Discover Top Posts Tagged with #chandlerlucy

does she believe in god or me?

summary: you're a longtime fan of the hellp, so when you see chandler selling one of your biggest grails, there's literally no way you're passing it up. you end up meeting him to buy it, and what was supposed to be a quick pickup turns into...something a little more. who knows where things might go from there?

contents: Chandler Lucy x fem!reader, bad writing, porn some plot, p in v like kinda barely mentioned, no protection!!!, fingering (f receiving), chandlers weird who's shocked!!!, your speech in pink for fun, you barely speak to him idec this is indulgent.

divider by @/fairytopea

Morning light bled through your curtains as you lay half-awake in bed, phone propped on your chest. Instagram loaded automatically, the algorithm knew exactly which stories to throw at you first.

Chandler Lucy’s face popped up with his latest story post. Of course you tapped it immediately (you always did). The second the image loaded…your stomach dropped. There it was: the jacket. the exact style you’d been hunting for months across resale sites like Grailed or Depop... checking every week like clockwork, slowly accepting that maybe this dream piece didn’t exist anymore. Then impulse took over before logic could catch up, your thumb swiped right without hesitation.

"I'll pay whatever." Sent.Regret hit instantly after hitting send though, too eager. Too obvious how badly you wanted it. You stared at the screen waiting for a response, heart pounding weirdly hard over a stupid jacket.

Desperate much? You refreshed your DMs way too many times (seriously, how long does it take someone to reply?). Then, finally, the buzz. Chandler’s message glowed on screen:

"It’s yours if you can come grab it." This was really happening. The jacket, your jacket, was actually available for pickup...today?

Getting dressed suddenly became an existential crisis though. Nothing looked right: Too casual? Too try-hard? Eventually you landed on something , then caught yourself automatically fixing your hair in the mirror mid-stride out door.

The drive felt like no time at all. By the moment you pulled into Chandler’s driveway, your stomach had knotted itself tight with nerves. You knocked before logic could stop you, no turning back now. Seconds ticked by, then the door swung open.

Chandler stood there leaning against the frame casually, phone still in hand from probably texting someone else (or maybe just scrolling). His face lit up when he saw it was you though, that easy grin already forming at corners of mouth…

“There you are,” he said simply, voice warm but teasing underneath like this whole situation amused him deeply already.

You managed a quiet “Hey” back while his eyes did a quick sweep over outfit/appearance. That smirk grew slightly wider after visual check-in.

“Didn’t expect the jacket to come with a pretty face.” You laughed despite yourself. You expected him to disappear and grab the jacket. Instead, he stayed put.

“You want a drink? I was making one. Come on.” He stepped aside, holding the door open. Inside, the place looked lived in, records stacked against one wall, clothes tossed over a chair, music playing somewhere in the house.

“Hang out,” he called. “I’ll grab it.” A minute later, he came back with the jacket hanging over his shoulder.

“There she is.”

You took it, running a hand over the fabric before you could stop yourself.

“Worth the drive?” He laughed, almost felt like he was laughing at you. You looked at the jacket, then back at him with a grin.

“Yeah.”

“I figured.” A minute later, he wandered back in from the kitchen with two glasses of whiskey, holding one out to you.

“I pour heavy,” he said with an easy grin. “Hope that’s not a dealbreaker.”

You took the glass, the ice barely holding on before it melted into the amber liquor. You brought it to your lips, taking a careful sip. He watched you do it. Only after you swallowed did he lift his own glass, taking a slow drink without ever breaking eye contact.

“You don’t trust me,” he teased.

“I just didn’t know what to expect.”

A knowing smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Still drank it, though.” Heat crept into your face.

He stayed where he was, standing just close enough that you had to tilt your head back to meet his eyes. There was something infuriatingly confident about him, like he already knew the effect he had. His fingers slid away from his glass, drifting toward your face. The backs of his knuckles brushed your cheek, featherlight.

Your lips parted before you could think better of it.

The warmth blooming across your cheeks lingered beneath his fingertips as they rested there for a moment longer. His eyes flicked down to your mouth, then back up again, a slow, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“You gonna make me do all the work?” he murmured. Your pulse hammered in your ears. He leaned in, closing the last bit of distance between you until his lips found yours.The kiss tasted faintly of whiskey, warm and smooth, the same drink he’d just handed you. It started slow, almost teasing, as if he was waiting to see whether you’d pull away.

And when you didn’t? His smirk disappeared into the kiss, replaced by something softer. He set his glass down on the coffee table without looking, one hand sliding to your waist before settling on your hip, giving it a firm squeeze that pulled you closer. Your free hand found the back of his neck, fingers slipping into his hair as he kissed you again.

“That’s better,” he mumbled against your lips. His hand drifted beneath the hem of your shirt, fingertips skimming over your skin before he paused, giving you every chance to stop him. When you didn’t, he eased the fabric up and over your head, tossing it somewhere behind the couch.

He guided you back until you were stretched out against the cushions, never breaking the kiss for more than a second. When he finally pulled away, his eyes swept over you before landing on the jacket folded beside you. A crooked grin spread across his face. His voice dropped just above a whisper. He picked up the jacket and held it open for you.

“Let’s see you in my jacket, pretty girl.”

You smiled, your cheeks warming all over again, and slipped your arms into the sleeves while he watched with an expression that looked far too pleased with himself.

The second the jacket settled on your shoulders, Chandler was already closing the distance between you.

In one fluid motion, he slid in between your legs, hands finding your hips like they belonged there, and suddenly his body heat radiated through every point where skin met fabric. The hard line of him pressed unmistakably against your thigh through his heidi jeans.

Then came his hand, the one that had been resting lightly on your waist, slipping lower with deliberate slowness beneath the hem of your shorts. A soft whimper escaped you as he finally brushed over cotton-covered heat, testing pressure without rushing yet clearly knowing exactly what effect this would have...

His mouth crashed back onto yours mid-sound; swallowing any other noise you might've made while fingers kept moving slow circles over dampening fabric…

The second your breathy moans hitched into something desperate, Chandler wasted no time.

His fingers slid beneath the waistband of your underwear, and then his fingers plunged inside you, curling just right with practiced ease. You arched off the couch, lips parting in a silent gasp as pleasure short-circuited every coherent thought.

Chandler didn’t miss a beat; his mouth immediately found your neck, hot kisses turning to soft bites on your sensitive skin while he murmured nonsense against flushed flesh: half-words like "God" and "Fuck”, praise tangled with curses...but honestly? You couldn't have repeated one word. Your hands fisted in his hair instead, overwhelmed by sensation, letting him work magic below while worshipping above,

Every drag of his fingers matched another open-mouthed kiss along collarbones. Moans of his name already spilled from your lips, soft at first, then louder when he smirked cocky like he’d already won.

You surged forward to unbutton his jeans before the thought fully formed; fingers fumbling only once with buttons as you sat up. Chandler took advantage immediately, shifting back just enough to give you space while watching through half-lidded eyes as fabric gave way.

His hands weren’t idle either: they hooked into the waistband of your striped shorts and peeled them down along with your lace panties in one smooth motion. The cool air hit bare skin for half a second before warmth returned, because now? No barriers left between you two. His jeans pooled to the floor on their own while yours joined them somewhere near the couch legs.

Your breath hitched sharply as he shoved his boxers down and entered you with messy urgency. His face pressed into your chest, forehead warm against your skin, while his hips jerked forward, ruthless but uneven. Every thrust was desperate, searching, until suddenly one landed just right. Your moan cracked into a choked gasp, no longer sweet or soft, but raw and guttural, as pleasure punched through the haze.

It happened so fast, one second you were gasping beneath him, the next his lips were trailing warm, open-mouthed kisses down your sternum. His fingers hooked into your jacket, peeling it off with quiet efficiency to help cool the heat flushing your skin. He rubbed slow circles on your arm afterward, a small comfort masked by that same infuriating smirk tugging at his lips.