➥ Idiots in Love, Secret (Mutual) Crush, Fluffy Sexy
➥ Contains: Just down bad Bartender!Chris railing you flat on a pool table after hours because my brain is R O T T I N G, a somewhat cute twist on the overused porn trope "I don't have money, how about I suck your dick?"
➥ You challenge the stupid hot bartender to a game of pool to get out of paying the gigantic bill your entourage racked up.
*a/n: Just one of the 971003 fics you will surely see about these pictures. And y'all are bad frens for not telling me about them as soon as they were out.
“Come ON, man! It’s Chae’s birthday, and we’ve been your regulars since THE DAY you opened this place!” you protest vehemently, pointing at your very inebriated group of friends waiting for their Ubers out front.
“And thank you for your continued patronage,” Chris responds flatly. “Was there a point?”
“I may or may not have said I’d pick up the tab as a birthday gift,” you grimace, then bat your eyelashes at him like a cartoon bunny. “Can’t tonight be on you just this once?”
“You want me to gift you a night for thirty people?” he snorts. “You guys dried out my entire inventory!”
“It’s good manners, and you haven’t even wished her a happy birthday,” you fake a pout.
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CHAEEE~!” Chris yells towards the entrance with a big smile, and she waves back at him with childlike joy, making hearts with her hands. He then looks back at you with murderous intent, sliding the bill across the counter like he wants gambling debts to be paid off. “Manners went out the window when you decided to trash my bar. In addition to your friends’ sailor drinking, you’ll be paying for the damages.”
“IT SAYS I OWE YOU LIKE TWO GRAND HERE, WHAT THE FUCK?!” you scream when you see the grand total of four digits.
“The pinball machine is broken, the toilet is overflowing, the wall needs to be plastered and repainted because your frat-ass himbos poked holes all over it with the missed darts, the darts weren’t the only things they couldn’t aim, AND they emptied the entire condom machine in the restroom,” he cites all the charges against you. “You’re lucky I’m not getting your house foreclosed.”
“Ugh, FINE, can I at least split it into four cards?”
“Can’t. The POS terminal doesn’t work.”
“I’ll pay you tomorrow then.”
“Oh, you’re not fucking going anywhere without paying me,” he sternly denies your motion.
“Where am I gonna find this much cash at this hour?!”
You look outside and watch your dear, dear friends wave you goodbye with dumb smiles as they get into their Ubers. As Chris wholesomely smiles at them all, the pool table at the back of the now-empty bar steals your attention.
“I’ll play you for it,” you propose.
“‘Scuse me?”
“I’ll play you for the damages,” you lean into the counter. “One hand. If I win, you clear the tab.”
“And when I win, you’ll still owe me money,” he scoffs. “What do I get out of this?”
“I don’t know, figure something out!” you raise your voice. “Just make it doable.”
You make it too easy for him sometimes. Chris bites his smile to keep the mask intact and declares his bet.
“Fine,” he crosses his arms against his chest. “You lose, you flash me.”
“Flash y— What?”
“You flash me,” he repeats. “Doable enough, yeah?”
“You can’t be serious,” you look at him blankly.
“I didn’t ask to fondle your tits. I just wanna look,” he says seriously, but is clearly trying to suppress a smirk. “All your friends saw it when you were playing truth or dare. Why shouldn’t the guy who served you the entire night?”
“Fine,” you grit your teeth as you extend your hand, shaking his like you want to break it rather than make an agreement.
Ultra content with your end of the bargain, Chris locks the front door and turns the sign on it to ‘Closed’ while you rack up the table. Ever the gentleman, he lets you go first and only lasts two turns before he starts dissing your skills.
“There is no way you’re gonna win like this, just saying,” he reaches for the chalk. “You’re making a few crucial mistakes.”
“Yeah, Cue-ristopher? ENLIGHTEN me, please,” you deride.
Chris takes that to mean ‘Legit give me a tutorial on how to properly play pool’. He gets behind you and practically hugs you, moving your arms like a puppeteer.
Meanwhile, you’re trying to think of ways to not die.
Not only is this the first time you’re alone together with the unofficial Chrome Hearts ambassador, but you have never stood in a proximity from each other that’s not at least a bar counter’s length apart. Now add the fact that you would suck this man’s soul out of him if you ever got him alone. Which is… right now… kinda sorta…
Fucking crazy he still hasn’t figured out why you’re forcing your entourage to hang out at that bar every goddamn night.
“See how the ball is too close to the pocket?” he points at your target. “If your bridge is this short, you’ll hit with too much force and send the cue ball right into the pocket. Longer bridge, slower speed, more control, yeah?” He then checks your grip and adjusts your posture. “Relax your wrist. Arm 90 degrees to the table. Don’t hold the very end of the cue.”
He holds your hand and slowly slides it a few inches up. You know you’re reading too much into this, but the way he moves is too reminiscent of… something else.
“Move up…” he softly instructs into your ear, “right here.”
HOW ABOUT HE MOVES UP RIGHT INSIDE YOUR PUSSY, THOUGH?!
“Now your front hand,” he leans forward and places his hand on yours. “Hook your index finger over the shaft.”
Is he picking these words on purpose, like…?! Since when is pool filled with innuendo for terminology? And more importantly, why is his body a million degrees behind you? Why is he taking deep breaths?
Is this a preview of what it would feel like to feel his body weight on you?
“That’s right,” he approves and gives you your final order. “Now hit that.”
You hit with remarkable accuracy, sending the cue ball to the very edge of the pocket, but it doesn’t fall into it. You can’t care less. You’re trying to brainstorm more ways to feel Chris closer. It’s going to look super tacky if you just said, “Fine, I quit,” right now and flash him, especially right after he’s shown you how to hit like a sniper. Will he think you’re just trying to get out of paying if you made a move on him right now? Will it make you look easy? Does he even find you attractive, or is the “Try this cocktail I’m experimenting with” thing something he does for a lot of people?
In the middle of your spiral, you feel a whisper in your ear, and it’s so soft that it makes you shudder. Nevertheless, you can swear you felt a little throb on your hips just now as he quietly speaks the words with a huge grin.
“Good girl.”
AAAND you snap.
You slowly turn around, resting the butt of the cue on the floor, and lean against the table. Your eyes narrow as if to scan him because something doesn’t make sense here.
“All the things you could ask from me, yet you asked me to flash you,” you recount the terms of your bet. “Why?”
“Can’t a man just want to enjoy a good view?” he retorts.
“He can,” you acknowledge, “but you’re an ass man.”
“How would you know?”
“When I’m by the bar, you never slip no matter how much of a low cut I wear, but you always check me out when I leave the stool,” you touché the crap out of him. “So spill.”
He feels so busted, breaking into a big smile as he averts his eyes from you. Now that it’s out in the open, he sees no harm in being more direct. He rests his hands on the table on either side of you and cages you under him.
“Maybe I was building up to something else,” he responds.
“Why not just go ahead and ask to fuck me then?”
“And you would agree?”
“If you can persuade me.”
He looks down at your chest and lightly brushes the back of his fingers from your exposed collarbone down to your cleavage. You gasp when you suddenly find yourself in the air in his arms, and he makes you sit on the table. He hooks his fingers into the belt hoops of your jeans and pulls you a bit closer, slowly undoing the button.
“So if I just… got on my knees for you right now,” he drags the zipper down, “gave you a nice, sloppy head…”
He slips a hand inside, gently caressing your soaked folds with two fingers. Then he removes them and spreads his fingers apart, licking his lips at the sight of the slick between them. You can’t help how thickly you gulp when he looks right into your soul as he licks them clean.
“...would that be persuasive enough to let me fuck you on this table?”
“What a freak,” you chuckle. “First time getting physical, and you want a threesome with the table?”
“Yeah, you’re right,” he tsks. “It’ll be awkward between me and the table tomorrow since we work together.”
You burst into laughter, and he joins you. You feel like you can breathe again, but it’s short-lived. When the laughter dies down, the air immediately starts thickening again.
“You know,” you pull him closer from his collar, “your experimental cocktails have too much pineapple juice in them.”
“If you don’t like it, then stop drinking them,” he counters.
“Then stop feeding them to me.”
“Then stop accepting it.”
“Then stop acting like you’re not trying to get me to taste better,” you hold up his damp fingers. “Did it work, at least?”
“That’s a myth. I figured if you bought into it, you would start associating me with cum,” he replies with a smirk. “You taste so fucking delicious as it is, I should make a cocktail out of you.”
Yeah, you throb between your legs a little bit, and what about it?
“So if I just… paid a one-off service fee instead,” you slide your hands down his chest, “can we just call it even?”
“Just so you know, gratuity is not included,” he informs you before he leans in for a kiss.
His lips are impossibly soft, moving within yours with such a memorized rhythm as if you’ve already been kissing each other for years. His hands move to peel your pants off of you, and he drags them down to your ankles, spreading your legs while kneeling before you. You don’t get a heads-up before he dives right in, hands wrapped around your thighs as he drags his tongue all over your slick folds.
You can’t believe you have actually manifested your most frequented wank session material into existence.
“There is no way you’re gonna make me cum like this, just saying,” you lie your ass off for the sake of snark. “You’re making a few crucial mistakes.”
“Enlighten me, please,” he slurps into your entrance.
“Get your fingers wet,” you instruct him as you spread your lips. “Then wrap your lips around my clit.”
He follows your orders to perfection, and you move his hand towards your entrance.
“Now hit that,” you urge him.
And man, does he hit.
It has nothing to do with pace. Chris doesn’t rush. He sticks his tongue out, relaxes it, and presses it against your clit, moving his head in a circular motion and occasionally closing his mouth on your pussy. His middle and ring fingers keep working you as he eats, stimulating a delicious spot inside you in an almost languid rhythm. Yet it works so well that the slick you’re oozing is dripping down his wrist.
“Don’t–Don’t stop…” you moan, your eyes rolling back. You need something to grab onto and squeeze, but there’s nothing around you other than him. “So wet, god, Chris, you’re fucking killing me…”
He chuckles into your pussy so softly that something shoots up from your crotch and hits the ceiling of your head. When he notices how your legs shake, he starts moaning into you more, quiet but deep, and it sounds so lewd as if you’re the one satisfying him. You hold his head in place and ride his tongue, trying your hardest not to go insane while listening to his sounds of pleasure, and when he starts slurping on your clit, you snap.
Chris doesn’t remember ever witnessing something so obscene and so beautiful in the same breath.
He gets back up on his feet, and you almost lose your mind seeing half his face covered with you. He seems proud of it. He seems like he wants a reward for it. A kiss, a compliment, a flash of your tits…
He unbuckles his belt and takes his cock out, his tip flushed dark pink with how hard he is. It’s so mouthwatering that your hands move on instinct to feel him, tracing the bulging veins with your thumb.
“Any mistakes here I need to be aware of?” he asks, aligning himself with your entrance.
“Just hit that,” you hold onto his shoulders with a fucked out smile.
A deep groan rips from his throat as he disappears into you. You lick your palm, reaching under to cup his balls, and he starts smiling to himself with his eyes closed like he’s getting high. His girth makes you feel so full, and your mind goes more blank with every thrust, unable to form a single thought. Before it becomes a full white space inside your head, your end of the bargain knocks on the door of your consciousness, and you peel your top off, pressing your breasts together while pinching your nipples a little bit. His face contorts at the sight, and he leans in to suck on them, his pace suddenly turning erratic.
“Lie down for me, beautiful, I’m gonna cum on them,” he requests. “Play with those for me, yeah?”
You lie on your back and get your fingers wet, looking right into his eyes as you rub your nipples. He feels incredible being buried deep inside you, all swollen and wet for him, but the way he makes your tits bounce just makes him wanna hit that harder.
“Oh, fuck, you’re so hot. Yeah, like that. Like that. Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum. I’m gonna cum so hard for you, baby, clench. Clench harder. Harder, yes. Yes. FUCK!”
The warm, thick strings of his seed land on your breasts, and it feels so strangely satisfying. You smear it all over your skin like your bespoke moisturizer, and even though he’s just cum, Chris loses it a little bit. You hold onto his hands and pull yourself up, kissing him through his faded euphoria.
“For your information, I was just trying to be a gentleman,” he holds your face, “I’m also a tits man.”
“You don’t say,” you narrow your eyes, joining his silly giggles, and as you put your clothes back on, your phone goes off with a notification.
Chaerry Blossom
say thank you to chris again for the gift <3 he’s the best
also hit that already before someone else does smh
“Um… Efren Reyes, yes, hello,” you snap your fingers in front of Chris’ face. “Is there something you wish to tell me?”
“About what?”
“What does Chae mean with ‘gift’?” you show him the screen.
Chris reads the text, then fashions a response template for you. “Tell her I said, ‘Anytime, and happy birthday’.” He buttons his pants back on and fixes your hair. “The mention of hitting that is up to you, but if you do, a five-star review of my performance would be appreciated.”
“What are you saying?” you furrow your brows.
“Oh, come on, it was her birthday today. Wouldn’t be good manners to take money,” he explains with the most vexing smile. “Consider it a gift from me.”
“So… we didn’t have to do this shit at all,” you purse your lips, brows knit so tightly with the realization of being hustled that a valley forms between them. “In very camp porn fashion, you were already planning to fuck me for the tab.”
“I never opened a tab for you guys tonight.”
Your mouth parts open, and all that comes out for a while is ceaseless stammering. What does he mean he didn’t open a tab? What does he mean consider it a gift from him?
“What the heck was that whole production then?!” you eventually yell at his face.
“Wanted to shoot my shot. I was prepared for you to cuss me out, and if that happened, I was just gonna say I was messing with you,” Chris shrugs. “Which, I technically was.”
“You freaked me out just for the LOLs?”
“I freaked you out for a chance to finally get you alone so I can ask you out,” he confesses.
Your flabbers are gasted, your dumbs are founded, and your thunders are struck. You don’t know what to say to him for a while, much less when you realize some things you’ve been carrying around for the longest time might not have been one-sided at all.
“We’re… literally here every night,” you state the obvious.
“Yet every night you come in together with your friends, too busy chatting it up at your booth, then leave together,” he gives an executive summary of your nightly routine. “Even when you guys go to the restroom, you move in flocks, like what’s up with that?”
“We’re not rampant alcoholics, dumbo. Why would we hang out here every night?” you emphasize once again.
Chris takes a moment to process your words, then his dimples start to deepen. It’s like a yawn effect—every time you see him smile, you inadvertently smile, too.
“Well, at least we were able to test how sturdy the pool table is,” you caress the green surface, then look at him with a smirk that’s up to no good. “Wanna go test how sturdy my bed is?”
“I can tell you the results up front; it’s so failing the test,” he melts into your lips again.
❥ Reblog & drop your feedback to make Chris hit that.
You ever think about the fact that the last sense to leave after death is hearing which can stay for around 8 minutes so Neil probably just heard dead silence because of how long it took for his parents to find him. You ever think about the fact he died in his father’s office, looking up at all his books and shelves of achievements, just like how he looked up to his father his whole life. Just how he wanted to make him as proud of him as he was of himself. You ever think about how long it took Neil’s parents to find him when he died. How maybe just a small part of him hoped to fail and to be held by his parents one more time. How maybe he hoped to hear a scream or a cry or a sob and a door slamming open, but all he got was the silence and the echo of the gunshot through his house. How he died truly alone and in complete silence. How he always encouraged Todd to speak up and speak out for himself. How he was never quiet. And yet he died quiet. Subdued. Reserved. Alone. Cold.
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