Shut Up and Dance
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Plush ! Reader
a / n : as always, minor and ageless blogs dni — I always write with black and brown feminines in mind, but I purposefully try not to describe reader too much. Mention of reader in a dress, but it's only mentioned in dialogue once at the end. This is short anyway.
You approach him. Says he's handsome, and that he looks like a charming guy. He is a charming guy. One who wants to sink his fingers into the fat of your hips.
He didn't realize he was so approachable even now, when all he'd come to do was wait. Maybe you were just confident. He doesn't mind that at all. You ask him to dance with you and he, a dog on a leash, follows you to the floor. He's nervous for the first time in a long time. Incredibly nervous because he isn't leading—this is one of the very first times he wasn't leading. And he's.. sweating. The club, it's hot, but that's not why he's sweating.
He's sweating because your plush body is pressed up against him in a way he can't quite process. Hasn't felt a body this plush in his lifetime. Not like he hadn't had his experiences, he's just never had you. You melt into his body perfectly and he feels all of you all at once. Warm and soft and romance personified and fuck, his palms are sweating. He grabs your hips and prays you don't notice.
You do, to his horror. And you fucking giggle, gazing up at him with the air of an amused god—the hot club gets cold when you laugh. Not scarily cold but refreshingly cold. Like a spring breeze slamming into him full force, coiling around him, seducing him—
"Are—" you can't even get it out in full, you're holding onto his forearms, your giggles slip into cackles. "Are you trying to dry your hands on my dress?"