#sub!zuko | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cecilysobsessions · 2 years ago

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DESTINY (m.) | zuko

↬ fem!reader, protector!reader & protected!zuko

↬ genre: fluff / smut

↬ one bed trope, reader & zuko are adults (i am not writing no minors), fake dating for like one second, suggestive language, mild swearing, awkward cannon zuko, submissive zuko, typos but pretend you didn’t see them

↬ word count: 6k

↬ summary: you are hired as fire lord zuko’s personal bodyguard. being the stubborn man he is, he doubts that you can protect him. you’re going to prove him wrong.

↬ a/n: i was upset i couldn’t find any sub!zuko fics so i said screw it and wrote one myself.

m.list

Destiny is a funny thing. And, of course, Fire Lord Zuko knows all about it. After firmly believing for so long that his destiny was to kill the Avatar, the world threw him a curve ball and he ended up joining the Avatar’s team to defeat his own father.

So when his palace staff appoints you, an experienced assassin, as his personal bodyguard, he rolls his eyes at your stupid destiny that just so happened to intertwine with his.

When he became the Fire Lord, Azula almost immediately tried to get rid of him so that she could steal the throne by hiring you to kill him. Of course, she would have done it herself if she weren’t thrown into an asylum after their Agni Kai. However, after one of his staff overheard the conversation between you and his sister, they offered you twice as much payment as Azula did, and you couldn’t refuse the offer. Besides, what was Azula going to do? At this point she had already been taken away.

Although it seems shallow and a low blow to betray Azula because of money, you had to do what you had to do to get by. Growing up an orphan on the streets wasn’t always so good on you financially. You discovered you had a talent for stealing things for money, and even though you weren’t proud of it, it was the only way to survive. After running into some gang members who had heard about your talent, you began to work for them. Eventually you went from stealing for money to killing for it. Although it was not the life you wanted, it was the life you lived.

So how did you end up coming to the royal palace as Zuko’s personal bodyguard with questionable work experience and blood on your hands? Simply put, you were skilled. As one of the few fire benders known to use lighting, you were pretty good at it. Being able to both generate and redirect it impressed those around you, and word went around with some saying you were even better at it than Azula.

•••

“A bodyguard? I’m not a child; I don’t need protection.” Zuko rolled his eyes, his voice echoing through the large meeting room.

“Nobody said you were a child,” his advisor clarified, his voice filled with anxiety. Zuko always had a short temper.

“I can protect myself just fine. Besides, what will people think if they see the new Fire Lord with a body guard stuck to my side all the time? They’ll think I can’t handle myself.” Zuko was offended that his staff thought he needed a personal bodyguard to be near him 24/7. Sure, he was young, but he is capable. He rolled back his shoulders in an attempt to calm himself as he tried to explain his thought process. He has never been good with words, and he was already losing his patience.

“No, the people will know that you are taking your job seriously. And besides, we found an excellent fire bender that is able to both generate and redirect lighting! She’s excellent, and—”

“You already hired one without asking me first?!” Zuko cut off his advisor abruptly, his loud and stern voice rising along with the wall of fire in the room. He was already fired up and upset at the thought of having a personal guard, but the fact that his staff had already hired one without telling him first set him off.

“Please, think about this.” his advisor’s calm and collected voice soothed his rising anger a bit. “As your staff, we are dedicated to protecting you and making sure you are safe at all times. The girl is a strong and smart bender and might even be able to teach you some things. Please, give her a chance and reconsider.” his advisor lowered his head in obedience and hoped for an answer.

After a moment of silence, with the only sound being the low flames in the room, Zuko took a deep breath and spoke. “Fine, but let me test her first. If I am able to knock her down, she leaves and you’re not allowed to hire a new one.”

•••

“He wants to fight me? Zuko?” you let out a fake laugh filled with arrogance as you stared down at his advisor.

“Fire Lord Zuko,” he corrected you. “And well, yes. He is against the idea of having a personal bodyguard and the only way he will accept it is if you are able to fight him and not be knocked down.” the man explained, gesturing to the training courtyard outside the hallway window in the palace.

You followed his eyes and focused in on the former prince in the courtyard, eyeing his grown out hair. While you understood that Zuko wanted to make sure you were as good as his advisor said you were, you found it ridiculous. As far as you knew, he was constantly being bested by his younger sister. Although you weren’t as good a bender as his sister, you knew for sure you were better than him.

“Alright,” you shrugged as you began to make your way to the courtyard, his advisor following your steps. “Whatever makes him feel better. Wanna bet I can knock him down in sixty seconds?” a smirk grew on your face. You were not cocky in your ability, but confident. If you were being honest, you could probably knock him down in thirty seconds.

“I’m sure you can, but I’m not betting with you on whether or not you can knock the Fire Lord down in a minute. That’s inappropriate!” his advisor shushed you.

•••

Although you had seen the man from afar, you never realized how short Zuko was. You were almost taller than him (not that it mattered, it just made you feel superior when you were taller than men).

“Your royal majesty,” you sarcastically greeted, your deep and exaggerated bow earned you a scowl from the Fire Lord. You were unsure of why you had chosen your first words to Zuko to be sarcastic and cocky, but you knew you wanted to show that you were a capable bender and not some little girl who knew how to throw a fireball.

“Your bending better not be as horrible as your attitude,” he stared into your eyes, unamused at what you thought would be taken as a joke. “Let’s get this over with. Try and knock me down, if you can, and I’ll reconsider having you protect me.” you might have imagined it, but it seemed like Zuko didn’t believe you could beat him. You smirked, excited to prove to the royal that he was wrong and you are in fact the better bender.

“Aw, you think I can’t knock you down. That’s cute.” you winked, distancing yourself from him and taking a fighting stance, readying yourself. “Well your majesty, I’m ready when you are. Take the first move too, I’ll let you have that.”

Zuko clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Only because I want to get this over with,” he widened his feet and took a stance, his arm coming down to shoot fire at the ground, coming towards your feet.

As he shot his first move, you took a deep breath, rolling your eyes to show him what you thought of his predictable and easy to avoid move. Avoiding it simply, you punched the air, sending red flames towards him. But what he didn’t know was what you were going to do next. Distracted by your punch of fire, you quickly generated lighting through your fingertips, taking a deep breath before you aggressively pointed your hand towards where he was standing, making sure to miss him on purpose. As quickly as you sent the first shot of fire, Zuko saw a large lighting strike heading his way. Too slow to react and try to redirect it, your strike burned the spot on the ground next to him, the blackened spot on the ground inches from where he stood.

“How,” he started in disbelief. “How did you generate lighting so fast?” his eyes widened as he looked at you. Still in shock from how quickly you created lighting and nearly killed him, you moved quickly, running towards him and jumping in the air and sending multiple strikes of fire at him through your hands. Still focused on how you created lighting through your fingertips with such speed, he held his arms up to block you. His attempt was sloppy and weak, and you knocked him down to the ground and stood over him.

Zuko grunted, sitting up quickly and looking through the bright rays of sun blocking his view of you. “No way,” his hand came up to shield his eyes from the sun rays.

“How long did that take me? Definitely less than a minute, right, Mr. Advisor?” you hollered over at the staff who was standing off to the side. You crossed your arms and stared down at the royal man below you.

“You lasted less than a minute in this fight and I barely tried. Hopefully you’re not like that in the bedroom, Fire Lord Zuko.” you smiled down at him crookedly, a laugh escaping your lips as you started to walk off. “I’ll see you when I officially begin tomorrow, sir.” you bowed once again exaggeratedly. You couldn’t help but beam, you already knew you were going to win, but you didn’t expect to feel this good. Zuko was a handsome and talented fire bender, so something about beating him at something he is good at made you smile.

•••

It has been three years since you began to work for Zuko and he has learned three things in those three years.

One. You never refer to him using his title as you should be doing because you apparently hate all “royal blooded bitches” as you say. But if Zuko was being honest with himself, he was pretty sure it was just because you simply didn’t want to. The staff around you always shot you looks when you yelled out his first name to grab his attention, but you never cared. He admired that about you. You didn’t care what other people thought of you, something Zuko himself always struggled with.

Two. You were an absolute thug. What did he expect? You’re an orphan with a criminal background and a couple bodies on your list of people you’ve killed. Past Zuko would’ve thought you were some low life peasant, but that’s not what he thought of you at all. With a questionable past himself, he knew not to judge you for your past actions and choices. After all, some of his own past choices were questionable.

Three. You wear your heart on your sleeve and have a massive crush on him. So naturally, you make it known. As someone who doesn’t have a lot of relationship experience, or experience with women in general, Zuko never knew how to respond to anything you ever said to him that was even the tiniest bit flirtatious. After the breakup with his ex Mai, he had told himself to focus on his people and to stay out of relationships. When you first made it known to him that you fancied him, he thought you were joking.

“So, Zuko,” you had begun while escorting him to a meeting. “People are asking if you’re courting anyone. You’ll need a Queen soon.”

“I’m not interested in that right now,” he sternly told you. “And besides, nobody’s interested in me at the moment.”

“Well, that’s where you’re wrong. I am.”

Zuko shook his head, pushing away the past conversation that confused him because did you actually like him and were you just casually confessing your feelings out of nowhere? Or did you only say all that because you pitied him?

She flirts with every guy here, he told himself (not true, but telling himself that helped convince him that you did not in fact like him even though you did and expressed that on multiple occasions). There was just no way you could ever like someone like him. He was easily upset, always busy with his royal duties, and only had one eyebrow. Literally. The scar his father gave him convinced him that he wasn’t handsome or in any way attractive. Who would ever want to love someone with a scarred face?

“Zuko,” you barged into his quarters, shutting the door behind you as you interrupted his inner thoughts. “Are you ready?” you stood there, feet firmly planted on the ground like you didn’t intend on going anywhere.

“Do you not know how to knock?” he stood and looked at you, gesturing to his small luggage sitting on his bed. “I’m ready.”

The two of you were going on a secret mission (actually it was just him and technically you were just coming along to protect him) to spy on an unknown enemy of Zuko’s, most likely someone who did not want him on the throne. He had wanted to do it himself, saying that he needed to get a good look at the person who wanted to dethrone him.

“Just because I’m your bodyguard, that doesn’t mean I’m also your servant,” you eyed his belongings. “Carry your own shit.”

•••

You and Zuko quietly arrived near the location in a close forest of the unknown person who was apparently planning to rebel and dethrone Zuko. Tightening your hood, you created a small flame in your hand and searched around for any sign of danger. It was midnight and the two of you were planning to camp here for the night before resuming the mission in the morning to search for the unknown person.

“Stay close to me,” you instructed in a whisper.

“I know that.”

“Then come closer to me, idiot.” you aggressively grabbed onto his sleeve, yanking him closer to you as you quietly stepped around the area of trees.

“Ow, can you please be gentle?!” he complained, attempting to pull away from your gorilla grip but failing.

“Zuko, shut the fuck up.” you warned.

“I don’t take orders from you.”

“One more word and I’ll burn the shit out of you.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh yeah? Then—” in the middle of your banter with the Fire Lord, you saw a flame heading towards the two of you. Reacting quickly, you pushed Zuko behind your back and pushed away the flame with your hands before throwing a punch and firebending towards the threat.

“Who’s there? One step and I’ll burn you,” you threatened, eyes frantically searching the dark for a sign of life.

You felt Zuko behind you, chest pressed up against your back and heart rapidly beating against your body. He was nervous and scared and if you didn’t feel his panicked heartbeat, you wouldn’t know. You had to get out of there.

“Relax little girl, I only want what’s in that satchel.” you heard a gruff voice that came from a few feet in front of you. Zuko gripped the satchel around his body, debating if he wanted to just give it up to the intruder or help you fight him.

“You want it? Come and get it,” Zuko taunted, standing in front of you and kicking a flame towards the mysterious man.

“Zuko!” you warned. “Get behind me!”

“You might be my bodyguard, but I don’t always need your protection.” He spoke with determination in his voice as he stood firmly, his hands in the air and ready to firebend at any second.

“Your bodyguard is a woman?” the mysterious man cackled, jumping out of the dark and attacking Zuko with fire.

“Yeah, and what about it?” he shot back, easily defending himself against the wannabe thief. You stepped back, wanting to see how Zuko would protect himself. They began to fight close up, engaging in hand to hand combat, which you knew Zuko was good at. You had seen him at times training and were impressed. He easily overpowers the man, knocking him out with a swift kick and turns back to you, the unconscious man laying on the ground.

“If that were me, I would’ve beat you.” you commented.

“I know,” he responded, searching the man for any weapons. After patting him down, he takes a knife from the man’s pockets.

“That was hot,” you said, winking at him in the dark and hoping he’d see it. You grabbed the knife from him and started walking.

Apparently he didn’t see the wink. Wonder why. “Well yeah, fire is hot.” Zuko responded.

You did a mental facepalm. “I know fire is hot, you dumbass. I was talking about you being able to defend yourself. That was hot.” you repeated. How many times would you have to hit on this guy for him to understand you liked him?

“Oh…” he trailed off, unable to form his confusion into words. Why would you find that hot?

You sensed he didn’t know what to say, so you spoke first. “Let’s go to a nearby village and hope that we can find a place to stay there. It’s too dangerous to be out in the woods.

•••

Luckily the two of you wandered into a village not too far from the forest, and were able to find an elderly couple kind enough to house the two of you for the night.

“It’s so late, a young couple like the two of you shouldn’t be out and about at this hour.” the woman lectured after seeing the two of you walking down the street and hurrying you in her home.

Zuko wanted to correct the woman. “We’re not a cou—”

“Thank you for your kind hospitality. We really appreciate it. We were a little lost on our way and are traveling.” you cut him off abruptly and offered a kind smile to the lady. You grabbed his arm, squeezing it aggressively as a warning to shut up.

After showing you to their guest room, Zuko lit the only candle in the room, the low lighting barely bouncing off his porcelain skin.

“Why did you let her think that we’re a couple?” Zuko questioned, shutting the door behind him.

“Are you stupid? It’ll be suspicious if we tell her we’re just two people traveling together. It’s easier to just pretend we’re a couple so no one questions us.” you explained, but secretly you were happy the lady called you guys a couple.

You set your bag down by the door, taking in the small bedroom. There was an open window across from the door, the bright moonlight shining into the room. Other than a dresser and a chair, a small mat that was big enough to fit two people laid in the center of the room. Eyeing the singular mattress, the silence turned into an awkward moment of hesitation between the two of you. While Zuko probably felt awkward, you were happy. The thought of snuggling up to him claiming you’re cold as an excuse to be close to him crossed your mind. You were secretly excited.

“So I guess we have no choice but to sleep next to each other,” you started, trying to hide how happy you were feeling.

“What? I’m not going to sleep next to you!” he complained.

“Then where are you sleeping?” you questioned, gesturing to the singular mat. “There’s only one.”

“I’m sleeping on that mat. You can sleep on the chair.” he motioned to the uncomfortable looking chair in the corner.

“What?” there was no way you were going to let him take the mat for himself. “But I’m the woman! You should let me have it.”

He was already pulling out his sleeping bag. “You’re my bodyguard, so sleep on the chair and protect me. A man needs his beauty sleep.”

“Beauty sleep my ass,” you were beginning to grow tired and cranky and laid on the mat next to him. “It’ll be easier to protect you if I’m physically closer to you, don’t you think?”

Zuko’s eyes widened, his eyebrow furrowing in annoyance. “Whatever. Just don’t touch me.” he sighed in defeat, turning his back against you and pulling his blanket up and laying on his side his scar is on.

Your eyes trace the lines of his back muscles that are showing through his thinly made shirt. His shoulders are broad, hair covering his nape. Combing his hair behind him, you get a whiff of his shampoo. You can’t help but stare, even though he isn’t facing you. And suddenly you feel nervous. Too nervous to say anything, too nervous to do anything, too nervous to even breathe. The room is filled with silence, the only faint noise being the single candle in the corner of the room burning. What if you’re breathing too loudly? What if he can hear it? What if he thinks you’re a loud breather?

“No weird pickup line?” Zuko’s voice suddenly breaks the silence and your inner thoughts, his voice soft and low in a careful attempt to not wake the elderly couple.

Has his voice always been laced with such sultry and sexiness? Why was he suddenly making conversation? You thought he wanted to sleep, so why is he asking why you’re not flirting with him? Does he know you’re nervous?

“I thought you wanted to sleep,” a lame excuse, but some part of it was true.

Zuko’s body shifts and he turns on to his other side to face you, laying on his arm as his golden eyes search for yours in the dark. When he finally looks at you, you unintentionally hold your breath. The way he is looking at you makes you nervous. His eyes are staring into yours as if he’s all yours and you’re all his. As if you two are lovers and are sharing an intimate moment of eye contact before a kiss.

“The mattress is a little uncomfortable.” he whispers, his voice small and soft.

Was he already laying this close to you?

A beat of silence passes between the two of you, and his eyes refuse to break contact with yours. “What a spoiled royal,” was the only thing you said, you were feeling a little awkward and unsure of what to say. Normally you felt confident flirting with him, but something about tonight made it feel different.

“Of course you’d say that,” he lets out a small chuckle at your comment, his eyes moving down your body as if he is checking you out.

“You smell nice.” you say after a beat. You don’t know what came over you. Only that you thought it and wanted to say it.

“You’ve always been so straightforward,” he says and you’re not sure if he means that as an insult or compliment. “I admire that about you.”

Zuko admires you? You always thought he didn’t think much of you, but maybe you just thought that way because he never actually voiced his opinion of you.

“These last three years have been different,” he continued. “Good different. Ever since I took the throne I’ve been busy with my duties and haven’t had much time to relax. But spending time with you and getting to know you has been really… great.” Zuko has always been a little awkward, understandable since he often does not speak about his feelings.

“That’s it?” you laugh at his awkwardness. “Just great?”

“I think you’re amazing. Getting to know you has been so fun for me. And I’m starting to feel really comfortable around you. You make me feel safe.”

You make Zuko feel safe? Your heart swells at that compliment. “Well, I would hope so. I’m supposed to keep you safe, too.” you joke, and his eyes light up as he smiles. Or maybe it’s just the candle.

“I’m sorry I doubted your ability to protect me. You are a talented bender and an amazing bodyguard. But I want you to know, I will always be there to protect you, too.” he whispers, voice sweet like honey as he leans closer to you, his eyes moving down to your lips for just a moment before meeting your eyes again.

Zuko is even closer to you now, his face lit up by the moonlight. His tongue peeks out and he licks his bottom lip for a second, wandering eyes flickering down to your lips once again.

“You look beautiful in this light,” you comment, your eyes scanning his features.

“Are you saying I don’t look beautiful in any other light?” he asks, a teasing smile plastered on his face.

“Yeah, you only look this good when it’s almost completely dark and the only source of light is the moon.” he laughs at your response, a low chuckle escaping his lips.

“Can you see my scar?” he asks, insecurity in his voice.

“Yes, and it looks good. Scars build character.” As someone who’s received scars from living out on the streets and constantly getting into fights to rob people, you have a couple scars yourself. Although they may be an imperfection on the skin, all your scars tell a story and are unique to you.

Zuko wonders if you knew that he was feeling insecure about it. He has always been insecure about it since it’s a reminder of what his father did to him, and it’s never helped that he hears people always whispering about it in the palace.

“Do you have any scars?” he asks, unsure if the question is crossing a boundary.

“A couple.”

“Can I… Can I see them?” he anxiously asks you, his voice softer and more submissive. He is afraid you’re going to say no and afraid if you do that it will be awkward.

“Do you just want to see me naked, Zuko? You could’ve just asked.” you tease.

His eyes practically jump out of their sockets. His face flushes and his embarrassment travels down to his neck, red and and feeling even more awkward and nervous than before.

“W-What? That’s not what I meant! I was just—I didn’t mean for it to come off like that! I was only asking that because I’m insecure about my scar and—” Zuko keeps speaking, faster than before and more panicked. You chuckle, amused by how he tries to back himself up. He continues to rant and stutter a bit before you hold up your hand to shush him.

“You know, Zuko, for someone who doesn’t say much, you’re saying an awful lot right now. And you’re not even saying much. You're just rambling on and on.” you lecture, raising an eyebrow to prove your point.

“I’m just a little nervous,” he confesses.

“Why’s that?”

“Because. I can't tell if you’re joking with me when you say the stuff you say.”

“What do I say?”

“You know.”

“No, I don’t. What kind of stuff do I say to you?”

He sighs in frustration. He doesn’t want to say it. “Like, like when you called me hot… earlier.”

“You thought I was talking about the fire.”

“Yes, and then you said that you weren’t.” he says all confused; all you’re doing is trying to get him to stop beating around the bush and be straightforward, but it’s too nerve wracking for him.

“Because I wasn’t.”

“Right,”

“Right.” you agree.

“So, then you said—you said you were talking about me.”

“I did say that.”

“Yeah…” he trails off, unable to form a sentence.

“What’s your point? What are you trying to get at?” you’re teasing him. You know exactly what he wants to ask. You know he wants to ask if you have feelings for him, but he’s too afraid you’ll say no and he’s afraid to make it awkward.

Cute.

“I guess what I’m trying to ask is… if you, maybe, perhaps, possibly…”

“Like you?” you finish his question for him. Because if you don’t, he’ll take all night.

He stops himself from saying anything, face full of uncertainty and confusion. He stares at you, waiting—hoping that you will speak first. You have always led the conversations between the two of you, so now that he has to do it, he is lost and looking for help.

“What do you think?” you ask, turning the question on to him. You want to see what he will say.

“I…” Zuko trails off once more. “I would hope so.” His voice is hushed, low and subtle. If you weren’t listening so closely and weren’t so close to him physically, you wouldn’t have heard him. Through his whispering, he sounds hopeful, almost as if he is asking—begging you to feel something for him.

“You would hope so?” you repeat and he nods in response. “And why is that?”

“Because… I think I would feel upset if you didn’t like me.” he confesses, taking a deep breath. He looks as if he is trying to control his breathing. Is he nervous? Turned on? Or does he just have trouble breathing?

You smirk. “Why would you feel upset, Zuko?”

A faint pout forms on his pretty lips. His eyes droop and he looks like he is about to complain. “Are you really going to make me say it?”

You nod.

“I would feel upset because I like you. I like you more than just my bodyguard. I like you more than just a friend. I like you more than just a talented bender who can take my life with a single lightning bolt. I like you more than you can even imagine.” Zuko finally confesses, releasing a breath he didn’t realize he was holding in.

“You like me? More than you like your honor?” you joke; you don’t want him feeling so tense around you.

“Yes. A lot more.”

“Good,” is your only response before you lean in. His lips are warm and soft and inviting. You feel your loud heartbeat through your ears and it feels as if the entire world has paused just for the two of you to kiss.

To him, your kiss is intoxicating yet sweet. Addicting, so addicting he wants more. Zuko has never felt aroused by a simple kiss until now. He tilts his head, hopeful to kiss more of you. He feels himself losing control, his thoughts are wandering yet he is still staying put, his hands to himself because even though he wants more, he doesn’t want to make the first move. You have always led the conversations, so he is hoping you will lead this kiss too. Trying to control his breathing through his nose, he can’t help but moan quietly into your mouth, heat reaching his cheeks in embarrassment. He feels you smirk against his lips, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. Your soft fingertips cup his cheek, gently caressing his scarred skin with a tender love he has never felt before.

His hands hesitantly make their way to your waist, gently wrapping around your middle as he pulls you in closer to him. Zuko presses himself against you, desperate to feel more than just your lips against him. You feel his heart beating hard against your chest, the right grip on your waist firm. He quietly moans against you, slight whimpers being held back as he pushes himself into you, desperate for more. Desperate for something, anything.

“Ah,” he quietly whimpers, his hand grabbing at yours and holding it to his chest. You flex your hand slightly, taking the opportunity to feel his pecs. Someone has been working out. “Please,” he begins. He sounds so desperate; you’ve never heard him like this before, but you like it. “More, I want more. Please, do something.”

Zuko wraps his legs around yours, pushing his hips forward to meet yours, his body desperate for more affection and more friction. He is starting to slip, becoming more and more desperate each passing second. You can feel him through the thin material of his pants, dick hard and pressed up against your body. You take a deep breath in an attempt to calm yourself. Looking into Zuko’s eyes, you can see everything he is feeling in them. Aroused, in love, submissive, and breedable desperate.

“Would you like to see my scars?” you ask, earning a gentle smile from him.

“Only if you would like me to see.”

“I don’t mind.” you smile back, pulling away from him and lifting the blanket. Eyeing the wet spot on his crotch, Zuko quickly pulls part of the blanket onto his lap, embarrassed that you noticed.

“Sorry,” he says shyly.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you grin, sitting up and lifting part of your shirt to expose your lower stomach. “See this?” you ask. Zuko sits up with you and leans in slightly to look at your lower stomach. He can’t tell if you have been stabbed or sliced, but whatever happened, the scar looks deep and painful. “Got it in an assisination mission.”

“It must’ve hurt,” he whispers, his fingertips reaching out towards it. He looks up at you, eyes asking for permission to touch your scar. When you nod, his fingers gently ghost over the imperfection, feeling it slowly.

“Well I killed him, so he was probably in more pain than I was.” you laugh, remembering the man you killed.

“Do you have any more?” His eyes are full of curiosity, eager to learn more about your past and about your body.

“I have one on my thigh,” you tell him.

Zuko eyes your pajama pants. “You don’t have to show me. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“Oh, so you don’t want me to take off my pants?” you joke. “I see how it is…”

“No! Of course I would like to see. Please?” he smiles shyly, hoping you’ll say yes.

“Hmm, I don’t know… you don’t seem very desperate to see…”

Zuko shakes his head in defeat, giving into you as he leans in. He kisses your cheek sweetly, his lips slowly moving down towards your neck. “Please,” he whispers. He leaves slow and sweet kisses, his hand coming up to your thigh to caress it. His large hand glides upwards on your thigh, nearing where you want it the most. “Please, show me…” his hand stops, gripping your thigh.

“Since you wanna see that bad, I suppose I could show you.” you begin to unlace your pants.

“You just wanted to see me beg,”

“Well, yes. And it was nice. I quite enjoyed it.” you laugh, kicking off your pants so you’re wearing nothing but your underwear and your top. Zuko looks, stares, admires your beauty. He looks down at the scar, smaller than the one on your stomach, but it still looks painful.

“I got stabbed. Another assassination.”

“Did you end up killing them?”

“Yeah, so no biggie.”

Zuko is quiet, unsure of what he should do. Should he let you talk about it, or should he ask about it? You’re quiet and he doesn’t know if that’s because you want something else, or if you don’t want to talk about it. Unsure, he leans down, his lips leaving a gentle kiss on your scar. At the same time, he eyes your underwear, a wet spot forming where he wants to kiss the most. He looks up, feeling himself grow hard again.

“Even with your scars, you are still beautiful.” he whispers, leaning up to leave a kiss on your lips.

“I know that, Zuko. I never said I didn’t feel beautiful because of my scars.”

“Oh,” he feels so stupid. Why did he assume you felt ugly with all your scars? You were not like him. “Sorry.”

“If you’re so sorry, make it up to me.” you smirk and lift your shirt up, exposing your breasts to him.

His eyes begin to wander, trying to memorize the curve of your breasts and where your scar is on your stomach. Leaning down, he buries his face into your chest. He leaves a gentle kiss on one of your nipples, his hand coming up to massage the other. His entire hand wraps around your breast, squeezing and kneading as he opens his mouth around your nipple, sucking on the skin. He leaves wet kisses as his lips move down on your body, stopping to kiss your stomach scar. Laying you back down, he starts kissing your lower stomach as his fingertips tease the band of your underwear. Your hips jerk up, signaling to him that he needs to do something. Gently pulling your underwear down and off, he crawls between your legs, eager to please you.

You spread your legs, exposing your wetness to his lips. He leans in, tongue carefully licking at you. You let a breath out, tugging on his locks to where you need him the most. He moans, almost more excited than you are and sucks on your clit. When you pull his hair, desperate for him to be tougher, he moans again, his hips grinding against the mattress in an attempt to relieve himself. Zuko pulls away for a second, sitting up in front of you. He pulls at his pants, impatiently yanking them down as he frees himself. His cock springs upwards, and he moans in relief.

“Can I touch myself?” he begs, his voice a whimper as he leans back down, face in between your legs again.

You nod and he leans back into you again, his tongue working at your clit again and sucking on it. One of his hands grips your thigh, slowly making its way to your entrance. His other hand strokes himself, his hips bucking into his own hand as his other hand begins to tease your entrance. You’re practically dripping, hips bucking up into his face as he pushes himself into you. Zuko’s fingers rub at your entrance, a mix of his saliva and your arousal allowing him to push a finger into you. He moans into you, his finger curving as he strokes himself faster. His hips desperately fuck into his hand as his lips desperately suck on to your clit. He moans, excited to please you as he also pleases himself. Feeling him moan and whimper against you and seeing him so desperate for his release he touches himself has you gripping his roots and pulling him into you. Your grip on him is strong and hurts, but arouses him more and his moans begin to grow louder.

“Ngh, fuck,” he pants, his hand stroking his dick. “You taste so good.”

“You’re too loud, Zuko,” it’s late at night and the elderly couple housing the two of you might hear and that would be absolutely mortifying.

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it.” he moans again, pulling away to bite down on his lip. His hair has been messed up and there is a blush on his cheeks, his lips wet with your arousal and his saliva.

He leans down again, inserting a second finger and curling them, making you let out a loud moan. You cover your mouth with your other hand as the other one continues to grip his hair. He licks at you in desperation, eager and determined to make you orgasm. His long and thick fingers move in and out of you as he continues sucking at your clit, licking and tasting it as you move your hips towards him faster.

“Ahh,” he whimpers again, moaning against you as you desperately buck your hips upwards, the vibrations of his moans and the sweet sound of his whimpers sending you over the edge. Your legs wrap around his neck and he continues to finger you, his own hips moving faster as he fucks himself. The moans you let out make him move faster, desperate to hear you as he pleasures himself. He shakes, thrusts staggered as he finishes off of your moans and your own orgasm. The only sounds in the room are your heavy breaths and Zuko’s kisses he leaves on your thigh and stomach again, making sure to kiss your scars as well.

“So…” he begins. “Do you like me? Or….”

“What?” you ask, out of breath.

“Well, you never said if you do or not.” he questions, sitting up and reaching for his bag to look for something to clean you up.

“Oh my god,” you laugh, leaning in to kiss him. “I thought it was obvious.”

“It’s not.”

“You’re so clueless,” you smack his head playfully. “Yes, I do. I wasn’t lying the previous times I hinted at it.”

“Good,” he breathes a sigh of relief before kissing you again.

•••

“I told you that you were too loud!” you nag Zuko, angrily shoving his shoulder as the two of of you walk down the road in the middle of the night after being kicked out of the elderly couple’s house.

“Me? You were the one who wouldn’t shut the fuck up!” he rubs his shoulder in an attempt to soothe it. You were much stronger than you looked.

“No stupid, that was you! You were louder than me and got us kicked out! See what you did!” you yelled.

“Oh, shut up! You liked it!” Zuko fires back, rolling his eyes.

••• a/n: bye i didn’t even mean to write smut it j happened 💀

m.list

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changbunnies · 3 months ago

Text

Hopelessly Devoted To You (18+)

♡ Pairing: Greaser!Bang Chan x fem!Reader

♡ Genre: grease inspired 50s au, some angst and fluff, this was supposed to be a long full length fic but it somehow became just porn with plot lol

♡ Word Count: 11.2k

♡ Summary: You were so excited to see him again– the guy you'd spent your entire summer with, entagled in a fleeting but explosively sweet romance. But the Chris you meet again isn't the one you remember, and now if he wants to win you back he's going to have to prove just how devoted to you he really is.

♡ Warnings: chan is referred to as chris, smoking (cigarettes), some misogyny + toxic masculinity + fuck boy behavior, some 50s references and lingo, 1 instance of reader shoving chan in a fit of anger / sadness, jealous and mildly possessive chan, minor appearances from felix, changbin, minho, and hyunjin (who goes by sam)

♡ Smut Warnings: 1 reference to reader losing their virginity to chan, references / flashbacks to other smut scenes before the main scene, light dom/sub dynamics, switch!chan, pet names (doll, sugar, baby), public sex, car sex, exhibitionism, oral (f rec, referenced m rec), fingering (f rec), nipple play, daddy kink, panty stealing (kind of), squirting, 1 mention of reader having pubic hair, maybe a lil breeding kink??, protected piv

♡ Notes: i've had this sitting in my drafts since december and finally got around to finishing it gfdhgfh this is incredibly self indulgent as grease is one of my fave movies ever and chan as danny zuko is constantly rattling around in my brain. the build up is pretty short (by my usual standards) as i moved the plot along a lot quicker than i normally would so idk if it's my best work but hopefully you enjoy it!

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

You remember well the first time you met Chris. Lounging aimlessly at the beach with the sunset on the horizon, his feet in the sand with a silver dog tag necklace hanging low over his bare chest, a cigarette from his previously discarded jeans held between his lips. Fresh from the ocean with beads of water still dripping off his toned body, slicking back his damp hair before fumbling through a different pocket for his lighter.

You watched him bring it up to his face after successfully digging it out, cupping his other hand around it to protect the flame as he lit the cigarette in his mouth. You watched him take a long drag, watched him blow the smoke out from the corners of his mouth, watched him sigh before deciding to towel dry his legs enough to wrangle his jeans back on.

The beach had been quickly growing sparse by the time you spotted him. Groups of friends clearing out to make it to the local diner before all the tables were filled, parents wanting to get their kids to bed before the moon fully rose in the sky, couples on double dates bunching up in one car as they decide to hit the drive-in together.

You yourself were in no rush to leave– you came alone, tired of your parents bickering during what was supposed to be a fun family vacation. You’d stay as long as you could, you’d decided– really soak in the peace the sea brings before returning to your aunt’s beach house, where you were all staying for the summer.

But safe to say, the sight of him enraptured you. He was handsome, devastatingly so– you never expected to see a man with a visage to rival even that of James Dean himself with your own eyes, but there he was before you; and your heart stuttered when he glanced over in your direction.

He had just finished pulling his jeans up and over his haunches when he noticed you, cocking a brow when your eyes met– and you could tell in an instant that he knew you’d been staring at him. His smile made your breath hitch, pretty dimples peeking out on his cheeks as he acknowledged you with a playful wave.

Hesitantly, you lifted your hand and waved back, and he grinned, eyes still locked on yours as he pulled up the zipper of his jeans. He turned back to his belongings on the ground, shook the sand out of his white tee before pulling it on. He grabbed his leather jacket, slung it over his shoulder before turning to look at you once more.

You swallowed, face running hot from his gaze alone– you hoped, as he began walking towards you, that you could play it off as having not put on enough sunscreen before coming here. You were sitting on a towel, legs to your chest with your arms wrapped around them, but you lowered them as he approached you.

He tossed his cigarette to the the side once he was close, letting its flame fizzle out in the sand. He looked you up and down when you stood up, introducing himself with a charismatic smile that made your heart race faster. You stuttered when speaking, and his smile widened, one of his hands going to rest in the pocket of his jeans while the other kept his leather jacket in place over his shoulder.

Chris was the most, to say the least– and when he asked if he’d see you again tomorrow, you promised him he would. You watched him walk over to a beat up, old top down cadillac, throwing his jacket into the car before jumping in– literally jumping in, hand on top of the closed car door as he hopped over it into the driver's seat.

He gave you another glance after starting the ignition, and you smiled meekly as you offered him another wave. Chris grinned, raising his hand to say goodbye before putting it back on the wheel and burning rubber out of the parking lot.

You spent nearly every summer day with him after that. Days at the beach spent splashing each other in the water while you giggled, hopping in his cadillac to go catch whatever new flick was showing, or sharing a milkshake at his favorite diner. He’d hold your hand as you walked through the sand, giggled with you over silly inside jokes while eating burgers and fries, hugged you tight after you gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek at the end of the night.

Chris gave you dimes to pick tunes on the jukebox, and would sing along to your selections with the prettiest voice you’d ever heard. He took you to the county fair, would shoot you goofy grins after kissing you with lips sticky from cotton candy, got on the ferris wheel with you and squeezed your hand when the height made you dizzy, kissing away your nerves when you reached the very top.

He won you a teddy bear from the soda toss, put his leather jacket over your shoulders when the sun set and the air began to chill, wrapped his arm around your shoulder while you were waiting in line to buy some popcorn. He’d lean down to whisper a joke in your ear, and you’d slap his arm with a giggle while he squeezed you closer.

You watched him soup up the engine of his car, and he’d take your hand after a long day of working on it, pull you in to dance with him while the radio blared the hippest tunes. When he was satisfied with the restoration of his cadillac, he started taking you out on long drives, wind whipping through your hair as he drove fast through the back streets of the city.

He’d drive you to secluded hills overlooking the city, where you’d make out until he had to drive you home in time for curfew. He’d park his car far down the street, away from where your family could see him dropping you off– because Lord knows your mother's heart would give out if she saw you spending your vacation with a guy that looked like him.

And through it all, days spent back at the beach where you first met him were always your favorite. You would let Chris lay you down on a towel in the sand and kiss you over and over, until you were both heaving and hot. You lost your virginity to him like that– alone on the beach, towels laid down and moon high in the sky after having snuck out of the window of your guest bedroom to meet him.

He’d whisper sweet words in your ear, make you fall apart with deft fingers and an equally deft tongue. Sometimes, instead of sneaking out to see him, he’d be the one showing up at your guest room's window, grinning at you as you opened it to let him in. He’d fuck you there, in the bed with his hand clamped over your mouth to muffle your moans of pleasure, lest your family discover what it is you’re really up to while "alone" in your room.

Chris would crawl over to you in the passenger seat at the drive-in, sink to his knees and dip his head underneath your long poodle skirt, the flick on screen long forgotten as he pulled your panties to the side to kiss and lick your dripping pussy. Sometimes he’d fuck you there too, parked all the way in back with the windows and hood of the car up to hide what you were doing (as if the rocking didn’t give it away to anyone who happened to look.)

Sometimes, when he parked up the street to drop you off after sharing ice cream at the drive thru malt shop, you’d lean over the gear shift, taking his cock out of his jeans and sucking him off right there, with not nearly enough care for who could possibly see you. He’d give you the sweetest kiss before helping you out of the car, promising he’d see you tomorrow too, and the day after, and the day after that, until eventually your family’s summer vacation had to come to an end.

Chris was a dreamboat that day, as he always was– hair greased back with a few curly strands left over his forehead, loose black tee tucked into his jeans, leather jacket on with its collar ever so slightly popped, his dog tag necklace sparkling when the sun hit it just right. He was leaning against the door of his newly souped up cadillac with a lit cigarette resting between his lips, though he promptly threw it to the ground when he saw you walking over.

“There’s my girl! And ain’t she a doll,” he grinned as he pulled you to his body, kissing you sweetly as you blushed. You weren’t wearing anything he hadn’t seen you in before– just one of your usual white blouses and pretty pink skirts, but he always made sure to tell you that he thought you were the absolute most.

He walked around to the other side of the car, opened the door for you and closed it shut behind you when you got in. He hopped into the driver’s seat after, starting the ignition and turning to you with that beaming smile that made your stomach flip. “What’s the plan today, sugar?” he asked, throwing his arm around you while leaving one hand on the steering wheel.

In the end, you spent the day as you had many times before– driving through the city, hitting up the diner to split a strawberry milkshake, and watching the sunset at the beach; the same beach where you met him, and where the house you were staying in lied just a couple hundred yards away. You were sitting on the rocks, his leather jacket off and resting behind you, his arm curled around your waist.

His jeans were filthy with sand, as was your skirt, but neither of you cared– you just stayed there together, watching the sun sink lower and the waves crash against the shore. Chris kissed you when you looked up at him with watery eyes, agonized over the idea of never seeing him again. He’d given you the best summer of your entire life, and all you wanted was to stay– but you couldn’t. And though he comforted you the best he could, you both knew it was the end.

Chris held your hand to help you off the rocks, gave you a kiss before you turned away to make the walk to your aunt’s beach house. And you both knew it was the end– but not just yet. He came to your window later that night, and you let him in, bringing your hands to his face and eagerly pressing your lips to his.

He walked you back to the bed as you kissed him, laid you back gently and crawled between your legs. He made you cum on his fingers before reaching into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a condom and tearing it open with his teeth. He rolled it easily down his cock, his jeans having fallen down his legs just enough to let him fuck you.

You reached your hands underneath his shirt, hungrily tracing your hands over every inch of his skin. Your nightgown was bunched above your thighs, legs spread wide to accommodate him. He eventually pulled the top of it down too, exposing your chest to him and leaving your stomach as the only covered part of your body.

Sweat dripped from his brow, his normally perfectly slicked hair tousled from your fingers sliding through it– and you didn't care that the pomade in his hair dirtied your fingers; in fact, it made it feel nicer when you brought your hand to one of your breasts, and rolled your nipples between them. Your stomach flipped when he grinned and called you a dirty girl, running a hand through his hair to grease up his fingers too and tweak the other nipple not being played with by your own.

He kissed you to muffle your moans and desperate whines, and it was nowhere near as effective as when it was his hand clamped over your mouth, but it was better. He had to slow down when fucking you fast unintentionally made your bedframe slam against the wall, and you gasped, praying no one woke up from the sound.

Thankfully, no one came knocking on your door– and though you were both desperate, clinging to one another hard and sliding your tongues around each other’s with fervor, he fucked you slow and deep after that. "Chris, daddy, please– 'm gonna cum," you moaned when he brought his slicked up fingers to your clit.

Chris groaned before kissing you again, and you came with a muffled cry, your nails digging desperately into his biceps. He kept rolling his hips into you through it, your body trembling with sensitivity until he eventually came too, all his cum spilling into the condom.

He stayed for a while after that, holding you close and wiping tears from your eyes with his thumbs. He snuck out in the middle of the night, promised you despite it all that it wasn’t the end– you’d see each other again someday, he just knew it; he wanted you to believe it too.

You got a couple of hours of sleep before morning, and gave your family the best smile you could manage as you tossed your luggage in the trunk of your dad's chevy bel air. You slouched in the back seat, trying not to cry and wishing more than anything you were in Chris’ old cadillac instead.

The Chris you reunited with wasn’t yours, and if it was, then fate was cruel for bringing you back to him.

The Chris you knew wouldn’t have looked at you like that– like you’re a desperate and fast girl, or an overly smitten near stranger hoping to get her kicks from him one last time while his friends snickered behind him. The Chris you knew wouldn’t join in on their snickering, tilting his head with an amused expression, tongue poking his cheek as he combs his fingers through his slicked back hair.

The Chris you reunited with wasn't yours, and the realization that you didn't really know him the way you thought you did utterly broke your heart.

You were back in the city– your parents, after having settled whatever marital disputes they were having, decided to settle down here. They loved their time together in the city when all their little tiffs were said and done, and they could tell you loved it here too.

They thought it’d benefit everyone to set up shop somewhere new, where everyone could reset. Plus, your mom wanted to be close to her sister again– and you certainly wouldn’t complain about spending more time at your aunt’s beach house.

You desperately wanted to see Chris again, and you knew it’d only be a matter of time before you did– unlike you, he grew up in the city, lived here his entire life. And while it’d been months since you parted at the end of summer considering your parents had to do a lot of work to shift the family business to a new location while also looking for a decent house up for sale, it would happen eventually– you were certain of it.

And soon enough you did see him, knew in an instant it was him even at a distance– because you’d recognize his restored cadillac anywhere. He was leaning against the car door like usual, cigarette in his mouth and leather jacket on his back, with a circle of friends around him. You never met his friends– he told you they were pigs, said that you wouldn’t like them much.

Besides, you were only going to be in town a few short months– why waste your precious few days hanging around with other people when you could be alone? That’s what he always told you– and as you tentatively began to walk up the street closer to them, you could tell they certainly did talk more vulgarly than you were used to hearing.

“C’mon man, you gotta let me borrow her,” one of his friends begged in reference to his car, “she’s a real pussy wagon. My chick’ll cream if I pick her up in it.” “Get your own wheels, bozo,” Chris shoved him with a laugh, “I ain’t lettin’ you take my girl on any joyrides.”

“What if you come too? Make it a double date, you know– and nobody’s got bigger tits than Annette. I got dibs, but she’ll be real nice eye candy for you,” his friend persuaded and Chris hummed, as if seriously considering it. Would he really go?

“Mm, maybe,” he grinned, tossing his cigarette to the ground and digging it into the gravel with his foot, “You do got a point. Tell her to bring a pretty friend, and I’ll think about it.” You blinked, stopped walking and simply stared at him. Had he moved on already? It’d only been a few months, but maybe you fell for him harder than he fell for you; the thought of it made your heart sink to your stomach.

His friend cheered and hugged him tight, and Chris pushed him away with another laugh, running a hand through his hair to fix it up as he characteristically did whenever it got even the slightest bit out of shape. In that same moment is when he glanced over in your direction, catching sight of you by pure coincidence.

His eyes widened when he saw you, mouth gaping open for a split second before he called your name in a mix of utter shock and joy. That was more like the Chris you knew– and it gave you hope. You ran up to him, and he to you, bringing his hands to your shoulders and touching you up and down your arms– truly, he couldn’t believe you were here, and he had to touch you to be certain it was real.

“What– what are you doing here? I-I thought you went back home with your folks, I thought–” he was smiling, entirely giddy as he looked you up and down. “We moved! I’m here to stay,” you told him excitedly, bouncing on your heels as you stared up at him.

It made you so, so happy; to the point that the contents of his prior conversation entirely lifted from your mind. It pains you thinking back to how naive and lovesick for him you were– you wish you'd have known better.

“I can’t believe it! I–” he started to exclaim, but then realized his friends followed him, crowding around his back while shooting him inquisitive looks, and he quickly took his hands off you.

He cleared his throat, tucked his hands in his pockets in a gesture meant to bring him back to his aloof state of being, and he grinned– not that pretty grin that made your heart flutter, but a wicked one. “I mean– that’s cool, baby.”

You didn’t like it, your brows furrowing at the change in his demeanor. “Christopher–” you started, but one of his friends spoke up before you could talk much more. “Who’s the chick?” he asked as he looked you up and down, and Chris hesitated. “Oh, uh–”

“Oh, I know!” the friend suddenly exclaimed, hit by an epiphany, “the one from the beach you wouldn’t let us meet– the one who puts out. This her? It is, isn’t it?”

Your face burned red, unpleasant heat crawling over your body as the rest of his friends snickered. He told them you put out? Why would he do that? Your expression crumbled, body trembling with embarrassment and grief, but Chris kept his own cool.

“Don’t worry, doll, I didn’t tell them all the horny details,” he smirked, and his friends' snickers erupted into full on laughs as they slapped his back in amusement. Your body burned hot with indignation, eyes welling with tears as your frustration and anguish boiled over. You shoved him as hard as you could, though it hardly even caused him to take a step back.

“I wish I’d never laid eyes on you, you– you creep!” you cried before turning away, ready to run back home to throw the teddy bear he won you in the trash and sob into your pillows. “That’s not all she laid on him,” one of his friends commented under his breath, the rest laughing and hooting as you sprinted away from them, back down the street.

Chris just watched, body tense and face sullen, heart twisting in his chest. He watched you turn the corner, wiping tears from your eyes before you disappeared entirely out of view, his friends still laughing and giving him pats on the back.

But when he turned to them, he put the smirk back on, and they all hopped into his car to hit the drive-in as if he didn't care about what just happened with you, as if the guilt wasn't going to eat away at him every night.

The next time Chris sees you is weeks later, at a new mom-and-pop shop freshly opened on the edge of the city. He’s there with his friends, all of them jumping out his cadillac before he’s even fully parked, rushing inside to grab a good table.

And when he walks in, it’s not his friends that he sees first but you– sitting at a booth with another guy across from you. There's an empty plate with tiny remnants of ketchup still left behind that he just knows you used for your french fries, and a milkshake between you with two straws stuck in it.

Part of him is relieved you aren’t sharing a single straw with the man like you would’ve done with him, but his gut still twists from the sight regardless. And when you giggle at something indiscernible the guy says, Chris feels liquid hot envy boil in his blood, jaw tightening and fists clenching as he cracks his neck.

“Chris, over here!” his best pal, Felix, calls from across the shop, and that’s when you see him too. You can’t help but look when you hear his name called, eyes widening when they land on him. He tenses, eyes lingering on you for a few seconds longer before he inevitably joins his friends at the table they scouted out in the middle of the room.

He can't focus on anything his friends are saying– the only thing he vaguely hears through the fog in his brain is Changbin begging the others for spare nickels so he can afford the dog-sled delight. It all becomes tuned out noise, because all he can think about is how much he missed you, and how much it pisses him off that you're here with someone else.

It's Chris' own fault, he knows that, and that makes the feeling even worse– like bile in his throat that he can't swallow down. It doesn’t take Minho, the most perceptive of his friend group, to notice that he’s staring at you and to comment on it.

“What, you still hung up on that chick?” he questions, and Chris scoffs as he snaps out of his fog, leaning back in his chair and acting as aloof as he can bring himself to. “What? No, of course not,” he says, but his eyes still linger on you, fingers twitching with irritation when he hears you laugh again, and watches you playfully slap the man’s arm like you would do to his.

Eventually, you hold out your palm to your date, and he watches the guy dig through his pockets to give you something. Chris knows immediately what's happening– you’re waiting to be given a dime or two, and you’ll saunter off to the jukebox to pick a new tune once they’re in hand.

He watches you rise from the booth, waits until you’ve made the walk over to rise from his table, muttering to his friends that he needs to hit the can real quick. He takes a few steps in the direction of the bathroom, and then immediately turns, going straight to you instead.

He props an arm on the jukebox after he approaches, leans against it and looks down at you as you cycle through the record choices. “Hey baby,” he tries, but you ignore him, don’t even spare him a glance as you continue to give the jukebox your full attention.

“Listen– I’m sorry,” he tries again, and you just hum in acknowledgement, still not turning your gaze to look at him. He swallows, glances back at his friends who are perfectly oblivious to what he’s doing, and then back to you. “I just– you know how it is, right? The guys, they expect me to act a certain way, and–”

“That’s why I’m so glad I met Sam,” you interrupt, turning around to look at your date and offer him a sweet wave. Chris hates it, but at least you’re talking to him now– he’ll take what he can get. He still ends up scowling however when your date waves back, and you turn back to the jukebox, still without glancing up at Chris himself.

“What, you like that square?” he scoffs as he looks your date up and down. He’s smartly dressed; pristine khaki slacks and a brown sweater vest pulled over his white button up, his hair in a neatly styled, respectable crew cut– but that’s not your type.

At least, he hopes it's not; because that would make Chris the outlier, and that’s not what he wants to be. He’ll also be damned if he ends up losing you to a goody two shoes like that.

“He’s sweet to me. And I don’t have to question what his intentions are, unlike with you,” you reply, and the emphasis put on 'you' makes his heart sink. While he certainly deserves to hear it, it doesn’t make him any less upset– not with you, but with himself. He really let his pride and reputation get in the way, and he knows he fucked up. But he wants you, and surely you know that, right?

You finally settle on a tune; Those Magic Changes– the one he knows is your absolute favorite. The one he even used to serenade you with once whilst dancing, you giggling away with a cute blush on your cheeks whilst he twirled you around. He sang it more exaggeratedly towards the end, purposely putting on a goofy voice to make you laugh harder as he dipped you down.

He kissed you before lifting you back up, and then again when you were completely upright, your hand on his shoulder and his arm around your waist, your other free hands intertwined. The way you looked at him when he pulled back from the kiss made his heart pound, but he played it cool– shot you that grin that always made your legs feel like jelly, kissing your cheeks when it made your blush deepen.

Chris liked feeling the heat of your blush against his lips, liked having your hands on him even when it was in the purest of ways, liked the way you giggled and smiled at him when he playfully winked at you. The memory strikes him hard when you press the play button to start the song, and he takes a step back from the jukebox, fists clenched at his side.

You look at him then– really look at him. Instantly he feels small, your gaze that once held so much love for him now meeting him with the utmost scrutiny. He fucked up, he knows he did– but what does he do now? He can’t even trust himself to say something without fucking it up even worse.

And the pain of it all hits you too– he can see it in your eyes just before you steel your expression, and do your best to act unaffected. "See you around, Christopher," you mutter as you turn away from him and the jukebox.

You walk back to the booth where Sam awaits your return with a smile, while Chris just stands there, your favorite song blaring painfully loud in his ears as he stares at your back. "..begs you please, come back to me, please return to me, don't go away again," the lyrics mock him harshly.

He doesn't know what to do, but he knows he has to do something, anything, to show you he’s sincerely sorry. He needs to show you he still wants you, needs you to give him another chance– more than he’s ever needed anything.

The next time Chris sees you is once again by coincidence, while he’s sitting alone in the parking lot of the sock hop his little sister just begged him to take her to. He was trying to decide what to do with his time– if he left, he’d have to come back in a couple hours to pick her up, but surely it was better than sitting around outside, bored out of his mind while he waited for her.

He could go in, but sock hops aren’t really his thing– the only time he ever danced was with you, and he didn’t plan on changing that. All he’d do inside is stand on the edge of the room and watch his sister dance, and he didn’t much feel like doing that either. Besides, his little sister was a good girl, and she didn’t need, nor want, his constant supervision.

And he’s just about to turn the key in his ignition and burn rubber when he sees you, arm linked with stupid fucking Sam as he opens the door for you with his free hand. And fuck, he doesn't even care that he's about to crash your date– he just needs to talk you. He jumps out of his car in a rush, pulling open the door to the building and heading straight to the line leading to the dance floor.

Chris’ jaw tenses when he sees you– Sam is leaning down to whisper something in your ear while you wait in the line, and you cover your mouth as you giggle. He hates how similar it is to the days he spent with you at the fair, waiting in line for rides and popcorn. The envy bubbling in his gut makes him feel sick, and he has to take a breath to calm himself down before he approaches you.

He steps to where you are in the line when he feels mellowed out enough, you and your date turning around curiously when they hear his voice call your name. Your eyes widen when you see it's him, but you’re quick to correct your expression before your date notices anything off about you. “Can I talk to you?” Chris asks, not at all acknowledging Sam’s presence beside you.

Even when you divert your gaze to glance at your date’s reaction, Chris’ eyes stay firmly on you, awaiting your answer. “Please?” he follows up, and it makes you swallow. It’s the first time he’s ever taken a pleading, desperate tone with you, and he can tell rejecting him isn’t going to come easily to you– it gives him hope that you'll finally hear him out, maybe even take him back.

“I–” you hesitate a moment, and just as Chris’ new, shiny hope begins to dim, you unlink your arm from your date. “I’ll be right back, just stay in the line,” you tell Sam before shooting Chris a look and walking past him. He follows you back outside, and you cross your arms as you stand against the cold brick of the exterior.

“What do you want?” you cut straight to the point. There’s a million things he wants to say, but his built up jealousy causes him to ask the stupid, burning question first and foremost. “Since when do you go to sock hops?” he questions, and it almost makes you laugh– he’s unbelievable, breaking your heart like that and then pulling stunts like this.

“Since nice boys ask me to go with them. Why, you jealous?” you accuse him and he scoffs, trying once again to play off what he feels. “Me? Jealous? Don’t make me laugh,” he says, unable to help the instinctive reaction to being called out. And he instantly regrets it, but it’s too late to take it back.

“Oh, so you won’t mind if I go back inside then?” you ask as you step away from the wall, starting to walk past Chris and back to the doors. He grabs your arm to stop you, and you look up at him expectantly. “Don’t, I–” he grits his teeth, hesitates for a moment, but ultimately decides to be honest, “I am, okay? So don’t.”

He lets your arm go, and his admission thankfully proves enough to make you stay. You settle back against the brick wall, but you don’t look at him after– instead you look down at the ground, staring at your sleek, black and white saddle shoes instead of meeting his gaze.

It’s silent for a moment, with Chris wracking his brain as he tries to figure out the right thing to say to you. “What you did was terrible, you know,” you end up breaking the silence first, your voice soft.

“I know, I– I meant it when I said I was sorry,” Chris says while moving a step closer to you, and still you hesitate to look at him. “I didn’t believe you. Still don’t,” you reply, and honestly, he can’t blame you– he should’ve been more sincere when he approached you.

But he was being a fucking idiot, still trying to play it cool even though it was just the two of you standing there by the jukebox. And who gave a fuck if his friends happened to look over and saw him talking to you? Why should he care? Is it really so wrong for him to be whipped for you?

Even the first time he saw you again, he should've done all the things he really wanted to do. He should've kissed you and hugged you tight, should've told you how happy he was to know you’re here to stay, should’ve flipped his friends the bird and told them to fuck off if they questioned him. But he didn’t– he cracked under the expectations, and you suffered for it.

There’s a lot he wants to say, but he doesn’t know how to say it– he’s never been vulnerable about his feelings before you, but he wants to try. Even if he screws up over and over again, he’ll keep trying– because you deserve it. And he should apologize again, sincerely, but there’s another question burning in his blood that he has to ask.

“Do you really like that guy? You’re not, like– going steady, are you?” Chris questions and you shrug, finally looking up from the ground to meet his eyes. “That depends,” you tell him, peeling your back away from the wall to stand directly in front of him, holding your hands behind your back.

“On what?” he follows up, and you smile– a small one, but it’s enough for him. “On you,” you answer, and the hope flares back up, drowning out the envy and shame in veins and replacing it with pure, unfiltered glee.

“Yeah?” he grins as he tilts his head, and your smile grows the tiniest bit more as you nod. You may still have your doubts about his sincerity, but the fact that you’re willing to give him a chance is all he needs– he’ll use the time you give him to prove it to you, to make sure you’re left with no doubts that you’re the one that he wants, to promise that he'll never break your heart again.

“Come with me then, back inside– you’re gonna be my date,” he says as he holds out his hand to you. Sock hops may not have been his style before, but they can be for you. “What about Sam?” you question, but still take his hand regardless.

“He can stag it the rest of the night for all I care. You’re mine, sugar,” Chris replies, and it sends butterflies sweeping through your stomach as you giggle in delight. “And your friends?” you ask next, knowing it’s very well possible he’ll crack under the expectations of his rep with them again if they see you together.

“Fuck ‘em,” he replies easily; and you’re both sure it’ll be easier said than done for him to not give a shit what they think, but he’ll do his best. He doesn’t want to do anything to make you regret giving him another chance. “Let’s dance, baby,” he grins at you, pulling you along with him as he steps back inside the building with you in tow.

There’s a thought in Chris’ head that he never before thought he’d ever have– the sock hop was perfect. And well, maybe it’s not the sock hop itself necessarily that he enjoyed, but you– yes, it was most certainly you. The time spent with you was everything he’d been missing, everything he could’ve ever hoped for following your departure from the city and his subsequent abysmal fuck up.

He knew he didn’t deserve any of it– and he was certain you were going to share a more serious talk about it all later, but he couldn’t deny the satisfaction he felt walking back into the building and seeing Sam utterly bewildered that his date was now clinging to his own arm instead.

And he won’t shirk his responsibility to do better by you– he’ll own up to his mistakes, he’ll change, be someone deserving of you. It may take a lot of time and effort to unlearn all the dumb shit he’s taken in over the years, but he swears he’ll try– tonight is just the start of a lifetime of proving to you that he’ll do anything to keep you.

All night, you’ve been positively radiant– and truly, Chris has never felt luckier in all his life. He delighted in the way you smiled at him while dancing, enjoyed the way you squealed in excitement and bounced on your heels when the live band decided to play a cover of your favorite tune, couldn’t help the way a goofy grin spread over his face when you pecked him on the cheek following a slow dance.

You’re the only one in the world who’s ever seen it, you know– the only one who gets to see his dimples, or to hear him giggle. The only one he’s ever sung to and danced with, the only one he’s ever wanted to stay up all night talking on the phone with, the only one he’s ever taken out for more than a quick and simple joyride in his car.

He could feel the inquisitive, disbelieving stares too– Chris has lived here his entire life, and everyone knows the kind of guy he is. And maybe he’s simply lucky– he knows he’s nothing but a delinquent, knows his reputation precedes him, knows he doesn’t deserve the affection of a good girl like you.

Regardless of it all, you love him– enough to give him another chance even when he hasn’t yet done enough to earn it. And effortlessly, you unlock the soft part of him– the part of him that desires and yearns and wants. He burns for you, the only girl in the world his heart has ever raced for, the only who knew who he was beyond the rough surface he projected to the rest of the world.

Now you’re outside tentatively standing next to Chris’ car, waiting for him to come back from confirming with his sister that she’ll hitch a ride home from her friends instead of him. It embarrasses him how she grills him with questions about you– and he answers in the vaguest of terms, having to promise that he’ll fill her in on it all in more detail later, but to please just let him go be alone with his girl.

He’s certain that no one else would believe it if he told them, but his intentions to be alone with you are entirely pure. Now that he’s close to having you as his again, he wants to do right by you– take it slow, kiss you soft and tender, touch you light and chaste, respectfully, sweetly. He wants to take you on dates again, wants to save up all his quarters to buy you something special, wants to devote his every moment to showing you how sincerely he loves you.

He wants you to meet his friends properly (after he gives them a stern warning to be gentlemen in front of you), wants you to meet his parents, and he wants to meet yours in turn. He wants to stop playing it cool and aloof and confident when he feels something– doesn’t want to keep pretending that the way you look at him doesn’t drive him wild, not just with lust but with adoration.

And certainly, you know that Chris is softer than he outwardly appears– you’re not blind to the way his cheeks and ears burn when you kiss him sweet and call him that name that makes his heart skip a beat. And unlike you, Chris knew what he was doing– so it was natural for him to always be the one leading your little song and dance, even when on the inside he felt like he was going to positively combust from the way your eyes sparkled at him.

There’s something you’ve been wanting to try– something that you couldn’t before, because your summer together passed by in a blink, and there was so much you didn’t know when your relationship first began. And Chris has taught you a lot in your time together– maybe more than he even realizes.

He may not know it, but he’s made you into a real insatiable minx. And now that you know he’s willing to beg and plead and grovel for you to take him back, oh how it makes your heart race with the possibilities. How far can you take it? How far is he willing to go for you, to prove that he’s devoted to you entirely? Would he really do anything to keep you?

Chris told you, just a few moments ago as the sock hop was coming to an end, that he’ll do anything and everything to make sure you don’t regret giving him another chance with him. He looked you straight in the eyes, vulnerable and entirely sincere, squeezed your hands in his as countless promises left his lips.

Could he be manipulating you? Is he nothing but a dirty liar? It’s certainly possible– but you’d like to believe the Chris you knew last summer is the truest version of himself. You’d like to believe that the Chris you saw tonight isn’t an act to keep stringing you along. So you want to try something– something bold, something the you of last summer would’ve never thought to do.

You don’t think your shyness will ever entirely evaporate given that Chris is such an utter dreamboat, but he does well enough at playing it cool, so who's to say you can’t do it too? You can be playful and enticing, can play it coy and innocent while you flutter your lashes at him, can smile and pout at him in a way that makes desire spread through his veins like explosive, hot fireworks.

When Chris walks back out of the building you have to make a conscious effort to ignore the butterflies in your stomach– you’ve decided you’re a woman on a mission tonight, after all. The parking lot is sparse now, and the last stragglers from the sock hop all shuffle to their cars, his sister and her group of friends being among them.

Though you only met her briefly, you offer her a pleasant wave goodbye, and she smiles at you as she returns it– though you don’t miss the way she shoots her older brother a look after. A look that says “don’t fuck this up for yourself.” It almost makes you giggle– you like having his sister on your side; you get the impression she’ll chew him out if he doesn’t shape up the way he’s promised to.

Chris doesn’t turn to you until after his sister and her friends have peeled out of the parking lot– you’re not sure if it’s because he wanted to make sure she was going to be safe, or if it’s because he felt like she’d gotten enough of an eyeful of him being affection with you, and he’d be embarrassed if she saw anymore. You like either answer.

“Hi baby,” he says, soft and sweet as he smiles, and it makes your heart once again skip a beat. Even after hours of dancing, he still looks utterly perfect– not a single piece of his greased up hair out of place. You hope you’re faring the same– you didn’t really get a chance to look at yourself in the mirror at the end of the night to know for certain, but you want Chris to think you look divine.

“Am I taking you straight home?” he asks; it’s dark out now, but you still have a fair amount of time before you’re expected back home. And while he’d love to spend more time with you, he isn’t going to assume– this is a trial period, after all; he still has to earn that, he’s sure.

Calling you his earlier was more hope on his end than confidence– he wants you to be his, but he knows he has to earn your trust back first. And he’s going to be a gentleman– any boundary you have, he’ll adhere to, no matter what. He refuses to fuck up with you again.

“No,” you answer short and simple, smiling up at him as you do. But before he can ask you what you want to do until curfew, you’re speaking again. “My shoe's untied,” you pout, leaning back against his car while gently lifting your foot from the ground to show him, “can you fix it for me, please?”

“You want me to tie it for you, baby?” he laughs a little as he tilts his head to the side, thinking you’re just oh so cute when you keep up the pout as you nod. He gets down on one knee easily, and you put your foot right on his knee, watching as he ties your laces back together. When he’s finished, you don’t put your foot back on the ground– you press it right to the middle of his chest.

“Baby?” Chris looks up at you curiously– and there’s a twinkle in your eye he’s never seen before. He almost thinks you’re going to kick him back on his behind, but you don’t– you take your skirt into your hands, and start to pull it up. Slowly, it rises above your calf, your knee, your thigh, until he can see your pretty white panties, with its precious little pink bow in the center.

“S-Sugar, what– what are you–” he stammers, struggling to form words in a way he never has before. You’ve never exposed yourself to him like this– just out in the open, with no barrier between you and the rest of the world. You aren’t in your bedroom, you aren’t inside the car with the windows and hood up– you’re out, in the middle of the fucking parking lot where anyone could see.

Fuck, even the times at the beach, when he made love to you in the sand, were much, much more secluded than this– because those excursions were isolated, close to your aunt’s beach house and happening in the dead of night. And this is very much not– it’s barely even 9 o’clock, and you’re at a public venue; anyone could come by, and for any reason.

“I need your help with something else too, daddy,” you say as you pout some more, clearly acting coy, and he swallows as he stares up at you. “Can you do it, daddy? Can you help me?” You take as much of your skirt's fabric into one hand as you can, keeping it lifted above your thigh while you move your other hand between your legs, pulling your panties to the side to show him your pussy.

The action sends all of Chris’ blood careening to his cock– he can’t believe you’re really doing this right now. “Right– right here? N-Now?” he gulps, taking a quick glance around the parking lot. You’re alone now, but still– he never thought you’d do something so bold. Even just fooling around in the back seat of the cadillac with as much privacy as he could give you made you impossibly shy.

“Yes, here, now,” you tell him, keeping your panties hooked to the side with two fingers, while using the other two to spread your folds apart for him the best you can. You’re trying to entice him, and fuck, is it working. He never thought he’d see you this way, and it’s making him feel so utterly electric– he’s a fucking live wire, and he’ll pour his current straight into you.

Anything you want from him, it’s yours– he doesn’t need any convincing, he’s already impossibly ensnared by the rope that is your desire for him. And fuck, he said he wouldn't do this, said he'd be a gentleman, take things slow and build back up to intimacy with you– but if you're practically begging him for it, how can he resist?

Chris takes your foot into his hand, carefully lifts it from his chest and throws your leg over his shoulder before he crawls closer to you. The concrete of the parking lot ground is brutal against his knees, but he doesn’t give a shit– you need him, and that’s all that matters.

He replaces your hand, keeps your panties shoved aside with his own. Now that your hand is free you use it to hold onto the car door and give yourself some extra support as he starts placing kisses to your clit. His lips always feel so perfect– especially when he licks them first, gets them nice and wet for you; the sensation draws out a pleasant sigh, but you both know it isn’t really enough.

Chris likes to tease you, make you wait until you’re squirming and trembling from all his repeated kisses, gets you so worked up you could beg and cry before he finally gives you his tongue. But tonight is about getting what you want, when you want it– so as much as you enjoy his soft little kisses, you’re not going to let him work you up.

He’ll be the one fraying at the edges, the one desperate and pleading, the one who feels like his brain is filled with cotton, looking up at you from down on his knees with glassy eyes full of need. You let go of the car door, bring your hand to his head and thread your fingers through his hair. You pull back just enough to have his head tilting away from your pussy, making his eyes land straight up at you.

“Baby–” he gasps, and again you meet his gaze with that sinfully deceitful pout. “You said you’d do anything for me, daddy,” you say as you shoot him your best doe eyed look, “Did you mean it? Will you do anything for me?” Fuck, you’ve got him throbbing– you can see his erection straining against his jeans, and it nearly makes you grin in delight.

Still, you don’t crack– Chris always does well at only showing you the version of himself he wants you to see, and you will too. You won’t give him your meek looks or timid declarations of desire for more of his touch– he’ll only see a new you; a confident you who knows exactly what she wants. You’ve learned from the best, after all.

“Well?” you demand when he doesn’t immediately answer, and you watch him swallow, swearing you can see the shiver that spreads down his spine and throughout the rest of his body. “Y-Yeah baby, I meant it. I’d do anything for you,” he tells you, hoping you can’t see how red his face and ears are getting in the low light.

“Prove it– prove you want me, prove you’re good for something,” you say, and again he shivers, breath catching in his throat. “Eat it, make me cum.” Fuck, Chris is reeling– he still can’t even believe it’s really you talking to him this way. His brain feels like a faulty circuit board, all his synapses sparking dangerously as they fire off, ready to ignite his blood and engulf him in an uncontrollable flame of desire.

When you let go of his hair, he wastes no time diving right into your pussy, eating you out like a man starved. He brings his free hand to your ass, squeezes and holds you in place while he shakes his head to get more of you on his tongue, his nose bumping your clit and making your legs quiver.

You bite your lip, doing your best to suppress the loud moan he brings out of you by sucking on your clit. His plush lips wrapped around it, the flicks of his tongue, how expertly he sucks– it’s already so overwhelming, in the best way possible. Chris does his best to sink lower, tries to lick at your hole and get his tongue inside, but it’s hard like this– he’s not sure if he can.

“B-Baby, doll, let me lay you down, in the car, let me–” he pulls away from your dripping center to look up at you, and fuck, he looks ruined in the prettiest way imaginable. His eyes are hazy and pleading, glistening with your arousal from the tip of his nose all the way down to his chin, sweat dripping down his brow. “Need to spread you out, I– please? Gotta taste more of you.”

Shit, you can’t deny you want it– especially not when he’s begging like this. You nod, and he smiles at you in appreciation, a smile that makes your knees even weaker than they already are. You take your leg off his shoulder, and he quickly rises to his feet, giving you a messy kiss before he ushers you away from the car door to open it for you.

You crawl into the back seat, and he follows, slamming the door shut behind him. He waits until you get comfortable, not acting until you're lying propped against the opposite door of the car. Chris hooks your panties in his fingers, pulls them down your legs and tosses them aside into the footwell; it'll be a sweet treat for him when he finds them again later.

He'll keep them, he thinks– stuff ‘em in his pocket and take them back to his room, where they'll lie safe and protected under his pillow. It's a dirty thought, one that'd otherwise fill his gut with shame, but right now all he feels is need– need for you to cum on his tongue, need to give you everything you want and more.

He settles on his stomach between your legs, and it’s certainly not easy, but he manages well enough. One of your legs ends up over his shoulder again while the other stays spread out with the help of his hand holding you under the knee. And finally, his tongue dips into your hole, and it’s pure bliss– maybe even more so for him than you. He’s hungry, utterly ravenous; all he can think, breath, and taste is you, you, you.

“Chris– your fingers, need your fingers,” you whine more shamelessly than you would've otherwise liked, but you know he enjoys it. He separates from you long enough to run his fingers between your folds, making sure they’re nice and slick for you before he presses them to your hole.

He slides one finger in first, bringing his mouth back to your clit while you adjust to the feeling. Your legs are already trembling by the time he adds another finger, and when he starts curling his fingers to hit your most sensitive spot while flicking his tongue against your clit you can hardly even breathe– it’s just so, so good.

Your stomach is clenching, thighs and legs shaking hard, your release building up with an intensity you’ve never felt before. “Oh, fuck, Chris–” you cry when he presses the tips of his fingers into your spot harder. You’re certain that if it wasn’t for the fact that you’re still wearing your shoes, your toes would be curling from the pleasure.

Your pussy sounds so sloppy and messy, and Chris himself isn’t making it any better– he’s drooling so much, his saliva drenching you just as much as your own dripping arousal. You’re breathing hard, and even your hands are shaking as they continue to hold up your skirt to watch him devour you.

“Oh my god, ‘m gonna cum, I’m gonna– fuck, gonna cum for you daddy, please don’t stop,” you’re crying loud– and you know you should at least try to be quieter considering how out in the open you are, but you’re too far gone to care. With your head thrown back, you whimper and moan, high pitched and loud, eyes rolling back as your orgasm takes you.

It feels like it’s endless, the waves of pleasure ceaselessly jolting your body as your vision blurs white; and you feel wet; so, so wet. It’s only when you finally come down from the high and lift your head back up from where it thunked against the car door to look at Chris that you realize why you feel so drenched.

It’s not just your thighs that are dampened– it’s your skirt, Chris’ face and shirt, the leather of his seats; all of it is soaked with your cum. Your face starts to burn hot, and you swallow as Chris stares at you, almost bewildered. “Baby– did you just..?” You squirted for him, because of him– he doesn’t even fucking care how much of a nightmare it’s going to be to clean his car, all he can think about is how fucking sexy it is.

You simply nod, because it’s all you can think to do– you really weren’t expecting this to happen. “Oh my god, baby, you have to do it again, please, you have to,” he practically whines, and his enthusiasm over it makes you giggle. You honestly feel more than a little shy about it, but Chris’s apparent elation makes it worth the tinge of embarrassment.

You reach out for him, take the necklace dangling from his neck into your hands and pull, urging him to come closer to you. He crawls up your body, and you kiss him, sliping your tongue into his mouth and tasting yourself all over him. “Fuck, you’re so dirty baby,” he groans when you pull away, “what are we going to do, huh?”

It makes you giggle again, a soft thing full of mischievous delight. He basks in it, giggles with you before he kisses you again. “Need your cock now,” you tell him when he pulls away, and shit, he’d nearly forgotten how fucking hard he is whilst wrapped up in pleasuring you. He can feel it straining against his jeans, desperate for stimulation of its own.

“Yeah? Want my cock baby?” he asks, grinning at you the way he always had before; you tug on his silver chain again in response. “Don’t forget, you’re giving me everything I want. Everything, okay?” you say once his face is mere inches from yours again, making him look you closely in the eyes. Chris swallows as he nods, the smile you offer him once again making his brain feel fuzzy and floaty.

He looks you over once more, really takes it all in before he scrambles over the front seat, reaching for the glove box where he still has some spares from your time together over the summer. Condom in hand, he settles back over you, and you help him with his jeans while he tears the package open. He spreads it quickly down his length, and you take your legs in hand, holding them under your knees to keep yourself open for him.

The sight of you like that is dizzying– legs open, skirt bunched up all the way to your stomach, pussy wet and glistening, with the hair there matting from how wet you are; you’re perfect. So fucking perfect. He moans as he pushes into you, so slick that you take him with ease. You take his face in one of your hands and pull him down to kiss you, a desperate one that makes pleasure lick over every inch of his skin.

Chris rolls his hips into you slowly to start, while you let go of the leg you're still holding to wrap your limbs around him, keeping him pressed close. He grabs onto the car door, uses it to keep himself steady when he starts to pick up the pace of his hips, harsh breaths and low moans leaving him freely. Neither of you are trying to be quiet, the street lights are burning bright, the hood of his car and the windows are down, anyone could hear you or see you– and the excitement of it all makes the pleasure he feels all the more intense.

“Baby, your tits– let me see ‘em, please, can I see ‘em?” he asks between labored breaths– he needs to see them, has missed them more than is probably allowed. You quickly do as he asks, fumbling with the top few buttons of your blouse to expose yourself to him. You tug down your bra so he can see your breasts bare, and again he groans, bringing his free hand to one of them to brush his thumb over your hardened nipple.

“Oh, you’re so pretty– so, so pretty baby,” he says, groaning when the words make you clench harder around him. It doesn’t take long for the car to start rocking with the motion of his thrusts, his rhythm quickly growing sloppier. He’s been so worked up, and believe it or not, he hasn’t actually fucked anyone since you– he feels so high strung and on edge, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold out.

He just hopes he can make you cum again before he does, or at least make you cum with him– he needs you to be happy with him. You can feel his cock twitching and throbbing, you can tell that he’s already impossibly close– so, like the little minx you are, you talk dirty to him, wanting to see him utterly unravel at the seams. “You gonna fill me up, daddy? Make this pussy all yours?”

Chris gasps and shudders, goosebumps erupting all over his impossibly hot skin. He knows he can’t actually– all he’s going to really fill up with his cum is the condom, but fuck, the thought of it is making his head swim. “Y-Yeah, gonna fill you up baby, daddy’s gonna make you so full,” he breathes, and God, that really does it for you.

You bring your fingers to your clit, rubbing in quick, practiced circles. Even through the condom he can feel you gushing and soaking his cock, and it sends him over the edge– as do the sounds of your incredibly pretty whimpers and moans of pleasure. His hips still when he cums, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth as his eyes roll back, head thrown back in utmost bliss.

It takes Chris a few moments to recollect himself and catch his breath, and he slowly slips out of you when does. He tucks his softening length back in his jeans before he helps you fix your bra, and smoothes your skirt out over your legs while you button your blouse back up. “You feeling okay, baby?” he asks, wiping messy strands of hair out of your face.

You’re both covered in a sheen of sweat, faces flushed and hot, hair utterly a mess– it’s obvious, even with your clothes fixed up, what you’ve been doing. “Mhm, are you?” you ask, and he smiles, giving you a quick peck on the lips. “I’m peachy keen, jelly bean,” he replies and you giggle, kissing him once more.

He looks at himself in his rearview mirror when he pulls away, does his best to fix his messy hair while you lift yourself up from your propped position and stretch out your aching limbs. He then takes another glance around the parking lot, and notes that you’re still the only ones here– thank God. He was too enraptured by you to check earlier, and he’s grateful that no one else has showed up.

“Should probably get you home now, yeah?” Chris asks, looking at the clock on his dashboard and noticing it’s now getting dangerously close to your 10 o’clock curfew. He helps you get into the passenger seat when you nod, and you smile at him when he settles in beside you. He turns the key in the ignition, one hand resting on your thigh while the other stays on the wheel, and he drives you home.

Chris parks up the street, like he did all those times at your aunt’s beach house. He watches you walk over to your house, and he smiles when you turn around to blow him a kiss. At 11 he leaves his car, walks up the street to your home, and approaches the only window with a light still on– the window to your new bedroom. And you smile as you open it for him, letting him crawl his way inside.

He sees the teddy bear he won you at the fair sitting right in the middle of your bed, nestled against your pillows, and he smiles, delighted that you still kept it even after he broke your heart. “I love you, baby,” he tells you in a whisper after a sweet kiss, “never gonna hurt you again, I promise.”

“You better keep that promise, mister. Or I might just have to make you jealous again,” you warn and tease him with a cheeky little smile. He strips out of his jeans and tee shirt as you turn off your lamp, lies down beside you after you settle into your bed, runs his hand up and down your back as you press yourself against him. Head on his chest, with your arm and leg tossed over him, he kisses your head and smiles once more– because as he promised, this is just the start of a lifetime.

network tags: @ksmutsociety @skzstarnet

#ksmutsociety #skzstarnet #skz x reader #bang chan x reader #skz smut #bang chan smut #skz fanfic #bang chan fanfic #skz imagines #skz scenarios #mdni + divider graphic credit: @cafekitsune #don't ask me how many times i rewatched the movie while in the process of writing this. (the answer is 10 DFSGDGFG)

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