it felt like the right thing to do at the time. Now, looking at your sultry, challenging expression, he truly understands the mistake he made.

Steve opens his mouth to tell you how beautiful you look in the firelight, how sorry he is that he ever thought he could walk away to make your life safer, how--

“Prove it, soldier,” you tell him. The words are confident, but there’s a waver in your tone that he put there.

He reaches for you, pulling you onto him, into him, straight through his skin, your sighs writing your name on his heart. It's exactly where you, where he belongs. The result is a rolling boil, a volley of exploding shells, a Brooklyn apartment with a pair of red heels at the door.

It’s been a battle, but he’s home.

[yumiis]

headcannons for getting drunk with tgc?

like how high their tolerance to alcohol is,

what they usually have,

and stuff similar?

ignore my 'ideas' if you dont wanna do them <3

🫧 anon

absolutely!! i love making hcs like this (i also won't be including larry bc he isn't of legal age to drink :P)

｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡ ﾟ。 drunk ; tgc boys

　 ﾟ･｡･ﾟ

genre/type: fluff/humor, headcanons

read below!

ISAAC;

absolute unbeatable tolerance. insane tolerance. dude can take 6 shots of everclear and still walk a straight line.

you've only seen isaac blackout ONCE, and it was complete accident. you hadn't seen isaac drinking that much, but he was actually borderline drunk. he asked you in a pretty sober sounding voice, "how many drinks have i had? should i stop?" you say, "i've only seen you take like 2 shots. drink some more!"

horrible move. he blacked out and also woke up with the world's worst hangover.

ever since then though, his tolerance, like i said, is rock solid.

he likes the classic drinks, so i'd say he likes a good screwdriver.

super clingy and COCKY when he's drunk.

drowning you in kisses and hugs, and he goes, "babe, i'm soooo hot. i'm soooo hot and sexy.."

"sure you are."

your two options are to kill his ego or boost it, but it kills you too much to deflate his ego.

"how cocky was i last night?"

"yeah."

TANNER;

moderately normal tolerance, maybe a TINY bit lower than the average person in their mid-20's.

like, if we're measuring in shots of vodka again, like 4 1/2 shots he'd be gone. not black out gone, but "i'm gonna talk about every celebrity i could probably pull" gone.

he's such a YAPPER when he's drunk dude.

will probably do the trend of writing fake band names to try and make you laugh

he's dancing around to loud ass music in the kitchen, invites you to dance with him, he immediately starts shoving himself against you

he won't shut up about how much he loves you

he's definitely got his head in your lap and he's making you play with his hair and listen to him talk

however you have to stop him talking at a certain point, because he'll just start having a crisis and making himself sad.

he's never blacked out, but he has terrible hangovers.

favorite drink? he strikes me as a daiquiri kinda guy. he'd love them.

but if it's more casual drinking at home, he's happy with some soju.

NICK;

literally AVERAGE tolerance.

about 2-3 shots of vodka has him tipsy, 4-6 has him drunk, and don't give him more than 8, he might start drunkenly making an album.

he's not a clear liquor guy, he prefers browns like brandy or scotch.

there is almost ALWAYS a bottle of whiskey in the fridge for nick, he never runs out.

he drinks regularly, but he doesn't HEAVILY drink on those nights.

he's super sleepy when he's drunk. he could literally fall asleep anywhere if given the opportunity

he could be laying on the floor to "stretch his back" he's asleep 10 minutes later

you have to carry this dude to bed (and if you can't do it alone, isaac helps you)

like i said he prefers drinking brown liquors, so i think he'd maybe like a tequila sunrise or just straight whiskey

BLAKE;

"i have a ROCK SOLID tolerance!" dead in 3 shots. don't listen to him lie to you

every time you and the guys go out for dinner at like chilis or something, blake orders a margarita and everyone sighs in unison

the margarita gets him on the verge of drunk. just a little past tipsy.

he can HARDLY casually drink with anyone because his tolerance is just THAT bad

you constantly pick at him for it but he's just accepted it at this point

he's so SILLY when he's drunk man

cracking jokes that do NOT land at all and are not funny unless he's talking to a bunch of drunk people

"so the.. uh.. what? yeah.. uh.."

he suddenly forgets english

he can barely formulate a SINGLE sentence and he's basically speaking in mumbles

he's like speaking in fancy or speaking in riddles like a troll under the bridge or some shit

you have to baby him while he's drunk or he won't know what the hell is going on

i think he honestly.. just likes whatever he can get his hands on.

[halstudandruz]

Thigh or Nothing

*Not my gif*

Pairing: Matt Casey x Reader

Requested: Yes

Prompt: Months after your breakup Matt loses his cool

Warnings: smut (18+), thigh riding, jealous!Matt, edging, swearing

A/N: Continuing to live in my happy world where all my boys are alive and still in Chicago 🫶

“I’m sorry, [Y/N]. We did all we could.” Connor broke the news to you and you could almost feel your heart breaking into two.

“Thanks Connor. I know you did.” You sighed, he gave you a sympathetic nod, picking three beer bottles up and heading back towards his table.

It was the cherry on top of your week. Which was without question the worst since you had become a paramedic 6 years prior. You shouldn’t have asked, you're not supposed to ask and how you felt right this second made the reason clear. Like your entire job was a waste. Which deep down obviously wasn’t true. The lives you saved had outweighed the lives lost, but that fact didn’t always matter. Not when you gave your blood, sweat, and tears to save a child who they would only end up losing on the table hours later. The less you knew of the outcome the better, you could at least pretend they all had a happy ending then. You were glad your partner hadn’t come out tonight. At least then she could live in the dark of the truth, one that you would never tell her. Swallowing the lump in your throat you gestured for Stella who was filling a glass with beer. She handed the beverage to a man at the other end of the bar making her way towards you.

“Can I get a shot? Surprise me, something strong.” You requested just as a body slid into the chair next to you. The only seat still available at the bar. Glancing to your left your stomach only tightened.

“Hey.” Your ex boyfriend gave you a genuine smile hanging his coat on the back of the stool.

“Well if it isn’t Matthew Casey.” The blonde to his left interrupted before you could answer. His attention quickly turned to a girl you recognized from the State Attorney’s office. How you didn’t realize she was sitting there before was beyond you. You had loathed her from the moment she tried to entice Matt into getting a drink when you were out of town after him and Severide had helped them with a case.

“Kaylee, hey how are you?” Matt greeted, and you could see the minute she turned her charm on, turning her body to face him, chest popping out slightly, eyelashes fluttering, and a soft smirk appearing on her lips. You would venture a guess that she had heard about your breakup somehow, not that she cared if he was in a relationship before. Stella appeared back in front of you.

“Yeah, make that two.” You sighed downing the tequila.

“[Y/N].” Stella warned glancing over to Matt and Kaylee who were now laughing. She was your best friend which meant she was also in charge of nixing your bad decisions when it was warranted.

“Just one more.” You looked at her pleading, she knew what a rough week it had been and you knew she was looking out for you but right now you didn’t care. She shook her head grabbing a bottle to fill the shot glass in front of you. “Thank you.” You nodded after feeling the burn down your throat a second time. You could feel Matt’s side eye and chose to ignore it for the better.

Thirty minutes later the shots were beginning to buzz in your bones only furthering your irritation when you watched Kaylee lean whispering into Matt’s ear.

“Hey.” A voice over your shoulder caused you to jump.

“What’s up?” You forced a smile at Severide. You and Severide had become close friends throughout the years mostly due to the grief of losing your partner and his best friend, sticking by each other’s sides through the thick of it, always having him nearby was a comfort.

“Just wanted to check in on you.” He sat down in the seat beside you that had been vacated 10 minutes ago. The one you were about to move to hoping it would lessen your ability of hearing Kaylee’s dare you say pathetic flirting.

“Yeah, I’m good!” You nodded, high pitched voice a little excessive. Were you coping super well? Not exactly. Trying to dissociate tragedies was supposed to come natural to you, just like everyone else in the firehouse and normally you could maybe, but Chicago seemed to implode this week and despite all your best efforts you were fighting a losing battle on almost all occasions. That’s the reason you asked Connor about the little boy from this morning expecting a good report and your spirits to be raised only to be shocked at the truth.

“Mhmm,” he raised an eyebrow glancing over your shoulder at his best friend’s back, “I’m sure that’s true.”

“It’s just like.. does he have to do it right here.” You rolled your eyes, whispering to Kelly, for no good reason since Matt was clearly so enthralled in conversation he wouldn’t have heard you anyway.

“Payback is a bitch, [Y/L/N].” Kelly chuckled, eliciting confusion to appear on your face.

“What does that even mean?” You tried to take a drink before realizing your glass had nothing but ice left, “Gallo,” you summed the dark haired man over holding your drink up.

“You know, [Y/N], I get off early tonight.” Gallo filled your glass wiggling his eyebrows which earned a laugh from Severide. Blake was cute, adorable actually. The kind of guy that would fall at a woman’s feet, make her wonder why she ever spent her life with any other loser. Not someone you wasted a quick hookup on, and right now that’s all you wanted.

“Yeah buddy, see how well that plays out for you.” Severide wore a smug grin, which annoyed you just because he was skilled at getting girls in bed with him didn’t mean he could make fun of the poor kid.

“Ritter gonna be out tonight? Cause I tend to get loud.” You lowered your voice head cocking to the side, a flirty grin appearing on your face, instantly causing redness to form around Blake’s cheeks as he slid the newly filled glass towards you.

“God knows that’s the truth.” Severide huffed, taking a drink of his beer, and your head whipped to him, a scowl appearing.

“Oh fuck you, I had to deal with your hookups on god knows what surfaces for practically a year straight so hush,” You shoved him, you and Matt hadn’t exactly lived together, but you might as well have. You stayed with him practically every night off and since Severide was his roommate he may have been unfortunate enough to be subjected to your pleasure induced sounds every once in a while. “And don’t act like you didn’t like it.” You teased.

Gallo coughed around the drink of water he had just taken, obviously taken back.

You had considered continuing the charade until you heard Kaylee ask Matt if his place was close. Stomach clenching at the words you moved quickly to take a drink, too quickly apparently as the drink ended up in Matt’s lap instead of in your mouth.

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry!” Heat immediately surfaced on your face. You truly didn’t mean to knock your full glass into Matt’s lap. The adrenaline from your jealousy mixed with everything else that week had you completely flustered and the cup slipped right out of your hand, but you knew from the outside looking in it would never look that way.

You could hear Kaylee scoff, looking up to see her roll her eyes dramatically. “Matt I didn’t-“ You flushed taking a single napkin trying and failing to help the mess at all.

“[Y/N], it’s fine. I just..I’ll be back.” He waved you off, stepping towards the bathroom.

“That was convenient.” Kaylee commented harshly, taking a sip of her martini.

“Believe me you don’t want to go there tod-“ You began to stand up, but beside you Kelly squeezed your knee keeping you put.

“Hey, it's not worth it. Trust me.” He encouraged, prompting you to shut up. Was it a good idea to get into a cat fight with an attorney? Probably not, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t tempting.

“Yeah, thanks. I’m going to go check on Casey.” You patted him on the shoulder heading towards the bathroom, throwing the blonde a glare.

“Matt?” You knocked on the door as a warning before pushing it open. The hand dryer on the wall was loudly whirring as he stood underneath it, the handle pointed at his crotch as best as it could be.

“I’m not mad,” he started the minute you appeared in front of the door, “I know you’ve had a rough week and don’t like her and you have every right not to, but-“ at his words your jaw almost dropped to the ground cutting him off.

“You’re not actually implying I did that on purpose.” You scoffed in disbelief, he knew you better than that.

“What am I supposed to think? It was pretty convenient timing, and I watched you down two shots the moment she started talking to me.” He laid his line of thinking out, and it was fair. Did you love seeing Kaylee flirt with him? Not for a single second. Were you trying to get trashed tonight? Absolutely. But regardless you would never do that to him.

“Fuck you, Matt. We both know we do what we need to in order to get through some weeks and sometimes that includes alcohol.” You defended, your face was beginning to heat up in anger at the accusation escalating. Not to mention you were far from drunk.

“Does that include hooking up with your superiors?” He quipped, making your heart drop at the realization he knew what the last few months held for you after your split.

“How do you know about that?” Panic took hold of your chest. Nobody was supposed to know, it could be really bad for both of you if anyone had found out about you and Hawkins.

“I have my sources.” He blew you off, once again hitting the hand dryer on the wall aiming his other thigh at it now. You weren’t dumb you knew exactly who his sources were, and Stella was gonna get an ear full later. She should know full well that anything that goes into her boyfriend’s ears will undoubtedly be in his best friend’s soon after. You and Kelly might’ve been close but he had an obvious loyalty to his partner in crime, “I’m just saying I haven’t felt the need to cause drama anytime you’ve left with Evan or your pick of the night.” His voice was raised even as the dryer dwindled to a stop.

“So, you’re slut shaming me now then? Is that what we’re doing?” You crossed your arms against your chest getting defensive

“Oh, come on [Y/N]. You know I’d never do that. Have all the sex you want, with whoever you want. It’s none of my business. I’d just request that you don’t let your ego cockblock me next time I’m trying to do the same.” He bit back. You knew he was right. He would never actually slut shame you and the accusation was a low blow, but the alcohol was causing annoyance to course throughout your body. Only heightened the second you watched him lean closer to the attorney.

“My ego? Really?” You laughed, humorously.

“Yes, your ego. You were jealous. Go ahead and admit it,” he encouraged and you rolled your eyes refusing to do as he asked, “you think I like watching you leave here with guys wrapped around your finger? I don’t at all, but at least I can admit it.” He took a paper towel from the dispenser. You had no idea why he was furiously dabbing at the mess, it was pretty clear the wreckage was cleaned as much as it possibly could be.

“This is ridiculous.” You huffed, the conversation was going absolutely nowhere. On a normal everyday basis you and Matt had been pretty good at putting your breakup on the back burner. Having to work with each other wasn’t always easy, but you both were handling it well with dignity and respect. Tonight, on the other hand, was different. Tempers were beginning to flare, and filters were flying out the window. All you were trying to do was offer him a genuine apology, but all you were getting in return was underhanded comments. “The only thing I came in here to do was take responsibility and apologize for an accident. I don’t know what your problem is.” You did not foresee this turning into a fight when you got up.

“You are!” He exclaimed, jaw tightening.

“Excuse me? What’s that supposed to mean?” Your emotions were beginning to boil. This made sense though. Your split was pretty amicable. Too afraid to say something and regret it later. Only having to face it every other day for the rest of your life, but maybe you were being too cautious. Maybe things needed to be said. Maybe mistakes needed to be made.

“You are,” he reiterated, stepping closer to you finally lowering his voice, “do you know how goddamn hard it’s been to see you leave here every week with a different guy? To hear that you’re fucking Hawkins when you’re all that’s still on my mind?” His voice was quivering and it took you a minute to adjust to the sudden change in tension. Surprised at his admission. You had never seen Matt like this. Even when you were together if someone had hit on you or overstepped their bounds he would kindly and calmly inform them that you were taken. Just as you would expect Matt Casey to. But this was something else. Months of built up jealousy, unable to do or say anything about it apparently taking a toll. His hand was gripping the sink so hard his knuckles were pure white, an anguished look in his eyes as he thought about it, and it was undeniably sexy. “I know that I have no right, but good lord, [Y/N]. It is slowly kill-“ You couldn’t even allow him to say another word. You were certain if you didn’t get your hands on him within the second you were going to burst into flames, gripping his face tightly, quickly molding his lips to yours. The rhythm was quick to find, familiarity not too far gone.

It didn't take Matt very long to take advantage of the kiss, pushing you back a few steps against the nearest wall, forcing his tongue into your mouth. Your hand found its way to the hair at the back of his neck threading your fingers through it. It was intense, fire quickly spreading through your body, slotting your hips against his leg, hips moving in desperation.

“Look at you, so fucking desperate. Like you haven’t been fucked right in months.” Matt’s hand rested on your ass encouraging the movement, lips moving down your neck.

It was true. Right after you and Matt had broken up you began frequenting bars, joining hookup apps, going home with a different guy multiple times a week. The problem was nobody matched up to him. There were some decent ones and some really sucky ones too, only concerned about how fast they could get there, skipping foreplay almost entirely, but no matter what without fail it always ended with you craving your ex. The only one to even slightly quench your thirst was your boss, Evan Hawkins so an occasional hookup may or may not have happened. What Matt clearly didn’t know is the agreement you two had, had recently come to an end after learning of a friend’s interest in the Chief. Leading to those hookups to become extinct over a month ago. So, whatever he was offering you were willing to take it without hesitation.

His teeth nipping at your collarbone only furthered your need allowing him to push you down harder on his leg. Leaning closer into him you took ahold of his hand that was gripping your hip trying to move it under your skirt.

“Uh uh uh,” He resisted, “it’s my thigh or nothing, baby.” He wore a cocky smirk, only growing the second you whined a quiet,

“Matt.” A defeated, pleading look appearing in your eyes. While his attitude was angering you slightly, only wanting to reach a high right this second, and you had no doubt his fingers could do exactly that, you couldn't deny how hot this was and how his ultimatum only furthered the wetness building between your legs.

“Show me how bad you need it, princess, but try not to be too loud there is an entire bar of our coworkers 50 feet away.” His thigh tightened as if he was wanting you to go against his warning, a strangled moan on the tip of your tongue, body getting as close to you as he possibly could so his smell engulfed you, a smell you missed having wrapped around you more than you thought.

You whimpered into his neck pushing your hips down harder, and you could feel him steadily growing against your hip. “You’re so beautiful you know that?” He complimented both hands moving to your ass encouraging you to speed up your movements, the friction from the denim winding a coil in your stomach. Your fingers clawed at his biceps looking for as much contact as possible. Head falling back against the wall, your eyes closing tightly, your breathing was starting to speed up shakily with every grind of your hips.

“Matt, I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if it’s enough.” You admitted, the knot growing but only torturing you as you continued to rut against his leg, needy whimpers spilling from your mouth.

“Yes, you can. I know you can. You want me so bad? Make a mess on me first. Be a good girl.” Matt encouraged flexing the muscle in his thigh once again, dragging his teeth down the side of your throat stopping to bite behind your ear, one hand coming up to tweak your hardened nipple over your top and you finally snapped, a breathless moan falling from your lips as Matt helped work you through your high.

“Good thing you already fucked up my pants earlier or else I’d be pretty concerned about the mess you're leaving behind right now. Your panties are going to be ruined.” He wasn’t kidding, there was absolutely zero doubt he would have evidence of this encounter on his thigh if you stepped off right now. He was however wrong about one thing.

“Not wearing any.” You shrugged, letting your leg fall shakily from Matt’s hip.

“For fucks sake.” He groaned pupils flashing even darker, roughly gripping the back of your neck and pulling your lips back to his for a sloppy kiss.

“Yours? It’s closer.” You mumbled into his neck after pulling away to get a breath, biting it playfully. Nodding he stepped back to pull his phone out of his pocket to reserve an Uber and unsurprisingly there was indeed a dark spot staining his jeans, but all you were focused on was the bulge to the right of it, mouth watering contemplating dropping to your knees right there, missing the weight of his cock on your tongue, when he grabbed your hand.

“We’ll go out the back.” He gave you a quick kiss, opening the door to check for anyone before sneaking through the kitchen out into the cold, a car pulling up to the curb just as you made it around the building.

The minute you were in the Uber your mouth was back on his.

“Sorry to interrupt but I’m gonna need an address confirmation before you suck all the air outta his lungs, honey.” A nice older woman, joked from the driver's seat. Blushing you mumbled an apology putting some space between you two. Matt chuckled in amusement, confirming the address on the screen.

“Probably get a lot of this, this time of night huh?” Matt began a conversation hand resting teasingly high on your thigh.

“Absolutely, but I don’t mind. It’s nice to see young people having fun. It’s cliche but you really do only live once and y’all are in your prime years. They go faster than you think. So, as long as everyone is being safe and aren’t actually doing anything disrespectful in my backseat I don’t mind.” She smiled, kindly. The conversation continued for the remaining 5 minutes until she pulled in front of Matt’s apartment building. “Have a good night you two. Be safe.” She winked. Giggling you got out thanking her, approving of Matt’s 5 star review and generous tip once you made it in the elevator. Your hand was clasped in his, thighs involuntarily rubbing together at the tension, having to behave with all your might thanks to the elderly couple who accompanied you.

As soon as the door to his apartment was closed and your shoes were discarded his mouth was back on yours, stealing your breath at the need he conveyed. Untucking your top from the skirt it was discarded on the hardwood, tapping your thighs you took the hint allowing him to wrap your legs around him walking you to his bedroom. It had been the first time you had been back in the apartment since the breakup. Heart aching as your mind flashbacked to Matt swallowing harshly, blinking back his tears, in an attempt to put on a strong front as you walked out.

Luckily, you were quickly teleported back to the present once your back hit his bed, allowing him to pull his shirt off in one movement.

You would never not stare, never could not stare at a shirtless Matt Casey. You had made it a point not to be near him in the locker room recently because it just was not a power you possessed. Not sure how it was a power anyone could possess as your eyes raked over his broad chest, his forearms and hands causing your hips to wiggle slightly. He didn’t let you gaze long though, bending to attack your bare chest. Hand moving between your thighs to learn you weren’t lying earlier, a groan escaping him at the finding. His lips laid kisses all over your breasts, fingers moving to trail down your slit hips immediately jumping.

“So needy.” His free hand squeezed your hip forcing it down, just as he pressed a finger in slowly you let out a deep sigh. It wasn’t enough, you needed more immediately.

“More..” You requested as he curled his finger just right putting more pressure against your waist when your pelvis fought to jerk forward. Obliging, he added a second finger increasing the speed. Your body was begging you to work for it, wanting to rock your hips down to ride his hand but his strong hold was preventing it. A groan fell from your lips the minute his thumb met your clit rubbing soft circles.

“You wanna come on my fingers?” He whispered in your ear, biting it softly. You were breathing heavily, quickly nodding your head yes in response. Your walls clenching when he crooked his fingers once again, so damn close, when he pulled away from you.

“Matt, what the fuck?” You whimpered, squirming under his lustful gaze.

“I don’t think you’re ready yet.” He brushed you off, but the glint in his eye proved how much he enjoyed this and it was clear you were in for a long night, leaning forward he pulled your last piece of clothing down your legs roughly tugging you towards the edge of the bed by your ankles, ending on his knees between your legs, and it was a sight to behold. One of your favorites if you were being honest. You were taken back at the lack of teasing the minute Matt shoved his mouth into your pussy, tongue darting out to lick your clit, a wail echoing from your lips, “You taste so damn good, forever my favorite meal, baby.” He praised nipping the sides of your thighs when his finger circled your entrance once again filling you. You directed all your focus towards keeping quiet as the knot grew tighter with every movement, hoping if you didn’t give him any sign of how close you were you could trick him into letting you come, hands twisted tight in the sheets when he sucked your clit finger curling to hit your sweet spot, but at the last second he pulled away, ripping you back from the brink once again.

“Fuck!” You huffed, hand punching the sheets, Matt chuckled above you,

“You’re so cute thinking I don’t know your body like the back of my hand.” And okay while this sucked, cocky Matt was intoxicating.

He edged you three more times and you were so wound up you feared the second he got in you, you would burst. You were physically panting, tears covering the sheets under your head.

“Matt-please. I’ll fucking call Hawkins right now.” You bargained, and despite the jealously that flashed deeper on his face he grinned smugly.

“You think threatening me right now is a good idea?” His eyebrow raised.

“I don’t know! I just need something, anything please.” Your thighs squeezed together begging for friction. Your eyes traveled down the man’s body, hardness in his jeans more than evident and you reached out towards him, missing the feeling of him in your hand, getting to watch his face scrunch in pleasure with just a flick of your wrist, but he caught your hand.

“Tonight’s about you baby, and making you wonder why you’d ever want someone else to put their dick in you.” He winked, his words actually surprised you. He was never this territorial over you, but it lit an even bigger fire inside of you. “Tell me what you want.” He ordered hands resting against the edge of the bed.

“You, right now. Anyway you’ll give it to me.” You wasted no time in answering, batting your eyelashes.

Smiling he finally pulled his jeans and boxers down allowing the bulge in his pants room breathe, tip red and dripping, moving to hover on top of you, he teased his cock through your wetness appreciating the way your cheeks flushed, his pupils dark not allowing you much time to drool, “Condom?” He asked, seemingly forgetting until this point not used to having to use them with you since you were on birth control, “I’m sure Severide has some.” You could see the hurt in his eyes from having to ask, and it made your heart ache in turn, but you shook your head,

“I’ve made everyone else wear one.” You explained, hooking your legs around his hips and his relief was obvious.

“Ready?” He leaned down to place a soft kiss on your forehead, a welcoming softness in a tension filled room.

“God, yes.” You wiggled your hips attempting to angle him in.

At the confirmation Matt thrusted deep into you pulling a gasp out of you at the roughness. You could vividly remember the first time Matt and you had sex. Gentle, intimate, loving after years of longing and avoiding the inevitable between you two. Completely different than right now. You wouldn’t be surprised if tomorrow you found marks from the Captain’s fingers around your hips pulling you towards him feverishly, everytime his dick thrusted forward into you, and it was exactly what you needed. It took a whole two seconds for you to fill the room with moans, allowing him to manhandle you from the start. He maneuvered your legs from his hips to his shoulders enabling him to go deeper, screaming when he thrusted his hips the perfect way, “Matt-oh my god,“ your body was tightening embarrassingly fast.

“Yeah, baby?” He gritted, and you were extremely impressed at how well he was keeping his composure tonight.

“You’re so fucking good.” You complimented through ragged breaths, eyes tightly shutting at the growing pressure.

“Go and fuck whoever you want, but you’re always gonna end up back here, baby. Cause nobody can fuck this pussy better than me, huh? Tell me I’m right baby girl, you don’t come until you do.” He bargained, pulling out so just the tip was in you, slowing down his thrusts. You didn’t want to give in, to give him the satisfaction regardless of it being the truth, but based on how he was acting tonight you really believed if you didn’t confirm his suspicions he wouldn’t let you come, and you just might actually die if that was the case. Literally whining, tears springing to your eyes, your feet dug into his shoulders in an attempt to make him go deeper. So fucking close, your muscles hurt from the strain of being so tightly wound time and time again, “Sweetheart, I can come just like this right now if you want me to. Be like every other guy you’ve been with recently. Is that what you want?” His tone was dripping in arrogance and his shallow thrusts were successfully torturing you. How this side of him could be completely infuriating but completely erotic at the same time was beyond your comprehension at the moment. You had never been so distraught, allowing your pride to go out the window without a second thought.

“Matt-“ you felt the tears starting to run down your face, “please. It’s you- it’s yours. Need you, always need you. Please let me come.” Your breathing was ragged, hips doing their best to entice him closer, pull him in on their own accord.

“Good girl.” He praised leaning down to kiss the tears away softly, “you’re so damn pretty.” He smiled genuinely, studying your features.

“Fuck me, Captain.” You smirked, although enjoying the snippet of fluff. Laughing, Casey returned to his previous position.

“Remember you asked for it.” He teased throwing you a wink before flipping you over on your stomach, ramming into you harder this time. The bunch of nerves you had felt plenty of times tonight already quickly returning full force, Matt was finally starting to lose his cool, grunts falling from his lips.

“Fuck, [Y/N].” Looking over your shoulder you could see his eyes were between your legs intently watching where you two met, a sight you wish you had the ability to see.

“Matt-“ a broken sob fell from your lips, “so close.” You were attempting to move your hips with his but the brutal pace he had set was hard to match. He wrapped an arm around your waist pulling you up against his chest. Pressing the fingers from his right hand against your clit, rubbing soft circles.

“Go ahead, gorgeous.” He encouraged into your ear kissing the back of your neck, seconds later your body practically convulsed finally letting go, back arching off into his chest, a loud moan echoing in the room. Matt having to hold you up completely as you worked through your high. He followed soon after filling you with warmth every time his dick twitched. A feeling you missed more than you’d like to admit.

You lay in silence after collapsing on the mattress, legs shaking, Casey’s head dug into your neck trying to resurrect his breath, heart beating rapidly against your back. The intensity finally dwindling, causing an unwelcome sob to break out of you at the sudden change of environment. Matt’s head shot up at the sound.

“Hey hey hey, what’s wrong? I’m sorry, was it too much?” Matt’s body went rigid concern lighting his eyes, as he took your face between his hands.

“No, not at all. It was incredible. I’m sorry, I’m being ridiculous.” You tried to brush him off, a wet laugh coming out, attempting to get out from under him and off the bed.

“No, come here. Talk to me.” He repositioned you so you were now laying on top of him against his chest. Holding you tightly.

“It’s just…I’ve had the most terrible week. Truly awful and all I’ve wanted, all I’ve craved every single day was a Matthew Casey hug.” You sniffed, shaking your head embarrassingly. His arms tightened around you at your confession, dropping a kiss against your head, and the familiarity did exactly as you assumed it would, tension releasing from your body, relaxation taking over in its place.

“Baby, I’ll I’ve wanted to do this week is give you a hug. I’m right here. I’m always right here. No matter what, I’m yours, baby, and I will wait however long it takes for you to come back to me and realize that I’m the guy for you.” His hand was trailing soothingly up and down your back.

“I’m just scared, Matt.” You had never given him a true reason for leaving, claiming you just didn’t know if you felt right in a relationship at the time.

“Of what?” He asked.

“Having to watch you run into burning buildings has never been my favorite regardless of how good you look in bunker gear, but..after Otis it’s just been unbearable, and I just thought maybe if I broke it off it would get easier. It would just feel uneasy like with Kelly or Stella rather than crippling.” You explained, emotions getting the better of you as you thought back to losing Otis and having to watch Katie crumble.

Chloe had the same thoughts and luckily for Cruz she learned to accept it, but she also didn’t have to physically witness it. She didn’t have to worry every time Boden’s face ticked with concern when he didn’t like something. Didn’t have to count down the seconds waiting for him to reappear in the smoke when Boden pulled them. Didn’t have to beg your shaking hands to stay steady and focus on the patient when you heard an accidental pass alarm.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me this?” His voice was so calm, so full of sympathy.

“What were you gonna do, Matt?” He wasn’t going to stop being a firefighter and you’d never want him to.

“I don’t know.” He admitted, “Has it worked?” It was a question he didn’t want to ask, but one he needed an answer to.

“Far from it,” you shook your head swallowing more tears, “I don’t know if I’ll ever get over it, losing Otis, watching everyone fall apart maybe it’s something I need to talk to someone about, but regardless it’s just made me realize god forbid something did happen I’d be so pissed I didn’t spend everyday with you that I could. I love you with my entire being Matthew Casey, and I think it’s pretty clear that’ll never stop.” You finally looked up at him.

“This is the dick lust talking isn’t it?” He joked after a beat of silence allowing you to laugh, smacking him in the chest. “I promise I will do everything I can to always come out for you.” He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear closing his eyes to kiss you on the head.

“I think jealous Matt is my new favorite Matt.” You grinned eyes sparkling.

“Hawkins is just lucky his face is still intact.” He growled, only confirming your new opinion.

“I’m hungry.” You attempted to steer off the topic, accompanied by your stomach rumbling.

“We did put in quite a workout.” Matt joked kissing your cheek, “I can order some pizza let me just see if Severide is home.” He jumped up to put a pair of sweatpants on, throwing you a Chicago Fire sweatshirt of his basking in his scent overwhelming you.

“God bless him if he is.” You winced thinking back to his comment in the bar earlier. Throwing the piece of clothing on as Matt disappeared into the hallway.

Two minutes later the man in question appeared in your doorway, arms crossed against his chest, a cocky look on his face.

“You seriously need to learn these walls aren’t soundproof.” He quipped, forcing a blush on your cheeks.

“You know what? You had to have seen the trail of clothes when you got home you knew what you were getting into.” You defended, shrugging.

“I’m just kidding, I got home like two minutes ago. Figured I’d give you some time when neither of you happened to come back to the bar.” He laughed when you rolled your eyes, walking to sit on the bottom of the bed, “I’m sorry for telling him about Hawkins by the way. I was just trying to kick his ass into gear.”

“Alright, it’s ordered, 35 minutes.” Matt announced as he reappeared in the room, climbing back into his bed beside you pulling you into his side.

“Casey, your girl almost took down an attorney today. Who by the way wasn’t very happy when you never returned.”

It was a perfect end to a not so perfect week.

[attapullman]

Good at Makin' Bad Decisions | Rhett Abbott

Summary: Even a year after you've broken up, after a night of drinking you still end up in Rhett Abbott's bed.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: f! reader, smut, 18+ ONLY as always, fingering, swearing, alcohol, healthy dash of praise k!nk as usual

A Note From Mo: I blame reading an old fic I desperately wanted to re-write and having covid, strep, and my period all at the same time for whatever the fuck this is. Anyway, happy 6 months since the last time I wrote Rhett! xoxo

There’s something about waking up in a bed that isn’t yours that causes an anxiety like none other. Especially when the night before is a hazy blur. And you aren’t wearing any pants.

Wait, where are your pants?

Creamy morning light bleeds through the thin plaid curtains in the room. From your spot half-buried under the comforter, you notice the vaguely familiar rodeo posters tacked up on the wall and dust-covered flannels on the floor. The slight tinge of boy sweat engulfs the room. Definitely not a Tillerson room, but who the fuck did you go home with?

A quick body scan results in these observations:

Your jeans were long gone, but cheekies and tshirt still remained.

Your head was splitting open from the axe of a bad hangover.

Based on the groan that did not come from your body, there was definitely another person in the bed. And they were awake.

You flip over in bed, panicked. Praying to God that beside you is some random Wabang townie. But you would know those dark, grown out curls anywhere. He may be turned toward the wall, but you know him better than you know yourself.

“Rhett?”

A tentative hand leaves the warm cocoon of blankets to roughly shove your ex’s shoulder. He grunts with consciousness and a veiny hand rises up to rub at his eyes. Takes a moment to rake through those unruly curls. Flipping over onto his back, bright ultramarine eyes quirk up at you. 

“Good mornin’ to y’too, sunshine.”

It’s hard to remember everything you want to say when he’s looking entirely too delectable for the morning hours. Something you’d sweetly told him during your relationship, but after your swift uncoupling it’s downright rude of him.

“Why am I in your bed?” His eyes roll slightly as he lifts up onto his right arm, rolling the thick, labor-built muscles of his neck and back. It’s mesmerizing, watching him work out the kinks that come with his profession. Your eyes unable to leave where his hand massages over that bronc tattoo you’re still weak over. “We didn’t sleep together, did we?”

He’s sexy as hell, but you’ve been doing a really good job avoiding him the past year.

“D’ya not remember any of last night?” Your head shakes, cheeks heating. “Not even a little? Oh fuck, really? You had quite t’night, darlin’.”

The color completely drains from your face. In your hey day, the two of you could drink the bar under the table, stumbling out of the Handsome Gambler with the sloppiest grins and even sloppier kisses. Drunken shenanigans were the norm. 

But since your breakup last year, nights out had been quiet. A beer or two, a tequila shot when the time called. Your friends don’t have the tolerance of a bull rider. And neither do you anymore, since you can’t remember much past that third shot of Don Julio.

How had you landed in bed with Rhett Abbott? 

As you watch him roll out his other shoulder, it’s like no time has passed since that night. Sitting in his truck, the front porch light on as your roommates wait for you to come in. Deciding that if he’s gonna be traveling the mountain states to make a name for himself, it’s not fair for you to be sitting at home worrying what bone would break. You can’t take off weeks to follow him around. You’re too young to sit around pining. He can’t handle all that time away from you. It just makes sense to call it quits. And yet tears poured down both your cheeks when you shut that truck door for the last time, Rhett Abbott no longer your business.

Why are you here?

Blinking back the ghost of tears, you clear your throat. “What kind of night exactly?”

In the past, a night of too much tequila in Rhett’s bed would have had Royal knocking on the door at an ungodly hour and Cecelia giving you an exasperated yet playful look when you snuck out the back door in the morning. 

“Do ya really want t’know what happened?” He’s leaning against the headboard, broad chest in view, sheets low on his hips. You say one last prayer that he’s wearing sweats so that you can still believe that you didn’t have a blackout fuck with your ex.

“I’m scared to ask,” you admit, the gentle smirk on his face confirming that this story is not going to paint you in a flattering light. 

Rhett’s head tilts down as he laughs, teeth flashing as the hearty grumble fills the room. Looks back up at you with that boyish mischievous grin you’ve loved for years. There’s a pillow indent still marring his cheek. Your heart lurches for him, for when you could call him yours.

His lip quirks. “Ya threw a rock at m’window in the middle o’the night. Begged me to let ya in. Told ya to go home, but ya threatened t’wake up my folks.”

Your cheeks flame with shame. Drunk you was not in your corner.

“Snuck ya in the back door, like ol’ times. Said yer friends had dropped ya off, so let ya stay until ya sobered up.” The burning embarrassment lifts a little, imagining you quietly climbing in bed and sleeping. But that unruly mischievous smile is back. “Then ya started tellin’ me how much you miss my cock and asked t’go for a ride.”

A hole opening in the earth and swallowing you couldn’t make you escape this embarrassment.

“Please tell me I didn’t-”

“Oh, but y’did, darlin’. It wouldn’t be a drunk night out with ya without asking for m’fingers. Practically gagging for it as I got ya upstairs.” He’s radiating pride. You risk a glance at those thick, calloused fingers. Yep, you can see yourself begging for even just one of them.

“Then ya started strippin’ off yer pants…forgot how cute yer booty looks shakin’ like that.” He lets out a joyful grunt, the happiest sound a cowboy ever did make. “Had to hold yer hands to yer side to keep it from bein’ a free strip show.” 

You swallow down every ounce of your dignity, the scene playing behind your eyes. Those strong hands wrapped around your biceps. Your cheeky comments, grinding your ass on any part of him you could. The lack of inhibitions on your part was concerning, but when had you ever been able to restrain yourself when it came to Rhett?

His giggles fade as you both sit against the rough wooden headboard, the one that is nearly as old as this creaky house. In the silence of the room you can now hear the busy sounds of his folks making breakfast. Figures they still have that louder than sin coffee machine. You could really use a cup.

He shifts beside you, the energy in the room softer. “Ya know, after y’fell asleep, I kept on thinkin’ about all the times ya stayed over here. Nights in the pasture. We were s’good…” He trails off, the silence filled with reminders of rushed kisses between rides, lazy afternoons on horseback, and too many days spent in the barn pretending to do chores while the two of you fell in love. 

It was you. You couldn’t handle the broken bones. The purpled bruises week after week. He loved it, and you couldn’t take that from him. So you had left a part of yourself with him and spent the past year pretending like you weren’t missing a limb. It was him. He didn’t want to be always missing home. Canceling rides purely so he could drive hours back here. He cut his losses before he was in too deep, spending the last year acting like a chunk of his heart wasn’t permanently cemented in you.

When you two crossed paths in town you exchanged sad glances and half-hearted smiles. Nights at the Handsome Gambler a drink was raised in greeting. It was as painful and as amicable as a breakup could be. But this was the closest the two of you had been since that night in his truck. The most you’d spoken other than forced hello’s. The most you’d touched since that last kiss goodbye.

Looking into those impossibly deep oceans he calls eyes, there was an emotion that you couldn’t read. His smile gone, thin lips bitten as he worried them between his teeth. Mirth replaced with angst.

You need to get out of here.

“M’sorry for interrupting your night. You know my libido has her own brain when I drink. Give me ten and I’ll be out of your hair - think Ce will notice me going out the back door?”

You’re barely off the bed when an arm, all hard muscle and thick veins, wraps around your bicep and brings you to a warm chest. “I-I…just for a minute, ‘kay?”

It’s the best you’ve felt in so long. Safe, warm. He’d shaped perfectly to accommodate you. It’s only natural to scoot closer into him, blurring the lines of ended relationships to seek his comfort.

Rhett’s heartbeat is solid beneath your cheek, speed picking up when you curl into him and run your hand along his side. The rumble of his chest vibrates as he clears his throat. “Ya don’t have t’ leave. I like havin’ ya here, missed holding’ ya, yer so soft.”

You hum in agreement and then there’s a beat, and you can almost see the bashful grin splitting his face. “And yer s’sexy in those panties.”

At least you weren’t the only one enjoying the view.

One of those perfectly large, comforting hands slides down your side, hitching your hip up so you can straddle his thigh. That thick expanse of pure muscle was exactly where you belonged.

You were already here, already embarrassed yourself. Might as well go the whole way.

“Rhett?” His eyes latch onto yours, eager to hear from you. “I don’t have to go. If you want to, uh, catch up?” If his hungry smirk wasn’t an indicator, the twitch in his boxers below speaks volumes.

Aware there’s an old house with no sound proofing and an entire family downstairs eating bacon, he rolls you over onto your back, rippling biceps boxing you in. That confident smirk that looks as in place in bed as it does atop a two ton bull. The hungover logic in your brain pleading you to go home not nearly as strong as the instant spring of your legs landing either side of his hips.

His lips ghost over yours, eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitance. The slightest groan left you, eager to feel him. Taste him.

“Please…please don’t tease me.” His smirk is bordering on arrogant as you wrap impatient hands around strong shoulders. Your libido was making her triumphant return after not being satisfied the night before, pooling in the apex of your thighs as he presses against you. You want Rhett, and you want him now.

He kisses the corner of your mouth, a shadow of the real thing. “If y’can be quiet f’me, I’ll give you m’fingers, darlin’.”

Dignity fades to the back of your brain as you quickly nod at him, lips pressed close like a good girl.

Scruff scratches along your jaw as he hums along your skin, pressing his weight to one side as calloused fingers make their way south, slipping and catching against your soft skin. Both your eyes fluttering as cotton is pushed aside and he finds your clit, rubbing the softest of circles. His little chuckle at how wet you already are. Small whimpers leaving you before he finally tilts his head down to smother your lips in a warm, soft kiss.

Fuck, he’s an even better kisser than you remember.

Running a hand through those unruly curls, letting the dark hair tangle between your fingers as you fight to keep your moans contained. A struggle as he presses deliciously on the button, delighted at how you squirm against him. Lips ghosting against your ear as he moans your name. “Doin’ s’good for me.”

While his thumb continues its mind numbing descent on your clit, the tips of his fingers brush against your folds. He knows you love a tease, the promise of what’s to come. His special trick to getting you to your orgasm in less time than he rides a bull.

“R-Rhett.” Your voice is barely audible, struggling to keep yourself from screaming his name to the heavens. Your fingers never feel this good, nothing could ever be as satisfying as his touch. Your pathetic whimpers picking up speed as the blinding white pleasure threatened to overtake you.

“Are ya gonna cum for me, darlin’? Y’know y’want to. Cum for me, baby girl, show me how good I make y’feel.”

Scruff against your neck and jaw as he showers you in kisses, whispers praises in your ear, fingers stroking and rubbing and bringing you closer to the promised land. Slips that wild tongue between your lips, groaning at your familiar taste, and that’s all it takes.

A thousand years could pass and you would still remember how all-consuming every orgasm is that Rhett Abbott has given you. The flash behind your eyes, the constriction of your chest. Thanking the good Lord that Rhett’s tongue is deep in your mouth to shush the pleasured scream that threatens to escape. 

You settle from your orgasm with soft kisses and his wet fingers trailing along your skin, soothing you. Not that it’s easy to be soothed when his erection is throbbing against your thigh. He’s hot and ready, prepared to take you all the ways he’s denied himself the past year.

You’re doing the mental math. Your ex giving you an orgasm isn’t that bad. Fucking him? That’s the kind of mistake you can’t undo and should be avoided.

But when you look in those midnight blue eyes, all reason hightails out the door. It’s just sex - not a relationship - you two are so good at sex. And it’s been so long since you’ve taken him for a proper ride.

Your fingers sink into the back of his boxers, itching to sink your fingers into the meat of his ass - hard and toned from hours riding. Tease him a little by pressing a kiss to that scruffy chin as he ushers you along, desperate to be inside you.

Just as you get the checkered material past his cheeks, there’s a knock at the door. Rhett’s a deer in the headlights above you; wide, scared eyes aimed at the door.

It’s Cecelia, speaking through the wood as she walks past with the laundry. “Rhett, hurry up, y’got chores in the barn.” 

The two of you exchange a glance, relief at being in the clear.

“Oh, and sweetie? Since you’re still here, if you want breakfast, there’s some extra bacon.”

Abandoning my normal tag list since it's not Bob and tagging some fellow Rhett bb's who might enjoy: @bobfloydsbabe @sorchathered @bobgasm @auroralightsthesky @creatchie8 @just-in-case-iloveyou @ryebecca @sebsxphia @lewmagoo

[luvangelbreak]

Regret it

christopher sturniolo x layla venita summary: layla wants a fun night with her friends but when a man won't leave her alone, her best friend is always there to help. warnings: swearing, drinking, smut, oral (fem!receiving), fingering, unprotected sex (wrap it before u tap it) word count: 6.1k a/n: y'all sue me I was feeling whore knee and I needed to write it all out. this is the longest one-shot I've ever done so i hope u like it <3

not proofread!!

For once in their life, my best friends decided to throw a party at their new house in celebration of their 21st. I have known Nick, Matt and Chris for about 6 years now and have watched their rapid growth online unfold in front of my eyes. I decided to move to LA not long after them knowing that I had nothing left for me in Massachusetts. The triplets were my family and they had been from the moment I met them.

When they told me they wanted to throw a party at the house we had only just moved into together 2 weeks prior, I instantly agreed because I wanted the opportunity to meet the rest of their friends who lived in LA. I put on my prettiest short black dress, the cutest pair of black heels I owned and my hair straightened as perfectly as my curls would allow me to. I went with dark eye makeup and red lipstick, pulling the whole look together with my dark brown hair.

They initially set the party to start at 10 pm and luckily we now lived in a neighbourhood that was spaced far enough apart that blasting music until 3 am shouldn't be an issue. 2 hours into the party, people that none of us knew started showing up and it became much bigger than any of us were anticipating but no one was planning on slowing down anytime soon. People turned the living room into a dancefloor and the kitchen was littered with empty bottles and cans of alcohol in a makeshift bar. I decided not to think about the fact we would have to clean this all up tomorrow as I poured myself another shot of tequila as well as one for Tara.

"I thought this was supposed to be a chill party!" Jake yelled over the loud music as I handed the small plastic shot glass to Tara and we both downed the tequila quickly. She took a sip of the can of Pepsi we decided to share as a chaser before I took the can and followed her actions.

"It was but this is way more fun!" I cheered once I placed the can down on the counter and suddenly, Tara was dragging me to the living room as SOS by Rihanna blasted through the house. We began swinging our hips and dancing alone, singing the lyrics loudly since the music drowned out our voices. I suddenly felt a presence behind me and I turned around to see a guy I didn't know the name of. He began moving his body with mine and I made it known that I didn't want to dance with him as I moved closer to Tara.

Unfortunately for me, Tara was now dancing with Zach who was equally as drunk as she was and they lost themselves in the music. I tried to continue dancing, making it known that I wanted to dance by myself or with my friends but this guy didn't seem to get the hint as Right Round by Flo Rida and Kesha finished playing. I got sick of having to move across the makeshift dancefloor to get away from this guy and I knew Tara was with someone she trusted so I decided to walk away. I went back to the kitchen to see Jake and Chris in the corner talking loudly to each other over the music.

I lost my balance slightly as I leaned over the bench to grab the bottle of tequila when hands wrapped themselves around my waist to steady me. I turned around to thank the person who prevented me from falling but I paused when I realised it was the guy trying to dance with me.

"Can I help you?" I asked with annoyance laced in my tone at the fact he didn't get the hint yet. I took a moment to observe him, hating the way his glassy green eyes looked down at me and his light blonde hair swooped across his forehead.

"You move pretty quick," he stated with a smirk and I furrowed my eyebrows before I rolled my eyes. I reached over the counter again, grabbing the tequila bottle and a random cup. I poured a rough shot into the red plastic solo cup before I topped it up with a can of Pepsi from the makeshift cooler we had made in a plastic tub.

"I move quick when I'm trying to get away from someone," I mumbled as I threw the Pepsi can into the trash before I took a sip of the drink.

"Don't be like that, babe," he put his hand on my lower back and I immediately pushed his arm off of me causing him to look at me with a drunken frown.

"Don't touch me and don't call me that," I huffed as I had another sip of my drink as I leaned my back against the counter.

"No need to be such a bitch about it," he moved to stand in front of me as he placed his hands on the table on either side of me and I made it known how clearly uncomfortable I was, "You don't know how to have fun? Come on, give us a smile at least sweetheart."

"Dude, how much more obvious can I make it that I don't want to be near you. Fuck off!" I burst in annoyance and his face shifted from teasing to anger. Suddenly I wasn't just annoyed and uncomfortable but I didn't feel safe being trapped between his arms. I quickly downed the rest of my drink before I threw it in the overflowing trashcan. I tried to push his left arm off of the counter but judging from the muscles along his biceps and the fact his arm barely moved he was clearly stronger than I was.

"I said don't be a bitch about it," he grumbled at me as I looked back up to his face again, unease flooding my body at the look of lust and anger mixed in his eyes, "What? You have a boyfriend or something?"

"Yeah, she does," I heard a familiar voice say and relief flooded me when Chris stood directly behind the guy, a deadpan look on his face. Finally, the guy moved his arms away from the bench and I quickly moved to stand next to Chris as the guy spun around to look at him, "There a problem here?"

"You're not her boyfriend, bro. You were standing there the whole time," the guy chuckled and Chris just smirked at him as he wrapped his arm around my shoulder. I watched the guy just stare at us for a moment before Chris spoke again.

"She's a big girl, she can handle herself," he spoke much clearer than the guy in front of us whose words were slurred together messily and I let my body fall against Chris from the alcohol hitting me harder than expected, "Until drunk dickhead's like you pull up and harass her until I need to step in. Now do what she said and fuck off."

"You're not gonna share?" the guy asked cockily and Chris kept his composure as he swung his arm off of my shoulder, putting his arm in front of me as he pushed me behind him slightly.

"You have ten seconds to get the fuck out of my house before that pretty face gets so fucked up that you can't ever speak to another girl again," Chris spoke which such venom that I hadn't heard from him before and the guy instantly backed away once he realised how angry Chris was. Suddenly, he disappeared into the crowd of people in the living room and Chris's tense shoulders relaxed again.

"Thank you," I mumbled and Chris let out a sigh, turning around to face me as he gave me a half-hearted smile, "He freaked me out."

"How much have you drank already?" he asked, an amused smirk on his lips as he tipped my chin upwards to look into his eyes.

"I lost count," I shrugged, my movements slow and lazy. He shook his head with a smile before he swung his arm over my shoulders and he began pulling me outside. We exited the house and walked over to the firepit where the rest of our friends were.

"Where's Tara?" Nick asked from one of the white wooden chairs they placed around the fire.

"Dancing with Zach," I shrugged before Chris adjusted his arm around my shoulders to hold me closer to him protectively, "You don't have to hold me hostage. That guy left."

"He could still be here. I couldn't see if he actually left or not," Chris spoke matter-of-factly as he sipped on the bottle of beer he had in his right hand.

"What guy?" Matt slurred as he looked up at me from his place on the grass, his eyes glassy from the alcohol he had consumed. Seeing him drunk was funny to me because he was a fun but emotional drunk, "You look pretty."

"Thank you, Matt," I giggled and he scooted over to lean against my calf lazily as he closed his eyes.

"Some guy was being an asshole and wouldn't leave Layls alone," Chris rolled his eyes, his annoyance still lingering and I wrapped my arms around his torso. The blue sweater he wore slid up on his torso since he lifted his arm to take another sip of the beer so my hands were placed against the warm skin of his hip.

"Stop stressing about it Chris," I mumbled as his warmth kept me from freezing outside in my dress and he hummed in response. I looked down at Matt who was still slumped against my legs and I giggled, "Matt don't look up at me because you will see up my dress."

"I'm tired," he mumbled, completely ignoring my statement and my eyebrows threaded together in amusement. I looked up at Nick who sighed, rolling his eyes as he got up and walked over to Matt who was practically half-asleep against my legs.

"Come on. You're going to bed," Nick grumbled as he grabbed Matt's wrist to pull him to a standing position. Matt had outdone himself with the alcohol and that was clear as he almost fell as soon as Nick let go of him. As Nick rolled his eyes, he threw Matt's dead-weight body over his shoulder and trudged inside making me giggle.

Chris pulled me towards the chair that was previously where Nick had sat since it was the only chair still available, the other chairs had been taken by strangers. He unwrapped his arm from around me and sat down in the chair while, as per usual, manspreading with his black baggy jeans on.

He patted his lap before looking up at me, "You're gonna freeze. Sit down."

I sighed, placing myself on his right thigh as I crossed my legs over. I left my legs placed in between his parted thighs and he rolled his eyes before picking my legs up. He swung my legs over his other thigh before placing his right arm behind my back to prevent my back from digging into the armrest.

"Fuck it's cold out here," I shivered, the cold breeze covering my legs despite being fairly close to the fire.

"Well scoot closer and you wouldn't be cold," he mumbled before downing the rest of his beer. He placed the beer bottle on the ground beside the low chair and I moved to fall on his chest, my head resting on the back of the chair beside his, "Better?"

"Yup," I answered shortly as I wrapped my arms over my stomach. It wasn't strange for Chris and I to be this close, everyone knew he was my best friend. What was strange was when he moved his left arm to hang it over my thighs, pulling my legs closer to his torso as his right arm snaked around my waist even further, "You okay?"

"Mhm. You're like a little heater," he mumbled and I lifted my head away from the chair to look at him properly to see a smirk on his lips.

"We're sitting in front of a fire," I stated the obvious and my speech was slurred slightly from the amount of tequila I had consumed in such a short span of time.

"Yeah, but you're blocking half of it," he looked at me with raised eyebrows and I rolled my eyes.

Before I could respond, Nick returned outside and walked over to us, "Layls, your ass is almost out sitting like that."

I went to move my hand from around my stomach to pull my dress down but Chris beat me to it, using his left arm that was slung over my thighs to pull down the bottom of my dress. His cold fingers brushed against the back of my thighs, sending a jolt through my body at the sudden contact.

"Thanks," I mumbled, looking at him and he hummed in response. He kept a grip on my dress to hold it down as he let his hand rest on the back of my thigh. I ignored the fire that ignited in my stomach, knowing it was the tequila in my system making me react like this to my best friend. Nick sat down on the grass beside us to keep himself warm near the fire as he sipped on his drink lazily.

We stayed like that for a while before I noticed Tara stumbling through the backyard as if she were looking for something. Her eyes caught mine and her face lit up before she jogged towards me, her shoes now lost somewhere on the property and her feet bare on the grass.

"Come have a shot with me!" she cheered as she stopped beside us and I pursed my lips, "Chris, Nick, you too. Let's go!"

She grabbed my hand, pulling me off of Chris's lap and I heard Chris chuckle as she dragged me inside. I looked behind me to see Chris and Nick following suit as we entered the kitchen. Tara quickly poured us 4 shots before handing one to each of us.

"Link up!" she yelled over the loud music as I picked up the shot and looked at Chris. I wrapped my arm around his, our elbows connected and he winked at me before Tara screamed, "Three, two, one!"

We took the shot at the same time before untangling our arms and I saw Nick and Tara make disgusted faces as they unravelled their arms as well making me laugh.

"Don't run away from me this time. I'm gonna keep an eye on you," Chris told me sternly and I nodded in agreement, knowing he was protective over me whenever we went out.

+++

I lost track of time as we kept drinking and dancing, losing ourselves in the sea of people. Chris was always nearby, talking to different people and having various drinks but he was always in my line of sight as promised. At one point, he joined me on the makeshift dancefloor before he got dragged away by someone I didn't see the face of.

Tara and I once again got tired and decided we would sit on the couch that was shoved into the corner of the room. We flopped on them, giggling in our drunken state at the feeling of the leather against our skin.

"Thank you for inviting me!" she said happily as she sat up, adjusting her hair on her shoulders as I lay with my legs hanging over the armrest, looking at her upside down since I had to tilt my head back to look at her.

"Thanks for coming bitch!" I yelled back before we fell into a fit of giggles again. I suddenly felt a presence in front of me and I looked up to see Chris standing in front of my legs.

Without warning, he pulled me up by my wrists before he grabbed my waist and threw me over his shoulder. I squealed at the sudden movement, putting my palms on his lower back to make sure I didn't fall flat on my face if he let go of my legs.

"Chris! What are you doing?" I yelled, my voice drowned out by the music and he didn't say anything as he held down the bottom of my dress with his left hand. He began moving through the crowd of people before he carried me upstairs, "Christopher!"

He walked down the hallway, the thick walls now drowning out the sound of the music downstairs and we paused at the end of the hall. I heard something click before we stepped into a room which I quickly realised was his. He kicked the door closed, locking it quickly as I continued to try to wriggle out of his grip.

Suddenly, my back fell onto his bed with a thud and I let out a squeak from the impact. I flipped my hair out of my face before I sat up with a huff, the room spinning from how drunk I was and how quickly I had been thrown on the bed.

"What are you doing?" I asked, looking up at him to see he was staring down at me with no emotion. His eyes were glassy and his chest was heaving from carrying me across the house.

"I told you to not run away," he simply stated and I rolled my eyes, attempting to stand up again but he pushed my shoulders down again causing me to slump back onto the bed.

"I didn't run away. I went to the couch. We're in our house, Chris!" I groaned and he kept an emotionless expression as I looked up at him through my eyelashes, "I was having fun."

"I fucking hate when you don't listen to me," he grumbled as I leaned back on my palms.

"Why is it so fucking cold in your room?" I asked, the amount of tequila in my system made it so I had absolutely no filter between my brain and mouth. Chris didn't say anything, instead he slipped his sweater off and threw it onto my lap leaving him in only a white tank top, "What's this for?"

"You said it was cold. Put it on," he raised his eyebrows and his short tone made me want to argue with him. He knew I hated it when he talked to me like I was under his control and I was drunk enough to embarrass myself to prove a point.

I threw the sweater on the ground before I kicked off my heels and Chris furrowed his eyebrows as he looked at me. I stood up, grabbing the hem of my dress before I slid it over my head.

"What are you doing?" he asked, not looking anywhere but my face as he stared at me. He'd seen me in my underwear hundreds of times over the past 6 years but never in a situation like this.

"I'm not cold," I shrugged and I threw my dress on the ground before I started walking towards the door, "In fact I'm hot. I'm gonna go outside and cool off."

"Absolutely not," he grabbed my forearm and pulled me away from the door again so I stood in front of him, "Don't be an idiot just to prove a fucking point."

"Don't try to tell me what to do," I retorted as I pulled my arm away from his grip and he rolled his eyes, shaking his head in the process. His eyes finally travelled somewhere other than my face as he scanned me head to toe before he smirked.

"Planning ahead?" he asked, reaching his hand up to slide under my black bra strap before he snapped it back against my skin.

"Why do you care?" I questioned, glancing down at my underwear realising that I put on the most see-through lace bra and matching black panties. I stood there for a moment to think about the fact I was standing in Chris's room practically naked and more drunk than I wanted to be. The reality of the situation had sobered me up in a split second.

"It's cute," I heard the smirk in his voice and I looked up as I felt my face heat up, a smirk plastered on his lips as he looked at me, "Would look better off though."

I pursed my lips as I looked at him nervously, all my confidence being lost as he exuded his usual cocky energy. I was used to his flirty personality, Chris flirted with everyone and everything because he found it funny. But right now, it felt a lot more serious.

Suddenly, the flirting was real and the fire in my stomach ignited once again. I knew I wasn't in my right mind as he stepped towards me, his body mere inches from mine because I wrapped my arms around his neck.

I pulled him closer to me and he placed his hands on my hips before he whispered, "This is such a bad idea."

"Yeah, it is," I whispered back as my breathing got shallow, staring at nothing but his lips.

"We shouldn't be doing this," he said impossibly quieter but didn't move away from me, only inches his lips closer to mine.

"No we shouldn't," I answered in the same tone once again, the tension in the room weighing heavy on my chest as I felt his fingers tighten their grip on the flesh of my hips.

"Fuck," he mumbled quickly and before I could register the look behind his eyes, his lips met mine feverishly. It felt as though my brain shut down and my body had a mind of its own as I pulled him impossibly closer to me, savouring the taste of alcohol on his lips and the feeling of his hands grasping my skin.

As he slid his hands down from my waist, he gripped my ass roughly making me gasp causing him to slide his tongue past my lips. He kept sliding his hands down until he reached under my thighs.

He pulled away from my mouth briefly to mumble, "Jump."

I followed his instructions and jumped with the guidance of his hands under my thighs. I wrapped my legs around his waist before I connected my lips with his again. He spun around, sitting down on the bed and I moved my legs so I could place my knees on either side of his thighs. I straddled his waist, unravelling my arms from around his neck before I pulled them down to tug on the hem of his tank top.

He removed his hands from my thighs as I slid the tank top up and he held his arms up for me to slide the material over his head. I threw it behind me lazily before I attached my lips to his once again, our movements rapid as if this would disappear at any moment. His hands found my ass once again, squeezing it slightly making me hum in content. He pulled his lips away from mine, travelling kisses down my jaw before he reached my neck, sucking and biting at the skin. He found a spot below my ear that sent shivers throughout my whole body and I knew he noticed my body's reaction because he stayed with his lips in that spot for a moment.

I subconsciously began grinding my hips down on his now hard dick creating friction against my aching core and I let out a whine from the sensation. I felt him smirk against my neck before he helped me move my hips against him by guiding me by my ass.

"You sound so pretty for me," he rasped in my ear and I let my eyes flutter closed for a moment, focusing on nothing but the feeling of his body against mine. His right hand removed itself from my ass and travelled up my back before I felt my bra straps become loose. I realised he had managed to unclasp my bra with one hand and I quickly slid it off of my arms, throwing it to the ground.

He pulled his lips away from my neck, staring at my now exposed boobs and he looked like he was going to drool the longer he looked at me. I lifted his chin with my hand, pressing a kiss to his rosy lips which were now slightly swollen.

"It's rude to stare," I teased as I whispered against his lips and he smirked before he kissed down my neck again. Eventually, he reached my chest, biting and sucking around my boobs before he attached his mouth around my right nipple. I whined at the contact and he used his hand to knead the other, rolling my nipple between his thumb and index finger as I breathed out, "Chris."

He hummed against me as he switched to my other nipple and I threaded my hands through his soft brown curls, tugging on the hair gently. Within a second, I was suddenly on my back in the bed and Chris stood at the edge of the bed between my parted legs. He unbuttoned his jeans and slid them down his legs, kicking them off of his feet to reveal the black boxers he wore underneath. He didn't waste a second before he grabbed my thighs, pulling my ass to the edge of the bed before he knelt down on the floor and kissed the inside of my thighs. I sighed in content as I threw my hands on either side of my body, holding the sheets between my fingers in anticipation.

"Chris," I groaned, shuffling my hips around impatiently and he smirked against my thigh before he looked up at me through his eyelashes.

"What's wrong?" he teased, still pressing gentle kisses to my thighs dangerously close to my core.

"Please," I whined as I arched my back against the soft sheets.

"Please what?" he taunted me even further, now throwing my legs over his shoulders but pausing kissing the skin of my legs, "Use those words, baby."

"Just do something. Please," I whined once again and he chuckled before he hooked his fingers in the waistband of my underwear. He pulled them down my legs at a teasingly slow pace before he threw them on the floor with the clothes already littered around the room. Without warning, he moved his head between my thighs and placed a kiss on my clit making me whimper from the contact.

That was all the confirmation he needed before he began tracing circles around my clit, lapping up the wetness that was pooling between my legs since we entered his room. I threw my head back as I let out a moan, my breathing picking up the more he worked his mouth on me. I felt the vibrations of the music blasting through the house, the faint sounds of people talking and feet stumbling up and down the house but I drowned it out the moment Chris wrapped his arms around my thighs to keep me still.

My hips habitually rolled upwards and he hummed against me, the vibrations making another moan tumble from my mouth with ease. I looked down to see he was staring at my face, his eyes full of lust and need as his tongue swirled around me creating pure bliss in my body. He removed his right arm from around my thigh and he pulled his mouth away from my pussy briefly, lapping up the wetness with his fingers as I bit my lip. He looked into my eyes, studying my reaction as he carefully inserted a finger into me and I closed my eyes, letting out another moan.

He began sucking and licking my clit again as he slid his finger in and out of me at a steady pace before he added a second. My hands flew to his hair again, tugging on it roughly as my hips bucked in the air. His fingers quickened their pace and I felt my stomach tighten, getting closer to my climax quickly.

"Chris, I'm gonna-" I cut off my own sentence with a moan and before I knew it, my legs were shaking on either side of his head as my orgasm hit me like a truck. He helped me ride out my high, slowing down as I whimpered and whined lazily. He pressed a kiss to my core once again as he slid his fingers out of me.

After unravelling his other arm from around my thigh, he stood up and I looked up to see him place his fingers between his lips before pulling them out with a pop. He climbed back over me, placing a kiss on my lips as he leaned on his left elbow for balance, his other hand kneading my boob gently. I tasted myself on his tongue as I wrapped my hands around his neck to pull him closer to me.

I pushed him onto his back on the bed beside me before I sat up and straddled him once again. I put my hands on his chest, smiling down at him when I noticed the shock on his face and my hair fell in front of my face. He moved his hands up to my face, tucking my hair behind my ears before he cupped my jaw with his rough hands.

"You look so beautiful," he whispered gently and I giggled as I leaned forward, placing a kiss on his lips before I began rolling my hips against his, "If I don't fuck you now, I'm gonna cum in my fucking boxers."

"Impatient as always," I mumbled, a giggle falling out of my lips again and he pulled away to look up at me. Suddenly, the reality of the situation settled in my stomach and I breathed heavily as I whispered, "Are you sure you won't regret it?"

His eyebrows furrowed slightly before he smiled, "You're asking me now?"

"I'm serious, Chris," my tone changed from flirtatious to cautious, "Will you regret this tomorrow?"

"I never regret anything with you," his voice softened as he ran his hand through my hair, looking up at me with a gentle gaze, "This isn't about to change that."

I took a deep breath, feeling more sober than before as I dragged my hands down his bare torso. I moved to stand at the edge of the bed and Chris sat up, leaning back on his elbows. I slid my fingers into the waistband of his boxers, biting my lip as I looked up at him. He smirked at me and that was my signal to slide them down.

I teasingly dragged them down and when the black material reached his thighs, his dick sprung out. I pursed my lips to hide my smile as I slid the boxers off of his legs. I leaned down, kitten licking the tip of his dick causing him to suck in a sharp breath.

"Fuck don't do that," he groaned making me giggle and I stood up, straddling his waist again. He leaned back on the bed as I carefully lined his tip with my entrance.

I slowly slid down, letting out a rough moan that drowned out his own before I reached the base of his dick. He knew I'd only ever had sex with one person but what he didn't know is he was much bigger than him. I placed my head on his chest as I let out a heavy breath, adjusting to his size before I began moving my hips up carefully. He let out a groan as I started moving and I sat back up, placing my hands on his chest as I let out a whine. He moved his hands to my ass, helping guide me over his length as I moved slowly. I hung my head with my jaw slack as I let out pants of pleasure.

"Fuck," I heard him groan as the grip on my ass tightened, "You're so fucking tight, baby."

The rasp in his voice and the pleasure that undertoned it gave me more confidence. I decided to move faster and he let out another moan as I picked up the pace. His hips began lifting into mine and I let out a whimper from the impact.

Suddenly, I was flipped onto my back and he was towering over me again. He placed my ankles over his shoulders before he pushed his way back into me and moans tumbled from my mouth at the new position.

My words were incoherent but the one clear thing was his name coming out as a moan. I looked up at him to see he was staring down at where our bodies met before he looked at my face, his eyebrows threaded in pleasure as his mouth hung open. His right hand reached up, placing itself at the base of my throat and I was thankful for all of the awkward conversations we had about our sex lives because he knew exactly what I liked. He tightened his grip on my neck and I let out a strained moan, my eyes fluttering closed.

"You look so fucking pretty, baby," he huffed, keeping a steady pace as his hips met mine continually, "Been wanting to see you fucked out like this for so long."

I let my eyes open again and he leaned down, pressing my knees to my shoulders as he let his hand unwrap from my throat. He gently kissed my lips, a stark contrast from him pounding into me and I moaned into his mouth. He placed his hands on the back of my knees, realising this new position would send me over the edge.

"Hold your legs for me, princess," he demanded and it felt like I was a dog in training because I immediately did as I was told. He placed his right hand on my lower stomach, using his thumb to rub circles on my clit and another moan ripped through my throat.

"Chris," I gasped as my eyes rolled to the back of my head, "I'm gonna cum. Please."

"Let go, baby," he spoke lowly and my body registered his words faster than my brain because as soon as his sentence finished, my orgasm flowed through my body. I gripped the sheets on either side of me as my body shook and I contracted around his dick, his pace began to get sloppy telling me he was close.

"Baby," I moaned as he drilled into me, taking his thumb off of my clit to not overstimulate me too much.

"I'm gonna-" his words were cut off by a raspy moan and he pulled out of me. I let my legs fall on either side of him before I sat up quickly, grabbing his dick as I pumped him in my hand quickly. I stuck my tongue out, looking up at him with doe eyes and he made eye contact with me.

The muscles on his stomach contracted as he tilted his head back, letting out a loud moan as he reached his climax. The warm liquid fell on my tongue and around my face as I stroked his through his high, smiling to myself as I watched his body shake slightly from overstimulation. I let go of his dick as he looked down at me, a dopey smile on his lips. I swallowed the cum that had fallen on my tongue before I smiled up at him.

"Hang on," he said quickly, reaching towards his bedside table to pick up his phone. He held the phone in front of my face as I smiled up at the camera, the flash turning on quickly before he locked his phone and threw it on the bed, "Never want to forget what you look like after I fucked you brainless."

"Can I get some tissues now?" I asked, giggling since my head was still in the clouds and alcohol in my system made me feel even better. He chuckled, grabbing the box of tissues that were on his bedside table before he picked a few out, grabbing my chin before he gently wiped my face clean. He threw the tissues into the trash before he looked down at me again.

"You okay?" he questioned, his voice gentle as he pushed my hair away from my face and I hummed in response, "You wanna go back to the party?"

"Can we just stay here?" I asked and he nodded, walking over to his drawers. He pulled out two clean pairs of boxers before crouching down in front of me, sliding one of the pairs up my legs. I lifted my hips to let him pull them up to my waist and once they were securely on, he slid the other pair on himself. He jumped in the bed and I crawled over to him, laying myself next to him as I placed my head on his chest.

He pulled me closer to him, wrapping his arms around me and the heat from his body kept me warm in the cold room. He slid the covers up, covering our bodies before he kissed the top of my head.

"I'll tell you what," he spoke and I looked up at him tiredly, "I definitely don't regret it."

tags: @dsturniolo @sturniolopepsi @chrissturnioloswifesblog @chrisstankyleg @lov3bug @stunza @pinklittleflower @v1nuswrites @trinity2058 @alorsxsturn @chrizznmetswife @junnniiieee07 @mattsobvimyfav

[diamond-champagne]

6. I Hurt You

Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

Warnings: None that I know of :)

Feed back is always welcome! Besties, thank you for the support <3

Shoutout to @makethemhoesmad for getting me through this chapter.

It takes Paige over an hour to clean up the broken glass. Her eyes blur with tears too often for her to make any real progress. She gets it done though; sighing as she drops the last of the paper towel and glass into the trash. The blonde settles back on the couch and begins to scroll through her social media when she gets a text.

Babe: How was your night, Ma?

The text brings a smile to Paige’s face as she remembers their interaction from earlier in the night.

Paige stands at the bar; waiting for the bartender. She’s happy to be celebrating with the team. She also feels looser tonight than she has in a while. Then again, that could be the three tequila shots making their way through her system. Paige is drumming her fingers against the bar when abruptly, a strong body is pressed against her back. Alarmed, the blonde girl turns around, ready to snap when she hears a deep voice say “Sorry, Ma. People don’t know how to say excuse me.” 

The voice stops Paige in her tracks as she gazes at the person before her. The man has a tall and muscat build. His caramel skin is accompanied by green eyes and a perfect smile. The icing on the cake is that the man’s right arm is covered in tattoos. He’s handsome, Paige thinks as she continues to check him out. She doesn’t know how long she’s been doing so when a deep chuckle pulls her back to reality. The blonde’s face turns red in embarrassment as she avoids eye contact. 

“No need to be embarrassed, Ma. A pretty girl like you can stare at me all day” the man says while taking a slight step away from the blonde. She feels her face get hot at the compliment.

“Bold of you to assume I was embarrassed,” Paige quips. “Maybe I was just upset that you bumped into me.” The man lets out another deep chuckle. “My bad, pretty. I promise I didn’t mean to.” He smiles at her. “It’s all good, babe.” Paige teases.

“Babe?” The man questions. “Well,” Paige starts, “You’ve called me everything but my name so I thought it was only fair.” The man nods in agreement before speaking again. “So what is your name, pretty?” He’s still smiling at her. 

“Paige, and yours?” 

“Cameron, but all my friends call me Cam”

“And we’re friends now?” Paige smirks.

“Yeah, Ma,” Cam answers, “Yeah, we are.” His smile is sincere and Paige begins to enjoy his company.

“Well, babe, who are you here with?” Paige asks. The nickname rolls off her tongue easily as she converses with the taller man. “I’m on the football team so I’m here with my teammates,” Cam says as he nods his head in the direction of the UConn football team. “What about you?”

“I’m on the basketball team, so I am also here with my teammates.” Paige answers. Cam nods in acknowledgement. He starts to respond but the volume in Ted’s increases drastically as they change the music playing, making it difficult for Paige to hear. The football player realizes and then proceeds to grab her waist to pull her closer to him. He leans down to talk in the basketball player's ear. “So Ma, can I get your number?” He asked. Paige braces her hands on his shoulder so she can talk in his ear “Yeah, give me your phone.” 

The two switch phones so that they can put in their respective phone numbers. Both athletes take selfies for their contact picture which consists of silly faces and peace signs before returning their phones. Cameron leans down one more time to talk in Paige’s ear “Be safe, Ma. I hope to see you soon.” Paige responds “Bye, babe.” before rejoining her friends at the table

It’s with a smile that Paige responds to this text.

Ma: It didn’t end too well but I had fun. 

Babe: Do you want to talk about it?

Ma: Not right now

Babe: What about over breakfast tomorrow?

Ma: Bet

-

That conversation is exactly how the athletes ended up getting breakfast at a small diner right off campus. They’re sitting in a booth laughing about a tik tok that they both found funny while the waitress arrives at the table with their food. The pair immediately begin to dig in before Cam changes the subject. 

“So Ma, what happened last night?”

Paige drops her fork and lets out a sigh at the thought of her fight with Azzi. The situation left her tired and frustrated but all she wanted was for someone to listen. So, Paige told Cam everything. She told him how they were best friends that often woke up together, how she was in love with Azzi and her feelings weren’t returned, how the younger girl had a girlfriend, and lastly, how they argued last night. By the end of her long and detailed explanation, Paige had a steady stream of tears rolling down her cheeks. Cam reached out to grab the blonde’s hand from across the table; running his thumb over the back of it soothingly.

“I’m sorry, Ma. You didn’t deserve that.” Cam says “But if it’s causing you this much pain, don’t  you think you should move on?” Paige shakes her head in agreement. “I know but I can’t because she’s still my best friend. She’s still half of me.”

“Your other half is killing all of you.”

“I’d rather have a piece of her than none of her, if I’m being honest.” Paige admits for the first time out loud. She sounds pathetic to her own ears. 

“Why, Ma?” Cam pushes. He can’t understand why the girl in front of him is so adamant on keeping this relationship especially when she knows she deserves better.

“I went through everything by myself before I met her. I wiped my own tears and faced all my fears by myself; but when I met Azzi, everything changed. We talked all day everyday. She was there for everything after that. All my highs and all my lows.” Paige lets out a tearful laugh. “I can’t go back to how things were before her. She’s too embedded in my life now. We’re best friends that spend holidays and vacations together, go to school together, and play the same sport. All I know is Azzi.” Paige finishes.

Cameron just nods his head in understanding before speaking. “What about your teammates? Surely you could talk to them?”

“I’m sure they have some inkling. It’s hard to not notice things when you spend so much time together. I wouldn’t tell them everything though. It’s easier to keep the peace if I don’t.” Paige answers honestly. She knows she confided in Nika about some things but she wouldn’t tell the team about everything. They’re already so messy.

“Sure, it’ll keep the peace, but whose would it keep?” Cam counters. Paige just shrugs in response. The football player can sense that the blonde doesn’t want to talk about this anymore so he redirects her attention to something less heavy.

“Are you going to eat those, Ma?” The green-eyed boy points to her chocolate chip pancakes. Paige lets out a laugh before moving her arm to guard her plate of food. “Yes, babe, I’m going to eat these.” She teases.

The heaviness of the conversation dissipated from the air. The two continue their meal in laughter while getting to know each other. In the end, Paige feels like she’s made a new friend. 

Before either one could realize it, it’s almost time for the two to part ways. They’re sitting in the football player’s car outside of Paige’s apartment talking before they finally depart. The only other noise filling the car besides their voices, is the rain hitting the window.

“Listen Ma, call me if you need anything.”

“We just met yesterday, why would I call you?” Paige asks with a smile on her face.

“Because we’re friends and friends call each other.” Cam counters. 

“And friends call each other Ma and Babe, too?” Paige teases. The nicknames are fun to her.

“We do,” The football player confirms before continuing. “I’m Babe and you’re Ma and we talk to each other.

The basketball player shakes her head before repeating the words sincerely. “I’m Ma and you’re babe, and we talk to each other.”

Paige and Cam share a hug before she gets ready to leave the car. Despite the pair being in front of Paige’s door, the football player insists that she take his jacket so that she doesn’t get wet. It's a small gesture but it brightens Paige’s day to know she’s being considered. 

Later, as Paige thinks about the day, she’s happy to know that she has another person in her corner.

She couldn’t have Azzi but maybe she wouldn’t be alone either.

-

Azzi woke up that morning feeling terrible. The booze creates a deep, sinking ache in her head while the guilt does the same thing to her heart. The curly-haired girl lets out a groan and attempts to sit up in her bed. It’s a weak effort but it’s all Azzi can manage right now. Someone must be playing a cruel joke on her though because there’s a soft knock on her front door. Azzi struggles to get out of bed but when she opens the door, she’s met with Carol who just happens to have water and headache medicine.

The brown-eyed girl welcomes her friend into her apartment with the memories of last night still replaying in her head. While Azzi and Carol are very close, the brown-eyed girl knows that this will be a tense conversation.

The girls wordlessly settle into the living room. Carol watches as her friend takes the medicine given while she chugs half of her water before speaking.

“You’re being unfair” Caroline states.

“I know”

“You need to apologize.”

“I did.” Azzi sighs before continuing. “She doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

“Would you?” Caroline asks. The question shocks Azzi.

“Excuse me?” she exclaims slightly offended.

“Think about it,” Caroline starts, “You treated her like a girlfriend before ghosting her when you actually got a girlfriend. You get jealous when she’s with someone else but she asked you if you had feelings for her and you walked away. Plus, you embarrassed her at the bar yesterday.” Caroline finishes bluntly. It’s the truth and she knows Azzi needs to hear it.

“I was jealous last night-” Caroline cuts her off. Azzi is getting very tired of people doing that.

“You don't get to be jealous. Not this time.”

“I know.”

“Do you love her? It’s a fair question but the brown-eyed girl isn’t quite sure of the answer. “I don’t know.”

“Paige deserves to be with someone who knows. If you can’t give her that, then she should be able to find someone who can.”

“What if I do love her?” Azzi asks. 

“Then you fight for her.” Carol answers.

“And if I don’t?” Azzi counters.

“Then you watch her get the love that she deserves from someone else.”

“I don’t want to see her with anyone else,” Azzi starts. “I know it’s selfish but I don’t.”

Caroline sighs in response. She doesn’t understand how her teammate can’t see what’s in front of her.

“You’re being unfair.” Caroline repeats.

“I know.”

“You need to apologize.”

“I know.”

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