One Shots

A Friendly Dinner

a/n: this is my first one shot, so welcome! shout out to Tellmeastory1111_ SJWATTP Woolfhoundss and the gals of TheSugarClub for their support and giving me this idea based on the gif above! 💕

features: RPF, dirty talk, degradation, praise, daddy kink, slightly bratty reader, dom/sub dynamics, public sex, property damage (lol)

It's Friday, your usual night out with the usual suspects. The restaurant is nice, a new place in West Hollywood that everyone has been raving about. Warm lighting highlights the slight flush on your cheeks, turning pink from alcohol and laughter. You shift in your seat, taking a sip of your martini as your friends talk loudly around you.

It's a mix of your roommates from college, the couple in the apartment next door, and some of your boyfriend Chris's former castmates. You check the time on your phone, noting the last message you received from him. Chris has been out all day, but texted to let you know he wouldn't miss dinner. He was on the way, he said. That was thirty minutes ago.

You pout a little, squirming in your seat again. The gin and vodka begins to course through your veins, loosening you up. It's been a while since Chris has been able to have dinner with you, much less sleep over. All you want is to get through this meal, get drunk with your ridiculously handsome boyfriend, and let him absolutely ruin you at home.

"Excuse me? Would you like another drink?"

The waiter snaps you out of your head, his sweet smile showing off the dimples in his cheeks. You admit to yourself he is cute, seemingly an L.A. kid with blonde hair, tanned skin. He's crouched down at eye level, trying to make himself seem friendlier and earn more tips. You remember the tricks from your own days as a server well.

"No, thank you. I'm still working on this one," you answer sweetly, giving him a smile.

"Well I'm Jake, just let me know if you need anything at all."

The waiter's eyes rake over your outfit, a tight deep red colored dress with a low neckline. He wanders off, talking to other tables and servers. After about fifteen minutes, Jake is back, empty handed. He returns to that crouching position. Your body turned towards him in reflex, something you always do when you're in a conversation.

"Okay, so sorry if I'm out of line," Jake murmurs over the tinkling of glass and hum of your friends voices. "But I was wondering if I could get your number? Maybe we can go get a drink after my shift?"

Jake puts his hand on your arm, rubbing a thumb across a few of the freckles on your wrist. Your eyes widen at his move, opening your mouth to tell him off and decline. Suddenly, over his shoulder, you see a familiar frame clad in a leather jacket stalking towards your table.

Fuck, fuck, FUCK.

You immediately sit up straighter, unable to take your eyes off of Chris as he strides to the table. He looks aggressively good, a tight black t-shirt with matching jeans hugging his long legs. The black boots you got him for Christmas complete the picture.

That's not what has you hypnotized. It's the expression on Chris' face, stormy eyes dark over a clenched jaw and tense neck. He's fuming, and you can't help but bite your cheek to keep in a whimper.

"Hi, baby," you coo.

You give Chris a blinding smile, which he ignores. His eyes burn a hole into the back of the waiter's head. You hear Sebastian call Chris' name from down the table but he doesn't even blink in his direction. Your thighs clenching together is almost involuntary.