#Manicure Stool | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

capslocked · 2 months

Text

PROXIMITY

male reader x chou tzuyu

25k words

You’re not a bad person. And you know how that sounds apropos of nothing - defensive, unscrupulous - but it’s true. You’re like anybody else: full of mistakes, but good, mostly.

You are also aware of the way she looks at you. None of that has changed.

The slight quirk at the corner of her lips. A flicker, a smirk. A game, all doe-eyed and deep dimpled - she's playing the seduction one. It isn’t subtle, and you're losing by proxy. So you're backtracking, drawing your conclusions; you're reading into the line of her jaw, the fall of her hair. Measuring the weight behind each blink.

"You were wrong by the way," Tzuyu starts, indifferent. Through some act of divine retribution, she laughs. "Because to tell you the truth, I used to have, like, the biggest crush on you."

She’s young, and - well, she’s a lot of things. A terrible idea. Incredibly off-limits. She is anathema, red tape, an original sin. You shake your head at her, smile fading - which for anyone keeping score, is an admonishment, however faint.

Because Chou Tzuyu, you recognize, is categorically, unequivocally: never supposed to happen.

If you want a read on your current dilemma, then this is how it pans out:

You’re walking headfirst into one of the multiple terrible, terrible scenarios you've probably had an anxiety dream about. It’s an ambush, really.

There’s the text from Mina, explaining all the ins and outs of her winter hideaway, the logistical whereabouts, and the pinched photo from the outside, the endless winding driveway, the clearing in the woods. The remote location, the unfussed snow, the towering trees. There are no neighbors to speak of, just seclusion and isolation and that makes you, among the seven billion or whatever, the only one who will know precisely how fucked you are.

The door to the cabin swings open on its hinges. You kick the snow off your boots, and the air smells indistinctly of peppermint tea.

It’s a cozy place, you think. A slightly rustic aesthetic. There’s a pair of skis decommissioned over the mantle. Mina, as usual, has good taste. You peek around: the foyer, the open living space, the wood finishes, the sunken fireplace. You almost make out a bathroom, through a half-opened doorway - and the kitchen, maybe, is nestled around the far corner.

You settle in, find your bearings, and start taking these leisurely steps down the hall.

That’s when you see her. Wearing a sweater that's a size too big, draped over her frame - sleeves tucked, exposing the barest hint of skin on her wrists, her delicate fingertips. You blink once, twice. That’s a dangerous flare. The rest of her, this canvas of pale skin and soft, endless legs, the hollowed stretch of inner thigh-

Actually, you know what, you are going to delete that out of your mind; as far as you're concerned, Tzuyu absolutely does not have her long, satin-like mahogany hair spilling over her shoulder, her bare legs poking out from under that bulky cotton blend, and she definitely, very absolutely has not given you a complete lack of boundaries, so it's more than plausible for her to slide onto a stool near the countertop with her painted-toes peeking out from beneath the folded press of her thigh (the pedicure, really, now?) and look over at you like you aren’t perfectly familiar with that goddamn face. Those eyes, that jaw.

And her collarbone is out too. Ouch.

Tzuyu rests her chin in one of her perfectly manicured hands, and tilts her head: she’s very blatantly checking you out.

The problem is, you’ve recognized her immediately.

Which - god, the bottom-lines, the blurred borders. It’s been years. She's twenty-three, twenty-four now, and as it turns out, she's taller than you remember. She's thinner, taller, actually a bit filled out too-

Right, okay, no. Just. Delete that image from the internal memory.

"Oh," you breathe, because there's not a single thing you're sure you’re supposed to do. It takes a split second too long to put the brakes on everything in your brain and say, "Tzuyu." It takes even more control not to tack an unthinkingly fond 'miss' to the front of her name - you're a god-honest lost hope - but at the last minute, you settle for, "hi."

It’s unnatural. She's actually somehow prettier than you remember, and the tousled brown curls flowing down her shoulder make it worse. She smiles, gently; this soft-spoken, "hey."

She’s at the kitchen island, holding a bowl of cereal and looking at you like she’s taking inventory. The strap of her bra is black, loose around the curve of her left shoulder; she's barefoot. Any other context, and it's your favorite kind of combination, basically: casual and messy and haphazard. Perfect. She's so tall, christ.

"We've met a few times," and she's not even phrasing it as a question - because she knows for a fact that you know her - and now, well, you can see how that's a problem.

"Yeah." You drop your bags. "Nobody said anything about anyone being here, so, I'm just a little-"

“Relieved?” Tzuyu tries, and if it sounds conceited, you’ve imagined it.

“Surprised,” you amend, quickly. There is a massive amount of distance currently between the both of you - several feet and an island counter to top it off. That's good, you think.

Tzuyu runs her hands over the top of her hair, a half-effort at putting it up into some sort of a ponytail, or maybe a bun. You see now that her nails are bare. "I'd heard from Mina," she starts, "that Sana was coming here-"

And you watch, absentmindedly, as Tzuyu slides down off her chair. You watch her too carefully almost, for a beat. You want to follow the length of her legs with the same ease and shamelessness - like it's instinct or just expected; it's ridiculous and wrong to think, but-

"-with, uh, someone. She left it purposefully vague." Tzuyu finishes, then pauses. Her gaze slides across you. If the awkward stretch of silence is weird, she doesn't comment on it. “Then I heard the flight got delayed because of all the snow."

"Just Sana’s," you correct, and that's not information you should be simply giving away. She just stands there, blinking up at you.

"Huh," she says, eyebrow lifted - slower than is explicitly necessary, “so you’re like. All alone until she gets here.” She simply eats a spoonful of cereal, chews for a moment, and adds, “bummer.”

It’s true, in some sense. You sigh, rake a hand back through your hair, and your jacket falls further down on one of your shoulders; she drops her gaze down, almost imperceptibly, following the motion.

There is definitely a point where you could take notice of a lot of things, and they include, but are certainly not limited to: the fucking languor with which she is licking the yogurt off the back of her spoon, her stupidly long eyelashes fanning on the tops of her cheeks when she glances down, the frankly risque neckline of her sweater. Those kinds of things. Those kinds of details. Really, you wouldn’t dare.

"It sounds like she’ll be getting in tomorrow evening," you decide to inform her, though she didn't ask, and now she nods, focusing still on the yogurt and granola at the bottom of her bowl.

You walk into the kitchen. Rap your knuckles on the countertop. Tzuyu’s right there, and your mind is filling up with images you could really do without. That's the unfortunate, traitorous nature of all this: in any universe, Chou Tzuyu fawns over you. And she will, on accident or purpose, test you. And as for your hesitation - that's an instinct that gets activated every time you so much as meet Tzuyu in person, this invasive little impulse.

"Well," Tzuyu says, way too casually. “It’s just us then.”

"Yeah." you agree, stilted. “Just us.”

"There's wine," she decides, tilts her head. Then, matter of factly, "and coffee, hot cocoa. Mina’s more or less stocked on everything."

Her voice hits the room all nice, sweet, syrupy - god, fuck, maybe there's a window or a door here somewhere that you're supposed to open to clear the air, but when you look, there’s frost on the glass; it’s the subalpine frigidity. Tzuyu flashes you this other sort of glance - her teeth scrape the rounded spoon's tip before her lips fully fix around it. The drowsy, delirious feeling is almost involuntary at this point.

"I should unpack my things, is what I should do, probably," and now you are saying things for the sake of saying them, as an escape. "Hey, seriously. Sorry for the inconvenience."

“Don’t be,” she tells you. "The weather isn't anybody's fault."

(Here, a premonition. You look at Tzuyu, who raises an eyebrow back.)

The next logical move is: leave. Tzuyu folds her long limbs back up onto the stool, and you're - trying not to look. You're also trying not to do it consciously, actively - you're not, and not. You fail, like you did a few years ago, too - the eyes have a bad habit of wandering. She's made of porcelain, all thin wrists, thin neck, soft curves and delicate lines. She's made out of glass - she’s at her most dangerous when you’ve gone and broken her.

It’s possible, you think, she could break you too.

Look, contextually - it’s Murphy’s law, or maybe your own very specific curse. A lot of stuff happens, so here’s a rough draft, your best effort at an approximation, a smudged-pencil sketch:

Tzuyu has been on vacation in the Alps from the start of the week, or maybe the week prior - she's alone in this stupidly big cabin you're supposed to be meeting Sana in for two weeks and change of pure unadulterated, hedonistic fun. Skiing, lounging, stargazing, drinking, screwing, consummating a situationship. You know the drill.

However there ends up being an actual, literal avalanche - with snow and rocks and ice and whatever the fuck - the power goes out, and you can only assume the whole mountain's gone dark. It's like a classic, a cautionary tale: hey, dude, you're on vacation with this drop-dead gorgeous girl who will let you do whatever you want to her - in the name of love and lust and a loosely legal liability. She says she'll be yours forever, except you also heard her say that the universe is entitled to laugh at you, a bit - so you do something you'll regret (which, okay, you've done countless things you'll regret) and now you're getting punished for it, and so is the stunning temptress currently shivering in the bed next to you. Seriously, whatever you do, do not fuck her, don't let her get too attached, because oh, man - Tzuyu really likes to make herself comfortable, huh? To nestle herself into your arms, let her hand stroke circles in the dark fabric of your t-shirt, warm her cold nose into your chest, and cuddle the night away. She's so easy to give in to, isn't she? This walking, talking paradox of everything she's not supposed to be and everything she'll willingly do anyway - there's her expression, placid and rapturous in equal measures, the sleepy mumbles against your skin that sound like prayers, her damp breaths.

You should know better. You should know that this is the universe, laughing its ass off at you.

And just for the record, there is sound reason for everyone to feel, in some sense, extremely concerned by the narrative that your life has slowly, unceremoniously devolved itself into.

The first time you meet Chou Tzuyu is years ago. She’s dramatically, devastatingly, problematically, young.

It was all happening before you could really clock it, and it was morally reprehensible, and it was, in fact, probably all your own doing.

And it’s even more obvious in retrospect: how she would react to the way you reach back and ruffle your hair when you laugh, the casual appeal of your smile, the depths of your tone, how you cut it as close as you can get it. A girl will trip all over herself to let you look after her; that’s the basic blueprint, that's the default. See, you're in your twenties, an adult - not having figured out much, but having certainly figured out this - and it's very much not lost on you that the girl should not be flirting with you - but she does, and the very worst of it is: you let her.

“Are you out of your mind?” Jihyo had said at the time, and, in fairness, yeah. That more or less sums it up.

So you end up making a point of never getting to know her, to always keep the conversation nonexistent. Or in the worst case scenario, brief - on surface level topics. The weather. Your job. Food. If you like her sunglasses. (They look protective, you’d told her, very practical. Very safe.) It's the essentials, a light, professional rapport - never once crossing the border from casual conversation to candid disclosure.

She's infatuated, of course. You're not mincing words here. It's actually rather unfortunate, how gone she is for you. You could’ve probably stood to dial it back; you, and your charm. Your smiles.

Because Chou Tzuyu was however many years young, very much off-limits - and like a lot of people it seems, totally hooked on your whole deal.

(Theoretically, that's how it all starts. Which is why, pragmatically, you will never, ever lay a finger on her.)

So, the plan to get through this was simple and to the point and as follows:

* Avoid unnecessary physical contact

* Maintain social distance, in fact - something covid-esque sounds great, about six feet

* Do not offer opinions/advice unless specifically asked

* Minimize speaking, just to be safe

* Do not exchange gifts, especially personal ones

* Be wary of the temptation to take a voluntarily-tipsy Tzuyu to bed, because you'll want to - and god knows Tzuyu will make it extremely clear that you could; this is exactly how shit turns south-

* Adjust and reframe

* Reinforce

* Remind yourself

* To just fucking think about literally anything else

It was working fine, so far - really fine, especially if you consider how early into the stay you're sitting there, telling yourself off in the bathroom mirror, get it together, you dumbass. What is wrong with you, don’t you know better by now - before an unapologetic knock on the door snaps you out of it, and the click of the door opening a moment later forces a heavy inhale from your chest: you just need a fucking second, thanks - not a half-decent excuse or a rearrangement, not a careful restructure, just a split second in your own head; that's not even the sort of thing you're prone to needing, because it's you, but with Chou fucking Tzuyu-

A soft breathy laugh, "are you okay in here?"

Tzuyu pokes her head into the room, her hair a wavy curtain that tumbles down past the middle of her back. You have this vague, fleeting impulse to run your fingers through it.

"Well," and there goes all the shit you'd managed not to think about, or contemplate, or dwell upon for that one glorious, naive, misinformed second. "Sort of," you say, offering her a quick glance.

"Really?" Tzuyu says, not catching onto the whole existential crisis thing. "Is there anything else you need? I mean," and then your eyes fall upon her; she's put a sweater on, pants, which all things considered, is a huge victory, a total rout - her baggy sweater drapes on her, practically brushing her thigh where the material stops, the hem. "I guess not, just. Um," her teeth catch her bottom lip for a quick moment, and this time she glances back towards the hall, the granite-finish tiles. "Wanna make s'mores?"

"What," you ask, because honestly, what the actual fuck-

"I went into town to get fresh groceries earlier this week. Everything just kinda landed in my cart," she says, the beginning of an explanation - the backstory, if you will. "And there's a fireplace. Momo always says the calories don't count if it's social eating, so." She makes a small shrug.

"Oh,” you say, like you understand. Your throat feels tight. “She’s totally right.”

She offers you a small nod. Tucks her hair behind her ear. You wonder if she knows how suggestive even the smallest of gestures she makes are; and more so, if she does it knowingly, or simply without thought - if it's a facet of her own effortlessness.

"Um," you say, for no particular reason other than that Tzuyu is fucking distracting. "Okay."

The edges of her mouth tick upwards at that. "We could put something on the tv,” she suggests. “For the vibe."

"Oh yeah, for the ambience."

"For the ambience," she nods.

(And fuck her, seriously. You might be a goner already.)

"A winter weather advisory," Tzuyu reads, squinting slightly at the tv. A minute later: "Just stay home," followed by another pause, and a frown: "hail and ice too. Yeah, no kidding."

She's reading the weather report. You're pretending you have any idea how to work the fireplace while she sets her eyes on the news, hands running over the blankets she has huddled around herself - legs folded, tucked into the edge of her chest. She'd gotten as far as logging into her Netflix account before the suggestion of cuddling was so obviously implied, her hands patting the cushioned space beside her that you were required by moral law to flip through the cable options until you found the least sexy, least rom-com-y option you could find: a newscaster reporting on the ongoing inclement weather, a forecaster saying 'near zero chance of improving, so travel is heavily discouraged, we strongly advise against-'

"Wonder if Sana's even going to make it," Tzuyu breaks the relative silence, and you are acutely aware of how casual she has been referring to Sana, the complete and utter lack of jealousy or any emotion related - or you guess, inspired. She's not even the slightest bit irked. “If the airport opens, maybe," she adds, and, after a beat, "let's hope."

It gets colder. You can barely see three feet past the front door. The forecast only gets worse, the storm intensifies and swells, it snows and snows - and this isn't a cottage somewhere on the lake, you're a couple miles down a single-track, woodsy road, far, far away from society.

If only these walls could talk, honestly. You're like, caught in a moment. With Tzuyu and marshmallows and these tiny, sticky wooden skewers. This is a story you will tell nobody, ever.

"I don’t mean to say I told you so," she says, but it comes out with a mouthful of chocolate and graham cracker, and marshmallow, which sort of takes the bite out of it. "But the movie is a little more entertaining."

You pretend like you weren't staring at her mouth a beat prior. "Right, a cinematic masterpiece."

Tzuyu tugs a marshmallow off the stick, and looks over at you again. Smiles around the impromptu pastry. She's just such a bright, wholesome thing - soft-hearted, selfless, so innocuous and so pleasant. It's absolutely sick. You have a fucking pavlovian response to Tzuyu simply existing.

And you’re pretending like the white, tacky remains on her mouth haven't permanently solidified that look into memory: the melted chocolate, the whipped sugar, the dimple. You could really do without this specific feeling - for however much longer it'll last, should the storm linger.

"You don’t ever have stuff like this, just for a quiet, carefree time?" Tzuyu licks it off her skin, and the question kind of drags your attention elsewhere.

You breathe in, slow.

Maybe she can feel it too, you think. Because Tzuyu drags the pad of her thumb against her bottom lip, and a question she doesn't ask flickers to life in her gaze: if you'll break or not, if there is an absolute limit.

But it’s impossible to read her. Tzuyu takes up this real easy-going disposition, all quiet and stoic, sort of, and maybe that's the dangerous part of her - the stillness. Other moments, she has this uncanny knack for conversation. She's charming in that way, you have always thought, a bright face. She has a keen understanding of things too - maybe sometimes too much; maybe a little bit beyond her years, really, a little too knowledgeable.

"When the gang does," you answer, diplomatically. “Sure, I suppose.”

There's another smile at that, which is how you know that the back and forth, this coolly cool, somewhat-stiff exchange is sort of becoming a game. A bet on who cracks, who turns. She won't tell you it's you, and you'll never in your right mind acknowledge her. It's some version of honesty. A bit like Russian roulette.

"I used to think we were friends, you know," she muses, like it's some great mystery - all very deliberately cryptic. Like it's funny.

"Hey, you were like, a teenager," you're grasping at straws. You’re spinning the bullet round the conversational chamber. “And I have this thing-”

"You have a thing?" Her eyebrow is raised again - sweetly challenging.

"-like, a principle, a standard - if there's nothing there, and let's face it: there's really not something here-"

"Aw," Tzuyu fakes pouting, which is simultaneously very mean and also like, painfully hot, and she makes this pitiful coo, "you really have nothing to say at all, do you."

Which. Fuck, she’s right. The 'thing' here is the no touching, the no messing, the no making anything resembling a move. She's sitting over there with her mouth covered in sugar, batting her goddamn eyelashes. Which you ignore, thank god for impulse control, or the instinct of it, and Tzuyu pushes a graham cracker past her lips to placate her own expression.

And so it goes. She keeps looking at you and looking and looking and you stare, transfixed, back at her. The edges of her jaw, the rise of her nose, the jutting curve of her collarbone; you say something dumb or clever and you're making her laugh, and every time she does, her teeth catch on her bottom lip and you could really do with a distraction right now, but it's impossible not to flirt.

It's just the way the universe has constructed you - this starvation, a twisted desire. There’s cruelty in the design.

(Things take a turn for the worse, of course. You don’t know how, but she gets to you agree that you two should've gotten closer in all that time-

"Well, I’m sure you were just so busy," you'd shrugged, indifferent, and she'd pressed the sleeve of her sweater to her mouth, just to hide how bright the smile was.

-which, honestly, fuck you - given all the context. Because now she's right here in the cabin; she's an arm's length away, and all this time, you've meant to stay the fuck out of reach.)

Tzuyu does the worst thing. She returns from the kitchen, hands full, with two squat tumblers and a bottle of dark brandy. She sets one down next to you and asks if you want some.

You look. You mean, what are you even supposed to do? It's a catch twenty-two, it's a joke - what can a girl be thinking, standing there. Bending the right way, hair framing a face like hers.

Yeah, sure - it’s the voice of someone who's slipping, who’s gonna say the same thing three more times. "Hm, why not."

The ice clinks against the glass. Then, the pour. Toast to good health, a clean conscience, safe passage; you’ll take whatever you can get.

You watch Tzuyu knock back an impressive amount and make an impressive face. There’s maturity there, you cope. Because you want to touch her jaw, thumb over her cheekbone, breathe baby, it's too strong, slow down on her lips, watch her mouth open slightly-

The fire pops.

She leans toward you. “Are you going to keep stealing stories from me, or are you going to supply anything good to the discussion?"

"About me, personally?" you say, purposefully pedantic.

Tzuyu’s smirk is half-present, half-playful. She sets down her tumbler on a coaster - Mina would be appreciative - and hums at you. “What do you think I mean?”

"I was really hoping the inflection would help clarify."

She levels a gaze with you. You fight back for a hot second - this slow-burning heat under the skin, your resolve threatening to buckle, shatter, spill itself everywhere - and in the end, she is the one that looks away, softly laughing, a pfft under her breath. You’re left the opportunity to just - look. See where the glow from the wood-burning fire has cast this gorgeous gold over her face, all her defined curves, her delicate features.

"I don't care, it could be anything," she poses, settling back into the pillows. Smiling. "Please. Entertain me."

Her cheeks are rosy. You realize, quite suddenly, you are not totally sober either. This is exactly how Sana talked you into something however many moons ago, then however many moons later, surgically unattached all the strings. Sana’s good at talking. At convincing. And you don't do shots like her, or apparently like Tzuyu does - but hell, it's that maddening, pretty little dimple of hers - the one that's always there when she does her mischievous smirk - a deeply devastating look, a devil-may-care demeanor, and you're dead-drunk on it, honestly.

"Want me to talk about Sana?" you offer, "seems like an obvious choice."

"I think you’re projecting," Tzuyu teases. “You just miss her, I'm sure.”

"Mhm. Sure."

Tzuyu makes a noise halfway between a chuckle and a snort, and draws the blankets more tightly around her. "What," she says, nonplussed, "who doesn't want to hear some gossip about their friends?"

You're fucking up, right? Fucking up the same way you did years ago when you caught the wrong kind of feeling for an entirely, altogether inappropriate woman. But you'll blame the drinks. And the mood. And the ambience, the fucking fire that's almost suffocating, the closeness of her body next to you-

"Hey," you say, and it's such a mistake. You're pointing to a spot on your chin. You're making it worse. "You got a little, uh-"

You watch as she lifts her hand, glides it through the air - brushes her own cheek with her fingertips, smoothing out an imagined blemish.

"Did I get it?"

"Uh, well, sorta-" and she knows you’re lying.

Tzuyu tries again. Comes up short, and when her hair falls in front of her face, she’s looking at you like maybe you’ll help take care of that too. She’s a total fucking coquette - though maybe she hasn’t even done it on purpose, maybe she's just that unaware, innocent. Not the second one, you figure. You're leaning, tilting closer and closer to her - in any other scenario, there'd be the shortest possible time between her touching herself and you, cupping her jaw with one of your hands.

But your mouth feels like it's moving of its own accord. "No, wait, let me help you," you continue, before you know it.

Isn’t it disastrous; all ice and hazard, this is the advisory in effect; a napoleon-goes-to-russia caliber calamity, a colossal write off, a write in. You could have, should have stopped, except you didn't and now you're reaching, gently, until your palm cups the side of her face - until you press, until you hold her steady. Her head tilts. She lets you, blinking up. Her eyes are this hazy, intoxicated coffee-brown, honeyed and burnt and fucking beautiful.

You swipe your thumb along her bottom lip. The gesture is slow, languid, intentional; you think, through some cosmic error, that might just be the end of it.

"There," you say, smiling, naive.

"Yeah," Tzuyu breathes out, and she winds her fist into the fabric of your shirt. "Thanks."

You lean, or she does; you go down, or she pulls you; there's no difference, really.

She is kissing you, this soft little press. A tug in every direction. You hadn’t kissed her, at the very start, but when her fingers thread through your hair, gripping hard, bringing you closer until you groan, parting your lips slightly, and - and her tongue flits past yours - your brain does this wild mental leap that you ought to be questioning later.

But everything starts to sink.

One of your hands lands on her waist, thumb slipping under the hem of her sweater and pressing against bare skin, and her knee nudges between both of your legs - until Tzuyu hums this low, pretty sound in her throat. There is something fervent here, all-consuming, devouring; her mouth moves like it's frantic for air, for oxygen and fuel, and her whole body melts under yours like she's completely falling apart.

Fuck, you think. There is a deep, smouldering heat in the pit of your stomach.

Because she’s perfect. You always knew that, didn’t you. She is firelight and perfume and muted gold; everything else falls into shadow, fades into the background. Her lips are velvet-soft, and they open again and again with these heavy exhales of hot air - so much so that you have to shift the hand you'd set on her waist lower, a little, her hip bone under your palm, a touch ghosting towards the dip and the swell.

Somehow you have this knowledge: at the end of everything, it'll be her name falling helplessly off your tongue.

"You were wrong by the way,” she stops to say.

"About-" You press another kiss into her jaw, and her mouth parts around the same slow sigh. "Wait." You lean back enough to look at her again.

“Whatever you said earlier." Tzuyu’s eyes go half-lidded as she starts petting your hair back into place, thumb stroking your jawline. "I'd have made time."

Oh, christ-

"Because to tell you the truth," her tongue wets her lip, shiny, wet, "I've never really forgotten. Like I just thought, that whole thing was so… fleeting, you know, like the last time, when you let me text you - god, I was crushing so hard."

You breathe, shaking your head.

"Don’t," is what comes out of your mouth after, quick, sharpened.

“Don’t what?” Tzuyu taunts, pushing another inch further. That small grin on her face, her long, nimble fingers combing through your hair.

You are trying to think, and there was an apology, right? You'd had this one in you. The one that began as a guilty soliloquy, a rueful acknowledgement; something that should have been directed toward Tzuyu, told her, at one point, or another: look. Sorry it's like this.

But there is a hand tracing the collar of your shirt - a sensation that follows all the way to the base of your throat; you lean further into her touch, almost involuntarily - a simple motion, and yet. "You shouldn't. You shouldn't say things like that to me," and you mean: these things you already know. "It's not good."

"Doesn't feel that bad," she tells you, a breezy sort of whisper, warm. "I think I'm getting the opposite impression."

"Maybe for the wrong reasons," you remind her. And to remind yourself, actually. "Probably for the wrong reasons - trust me, it is.”

"Trust you," and it’s the slightest bit ridiculing, a tease - Tzuyu drops her smile, pulls you in by the hair, whispers low. "Sure," the syllable soft, pressed against your throat, "I trust you not to hurt me," and the 'not' gets hung on for an impossibly long moment, stretched out thin.

She's sinister; she has to be, or some amalgamation of the most potent version of every word she’s ever said. A dream girl, the definition and essence of a temptress, this shameless attraction - an insistent siren begging for your attention; the incepting mind-game; the entity that stalks the halls in the deepest trenches of the night, whispering your worst fears right into your ear. You fall further into Tzuyu, the prettiest of nightmares.

(Oh, it's the dimple that does you in, really: if there's any possible way that Chou Tzuyu has unintentionally ruined your life, she's done it with that innocent little smile.)

"You can kiss me again," Tzuyu says, permissive.

And you do. You kiss her, and kiss her like you’ve no choice - like you've decided, at least in this very moment, if Tzuyu can own a piece of your soul, you can take something too.

(The thing about a cautionary tale: sometimes it is really just a story. Sometimes it happens and the world is left unscathed. There were a lot of warning signs, yes. But this could be a coda, a moralistic adage, a story to turn the page on and laugh and be embarrassed by and say, oh, no, I'd definitely do better; a blip. We’d never do anything like that. It's all history, honestly.)

It's not romantic, and it's less gentle than you’d have expected: Tzuyu bites your lip at one point, and you grab her hip so hard she yelps. The pause in the after is filled with a provocation, a stare, a tilt of your head, and her saying, “hey, easy now.” You cup her face in your hands, and run your thumb over lips. The calm is pretty short-lived. She gets her hands working frantically to tear your shirt off over your head. Then it's a haphazard stumble into the doorframe of the bedroom, with her pulling you in too-hard by the waist, bumping your nose against hers in this rough meeting - until your lips fit together.

“Mm,” Tzuyu’s mouth pushes insistently into yours and your tongue immediately laves at its underside, coaxes it to slide against yours and soon she’s sliding forward on purpose - on her own initiative, pressing the steady line of your cock against the seam of your pants, the pressure sudden.

"Watch it," you murmur, breaking away a little to glare at her, which just makes her smile, like she likes pissing you off or something, likes watching you get mad at her, or whatever - if she says it's true, then it is, probably - she's honest.

Her small hand darts up, gripping the sides of your jaw tightly and moving in, kissing like it's easy; like she knows what the fuck she's doing. Her head tilts and she does it again, except it's a few times in a row, making out in the doorway.

"And if I say no?" She grins, hand at your dick again, just palming through the fabric and getting off on your soundless reactions to it all. "Like, is that really enough? I feel like you'd have to like - tie me up. Something - you know?"

"That sounds like a you problem."

A mischievous smile steals across her lips and you feel yourself doing the same. "Yeah, you're right," she responds, dragging her thumb and forefinger from the zipper of your jeans to the hard line of your cock, pinching gently along the shape. "It is my problem."

She feels pliant, more than willing, but it's a calculated type of softness. Still, you get a hint, a vague message and you figure, the way this girl's smirking in her lips: she likes being held down, held fast and steady, so you pin her wrists above her head - her eyes stay on you, don't drop; you pin her, and her expression becomes that shade more dark, more teasing. Oh, you'll go slowly, you think, until Tzuyu gives. You'll climb a hand further under her sweater, let it skim over her ribs. You'll kiss her again, open-mouthed, and slow, until she can't breathe.

Her head knocks into the wall, she bites and smiles like a promise, and all her muscle flexes under your grip. "Oh, seriously," Tzuyu whispers into your mouth. "Y'know, this is like a fantasy of mine.”

And that's kind of it: she has that look. In the morning, you can see yourself chasing her down into sheets - just pinning her with the weight of your whole body, feeling each tensed curve of her against you. She pulls you closer, into her; she seems the type.

"I’d really rather not hear that, Tzu.”

"And I want to hear you say please, more than anything," Tzuyu laughs at herself, something hard in it, "but I think you want to fuck me so bad, it'll come naturally. Like, the second you have your fingers inside me. And that's what you want, right? Tell me."

"I'm thinking about your legs,” you tell her, running your palm around the curve of her thigh. Fuck, she’s perfect. “Think they'd fit around my waist."

"And hook my ankles? I’d love that." Her eyes crinkle. "Is that it, though?"

"Maybe I'd keep my hand on your throat and fuck you like that, too. That's on the table."

Tzuyu laughs: a real, actual sound, but not at you. "It is. You're smart."

"To be completely transparent," you mutter. "I don't plan on asking you very nicely at all."

The lines in Tzuyu's face go a little blissful, contented, like she's so, so pleased with this, like she approves, and she kisses you again, the length of your bodies pressed together, except where her hips cant up and meet the space between your thighs. You drag a hand roughly along her waist, kneading muscle there, down to the rise of her jeans - which, fuck, you need to help her shimmy out of and find the pull of the sweater, whatever - and she grinds out some noise, something caught between her throat and her teeth, but mostly in the place where your hand's dragged under the material, tugging gently at the wire of a bra, and you'd actually kind of forgotten it was a thing.

It's when you hear her own rasp, when she slips the side of your zipper open with a few quick strokes, shoving her fingers inside to hold the base of your cock, that you finally decide:

She's yours and you'll prove it. You'll make sure she knows: the evidence, the fingerprints, the bruises blooming the size of your thumbs and she'll be the one showing them off with pride. She'll let you do whatever you like, which'll be a lot. She'll appeal to all the worst parts of you; she'll say thank you; she'll whimper while you're pulling her bra off and simply letting it flutter to the ground; she'll be crying within the first half an hour of you touching her. You can read it right off her gorgeous face. She'll be so damn breathtakingly-pretty, bouncing on your cock, folded under your weight - it'll be incredible. She'll be yours.

"Come on," Tzuyu breathes. "Yes. Please," she adds, as though it's an afterthought, her free hand tangling in your hair, pulling. "Hurry, or something - I fucking love this but we need to- I’m literally going to, like, die if you don’t touch me right now."

"Yeah," is what you get out. Her jeans finally fall to her ankles and she kicks, to get them to puddle onto the floor. "Yeah. Alright, maybe."

You won't even need to hear her begging, you already know how she sounds: a little annoyed and very turned on, rolling her eyes at herself. This part - she's playing at resistance, but she's giving in. A kiss back, hotter than you were expecting, as you slip a hand up the back of her bare thigh and the edge of her underwear, a thin strip, like it's done on purpose.

When you tuck a finger inside the waistband, feeling a little guilty about the way her whole body reacts - the flex, the pull, the weight of all her muscle straining against how her legs fall open - Tzuyu manages, her face in the hollow of your cheek: "you've waited long enough, right?"

God, she knows where the wounds are still fresh. Which bruises will hurt most when she puts a finger right into one - a reminder you couldn't possibly ignore. She's playing this whole thing a little bit sadistically; she wants this to be your fault, you can tell.

And your mind isn't unbending. You push a finger into her cunt and the girl absolutely shakes apart, body jerking like you've severed a lifeline. She's so wet, and so pretty, so sensitive. Maybe you really have.

"Tzu," you tell her. The hand in your hair tightens, a warning, as you let two, then three, fingers shove inside her. She's breathless; the slow, rough motions, her entire body riding the heel of your palm. "Do you want me to tell you how good you are for me, right now? Is that it?"

"Yeah - do. Please, fuck - please say it."

"I was right," is what you manage, biting your tongue.

"Right?" She asks, her fingers locked, urging your thrusting to turn punishing. "Please."

"Do you want me to make this a nice, pretty little memory? Suck the bitterness out and - have something sweet to go back to, the next time someone hurts you."

"I can take it." She snaps, not even responding to your comment. "Tell me you need me and you're leaving me no choice."

You smile into her hair, because she's a dream. Your thumb pushes into her clit and you can feel her seize up with a pathetic whine.

"Pretty," you mutter, as she slumps her chest to yours. You kiss it right into her hair. “I need you, Tzu.”

And the idea's seductive: keep her pinned and fuck her right into the wall. See her wrecked by the end; the swell of her thumb bloody from how she was biting into it, how she's wrenching at your wrist. Your lips land over her collarbone - no, hers do, to the side of your head - she'd be bent in half if it wasn't for the wood at her back. Her leg crossed in the small of your back. A proper, all-consuming kind of wrecking, with your name on it.

"Yes." Tzuyu nods into your temple, “just- that.”

You're kissing the crook of her neck; your fingertips sliding right against the end of her, your fingers pressing into her and stretching the girl to her limits, making her tremble in her own skin, making her insides melt for the next round, and the next round, and the next; the best, and worst, and longest-lasting kind of high. Your fingertips push together, flutter apart, and Tzuyu's eyes open all of a sudden, locking onto yours.

"Please," she gasps, this one thing. She has tears in her eyes: her face falls into your hands like water, a long drip, and she's all but unraveling.

"I'm going to make you cum, okay?" you tell her, and it sounds so sincere that she simply nods. She trusts you. Implicitly. You see how something in her relaxes, muscles unwinding as though for one last moment. Then you lean down, to her ear, to murmur: "say you're mine."

Her teeth are gritting. You can feel every last point.

"Just yours," she mutters, and it's barely even audible, but she'll say it: over and over, as her orgasm builds, before her mouth goes slack. "Always been. From the very beginning, please-"

“Fuck,” you bite down, and she looks like she’s won.

“So long, y’know?” she manages, in her halting voice, as if you haven't got two fingers up her sweet, perfect cunt, which is, currently, gripping the shit out of your hand, the hungry slutty muscle spasms, a slippery fist; it's not too hard getting Tzuyu to talk dirty and vulgar like a total degenerate - all it takes is the circle of your thumb and she��s perfect and pliant and absolutely out of her mind. “Since like, forever-”

You need her to stop. Need her to be quiet. Your palm lands over the shape of her mouth. She's murmuring something else, but it's muffled - and that's perfect, really. You’re not going to hell; all the devils are already here, getting off on the impropriety-

On the fucking drag of your fingertips. If it isn’t mean, it’s definitely cynical. Each curl of a knuckle unwinding her, a little more, a little further. The gush of her slick that’s collected on the webbing between your fingers is getting unruly, and you’re pressing her mouth flat against your hand, muffling the sheer appreciation.

“Shh,” you tell her, and she seems to calm - insofar you find a spot inside her that makes her eyes roll back and her chest shudder. “Don’t. Hold still for me, I want to watch you cum, Tzu.”

The only thing you can hear beyond the stilted breathing against your hand is her wet cunt getting stretched and fucked on your fingers. It’s so simple. So straightforward. The front of her orgasm makes her jolt against your hips and you pin her again, just to see those gorgeous eyes opening and shutting in sync.

It's this beautiful thing, watching her cum; her flushed cheeks, her pupils blown.

"Good girl," is the only thing you manage in response. "Such a good - such a good little-"

She moans into your hand and finally the muscles of her core tighten, tipping over the precipice as she tips back from the edge. "Ah, you - oh, it feels so-”

You tell her not to talk, and thumb her sensitive clit until the girl's screaming.

Her cries cut through the hallway: the friction, your movements - she's grinding desperate to ride her own orgasm. The absolute highs wracking her silent. She doesn't seem capable of getting off her tiptoes, or opening her eyes properly. Her mouth's still gaping beneath your palm with a whimper, her lungs heaving, and her cunt practically burning-hot - or, she just is, she's overheating, and everything else is burning around her.

"I'm going to fuck your pretty little cunt, Tzu," you tell her as her hips jump and her eyes open. You drop her leg, which buckles instantly. "You're going to be good for me, won’t you?"

"Yes, sir," Tzuyu promises you - it makes you wince - like she'd say anything else, with her hips pushing into your hand like she can't remember how not to.

Even with her brain turning to mush, Tzuyu finds it within her to tease, to pull, to coax - as her slick slides down the seam between your fingers, like she's gushing, a wet ribbon coating the backs of your knuckles. There's a fantasy in it, you think - and it's always the unapologetic type, like, they never admit it: they want the dirt, the debasing. There's always a blueprint to it; they want to hear how terrible it is and then have some fun playing into it, playing a part.

Only Tzuyu’s lip is wobbling; she’s looking at you like you’re going to fuck her apart and she’ll thank you for it. There's no play. Tzuyu wants your cum and she's so open-legged about it you can't pretend it's not exactly that simple.

She’s going to fall apart if you don’t shove your cock in her tight cunt. You need to pin her there - fuck her until she’s shaking. You can already see the face she’ll make when you shock yourself inside her-

"What is it, baby?" you ask her, and a beat later, you draw your zipper down with a steady hand, the other working in her mouth, pressing down the tip of her tongue - not exactly holding, not exactly pulling out of her.

Tzuyu sighs, heavy on her eyelids and slow. Very pretty.

"I want-" Her head is lolling. She's in a daze, now, you can tell: her mouth wet and trembling, her legs kicking weakly, a full-bodied tremor overcoming her. Everything wraps around you as your cock slides inside her: the pale-soft underside of her legs, her slender arms. All those lovely, endless tensed lines, her strong abs. She can hold you like this, with only her abdomen tightening, the rest of her almost liquid. Her head knocks into yours. "Fu-fuck my cunt, fill it, please.”

You use the angle, the approach. Her pussy's practically spasming on the thick tip, milking the hardness there - but the deeper, more confident strokes, you feel it in every one of her shaky breaths. The only thing you can see is Tzuyu's dumb little doe eyes, the one-to-two second interval, fluttering in between slow, heavy blinks. The walls of her pussy are all at once so gentle and smooth, her cunt a plush, warm vice on your cock; she's clinging, and hot, and you're so buried inside you could probably pick her apart with a few words alone:

"Please," she's muttering to herself, and every single cry gets stuck in her mouth and vibrates between the both of you.

Your fingertips hook into the curve of her waist, until your nails are sinking into the flesh, pinching gently, and watching her expression twist, you grip her hips with all the bruising-strength in your hands, yank her back onto your cock. Her spine goes rigid as a line of curses fall like rain from her mouth. A shuddering gasp - you have to steady her against you, where her knees lock tight around your waist as though she's worried you're leaving, like she's scared you won't stay-

"Baby," you grit out, like you'd beg too, "Oh- fuck, my baby, you're - you're all mine, okay."

You bury yourself balls-deep - and there's no pretense, it's just you and her, the pace making Tzuyu's little repeating "ah" go choppy with your thrusting, her eyes clamping shut, her limbs locking around you.

"Too deep," she groans. "Jesus, it's-"

"Uh uh," you mutter against the bend of her chin, and press in, still, maybe just to spite her. "Fight me. If it's too deep."

There’s tears in her lashes, she’s sobbing; you’re fucking her so properly you think she wants to kill you. It might even be written into that glossy expression: death, your demise. But her pretty eyes glint with mischief and her lips split into a grin.

"Try me," and this laugh, coming up from your chest - low, amused. "Go ahead. Put my neck in your hand, if you want-"

There's only ever a couple of moves. Like in chess, the combinations repeat, patterns emerge. Tzuyu pulls into your kiss; her wrist pinned to the wall behind her with one of your hands, the other knocking her thighs apart. Her ankles hook into your hips, just as you knew they would. There are so few options for a person; the only solution's the natural one - the urge to match each other's needs; to lose yourself in the easy push and the easy pull.

It doesn't take long before she opens up beneath you: until there's nothing between the hard pound of your hips and her tender, creaming cunt. Then there's that final gasp, this violent pulse as she takes her hands back from you to cup around your ears and press her lips to the line of your cheekbones and nose and mouth, with her tear-slick skin and saliva and, god - she's a whimperer, you now know, but Tzuyu holds her body still enough to not sway. The picture-perfect example of a good little girl -

That's how you push your mouth to hers: the steady-languid thrust of your cock between the hot clamp of her legs. "Oh, god, you’re gonna make me cum again, christ," her cries go, all muffled, right into your lips. She’s a little lost. Fucked-out. Blissful.

It's not right, though; just pinning the girl against a wall - no, she deserves better. You don't let her fall as you drag her into the bedroom. Not until a tumble into the sheets. She doesn’t try to control the fall, you land on top of her, and Tzuyu laughs a little, but it dies into the hard breaths you can feel bouncing back against your mouth. Her soft thighs pressed beneath your weight, quivering still.

"Fuck your cum into me," She huffs out, softly, more air than noise. You’re practically crushing her. And then the tilt of her head, almost inviting, like a question. "Please. I want it."

In hindsight, the real memory of this moment will be a soft and lovely thing - fabricated mostly: her tiny frame shaking, trembling in its effort to take you in, her voice giving out around a cry as she cums again - there's something sacred there, surely, a holiness that isn't altogether safe, considering what this girl is.

You’ll try not to remember how you fucked her and buried your face between her tits, though she did look up at you through her tears and made it sound sweet, said your name just so, or even the fact that she watched her whole body get filled and only smiled with contentment. That part won’t survive - nor the fact you’ll hold the girl down later and cum inside her three times. Until she’s leaking. Details to be confined to Mina’s cabin-secrecy - or at least, to whatever depth of oblivion, past your will to suppress it, her mind reaches when you bury your hand in her hair and pull her head back to really make sure you've hit every corner of her and left your cum there, marking her insides, turning her warm.

And look, Tzuyu doesn't balk. Instead she lets you pull her in close, her nails raking into the nape of your neck, the muscles under your skin. She drags scratches down your back as you sink into her cunt, hot, willing - she’s so fucking wet you’re bottoming out in each sloppy thrust.

"Tzu," you can't stop yourself from muttering, almost reverent. You were right, on all accounts. The girl is a problem.

One that is currently collapsing under you. You push her knees up to her elbows, and all her weight melts under your hands, limp and helpless.

"Fuck, your pussy is unbelievable.” You shouldn’t be fucking her this hard, but, well, you are - “Tzuyu, baby,” and when your hand comes up to her jaw, she palms it. Takes your thumb into her mouth and sucks. Fuck, it’s all slipping, consuming, you need to cum in her, need to bury your cock deep in her cunt and cum right into that wet sopping mess. Fill her up where she’s molten hot and her walls are gripping you so hard they’re practically begging-

"Yeah," she repeats around the digit, flitting her tongue against your fingertip. “Yeah. Cum for me.”

That's how she likes it. She'll scream, if you let her. If you give her the deepest fill. She’ll apologize and she won’t know for what. You already know how her expression will shift as soon as it hits. Head falling back. Her hands fisting in your hair, the bedding - her knees nearly get drawn up, and you push them apart by your fingertips. She whimpers, and whimpers, and you can't stop from fucking the pretty noises right out of her lungs until she's dripping - soaking you, all over the sheets. You want her to feel it when you leave. Your presence. It’s only fair - she should remember some part of you, in exchange for what she’s traded and stolen away - ideally forever.

You thumb at the tear tracks and lift her by a fistful of that pretty dark hair. And for her, you can be kind, you let your lips graze hers. As tenderly as you can manage, which isn't much, but then the angle settles lower, your cock hits deeper, all the right spots - and god, Tzuyu is so easy to fuck. She slips a little, and you’re catching her, pushing deeper, harder - she’s easy to pound too, to hold down and smother and grind deep, to have under you, all boneless, insensible-

"So pretty for me, Tzu," you growl into the shell of her ear, because you can, and another stroke, another velvety drag has you cumming in her hot, little cunt.

Each throb brings more, pumping her full of your cum, and she likes it. Keeps muttering baby, baby please in your ear, and fuck, you almost slip a hand down and make her fall apart too - but - her fingers wrap around your wrist before they get there, so tight.

"Can feel it. So deep," she whispers, when your eyelids screw shut and the mess floods out of her - gets fucked right back in: your hot cum and her thick slick, the creamy mess leaking from her cunt. You pull your cock out halfway, and she does sob - that sounds just like you'd imagine, too. "Please. Oh, my god- sir. That's it. That's it, let it out, sir. Sir, all your cum feels so good in me - please. Please- just give it to me, sir, yes-"

She’s not even taunting or mocking on that ‘sir,’ you think, not the way she sounds now, the halfway-slur. It's all torn up and tired. It makes you press closer, making the head of your cock swell between the thin walls of her pussy. It hurts - the squeeze. And then the soft, pleading sound she makes.

"Anything for you, sweetheart," you groan, a last attempt at a condescending tone. But she's so raw, so broken down by now that nothing is quite right.

"Fuck," she mutters against your mouth, "fuck, thank you," and your palm drags down the length of her sternum, following the angle of her jaw, slipping your palm onto her tits, thumbing at the indent. It's soft, pliant skin, and you pinch: not anywhere sharp or cruel, not especially sensitive, just in a line below the ridge of her rib cage, and it's too pretty a picture not to smile at her, when her entire chest jolts at the contact, the intake of breath. "Sir. Fuck."

"I'm still fucking you later," you assure her, as if her breathing could've convinced you otherwise. "But I wanna hear your voice some more. Hum a little. Give me a yes, sweetheart. Can you do that?"

The noise is barely audible, almost nonexistent, except it is: she hums her assent as you dip two fingertips back into her swollen, well-fucked cunt, scooping out some of the mess. Your fingers hook into her cheek and her mouth opens, because she's so obedient, because that's why it has to be like this.

You rub her bottom lip. Her eyes open into yours; a wet mouth. It's impossible not to see what's right there. It's easy, really, to press through and in, and give her that taste, that warm, velvety brush, like she's been sucking your cock, and maybe - oh, yeah, you'll remind her about it tomorrow, how she's a needy little slut for it, can't get enough - how you could've fucked her face until she was drooling and out-of-her mind - but the way her eyelashes flutter against your touch; the look-

You’ll take your time. You know what she wants: more than anything. It's the thing you can read. Maybe the hot, sticky mess, the flush in her cheeks. A touch to her face. Your thumb in her mouth, too, stretching, prying, holding. More cum falling beneath her tongue, dripping in those gaping, half-open red lips.

She’s licking your load from your knuckles, your Tzuyu. You can’t believe it.

"Swallow," you tell her.

"Mmm," and it’s there: this gorgeous expression on her features, her eyelids dropping, the shimmer, the shine. You'd do anything to keep it there.

You let your thumb leave the corner of her mouth and it stays open, just the tip of her tongue darting out to taste what little she can. The rest of her lulls back with a satisfied murmur, eyes half-closed, clearly the type of content-afterglow of wanting the man who'd just ruined her. A gratitude, or a simple, silly thing, if he would just pick her up in his arms: "thank you, sir."

Her panties end up back around her hips, and a new shirt's thrown haphazardly on, a soft, gray cotton which rides down, slipping past one pale shoulder. And then she turns over, to the side, her back curling into the heat of your chest. There's no attempt at leaving or any plans either. The arm you've loosely wrapped around her waist simply tugs. It's not subtle or even nice: your hand rucks up the fabric and snaps the waistband, and the soft cotton doesn't stop it from being painful.

"Fuck me again." Tzuyu shakes off with a shrug. She's wiggling her ass, practically. She's not wrong, you suppose - your cock hardens easily, more of a reaction. "Are you just going to - keep teasing?"

“Such a brat,” you say, and that makes her whole body tense; she makes the most beautiful sounds for you, but words, praise, humiliation - those always hit harder. You know your girl.

"Your brat," says Tzuyu, easily. "You can do whatever you want."

Your grip on her hip is brutal. Of course you know. That doesn't mean you can't look for loopholes, anyway, right? You don't move, but the threat's there.

The look she shoots over her shoulder is smug. "I like it rough, or something. Doesn't it make you mad that someone could've had me before?"

"Should I be?" You're swiping your cockhead through her folds before you have a chance to say, "Should I care that some guy's had my little cocksleeve before? Should I be angry that someone used my pretty toy before I got to?" You thumb at the tightness, and Tzuyu gives up the front immediately and jerks her hips backward. "If I wasn't the first?"

"Not exactly," comes Tzuyu's mild answer, "not if I was always thinking of you. Plus, they didn't make me feel like that." She tips her head up, to nip at your jaw. She's smiling so fucking coy when she adds: "please, don't hurt me too bad."

You wrap your hands around her. Press a kiss into her shoulder.

“Or do, maybe. Whatever feels natural, you know," she bites down.

"The hickeys are going to be difficult," you agree. "People are gonna see them and they'll picture themselves, probably, with you spread out, huffing, gasping - fucking you out of a brain."

"As they should," she says, and then hums this low, heartfelt note into the mattress. "So how hard can you do this, hm?" She's moaning into the pillow as you slip back into her cunt, but it's a challenge, the tilt in her voice. "Like, if I ask, real nicely."

Who’d have ever guessed she was so filthy. All hidden behind the pristine, the perfection. The prim girls are always the worst: all that beauty means more to them wrecked than revered - it means they've won, again.

Well, that works just fine. She's won you over.

You lean into her shoulder, murmuring, “you’re pushing your luck here, Tzu.”

“Am I?” Her head tilts back until it finds the curve of your jaw. Those deep brown eyes flashing. She knows what’s coming, her pussy tightening prettily. "I'm sorry, sir. I’ll clean up my act."

And the little smile. The fucking dimple, proudly stitched into her cheek - right as you pull her back onto you again, your length working its way slowly into her cunt. The way her ass fits in your hips lets you know you're no match for this girl: how unbelievably good it feels to be inside her. Hot, tight, wanting. Pressed tight between her gorgeous thighs.

“Guess I never noticed,” she says, before falling quiet with the soft punch of breath as you drag her backwards, against your body and the rocking press of your hips. Her eyelashes tremble while your cock nudges its way fully inside her pussy. The rest, as it seems, is silent: only the crash of skin, the sound of your breathing.

You’re already gathering her hair into your fist when you tug her back to your waist, mouth hovering right at the shell of her ear: "fuck, you take my dick like you're made for it. Do you even know how good your pussy feels? I'll ruin you if you let me. We can find out together," you tell her, pulling her back onto your cock. A wordless, pained, perfect whimper.

Tzuyu lets herself go slack against your chest.

She's taking you like a dream and that's it, that's enough, all you've got to say, and Tzuyu, jesus-fucking-christ, she does it with a laugh: this awful, melodic, bright, sweet, airy fucking thing: "don't fucking test me, Tzuyu -" you repeat, a warning.

Tzuyu bats those long lashes, like it'll mean anything, like this isn't all the proof you need.

"Okay. Don't tease, then.” Her hand reaches up to the nape of your neck, finds your body close and hot. She sighs. “I want to feel it, sir. So much that I can't walk after. That I'll still have you in me. I want it all to hurt. Is that too much?"

All she does is try to hide her smiles, and she's terrible at it. There's a gasp buried underneath her giggling, one that Tzuyu loses every time she moves her body with yours. There are only two conclusions now: either she's that perfect of a fuck or she's as full of shit as you are. Either way, the dimple's giving her away - her smile, her lips, the full, syrupy brown of her gaze.

Tzuyu wraps that leg up and back around you and the angle is devastating.

"Baby, I want you- I want your cock deeper - yes, baby. Deeper - as deep as it'll go. I want you to fuck me until I can’t think, until there's nothing I can do. Seriously. Fuck me."

Her hand dives over the shirt; there's no question when your gaze follows the trail she takes over her tensing body, over the curve of her breasts and down to where she's dragging at her pussy, where she's exposed herself. She finds the space and lets the fingertips flutter down, onto her needy, swollen clit; the place where your bodies join and separate; the throbbing pulse of her pussy.

"And then fuck me some more,” she adds, like that'll help. Her pussy fits you like a glove - it’s not fair. It’s not right.

But she's so beautiful up close, eyes fluttering in pure, concentrated rapture as she loses the tension in her face - one more thing that the facets, angles, and shades of Tzuyu become, something you tuck away in a vault somewhere safe; a secret just between the two of you.

Her hand runs up your thigh, fastens back on your hip. “You owe it to me, to use my body a little bit, don’t you think?”

There's no sense fighting it, not anymore - maybe there never was - and when you grip Tzuyu's upper thigh, tilt her leg upwards, she gives you an anticipatory hum. This light sound. An ankle lands over your hip, and what follows is a tight, enveloping slide, your cock buried in her wet pussy. So close together that she can't move much at all except to take it - the hard thrust, the one that forces its way up to the hilt. She's impossibly, overwhelmingly soft, a pleasure unlike any other. The absolute worst kind.

She knows exactly the danger of getting involved with you, and when she cums, once, again, and once more - her eyes water, her voice flooded - you think, so do you.

It’s in the hours of the morning that’re not quite today, nor quite tomorrow when Tzuyu leans on the end of the bed as she stretches. A loose t-shirt is draped over her petite body - you glance over at her as the bottom of the fabric lifts, exposing more skin across her legs. No matter the circumstances, the space she inhabits will always feel charged. She could wear a potato sack and have the same effect, you suppose, because that's just how she is: Tzuyu is magnetizing.

"That is definitely not yours," you say, finally.

The girl has a lovely arch to her back, a golden glow of perfection that you can't find elsewhere. That's when Tzuyu laughs and spins around. "Is that a question?"

You only have yourself to blame. Of course it's not hers. The shirt's oversized and could fit all five feet, eight inches of her like a tent. It doesn't belong to her, but her heart-shaped lips make you feel stupid, so you're giving her a second chance. You really need that shirt back. You packed light, it's your favorite tee, it’s a family heirloom, or something - whatever makes her get it off, you guess. You sit up against the bed, and watch her fingers hook into the hem as it slowly peels off from her frame.

And that is - a vision.

You already knew - but it's worth repeating, or forgetting your name and every last bit of your existence for; the sharp collarbone, the striking red lines beneath them, the palest, sweetest chest. Her breasts, a bit smaller, a bit rounder than normal (not that you would know), sit heavy in her hands, soft and full - oh, the hickeys, the perfect peaks and the bruised nipples - she's an aphrodisiac.

"I want one later," she tells you, and runs a hand over her breast, pressing against the angry red marks that color the pale skin.

"A shirt?"

She turns back toward the mirror, an image reflected tenfold - a beautiful flush on her high cheekbones. It's only a small win to think that those rosy cheeks are there because of you. Only a little one, if at all. "One of yours, sure."

You laugh, but she looks taken aback. "What, you mean like a keepsake?"

"Hey, if it smells good." Tzuyu brings up the neckline to her nose, eyes fluttering shut for a brief second before they snap closed. "Yes. Like a keepsake, is that so unnatural?"

"Has anyone ever told you that you are, like, really forward." You thought you knew, but there's this part of you that wonders. Why the sudden revelation. "Not that it isn't obvious. I meant...with the rest. Just to clarify."

"With sex, you mean?" Her smile turns a little sheepish. "I can tone it down a little. I don't even notice sometimes, I just talk."

You walk forward and wrap your arms around her waist. You fit easily around her. "Don't," you say, quietly, against the back of her neck. "It's nice, in a way."

She cranes her head to trade the reflection of your eyes for the real thing. Her body is soft, warm. "You like to talk too."

"Right."

"Your favorite past-time."

"Point taken." Your thumb runs down the middle of her breast and traces her nipple. It's tender, you note. You can’t really keep your hands off her waist, or stop touching her tits - because who would ever let something so delightful pass them by? Not you. No way. "Want to hear a story?"

"If it's coming from you," she whispers, a little smile, a lot of entendre, "I’ll listen to anything."

"Do you see the wall over there?" You nod to the window. She follows it with her gaze, her chin jutting towards your shoulder, her long neck arching. It's hard not to kiss it. There's a clear stretch of drywall beside her desk. She nods. "When I came here with Sana and Mina last," and your nose presses into her hair, inhaling her, the way she smells like something tropical: vanilla and citrus. Something far from here. "I put up a few paintings. I'm handy sometimes, a hammer seeking a nail sorta thing."

Tzuyu almost snorts, and sways a bit in your grasp. You tighten your hold, not wanting to drop her. "Oh?” she teases out, suggestive. “Show me."

(You shouldn’t. You can’t stop, frankly. Fucking Tzuyu is in its own category: the luxury, the treasure, the extravagance; feeling between your fingers the finest silk, the richest cashmere.

Her palms slide higher up the wall, fingers splayed. The curve of her back, the pull of her hair. Tzuyu kissing you like the world will end and the moon will be the first to know, her fists curling into your back, a furious, frantic urgency - Tzuyu fucking you. Well. Tzuyu always, always kissing you; it's the universe resetting, it's a timeline rewritten, it's trading everything sweet for salt, giving you teeth and tongue, the insides of her lip rubbed raw - she tastes like 80 Proof, a sticky, melting liquor, and it goes down too easy. "Why are you making this hard for me." It's not a question, her face in your neck - then she says, like there's a hundred other things, a hundred thousand ways you can ask:

"What makes you think I want to make this easy?")

The power goes out early in the morning.

Which means you're in the dark. But, it's alright. You consider for a moment the omen-like timing, if such an idea is ludicrous in the first place. This could be a metaphor. After all, what is Tzuyu if not a classic trope? It isn't fair to judge anyone based off their flaws. For starters, you have more than you can count. You consider a moment longer, that the timing isn't metaphor-worthy. After all, if this was a punitive force, you're certain that it would've been more apparent, more explicit, if the electric panel had burst into flames or the cable box was shot-out; something bigger, flashier, less like something that you'd play up for theatrics. And it probably would've been when you had the girl on all on fours, your handprints seared into the round of her ass-

Or, when she got on her knees. The snap of darkness setting in as you slipped your cock out of her lips and spilled a rope of hot cum on her face, in her hair. The way she just relaxed into it, a reverence to her being baptized, kneeling. “Oh, Tzu,” you said, with a fist around a cock, and jerked the rest right out on her tongue. You probably would have heard her sniffle after, still recovering from her choking a bit.

Or, when you had half a mind to kneel down between her legs in the shower, suck her clit until she was dripping, fucking her open with your tongue; you could taste her sweat, her slick, and imagine how hard it must be to put up that front: biting into a washcloth, trying not to fall apart.

(Karma arrives late, or it doesn't arrive at all. Or, something. Who knows. It doesn't matter. The outcome would have remained the same.)

Tzuyu opens the sliding glass door to the balcony.

You watch her from behind - there's a small pile of snow at the edge. The whole mountain has gone into complete darkness. No moon, no lights, no light poles, or blinking bulbs or strobe signs or house lights - just night. How eerily romantic, that. And if there was an excess amount of snow before, it only got heavier, thicker, now weighing on the steel bars of the railing.

Tzuyu rests her hands there, leaning her hips a bit forward, so far that her knees lock. Her back bends. "It's so weird," she breathes out, and you can see your exhales, both of yours. "I feel like you and I are the only ones here right now. Everyone else is probably taking shelter. Maybe the power went out for everybody."

"Maybe."

"It's all a bit spooky. Or creepy. But, exciting too, yeah?" She turns, just enough. Her fingertips run along the side of her face. "In the mountains, yes." She doesn't even need to say the rest, doesn't need to ask: does that appeal to you? All this isolation? I could scream and scream and nobody would ever hear it. I'm yours to fuck, to have, to own, to do anything to-

"It'll probably be fixed in the morning," you tell her. "Who would turn it back on tonight. To this place. They'll start at the closest areas to town and go out from there."

"Mina has a generator," Tzuyu supplies helpfully. "No living clue where."

"Want to look for it?"

She lets her head tilt, as if to follow the expanse of trees leading up into the rocky ground. "Would it kill us to wait for tomorrow?" Her bare toes curl into the floorboards. The blanket stays wrapped tightly around her shoulders, and a single line of her wrist can be seen when she tilts her arm a certain way. "We won't die or anything."

You wouldn't die, not before being smitten with a different death, falling headfirst and in love; and that's what you've felt since the start, since the beginning: you've always wanted more. It was always inevitable, her letting her weight fall backwards, in the living room - all your filthy secrets falling out. It felt like the sky had dropped. All over the bedroom floor.

"Then let's get some sleep," you say, but still step closer, as you do with anyone, to brush aside the strand of hair over her ear.

It feels like the temperature must have dropped dramatically. Not that it bothers either of you very much, you note, when you move under the blankets together. Some might feel embarrassed by the necessity, but then, most aren't half the people that you both are.

Tzuyu presses her fingers under her thigh to keep her legs shut. To avoid the cold, she claims, but you can hear the slippery noises that her cunt makes as her body shakes with each thrust of her fingers. You almost suggest that you heat her up in an entirely different fashion, but the smile, her smile, gets the best of you. Instead, you let yourself touch and trace, and feel her wherever it may land. There's no sense in pretending either, so you tangle yourself into her: a finger between her legs. Another in her palm, resting against her hip. When you press your thumb against her cunt, she begins to smile, too, as if to show you exactly what kind of person she is. That is to say, completely insatiable.

You let your free hand slip under her chin. Tilting her head up, exposing the faint pulse-points. You wonder if she's imagining the things you'd do if the snow never cleared: toying with her hair, petting the top of her head, speaking pretty and dirty and pressing kisses against her bare back, in a rhythm, as you fuck her without care - something close and tight like the little noises she makes and how they die off, finally, when you push your cock deeper, still.

There are no words between you anymore, maybe - but she's not laughing, and you're not angry, and it's only one second before your mouth is on her neck, kissing the column of her throat. It's easy to sleep with her - so, so simple, if not anything else.

"I don't have anything in the morning," you murmur to the top of her shoulder, barely moving as not to break the moment. To tell her it's fine to leave her body or keep it forever. Either way. Both, if it's an option.

She smiles. Her eyes are still closed. "It'd be weird if you did."

She can be a tease - a complete brat - sometimes. Like now. But then again, who would you be if not the person who falls for exactly that.

And that is a weakness: you have a very specific kind of hunger, that won't fade, that can only be sated. She knows it, and yet her coy grin remains. It's a habit, not a mistake. "Yeah, well," you lean up onto your forearm, pressing the knuckles of your right hand against her soft cheek. "This is the most inconvenient of all places, but- don't worry about it."

"Meaning?"

"I don't think they sell birth control or morning after pills or anything up here," you explain, lightly. Your gaze passes from her eyes to the pink of her bottom lip and back, again.

"Do I look like I'd care?" Tzuyu sighs and takes your wrist, pulling your arm over her body. "I know what I'm doing," she adds, which might actually be a lie. "Obviously. You don’t need to pretend you’re like, responsible, or whatever."

Yes, obviously. As if it was all as easy as pulling strings, deciding exactly which points to tease, to stress. You should know. You just kissed and held down and fucked and fucked your cum into this one: you know how to move her strings better than any.

You flip the switch in the kitchen. Up, down, up, down: except, nothing. The electricity is still decidedly off by mid-morning, and you and Tzuyu end up having actual, quality, conversation.

You sit her on the kitchen counter - though it’s not fated to last long, because her legs loop around your waist, and she tugs your sweats down as you try to fix the two of you lunch - Tzuyu gets what Tzuyu wants, of course - so you're standing there fucking her while her head leans back on the cool marble, her silky dark hair tumbling off the end of the counter.

She ends up propped up on one elbow. Eyes hazy and half-lidded, fixed on the glide of you into her creamy folds, spreading her wider, wider.

Tzuyu asks questions - all innocuous, at least to the ear. About your past. Who you were before all this. Whether you want kids, when, whether you were religious, once. She gets personal before you have her cumming and incoherent: how you sleep, in what positions. How often you jerk yourself off. What you're thinking of when you do. How you'd use her - not the lewd version, the spitting, filthy iteration, just the you and her and her being yours part. And she gets specific about that. She'll slide up to you and bury her nose in your throat, wrap her arms around your shoulders, mumble about wanting you closer - you feel her, maybe more than you should - but every few seconds you're sliding home into that pussy and her chest heaves out a deep breath-

"I want what's in here," she finally says, her delicate palm cupping your balls. She's pulling you into her on each stroke like the fucking sun's gone out and this is her last chance - she's magnetism, gravity, a blackhole you'd give up the rest of the universe to. She's got one fist on your shirt, and the other hand on your sack, and her pussy's fluttering around you, and she's watching you watching her, and it's infinity:

"The idea of you." Tzuyu smiles at the way your eyes narrow, the way the word turns itself over and over on your mind, her. She tilts her face to look at your expression. "Like, in here. All your cum. There's so much. Can I please have it-"

You swear.

"Pretty please, baby," Tzuyu's asking if you'll fill her up, if you'll make her your cumdump, keep fucking her even with all your cum inside her, asking what the worst of your fantasies are - you fuck harder, deeper, and she nods eagerly, tightens that fist in your shirt. "Can you give it to me? Please, it's the only thing I need, and we both know I always need something, please."

"Jesus fucking christ," you tell her, helpless, and it's never felt better: her cockwarming on your lap, her teasing and teasing until your self-control's paper thin - won't you? won't you? fucking breed this slutty little cunt? won't you cum until I'm so full it's spilling out-

The snap. Like falling, it’s something you notice right away, but only ever understand a long ways down.

"Yours," moans Tzuyu, half in an accusatory fashion - fuck - she's almost gasping: "fuck - just use me, use your cumdump, 'cause you'll never have a tighter cunt than this."

God. Damn. Her. You cum so hard it aches, and there's no hesitation:

"My cocksleeve, my good girl, shit-"

"You could leave a baby in me, even, just like that. Couldn't you. Isn't that hot. And nobody could do a fucking thing." Tzuyu’s tits are spilling out the sides of her camisole and she looks like pure porn, in person. Your cum is dripping out of her and you watch as it spills on the marble.

"Is that what my girl wants?

She smiles, again, so prettily.

“You wanna be full of cum, is that it?" You grab Tzuyu's hair; pull just enough to get the point across. "Is that it? You're a perfect cumslut who needs all that fucking cum, huh? Wants it pumped deep? You like being full of it, right Tzu? This needy little cunt loves the thought of getting bred? Knocked up? Goddamn, Tzu."

"That's me," agrees Tzuyu, in the afterglow. Dimple dug deep. "Yeah. Your personal cumslut, sir."

She just grins when you reach between her thighs, pressing your fingers into the cum you've fucked into her, before you decide that the wet warmth is yours and you’re going to fuck her even further into delirium.

Her hips come up off the granite, desperately.

"Uh-huh," she mumbles, already drifting - you put her off her balance, for real. "God, yes, please," she's whispers, as if all the ways you'd ruin her were prayers, like she wants to start a new religion all her own: you're a god, and it's all about Tzuyu - just you, and her, asking, again, the questions piling on top of other ones, the sweet drawl, the sinful want, the curiosity-

Fuck. She wants everything about you, your dirty secrets and your nice manners - the stories behind your scars, your funny little quirk of raising just one eyebrow at a time-

You turn her around. She's made for this, intelligently designed: her tiptoes just touching the floor, the delicious curve of her lower back, your cock sliding effortlessly into her and hitting a spot she arches into like it's divine intervention and that pussy making its first church of your name. The cum you'd already left in her cunt is making everything wetter, making those obscene sounds echo in the space around the two of you. It's rapturous; you let her feel it slow, and deep, and it’s bliss.

“Tighter,” you growl into her ear, and her cunt clenches like you own it.

The girl's figure is pristine, an ass that belongs under spotlights, on camera; those thick lips, the curtain of her hair when she tips her chin down. It's all been in magazines, billboards, it's been idolized - she is the icon and you're the follower, but, this weekend, here and now-

"So. Fucking. Good-" she gasping, falling apart. She’s collapsing and it’s not even noon.

"Oh, the world knows." You pull her up, hold her body in yours and snap into her cunt. Her skin's hot, feverish, the light that filters through the blinds and the snow slows outside.

It all happens without a moment’s notice - Tzuyu reaches behind and clutches your thigh, as if she could ever pull you deeper, like it wouldn't tear her in half. But you find yourself in a position to grab the edge of the counter; your phone buzzes. It's Sana, probably asking what's up. You want to ignore it and keep fucking Tzuyu from behind. You want to hold her hips, be mindful of the marks, the bruises, sink your fingers into her hair, her tits - you end up murmuring things like please and fucking perfect and if we were a little more religious then you'd be a sin to remember-

Fuck, you're cumming again. The writing’s on the wall as soon as your cock makes her breath draw short and her eyelids snap shut. She’s exquisite, a masterwork - you’re painting in broad strokes, all over the beautiful curves of her ass - not only because you’ve needed to see it cast in hot streaks of white, all debased with your cum, but simply to prove a point; to say that you can. You cum on her cheeks, her cunt, you pump your fist around your shaft and cum in the crotch of her panties too.

"That's it, Tzu," you croon, "look at that," your spent cock twitching against her plush thighs, her dripping pussy lips, and she's sagged forward, onto the counter, your thumb running through a particularly thick rivulet. Her face dips down, pressed to the cold surface, and the words coming out aren't coherent, are just filthy and true; but they're there: she's taken you and kept you, all for herself.

(Thank you, she says, for making me into your little cockwarmer, your toy, for breaking my fucking cunt, baby - thank you, please, thank you-

You could end your career tomorrow, it wouldn't matter. Just saying, man. This girl, fuck.)

There’s a beat, the strained breathing, the panting, the disbelief. She ends up kissing your chin after sliding back to her feet, a saccharine imitation of chaste. Pulls up her shorts without a second's consideration. Her panties, still sticky with your spend - well. She puts those back, too, grinning dreamily.

Oh, how is a woman like Tzuyu even real, huh? You really do need to find out, somehow.

"Your imagination is…" you say, your tone flat. “I swear.” But you don't deny that the sex isn't. You don't think of her that way. She doesn't ask you for your hopes or your dreams or the full gambit of life, as some people might. She asks about what you think about at three am when she's got one hand on her tits and one on her clit and one finger in her mouth:

"Anything we can think of," she corrects, her long limbs squeezing her tighter to your front. Her grin bright, so perfect she's beyond believable, and how can such a dissonance exist in something, someone, you're holding on to? "I mean, we can if you want."

"Maybe we'll talk about that - how you can handle me," is what Tzuyu rasps, softly, tying her hair up afterwards: and you realize this is her post-coital. For her, sex makes her nice. Sweet.

You've already fixed her lunch; Tzuyu comes to sit down at the table with you. "Like, for future reference." You're raising an eyebrow. She grins at that, kicks her feet. Her hips don't do the same, though - no doubt still a little sore, like her lips. She's worn out, finally. She won't try to slice off and claim any more of your aching soul.

“You have no business thinking about babies.”

“Tell that to my ovaries.”

"You have a breeding kink, is what it is, really. I’m being completely serious."

"Well, am I pregnant yet?" Tzuyu flutters those lashes, puts those big pretty eyes on full display. "No? Then I'm getting off on something else, clearly, isn't it obvious, like maybe there's something about being on the other end of someone so big. Have you considered how wet you make me when you-"

"Tzuyu, cut it out," you chide her. The little brat's giggling. You aren’t going to let her know how pretty the noise is.

"Fine." She reaches across the table, puts her small hand on your larger one. "Like I said - how to handle me." Her tone is placating, the sharp edge to her personality blunted. It's different with Tzuyu - after sex, she gets like this: playful, easy, fond. The mess you've just made, the cunt you've stuffed full, that's another Tzuyu altogether. "For your... benefit."

"My benefit, really?"

"Aside from getting my brains fucked out," she explains, "is what I meant."

"Not making this easier, babe."

Her mouth curves a slow smile. She likes when you call her names, cute shit like that.

"I need to call Sana back," you explain, finally.

Tzuyu nods.

"In a bit," you add. "Also," you're saying, leaning forward. Her head tilts toward yours.

She's receptive, her whole body pliant and lazy, after that, well, marathon - she'll roll with whatever you're suggesting. This has always been a dream to her, she's mentioned. (Who has dreams like that? Someone so young, that innocent - well, yeah.)

But you kiss her temple, lightly. "Gimme a minute."

Tzuyu blinks, in that catlike way she has of staring, intent. Her mouth slightly pouty.

"Then you get your turn," you offer.

"Deal," she nods.

And that makes her beam - your beautiful, very good, very perfect, little toy.

"You're going to have to slow down," you tell Sana over the phone. "I have zero reception up here, sorry."

"The highway is shut down, I literally can't get to the other side of town," she yells over the sound of tires rolling on snow. Sana does not sound in the best spirits. If anything, she sounds slightly desperate. "Part of the mountain collapsed on a cliff somewhere. Fuck's sake. The weather is still terrible and they're shutting everything down. Literally shuttering every road off the base of the mountain."

"You sound good," you deadpan, and when Sana grumbles, say, "try the next exit, head around and take a back road-"

"Yeah, except it's snowing like nobody's fucking business right now - I'm not going to risk exposure to try to get there on my own."

"What should I do?" you try, a bit helpless. "Stay here?"

"Why are you even asking," Sana scoffs, "yes, stay there, stupid. Tell Tzuyu you can't drive in snow, that she can't possibly expect me to deal with any of you leaving a safe situation." There's another brief pause. "Ah, seriously, there is not a single living human being near here that can be helpful - and they're supposed to bring us new tires? Here? No, fuck's sake."

"Oh," is all you say.

"Don't worry about me." Sana's voice goes up a notch. "Just be there, alright? Stay warm, okay?" A crackle, more radio waves or distance.

"Text me," you urge. "Tell me you're getting in safe."

"Of course, of course," and that's when you get the click, the abrupt disconnection. You stare at the device in your hand and consider the possibilities, and the outcomes, and how to stay sane while alone with temptation incarnate for a couple nights.

Maybe this really is hell. Or it's a trial. There’s the storm, and there’s your angel, contextually out of place. You're incapable of controlling yourself, clearly.

You sigh, let your gaze slide. The lights are still out, and in their absence, Tzuyu has dragged every available blanket or bed sheet within her reach into the living space, spread a dozen pillows across the sofa and is now occupying one of the corners: there's a book, opened onto her lap, as her nails run circles down the blanket draped over her lower back.

"Tzu, what exactly did Mina mention to you about the generator," is the first thing you blurt, upon entry, and Tzuyu smiles, holding up the page against the fading daylight - which is currently hardly much. "Better question: how are you able to read in the dark?"

"Takes a lot to shake me off, honestly,” she says, which you already know to be true. “Also my eyes aren't old like yours, so."

"Wow."

"What?" Tzuyu grins, tilts her chin. "Do you want me to say that you're ageless? Thirty, flirty and thriving. So impressive, your youthful vigor, that sort of deal? How attracted I am to your experience," the insinuation, this sudden intimacy. She laughs. "Seriously. Let me read."

"Apparently we're going to be stranded for a few days."

"That's cute." She pauses. "Sucks for Sana."

"You don't know what sucks for Sana."

She peeks over the corner of the page, then, grinning, the teeth of a joke. "What's on the menu, then? Hm? So far, the best part was waking up beside you," and you almost grin, at how honest she manages to be without seeming conceited. How shameless Tzuyu has become in the ways of liking you, and maybe a bit of who she thinks you are. And why that's dangerous, really, and it makes the guilt burrow down beneath your ribs a bit: "my ass hurts," she's complaining now, which is only going to encourage the teasing-

"As it should," you comment, then watch her eyes sharpen, glint with mischief. "Oh," you realize, with a shrug, "do we get to cuddle again."

(Let's hope, for a moment, this isn't really karma. Because really, it'd just be an uncalled-for injustice: Chou Tzuyu delivered down on all fours, head tucked into your thighs as a fist grabs a handful of her hair, a slow push and pull - your cock sinking into the velvet warmth between her lips, again, again, and again until she's ruined and crying and still swallowing you whole - as she, not the universe, forces a massive dose of her own medicine down your throat. You see how that might not be quite fair.)

"But I'll have to leave again," you're protesting - no heat, no vitriol. "There's, like. Stuff I gotta grab."

"Then grab me," she sighs, pats her lap, "read over my shoulder. Make out with me. Just keep me warm. That'd be very helpful, and I would be so grateful."

Well, fuck. You're not one for inflating egos - at least not anybody else's - especially when, unchecked, that tends to do the exact opposite of keeping them grounded.

"Fine," you're muttering, and you clearly have a habit for capitulation wherever Tzuyu is concerned, the quirk in her lips, the quiet pride in her dimple, the cadence in her speech - which she's already smug about.

"Wonderful." She taps the back of her fingernail against a book page, waits, just a few more seconds, her grin spreading as you begin to fumble around. "Please," she says, flicks her gaze back down, a tease, "take all the time you need."

The thing about mountain air is it has a way of clearing your head, cooling down the frenetic thoughts of indecision and uncertainty and moral conflict.

Well, maybe that's a slight overreach, the mountains also have a way of getting you killed, but the intention was to look upon the white caps and ponder. It didn't work.

You eventually find the generator. You hear the clicks of metal and electrical wiring, the roar of the motor kicking on, a steady hum. Then, Tzuyu pokes her head out from behind the shed, her cheeks tinted a warm pink; her eyebrows rise up a beat.

"Yes?" you prompt.

"Is it working?"

"Does it look like it's working, miss?"

"Looks a-okay to me," and she presses the heel of her mitten into her teeth, tries to bite it back down her wrist; she stumbles, a moment, slightly clumsy in the snow. You instinctively reach out. Your hands brush the outer seam of her pajamas, the heavy fabric of her coat - "oh," you can feel the instant the shivers start, "fuck, I'm cold.”

“We’re both probably pretty due for a hot shower,” you say.

"Yeah, you came in my hair. Er, sorry, I meant, we both need a hot shower."

"It was really adorable when you were rutting back on my dick like some horny animal," you snort. "Admit it."

"No comment."

"So shy."

Her smile cracks open, and her breath is a white plume. "Fuck you."

"Sure, babe," you're agreeing, the tone almost saccharine. "If you insist."

She blinks back in mild surprise, the blatant answer - and god, her fucking eyes: soft, dark, her eyelids barely lift up. Even when they should've narrowed. That was another thing to learn. (Maybe, god - who knows, maybe she's still learning how not to care.)

She runs a hand through her hair. The scarf around her neck is fluffing up. There's white clumps settling on the fibers, slowly dissolving into a damp mess.

"Listen," Tzuyu murmurs, wraps an arm around yours to help herself up.

Your palm settles on the round of her thigh. She shifts, her hand dropping lower - tugs at your arm until she has an elbow in hers. The backs of her knuckles settle against your hip bone, her fingertips sliding across the waistband: you walk backwards through your snowprints, gently - the side door to the cabin is unlocked - Tzuyu's stumbling toward it.

"Going to the shower, we're turning the water on," she explains. You grin, feel your own arm, a slow drag around her lower waist; she tilts into it, steps closer. Presses a finger to your chest: "dinner's gonna be in half an hour," she announces, "and before you ask, I've been craving those boxes of instant mac & cheese in Mina's pantry."

"I haven't had one of those in ages."

"Me neither," and with her heel, she kicks the side door shut; Tzuyu yanks on a cord, pulls the blinds closed. It's pitch black. You're chuckling low, turning around - one of Tzuyu's hands smacks over a nearby light switch, illuminating the room just a shade lighter than it was prior. She presses a hand to your chest, a single-minded goal to your front.

You put your hands on her hips.

"It's the kinda thing that makes me feel like a kid again," you hear her say, just slightly; that, and how the white fabric of her sweater twists, pulled to a single point.

"Happens," is the best explanation you can give. She slaps the lightswitch again. Kisses you. You shove a leg forward. She whines. "Be good," you're chiding, though you both stumble until her back is pressed against the wall. "You were just complaining that you're still sore."

"Maybe I can't help it, maybe that's all on you," the end of the sentence fades. Her nails slide up the sleeve of your arm. There's the soft hitch of a moan. "It's just you. So unfair." She rubs up. Swallows like it's instinct, at the slightest hint of friction. You curl your hand, your thumb grazes the waistband of her underwear; her fingertips tighten, her blunt nails sink deeper - press like she means something else, wants something more.

It'll be a few days, at least, more likely a week; and by then, this girl will have you right where she needs you. She's proven, time after time - you can never just say no.

The days bleed together after the snow.

You fuck her, but slower; sometimes softer, a little less raw, the hurt. Not that you'd ever try to take too much: the thought is unthinkable, un-imagined. Infinitely impossible. You'll pull out and empty everything you have, paint her skin, make her ache, fuck until you know exactly where the bruises are and how to touch them, how to breathe the hurt down from her ribs.

But some mornings: she rolls over onto her side, opens her eyes and smiles. Brilliant like the sun, something that would warm your heart even without trying. Some afternoons, you put the fire on; read something aloud from Mina's bookshelves, and watch the red-orange flames turn Tzuyu's cheeks and neck pink and honey. Evenings, especially the colder ones, you're wrapping her up, blankets, sweatshirts, pulling her close: into bed with the lights turned off. She wants the touch, she craves it, she'll almost whimper when you get near her - and it's you, whispering words against her ear; tracing fingertips lightly against her temple, down the nape of her neck, her lower lip-

"How come you don't kiss me, hm?" She sounds sleepy. "Baby. Don't pretend you're a stone. Like, an unfeeling brute."

"I have my limits, princess."

"Like not kissing someone you're fucking." Her face drops from your sight, and Tzuyu turns over: she curls into her comforter, and her legs nudge the back of yours. "That's so fucking cruel," her voice a little whiny. "But okay, okay - tell me the reasons. Just so we can keep going."

"Keep going, huh. Even though I'm mean."

"Well, yeah, I've done much, much worse," the worst, if you think about it; and it's almost true. Maybe her morality was on the rocks long before yours. "Obviously."

You drop a kiss into her hair. "We both know what that mouth of yours is capable of."

She grins into your skin. Presses her lips, like a sign, and stays.

A girl like her inspires the worst in a man, and that's just about it: you think a man would burn the world down for her, with her, and maybe that would be how all things end, someway, somehow - not because of him or her, the full spectrum of his intentions, all the intricacies and subtleties, and hers too. You're both complicated creatures, sure; both very capable and wanting. Of big feelings, deep attachments: the overflow of your good hearts, perhaps; or, rather: the deficits.

She appeals to your worst impulses, in the plainest terms.

"Jesus Christ," you hiss, hands firm on her lower back; your voice breaking; Tzuyu has shed the bedsheets and climbed into your lap, one leg bent at the knee, digging the other into your ribs - her shirt hitches up and over the curve of her spine and then pools at her neck.

"Tell me that's good," she murmurs, hips gyrating, rocking her pussy along your cock. "Like that - right?"

"Fuck- yes," your cock slides into her, your entire length, the rest of the world fogged out: even the fire is quiet. "God, tzu. Feels amazing."

Tzuyu rolls her body forward, rides you with ease, and puts one small hand against your mouth. Her shirt hitches up and over the curve of her spine and then pools at her neck.

"I want to make you cum," she says, all quiet determination and wily confidence, "only you." She rolls her hips in your lap and then finds it: the steady, rhythmic grind down, down. Her ass crashes into your balls; the first telltale sign of that wonderful orgasm to come. "Is it wrong to want this? Like, you and I? Fuck. It feels like your cock was made for me."

"Yeah,” you grit, “fucking you feels - like it's meant to be, huh?"

"Sir," she says with an unhealthy smirk. She’s loving this more than you are, and you can’t really blame her for it: there’s no other sound quite like the slick, wet noise that her pussy makes as her body drops to yours, your cock filling her completely. It's music to your ears.

You grab at her ass, her hip, and pull her closer. She smiles, tilts her face down to you.

"Me too, you know, me too," she murmurs, kissing you softly; when you cup her breasts her breath hitches. "God- fuck- just-"

When she does cum, it's with the faintest little groan; a small, intense quiver in her thighs. You kiss her to swallow down the sound; and feel yourself tip over, and when she fucks you through your orgasm - her smile is dark, wicked, totally satisfied.

And everything else follows, because you're weak: because she makes you want to say no, even while simultaneously being your very favorite yes. You warm your cock inside her with some slow, gentle rhythm, her nipples hard against your shirt, her cries as sweet and earnest as all the best promises; a slow grind down, her fingers scrabbling for the headboard, you lean and lick her breasts, roll her nipples on your tongue - she gasps, tenses, digs her nails hard into your nape.

You'll have her again in the morning, she's adamant.

Her hands find your back, her legs circle your hips. The taste of her sweat. The taste of her nipples; her chest flushed, hair disheveled, pupils blown.

"Not letting me go." She whispers. Her cheeks are a lovely pink. "Even after this?"

You kiss the corner of her mouth, inhaling, wondering what to say.

"Good," Tzuyu tells you, tilting her jaw: "that's really-" She catches her lips with her teeth. "That's so fucking good."

(Her pussy grips your cock like it's the home she's always missed, her lifeline, her safe harbor. And it's dizzying, it's heaven, hell; and, in the morning - when everything is sepia-warm and sleepy - you fuck her again.

A promise, a hope, a plea. It's what makes a girl fall for a guy, in theory.

It's what makes her heart beat. )

"My phone's charging," Tzuyu sniffs the next morning: you're brushing out her hair. The sheets are warm.

You continue combing.

"Sana told me she would be texting, or trying to call."

"Well, that's nice," is all you can manage.

"Babe-" she leans back a bit: turns her gaze to the ceiling, exhaling sharply, "what if she got caught in a whole different avalanche, or fell from the top of a mountain, or something-"

You let go, letting her rest her weight against your thigh. "Honestly? Would serve her right. A little cold, a little damp-"

"If you don't take that back-"

"Alright. Alright. I'll send an apology prayer when I get around to it."

"No you won't." She curls in further, and you stroke her neck, shoulder blade; down the ridges of her spine, across the width of her back.

Tzuyu shudders slightly under your touch.

"Haven't I earned enough good faith, or a clean conscience?"

"Sir, don't pretend."

"Let's pray for Sana, then," you mutter. "Wherever the fuck she is."

"With respect," Tzuyu pipes up, eager: "bitch ain't found."

"Jesus.” You laugh out loud. “At least your brain isn't fully turned to mush, yeah?"

"Give yourself some credit. I can hardly fucking walk. You really pounded the feeling in my legs away."

"Too bad."

"Sorry." And she noses at your collarbone, tugging the waistband of your boxers; "feel free," the drawl of an old, forgotten song, "to make me repent. Baby. Do your thing."

"Right, I forgot that I could convince you to do anything by sliding my dick in your throat. Yikes."

"Baby, just, uh- do whatever." Tzuyu grabs hold of your cock through the thin fabric: one light tap of a finger, "my lips are numb," the suggestion. You really could be her everything: and maybe if you said, stop, please, you won't. She'd pause; look at you like you're insane and maybe spit out what the actual fuck is wrong with you. Like the reality:

This doesn't have to end, no?

"Sorry about your phone battery," you tell her, brushing out the knot at the base of her skull. She exhales, goes soft; lets you tug lightly. "We’ll figure things out when Sana can actually text you, okay?"

"Dumbass. When it's warmer and you drive down to meet her."

"You're not jealous," you tell her. You’ve decided for her.

Tzuyu rolls, leans down on her back, smiling prettily-

"Nope," she agrees, pulling your cock out: already hard, ready to cum down her throat. Her fingers pump soft, slow, the anticipation- "just not done."

"Crazy."

She shrugs and lets the silence calm the world around the two of you; at least for a little while. "Takes a certain kind," she agrees.

"Permissiveness. Like what I'm seeing. Your brand or whatever."

"It’s straight from the heart." She shoots up, making a face you want to kiss. "Honestly."

"Absolutely sincere," you deadpan, and she ignores the jab.

"Tie a bow with my hair," she chuckles, the laughter light, and your fingers graze her temple. "Come on. I'll make you so proud. So pleased. Sir. Let me, let me-"

"Only if I can finish down your throat," you retort - half-joking, but, her eyes grow warm, molten, the lust is immediate - you tip her head, lower it gently - she bites down onto her lip, nods a bit.

You don't take her right away. Not at first. You’re trying to show some restraint, trying not to think about how Tzuyu wears clothes like a vice. She's that kind of girl. Like an accident waiting to happen. She's moving around the kitchen later, poking about the cabinets. She's slid into some jeans that fit her a little too well, and one of those obscenely thin t-shirts.

You watch her back muscles work, how the cotton bunches as she leans, arms extending. Her chest's flat against the counter to grab whatever item's out of her reach. You catch the ribbon in her hair bob slightly back into place when she stands back up. The hairline on the nape of her neck catches a long highlight of a morning, the thin strands a brilliant brown, a spark of warmth in the midst of a muted winter morning - and it's honestly amazing to look at.

(Her ass hangs out in the open like an invitation. Your eyes are running down every curve of denim like they can't help but search.)

"Tzu," is the warning, and she flashes a grin; turns, the expression shifting, wide. "I can literally see everything you have."

"Hm." The front of her shirt lowers, too - her black bralette, barely a scrap of lace and string, visible through the thin fabric. "If I'd known you'd like that so much, you could've told me earlier."

"It's not your job to figure me out."

"Well, I'm not sorry." The words are sugar sweet, with an almost fake concern: her feet pivot, her ass filling your vision- Tzuyu spreads her hands down her outer thighs.

"Be nice," you reiterate. "C'mere."

Her legs snap to you quick.

You are careful, tentative and slow. You leave the ribbon in place and everything; just your mouth, like you have a right to lick down her breasts, her stomach, her clit - like you deserve the faint marks where your hands pressed down onto her waist.

The slow licks, the soft kisses; you could eat her out until the sun sets and Tzuyu was left sobbing through the overstimulation. Her fingers rake your hair like it’s exactly what she’s hoping you’ll do.

When Tzuyu does let go: she doesn't drop. There is no shame, nor shameful whimpers. Instead, she fucking screams, so high and clear it doesn't seem possible: a singer's wail.

"Sir!" she's crying, you can feel it through every tremble. "Oh my god, please-"

You get her to climax twice before the tears fall, your fingers tracing her spine, pressing deeper, a knuckle, then two-

She looks at you in abject reverence, "God, you don't know," is the gasp, "how perfect you are," and you're sure. You'll never get it right again: at least, not without her.

She cums a third time, shivering, collapsing: her eyes wide, glossy, breath shallow, limbs giving in. The sweat clings to her like a lover, a life she doesn't know how to leave.

So, you ask:

"What now, doll?"

Her tongue sweeps the corner of her mouth, a tiny wrinkle.

"Whatever," Tzuyu exhales. "Fuck, whatever, seriously, that was like- amazing- but my throat is actually going to murder me."

"Was the screaming really that necessary."

"Not sure- about anything," is the groggy admission, "like, honestly. Too horny to care, but." She pauses for a second. "You," she finally decides.

"I," is the immediate reply.

"I’ll let you do - anything, but I- can I, like, get a breather? For a minute. Can you wait, like, just."

Her arms open: you settle against her side, and a shaky hand starts combing through your hair. Her other palm lifts to rest against your cheek, cupping it. The nails tap gently along your hairline.

"Been waiting so long, Tzu, honey," and it doesn't sound as cruel or glib as the slip up should be construed - doesn't even bother to count on forgiveness, either. Maybe you're beyond all of that, honestly, and more or less in love, as a result. It’s kind of fucked. What’s a minute more?

She laughs softly, a cough catching up and sounding pained. She's lost her voice, the poor thing, she’s cummed herself hoarse and ragged and you’re proud of your handiwork.

"Honey," you hear her say, and she shakes, pulls herself closer, kisses you back: like the old, gentle motion can ever fully cure the fever of desire that grips the two of you. It's a pipedream, and you're kissing her. It's a pipedream, and you know it.

The calls start coming in after the sun sets and the cabin grows cool with the dark: you feel, faintly, that it's inevitable. That the snow would clear and time would start marching on, a predetermined cycle. (That, maybe, something in the universe - at this stage, almost a hundred years of weather, tectonic plates, astronomical phenomena, interconnected - knew the two of you needed that bit of seclusion.)

"I dunno, just some bog-standard hotel, holiday suites or something. The point is: the roads don’t open until tomorrow and I've been holed up for a while." Sana sighs into the phone. The static pops. "Oh my god, I'm bored out of my mind. I've had like, three full bags of crisps in one sitting, which is just plain wrong."

"You're basically living off carbs." You say this from in front of the fireplace. Tzuyu is sitting on the opposite side of the couch paging through a stack of magazines, wearing a big jumper and sweats and socks pulled up to her knees. Her hair is falling around her shoulders in soft waves, and it makes her look small and domestic and a bit docile - she’d re-tied the ribbon in her hair after you’d fucked it off her, and that more or less completes the look.

"Yes, I have gone off the deep end. A tragic, awful spiral. Because you're not here. Fuck, you have no idea."

"Ah- Sana." You stop. Take a deep breath.

"Do you have any idea? The state of me right now? seriously. I packed so many fucking condoms and the idea of bringing them back home is more defeating than anything else." She lowers her tone a little, then adds, "because, not to be weird, I was kinda sorta hoping we might use them when I got up there."

You blink. Tzuyu isn't even pretending to look anywhere else. Her whole face is shifting into a satisfied expression, and when she catches you looking, she winks.

"Right. Now this might sound like a surprise," Sana is continuing, her voice full of amusement, "but when I get stuck somewhere, alone and thinking about the weather- I'm often in need of a fuck. Please be prepared to service, because god damn, I've got nothing and it's gonna have to be the battery."

"Is that Sana?" Tzuyu interrupts, the tone hushed, but lofty.

You make a face, like: who the fuck else - but that makes her smirk; Sana sighs, then laughs.

"So if you like, you know. If you feel like the vibe is there. I'd appreciate the hand out."

Tzuyu walks over: sets herself down between your feet and kisses your knee. Just to fuck with you. Because she wants to. She holds the kiss, the bow in her hair, done up tight and shiny, visible. You want to tug the stupid thing until it unravels; all your fingertips, her lips, and she sighs-

"Oi," Sana's saying on the line. You can hear her crash onto her bed. "You still there?"

"I'm sorry," you say, "are you uh, asking for phone sex - or did I totally read that all wrong."

"Nope. Pretty direct." Sana laughs, and the sound should make it easy to close your eyes, picturing it: a silver smile, the low slung skirt and a stretch of stockinged leg, the twinkle of a drink as the ice hits her mouth. It’d be easy, y'know, if your gaze wasn't pinned on the girl who's settled at your feet.

"Oh, jesus, okay," you manage to breathe. Tzuyu hums a little: reaches for your fly. "Is there anything, anything that you want me to do?"

Sana's laughter drops to a murmur: the air goes heady as Tzuyu parts the zipper and rolls down the waist of your pants- "ask me what I'm wearing, duh."

"Boring," Tzuyu breathes into the air. Because apparently Sana's defining trait is being loud. The kiss to your clothed cock is hot, teasing - her eyes never lift away, "always, always start with, 'darling, sweetheart,' or something stupid, sweet." Her tone is pure syrup: you can feel the warm, the wet; a fucking tease, all the way to her core.

"What are you wearing, darling?" you ask, dryly. Tzuyu rolls her eyes.

Sana's grin widens and you swear it's audible, "oh, just these boring pajamas." She draws it out slow and sexy and completely aware. "It's all loose cotton, and it doesn't hang off me, just folds."

"Is it the type that comes down to the mid-thigh? The white kind, where you can see through to the skin?"

"That's a little presumptive, don't you think? A bit on the nose? Yeah, fine, I'm wearing the kind, if you absolutely insist. These legs, bare. Maybe you'd want to bite. Y'know. Mark 'em'. Whatever."

Tzuyu is kissing the outline of your shaft. Pulling your hard-on out from its confines - all gentle and tentative. Her pretty brown eyes dart upward, gauging: okay, just do your thing - you shrug - but it'd be so helpful if you could scoot to the end of the cushion for me, can you-

"Yeah," you're agreeing into the phone, somewhat vague - to no one in particular. You don't give Tzuyu just an inch; instead, you lift your thighs toward her. Sliding, Tzuyu pulls your pants down: enough. There's a delicate pressure applied at the bottom of your cock, right at the base, right where Tzuyu drags her nails. "Let's have that show off a little," your breath comes shallow, "then. Strip, real slow. We can try for something sexy I guess."

"You," Tzuyu kisses the base and shuffles up the rest of your shaft, "just love bossing people around," then her lips part: the slightest graze, then warmth, the faint suction. “Don’t you?”

"Uh-huh," says Sana, and then the rustle of cloth: and you could imagine her, really, lifting the shirt up, off, sliding it along the inside of her ribs, over the tips of her breasts - she'd cup them, lean into the contact. Sana's hands are always on her tits, or the spread of her hips - she likes the shape of her body more than anyone else. "Sometimes, that's the best way," she tells you. Her breath is hot, full of sex. "Being told what to do. Isn't that true, hm?"

Tzuyu tilts forward, lets your cock drop over her bottom lip. It leaves a smear of spit in its wake, the sensation electric. Her head falls, swallows the whole of the tip: her tongue immediately swirls. A hot little pulse. Her cheeks hollow.

"Yeah. Some could probably argue," your breath catches, the weight of the sensation, the fullness, your hips arch, your spine straightens. The electricity goes through your stomach and down your spine; you can feel the wave rolling along. Tzuyu giggling into the stiff line of your cock-

"Telling us both?" Tzuyu smiles again, running her lips slowly up and down the sides, teasing with her breath and her fingers running down the ridges. "What you want." She hums low, into the hot air.

You press your phone to your neck. "Can you, like-

Tzuyu pulls her mouth off your cock. Just sits there blinking. “Hm?” she asks, tugging a strand of her hair from the corner of her mouth.

“Just please stay quiet, or something- this is already harder than I thought it would be," the joke is as unsubtle as they come, "jesus, okay-" and put the phone back to your ear, "shit, Sana- can you, like-"

Her fucking mouth. The seal, the press - the tongue swirling around your head. Fuck.

“Yeah, babe? What do you want to know?”

The words aren't coming and a very obvious swallow is, Tzuyu leaning closer, and her fingers tangle with yours - guiding you closer, guiding your hand to the ends of her hair.

"Explain," is somehow where you land, shaky. You stick the landing just enough that Sana might buy it. "What are you doing now?"

"Slow circles. On my nipples, pinching," her voice strains, then settles,"yeah, the tip's so sensitive. Jihyo was laughing that guys always obsess over her tits. Always wanna suck, or nibble and I'm like, girl, what the hell are you complaining for?" - Tzuyu inhales a huge breath, and then another: her lips, those eyes - open and glossy, every movement steady like she knows just how to make the wait worth it - "or, or maybe I'm just weird, because the first time I felt someone's teeth and their tongue. Fuck, like, I almost screamed. Or, cried. Literally."

"Hah," and Tzuyu brings her lips lower. Moves her hair gently out of the way to take the rest of you into her mouth: bobbing up, her lips puckering in some rhythm, and her tongue darts, swirls the edge of the cock. Tongue at the slit. The pressure. Fuck, your head falls back. Every breath sounds heavy, loud. "Fingers,” you huff, “are good too I'm sure. I’d be paying close attention. Making you feel good."

"Mhm." Sana agrees. "The little pinches, ugh, I could die happy if you did just that, it's that fucking amazing."

"Baby," you half-moan. You’re struggling. The mouth stops, then sinks: down, all the way. Fucking amazing. Fucking hell.

"Oh?" Sana laughs airly, "are you touching yourself, hm? No fair, are you going to leave me all lonely here-"

You can see that smirk. The fuckery that would come: Sana's version.

"Sir," Tzuyu mumbles, sounding muffled. Her mouth is a tight vise of warmth, and your hand threads through her hair again. You hold, tighten the ribbon a bit, and Tzuyu stares at you through half-lidded eyes: you don't think she'll blink until you make her cry, and by then-

“Fuck,” Sana says, totally flat, "I'm actually pretty wet," the emphasis, "so I'd like some real advice, y'know-"

You see her legs. The tops. The bottom, all the way down- and you inhale sharply, too much and too hard.

Tzuyu has her fist at the base of your cock and her palm is sliding down the slick flesh and, a moment later, up, meeting her mouth at the top of its stroke - and, without a goddamn care, she hollows her cheeks - puckers her lips along the surface.

You were right. "This is hell."

Sana hums a laugh. "Need me that bad, huh? We're missing each other by just a couple days."

You stroke the top of Tzuyu's hair, her bow bobbing in a nice little bounce. Sana would know better than to wear her hair up. To even go near this, her throat - you hold her jaw steady, maybe a second, the moment of recovery to make Tzuyu slow and careful: her tongue does a pass at the sensitive, rigid underside of the crown, the sudden movement - before she speeds up.

"Picturing your hand." She tells you in a languid tone.

"God," you half-say, half-moan, and Tzuyu is good. So fucking good, and the mouth is too damn eager and it's difficult to think.

You barely get your hand free to switch to speaker, then let it clatter to the side. Tzuyu grinning, her lips flushed red and wet and dragging over your cock, sliding down, her tongue doing another pass, swirling at the center, the flare-

"Thinking about you, actually, fuck," Sana has a hitch to her breath that wasn't quite there before. "Doing those things, that mouth all over, Jesus Christ - ah- my legs, my breasts, fuck- are you jerking off right now? You sound, well, pretty uh, yeah."

"Just saying," you breathe, as the shock and the sensations rise and fall; Tzuyu's edging you in her mouth, her own head starting to shake, her chin bobbing up and down the full, long line of your dick - she's never done anything by halves. "It's getting- I'm thinking about you, Sana, of course, and your- pretty cunt, god, of course, so- ah, close- you said you were wet?"

"Huh? Of course, dripping. Imagining you - your thick, your cock," Sana sorta giggles, out of it then-

Tzuyu moans. Her body is pliant and her shoulders roll; she sucks, her cheeks dip, her back arches, and all of the noises hit the air thick, all while Sana's voice sharpens - both girls, two. You're slipping off the cushion, and probably out of your mind. The ache builds and burns and yearns for some sort of release-

"-how wet and tight I would feel, after so fucking long. Please, fuck, fuck-" you hear Sana, "would you, fuck, c'mon, how I would look, on top of you? Could feel- the stretch, your cock deep inside. The, fuck- friction."

There’s this beat, where it’s just Sana’s stiff breathing; you can picture her wrist between her thighs, the pump, the twist as her fingers run over and over again through the sound of her slick. You’re left wondering if she can hear too, the mouth trailing kisses along your balls, tongue gliding back up and swallowing your length whole.

“Mnph.” Tzu chokes down a little.

And you look down, you have to eventually - to see the steady stare. Tzuyu's brows pinched and her eyelashes fanning out over the hollowed curve of her cheekbones. Pretty, fuck. Beautiful. So sexy: she looks up, swallows you back, like a fucking slut. Her mouth, wet, messy, hot, and her body-

"Third finger, by the way," Sana strains, "'cause- fuck, my pussy - my tight little hole would be swallowing your cock so damn good."

"Mmm, fuck." You're reduced to your base instincts, pulling Tzuyu's hair, dragging her wet, velvety mouth onto your shaft - she follows willingly, no question of her pace slowing, but - more, and more, and you could probably cum in her mouth if her hands weren't clasped firmly over your thighs and you weren't brushing away the tears pricking the ends of Tzuyu's lashes- you won't tell. Not with your fingers. Fuck. Her nails bite at the skin of your bare legs. She looks angry, insistent. Choking.

Sana sounds just as out of sorts, out of breath, "you would feel so fucking good. Look so good. Let me have it- whatever I need, yeah?" And you think she's close: it's that keen edge, a faint, broken whine. She's never going to finish any way except- "would you, inside me? Y'know- make me cum, real full. God- are you close? Would you make a mess out of me? Of my pretty pussy?"

“Okay, holy fuck-" and the question barely even hits you.

Tzuyu is glaring now, shaking: she wants you to lose it, and she looks furious, holding her fingertips, her thumb on the base of your cock: a new pressure, a new feeling, a new pulse, a new high- she wants you to forget about Sana, maybe. What she sounds like, how she looks. Her legs wide, her bare, slicked skin on display. For you, yes. Fucking her until she- "uh, baby," and this time, your voice makes her smile, and her teeth drag. You wince. Her pupils are blown out, and there's a flush building in her chest. "Where are you?"

"Laying down. Flat- god. Where I'm always-" and you imagine a plane of soft, tanned, toned legs, her wide hips, "I'd, yeah, in a second. Pressure at my back- it would feel so fucking good, y’know, if you were here."

You have no doubt in your mind: Sana would be gorgeous. Even from the back, she'll be hotter, fuck, she always is, especially like that - and the movement of Tzuyu's fingers tightens against the straining, needy ache, and-

"Please, fuck, fuck- need to-"

"Would cum- a lot, that's it- over my back. Oh, yes, all over my back. My ass. Messy. fuck that's actually so good, jesus christ-" and then Sana lets out another soft keen and a shout - and it's so sweet and high-pitched and familiar, almost musical; she's cumming, hard. You're only a second, a third behind and-

Your balls draw tight and a coil in your stomach unfurls-

Tzuyu sees you, grins, your eyes trained on the pink of her mouth and her perfect, wet lips and the deep brown eyes - her dimpled cheek is the softest fucking thing - but the rest, her mouth, her wet heat: it's pure sensation. The tight vise of a throat swallowing, the taste on the flat of her tongue. You've got your cock shoved deep in her mouth, and you're not easy to take. Fucking Tzuyu's face, thrusting and the throbs of your cock pumping out a hot, heavy spill. More and more: sticky, filling, spreading out from the corners of her lips. Tzuyu gurgles, struggling - fuck, finally letting go with a weak pop, falling back, and the white mess runs hot over her mouth. Your release smeared across her lips, dripping off her jaw - fucking christ - her tongue, her eyelashes - a wild mess of fluid. It splatters against her pale skin - runs down the hollow of her throat to the edges of her chest. She has her fingers working fast still, a squelching tight fist: you cum all over the stupid, cutesy bow too. It's all you see, the only thing-

“Fuck,” Sana says, oblivious. “That’s good.”

-before your eyelids shutter close, a ringing in your ears and your heart racing; and, not far, another sigh, followed by the slide of your phone down the couch.

"Aw, you done already?" Sana says. Lazily. You can see the look on her face, probably rubbing her pussy and thinking about more - if there’s any two ways the girls compare, it’s this allergic reaction to anything like temperance or moderation. You need new friends, new lovers; this can’t last.

"Uh-huh." The back of your head digs into the couch cushions. Fuck. Sana. Phone. On speaker. Oh. Right. Shit. "But I was- mnph. Uhh." Your brain has lost a lot of blood. It's doing nothing. Nothing but losing blood. You wish it’d stop. “I’m here, Sana, talk to me.”

Sana giggles at that, delighted, "don't tell me you're in such bad shape I need to save you-"

"The uh," your voice slurs. Then you're pulling the phone to you, closer. Fuck. Yeah. You're an idiot. Your breath is heavy: "I could go for more, yeah, how’re you feeling?"

"So fucking tired." Her breathing sounds less ragged. A full breath. A pout: a poor me.

"Hmm." Tzuyu crawls onto you. Slides the fabric of your shirt between her palms, up and down your ribs. She pushes the sweater and tee away. Bares your stomach- then kisses there. Lower, and then rises, looking through her lashes. It's clear: a demand. She'll be insisting, pressing down on you, kissing, running her teeth along the edges of your shoulders, your neck. She’ll kiss you right now if you let her - until she sinks into a promise at the center of your body. Your back is arching off the leather from the sensitivity, and Tzuyu has her lips all over you - smiling when your hands tangle with the long strands of her hair.

She pauses. You drop a hand to Tzuyu's waist. Pinch.

"Ow-" she says, coming across slightly betrayed.

And, satisfied with the expression her face, the phone cradled between your chin, her lips warm over your ribs, her head tickling the edges of your jaw, you keep laughing, or you want to, but Tzuyu takes you between her thighs, lifts a little on your cock - her eyes widen: she's testing your flexibility. Trying to drag this out, trying for teasing. She’s good at that (a verifiable truth), but you’re you - you see right through it: she likes how it feels, the thickness and size of you. Tzuyu keeps sliding slowly down the full length, letting you fill her inch by inch - her slick heat feels unbearable.

“God,” she mutters, and she’s making the dreamiest expression - the blush in her cheeks, the eyelids hung low, the mouth slightly agape - she lifts up, then slams all the way to the base, flush. You grab anything you can to hold onto. Her legs. Her ass. Her thighs. Her jaw. That perfect little fucking waist.

She’s sublime. Your cock is bathing in her slick, the wet heat, the throbbing pulses - she's gasping in your lap, like she can’t believe how good you feel filling her cunt.

"Sana," you grit, "there's- nothing else in the world I'd rather do right now than shove my cock-”

“Ugh,” Sana sighs in agreement, in imaginary bliss. “In my little fucking pussy- you’re making me miss you, or something, jesus-”

You squeeze her thigh and her lips quirk, just barely, a challenge.

"Want put a nice thick load" - the hand on Tzuyu's hip brings her down in your lap, fucking up hard as her chest racks with breath - "in your slutty little cunt" - you fuck her faster, the sounds of flesh against flesh obscene - "fill up your pussy, princess. Would cum in it until" - and the last inch of your cock, filling Tzuyu’s cunt, you've no control - "you're a mess, you're dripping in it-"

Tzuyu's movements still. A pause. Her hips. Your own, and all the rest, every nerve in your body is on fire.

She moves with the most graceful slide, her wet lips gliding - gripping - up your cock. Then, down. The quiet. The lull. The pause before she does it again. She has cum all over her face, and she’ll kill you. You’ll let her.

"God. We'll have to get around to it," Sana finally tells you, dryly, "when this fucking snow clears. Say hi to Tzuyu for me won’t you?"

You're not a bad person.

(The reassurance that you aren’t - or don’t want to be? - is probably still not super convincing. There's some line drawn there, blurred, crossed, and thoroughly annihilated by your actions, you think, vaguely, but maybe it's better if no one sees, hears, finds out. The finer details matter a lot less at that point.)

You're like anybody else: you get desperate to hold onto something, somebody, even for just a moment. Sometimes you don’t even need a reason at all.

Tzuyu is stepping out of the shower, her head bobbing: it takes everything in you not to drag her back in there. She’d let you. She wouldn’t even complain.

You can hear the catch and the slide of a bath towel, the wisp of water hitting the bottoms of her feet and trailing, an exaggerated moan - a gesture, meant to entice, a suggestion: fuck her right back in the shower until her hair is plastered to her cheeks, and she's panting. Or the steam lifts her breasts in a gentle, humid press. That mouth on the tiles - sobbing.

“Tzu,” you call out, and she just continues humming some indifferent tune.

You pull a thick sweater over your head: it's gray wool, and it's all clean and good and new. When she wraps her arms around you, a deep inhale: a grin, then a shiver. She's naked and dripping everywhere, wet hair leaving a trail in its wake. She burrows her face in the folds of fabric at your spine - and if you turned, the slightest movement, the smooth line of her torso would be exposed, and your fingers could trace down her belly button, the tips dipping between her legs-

The window is fogging at the bottom, the steam slipping out in tendrils - but the heat can't compete against the girl all wet and dripping, and it does nothing but give way to the cold, seeping in.

"I still think it's funny," she says, all matter of fact. "It's weird that this isn't awkward."

“What’s that?”

She's at the doorway.

“Us. Being here.”

You turn, and Tzuyu pulls at your sweater: looking for attention, always seeking out the easy praise. Her hand automatically slides beneath the cloth of your collar, drawing your jaw up for a short, hard kiss.

"Okay," and there's a small nod, the line of her throat pulsing as she breathes, "yeah," her chest rising and falling.

"Look at you,” you tell her. “All dry and tidy. Cute. "

A dumb comment earns you the tiniest smile, then she's leaning back, taking her hands to her hair and wringing out the water, pulling and tugging at the tangles - the towel wraps around her waist again and again, and she looks good, clean: it makes you think of what comes later. Not having to give a fuck - at least not for a little while.

"Jeez," she's shivering, still, and rubbing the tops of her arms, "and Sana is gonna be, like, all over you once she gets the chance. Wants a nice lay too, from the sound of it. Was being honest about that. Seems pretty pent up."

“Maybe you can help,” you offer, a bit flippant. She smiles - but in all seriousness, it’s a resounding: no.

There's something else, too, as she runs her fingertips, absently, through her hair - it falls flat on her neck and around her bare shoulders, dark against the lightness of her skin, but somehow you get the impression that she's not entirely preoccupied. "Y'know, I had a really good time and all, but I'm not the homewrecker type, yeah - it's not worth the stress," a slight shrug, like she isn't certain, her mind a little more tangled than usual, and for good reason, too, "probably won't hook up ever again."

"Gloomy," you tease.

"Don’t act like you're not going to miss it," she says, conspiratorial - and Tzuyu plants herself where you can feel her in your space - but she doesn't press. "Even when you're keeping busy, you'll have the smallest reminder, like - aha, Tzuyu would've really liked this, or that - when, y'know - you're stuck somewhere, thinking about the weather," and her cheeks are heating with color as her tongue forms the syllables - and the meaning is clear now as it always was.

“Even if you’re like, totally smitten, or whatever with her,” she adds, smirking.

"Sana will be back to her usual antics in no time. Being annoying and forward and whatever," you reply. "Won't miss much."

The girl's expression flickers a little - a slight twitch - but otherwise, a flat look.

She fixes the lay of her towel across her wide hips. You reach for her arm: pull at it, pulling her toward.

"I mean- Sana and I have a few things in common, anyway. Something in common. Can both be a spoilsport. Dull. Can be a bit, uh, territorial, if you you know-"

The rest is cut off, the words running into a kiss, deep and desperate; there's no place like her mouth: soft, eager, hot.

"And our usual antics?" she asks.

She leans into you, the chill starting to set, a fire burning nearby: something clandestine that maybe shouldn't last as long as it does. A log settling against the others, another plume of heat, and you say, a touch solemn,

"Dunno if we've ever been in common about anything, babe."

"Jeez. You don't have to spell it out like that, do you?" Tzuyu laughs lightly, holding the bath towel at her hips - her breasts are bare. They fall without support, her nipples, the slope of her ribs, everything. "I mean, how cruel."

(It isn't really. Because, here's the thing. In the grand scheme of things, Chou Tzuyu was never really supposed to happen at all.)

The snow clears, like all things you suppose, slowly and with a sigh: with the change in winds and a promise for a gradual spring. Tzuyu steals a shirt. Doesn't seem inclined to return it, says she's good at letting her imagination do half the work in lieu of the actual sex. (The nip is like a sting: it'll last longer, apparently. The bruising at the edges of her waist is more abstract.)

You’re in the driveway. Tzuyu’s leaning back on her luggage.

She kisses you like she wants to make you lose something: her lipstick, her mind, her heart or soul. And when her arms slide, her mouth parting - her tongue darting and sweeping, taking - Tzuyu knows a good many things about herself. She knows you, too. What makes her wet, what gets her off. What part of you will always come back to her. But her hair falls heavy: so much silk. She's laughing - a grin and she's licking the pink right off her teeth and she's beautiful and you think you'll want this always:

A girl like her, kissing so eager for you-

"You can totally say it first," she tells you, that mouth at the edge of your ear.

"Um," you say, and she settles down a little further, her wrists locked behind your neck. "You are so: clingy."

The look she gives you is adorable. All dimple, no worry. “Yeah, so?”

“How is that fair?”

"I don't really care if it is or isn’t. We’d be good together - and that’s a fact. So say something good, or I'm getting in that cab right now."

So you do. You do. The first word, the syllable, the way you ask her, the sound that is something like: mine, and the way it dries the edge of your throat; you kiss it away and she giggles because maybe this means, after a while, you really are as terrible as she always hoped.

She'll give you everything. She says, yours, and it would always be you; she halts a bit, and says it like she’s thawing a revelation, one that’s been there since the start - says she loves you and she always has. You laugh and she says it again: always.

Sana ends up standing in the cabin a day later. The same place you stood, watching Tzuyu lick yogurt off her spoon. Her coat looks expensive. There's her purse. The boots. That red-painted mouth. Her eyes are fixed, and she sees nothing out of the ordinary. Which is probably, you think, ideal.

"That's funny," her face betrays nothing.

The cabin smells a little like burning wood, vaguely: peppermint tea. An electric kind of heat and the warmth of the sun. It had smelled like evidence prior, the way a girl gets with her underwear missing, hair a tangled mess, body sore and aching, a wet bed. You'd looked like a pair of kids caught in a terrible storm, a lovers' quarrel in a small space - or, just: well-fucked.

"What's funny?" is how you finally manage.

"I just mean," she starts again, "she used to have like. The craziest crush on you. It would’ve been cute if it wasn't sorta sad. Did you know? You couldn't, I guess." She shrugs: a heavy lift of her shoulders, a release. The tension is leaking everywhere. "Must've been torture for her to get stuck here with you."

"Huh," you say, like you were missing something, which is exactly the wrong tone and definitely the wrong sentiment. “Oh, the crush. That. Sure.” You’re suppressing a smile. “Torture, yeah. Hey. Don't worry about it. I’m sure we’ll be fine."

(You can’t stop running it back through your head, her long dark hair disappearing into the cab. She loves you and you love her, and it’s got this beautiful caveat of being something simple-complex. Like, who would ever believe any of this? Like, who else even matters?

You say, you belong to me, and she agrees without even thinking.

“You always knew, though. From the start, you always did. I was never going to be anyone else's," and then she pouts. "Wouldn’t hurt telling me, from time to time."

And the mountains have a way of feeling like the end, sounding like the closing score, the credits - you look out at the white caps and reflect: maybe you shouldn’t have let her go. Maybe you should chase after her. Maybe you could still make it work. Maybe you should consider that a promise.

You look up at the sky, the pale blue - and maybe you can afford to let her go.

You know you’ll only find your way back.)

#tzuyu smut #twice smut #tzuyu #twice tzuyu smut #kpop smut #male reader smut

1K notes · View notes

princessbrunette · 2 months

Text

rafe had been trying to pick a fight with bunny!reader all day due to his bad mood. however, due to her being a little ray of pink glittery sunshine — it just wasn’t happening.

first, the problem was the pink glittery dildo in your dresser that he found whilst snooping due to boredom, waiting for you to be done in the shower. he argues with himself whilst you sit at your vanity, giggling and happily doing your makeup.

“you tellin’ me you need that shit? ‘cus… ‘cus if that’s the case, don’t come begging for dick every thirty minutes when clearly you could be fixing your own problems.” he rants, huffing as you carefully brush mascara through your eyelashes.

“its not the same! pluuuus, i haven’t used that thing in ages. dont even know where you found it, daddy.” you’re clearly amused and it’s making things worse, locking eyes with your boyfriend through the mirror as he stands with his hands on his hips.

“think i’m stupid, right? if you weren’t still using this thing you would have thrown it in the trash.”

you spin on your stool, giving him a convincing pout. “i only use it when you go away on business trips with your dad, ‘cos i just miss you so much.”

he blinks, clearly not out of juice.

“you need to learn a little patience and self discipline, alright — you’ll appreciate this dick more without the fuckin’ silicone version.” he drawls and you giggle again at his word choice before bringing your manicured fingers to your lips to stop yourself.

“m’attached to it rafey. i like it. its pink and glittery and i’m not throwing it away.” you stand your ground, and his jaw ticks, looking around once more at the toy laying on your bed.

“cant do all the shit i do n’you know it… right? you call me when that toy fuckin’ chokes you out how you like it or spits in your damn asshole and shoves its thumb in there. yeah?” he mouths off before leaving the room, caring less and less about the argument as time goes on. now you really couldn’t fight him — he was playing dirty, and that made you horny.

his fighting spirit is given a new lease of life downstairs in the kitchen, when you accidentally blurt out the wrong name whilst speaking to him.

you’re giggling uncontrollably once more, grabbing at his shirt in the kitchen attempting to pull you closer as he holds his hands up, pretending to be totally disgusted.

“nah, who the fuck is that — huh? nate?”

“gosh, rafey — he’s from gossip girl! i was just thinkin’ about the show and your names sound similar! was an accident!” the fact you don’t sound sorry in the slightest is grinding his gears, not hugging you back when you manage to wrap your arms around him. “daddy hug me back.” you pout, and he peels you back with his hands on your shoulders.

“on thin fuckin’ ice today… alright?” he raises his eyebrows. you smile and nod, earrings jangling like there wasn’t a thought in your head.

it’s on the way to the country club that he’s really had enough, insisting on playing your music in the car, constantly winding down the volume to ask questions that didn’t need to be asked. your delicate hand reaches out for the volume toggle once more and he smacks it away.

“if you’re going to ask me if i’d still love you as a worm, or whatever bullshit you’ve conjured up — i suggest staying quiet, yeah? already told you that you’re pushing it today.”

he doesn’t have to look at you to know your smile is spreading.

“that wasn’t my question, but would you?”

the car pulls over to the side of the road with a swiftness, and he turns his body in his seat. you look unbothered as ever.

“why’d we stop?”

“you’re uh, you’re goin’ in the trunk. okay?” he rasps slowly, nodding his head like it would hypnotise you into agreeing. somehow, it worked — because your grin remains.

“okay!”

he marches over to your side and yanks you out before walking you round the back and opening the trunk. “i’m serious. get in.”

you do with no complaints — and by the time he is back in the drivers seat, he believes he’s taken it too far. however there’s no banging around, no crying, no screaming for him to let you out — so he drives away. the silence is rewarding, but he doesn’t feel great about it.

when he pulls up to the country club, he’s quick to walk around the backside of his truck and open up the trunk, relieved to see you happy as a clam — and lifts you out from under your arms. “that was fun! it was like you were a kidnapper, but also my boyfriend.” your eyes have a twinkle to them as he marches you towards his group of friends, gawking with questioning gazes.

“yeah you like that shit? ‘that turn you on?” he bites back sarcastically, but you nod anyway.

#to combat all the soft!rafe today here’s some extra mean rafe #rafe cameron prompt #bunny!reader

2K notes · View notes

yanderenightmare · 6 months

Text

TW: hints of NSFW

fem reader

You have one of those cartoon faces...

So animated it makes everyone else look dull – so much so that everything else just fades into the background.

He wonders if you’re like that during sex as well. All exaggerated – curled toes and ahegao faces – moans that reach the other part of town. Drooling, quivering, tongue out and panting, going cross-eyed from his cock.

It’s all he can think about as you talk. Pretty French tip hands throwing themselves every which way – glossed lips moving but not much being said, just some anecdote from work – eyes vibrant, smile bright. You talk too much, honestly. More guys would bother if you just learned to shut up.

But you won’t scare him away. He decided he was going to fuck you the moment you stepped into the office. Granted, so did half the staff – with the way your breasts bounced on every peppy step you took – doe-eyed and out of place in the grey cubicle you were assigned.

But every single one of them gave up one after the other.

It’s not their fault. Not everyone has the stamina. You’re a little clueless, after all.

Shit, he’s been giving you bedroom eyes for hours already, practically fucking you with his stare, but he can’t tell whether you even realize he’s been flirting with you at all.

Your gloss stains the brim of your beer pink – only in one place since you’ve only taken one sip. He doesn’t know whether maybe you’re not a beer person or if it’s because you don’t leave enough time to drink in between words.

He imagines the stain on his cock instead – imagines stuffing himself down your throat, silencing you – making you gag and a little teary-eyed – muffling something he doesn’t care about.

What are you even saying? Something about how clumsy you are? You’re giggling over it – how you’d forgotten your phone and house keys, how your roommate’s bound to be asleep by now – how you have no idea how you’ll get home tonight.

“Wanna know what else I forgot?” You add.

“Sure.” He mumbles uninterestedly, putting his beer up to his lips – letting the cool bubbling soothe the regret of his pursuit – beginning to think up excuses to go talk to one of the other women at the office party – already scanning the bar for other available candidates. Sure, you were pretty, but this wasn’t going anywhere-

“Panties~” You reveal, and he chokes on his beer – dull eyes widening, only now noticing the coy smile playing on your lips. “Are you okay?” You feign a doe-eyed look, sitting legs crossed on your bar stool, leaning over with a manicured hand placing itself on his thigh – cleavage flashed in the bowed position.

There’s something rude glinting in your eyes as you look up at him through heavy lashes.

“Maybe I’m wrong, but I could have sworn you’ve been eyeing me up and down all night.” You flirt cheekily, giving the muscle on his thigh a lingering squeeze – licking your lips at the obvious bulge swelling in his pants. “Undressing me with those pretty jaded eyes of yours~”

Caught off guard, he’s left sitting there – a blush dusting his cheeks a drunken pink.

You lean even closer – so close your fruity perfume clouds his head – your hot breath on the shell of his ear in a sultry whisper. “How about we cut to the chase, hm?”

BNHA – Tomura, Dabi, Shinso, Bakugou, Kirishima, Hawks

JJK – Toji, Sukuna, Geto, Gojo, Naoya

HQ – Kageyama, Tsukishima, Tendou

#boku no hero smut #my hero academia smut #boku no hero academia smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #bnha smut #mha smut #haikyu x reader #bnha x reader #my hero x reader #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere smut #yancore

2K notes · View notes

ravenslvt · 2 months

Text

why does your best friend’s brother have to be so hot??

☆ suna rintarou x f!reader (pt.4) ☆

links to pt.1 pt.2 pt.3

cw: porn with feelings, major confessions, lots of fluff, oral sex both m and f receiving, face sitting, suna has feelings.

the silence of the kitchen felt deafening. you and rintarou sat on the stools of the kitchen island counter while his sister stood at the other side, staring at you two. your legs swing, dangling off the tall stool with anxiousness filling your stomach.

“so… you two… have been-“ the younger suna starts.

“ami i-“ her brother speaks first, cutting her off

“shut your ugly mouth rintarou.” she scolds him. you stay silent.

“we literally look the same??” he puts his arms up in defense.

“rin, please stop talking…” you mumble to the middle blocker next to you. he just sighs and slumps in his seat.

ami takes a few breaths before speaking.

“i’m not mad okay…” she fidgets with her manicured nails while she talks.

“i just wish you didn’t feel the need to like, hide it from me, y’know?” she sighs. you two just nod. you felt awful, you two were the people she trusted most in this world.

“you’re right-“ you finally gain the courage to speak, but immediately getting cut off.

“not done talking” she scolds, saying your name in a warning tone. you pipe down.

your best friend’s eyes go to you. for such a cute girl, she sure knew how to make you tense up just from a look. her face softens suddenly.

“so, why did you feel the need to hide it from me? we both know you’re probably the only person i’d be comfortable with even dating my brother.” ami has a sort of frown on your face. it makes you sad the fact you hurt her.

“well we aren’t really even dating…”

“we’re not?” the brown haired man looks at you.

your eyes snap to rintarou.

“no, rin, we only hooked up like four times-“

“FOUR TIMES? it’s only been two weeks?- sorry my bad.” ami puts a hand over her mouth to quiet herself.

“well, yeah, but i was hoping-“

“is this really the time to talk about this right now?” you whisper to the man. he shuts up real quick. you look back to your best friend, giving her a genuine look.

“i’m sorry i hid it from you, ami. i guess we- well i at least was just scared you’d hate me or something. i never intended to lie or hurt you, we just got kinda caught up in it.” you honestly admit. she just nods, then glares at her older brother. “and you” she seethes. his eyes widen at her sudden switch up.

he may be her brother, but he's also a guy, and you are her best friend.

“my best friend? really, rintarou?” her arms are crossed over her chest, eyes boring into her brother’s head. rin sits up straight.

“look, i apologize for not telling you, truly, but i’m not sorry that i did it.” he says, looking back over to you. you drop your face into your hands. the man you loved was such an idiot.

ami sighs and speaks again after a few moments, making your head perk back up.

“i’m not upset. plus, it would be kinda hypocritical of me to be mad at you two.” she finishes, looking at you.

oh right. the miya twin…

rin looks between the two of you.

“um, what do you mean?” he has a curious but anxious look on his face, brows furrowed.

“you wanna tell him or should i?” his sister looks to you in consolance. you point at her. “this is your business, girl. all you”

she lets out an annoyed sigh before speaking, shifting uncomftorably between her feet.

“i’ve kinda been… talking to osamu since i graduated, but you can’t be mad becuase you’re also literally fucking my best friend soo…” ami says all in one breath. rintarou has an unreadable expression on his face.

“well, obviously.” he scoffs. both of your eyes widen.

“you knew?!” she yells in a suprised tone. he just nods.

“well no shit, he’s the one who told me to invite you to the party in the first place. plus i saw your name pop up in his phone when we went to lunch last week.” her brother explains. you just sit back and watch this uncomfortable situation unfold.

he looks at you. “you knew too?” he casually asks. you nod.

“well obviously, she’s my best friend.”

“hear that rin, my best friend” ami sticks her tongue out at her brother. you smile at the shift of the room, going from all serious to a sudden playfulness, the way ami always knew how to do.

“now go to your room or something, i wanna talk to her alone.” she points at the stairs for her brother to leave. he rolls his eyes, patting your head before leaving the room.

a few seconds pass, and she takes his seat, sitting next to you. she swirls the stool around to face you, voice dropping to a hushed tone.

“so… do you love him?” she curiously asks, with genuine curiosity.

“do you love osamu?”

“shut up, i asked first.”

“i do” you say without a second of thought. she just smiles. all anger from before subsiding into genuine happiness.

“you’re still gonna hangout with me though, right?” she asks, back to fidgeting with her fingers. you roll your eyes.

“of course i am. i’m still sleeping in your room everynight till i leave-“ you start.

“oh c’mon, she doesn’t get to hog you!” rintarou yells from the stairs, eavesdropping on your conversation. you both glare at him.

“no one asked you, rin!” she yells. you both laugh at the way he storms back up the stairs.

she'd be having a talk with him later too.

you talk about everything. osamu, the party, your plans in the next week before you leave.

you were relieved, your guilty conscience completely lifted from having to keep this secret from your best friend. you never expected her to approve, but she was happy both her best friend and her brother are able to find comfort.

plus she knew he had a fat crush on you the way he was staring at you the entire party the night before. she was drunk, but not stupid. her brother was so obvious. maybe it was just a suna thing.

but the thought that you gave him all those marks weeks ago made her shiver. gross.

there was only three days left until you go back. you’ve spent your last days going on mall trips, to the movies, taking walks in the park with your best friend. (and rintarou when he refused to stay at home, saying it was for your guys’ ‘protection’)

he just wanted to spend as much time near you before you left.

“stop moving” you warn rintarou, placing the sheet face mask onto his constantly jerking head.

“it’s cold…” he complains. you just roll your eyes.

“you’re the one who wanted to do this.”

“well yeah, because you were doing it.” he pouts. you giggle at him, your own skincare face mask soaking on your face.

ami left for osamu’s about an hour before, but not before giving you guys a ‘do NOT fuck’ warning. you both just smiled and nodded your heads.

“you’re cute.” you give him a small peck on his lips, one of the only parts that the skin care mask wasn’t covering. his hand reaches for your own, lacing his fingers with yours.

“be my girlfriend.” he softly says, his eyes meeting yours. you were glad this sheet mask was covering your face, or he’d see how flustered you were.

“what?”

“do you not want to?” he asks, a hint of concern in his voice.

“well of course i do, but i-“

“be my girlfriend then. please?” he squeezes your hand. if your face wasn’t covered he’d be holding it.

it was kind of silly the seriousness of this conversation compared to the way you guys had literal sheets on your face.

“i live three hours away, rin.”

“so what? i have a car. i’ll drive down every weekend to see you, baby.” he assures you. his eyes read nothing but honesty and love.

“i couldn’t ask you to do that… you're so busy with volleyball”

“you wouldn’t. i want to. if it was up to me i’d keep you here. or even go with you." he chuckles, "i'll pay for your train rides to come to my games, i’m graduating in two years, we’ll figure it out.” you could see his small smile. his fingers gently brushing over your knuckles.

“okay” you nod.

“okay?” his eyes light up.

“yes” you laugh, he stands up from his chair, leaning down to kiss you, but you two couldn’t do much with these stupid sheet masks.

“take this shit off i wanna kiss you” he rips his own off his face making you pout.

“you’re supposed to leave them on for ten minutes”

“i don’t care, they were like a dollar each” he scoffs, gently peeling your own soft wet mask from your face. he was the one who went into the makeup store with you earlier to purchase them in the first place.

“what a money waster.” you smile up at him. the skincare residue making your and his skin shiny. he couldn’t lie, your guys’ skin looks fantastic.

he grabs your face, finally giving you a real kiss. your lips meet sweetly. you’ve kissed several times by now, but this time was different. it was full of tenderness and love instead of the usual rushed tension.

it was like you have all the time in the world.

his hand reaches in your hair, deepening the kiss. you sigh when his tongue rolls together with your own. your hands plant at his chest, you could feel his muscles through his shirt.

he snakes his free hand around your waist, bringing you to press against him.

you felt your panties dampen when his hand slides down from your waist, to your hips, to your ass.

“so…touchy” you mumble between kisses. he just smiles.

“you make me like this” he replies, gently biting your lip.

your hands go up to tangle in his own hair, tugging slightly to tease him. he just groans.

“c’mere, baby.” he sits on his bed, reaching his arms out to you. you join him, hopping onto his lap and kissing his face.

“wow, your skin is really smooth…” your hand goes to gently caress his face. he leans into your palm like a cat, making you giggle.

his eyes never leave yours, so full of sincerity and love.

“want you to touch me, rin.” you bring his hand to your lower stomach. he just chuckles.

“now who’s the needy one?” he mumbles, kissing you again before his hand slips into the waistband of your pants into your panties, his middle and index fingers finding your clit.

“this wet just from kissing?” he chuckles at you, making you pout.

“m’sorry” you whisper, stuttering when his fingers rub gently at your sensitive bud.

“don’t be sorry, pretty. it’s hot.” he smiles, pulling you back to shimmy your cute pants down your hips. you help him, throwing them on the floor of his room.

you’re left in your his oversized t shirt and your panties, moving to sit on him on the bed, but he stops you. you give him a questioning look.

“wanna try something.” he lays himself on his bed, propping himself up on his elbows to look at you.

“want you to sit on my face.” he cheekily smiles, your eyes widen, but your insides tingle at the thought of it.

“i don’t wanna hurt you…” you nervously gulp. he scoffs.

“i could lift three of you if i needed to. i’ll be fine, sweetheart.” he assures. you reluctantly climb on the bed, still a little scared you were going to suffocate him. like he reads your mind, he speaks.

“if dying by your pussy is where i’m meant to die, it’ll be an honorable death.” this makes you roll your eyes, peeling off your underwear. before you could throw them to the side, rin snatches them, tucking them in the drawer next to his bed.

“hey!” you scold him. he rolls his eyes.

“need something to remind me of you.” his smug smirk made you want to slap him, but also want to kiss him. you opted for the second option. your tongue’s swirling together in a needy messy kiss.

he pulls back, laying himself back on his bed. you let out a breath, crawling up to him and nervously straddling his face with your thighs, facing his legs.

you gasp when he pulls your hips down to seat yourself on his face, his hot tongue swiping over your slick cunt. your face screws into tight pleasure as his tongue prods into your tight hole, making you grind down into his face.

his strong hands hold your hips down as if you were hoping to escape. your eyes flutter open while his tounge switches between playing with your clit and proding into your weeping hole.

your mouth waters at the sight of his erection begging to be released through his sweatpants. poor guy was grinding up into nothing. you lean down, reaching to rub him through his pants, making him groan into your pussy.

you hurriedly push his pants down his hips, along with his boxers. he was so tall you couldn’t reach your mouth to his cock in this position, making you pout. so instead you take your hand and stroke his veiny cock, his moans being muffled by him sucking on your clit.

you pump his cock, using the slick of the precum beading at his tip to lubricate him. his hips stutter into your hands as your finger runs over his tip, the slit of his dick leaking precum over your fingers. fuck how badly you wanted to lick it up.

you moan when his tongue explores your soaking pussy, your hands continuing to tease his raging cock. the tip bright pink from all your teasing.

“feels so good, baby, fuck!” you whine, your hips instinctively rutting into his face. he moans in acknowledgment, urging you to keep touching him while he eats you out like you were his last meal. his grip on your hips never faltering.

your wrist starts to ache from the constant pumping, but the pure pleasure of him licking and sucking at you was all you could think about.

this position was so fucking good. the way he had nothing to do but eat you out until you were trying to lift yourself off of his face, the pleasure becoming too much.

he pulls you back down in an instant, your constant squirming earning you a harsh suck on your clit, making you whine.

“rinn-“ you mewl, your thighs starting to quiver around his head. you’re panting, the strokes on his cock getting quicker and messier.

“f-fuck… keep doing that and m’gonna cum, baby.” he groans into your wetness. you let go, hands gripping at his abs as you feel yourself become undone.

your hips grind uncontrollably into rintarou’s mouth, heat pooling into your lower belly as you feel yourself clench around nothing, the feeling of him suckling at your clit making you cum all over his mouth.

you let out moans of his name, panting before finally moving off of him to let him breathe.

you move yourself between his legs, looking up at him. his lower face was covered in your cum and he was breathing heavily. you licked your lips at the sight, bringing your attention back to his raging cock.

you smile up at him, giving his member small pecks, making his breath stutter.

“want you to cum in my mouth, rin.” you look up at him through your lashes, tongue delving into the slit of his head, making his hips sputter and hands grip in your hair.

you giggle, swirling your tongue around the head before taking him into your mouth, bobbing your head up and down. he lets out dirty groans and grunts, his grip in your hair only getting tighter and tighter.

he knew he was gonna cum soon, already being so worked up from you jerking him off before. that along with you cumming all over his face just a few moments before.

his hips jerk off the bed with a loud groan when you take him as deep as your throat allows you, hands gripping into his strong thighs. you moan when his salty cum shoots down your throat, practically filling your mouth. you swallow it all, only a dribble falling past your lips, swollen and wet.

once he settled, you pulled off of him with a small pop, a string of cum and spit connecting your lips and his cock. you could feel his piercing gaze on you, his grip on your hair turned into soothing strokes.

you hold back a giggle at the way he looked at you with full admiration in his eyes. like you were the most precious thing he'd ever seen. he pulls you up, immediately connecting his lips with yours. the way you both tasted each others releases made you sigh into his mouth.

you laid on his chest, kissing eachother gently. you pull back, smoothing down his hair.

he speaks first, your name coming off the tip of his tounge like a beautiful hum.

“i love you” he breathes out, his eyes searching your own. your heart quickens in your chest.

“you don’t have to say it back-“ he starts.

“no. i love you, rintarou.” you confess, leaning to kiss his cheek. he gives you an uncharacteristically loving smile. you’d never seen him in this sort of light before.

your mind completely avoiding the fact that in three days time, you’d be hours away, long gone from here.

“you guys didn’t fuck, right?” ami scolds, eyeing you two as you three ate the dinner she so graciously brought home for you.

“nope. on our best behavior.” rin responds, giving your thigh a squeeze under the table.

well, technically he wasn’t lying.

masterlist

a/n: ‘i have plans that i cannot share w you right now, because the haters will sabotage me’ wink wink. only planning one or two (maybe even three) more parts of this *cries*

☆ taglist: @jennasquishy8 @nekee-lilac02 @riiceandsoup ☆

#x reader #smut #suna x reader #haikyu x reader #suna rintaro smut #suna smut #reader insert #fanfiction #suna rintaro haikyuu #haikyu smut #haikyuu imagines #suna rintaro x you #suna rintaro x y/n #suna rintaro fluff #suna rintaro x reader

550 notes · View notes

urhoneycombwitch · 3 months

Text

oh my god…… art teacher!eddie who works with 3rd graders. and he’s every bit as kooky as he was in high school but now all that energy has someplace to go- zipping after a classroom of young kids all day, joyfully instilling fine art skills such as melting down wax to make zombie-crayons into the young minds of Hawkins.

Mr. Eddie (though he’d prefer to drop the Mr altogether, since he’s still young enough to remember the annoyance of formalities) is known as the safe space teacher- anytime someone wanted to eat lunch in his classroom they were more than welcome. He might even tell you a cool story about his old D&D group.

one day there’s this new student in class, a real quiet kid that doesn’t come out of his shell easily- Eddie quickly finds out this kid has a natural talent for painting. he’s barely 8 and has an incredible sense of light and dark, depth perception, all that fancy crap Eddie learned words for in art school.

the kid- Jake- stays after class Tuesday to help clean palettes. Eddie tries to sound nonchalant, elbow deep in soap suds as he asks, “So where’d you learn to paint like that?”

Jake, on a step stool at the closest sink, turns off his tap and shrugs. “My mom’s a painter. She used to paint a lot when she was pregnant with me. I think I’m blessed.”

Eddie chuckles heartily. “That’s one way to put it, kid.”

On the first teacher-parent night of the school year, Eddie in smart slacks and his black-rimmed glasses stands up in front of the classroom to introduce himself to all the parents.

His eyes fall to Jake, near the back row of desks, and tracks up from the manicured hand on Jake’s shoulder to- you.

Eddie’s instantly transported back to his second year of art college, falling in love with the painter girl across the hall. He still has that portrait you did of him with oil pastels, the size of a postcard. It’s the only time he’s ever liked a recreation of himself, photographs included.

You still had the same soft smile, the same eyes that lit up in recognition at the same time as he did.

Mr. Munson stumbles through the rest of his speech, and releases everyone to explore the room much sooner than he planned.

With a nervousness that he hasn’t felt in years, Eddie (after confirming you’re a single mom now) asks you to dinner. You accept, with a smile that makes his heart thrum, and a few moments later he’s one spectacular phone number richer.

#teacher!eddie #teacher!eddie x reader #eddie munson x reader #Eddie Munson

388 notes · View notes

andypantsx3 · 1 year

Text

fingerprints | 9 | todoroki x reader

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

length: 3.9k of 38k words | 9th of 9 chapters

summary: When you’re outed as pro hero Shouto’s soulmate on national television, there are really only two sensible things for you to do: blame someone else and run.

tags/warnings: romance, soulmate au, fluff, pining, not actually unrequited love, aged up characters, eventual smut

fic masterlist

“Momo!” An enthusiastic cry went up from the Class A table.

You watched, a tiny thrill of anticipation zinging down your spine, as Momo smiled and approached your hightop. She was even prettier in person, her dark hair shiny and her features so prim and pert. Even her movements were charismatic and sure.

Mina shoved over to make room between herself and Jirou, and Momo gracefully perched on the stool, accepting the drink Jirou had apparently had waiting for her. Like Shouto, Momo was also treated to a round of fist-bumps which she returned with a soft smile and perfectly manicured hands.

Chatter quickly resumed all around you, Kaminari seizing your attention to show you a trick where he opened his beer with his forearm, looking pleased with himself. Then Shouto wanted to try, and your heart rate ticked up as he shrugged off his sweater in favor of the gray tee shirt beneath, his biceps cording with the movement.

You swallowed your own drink wrong, and Mina had to pat you on the back as you coughed, smirking knowingly. Your eyes briefly met Momo’s as you looked back, and she waved, a dainty little swoop of her fingers.

It took a few minutes for Shouto to learn the trick, as he didn’t seem to have enough fat on his forearm to manage it neatly, and had to push the bottle against the muscle a little more firmly. Once he had managed the cap twist perfectly, however, he presented you with the beer proudly, and you grinned at him.

Those mismatched eyes glittered in the dim light of the bar, dipping to your mouth as you took a sip. Heat pooled low in your stomach as he leaned in, watching you carefully.

You were somewhat startled to notice that his gaze was fixed solely on you, as though he had no thought for anyone else in the room. You realized, quite belatedly, that other than a nod at Momo as she approached, Shouto hadn’t shown any specific reaction.

In fact, come to think of it, no one had seemed to assume that Momo’s place would be by Shouto’s side when she came in. And Shouto had gone right back to opening a beer bottle for you, watching you drink it, looking like he wanted some reaction from you.

You again had the thought that he was unlike anyone else–so watchful, so kind, so unbelievably good down to his core. So unbelievably good to you, down to the smallest thing. He was your soulmate—yours, and he had tried so hard to keep you in his life ever since you had first met. Had dedicated so much of his time and attention to you since then, had made you feel so precious, special, cherished.

Despite all the shit people were saying on twitter, despite the fact that the entire world was on the verge of finding you out for sure. He had never cared. There was only one person he had ever made you feel like he cared for—

And suddenly, just like that, in a tiny, nothing moment, with Shouto’s eyes on you in a dimly lit dive bar–you realized.

Shouto had never been Momo’s.

Shouto had never been anyone else’s. Not in the permanent sense.

Shouto had chased after you. Shouto had been spending all his time with you. Shouto had bought you an entire animal rescue, and was even now sponsoring its refurbishment with miles and miles of security apparatus.

Todoroki Shouto had always, always been yours. And the reaction of his skin to your touch proved it, more definitively than anything.

And you had been so fucking stupid this whole time.

“Are you alright, love?” Shouto asked in his low, soft tone, and you blinked up at him, realizing you’d paused over your next sip.

His face was so stupidly perfect up close, his lashes so long and pretty, his mouth so soft and full. In the dim light, the edges of his scar were softened, a dusky pink against the rest of his skin. You’d always wondered if that part of him would react to your touch too. Before you even realized what you were doing, you reached up and gently pressed your thumb just under his eye.

Color bloomed under the pad of your finger, and Shouto blinked curiously, his fingers coming up to take your hand. Color blossomed under his touch too, staining your skin like watercolor.

You could have leaned in and kissed him right then, but something held you in place.

When you chose him, for the first time, you wanted it to be just between you two. Just for a few moments. Because the entire world would find out as soon as the Todoroki Agency made its statement, only a few days from now.

But you wanted this one thing to be just yours at first–the way Shouto was. No one else’s but yours.

You shot Shouto a grin and finished the beer he’d given you, telling him it tasted better for the cool factor his trick had put into it. You stifled a laugh as he tried not to look smug, and wondered how you could have ever, even for a minute, doubted Shouto’s feelings for you.

The rest of the evening was a blur, a haze of rowdy chatter and a rapidly escalating competition of drinking tricks. Pro heroes could apparently put away a ton of alcohol, and couldn’t resist showboating as they did so. You felt yourself grinning ear to ear, and then found those ears flushing with heat when Shouto’s hand found your hip as he watched his classmates get sillier alongside you.

Fetching your final drink of the evening–just regular soda water, considering you wanted to be clear headed enough to talk to Shouto when you got home–you ran into Momo at the bar.

She leaned in immediately, pulling you into a hug that felt like cashmere and smelled like some light, expensive perfume.

“I’ve been wanting to meet you ever since Shouto first showed up at our agency looking for you,” she said, a little bit of a flush on her cheeks. “I know we haven’t met formally but I feel like I know so much about you already.”

You smiled up at her. “Same to you. Shouto’s told me a lot.” Then you paused, curious about what she’d just meant. “Wait, he showed up at your agency looking for me?”

Momo blinked, then looked embarrassed. “Oh! Yes. Um, I hope you don’t mind. Jirou and I run our own agency and her quirk has to do with sound, you know.”

You nodded, curious where this was going. “Well, she’s excellent at long-range intel gathering and we’ve shaped the agency largely around that. We have a lot of heroes with quirks useful for that kind of thing, and civilian employees who specialize in data-gathering techniques as well,” Momo said. She sounded a little proud. “Um, so when Shouto needed to find you…well…”

A smile crept across your mouth. You remembered all those months ago when Shouto had neatly dodged the question of how he’d found you. “A friend ran video footage,” he’d said evasively.

So Momo had been a friend–the friend–all along.

He must have gone straight to her after the rescue, considering he’d shown up in your animal shelter the very next day. And that itself was a dead giveaway.

God, how could you have ever believed he didn’t want you?

“I will never be able to convey how grateful I am that you helped him find me,” you told Momo sincerely. “But, um, I’d love to buy you a drink as a symbol of my thanks.”

She flushed prettily again, but accepted, and you managed to obtain her drink of choice–an unexpectedly no-frills whiskey on the rocks. You would have to remember that for future nights out. There would never be any amount of drinks that could truly give back to her what she’d helped give you, but you could at least try.

After a little more idle chatter, Jirou came looking for Momo, and you thought you understood things even more clearly when you saw Jirou’s tiny, fine-boned hand slide possessively around Momo’s waist. And then you felt a much larger hand touch yours, and you turned to find Shouto lingering over you, watching you carefully.

And you knew, right then, that you couldn’t wait to tell him any longer.

“Hey,” you said in greeting, feeling pleased and bold and shivery with nerves all at once. “Wanna get out of here? I have something I wanna tell you when we get back.”

Shouto blinked, clearly mystified, but murmured his assent. You collected your coats and bade goodbye to everyone and then started the trek back to Shouto’s place, the night air cool on your skin.

“I like your friends,” you told him as you walked. “They’re good people.”

Shouto’s smile was small and pleased and toe-curlingly charming. “I have no doubt they liked you as well.”

“They just like that I made an idiot of myself on national television,” you said. “They like that I gave you a hard time.”

Shouto politely did not mention how prolonged that hard time had been, given that you’d actually been misunderstanding him for months. He told you instead about all the times Class A had made idiots of themselves on national television too, murmuring stories about their first sports festival in his hypnotically low voice as if to calm and reassure you.

You liked him so much.

When you finally made it through Shouto’s door, and Shouto had replenished Princess’s food and water, you knew it was time to tell him for real.

You drew in a nervous breath, then stepped close to him. “I think…I have decided what I want the Todoroki Agency statement to be,” you said.

Shouto’s mismatched eyes went wide, and you watched as he schooled his features into that classically blank expression, as if he did not want to influence you.

He was so, so, so unbearably good.

You had planned to say more but all of it was lost in that moment as you watched him wait for you, watched him try not to push you. It was what he’d been doing this entire time, you realized. Making his intentions clear, giving you everything he possibly could of himself, but never, ever pushing you into something you did not think you were ready for. Like he’d waited for you that day outside your apartment, holding still, letting you make the final move.

You were finally feeling bold enough to do it.

You leaned up, and, heart in your throat, you pressed your mouth to his.

And it was like the entire world snapped into alignment.

You didn’t know how else to describe it. As soon as your mouth met his, it felt like everything was finally right, a wave of something like relief washing over you. Shouto shuddered like he felt it too, and then his hand came up to catch your chin, cradling your cheek.

He kissed you back fervently–scorching one moment and tender the next. He tasted like the sweet fruit and soft tang of his drinks, sugary and delicious. An electric warmth lit you up inside, roiling in your stomach, every single one of your nerves buzzing.

His other arm came around you, gathering you against him, pressing you tightly to him. You clung to him, desperate.

It was a long time before he let you go, and you clutched the collar of his jacket, feeling a little weak-kneed.

“I hope–” Shouto started, sounding a little dazed. He blinked down at you, then tried again. “I hope that was not a farewell…”

You shook your head, gripping his coat even tighter. “No. No–Shouto, I am in love with you. I’m sorry it took so long for me to get my head out of my butt. I have had the most insane crush on you since the second I met you, and I’ve only fallen deeper the more I’ve gotten to know you. I could never, ever give you up for anything—not my privacy–nothing. I choose you.”

The most stunningly gorgeous smile you had ever seen broke out across Shouto’s mouth, luminous in its delight. “You choose me,” he echoed quietly, as if to himself.

Your heart did a weird flip in your chest at how utterly and insensibly handsome he was in his happiness.

You smiled back, feeling giddy. “Yeah. You’re my soulmate.”

Shouto’s fingers tightened on your chin, and then he was tilting your face back up to his and slotting his mouth against yours once more. It quieted every single word in your head, all the months of self-doubt, the stupid shit people had been saying about you online, the worry about what people would say in the future. All you knew, all you could think of, all you could feel was Shouto’s body pressed against yours, Shouto’s mouth over yours, Shouto’s breath filling your lungs–Shouto, Shouto, Shouto.

His thumb traced over your cheek, and Shouto pulled back, watching the motion of the pad across your skin, doubtlessly tracking the streak of color left behind. “Mine,” he said, more than a little smugly.

It startled a laugh out of you, the childish straightforwardness of it. You supposed he was allowed now, considering he’d behaved so carefully, so gentlemanly all throughout the previous months.

“All yours,” you promised.

Shouto seemed to like the sound of that very much. You heard your jacket being unzipped and suddenly it was being tugged off of you.

Shouto’s mouth found its way to your throat, and his fingers crept up under the hem of your shirt, sliding over the bare skin of your waist. “Y/N,” he breathed. “I almost thought I might never have this. I want to see you, all of you…” All of what’s mine, went unsaid.

You nodded, dizzy with the feeling of his mouth in the hollow of your neck. “Yes–I–me too—want to see you…”

You barely managed to scrape together enough brain cells to successfully pull your shirt off, and Shouto let out a low, appreciative groan, guiding you back to the wall with his hands. You watched as he stared at you, dragging his hands over you. Shivers wracked you at the sight of his dilated pupils following the streaks of color left by his fingers, like he could barely control himself over the thought that you were his.

He really, really wanted you.

Shouto’s mouth back on yours distracted you from thinking much more. Your fingers tangled in his hair as he pressed himself against you, shuddering when you felt his hardness press against your stomach.

His hands came under your thighs, boosting you up against him, and then that hardness was slotting right between your thighs, exactly where you wanted him. Your head made a dull thud against the wall as you threw it back, Shouto’s hips hitching to grind himself harder against you. His breath came harsh in your mouth, and you realized you were no better, letting out little puffs of air, squirming against him.

“Shouto,” you managed between kissed, “Shouto, I want—I want—”

“Yes, love,” Shouto said, even as his hand pressed down against your hip, grinding you harder into him. He let out a shuddering breath, eyes fluttering closed.

“I want you, please—” You gasped, accidentally digging your nails into the meat of his shoulder as another cant of his hips pressed him firmly but indirectly to your clit through the fabric of your pants. “Shouto, Shouto, please—more—”

“Anything you want, love,” he said. “I will give you everything.” And then suddenly he was stepping back, and you mourned the loss of heat against you, frowning.

Before you could get a word in, however, he was dropping to his knees, in front of you, tugging down your pants. Your hands seized his shoulders as he took one of your calves in hand, gently helping you step out of them, pulling your leg over one broad shoulder. He pressed a fluttering kiss to your stomach, and then your hip, and then lower, and lower, and lower, until his fingers were pulling aside your panties, and his mouth pressed directly to you.

Your head made another dull thunk against the wall as you threw it back. This is not what you had meant—!

“Fuck–oh my god—Sho–!”

Shouto groaned deeply, then licked over you more firmly. “Yes, pet?” he murmured, before doing it again.

You produced an embarrassing little squealing noise in place of words. You could feel his mouth shift into a smile against you, which was so weirdly hot, and then he went back to work on you, murmuring his appreciation.

His grip on you was firm, holding you in place as you shook with each delicate suck, each curl and swipe of his tongue. When you finally managed to look down at him, those heterochromatic eyes were staring back, drinking you in carefully, sliding over every spot his fingerprints had left his mark on you. The sight of him so wrapped up in you pushed you right over the edge, and he licked you right through your first orgasm, looking so utterly wrecked himself.

You didn’t have a single second to recover before Shouto was surging up, covering your mouth with his again. He caught you by the waist, and herded you urgently towards the couch, his mouth never leaving yours for a second.

You spilled over the side of it, Shouto’s heavy weight bearing you down to the cushions. You practically tore your panties off and fumbled with his belt, desperate to get Shouto inside you. He seemed to know instinctively what you wanted, slotting himself between your thighs.

His cock was predictably just as gorgeous as the rest of him, long and full, and he slid inside you with a low groan, fisting the cushion beside your head.

“Fuck, love,” he uttered, those long, pretty eyelashes fluttering. The sight of him so instantly undone–the furrow of his brow, and the almost-pained twist to his mouth–almost sent you right over the edge again.

He bucked his hips again, burying himself deeper inside you, and launched into an almost desperate pace, like he couldn’t bear to slow down now that he had you. You didn’t know what it was–if it was the fact that he was your soulmate, or if it was just the fact that he was Shouto–but he fit so right within you that you thought you might be driven insane with the feeling.

He held himself up over you with one hand, and the other dragged over every part of you, cupping your face, thumb sliding across your mouth, then slipping down to circle a nipple. You could see the fingerprints left all across your skin, and Shouto’s eyes seemed torn between your face and those bold streaks of color.

Shouto’s mouth only added to things–he was keeping up a stream of praise in that low tone, rough with feeling. “Fuck, love—that’s it. So good, you’re so perfect. Made for me, like we were made for each other. Mine, you’re mine.”

You could only pant out his name in return, writhing underneath him with every expert twist of his hips. “Yes, Shouto, please–!”

“Wanted you–from the very first minute I saw you—” he groaned. “Want you forever—”

The praise, coupled with the slap of his hips against you, the slide of him inside you immediately became too much.

Something inside you seized up, and you were thrown straight back over the edge, biting off a shout into the muscle of Shouto’s shoulder. The clenching of you around him made him groan, and he picked up, his thrusts became faster and looser, like he was losing control. He reached up, pressing his hand high on your chest, leaving a full set of fingerprints on you like a brand over your heart.

And then he was cumming too, flooding your insides, his hips jerking against yours uncontrollably.

You clung to him, sweaty and flushed and so unbearably full of love for him. He smiled down at you, that charming, half-moon grin, looking so incredibly smug and deeply pleased all at once.

“Did you really want me from the first minute you saw me?” you asked curiously, unable to help yourself now that everything was finally, finally on the table.

Shouto nodded, his hair falling into his eyes as he adjusted himself over you, leaning back on his haunches, pulling himself out of you. “Even before you left your fingerprints on me,” he said. “When I saw you–even though you were less injured than the others, it was like all I could focus on was getting you out of there. I had to force myself to prioritize the way I was trained.”

You blinked, feeling strangely flustered. “Really?”

His smile went charmingly crooked. “Like that, do you, love?”

You could practically feel your face fill with heat thermometer-style, like a cartoon character. “I just–to think we could have had this sooner, if I hadn’t been so stupid.”

“Yes,” Shouto agreed, and you tried not to pout.

“In fairness, you never made any moves on me!” you said.

Shouto’s eyes flickered over you assessingly, and he smoothed back some of your hair away from your face. “I was waiting for you to choose me,” he said calmly. “I know what it is to be the family of a pro hero–what it is to not have a choice about being publicly known.”

You warmed at the mention of family. “I’d pick you whatever the circumstances, Shouto,” you said, giddy with the boldness of actually voicing it out loud.

He leaned back in and took your mouth again, a kiss which grew rapidly more interested as Shouto laid himself out over you once more, his fingers sliding into your hair.

Except, as he did, there was a slight rush of air over you, and a light patter along the top of the couch.

You peeked an eye open to see Princess looming over the two of you, looking extremely put out with the goings on in her domain. You sputtered out a laugh as Shouto looked up too, his expression embarrassed and fond at all once.

“We’ve disturbed her majesty,” you said.

Shouto huffed out a small laugh, then gathered you up his arms. You suppressed a squeal, watching as Princess suddenly grew much farther away.

“We will have to take this elsewhere,” Shouto said, carrying you into his bedroom and shouldering the door closed. “As I’m not finished with you yet, love. We have many months to make up for, as you’ve said.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that left you as he deposited you onto his sheets, climbing over you once again, looking so handsome and mischievous and perfectly yours.

“I’m going to leave my fingerprints all over you,” you promised, leaning up and kissing him again.

“I have wanted nothing more,” Shouto said, smiling into your mouth.

And then you did—you marked him so thoroughly as your soulmate, the way you should have done from that very first day.

And Shouto let you, looking pleased—yours, as he always had been.

#todoroki x reader #shouto todoroki x reader #shoto x reader #shouto x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #bnha x reader #shoto x you #shoto todoroki x you #todoroki x you #todoroki smut #todoroki x y/n #shoto x y/n #bnha x you

1K notes · View notes

katiexpunk · 8 months

Text

Little Mouse | Pairing biker!Joel Miller X fem!Reader

Summary: Date night. Your favorite. You're dressed up and ready for a good time, only to find out that your sleazeball boyfriend is really just a jerk. Stood up and now alone in a bar on the bad side of town, you quickly come to realize you shouldn’t be there for more reasons than one. An unexpected savior to your shit night, a masked motorcycle rider quite literally saves your life, not caring whose blood was on his hands as a result. His only ask as a token of your appreciation? That you go for a ride with him. What could ever possibly happen? Rating: 18+ Minors DNI, like seriously, this shit is dark AF. I say this with love -- GTFO. Word count: 10K (yeah, we know, wtf) Warnings: Implied cheating (fuck her boyfriend) mentions of being stalked, suggestion of sexual assault/rape (not by Joel!), murder, blood, alcohol (reader is tipsy), switchblades, motorcycles, prey/predator complex, dom/sub, use of ‘little mouse, little one, baby’ also ‘sir and daddy.’ Fingering, female stimulation, dub-con, collaring, leather kink, mask kink, face-fucking, blowjob, praise kink, painful sex, choking, reader crawling on her knees, unprotected sex, brat taming, p in v, cowgirl, size kink, creampie, ownership kink, breeding kink. Authors Note: I AM SCREAMING. This was such a treat to work on with the lovely and talented @josephquinnswhore. This is my first collaborative fic, and the whole time Tay and I were just crying at how much we wish this version of Joel was real. This was truly a labor of love. Whether this is a hit or a flop, it doesn't matter to me, as I was lucky to get a sexy new friend out of it. Tay -- ilysm. Thanks for working on this with me. P.S. to my U.S. followers, you get this earlier than Saturday because it's already Saturday across the world, so enjoy your Friday night smut sesh.

The thudding noise of your fingers tapping against the hardwood of the bar makes for an easy outlet for your anxiety, although the woman next to you gives you an irritating look, obviously annoyed by the vibrations rolling their way down to her elbows resting on the bar top.

Twenty minutes. That’s how long you’ve been sitting at this miserable bar, the Cadillac Lounge.

It's quite a shit little dive – you had expected something fancier, but your boyfriend insists it’s ‘one of the best’, citing their famous hot wings and heavy pours. If it was truly one of the best, then shouldn’t he be here by now. Where the fuck is he?

In the 20 minutes that have passed since you got here, not only are you getting uncomfortable sitting at the bar by yourself, dodging glances from questionable patrons, but you've come to the conclusion that not only is he late, but he’s also a cheap bastard, and probably doesn’t think you deserve anything fancier.

Hell–you're dressed way too nice to be in a bar of this caliber in a sketchy part of town you’d never been to before. It's loud outside, and some people in the bar are too drunk—too rowdy, yet the man behind the bar stays silent as he passes you your second dirty martini. A marvel they even know how to make a martini. His silence makes you think it’s an all-common occurrence in this place; a pretty girl at the bar by herself, waiting for some shitbag guy to walk through the door.

The dress that clings to your body is one you bought specifically for this occasion; specifically for him – a mid-thigh-black leather dress – hoping he’d take you out somewhere nicer than a run-down bar where the stool legs were uneven and the television hardly caught reception. The soft material hugs every inch of you perfectly, and the spaghetti straps allow for plenty of cleavage to be seen. Your wallet aches as you remind yourself of the price of your black red-bottom heels; the effort you’d put into getting your nails manicured, and eyelashes done.

The floor is mismatched, an ugly shade of dark red wood that hasn't been cleaned in god knows how long; by the way your heels stick to the floor with each step, you can only assume it's been months, maybe even years. The pool tables in the back of the bar are dimly lit, and the floor surrounding them is a dark crème colored carpet, although there are plenty of stains, deep red and mustard yellow from wine and beer spilled in the ‘no drinking zone.’

A ping from your phone alerts you of a text message, and you stop your anxious tapping on the bar, almost dropping your phone onto the floor you were fumbling so fast to see what message you’d received. The woman two seats down finally adverts her irritated gaze from you.

Hey, not gonna make it tonight – I'm going to give Ashley a ride home from work, sorry to leave you hanging.

Ashley, as in his former ex-girlfriend, Ashley. He’s skipping out on date night to give his ex-girlfriend a ride home? What the actual fuck.

You blink stupidly, the longer you stare at the screen the blurrier the words become. Tears gather in your lash line, and the letters melt together to become large black shapes, eventually becoming unrecognizable, but it’s too late to forget them; they’re ingrained into the back of your eyelids, and when you finally close your eyes, a few tears fall from the outer corners.

What an asshole. You’re done. This is the last straw.

You begin to furiously tap out a response to him, leaving nothing but little click click click echos in the air as you do. Hot tears streaming down your face, no doubt ruining your mascara, you hit send on your response.

You know what – if you’re gonna give Ashley a ride home from work and leave me in this absolute shitshow of a bar, by myself, on OUR date night, you can fuck right off. We’re done.

Jerk.

You drop your phone back into your purse, and your fingers instinctively grip around the stem of the glass in front of you. You haven't even taken a sip from it until now; the vodka is sharp and bitter, but it slides down your throat with ease. You angrily slam the $15 cocktail, with a mission in your mind. Get drunk and forget your douchebag boyfriend, er, ex-boyfriend.

“Another,” you say, signaling to the oddly quiet bartender. Seriously, what’s with this guy? He eyes you down before finally nodding, and reaching out his hand to swipe the empty glass from in front of you.

As you sit there waiting, you realize that everything about you stands out, suggesting the way you obviously don't belong here – not in this bar, in this part of town, not even in this dress, the one that clings so perfectly to your frame, hugging your tits just right. You shift in the stool under you, beginning to feel uncomfortable, leather sticking to your now too-warm skin, sticky from your tears and the flush spreading from each martini you’d greedily consumed.

Mr. Silent I don’t say anything bartender places your third martini in front of you. You take a sip in silence, attempting to forget about the reality you are currently in.

Suddenly the low hum of the bar’s ambiance is interrupted by an unwelcome interloper. A man, reeking of booze, staffers toward you, his leering, yellow-twinged, bloodshot eyes filled with inappropriate lust as they shamelessly gaze at your breasts. “Hey there hic gorgeous,” he began, his breath a foul mix of whiskey and cigarettes, “looking awful sad over here, ya hic need some company?”

You stiffen, fingers lightly clenched around the stem of your martini glass, and shoot him a withering look.

This guy is a walking cliche of all things repulsive, like a welcome sign to the shitty part of town you were in. With him closer now, you’re able to really get a good look at him – his dirty and oversized clothes hanging loosely on his skeletal frame, a foul body odor clinging to the material, eyes hungry. The mostly gray and thinning hair that remains on his balding head indicates he’s too old to be interacting with someone your age, and his leathery and wrinkled skin clearly tells the story of a life spent mostly in the bottom of a bottle.

With his tone, you’re able to understand his intentions clearly. You take another sip of your drink and manage to squeak out a pathetic response, one that has no real bite or purpose, “sorry…’m not interested.” The man sits on the empty stool next to you anyway, leering eyes still painfully obviously drinking you in. You gaze at the bartender as if to say a little help here, but it’s useless, he’s not going to be of any more service than what’s required.

The full realization of the situation you’re in begins to wash over you – you need to leave. Now.

You slam the cocktail and let out a sputtering cough as the vodka begins to make its way back up your throat, now tinged with the flavor of bile. You grip the edge of the bar and your knuckles bleach white as you try and fend off the sudden wave of nausea that hits you like a freight truck.

Maybe drinking three martinis in the span of less than half an hour wasn’t your brightest idea.

The man drops his forearms to the bartop in front of you and begins to lean into your personal space, before spitting out “pretty thing like you, I bet you taste real fuckin hic good,” he says with a coy, husky laugh, making you shudder. Shivers shoot down your spine in alarm, the hairs on the back of your neck standing in full salute, your instinctual response warning you of the looming threat.

His eyes are dark and his pupils are unnaturally dilated, the thought makes your skin crawl as you note he’s not only a drunk, but also probably under the influence of some kind of drug, which uproots the fear of this interchange turning violent; a dark scenario where your rejection makes him angry and unpredictable.

The voice in your head shouts at you once more – LEAVE.

You stand and push your rickety, uneven stool backward, not even bothering to pay for your drinks before you grab your purse and storm out of the building, fighting to move your shaky legs fast as the bottom of your heels stick to the floor once more. You ignore the shouts of the barman telling you to close your tab, but you ignore them. Now he says something.

Once outside, the night air is brisk, but a welcome refreshment from the revolting encounter. You pause to take a look around at the world around you. The street practically screams danger to a young woman, let alone a drunk young woman. The dodgy streetlights that are functioning emit a hazy glow and don’t do much in the way of helping to light the path around you.

You walk around the corner and steal a glance behind you before you rummage through your purse, opening the golden clasp, it’s cool on your fingertips and the sensation only adds to your growing anxiety. Your fingers fumble around in panicked haste to find your phone. Finally. You sigh a breath of relief as your fingers grasp the cold metal. You jab at the screen, but quickly find that it’s dead. Shit, shit, shit. Your last sliver of safety snuffed out, leaving you alone – you hope – in the unforgiving night.

You think you might be sick as the wave of nausea returns. Your belly emits a low grumble and wait… fuck. No, you really are gonna be sick. Your pace begins to quicken as you scramble to find a place to throw up, away from the peering eyes of the residents who live on the wasteland streets that surround you.

You stumble your way into the back alley of the bar, and the world begins to spin. Your heart pounds in sync with your dizzying head – the sickening laughter from the creep at the bar still ringing in your ears, deafening you to the life surrounding you. The grimy brick walls of the alley offer you little comfort, the rough texture of them leaving small indents on your hand as you lean into the wall for support, and empty your stomach onto the asphalt beneath you. You cough at the secondary burn of the alcohol that now sears your throat for a second time tonight.

Although your stomach is empty, you continue to dry heave, bent over at your waist and staring at the rocks beneath you, when you hear the thud of loud footsteps behind you. Before you can register what’s happening, a grotesque shadow looms over you, and his smell hits you.

Oh no.

“Came out here to make it easy hic f’me, didn’t you, princess,” he snarls. “You knew what you were doin’, wearin’ this leather piece, didn’t ya babydoll?” He lurches out to grab you, but before he can, another figure materializes out of the darkness. His silhouette was hard and sharp against the pale light illuminating the alley, an unlikely savior in this hellish scene. Before you can even blink, he has the creep pinned up against the wall, his large forearm pressing against his throat. “You leave this nice girl alone, yeah?” he says, voice dark and menacing. He presses harder against the man's throat, “or I’ll make you fuckin’ regret it,” he threatens. Your savior spoke evenly, although there was an obvious underlying tone of threat muffled behind the black motorcycle helmet he wore.

“Chill out, man…was jus trying to have a good ti–” before he can even finish the thought consisting of violating you, your savior draws his head back and smashes it forward, the helmet connecting with a sickening crack against the creep's nose. A sharp, visceral sound reverbs through the alley, catching the attention of a few passers-by. They pause to look at what’s happening, but quickly keep moving, knowing better than to intervene. The now bloody man lets out a startled yelp, his hands reaching up instinctively to grab his now very broken nose.

“What’d you just fuckin’ say t’me?” Your savior grumbles. “You do this often, huh? Come out here into back alleys, whip out your limp little cock, and try and show pretty ladies a good time,” he huffs.

“I’ll show you a good time,” he says, snaking his free hand into his back pocket. There came a click, a sound as sharp and quick as a viper's bite, and the creep audibly whimpers, knowing what made it. There it was– a switchblade.

The creep continues to gravel with the man holding him captive in his strong grasp, “listen, man, I was just messin’ around…I swear! I’ll leave her alone, you can have her, fuck, please just let me go! I promi–” before he can finish the sentence, the silver blade was already plunged up into his ribs. The sound of the gurgling man choking on his own blood catches your attention, a result of your savior's expert maneuver with the blade. Still holding the man flush against the wall with his broad upper body, he uses his free hand to open the visor of his helmet. Eyes glaring into the man’s now, he pushes the blade in deeper as says, “Oh, I will,” and a masked grin washes across his face as the crimson red blood begins to pour out onto his gloves and the ground below; your savior moving his feet as not to dirty his boots.

With a swift movement, he releases the blade, and you watch in shock as the man thuds to the floor, sticky red blood stains his shirt and begins to pool on the pavement below, body limp, eyes glued open like he never saw it coming.

Is this really fucking happening right now, you think to yourself, rationalizing you’re probably hallucinating or something.

You watch as the man reaches a gloved hand to pull his visor, a smear of blood left behind as he pulls it down, hiding what little identity he had revealed to the creep. He turns his frame to face you and begins to stride forward, little drops of crimson falling from his gloves onto the floor by his sides as he does.

Eyes wide open like a deer about to be hit by a truck, you stare at him – your savior? You doubt it.

He just murdered a man in cold blood and told him he would have you. Surely that must mean you were going to succumb to the same fate or worse. Your fight or flight response kicks in, deciding on flight, and you begin to quickly back away from the man and the scene that just unfolded in front of you like a fucking horror film.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he says, narrowing the gap between your bodies.

You don’t respond as you continue your trek backward, gait unsteady as you try and keep your heels and ankles steady in your six-inch stilettos. Scared, you step back until your body unexpectedly meets the cool, hard metal of a motorcycle, causing you to let out a small squeak.

His strides are large and it’s not long before he has you trapped against his body and the motorbike; leaving you nowhere to run.

“Cat got your tongue, little mouse?” The man’s question is rhetorical and humorous. His large figure looks over you, a leather jacket clings to his broad shoulders, preventing you from looking anywhere but him.

You sure feel like a little mouse – small and defenseless. He tilts his head, looking down at you curiously as if you were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

And you are.

“You – you – killed that man,” your heart was in your throat as you spoke, unsure if your whispered accusation traveled the short distance to his ears.

“Yeah, little mouse, I did. Creep like that – trust me, he had it coming,” he says, voice muffled but sure.

His large palm begins to rise to your line of sight, and your heart sinks to your stomach as you stare at the blood now ever so close to your face. He pauses before he drops most of the bloody fingers into his fist, leaving but one clean finger out as if to point to something. He drags it over your cheek, down the razor edge of your jaw, and uses it to tilt your chin up to face him.

“You know, I probably saved your life – really should be thankin’ me,” he says, presumably gazing back at you, face still hidden from view by the helmet.

“And you can start by comin' for a ride."

You gasp.

He’s got to be fucking joking.

“I promise, you’re safe with me, alright?” He says, voice soft this time.

Right. Safe with the dude who just murdered another dude in the alley behind some sleazeball bar.

You can tell his words aren't a request.

Everything about his demeanor is commanding.

He demands attention.

Your attention.

Perhaps it was the heartache or the way he just saved your life, maybe even the three martinis you’d smashed in a short duration of time, your rational thoughts impaired from the alcohol content flowing through your blood, you internally agree to his demands. And for some unfathomable reason you can’t comprehend, his voice melts you like butter, his attention making you feel special.

A pang of arousal shoots through you.

“Okay…” you say, voice sweet like honey, but hesitant. If you’d kept him waiting long, he doesn’t mention it.

“Good girl,” he says, nodding to the back of the bike.

He knew you were an obedient one. He could tell. He reads your emotions like braille, it is as if he can feel every single thought running through your brain.

You need a protector, a savior, someone to tell you what to do and care for you. Someone who would do anything for you. You need him.

His hands hover over your waist, guiding you to the back of the bike, a safeguard, he would catch you if you slipped. As if he would ever let you fall.

You swing your leg over the back of the seat, sending your already tight dress higher up onto your hips as you do. The motorcycle's leather seat is cold against your inner thighs, a welcomed reprieve from the growing heat there. His hungry eyes watch as you adjust yourself, slowly gazing at the bareness of your legs, now prickled with small goosebumps in anticipation and response to the chill in the air. “Here little mouse, take this,” he says, wiping the bloody gloves onto his tight-fitting denim jeans before taking off his leather jacket and handing it to you, revealing a white mesh tank top that clings to his sun-kissed skin. You can’t help but notice that his shoulders are littered with freckles, all over his toned arms and shoulders, and the back of his neck. You find that small detail about such a harsh man a little endearing.

“Leather on leather,” he says, pausing to eye you up and down, “looks good on you,” he finishes. He places his hand on your bare thigh, his touch causing you to hold your breath, making sure you’re stable before he too mounts the bike.

“Hold on to me real tight,” he commands. You follow his instructions, your arms wrapping firmly around his waist, your fingers coming to a clasp as you scoot forward, your breasts pressed firmly against his warm and inviting back.

“Atta girl,” he praises.

Fuck. His words go straight to your already aroused core.

He couldn’t be sure if it was a button from the jacket pressing against him, or your nipples, but he decided it was the latter considering how cold you’d been moments beforehand.

The thought causes his cock to stir in his jeans. His mind can’t help but wonder, with your soft hands all over his toned body, rousing deep and vulgar thoughts in his head.

Your sweet little palms, what would they feel like wrapped around his—

He pushes the thought down, adjusts himself slightly, and turns to look over his shoulder at you as the bike begins to rumble to life. He jabs the kickstands with his heel and faces forward once more, palms firmly grabbing the clutch and throttle on the handlebars.

The loud sound of the engine and the rhythmic vibration it gives stimulate your now aching clit. The only barrier between your sopping cunt and the bike was the sheer lace panties that did nothing to stop your slick from leaking onto his leather seat.

With your body glued to his, you both tear through the inky black of the night. It was apparent that this side of town not only lacks security, but safety too, the buildings are all run down and cars seem to be left on cinder blocks, being stripped down for parts and left to rust. For the first time tonight, you’re grateful you’re not alone – grateful to be with him.

It seems the government had also neglected the quality of the roads, loose gravel flings out of the crevices of the back tire of the motorbike, and you grasp on tight to avoid the giant potholes that have now become a major problem on this one street. Without much warning, although you could have predicted it would happen, the bike jerked violently beneath you, the rear tire hitting a pothole with an unforgiving thud.

You gasp and your grip around his waist loosens in surprise. The sudden jolt sends your hand sliding down, and before you can correct it, your fingers brush against his already painfully stiff cock. He freezes in response. The feel of his hard bulge causes you’re already sticky folds to dampen further. You grazed the area for less than a few seconds, eventually finding your common sense and snatching your hand back up to grab your wrist, but the tension in his body tells you he felt you do it. That he liked it. You did, too.

You have no idea where he’s taking you, and though the streets of the unfamiliar town were a labyrinth to you, he seemed to navigate them with ease. Not before after, the bike comes to a slow as he pulls up to a nondescript warehouse.

Once inside, you take in the smudge and the grime of the shop. There was a surprising order to the chaos around you. The walls, washed with a pea-like hue of green, were the perfect backdrop for the display of tools in every size and shape imaginable, arranged perfectly above the wooden workbench. The air stank of oil, sawdust, and metal, but there was a certain comfort to it, a testament to the hours of sweat and hard work spilled within its confines.

With the two wheels of the bike are now stationary beneath you, he kills the engine. He swings his leg off to stand at the side of the bike. He offers his hand to steady you as you get off yourself, leaving a little wet spot on the seat from your slick as you do.

You know you’re aroused, but you don’t seem to notice just how much, but he sure does, eyes glued to the mark of you. The sight makes him shift and he adjusts himself to accommodate for the shrinking amount of space.

Taking in the surroundings, you do a tiny circle, before stopping facing him.

“Why – why, am I here?” you cautiously ask, not sure if you want the real answer.

“To say thank you t’me, properly, little mouse,” he rasps, voice dripping with suggestion.

You wonder what it means to thank him properly. A surge of desire courses through you like a bolt of lightning, your body responding with intensity at the thought.

He takes a step forward, and his overwhelming presence engulfs you, bringing with it the scent of musk, twinged with sweat and the sickly sweet copper smell of the blood left on his hands.

It’s absolutely intoxicating.

In your haze, your fingers reach out to touch the cool plastic of the black tinted helmet visor, curiosity gnawing at you for just a peek of the man that had you enthralled; you hadn’t even seen his face and yet you were completely dripping for him.

Before you could catch a peek, his fingers gripped your hand tightly in warning. He tilts his head to the side as if you’d really just tried that.

“What do ya think you’re doin’, little mouse?” The warning in his voice only made the need between your thighs that much stronger.

“I—I just wanted to...” you whine pathetically, trailing off as your mind begins to fill with obscene thoughts, rendering you unable to finish even a single sentence.

Although you can't directly see his face, you can feel his harsh stare burning you to your core. His firm grip around your wrist causes your nipples to harden in response to the touch. Everything in your vision blurs suddenly, the room nothing more but a mere haze, you almost don’t feel the right grip on your hips as he maneuvers your body, pushing your chest over his bike. A small noise of discomfort leaves your lips as the fuel cap of the bike digs into your breastbone. It hurts, but you don’t complain, not wanting this to end before it’s begun.

With his hard cock now pressed firmly against your ass, one hand grips your waist and the other holds the back of your neck. His fingers are cool and they send a shiver down your spine at his touch, his grip tightens on the back of your neck, holding you in place – trapped.

He hadn’t ever let a woman touch his bike, let alone ride with him; you should be grateful.

He was doing something for you.

“You’ll take what I give you, little mouse, not a sliver more, got it?” He growls.

You mewl under him; your non-verbal response only adds to your lack of cooperation, in his eyes, you were challenging him to make you submit to him.

He leans down, chest now flush with the curve of your back. You don’t dare to look back at him, feeling your legs tremble as he pushes his hard erection further into the exposed skin of your ass. Your leather dress had ridden right up, making for easy access, which his thick fingers happily take advantage of as they trace the thin lace of your panties.

He can hardly pry his eyes away from the now-drying stain your slick had left on his seat, and now here you were; pressed under him and fucking soaking for him.

“Now listen here, little mouse. When I speak, I expect you to answer me, or this all stops. Got it?” he says.

You tremble at his words and pout as he halts the small glide of his fingers along the lace between your folds. Caught up in the sensation, you don’t respond quickly enough.

“Answer me,” he commands while pulling his hand away and landing a swat over your pussy, the sensation on your clit sends a little shock through your body.

Senses returning to your head now, you nod frantically, eyes widening as you stutter, “Y-yes, sir. I understand.”

Seemingly satisfied with your response, his fingers resume their tortuous motion of gliding over your still-clothed folds, only taking a moment to recover from the moment you called him sir. It serves a bigger purpose, a large part to play in your dynamic. He rests his helmet on your shoulder and lets out a husky sigh, his own need beginning to catch up with him.

“How badly do you want it, little mouse?” He asks, a hint of challenge in his voice, hoping to get a ride out of you, and frustrate you further.

“Fuck–ppp, please touch me…I’ll be good, I promise, I’ll do whatever you say,” you say, realizing your begging is no better than the creeps back in the alley.

Satisfied with your pleading, he decides to take mercy on you, finally soothing the gnawing, aching need inside you. He traces his thick finger over the crease between your folds before he hooks the edge, and pushes the soiled fabric to the side. Your cunt has a visible sheen from the slick that’s spilled over from all of his teasing; a warm invitation for his fingers, your inviting hole sucks two of them in and clenches around him.

“So wet for me already, little mouse, fuck–,” he trails off. You moan in response, knowing he’ll expect an answer to his comment. He grins as he skillfully curls his fingers inside you to meet the spongey soft texture of your g-spot. He fucks his fingers in and out of you, every prod stretching you, getting you ready for him.

He can feel you crawling towards the cliff of your orgasm, but he's gonna take his time with you.

He knows you want to cum, that's obvious, and god does he want to know what you look like when you do, to feel it, to be the reason; but still, he continues to tease and let it build. Your face twists, your jaw goes slack, and your eyes close and it all but screams I’m close, make me come, make me come.

“Stop thinkin’ so damn loud,” he gruff voice circulates inside your head and descends down to your core, sending you spiraling.

Your fingers struggle to find purchase on anything as he continues to drive you closer and closer to your release, fingers prodding in and out, only leaving periodically to circle your clit before going back to their home inside you. The line between pain and pleasure has blurred; being bent over the bike is starting to get uncomfortable, and your neck is starting to ache from his hard grip that keeps you from slouching over. The blood is beginning to rush to your head, the lack of circulating air in the building and your lust cause your skin to heat, and small beads of sweat begin to form on your chest and forehead.

You're so, so close. When was he going to put a stop to this?

As if to read your mind once more, he says, “I know, baby. Doing so good. Concentrate on me,” his words bring you back to your surroundings, drawing you away from your demented brain's imprisonment of unease.

Your legs tremble against his groin, and the sweet moans that leave your lips echo through the workshop. You think he might, but he doesn’t tell you to shut up, he doesn’t cover your mouth. The pretty little noises coming from your throat only urge him to ram his fingers into you at a quicker pace, as if it were his personal mission to make you finally come.

Your mind goes foggy as your whole body stiffens. Your fingers find a tight grip on the leather seat of the bike and mindlessly, you dig your nails into the material, creating several crescent moon-shaped marks into the leather as you do. He rides out your orgasm with you and doesn’t stop until you totally soften under him, legs weak and shaking from overstimulation and pain from the position you’re in.

Now satisfied, you catch a glimpse of your handiwork on the seat. The once perfect material was now marked by your desperation.

“Tsk, tsk, little mouse – markin’ up my bike left and right tonight,” he says, voice firm, “I ‘otta punish you for that,” he scolds.

It was already too much, the position he had you in, his taunting and tormenting. What would a punishment look like? you wonder.

“‘M sorry, shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to,” you sputter, head still dizzy from your release.

Still inside you, he pushes his fingers aggressively deeper into your hole and he holds them there. The noise is obscene; the squelching of his fingers pushing into you, slick dripping down your legs, coating his fingers. It only made him hungry for more. Beneath the helmet, he licks his lips, clenching his teeth as his eyes roll into the back of his head. What he wouldn’t do for a taste of you.

“You're gonna be,” he says. The emphasis on his promise he makes you tremble, anticipation eating you from the inside out.

“Gonna come for me again, little mouse,” he orders.

Fuck. No. “I–I can’t, it’s too much, I’m too sensitive, and my, fuck, my legs hurt like this,” you say.

Your words fall on deaf ears, as he ignores your pleading. You were going to come again, and he was going to make sure of that.

He inserts a third finger and continues to fuck into you. His thumb reaches out to your clit, the small amount of pressure has you lurch forward with a yelp, the nub already extremely sensitive from your first release. The hand that’s gripped the back of your neck jerks backward harshly, forcing you back into his body. He wouldn’t allow you to do that, try to escape him.

Holding you into his chest, he reaches his free hand around and finds your clit once more. His fingers move antagonizing slowly as he makes soft circles around it, his pace decreasing, the overstimulation going with it. Your pain begins to flourish into something softer, and he once again has you crawling the stairs to your climax. You fight the temptation to jerk your hips, to fuck yourself stupid on his thick fingers, and make yourself come all over his already, soaked and pruned fingers. The added texture to his fingers adds to the sensations you’re experiencing.

“Bein’ such a good girl, there you go,” he sets a stable pace, murmuring to you, rubbing sweet circles onto your clit, and resuming fucking his fingers into you, “gonna give my mouse what she needs.”

“P-please let me come,” the plea leaves your desperate lips like a need, a key factor to your survival, like if you didn’t come again you were sure to die. The coil inside of your lower stomach winds once more, and your legs continue to shake, the only thing keeping you upright was the strength of his arms and his fingers unraveling you. Each swipe of his thumb on your clit is calculated, like he’s figured your body out already. He knows you’re close, the way you’re trembling and babbling senselessly, the way your hole clenches around his fingers, contracting to tighten around him to keep him inside.

“You can come, little mouse – come for me, baby, soak my fingers,” he says.

You obey and feel the taste of your sweet release rush through you like you were nothing but a pool of gas ignited with a flame. Your knees buckle, and he holds you tight to his chest. His sticky fingers leave your hole and away from your swollen clit.

“Such a good girl,” he praises in your ear. You revel in it, letting his words soak deep into you to your bones. He moves his slick-coated fingers up to your lips, “Now clean ‘em for me,” he commands, once again leaving no room for there to be a question about what he wants. You do as he orders. He presses his fingers into your inviting mouth, and you lap at your release and suck him dry.

He doesn’t give you but a minute to recover to catch your breath, now satisfied with your cleaning job, before he grabs a fistful of hair to spin you around, gently, but assertively. Your eyes drop down to his waist, and you see his hand on his leather belt. He begins to unbuckle it, the metal making a small clank as he releases its clasp, and yanks it off, leaving a whip sound in its wake.

You watch in anticipation as he uses both hands to make a small loop in the belt. You swallow your anticipation as you realize what he’s doing. It’s not long before he has it perfectly sized to accommodate your head, and he slips it onto your crown, and begins to lower it around your neck. Once there he secures it tightly, leaving enough room for you to breathe, but tight enough to feel its presence before tugging at the makeshift collar and deeming it satisfactory.

“Get on your knees, little mouse, he gruffs. “ Told you I’d punish ya for what you did to my bike,” he continues, voice lusty and low.

You pause, slightly dumbstruck.

Is he serious?

The little voice that gnawed at you to leave the bar earlier in the night comes back in full force and tells you that he most definitely was and that you’d be wise to listen.

You drop to the cold cement floor, knees meeting the harsh ground coated with little flecks of sawdust and grease. Your perky tits were practically spilling out of your leather dress at this point. You don’t care. You don’t even care about the bruises that were now forming from the position you were in; you want to be a good girl, give him what he wants – impress him. You were ready to worship at the altar of the man who had saved your life.

He watches you and palms at his hard cock before turning on his heels to walk away.

The fuck. Where’s he going?

He walks over to the side of the shop. This side was more empty than the primary workspace, but primarily occupied by a file cabinet in the corner and an aging bed, presumably only used for mid-workday naps. There’s an old rusted heater next to the bed, too close to the wall for comfort, you wonder how many cold late evenings this man had spent in this workshop, every little detail gave you some insight into his life, it felt familiar. Like you know him, that he was just an ordinary man; although you know he was far more intriguing.

He pauses by the grimy mattress. His fingers fumble for the button and zipper of his jeans, and he slowly undoes them, letting them fall to the floor, finally releasing the giant cock that was restrained behind the denim fabric. He takes himself in hand, tilts his head down, and spits for lubrication.

“Crawl to me, little mouse,” he says, dark gaze fixed on yours, “come get this cock,” he adds, stroking his length up and down, letting his weight lean onto the back wall of the shop as he gawks.

Crawl to him.

The words pierce you like a bullet, tearing through your flesh until you have no choice but to tend to the wound to stop the bleeding. You're his little pet, and you’ll do anything to make him happy.

You tilt forward, placing both palms on the ground so you’re on all fours. Eyes transfixed on him, and god, his cock, you begin to move, slowly crawling the distance of the shop. The already barely secured fullness of your tits gives way with the change in angle, allowing them to spill completely out of your dress. The sensation of the cold ground under your hands and knees, the cool air drying the stickiness on your inner thighs, and the thickness of the makeshift collar on your throat spur you on. You begin to crawl faster, needing to get to him sooner, needing to taste him.

Once in front of him, he pushes himself off the wall and comes to stand directly in front of you. He continues to stroke at his cock, and you salivate at the sight of his angry red tip weeping beads of pre-cum, veins boldening from the blood rushing through him. You want so badly to touch him, but you wait for him to give you the okay to do so, your palms patiently resting on your knees.

“You want this, little mouse,” he asks, already knowing the answer to his own question. “It’s all yours, come get it, baby,” he says, giving a nod of permission.

You reach up to take the weight of his heavy cock in your hands, and you admire the way your fingers barely touch. You stroke his length a few times, mouth watering at how silky soft his skin feels and the warmth it exudes. You look up at him from under your lashes and playfully dart your tongue out. You flatten it and lick a teasing stripe up to the tip of him, maintaining his gaze as you do.

“If you know what’s good for ya, little mouse, you won’t fucking tease me,” he says, the words still bite, but you can tell he’s losing his resolve. As much as he wants to pretend he’s in control, you’re the one with all the cards.

You slide the tip of him into your waiting mouth, wrapping your lips around, feeling a slight sting in the corners as they stretch to accommodate him. You stay shallow on his length at first, working up to wet him with your spit. After a moment, you feel confident you have enough lubricant to fully take him.

You begin to pick up your pace, allowing his cock to glide down your throat, kissing the back of it as you bob up and down. He lets out a satisfied sound, and you hum in response, savoring the taste of salt and musk that dance over your tastebuds.

Using the makeshift collar as leverage, he wraps the free material around his fist and pulls it taught, holding you with his cock stuffed down your windpipe. Your eyes begin to water, it’s so much, but you stay put. Spit begins to pool at the corners of your mouth, long dribbles of it spilling out over your lips and down your chin to your chest.

“Fuck, little mouse – so good, baby. Being such a good hole for me,” he praises.

His words encourage you to open wider, letting your jaw relax as you do. He pulls the leather strap tighter until you feel him deep in the back of your throat, your lips wrapped obscenely around the base of him, nose flush against his skin. He’s so deep you can hardly breathe. He holds you there a moment longer until you begin to tear up.

He slightly retreats, allowing you to catch your breath, your lips resting just around the tip of his girth. You look up at him, your cheeks flushed and mascara smudged, and he smirks. He was fucking wrecking you, and he loves every second of it.

He allows you a second to catch your breath, before he once again pulls at the belt, sending you right back down to the base of him. He lets out a deep, guttural groan in response. He could feel your heartbeat on the tip of him this deep, and it was almost too much. He pulls back and fully retreats out of you this time, bringing with him strings of saliva that fall onto you pristine but red-marked skin.

“Up,” he says, finally allowing you the opportunity to find relief from the cement that turned your knees and shins cherry red. You do as he says, pausing momentarily to brush the debris from your flesh before looking up at him. He pauses momentarily to admire you before bringing both hands up to undo the buckle of the belt, releasing you from the collar.

As you look up at him, you can’t help but feel distaste towards the helmet, wishing you could just see the man behind it. You had given yourself to him completely, submitting to this dangerous and exuberant man. Why wouldn’t he show his face? You whine loudly in response to his touch on your sensitive neck, the belt had left a thick plum-colored mark ingrained into your pretty skin, your entire body was sore from the events of the night and he hadn’t even fucked you yet.

Through his pleasure, his moans and raspy breaths of exhale, each and every opportunity for you to hear him have been tainted, unfairly muffled by the thick plastic. The noises he makes are primal, deep, something you crave more of; he’d been giving you so much tonight, made you cum hard more than once, and fucked your throat raw, but it isn’t enough; you want more of him, all of him.

You hadn’t been bashful the entire night, but suddenly you aren't confident enough to verbally ask him; multiple attempts have already been made to try and convince him to take it off, which he has quite harshly rejected.

He seems to sense your shift in energy, the anxiety radiating off of you like a pungent smell. His fingers grip your chin, curling them underneath to make you look up at him. Your mind flashes back to when it did it earlier in the night, only this time his hand wasn’t covered in blood. You suppose you should have felt some sort of relief at that, but your unease only worsens.

His masked figure continues to glare down at you, looking as if he might offer something sweet in his words, but he doesn’t; instead, he simply says, “ready for a different type of ride, little mouse?”

His words go straight to your already wet and stretched cunt. He’s finally going to fuck you.

He puts one knee onto the mattress, causing the springs of the frame holding it to scream out, the squeak an alarm that the sheer weight of them might be too much for their rusty coils to handle.

He pulls you flush against his chest and reaches his arms behind you to unzip your dress, and you're grateful, the leather fabric had pooled at your hips at this point and you were starting to sweat under the heavy folds. You sink into the warmth of him, the side of your face flush with the cool plastic of the helmet. As he works to release you from your cloth prison, the dress you were once so excited to put on, your gaze drops to the back of his neck, and you notice a patch of sweaty salt and pepper curls under the bottom edge of the helmet. You reach your arms up around him and intertwine your fingers around the locks. You had thought maybe he was older, but seeing the greying hair was the confirmation you needed.

With him now so close, you take in the opportunity to smell him, and fuck it was absolutely invigorating – like fresh coffee in the morning, the smoke from a campfire, and wait…is that, patchouli? Fucking patchouli? Because of course, your masked, murderous savior would smell like patchouli. You take a deep inhale through your nose, and hold it at the top, as if to commit his scent to memory.

He finishes with the dress, and you step out of it, also deciding to ditch the scrap of panties that no longer serve their intended purpose. Now bare, you stand in front of him innocently. You were nervous, unable to see his expression, unsure if he likes what he sees.

It doesn’t take much for him to give you the confirmation you need that he in fact, does, his rock-hard cock practically staring at you, begging for something to bury into. His rough and calloused palm traces over your arm, leaving goosebumps as it trails down. He latches onto your wrist, pausing to gently trace the blue veins and feel your pulse. His gentleness causes you to melt.

He takes a seat on the mattress, pulling you with him.

For the entire evening, your body had been riding the line between pain and pleasure, and it had never been more blurred than right now. Your knees are shaking as they find the broken springs under the grimy mattress.

It's almost too much, your knees ache with bruises forming on them from their assault on the cement. Straddling his hips, he reaches between your bodies to position himself at the entrance of your wet and waiting hole. You sink down onto his length halfway, eyes falling shut as you do.

Fuck – he’s big. Almost too big.

His hard cock fills you so good; and he gives you a second to adjust, frozen in pleasure for a moment when he finally reaches the hilt of you, the tip of his cock nudges in a painful pinch. For a moment he’s panting and just holding you on top of him, hands tightening around the delicious flesh of your hips. He’s just using you to keep his cock warm until he can catch his breath. He can tell by your incessant squirming that you’ve never had something so big stuffed inside of your small frame, and he was here to change that; fill you up how you deserve to be.

“Shit, baby – you’re a tight one, aint’cha,” he says, groaning breathlessly.

You begin to find your pace on him, rolling your hips into his as you find a rhythm, gliding effortlessly over his thickness with the help of his praise, his filthy words encouraging you to fuck him harder. His hands are still firm on your hips, leaving little bruises at the fingertips, and he assists your rolls back and forth as you grind your clit against the thick black hair at the base of him, teasing your swollen clit with each move as you do.

“I’m going to ruin you, little mouse, fuck you so good all you’ll ever think about is me. All you’ll ever feel is me.” His claim is arrogant, but rightfully so, the way he’s filling you to your ribs was something that couldn’t ever be competed with.

He knows it, and you know it. You are doomed to be a prisoner to an approach to sex you’d never experienced. Addicted to every touch.

The possessive nature of this man wouldn’t ever be matched with anyone else.

They would all fall short.

He had broken you to need him.

His hands roughly grasp at your breasts, pinching your nipples and rolling them between his fingers, and an airy moan leaves your lips as he watches them bounce, he gives them a harsh slap, earning a yelp from your lips as the sensation. The sting lingers and the red mark it creates is more proof of what this man’s doing to you; creating evidence that you’d remember long after he was gone, the ghost of the touch you’d feel one night in the future when you needed someone, no one would ever compare. He was leaving his mark on you.

His calloused fingers are thick, wrapping around your neck, applying a small amount of pressure to the side of your neck along your pulse point, until your vision goes a little fuzzy and you subsequently relax into his hands with the notion.

With as much as he's taking you—he curses under his breath when you let out a whimper of pleasure, holding the position, slipping his thumb into your mouth which you greedily sucked on, he feels the hum of a muffled moan.

“Such a good girl,” he moans, “squeezing my cock so fuckin’ tight, little mouse. This pussy was fucking made f’me,” he praises, his words practically dragging you over the edge, and you cream all over his cock as he continues to relentless thurst upwards inside of you, practically touching your lungs.

Your slick makes it easy for him to fuck into you right to the hilt, burying himself into the most sacred part of yourself. Greedily, you clench down onto him, sucking him back in when he tries to retract from your hole. In your delirium you swear you can feel him in your stomach, you’d never had someone so fucking deep inside of you before. Wet mewls escape your lips as you feel him drag his cock in and out of you, reaching places no other man had ever been. With the way your cunt greedily swallows his cock, he starts to feel a sense of infatuation, he would do anything to keep you.

“This pussy isn't goin’ to take too nicely to another cock, will she, little one? She likes me too much,” he says, but you find it hard to concentrate on words when there are so many things stimulating you – his cock, his hand around the column of your throat, the growing need budding in your clit, your intense desire to fucking look at his face.

Before you can register what’s happening, loud moans leave your lips, when they do the saliva that had accumulated inside of your mouth falls, dripping down onto the visor of his helmet. A gruff moan leaves his lips, one of shock and pleasure, seeing you drool all over him on his cock was a sight that spurred him on.

“Fuckin’ you so good you can’t even think properly, can you little mouse? S’alright, just let daddy make you feel good.”

Daddy.

You want so badly to cum.

But there’s something holding you back.

You need to see him. It's no longer a question or a curiosity. It's a non-negotiable.

“Shi–-shit, I’m so close, ugh I need to see your face,” you say, tears welling up in your eyes, “Please let me look at you while I cum on your cock,” you beg.

He ignores the request, your hips still grinding onto him, until you pout and beg once more, “Daddy, please!”

He grips down tight onto your hips, urging you to come to a slow, and eventually a full stop. You feel his cock twitch inside of you. He releases his grip and reaches up to place both hands on the helmet – yes, yes, yes, take it off – he pauses with his palms on the sides, before using the strength of his arms to take the helmet completely off.

The cool helmet now in his hands, he sets it off to the side on the mattress, and the inside rolls to face up.

That’s when you notice it – a small label, curiously out of place. You focus your gaze and the small letters focus in view; it’s a name.

His name.

Joel Miller.

You smile and decide to tuck the new knowledge away, for now, and turn your attention back to him.

Oh my.

He’s fucking hot.

Seeing him for the first time is jarring.

Like you should’ve expected him to look exactly like this, perhaps you’d expected him not to be so fucking handsome.

His wide brown eyes are watching you, the stare lingering on your face, the same stare you’d felt burning into your soul the entire evening. His pupils are dilated, a sentiment of his arousal for you. You want to take your time admiring him, in case he changes his mind and reverts back into the comfort of his helmet, but it’s too late for that; you’ve seen him.

You’ll remember every detail of him until the day you die. The patchy facial hair, his full mustache trimmed neatly; a small heart shape on the left side made your heart swell, it's well-groomed but still simultaneously unruly. He's a man who looks after himself. On the right cheek, there is a single dimple; showcasing itself as he bites the inside of his cheek.

It seems you finally had him like putty in your hands. He looks anxious, his eyes scanning your face frantically, searching for anything that would make you retreat from him, any sign of regret.

Your hand reaches out slowly as if approaching a stray animal, your pleading eyes begging for this one thing, just one simple touch. He flinches slightly as if this kind of feeling of your skin on his was foreign to him, but he doesn’t move, nor resist your action.

The pad of your soft thumb rubs over his lips, and you lean forward as if to kiss him.

You don’t.

Instead, you pause with your lips inches away from his, your hot breaths mingling together. A smirk washes over your face, and you flint your gaze up to his.

“Nice to meet you, Joel,” you whisper seductively.

What the fuck.

You uttering his name catches him off guard, rendering him surprised and vulnerable. He looks at you like he just got stabbed; he wouldn’t be the only one tonight. Like a bear preparing for a fight, he growls, and bucks his hips up into you, beginning to fuck you again, hard.

With his cock stuffed inside of you and the sight of his face, you’re close to your release.

Eyes gazing into his for real for the first time tonight, you feel a wave of pleasure overcome you, and you spill over onto him like a broken yolk. You fall forward, body limp and sore, and he lets you lay there, his chest your strength. He pauses, letting you work through your orgasm.

Once your shaking has subsided, he brings his hand up to your jaw. He smooshes your cheeks together, your lips puffing as he does. He stares at them for a moment, his expression mirroring your own, eyes dark with desire, before pulling them to his in a fiery kiss. His tongue explores the recesses of your mouth, and you welcome it with a moan that rumbles from the very core of your desire. Fuck, finally. You savor the taste of him, all salt with a hint of mint.

His lips part from yours, and he begins to chase his own release once more, his cock resuming its relentless pace, fucking in and out of you.

Seeing and feeling your orgasm already had him close. For the first time tonight, he finally got sips of fresh air, each breath filled with the sweet scent of all things you. He was absolutely ravenous.

“Fuck–,” he gasps, his orgasm not far off, “Gonna come, little mouse, wanna shit–wanna fill you up, make you full of me,” he says, breath heavy and shallow with each thrust.

“Yes, daddy, please,” you pant, moans weak and timid.

“Fuck, Joel, give me your cum, want it so bad” you beg, your walls pulsing and squeezing around him, your cunt crying to be filled.

He gives you a few more shaky rolls of his hips, and then slows, balls deep inside you.

“You’re mine now, little mouse,” he says, shooting long, thick ropes of milky white release, painting your cervix with his seed.

At that moment you realize you are his, nothing more than a little mouse caught in his trap – and he’ll never let you go.

END

...or is it?

Tagging: @sydneyinacoma @darkheartgatita @elegantduckturtle @alltheglitterandtheroar @hotgirlbedtimescenarios @reddedmiller @morallyinept @theywhowriteandknowthings @beefrobeefcal @secretelephanttattoo @ruinmepedro @papipascalispunk @dins-riduur-anthe @untamedheart81 @planet-marz1 @pascalpvnk @elvinaa @joeldjarin @javiscigarette @cavillscurls and @toxicanonymity (our queen of dark fics and source of inspiration)

Oh hey! You made it to the end. Cool. Thanks for reading. Since you're here, I'll pass on a reminder that I'm just a horny little wannabe fic writer trying to make her way on this hell site and write things that make people turned on happy. Likes and comments are wonderful and much appreciated, but reblogs are really what counts in making people see this, especially for smaller blogs like mine. If you like this, please consider reblogging.

#dark joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x female reader #pedro pascal #joel miller smut #the last of us #kinktober #dark writing #pedrohub #collaborative writing

491 notes · View notes

starryschoolgirl · 8 months

Text

Responsibilities (of marriage)

Summary -> Even though the two of you may have a little fight here and there, Elvis reminds you that regardless of your feelings, you still have your marital duties to abide by, it's what holds a union together. Your responsibilities as a wife. And to keep him, you're bound to fulfill them because Lord knows he can have them filled anytime anyplace.

Warnings -> Jealousy, the brutally soft/appeasing nature of the reader can be annoying to some people, smut, p in v, possible dacryphilia, unprotected sex, sex in a house full of people(?), kitchen sex, entitlement to a woman's body, innocence/inexperience kink, threats of infidelity, dismissed jealousy, Elvis gets pervy with panties, ass slapping, outdated views on how marriage/being married should be, swearing, talks of 'breaking in' girl's vagina, repeated denial of sex, persuasion for sex, this is quite dubious at certain points

WC -> 5.6k

Edit: This is an installment of the Baby Love au!!

This could only have come to fruition thanks to the wonderful input of @yourfavoritedreamgirlblog, thank you Lovely for the help

As another song came to a wrap Elvis made sure to send a smile to every girl in the room, along with a few of the guys who watched from their places at the fold-out table they used to play cards on, having their respective girls on their laps.

Squeals of excited ecstasy left the mouths of the girls that surrounded Elvis as he sang one last sweet, drawn-out note.

This kind of night wasn't an unusual occurrence, Elvis often held jam sessions with girls there to praise him because for some reason your words and the words of his entourage weren't enough to satisfy his ego. It had started happening a lot more since you and Elvis officially tied the knot, not even a month ago now.

But tonight it wasn't in you to be the cool wife, to be just the wife. The wife who was sweet and unthreatened by the floozies Elvis would let into the house, into your home. A strange swirl of anger and sadness had been giving you a headache for the entirety of the jam session. It either stemmed from your waves of emotions, or it was the fumes of how much perfume these girls were spritzing all over themselves, filling your house with the scent of them.

It also didn't help that Elvis had been paying special attention to the girls tonight, usually he'd take time to look at you and smile at you throughout the session, but tonight he hadn't given you any attention.

Biting down on your wobbly lip, you watched from afar on the plush couch, Elvis sat on a stool a few feet away, his guitar sitting on his lap as a group of girls sat at his feet like concubines. The girls were meant to be there for the other guys, at least that's what Elvis had always said to you. Joe would go down and pull a few pretty girls from the gate of your California home and drag them up to the house so that they could entertain the boys.

As your nails dug little crescents into your palms Elvis' laughter boomed over the shrill giggles of the girls sitting at his feet, he then asked as he stared down at a particular green-eyed blonde,

"Got another request?"

Just then a different girl wearing a skin-tight green dress crawled forward slightly, putting her hand on Elvis' knee as she suggested with those big batting false lashes,

"Could you read to us again?"

Elvis smiled down at her sweetly and put his hand over hers as he purred,

"'Course Doll… And by the way,"

He went on about how pretty her makeup was done and that led to another girl clinging to his leg and asking coyly, "What about my eyelashes Mr. Presley? They're natural.", everyone in the room knew they weren't, even Elvis, but he'd feed into the girl's words because she was just so cute.

As the group continued to converse with Elvis' preferences being the focus, you bit your manicured nails harshly, feeling tears build up in your eyes as you watched this all go down in your home.

Your legs bounced nervously, but only seconds later a woman turned her head back to the sound of your heels clicking against the wood floor. Her stare wasn't nice or sweet, it looked closer to disgust. Your nervous habit came to a halt, not wanting to be bothersome to anybody even in your own house.

As her head turned back to Elvis her hair flicked with it. You pulled your nails from your mouth and let them rest in your lap, the paint on your pointer and middle fingernails was chipped. You'd have to fix the ugly mistake tonight.

Elvis' conversation with the girls came to a stop as he decided to fulfill the blonde's wish, and for the first time tonight he looked over to you with a hand pointed to the cushion next to you where he left one of his religious books,

"Honey, could ya grab my book f'me?"

You looked up at him with wide eyes and immediately stepped into action, grabbing his book gently and stepping around the girls who stared up at you with unreadable gazes. You mumbled quiet apologies as you tried to step around them to get to Elvis, you felt like an inconvenience, and you knew you shouldn't, but you did.

As Elvis grabbed the book from you, instead of smiling and mumbling a 'thank you', his eyes caught the imperfection on your nails. He grabbed your wrist gently and turned it so that he could get a better look at your hand, with a soft laugh he spoke bluntly,

"Your polish is chipped Honey,"

A few girls giggled along with his laugh, but you knew they weren't laughing out of love the way (you hoped) Elvis was. They were laughing because even the smallest glimpse of imperfection from a woman married to a man like Elvis was pathetic. It gave them the idea that they had a chance with Elvis. Little Miss Perfect made a mistake, so they had an opening. You felt a blush of embarrassment fall over your face and softly stuttered,

"I-I know, I'll fix it"

Elvis stared at you with a small smile, his thumb gliding across the smooth skin of your wrist as he mumbled,

"I think it's best ya do"

The attention on you at the moment was making you antsy and irritable. You just wanted to go back to being a decoration in the corner of the house. Something that no one but Elvis would pay any mind to. The uncomfortable feeling of having the eyes of girls you didn't even want in the house on you was weighing on your mind and your words.

You looked down at the tips of your heels and avoided eye contact as you quietly repeated yourself to get yourself out of the situation as fast as possible,

"I said I'll fix it."

His eyebrows lifted ever so slightly at his sweet little girl's tone, his grip on your wrist tightening just enough to leave a mark but not so much that the girls that surrounded you could see it. His smile turned patronizing as he tilted his head a little. He spoke through a breathy laugh,

"Shouldn't have chipped it in the first place Doll…"

The laughs of the other girls sounded like a soft hum as you stared at your feet, nodding in silence as you chewed your lower lip, feeling tears build up in your eyes once again. After he got your nod he let go of your wrist, but instead of turning to head back to the couch, you turned a different way, as you made your way through the girls in a different direction. As you walked you murmured a soft, "Excuse me", a quiet, "Sorry", and a shaky, "P-pardon me"

As you began to quickly make your way to the doorway that led to the kitchen you could hear Elvis ask, "Where ya goin' Hon?" and you continued without looking back or speaking, fearing that if you did he'd see your teary eyes and hear the cracks in your voice.

Thankfully the kitchen was a completely separate room, and though you could still hear everything going on in the living room, it was more subdued despite that the entry to the kitchen was open and free for noise to flow in and out. You sniffled softly and stared down at your nails, finally taking in the ugliness of the chipping at your polish.

You walked over to the medicine cabinet just above the stove, you were tall enough to open it but unfortunately, you weren't tall enough to reach inside so you had to grab one of the stools that were used as seating for the island counter, shakily standing on it as you continued to sniffle.

Your search for the nail polish remover was a hard one, maybe it was due to the tears that filled your eyes and made your vision blur, but for some reason, you were having such a hard time finding it that you hadn't even noted that the strumming of the guitar in the other room had come to a stop, and Elvis' voice which sounded like a soft murmur from here in the kitchen had now disappeared from the air, like the scent of your favorite dinner after everyone had taken their portion.

It was only when you felt the rough callouses on Elvis' hands and the rings that adorned his fingers run along the inside of your thigh that you realized he must've stopped entertaining the girls at some point and entered the kitchen. He looked up at you as you stood on the stool while his hand continued to knead at the flesh of your thigh.

Your lip wobbled as you looked down at him and you quickly used the back of your hand to swipe your tears away as you noticed a frown tug at his lips. He mumbled in plain confusion,

"Why ya cryin'?"

You sighed softly, disguising it as a breathy laugh as you shook your head,

"It's nothing"

Elvis' hand that caressed your inner thigh ran down toward the back of your calf, rubbing upward and downward twice before he spoke pointedly with an unamused look on his face,

"If it's nothin' why'd ya leave? And why didn't you answer me?"

You looked down at him with widened eyes and quickly closed the cabinet so you could put all your focus on him, feeling apologetic as you'd forgotten about that.

"I-I didn't mean to- I was just, I was embarrassed…"

Elvis' laugh was low and dry, complimented perfectly by his rough voice and tightening grip on your calf,

"You were embarrassed? How'd ya think I felt after my wife ignored me in front of a whole fuckin' room of people?"

You kept yourself from wincing at his tone as you looked away from him, realizing how inconsiderate your actions were, and remembering your mother telling you that the wife is a representation of the man, that she is responsible for his image, and that she should always maintain decorum. Hardly married a month and you'd already made so many mistakes, this was just another notch to the bedpost.

Your voice was quiet as you breathed out another apology.

A silence ensued as Elvis' hand ran up your calf to your thigh, slipping up even further to touch the skin under your skirt. You turned abruptly which made him lose his touch on your skin, before stepping off the stool carefully. Your eyes were widened as you looked scandalized by even the prospect of what he was silently proposing.

As he moved the stool out of the way to clear his path toward you, arms reached out and landing around your waist. You put both your hands on his chest, the force you could evoke from yourself was a small pathetic one as you whispered up at him, "No, no, no…"

He smiled down at you and licked his lips, his girl was so smart.

"No what? Hm?"

Each stride of his pushed his body against yours, the contact would lose for a second as you took a step back, but he would follow up with another stride until you were pushed back against the counter, you could feel the hard granite pushing into the back of you.

He knew what he was suggesting, he knew what he was imploring with those fingers that danced too close to the lace lining of your panties under your skirt. He just wanted to hear you say it, to say you knew what he was implying.

You, his sweet little wife, having only recently had her cherry popped by her husband, a girl who while she dated him wasn't all that aware of sexual cues until now. And within the span of a few weeks, Elvis had broken you in all nice and proper, he'd taught you how to take a cock, and he loosened you up enough to where sex could be enjoyable.

And though the wedding was almost a month ago, he still cradles the idea that his darling bride is still new and flimsy, inexperienced and innocent.

He wanted to hear what he was turning you into. From a virgin bride who needed to be gently introduced to her marital duties, to a fucked-out wife who knew her place and knew when she needed to fulfill her responsibilities. Whether those responsibilities take place on the plush of your shared bed, the leather of the couch in Elvis' dressing rooms, or the hardened countertops in the kitchen.

It didn't matter, it was your responsibility.

"E-Elvis, there are people, they'll hear…"

Elvis' grip on your waist had firmed up as he leaned down to press little kisses along the side of your neck. One hand rose to gently get a grip on your hair as he used it to pull your head to the side, giving him more access to the skin. He mumbled softly into the skin,

"Isn't that what you want?"

You breathed out a confused, "What?" as his kisses continued up your chin and then to your cheek. He pulled back and smiled down at you, both his hands cupping your cheeks in the gentlest of ways,

"As subtle as ya think ya are, it's pretty easy f'me to tell when you're jealous"

Oh no. He knew.

Your mother always told you that a good wife doesn't get jealous, she shouldn't anyway.

She's the wife and that's the spot that matters, a man can have girlfriends if he wants to. Because the only way to keep a man happy is to let him have his cake and eat it too. Men were simple that way, they were greedy and lustful. And your mother told you that no matter how hard you work, there comes a point when a man will no longer lust over his wife, his eyes will travel elsewhere and that's a given. But you'll stay around as long as you're pleasant company because men are greedy.

You looked panicked as you tried to deny it with a shake of your head, your voice frantically soft in the way your mother always spoke to your father,

"I'm not-"

His voice was sharp as he easily cut through your denial,

"Think I'm stupid or somethin'? I know ya want those girls to know you're mine. So I'll be a good husband and comply with your wishes."

It was all falling apart, you should've just sat there and dealt with it like a good wife. As you realized the bunch you got yourself into you began to try to explain yourself, only to have your thoughts get all jumbled as Elvis pressed his body against yours entirely, his arms trapping you against him as he wrapped them around your waist. His nose was buried into the crook of your neck as he began tugging the neckline of your shirt down, when it didn't comply he simply began ripping it.

"Elvis don't!"

He mumbled into your skin, sounding a little annoyed as he did so,

"Would ya just shut the fuck up"

You blubbered with your hands attempting to push him away by his shoulders, you needed to explain to him that you were fine with the girls, you didn't care, you could be the placating wife a man like him no doubt needed. You really could. So the two of you didn't need to do it now, didn't need to do it here for anyone to walk in and see. For the people just one room away to hear.

Your voice was panicked as you continued despite his scolding,

"B-but, I'm not, I mean- We can't"

As Elvis continued to attack your neck he spoke roughly into the skin, "Goddammit" and pulled away, pulling you by your wrist over to the island counter, center of the kitchen and as big as a dining table. You tried to explain your viewpoint quickly,

"People will hear, I don't, please no, not here, c-can we go upstairs?"

He kept a bruising grip on your waist with one hand while the other grabbed your chin roughly, making you look him in the eye. Your breathing was ragged, not from means of pleasure, but rather your fear of having a displeased husband, having done something to make him look at you the way he was now. You're sure what's in his eyes is anger, fury, disappointment, and dissatisfaction.

"Look Honey, I don't wanna be an ass of a husband, but if that's what I gotta be to make this marriage work, then that's what I'll be."

You stared up at him with fear of what being an ass of a husband entailed. Was he going to find a girl who'd let him fuck her in this situation instead? Would he do that? No, he wouldn't… Your eyes watered at the idea.

Your tone sounded hurt as you said, "Elvis…"

As your eyes continued to fill with tears Elvis' hands flew down to your hips, quickly spinning your around to face the island and pressing his groin against your ass. The surface was digging painfully into where your hip bones were.

"If I have to fuck you face down over this damn counter so that this marriage can keep on keepin' on, then that's what I'm gonna do."

You gasped at his statement and tried to maneuver out from between him and the counter, but that only led to him grabbing you by the back of your neck with a gentle, but firm grip. He pushed you down by the neck till you were completely bent over the counter. As the cold granite snapped against your temple and cheek you whined softly, "Elvis, can we please do it upstairs? Please"

Even in this situation, you were still acting like a good little girl, still minding your manners, talking sweet and soft.

Elvis gave you an ultimatum from behind as he shifted his crotch slightly, letting you feel what you were doing to him,

"I don't wanna fuck you upstairs, I wanna do it here and now, if you won't I'm sure one of the other girls will."

You stayed bent over the counter pliantly, chewing the bottom of your lip with an internal battle, Elvis' voice interrupting it as he asked,

"Now then, I'm gonna make this marriage work, spent too long breakin' ya in to have ya turn into some naggin' old, jealous prude of a wife."

Before you could say anything in response he was already hiking your skirt up to have it pool around your hips as he kneaded your ass. You let out a strangled yelp as the sharp sound of Elvis slapping your ass filled the room. Followed by another. he leaned over your body and cupped your chin from behind as he littered kisses down your temple and cheek, growling into the skin, "Go on Baby, let them hear you, let them hear what I do to you."

Another slap of your ass filled the room followed by a cry. You hated that you liked it.

Elvis pulled back to stare at your pretty pink panties, his fingers toyed with the edge of the thin fabric. After ample admiring he tugged the sides down, eventually letting them drop and watching as they fell to your ankles. He smirked softly as he watched your small clumsy feet try to step out of them.

"Atta girl, knew my sweet girl would come 'round"

You hummed softly, happy with the tinge of approval in his voice. Your actions showed that you could be the kind of wife Elvis could fuck next to a room full of people, but your body betrayed you as you trembled with anxiety from the thought of someone else coming in and seeing you in this state. Seeing you acting like a whore.

As you heard the click of Elvis' belt buckle you inhaled a sharp breath of nerves. And though at this moment, any spectator might think Elvis was just another self-centered man who thought sex was only about the man's feelings, you knew Elvis was thinking of you, that by having not even fucked you yet he was being considerate. He could have easily pushed you against the counter and had his way with you a few minutes ago.

And he showed his silent consideration of your feelings as he kept one hand on your lower back, rubbing soothing circles into the skin while his fingers on his other hand fumbled with the zipper of his trousers, pulling out his length and quickly spitting onto his palm just to rub himself up.

Had it been any other man the image would've been disgusting, but when it was Elvis it was different. Because your husband wasn't like any other.

His hand that once soothed you drifted down to squeeze the globe of your ass before traveling even further South as he used two fingers to part the lips of your pussy. A soft squelch filled the air between to two of you as he parted you, it was proof that your body wanted him just as much as his wanted yours. The noise left him to hum pleasurably, and you to press your red-hot cheeks into the cold counter.

"What's this? Were ya secretly hopin' I'd fuck you over the counter?"

You whined softly at his insinuation. Squeezing your eyes shut in distaste as he reasoned, "No point in askin' I guess, I mean-" His eyes caught sight of your discarded pink panties on the floor and he quickly reached to grab them, laughing softly to himself as he saw all he needed. He continued, bringing your panties down for you to look them head-on.

Your face flushed at the sight and as you tried to turn it away his other hand gripped your chin roughly, the rings pinching at your skin as he made you stare at your own doing, laughing breathily, "The answer to my question is right here ain't it?"

And it was. You didn't want to admit it, but it was all true. The idea of, after repressing your jealousy night after night for so long, of finally letting everyone know you were his and he was yours… It was such a romantic idea. And for you, raised to only get your rocks off on romance books rather than boys, romance was the most erotic thing of all.

His two fingers that parted your pussy's lips squeezed their way through the folds, entering a much warmer, more enclosed area. Your vagina contracted slightly at the sudden intrusions of Elvis' long fingers, you let out a soft breathy moan, it was quiet for the most part but had a high pitch at the end that could give away that not all was normal in the kitchen.

He spoke breathily at the noise, "Oh Honey," it was a giveaway that he'd enjoyed hearing that sound leave you. You quickly flung your hand over your mouth as Elvis' fingers curled within your heat, the squelching continued with each movement, the larger his movements were, the louder the squelch would be. It amused him.

When he deemed you ready he pulled his fingers out, running the white discharge that stuck to his fingers along his length, using it as a lubricant of sorts, but really, he just loved how lewd the idea was. His special times with you always ended with your skin getting stained with the proof of his satisfaction. So when he could, he loved to lather his cock in your proof of satisfaction as if it were the most purifying of body washes. You getting cum on your face and him watching it begin to slowly slide down your skin was lewd and he knew deep down you loved it, this was his equivalent, this is what he loved.

His head fell back gently as he tugged at his foreskin again, making sure to get your discharge in all the little cracks and crevices before lining himself up behind you. You could feel the tip of him press against your lips, despite all his experience he always fumbled around a little down there, in his defense there were a few things to look out for before he could land himself in the gold mine.

You tried your best to brace yourself, but there wasn't much to grab on the counter, it wasn't like when Elvis fucked you on the bed and you could cry into a pillow and grasp at the sheets, the best you could do on the counter was hold onto the edges, it was worth a try though.

As Elvis pushed into you he groaned lowly, the noise only getting louder the further he pushed in. You did your best to keep quiet, to keep your dignity, but it was only due to you beginning to stand on your tippy toes to stop Elvis from getting his natural leverage due to height into you, it soothed the burn enough to where instead of moaning loudly you got by with a soft cry that you did your best to choke back.

Elvis noticed this and leaned down, careful not to shuffle around in you too much. He kissed your shoulder gently and murmured into the skin, his tone and words sweet for the first time this evening, as he spoke he sounded the way he always did when the two of you were alone, his public behavior now wearing off as he tried to soothe his wife.

"I know it's still hard Babydoll, but this is the only way it gets better, c'mon, come down from the tips of your sooties, ya can do it Baby, I know ya can…"

As Elvis continued to press gentle kisses along your shoulder you slowly eased yourself down from your toes, but the tug at your inner walls and the burn that followed was too much. You fell forward defeatedly onto the island counter, raising yourself back up to your toes as you cried softly into the hard surface,

"It hurts Elvis..! I can't, I can't"

Elvis grimaced and looked up to the ceiling like he was asking the Lord for patience as the throbbing and twitching of his cock was beginning to tingle him painfully, he needed to move, but he needed you to be ok with that.

With a gentle hold, Elvis moved your hair to the side so that he could press a gentle kiss on the back of your neck. You could feel and hear him murmur into the skin, his voice patient yet stern,

"You've done it before Mama, we've been workin' so hard. Don't ya remember it only burns at first, r'member how good it feels after?"

You nodded slowly, he watched from behind and quietly hummed, "There, now let yourself down on me Honey, all the way." His hands settled at your hips as he slowly helped guide you down from your tippy toes, you winced softly as you continued, and he encouraged, "A-almost there Baby, that's right, there…"

His last word had drawn off as his head fell backward from being completely engulfed within your heat.

Pulling out a little was easy, it was the going back in that was hard as it put the both of you right back where you started with you arching back up on your toes and crying out softly from the familiar yet painful intrusion.

Elvis swore quietly, "Fuck's sake…"

Though you felt bad for being so bothersome, you stuck with your actions. You'd never done the act in this position before, all the other times you and Elvis had sex up until now, it was always slow, sweet, and soft. There was never any pressure, and you never had to stand up.

You stuttered out as you felt your poor little toes begin to tremble from supporting your entire body for so long,

"It-It's not getting better, it b-burns"

Elvis grunted and laid his head on your back as he spoke through a sexual frustration from being granted access to your pussy just to have it taken away once again,

"It will get better."

You were being such a tease, well not purposely, but it still wasn't something that would fly with Elvis. He knew how to cut through to you though, he knew his bride was such a sweet girl, such a people pleaser, that she wouldn't be so difficult under different conditions.

Elvis pressed his head against your back, his tone of voice low and breathy as he asked,

"Remember all that breakin' in I did for ya? How good I was? I was good wasn't I, mama?"

You wanted to sob as you were stuck in a predicament, if you stopped Elvis would think you didn't think he was good enough, but if you kept going you were certain he'd tear you open from the inside out, or at least rip the crevice of your womanhood, the idea made you grimace painfully as you thought about it.

As you ducked your head into your shoulder to try and stifle a cry, Elvis was there for you to lean your cheek against instead. It was romantic, the feel of your wet tears that glided down your face as if they were shooting stars, rubbing up against his much dryer cheek, letting him feel the struggle he was putting you through. Letting him feel what he was doing to you for once while you knew all too well with a hardened cock up your pussy what you were doing to him.

He hummed soothingly and clicked his tongue once, twice, before murmuring as he placed a kiss on your damp cheek,

"I jus' need ya to trust me Honey, same way ya did on our wedding night"

His kisses danced along your cheek and lingered on your earlobe, nibbling the edge softly as his hand drifted around your waist, landing expertly at your clit as if he knew your body like a map.

"Don't tell me ya forgot about that already?" He whispered as his middle fingers began to circle that special little bud down there, making your hips twitch ever so slightly with the sensation.

You let out an airy moan as he added his index finger to the circling of your most sensitive bundle of nerves, rubbing slow lazy circles as you felt the hot, wet edge of his tongue land on the skin just below your ear as he pressed gentle little kisses. His words were encouragingly sweet, "I've been neglectin' ya here, haven't I?"

Your hum was weak and broken as you tilted your head back, biting your lower lip,

"Mhm"

Elvis cooed softly and kept with his thumb's movement.

"Oh Baby, why didn't ya tell me?"

As the burn in your aching cunt loosened to a familiar warmth from Elvis' expert strumming of your clit your breaths became ragged and torn, just the small stroking of his fingers was turning you into a panting dog, a bitch in heat. With the warmth overcoming your pussy your body began to chase what it needed, your hips began to grind downward. The feeling of Elvis' length rubbing up and down ever so slightly within your walls as you continued to grind down what you could handle was a pornographic one.

As you could practically feel the shift of his foreskin within your cunt with each rise and fall of your hips, Elvis' hands now rested on them as he helped you broaden your movements, his hands squeezing your sides tightly as a low groan fell from his lips. "That's it, oh fuck…"

As his head fell back he brought a hand up to rest firmly on the center of your throat, pulling you back by it just barely so that your head could fall back on his chest. The breaths you both let out no doubt danced with each other in the air as you continued to grind down as best you could while his fingers strummed a tune on your clit which pulled the notes from your mouth as your breaths turned to airy moans.

Abruptly, Elvis gave a small thrust upward, the strength within the movement was enough to make you bounce slightly and let out an immediate moan of pleasure. You quickly flung your palm over your lips just for him to remove his hand from the center of your throat, now gripping your wrist and pulling your hand down to your chest as he murmured lowly,

"Let it out Honey, let 'em know you're mine, and I'm yours."

He began to grind upward into you slowly, working his way back to a thrust, each movement evoked a noise from you louder than the last, and as time went on the soft grinding of his groin into your ass as his dick plunged further up your heat turned to soft skin-to-skin claps with air between them. He tended to be loud as he chased what he needed.

He groaned into your neck as he pressed open-mouth kisses along it, your skin didn't even make a dent in minimizing the sound of his groans. He was loud and full of want, and as prudent as you were taught to be about sinful, sexual desires, it was the most liberating experience you could ever go through.

The smutty sounds of skin slapping on skin reverberated in the walls of the kitchen, stretching into the room just a thin privacy wall away. All the while Elvis was groaning and growling loudly against your skin, mumbling your name between groans and low moans.

His fingers kept their rhythm, so even in the chaos of Elvis' thrusts speeding and his body pushing yours against the hard granite of the counter to the point of bruising, he kept his fingers going just the way you liked. Your moans went up a pitch as you felt a feeling Elvis had introduced you to a few weeks ago on your wedding night, it was one you'd slowly begun to crave even when the two of you were doing something as simple as sitting in the car together. You could hold back and keep your dignity in those moments.

But now as the feelings lingered in your face and were oh so close, you felt like an addict who needed her high. Your voice cracked in a moan as you begged,

"Yes, just like that"

He growled breathily, his lips still dancing along your neck as his hips rocked into you from behind, his voice was breathy as he asked,

"Like that? Ya like it like that? Yeah?"

Your head hung back on his chest, your mouth open wide as your hips began to chase the sensations, "Yes Elvis, y-yes..!"

By now all the chatter that filled the house like background noise was completely silenced as the sounds of sex that filled the kitchen drifted into the other rooms. The air of the other room was awkward as your high-pitched moans which contrasted beautifully with Elvis' low groans were the only thing keeping the California house from silence. Everyone's assumptions were answered by the sudden increase in the volume of the skin-to-skin slapping along with of course your noises of ecstasy.

Elvis swore loudly into your neck, his voice reverberating against the soft skin,

"Fuck Baby!"

As he bit down roughly onto a rather sensitive spot your moans hit their height as you practically wailed, "Oh Elvis!"

And within the span of a second, that coil that played around ever so coyly in the space between your stomach and pussy had completely broken. Elvis' animalistic speed of rhythmic thrusts lost their rhythm and their speed as you felt a warmth like no other fill your body, his open-mouth kisses simply turned to his lips dragging lazily along your neck with a loud groan accompanying the skin.

His thrusts tampered down to deep grinds of his hips down into yours as you'd let out the heights of what your voice box could manage. Your mouth was still open wide but nothing leaving it as you'd reached nirvana.

Your body gave out as your legs trembled and you had to lean over onto the counter to support yourself. From behind Elvis' arms caged you against the island counter, his hands at either side of you pressed down onto the surface to support himself up. You let out a soft whimper as he slowly pulled out of you and fumbled around you from behind for a few moments, the familiar sound of his buckle could be heard.

Before you knew it his hands were on your hips turning you back around to face him, he was dressed, and in hand were the discarded panties of yours that he quickly shoved into the back pocket of his trousers.

Elvis' hands flew to smooth your hair back into place gently. They lingered on your temples as he leaned forward to press a kiss to your head, you closed your eyes in the process.

"You're so beautiful Honey, did so well for me…"

He quickly hiked your skirt back down to its proper length, and wrapped an arm around your waist, suggesting softly,

"We'll head upstairs for the night"

With the fucked-out look in your eyes he knew you needed rest and a shower. So he kept an arm around your waist and walked slowly with you out of the room. As the two of you passed the group in the living room you kept your eyes trained on the floor, knowing if you looked up, you'd only be met with looks of disgust from the girls that still occupied the floor of your living room, sitting around Elvis' stool as if it were a king's throne.

Elvis didn't spare them a glance as he only looked back toward Jerry and Joe, the two men were holding their cards without qualms at what they (and the rest of the house) were just exposed to listening to, as they'd heard that kind of thing more times than they could count coming from the two of you.

"Could y'all escort the girls out when you're done with 'em? Wife and I gonna be upstairs a while…"

With that simple statement, he helped you walk toward the staircase and kept a supporting hand on your lower back. Asking once, twice, three times, if you needed anything. You replied no.

All you needed was him, and that's exactly what you had.

And all the other girls knew it as a little something had fallen out of Elvis' pocket. It was hardly in his pocket to begin with. The boys wouldn't tell him, "Hey E, ya dropped somethin'" Because the boys knew the message he was sending to every girl in the room.

You were his, and he was yours.

Well, for my first time writing, I quite enjoyed that. Anyways...

880 notes · View notes

answer2jeff · 8 months

Text

ready for another lie?

// carmen berzatto x reader

song: Diet Mountain Dew.

pairings: nyc chef!carmen x journalist!reader

mdni!! i'm not responsible for your media consumption.

warnings: smutty smut, VERY DETAILED, fem!reader, oral and fingering (f!recieving), porn with plot, drinking, cursing, kinda subby carmy, praise kink, alludes to piv but it doesn't happen, complete and utter filth, i'm giving the people what they want don't look at me!!!

essentially a prequel, 1 year before the start of season 1 of The Bear.

"Fuck youuuuu! It's Friday, loosen up!" A groggy voice yelled from across the bar, cursing you for declining another drink.

You watched your friends flirt with the bartender over the course of 2 rounds of shots; causing harmless fuckery with the several guys who tried flattering them. You were actually bored for once. It made you sick.

You waited for something, anything else to impress you. You tried convincing yourself you didn't have to leave, that your friends wanted you here, and that nights like these were "good for your soul," but there seemed to be no hope.

"Just two vodka tonics. Oh, and a white Negroni. Uh, yes— yes, thank you." You caught a blonde curl from the stool next to you in the corner of your peripheral vision, and you dared to turn your head. You were met by the sight of an oddly familiar guy—and then it hit you like a semi truck.

The man you wrote your final thesis on "the senses creating art," about. Food & Wines best new chef, as of late.

You'd spent an entire year and a half traveling the world (after finally making a name for yourself as a journalist, and snagging a place in Food & Wines top writers) and interviewing the faces of all forms of modern art, representing one of each of the 5 senses.

Casey French, a fragrance designer as the face of "smell." Christopher Knowles, a fashion designer who specialized in optical wear as the face of "sight."

The list went on, until it ended at Carmen Berzatto, on "taste," just 6 months ago. It was September now, and you almost forgot about the 2 and a half hours you took from your day to sit down and talk to him in that studio. Your heart dropped to your stomach as you felt the pores in your palms release a nervous sweat.

You blinked rapidly, wondering if you were really seeing him— out of all the other Friday nights, when he could've visited all the other bars. But he chose this Friday, at this bar, next to you. You needed to say something.

"I'll take a Negroni too, actually. And you can just close out my tab for tonight." You handed the bartender your card after you anxiously fished it out of your wallet, trying to seem completely oblivious to Carmen's stare. Carmen clenched his teeth, his eyebrows raised in surprise as he kept his gaze focused on you.

"Holy shit! Is that—" A slightly younger man nearly yelped while he inappropriately pointed at you, quickly being shut down by his peer, and being told to "shut the fuck up," but Carmen stayed silent. He was dumbfounded at the sight of you.

"Uh, hi. Funny seeing you here," you croaked, swallowing hard when you realized how much of a horrible excuse of a "hello," that was. Carmen didn't seem to mind, dragging his head out of the clouds and smiling back at you as he received his glass.

"Oh my god, yeah. Wow, I— it's good to see you."

Carmen glanced down at your drink, watching you trace your fingertip around the rim of the short glass. He gazed at your fresh manicure, the beautifully layered rings on your fingers, the diamonds on your wrists, the black dress with a slit that exposed your leg up to your mid-thigh. Carmen always thought you looked nice, only being used to your blazers and gorgeous vintage pants that he was a little jealous of, but this was different.

And as if you weren't already anxious enough, Carmen's "friends" immediately arose from their stools and made their way to an empty table, leaving the two of you alone again. Just looking at him and his clean suit and tie made you nervous, especially with the ink on his hands still visible.

"Good to see you too, Carmen," you smiled, cheeks aching as you tried desperately to hide your excitement. Admittedly, you admired him. That wasn't new. But that feeling in your stomach, that aching, yearning feeling was.

"I don't usually do these things," Carmen mumbled, taking a sip from his glass and licking his lips.

"Me neither. It's kinda— I don't know, icky."

You knew Carmen avoided big gatherings like this, but they were usually tolerable thanks to people who "knew him" enough to let him hang around their groups in silence while they practically screamed at each other. But his free time just never seemed to align with anyone else worth talking to... until tonight.

"Icky. Couldn't have worded it better," Carmen tried not to laugh at your expense, keeping his tongue between his teeth as both of you fought back a smile.

"You get it! God, anyway—how've you been?" You inched closer to him, resting your chin in your palm as your elbows were propped up on the counter. You made sure to keep your stare on him and only him, glancing from his nose, to his lips, and back into his eyes. You knew exactly what you were doing, and it was too late to stop now.

Carmen paused, his mouth gaping open slightly as he thought of what he could possibly say to convey that he could be doing better, without completely ruining the mood. He sucked his teeth as he took a deep breath, his eyes glued to the floor until he finally looked at you again.

"Alright, I guess. Managing. How're you?"

"Managing. But really though. Like, has anything changed?"

Carmen thought about your question, realizing how much he seemed to relax tonight—while simultaneously being the most nervous he'd ever been outside of work in the last year. Was it being out and public after a long week? Was it the fact that he still felt so stupid for not getting your actual number, and instead only having access to your business email which was provided by your agent? Was it the smell of your perfume? Was it just you?

"Uh... yeah. Yeah, I guess some things have changed."

He couldn't help but awe at the way you did your hair and your makeup that night, appreciating the tiny details your jewelry and purse of choice added to the look. He hardly ever thought twice about the attractive women he'd run into; making small talk and watching them get bored with his interests.

But now you were here; his fantasies, his desires were here, right next to him; wearing a dress that flattered your cleavage and cinched you at the waist, black heels that tapped against the footrest of the barstool. It made his head foggy, and he couldn't even wrap his head around the encounter.

After finishing your Negroni's over the course of 3 separate conversations that left you with a cramp in your side and your cheeks hurting from smiling—basically hitting it off like you were actual friends, you decided to pull the classic...

"You wanna get out of here?"

Two successful, somewhat well known adults in their lines of work were allowed to be human, right? They were allowed to share deep belly laughs with someone they didn't originally plan to see outside of a work setting, right?

Wrong. It was unprofessional, inappropriate, unwarranted: everything you promised you'd never be around him.

Carmen knew this.

But he was eye-fucking you in that goddamn interview. His tattooed hands rubbing against his thighs as he sat in front of you in the white light of that studio, his gentle voice contradicting his large, almost intimidating arms—it was all you could think about when you wrote your thesis. And now you were gonna be alone with him.

And despite his worries, despite the nervous sweat beading on his forehead, despite his growing anticipation when he admired your figure like a horny teenager, Carmen agreed. The smirk on your face and your manicured nails in between your pearly white teeth was convincing enough. He knew it was risky, given the fact that you still wrote for Food & Wine every couple of months: being more than capable of ruining his career with one wrong, but so right move.

"Yeah, actually."

Unprofessional, inappropriate, unwarranted.

Fuck it.

Carmen closed his tab, gently helping you down from the barstool by your hand. You held your purse close to you while waving a shy goodbye to your friends, who were drunkenly squealing in excitement for you. Carmen's peers seemed to be out of sight; therefore, out of mind. You felt your cheeks go hot, every part of your body tingling. Neither of you knew where you were going. Just not here, and not with everyone else.

He couldn't even think about the fact that he would be back in the glowing white light of the kitchen that following Monday, and you completely forgot about the paper you had to start by Sunday night. And it was way too late to care about any of that now.

You decided your apartment was best.

"Fuck.." Carmen grunted under his breath, his eyes hooded while he felt his pants tighten against his throbbing length. He spread his legs wider as you palmed him, trying to ease some of his tension. You hovered over him as he lied down, sprawled out on your leather couch. His hands were clawing at anything he could reach; your hair, your thighs, the straps of your dress until he pulled it down to your hips, and finally the clasp of your bra.

His bare chest heaved, red and covered in sweat. His dress shirt, tie, and jacket were somewhere in the mess of your apartment. He was honestly too desperate to care.

"You okay with me takin' this off?" Carmen whispered as he cupped your cheek, keeping his fingers prepared to unclip your bra with your permission. He admired every inch of your flushed face as he waited for answer.

"Mhm," you soothed him as your hand moved up and unbuttoned his pants the second your lips moved onto his. Saliva pooled in your mouths with every kiss, turning into a sloppy mess of tongue and teeth. Carmen struggled, but eventually tossed your bra onto the living room floor, his mouth just centimeters away from yours as he exhaled heavy breaths.

You sat up straight, pulling Carmen up by his shoulders and smashing your lips back into his. He pulled sway to breathe, taking it upon himself to peel the rest of your dress off. His tattooed hands gently caressed your plush thighs, his calloused fingers sliding under the hem of your lace underwear. He practically worshiped you like this, planting open mouthed kisses along your jawline and neck.

Carmen needed to hear you, feel you, taste you.

"I wanna taste you, if–if that's alright," he placed one last kiss of gratitude on collarbone before he looked up at you through lust-blown, half-lid eyes.

Your entire body began to heat up again, and Carmen's words went straight to your needy cunt. You could feel yourself dripping through your panties while you put a hand over your mouth in embarrassment, nodding frantically.

"Please," you begged, a mixture of a moan and a silent cry escaping. Carmen's hands detached from your thighs, your hips writhing up from the loss of contact. Without another word, he nodded his head, letting his hands travel down your hips as he got down on his knees in front of you.

Carmen took a shaky breath, glancing from your pleading eyes and back down to your bottom half. He hesitated, choosing to plant one more line of kisses from your tits down to your navel before giving you one last look for permission. He put his hand between your inner thighs, asking you to spread further. You blinked slowly while he peeled your panties off of you, wondering if he would notice how wet you already were.

Unprofessional, inappropriate, unwarranted.

Carmen licked his lips, admiring the sight of your puffy slit in hesitation. With your body sprawled out in front of him, your pretty face looking down at him...how could he not eat you out right on that leather couch?

"I've got you, baby," Carmen cooed, his eyes wide as he nearly drooled over the glossy puddle in your underwear. He gently placed your calves over his shoulders, his calloused hands scooping the underside of your thighs.

Carmens wet tongue licked a bold stripe from your hole up to your soaked clit, not a drop of your arousal going to waste. You grew impatient, the kitten licks he gave your sensitive bundle of nerves driving you mad.

"C'mon, Carmy, I—" You whined, pleading that he'd pick up the pace. Carmen decided not to hold back, giving your throbbing clit aggressive sucks that he'd later soothe with slow, flat-tongued licks.

You bit down on your hand while the other entangled in his hair to muffle the sinful noises you made. Carmen felt his stomach turn at the sound of his name falling from your gaping mouth.

Carmen took note of how much you loved his tongue diving into your weeping hole, earning whimpers and cries of "please," and "oh, fuck, Carmen." He groaned into your pussy when you caught a grip on his hair, placing his head even deeper between your thighs. He moved his hands from your thighs and up to your waist—forcing your jerky hips down on the couch. He wanted to make sure you didn't miss a single bit of pleasure.

"Can I.. uh, can I try something?" He stammered, picking his head up with his chin shiny with your liquids as his hand crept back down, prying between your folds. Carmen needed to keep every part of him busy so he wouldn't have to focus on the aching bulge, already leaking precum in his boxers. He felt his thighs clench as he fucking whimpered beneath you.

"S–sure.." You nodded frantically again, tossing your head back as Carmen carefully inserted a digit into your core. You whimpered in slight discomfort as he stretched you out, which he immediately reassured softly.

"Shhh... you're alright. Jus–just relax f'me, yeah?"

Carmen waited until you whined again; his fingers started at an agonizingly slow pace until he heard your moans getting a little too quiet for his liking. He picked his pace up, sliding another thick finger into your hole and ramming into your g-spot. He hesitated, afraid to hurt you—but you quickly dismissed his worries when you urged him that you needed more. Carmen aligned his tongue back with your pussy, sucking hard before comforting your desire with lapping at your clit.

"Oh my god, Carmen," you felt that familiar knot in your stomach, your grip in his hair tightening while your moans grew louder and louder. You didn't care if your neighbors could hear you through the thin walls of your apartment. You didn't even think about what this would look like the morning after—because none of it mattered. Not with Carmen's head between your thighs.

Carmen could tell you were close, prioritizing your pleasure before he could even register how badly he wanted to cum into his boxers. He couldn't help but buck his hips forward, begging for friction while every noise you made just inched him closer to his release... but he needed this to last.

"You close? Let me take care 'f you," he mumbled, breathing heavily against your pussy while he tried his best to stay still. It sent shockwaves through your body, and you tried desperately not to scream his name.

"So... so close.. Fuck, it's too much," your useless protest was cut short by a loud moan, muffled by the sweaty palm of your hand. Your heart pounded in your head as your walls clenched around Carmen's fingers. You weren't used to anything feeling this good in months.

"C'mon baby, you can handle it. You're alright. You're doing so good. Takin' my fingers so fuckin' good," Carmen's raspy voice comforted you. His tongue finally came back to relieve you, his fingers slowing down so as to not overstimulate you, as much as he wanted to.

"Carmy!" Your eyes screwed shut as your thighs shook. You chased your high, practically grinding into his face as his nose bumped your clit while his fingers remained at work.

—

"Jesus..." You panted, grunting in disappointment when you felt Carmen slide his fingers out of you. He licked them clean while your eyes were screwed shut as you tried to recollect yourself. Carmen planted a kiss on your temple the second he sat back up onto the couch, pulling you into his lap by your waist. You felt his erection against your crotch, his already sticky mess combining with your wetness yet again.

"You okay?" Carmen cupped your cheek, pushing any sweaty strands of hair out of your face. And just when he thought he couldn't have felt more proud of you, he melted into the feeling of your lips against his.

You didn't know if you'd ever see him again, you didn't know if this night would magically become niche hot gossip within your respective groups; all you knew was that you wanted him. His lust blown eyes on you, his hands gripping your waist as he bent you over your kitchen counter and fucked you dumb, the sound of sex echoing through your apartment.

Maybe some other Friday night.

#AHHHH i'm screaming #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto smut #i need him biblically #hope u guys like this it took way too long #nyc chef!carmen #he's such a cutie #i need him to eat me #carmy berzatto #jeremy allen white #the bear x reader

667 notes · View notes

givemequeen · 1 year

Text

Accidental Confessions: Pedro Pascal x reader

request: What about a Pedro Pascal friends to lovers? He just seems like such a great friend. It would be cute to see an angsty/fluffy friends to lovers. a/n: I’m back bitches? pairing: Pedro Pascal x reader summary: you go to a party with Pedro and accidentally let something slip. warnings: sexy time. slight oral (female receiving). honestly just normal sexy stuff. oh! unprotected sex (remember to wrap it before you tap it, lads) word count: 5409

You stepped into the party already anxious, your hands were slightly shaking as you made your way around the room overfilled with strangers. Pedro had invited you to some fancy actor party of his and you had regrettably agreed. The last thing you wanted to do right now was fake smile at a bunch of people you didn’t know. It would’ve been so much better if you had just stayed home in bed watching TV.

You shook the thought out of your head, no, you were here for your friend. He invited you specifically. He wants you here.

As you silently chastised yourself for wishing you weren’t here, you found yourself at the bar. The bartender – a young man with healthy, bouncing curls down to his shoulders whose smile revealed two small dimples on each cheek – asked you what you wanted as he prepared a drink for a girl in a stunning dress.

Pedro hadn’t exactly told you what to wear, just something “formal”, so you had landed on a long, thin, silver dress with spaghetti straps that you had bought on a whim. Thankfully, you seemed to fit in with the rest of the people. Though they did seem much more put together than you did.

You told the bartender your order – lemon vodka – and sat on one of the stools. You were about to take your phone out of your small purse when the lady that was sat next to you spoke. She called out your name and you shot up.

“Is it you?” she said with a dashing smile. Her teeth were perfectly straight and extremely white. She had a tan and a nose that you could ski on.

“Yeah?” you said, a bit unsure.

“It’s wonderful meeting you.” She stuck her hand out, of course she had a perfect manicure.

“Thanks, you too.” You shook her hand; thankful you had at least attempted to paint your nails a colour to match your dress. “I don’t mean to be rude but who are you?”

She laughed – obviously a perfect laugh, no snorting or high-pitched squeals – and told you her name. “I’ve worked with Pedro.”

You cringed at the way she said his name. “Oh.” You said with a slightly pang of jealousy. “So, how do you know me?”

“Are you kidding? He talks about you all the time, sweetheart.” She laughed, completely taking you back. “So how long have you two been together?”

Just as you were about to open your mouth to tell her you guys weren’t together and what a ridiculous suggestion that was, the bartender handed you your drink. You smiled at him and politely took a sip before turning to the woman and again.

However, this time, Pedro was stood right next to her.

“Pedro!” you said, a smile light up your face. You stood up, set your drink on the bar, and gave him a hug. His strong, large, warm hands rested on your hips as you tucked your head in his neck and pressed yourself against his warm skin. He smelled perfect. Like the cologne you had seen in his bathroom one too many times and like him. Like his skin and his sweat and morning mist and almonds.

You stood back before it got too weird. You felt hyperaware of his hands on your hips and how he had kept them there. “I was just talking to-” you turned to face the lady but she was gone. “Oh, she must’ve left.”

“Leah? Yeah we worked together last year, I told you about it.” He smiled and you nearly melted right there. That gorgeous smile that revealed a dimple in his right cheek and crinkled his eyes. “You look gorgeous.” He said as he took a step back and took you in. You spun around in order to give him a full view. “Absolutely perfect.”

“So do you, ver handsome.” You took a sip of your drink in order to hide your blush.

“Come, I want you to meet some people.” You nodded and allowed Pedro to grab your hand and lead you through the masses of people. You spent the next three hours going from group to group. You knew some of the actors, either personally - well more like from some other party Pedro had invited you to - or because you had seen them in some show or movie. You politely listened to whatever they had to say and then kissed everyone goodbye before moving on to the next group.

Though sometimes what the actors were saying was interesting, the thing that took your attention away the most was Pedro. Whenever he laughed, he would clap his hand on his chest and lean backwards. You couldn’t stop paying attention to the heat coming from his hand when he would place in on your lower back as he guided you to the next group.

It was around eleven o’clock when you stepped outside from some air. Pedro had offered to fill up your drink but you refused as you were starting to feel a little light headed. So, instead, he went to get you both a snack and a glass of water.

You were standing in the apartment’s balcony, it was pretty high up but it had the most breath-taking view of the city. All around you lights from different buildings and streets winked up at you. You took a deep breath in and gripped the railing of the balcony. You were alone and did not hear when Pedro came out.

“Hey there.” He said, he was holding a bowl of peanuts and a glass of water. “I already had some water; I hope you don’t mind sharing.” He grinned sheepishly.

“Of course I don’t mind, silly.” You smiled and took the glass. “Thank you.” You said as you popped a peanut into your mouth.

You sat down on one of the outdoor sofas and, sighing, lifted your legs so they laid across Pedro’s lap. You both quietly munched on the snack and stared at the sky. Pedro moved your dress out of the way, lifting the hem until your knees. He began drawing on your leg and you nearly groaned out loud at how good his touch felt.

“So, how long are you in New York for?” you finally asked. You always dreaded this answer, he wasn’t here for long, always in one country or another filming.

Of course, you were happy for him. He was doing what he had always dreamed of doing but a small – or large – part of you was selfish and wanted him to stay in New York so you could see him every day.

“For a while.” He said. You look up at him and smiled.

“Really? No show to shoot? No premier or award show to attend?” you tried to hide your excitement but failed miserably.

“No.” he laughed. “I’m all yours.” He said as his finger glided up and down your leg.

“Awesome.” You said, unsure what else to say. I wish you were all mine…

“Hmm?”

“What?” you echoed looking up at him.

“What did you just say?” he asked, arching an eyebrow, his hand had frozen highway up your shin.

“Nothing. I didn’t say anything.” You sat up, pulling your legs away from him. “Fuck, did I say “I wish you were all mine” out loud? Fuck.” you thought. You probably had had more to drink than you had initially thought.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yes, anyway I better get going.” You quickly stood up and before he had the chance to follow, you dashed inside. “Thanks for inviting me.”

Quickly, you made your way through the crowds of people, carefully avoiding those you knew were chatterboxes, and left the apartment. You looked behind you and nervously began pressing the call button for the elevator. As soon as it opened, you darted inside and began repeatedly pressing the close button.

Soon enough, the elevator reached the reception and you bolted across it. You waved goodbye to the concierge who had helped you earlier last night and quickly glanced over your shoulder as you stepped outside. Pedro was nowhere to be seen and you weren’t sure whether to be disappointed or relived. You hailed a taxi down, but they all zoomed past you, either busy or completely ignoring you.

“Hey.” You heard Pedro call your name from behind. “Where are you running off to?” he tapped your shoulder and you spun around.

“Hi, sorry. Just gotta get home, yknow.” You smiled, trying to play it cool but Pedro saw right past your act.

“Okay, let me accompany you.” He stood beside you and hailed a taxi down. Of course, they immediately listened to him. He opened the door for you to get in.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to. I’ll get home fine.” You said as you got in.

“What kind of a friend would I be if I didn’t take you home?” he said as he too got in.

Reluctantly, you nodded and he gave the taxi driver your address. You spent the ride staring outside and cursing New York’s traffic. Walking or the subway would’ve taken you less and maybe you wouldn’t have been caught up by Pedro. But the subway wasn’t the safest especially with what you were wearing and your feet hurt too much to walk all the way home.

Pedro sat silently next to you, his hand on the middle seat, and eyes glued outside. When you finally got to your place, you jumped out of the taxi and thanked Pedro. However, he too stepped outside. He paid the driver and followed you inside your apartment’s foyer.

You couldn’t exactly slam the door in his face, so you let him in and got into the elevator. You expected this ride to be just like the taxi drive, silent and a tiny bit awkward. Pedro surprised you by hitting the emergency button - which caused the elevator to jolt to a halt - and turning to you.

“Hey, talk to me, why did you run off? And don’t say you needed to get home.” He said, he stood completely in front of you. You glanced up and mustered a smile.

“I- well- it’s just-” you couldn’t help but glancing down at his lips and back up at his eyes. Those deep brown eyes you could just lose yourself in.

“Yeah? You just what?” he prompted, taking a step closer to you. You held your breath, unsure as to what to do.

“I think you know.” You finally said, you pushed your shoulders back and held your hands together behind your back.

“Oh? I do?” he asked, he was so close you could feel his breath fanning across your face. It smelt like mint and alcohol and you so desperately wanted to put your mouth and his.

Gently, he cupped your cheek and you let out a breath, your hands went to his chest as his other hand went to your hips. “Please let me kiss you, I’ve been dying to kiss you.” He whispered.

You nodded and closed your eyes, waiting for the heavenly taste of his lips. Slowly, Pedro pressed his lips against yours, you let out a sigh that sounded almost like a whine, and pulled him closer by the jacket of his suit. You moved your head to the side, allowing him more space to kiss you.

His lips felt so extremely smooth and soft, almost like what you imagined kissing a cloud would feel like. He groaned into your mouth and that noise made you weak in the knees. Pedro let his hand drop to your waist and you both walked backwards until your back hit the elevator wall.

He pulled you up so you could rest on the safety rail. You wrapped one leg around his waist, the dress restricting your movement, and he pressed himself against you. Now it was your turn to groan. He was clearly hard; you could feel it pressing against where you needed it the most.

He rolled his hips and you moaned again. Taking advantage of the situation, he slipped his tongue into yours. You allowed it and let your tongue dance over his. One of his hands move to your behind, he grabbed the soft flesh there and pressed himself even harder into you. His other hand went to your leg, he pulled your dress up, feeling how smooth your legs were.

“Fuck.” He whispered against your lips as he pulled apart for air. “I want to-”

“Everything alright in there?” a voice called out from the intercom.

You jumped away from Pedro, slightly pushing him away. “Erm, yes, just an accident.” You coughed and tried to fix your dress.

“Alright.” Said the voice. Pedro hit the button again and the elevator lurched into life.

You let your fingers glide over your lips, reminiscing on how sweet he tasted. Pedro was now leaning against the back wall of the elevator, not staying anything, as you stood near the doors.

Finally, they opened and you stepped into the corridor. You could hear him follow you and wait patiently as you took your keys out. Once you found them, you fumbled with them until you managed to slide them into the keyhole. You turned the key and a small click resonated.

You turned to face him and struggled to meet his eyes. He was staring down at you, his face tense as though unsure of what to do and hands in his pockets.

“Do you want to come in?” you asked. Smiling, he nodded and followed you in. You turned the lights on and made your way to the living room.

“Sit. Do you want a drink?” Pedro stood by the entrance of the living room, his body leaning against the door frame, and stared at you.

“No.”

“Oh… Do you want water? Or some food?” you said as you moved your weight from one foot to another. Your heels were killing you.

“No.” he repeated, his voice dark and low. He pushed off the door frame and took a step towards you.

“Oh.” You swallowed and watched in anticipation as he got closer to you. “What do you want then?” you stuttered.

“I want you.” He said as he placed his hands on your hips again. “And you?”

“Me too.” You quickly said before kissing him.

Pedro groaned into your mouth and grabbed you wherever he could. Your hands were on him like metal on a magnet. He yanked you up, hands on your ass. Your heels fell off, making a loud thump when they reached the floor, but you didn’t care.

“Careful, my dress.” You breathed. He pulled it up, nearly uncovering your ass, and squeezed your thighs. He pressed you to the wall and continued kissing you. His mouth was wonders on yours, drawing out the dirtiest of noises.

“My room.” You said.

Wordlessly, Pedro pulled you off the wall and started making his way to your room with you in his arms. You grabbed his shoulders and felt the muscles underneath the suit. Fuck, you couldn’t wait to tear all this extra fabric off of him. Once you reached your room he dropped you onto your bed and crawled on top of you.

You pushed the jacket off of him as his lips attached themselves to your neck. Like a starving man, he began kissing and licking your neck. His kisses were soft and harsh at the same time, his tongue sliding over what his teeth marked. You moaned his name and begged for more.

“Clothes.. there’s too much…” you mumbled pushing him back. He laughed and began unbuttoning his shirt. Impatiently, you pulled his shirt free from his pants and undid the buttons at the bottom. Pedro grabbed your chin and made you look up at him.

“Patience, mi amor.” he said, a smile creeping onto his face.

“Don’t laugh at me.” You grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I’m not laughing.” He finished undoing all his button. “You’re so beautiful, I’m just happy.” You felt a rush of heat making its way up your neck and down your stomach.

“Oh shut up.” You covered your face.

Slowly, he peeled your hands away from your face and kissed you gently. “You are.” He kissed you again. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

He was finally done with all his buttons. You pushed the shirt off of his shoulders and sighed in delight. Your hands went to his stomach, feeling the warm skin, and kissed him right above his belly button. There was a trail of dark hair leading down into his pants and for a moment you wandered if that hair grew there just to tease you.

He kicked off his shoes and let his shirt fall to the ground. You pushed him onto the bed and pulled your dress up, so it pooled at your hips, in order to straddle him. His hands returned to their familiar positions at your hips, and you took in his chest.

Sure, you had seen him shirtless before whenever you went to the beach or pool – or when you drunkenly searched up shirtless photos of him with your friends – but you had never seen him laying on your bed like this, his hands on your ass and eyes on your breasts.

“I think now it’s you who has “too much clothes”.” he said, quoting you. His fingers went to your straps, leaving your ass cold, and with a nod from you, he pushed them off your shoulders. Slowly, the dress fell and left your breasts exposed. You though, you would perhaps want to cover yourself, but something about the way he stared at them made you stand up straighter.

He sat up, pulling you against him, and kissed your chest. He moved to one breast, planting opened mouthed kisses onto the soft skin and held the other breast with his hands. He gently squeezed and let his mouth hover about your nipple. His breath fanned over it, hardening it. You pushed forward, forcing him to make contact.

He kissed you softly, like he had all the time in world, and gently. But you wanted more, and you want it now. You had waited too long for it to be this slow. You told him so.

“I have waited too long for it to go too fast. I’m going to take my time.” You didn’t know what was hotter, the fact he wanted to take his time with you or the fact he had wanted this for a long time too. He kissed you harder and took your nipple between his teeth. You moaned his name and grabbed his hair, tugging on it slightly. This earned you a small groan, you did it again and he groaned your name.

His hand squeezed your other breast, his fingers pinching and rolling your nipple. You sighed in pleasure and grinded against him. You wanted to feel him everywhere and weren’t sure how long you were going to let him “take his time” with you. He was rock hard and you were dying to see him. Completely see him.

He moved away from your breast and swapped sides, making sure both sides of you got the same treatment. “Oh, Pedro, fuck.” You said, each moan making him go harder and faster. “Please, I need you…”

Pedro pulled away and tugged the dress over your hips. You lifted your arms, allowing him to completely take your dress off. He threw it off the side and groaned as he took in your entire body.

“You’re perfect.” He leaned forward and kissed your chest. You arched your back, pushing yourself towards him. He flipped you over and held himself above you. You wrapped your legs around his waist and tugged him down, wanting to feel his weight on top of you and between your legs.

“Take your pants off.” You said, your hands fumbling with the belt. “Please.” You added after he gave you a cheeky look.

Pedro rose and quickly took off his pants. You sat up, resting your weight on your elbows, and let your mouth fall open as you stared at his crotch. His erection was extremely obvious, it was creating a tent in his underwear. He placed his hands at his hips.

“Wow. Okay. Come here. Now.” You pulled him towards you and kissed him, eager to get to it.

He kissed you hard, taking your lower lip between his teeth and tugging on it. You couldn’t take it any longer, you stuck your hand between you and down his underwear and wrapped your fingers around him. He winced when you touched him and let his head fall onto your shoulder.

“I’m sorry, did that hurt?” you went to move your hand away but he grabbed your wrist.

“Continue.” He begged. “I’m just… really hard.” He laughed, refusing to meet your eyes. You bit your lower lip and attempted to hide the smile that was threatening to jump out. You wrapped your fingers around him again. He was thick and, you quickly discovered, long. You began stroking him and his hips began rolling, meeting you halfway. Some pre-cum leaked out of his tip, wetting your hand. You squeezed your thighs around him, eager to have him inside.

Almost as though you had requested it, Pedro let one of his hands fall between you. He pressed his thumb against you through your underwear and began rotating it. You moaned, bucking your hips. It felt too good.

“Please, let’s…” you didn’t have to say anything else. He laid on your side and placed his warm hand on your lower stomach.

“Is this okay?” he asked, slowly itching downwards.

“Yes.”

“If you want me to stop at any time, tell me.” He said as he stared into your soul.

“Yes.” You looked away, terrified your eyes would betray your deepest secrets.

“Look at me.” His voice was low and husky, it made that warm feeling in your lower stomach drop lower. You turned to look at him, the hand that wasn’t on your lower stomach tucked your hair behind your ear before returning to its position holding him up.

He kissed you gently and slowly slipped his hand under your underwear. You gasped as his finger touched you, it was barely anything but with Pedro if felt like everything. He moved his finger in small circles and watched you, entranced by the soft noises you were making. You grabbed his shoulder and squeezed.

Gradually, he slipped a finger inside of you, just one, and kept it there. You looked at him, mouth slightly open, and nodded. He slipped another finger and curled them. You fell back, unable to support yourself, and squeezed his shoulder harder. Pedro began slipping his fingers in and out, each time he entered you he curled them. His thumb began drawing small circles just where you needed it. You closed your eyes, allowing yourself to enjoy the moment, and opened your hips, giving him all the space he could need.

“Fuck.” You breathed as he stroked something deep inside you.

You arched your back, pushing your breasts into the air. As though by invitation, Pedro placed his mouth around your breasts and sucked. His kisses were harder this time but you welcomed them. Your hand went to his hair, tugging and scratching his scalp. The joint pleasure coming from his hands and mouth was overwhelming. You pushed your hips onto the bed and breasts into his mouth.

“Pedro… I’m gonna…” you moaned. He picked up his pace and helped you reach the place you had been chasing. You felt that pleasure ripple through you, erupting from between your legs and reaching all the way down to the tip of your curled toes. It then rushed all the way up and exploded out of your mouth as a series of moans, whimpers, and pleas.

When you finally came down your chest was rapidly rising and falling, as though you had ran a marathon. Pedro had pulled his finger out from you and was holding them in front of his face. You turned to look at him, your vision slightly blurry, and watched in awe as he slipped his fingers into his mouth, licking them clean.

You pulled him to you, urging him to rest his weight on you, and kissed him. You kissed his neck, his sweat tasted sweet. You licked a line across his jugular vein and felt his rapid heartbeat under your tongue.

“That was really good.” You said. “Your moans drive me crazy.”

He rolled his hips against you and you moaned again. “Mmhm, just like that. You like this?” you nodded and he did it again. “What do you want now?”

“You.”

“You have me.” You looked over at him and gave him a look. “C’mon, you’re gonna have to be more specific than that.” he pressed his hips against you and arched an eyebrow.

“Well… Okay…” you looked up, not wanting to reveal how flustered he made you.

“Yes?” he cupped your jaw and kissed you.

“I want you in me.” You finally said.

“Lets get rid of these then, huh?” he said, tugging at your underwear. Pedro kissed his way down your torso until he was level with your hips. He hooked a finger around the band of your underwear and pulled it over your hips, knees, and, eventually, feet. He flicked them off to the side before taking you all in. “Fuck.” He said before planting a kiss right between your legs. He licked once before kissing your inner thigh. Then, he kissed his way back up to your lips.

“Your turn.” You said, a smile tugging at your lips. Your hands went down to his underwear and you tugged it down, making him completely bare. You glanced down and let your mouth fall open. Pedro wrapped his hand around himself and pumped it a couple times.

“I’m on the pill.” You blurted out.

“That’s good.” He said, smiling down at you.

“Are you- like, clean?”

“Yes, even though I’m an actor-”

“And a heartthrob.” You interjected.

“Yes, right.” He laughed as he made his way back to you. “- I don’t go sleeping around with everyone.”

“No, yeah, right, I didn’t meant that. Just…”

“I’m messing, I know what you meant and yes I am. You?”

You nodded.

You reached your hands out and placed them on his shoulders, they were broad and warm, his skin felt reassuring under your fingers. You wrapped your legs around his hips, pulling him closer. Pedro lined himself up and momentarily pushed his hips forward. You sucked in a breath and shut your eyes, your legs squeezing him.

“Hey, relax, okay?” he kissed you gently and you nodded, relaxing your thighs. He pushed in a little more and you let out a moan. He was stretching and filling you up in all the right ways. He pushed even more and you gripped his shoulders. His head fell beside yours, his voice was sweet like honey and reaching parts of you that you didn’t know existed. His words were carefully and perfectly chosen.

Finally, he was all the way in. He groaned and rested his weight on you. He was heavy but it felt oddly reassuring, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and sighed, causing him to inch further into you.

“Please, Pedro, move.” You urged.

He complied and slowly pulled himself out halfway before sliding back inside. Each movement causing you to moan his name. You arched your back, pressing your chest against his, as he picked up the pace. Your hands were desperately moving up and down his back, one slid down to his ass and you gave it a squeeze. He didn’t seem to mind so you squeezed again. This time he reacted, he pulled himself further out and slammed into you. The noise of his flesh against yours was almost deafening.

You grabbed his hair and pulled so he turned to look at you. His eyes were half closed, and mouth half opened. You kissed him and he kissed back with a force to match his thrusts. You felt him go deeper and deeper. His hands went to your face, cupping your cheek. You squeezed your legs around him.

“Can I go on top?” you asked, pulling your lips away from his.

“Yes, of course.”

You both awkwardly rolled over and gasped at the new angle. His hands went to your hips, thumbs slowly drawing circles onto the soft skin. You spread your legs and moaned as you sunk further onto him. That feeling that drove you wild was starting to build up again in your lower abdomen.

His hands started to guide you, urging you to rock forwards and backwards. You gladly complied, moaning at how gratifying it felt. One of his hand went to your left breasts and squeezed it. You leaned towards him and kissed him. His lips were a taste you could not get enough of. His tongue danced around yours at a beautiful pace. You pulled yourself up slightly and lowered again. He gasped. You did it again. He gasped again.

“You like that?” you said.

He kissed you harder and began lifting his hips to meet you halfway. As though this was a dance you had practiced for many hours in order to perfect, the two of you fell into a comfortable rhythm. His hand squeezed, tongue licked, hips bucked. It was perfect but it couldn’t last long.

“I think I’m close.” He said, almost apologetic.

“Please cum in me.” You begged, surprised at how pathetic you sounded.

In one quick motion, Pedro spun you around, holding you tight against his chest as he did so. He grabbed your hands and pinned them over your head with just one of his and resumed the thrusting of his hips. Then, his other hand settled between the two of you and his thumb began rapidly circling your clit.

You moaned and moved, chest pressed against his, legs wrapped around him and quickly squeezed. His movements were becoming irregular and sloppy.

“Fuck, you’re so gorgeous. I’ve been staring at you all night in that dress. You’re - shit - fucking perfect.” He said as he pounded into you one last time before grunting in pleasure.

Just then, the overwhelming feeling that had been building itself deep inside of you toppled over.

“Don’t stop.” You said as you felt him slow down.

Pedro listened and bucked his hips hard. You pushed your shoulders into the bed, hands tightly gripping his hair, and let yourself enjoy the pleasure. You rolled your hips against him, hyper aware of the warmth shooting into you. You collapsed into the bed, chest heaving even faster that before.

Pedro collapsed onto you, his weight comfortably crushing you. You stroked his hair as he nuzzled his face into your neck.

“Was that also really good?” his voice was muffled.

“Even more.” You said, happily sighing. Pedro pulled away from you as you whined in protest, him leaving your body felt like a betrayal. You were left empty, cold, and bare.

“Gotta get you cleaned up, mi amor.” He laughed.

He walked into the bathroom and you grinned at the sight. He had an amazing ass. Fuck, you couldn’t look away. You rolled over in the bed to get a better view. Your smiled grew even more when he turned around, his boner not fully gone yet.

“Damn.” You said.

“Thanks?” He plopped down on the bed with a towel in hand and helped you get cleaned up.

Then, you slid under the duvet. He clicked into placed behind you, his arms wrapping around you and dwarfing you. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder and let his fingers dance over your thigh. And into the darkness, he spoke your name.

“I don’t know what that meant to you…” He began. “But that was special to me. I’ve honestly been wanting to do that for a long while.”

You froze as though remaining as still as possible would also freeze the moment, like any sound would shatter this dream and forcibly pull you back to a cruel and lonely reality.

“And, erm, you?” he nervously asked when you remained silent.

You rolled around and stared up at him. “Me too, Pedro. I really like you and not just as a friend.” You smiled and kissed him.

He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you on top of him. You gasped when you felt something poking your butt.

“Put that away!”

“You don’t want a round two?” he smirked.

“Pedro!”

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #perdo pascal x reader #perdo pascal friends to lovers #perdo pascal x reader smut #javier peña smut #din djarin smut #smut #fanfic #im backkkk #it is me #i have returned from the dead #sorry #perdo pascal fluff #perdo pascal x reader fluff

1K notes · View notes

superhaught · 2 months

Text

Guard Dog

Pairing: Leighton Murray x Reader

Warning(s): None!

Word Count: 1000, Part 1/?

Just a little Leighton fic based on this tiktok.

You stirred your drink lazily and refreshed the app one more time just for good measure.

No new messages.

You turned your phone off and sighed then finished off your drink in one gulp. The bartender swung by and cleared your empty glass and offered you another and you shook your head, saying, “just water, please,” hoping to sober up before heading home and putting this failure of a Friday night behind you.

A pretty blonde girl walked up to the empty barstool beside you and barked out her order to the bartender while preemptively handing him her ID, then she loosely directed her next words to you, “excuse me, is this seat taken?”

“Not anymore, go ahead.”

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything in response as she sat in the stool and began rummaging through her tiny purse, pulling out a compact and touching up her face of makeup.

“Did you have a date or something?” The blonde asked, not turning to look at you.

“I don’t know if it was a date,” you replied, “but someone was supposed to meet me. I’ve been waiting for over an hour.”

She closed her compact and returned it to her bag as the bartender was sliding a cocktail across the counter to her.

“And they haven’t messaged you, I assume?”

“Nope.” You responded.

“Asshole.”

You shrugged, “I wasn’t that excited about it anyways.”

The blonde nodded and sipped from her drink with an elegance that was both admirable and off-putting. You envisioned her taking family vacations to Napa, feeling comfortable on yachts, purchasing a new pair of red-bottoms every season.

The woman’s attention had been captured by her own phone, and you started to long for your bed.

You were waiting to flag down the bartender and get your bill when a random guy approached you, carrying two beers. You rolled your eyes without him seeing.

“Hey girl, you are looking fine, let me enjoy a beer witchu.”

You began, “oh, I was actually just-”

The blonde woman interjected, “excuse me, do you like, know this man?”

The dude groaned and slouched, “aw, come on we were just talking!”

She held up an index finger in front of him, “silence, mouth-breather, I wasn’t speaking to you yet,” then she looked at you expectantly, awaiting your answer.

You shook your head, “no, I don’t.”

“Do you want to know him?”

“Not really.”

She nodded and turned to the offending guy, “she doesn’t want to talk to you. Goodbye.”

“What the fuck? I was just trying to be nice!”

“Well, you’re not being nice, you're being a creep and she doesn’t want to talk to you anymore.”

“Fucking bitch,” the man scoffed at blonde.

She crossed her arms in front of her chest and sat up a little taller, “yep. Now remove yourself from the premises before I have security do it for you.”

The man raised his hands in surrender and backed away slowly, glaring at your rescuer, before finally turning and storming out of the bar with two of his buddies right behind him.

You exhaled, “Jesus… thank you for that.”

She flipped her hair over her shoulder, “oh my god, of course. Don’t even mention it.”

The bartender returned and passed your receipt to you but the woman grabbed the slip of paper between manicured fingers and spoke to the bartender, “no, please put her bill on my tab. Leighton Murray. Thank you.”

“Oh you don’t have to do that.”

“I know but I’m going to, you’ve had a shitty night.”

“It’s really not necessary-”

“Don’t worry about it, okay? It’s nothing.” The blonde was putting her foot down and you felt completely disarmed by her. She clicked on her phone, “you were leaving, right? I’m calling you and Uber and I’ll walk you out, I’m not having you leave by yourself. He seemed like the type to wait in the parking lot.”

“You’re… that’s really above and beyond, I can’t accept-”

“I insist. Now, where are you heading?”

You considered denying her. You considered saying, thank you, but no thank you.

“Essex College.”

She raised an eyebrow again, “are you a student?”

You nodded, “I am, yeah. Junior.”

She smiled, “oh, wow! I’m a senior at Essex. I can’t believe I don’t know you. Come on, let’s just head back to campus together. I’m Leighton.”

You returned her smile and introduced yourself. She echoed your name back and then took hold of your hand, you thought she was just going to shake it but instead she stood up and gently led you out of the bar.

You glanced around the parking lot and didn’t see the group of guys, “seems all clear…”

“You can never be too careful,” she answered with a shrug, “do you want me to leave you be?”

You couldn’t help but look her up and down. She was stunning. Taller than you in heels, and likely without them, too. She was still holding your hand. Her skin was soft and you could smell her perfume. She used her free hand to run her fingers through her hair, pushing it back, and you were done for.

You looked at her lips and unknowingly bit down on your own, “No. I don’t want that…”

She smirked. A black car pulled up beside you and Leighton gestured for you to get in ahead of her.

You squeezed her hand and then opened the car door. She lightly touched your lower back as you got into the car and it made you shudder.

You quietly looked out the window as the car took you back to your college campus. You found yourself thinking about how it wasn’t fair for women like Leighton to exist because your hands were shaking and she hadn’t even done anything. You balled your hands into fists and sighed, not meaning to make a noise when you did.

“Is everything okay?” Leighton asked.

You were shocked out of your thoughts, “Yes! Well, no… I mean, yes, everything is fine, it’s just…”

“Just…?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat as you met the blonde’s eyes, “I don’t want my night to end just yet.”

#leighton murray #slocg #the sex lives of college girls #reneé rapp #leighton murray x reader #leighton murray fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing #original writing #credit to Ansley on tiktok for inspo!

350 notes · View notes

shogunish · 2 months

Text

𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗴𝗼𝗷𝗼𝘀 & 𝗶. [𝟬𝟲]

synopsis. all that mattered was the taste of strawberries and whip cream on your lips and his hand caressing the nape of your neck.

words. 2.8k

warnings. none

note. IT'S FINALLY HERE 🥳 i hope you guys have as much fun reading this chapter as i had writing it 🥹🥹

previous || next || masterlist

as you thought, you didn’t belong to these sorts of people.

grandeur surrounded you like the sea encapsulated an island in the middle of nowhere.

men dressed in expensive suits filled the dimly-lit hall with their wives hanging on to their arms like the finest jewelry. waiters and waitresses alike steered their way through the crowd with practiced ease and grace in their feet all while carrying a silver platter around, giving champagne away like candy and offering little treats.

such things were foreign; you only had seen such things on tv and for a moment, you felt somewhat intimidated by the sheer scent of money in the air. sometimes, you forgot that satoru worked for a great company, enjoying a high ranking and an even greater paycheck if his tailored suit was anything to go by.

“you look amazing,” satoru reassured you with a whisper in your ear. “don’t be afraid. i’ll be with you all the way.”

and his words did soothe your worries, but not the rapid pounding in your heart. maybe you wouldn’t feel so light-headed if satoru didn’t wear this damned suit and didn’t add a hint of his cologne on his neck and wrists. even his hair was styled and you swore you had suffered a heart attack when you first laid your eyes on him.

smoothly, with your palms clasped around his arm, satoru guided you through the crowd like he had never done anything else. a pinch of pride shone in his eyes; not only did you look stunning, but you also wore the dress he had picked for you.

“it’s too expensive,” you had argued with a pout on your lips when you saw the price tag still attached to the graceful thing. “i can’t possibly wear that.”

and look at you now, turning the heads of his colleagues as he showed up with you.

like a ship in the vast sea, satoru steered you from person to person just to exchange some pleasantries and introduce you to those he worked with for the majority of the time. to your surprise, it was easier than you initially believed. occasionally, he even snuck a little snack from the platters and shared the small treats with you.

it was at these times that your satoru shone through the cracks of the styled businessman in your hands.

everything was going smoothly until your not-date date suddenly got stolen away by some chubby business man in his fifties and drowned in the sea of people and lights and grandeur.

“satoru?” you called out softly, worry in your eyes when you realized he wouldn’t hear you over the soft tunes spilling from the speakers.

damnit.

how hard was it to find a 1,90m man with white hair and dazzling blue eyes in a crowd of people? yeah, you were surprised as well when you found out it was indeed hard.

heels clacked against the polished marble floor when you found yourself at the bar, giving up on finding satoru for the time being. next to you, three ladies chatted amongst themselves. draped in diamonds and silver, they gleamed in the dim lighting of the grand hall like they were gems themselves. their eyes found yours when they appeared to recognize you.

“oh, you have to be gojo’s date for tonight, right?” lady #1 chirped in kind and mildly surprised tones. you recognized her; she was the wife of one of the businessmen satoru had introduced you to earlier. at least one face was somewhat familiar.

“i think it’s the first time gojo brought a woman with him, right?” the second lady added with a glass of champagne in her manicured fingers.

you perked up. “excuse me? the first time? i fear i don’t quite follow..”

lady #3 sat back in the bar stool and flashed you a smirk, her lips painted a deep burgundy as she spoke, “gojo’s never shown up in the company of another woman. many have tried to become his plus one, but he always brushed them off.”

“yeah, you should’ve seen everyone’s faces when he first started talking about you and how well you get along with his son. lots of hearts were broken that afternoon,” lady #1 giggled as your face fell into disbelief.

sure, you suspected that satoru was popular with the ladies. not only was he handsome to the bone, but he could provide a stable life, he was funny, charming, smart and– you were getting carried away.

before a response could make it out, the topic suddenly shifted when one of the ladies realized she hadn’t shown off her newest necklace which glimmered and split the lights into the colors of the rainbow.

at this moment, you realized that you truly didn’t belong in the same boat as them when they talked about tiffany’s jewelry, mansions, vacations in malaysia and venice. the topic of satoru and his lack of female company was wiped clean from the shared canvas of their mind and was instead painted with problems and luxuries you couldn’t even dream of having.

luxury meant for you ordering takeout twice a month when the delivery app had some sort of sale going on.

satoru’s strong arm wraps itself around you like a blanket of comfort as he sweeps into the conversation with one of his charming smiles. the eyes of those women were as drawn to satoru like a flock of moths to the flame as he spoke in soft, suave tones that had even your heart beating a tad bit faster. a bit harder.

“excuse me, but i fear i must steal my lovely lady from you.” satoru flashed them a gentle smile and left the women giggling amongst themselves as he guided you towards the balcony, away from all the hustle and bustle, away from unnecessary attention that wasn’t his.

the moon hung high in the sky in its entirety, filling out the dark heavens above as it watched over countless twinkling dots. below the balcony railing, city lights glimmered in bright neon colors. streets were alive with as many people as there were stars in the sky and yet all of them seemed so far away when you finally breathed.

“sorry.” satoru broke the beat of silence before he combed his fingers through his snowy hair. leaning against the steel railing, he looked handsome. the moonlight caressed his features with the touch of a lover while those cerulean irises bathed in the infinity of the skies. or so you thought. “i didn’t expect anyone to need my attention tonight when it was reserved for you."

heat rose to the apples of your cheeks and suddenly, your heart was pounding underneath your ribs. this feeling budding in the core of your heart was blooming with each word satoru said. especially tonight.

there was no child to take care of. no stomach aches that made you feel horrible.

in this little corner, you found a glimpse of paradise with satoru by your side.

“don’t worry about it,” you said, resting your elbows on the railing and letting your eyes drift towards satoru like he was pulling you into his orbit. “you must be really important when you’re stolen away from me in the blink of an eye.” up until this moment, satoru didn’t know that a chuckle could be like silk in the form of sound and dribble into his ears like warm honey.

leaning closer to you, satoru bumped his shoulder against yours – or rather his biceps. even slumped over, he was still taller than you.

“so tell me, have you been gossipping about me while i was gone?” it was a light-hearted joke, you knew, and still you had half the heart to let satoru know that you would never talk about him behind his back.

you shook your head, eyes crinkling at the edges as you gave satoru a smile. “not about you. but they had a lot to say about their men.”

that seemed to pique satoru’s curiosity if his cheeky grin and the twitch of his ears was anything to go by. a funny look was painted all over your face; one that made satoru only more curious than he already was.

“don’t look at me like that.” he almost pouts. almost. “you can’t just say you got some juicy details on my colleagues and then seal your lips shut.”

fuck. if anything, you wanted him to seal your lips shut. ever since you had laid your eyes on satoru, dressed in that tailored suit which accentuated the slimness of his waist..your thoughts decided to wander and they wouldn’t be coming back any time soon.

“my man and i argued and he got me a tiffany’s necklace. my man gifted me this dress, my man gave me this, my man gave me that,” you mocked voices, tone going up by a pitch before you ended the show with a sigh slipping past your lips. those ladies weren’t bad people, but gods were they exhausting. “it felt like a competition.”

“what, don’t tell me you’re jealous.” a teasing lilt lingered in satoru’s voice. he couldn’t wipe the smirk off his face when you shivered and pouted your glossy lips. if only you were his..he’d pin you against the railing and kiss you stupid until your lipgloss was smeared all over his lips.

“of them? never.” shifting your weight from one foot to the other, you leaned your weight against satoru’s strong frame and basked in the way his warmth seeped through the fine fabric of his suit and into your pores, keeping you warm and toasty. “i don’t need fancy things to have a happy relationship.”

acting on auto-pilot, satoru rested his arm around your waist and pulled you a little tighter against him. “well..what would you need to be happy?”

now that was a question you had never given much thought. the only answer that you could come up with sparked the butterflies in your tummy to life. right then and there, you swore you were a silly teenager again who had come face to face with her crush and there was nowhere to hide.

you didn’t know if the goosebumps on your skin came from the pounding of your heart or the chilly breeze passing by.

“..maybe someone who can communicate his feelings. someone who’s fun but can be serious when the time calls for it. someone who buys me a year worth of pads and prepares a hot water bottle for me. someone who eats so many sweets that it’s a miracle he doesn’t have diabetes yet.”

usually, satoru would like to tease you and say something so cheesy that you were certain you’d regret opening up to him, but he just looked at you with those infinitely deep eyes that glimmered in the moonlight. his hold around your waist tightened.

“you know, i think i’d also be happy with someone who gets along with megumi and doesn’t know how to use my stove. someone who laughs when i buy all the pads with wings and dozes off on my shoulder. someone who brought cookies when she asked if she could help me watch over megumi.”

a smile, that of a lovestruck fool, graced satoru’s lips as you stared at him with round eyes and shock written all over your face. for a moment, he feared you’d ask “me?” like you didn’t even dare to think that satoru could be into you when it was so painfully obvious that it was you.

the moment he saw you standing at his door with that batch of cookies in your hands, he knew it was you.

“gojo, there you are! there’s that man i wanna introduce you to.” one of his colleagues popped the intimate bubble satoru had carefully crafted for the two of you. bubbles were meant to pop eventually, but this was probably the worst timing ever. “oh, you can bring your girlfriend, too! he’ll be delighted to see her!”

this was the hellish equivalent of getting cock-blocked, he thought.

apologies swam in the irises of satoru’s eyes as he furrowed his brows and let out a defeated sigh. he would get his chance. and it’d be tonight.

“shall we?” satoru offered you a hand which you gratefully took before he led you back inside.

an hour or two later, you found your arms looped around satoru’s biceps as he escorted you back home. street lamps lined up next to the concrete going through the park illuminated the space around you, adding a golden glow to satoru, to you, to the feelings that wouldn’t stop growing.

you only took a break on a bench when you mentioned the ache in your feet. walking around in heels for an entire evening, for hours on end, was not one of your many (hidden) talents.

words of memories past fell from your lips like honey as you recalled something about you changing shoes in the middle of an important event.

if satoru was honest to himself, he wasn’t truly paying attention to what you were saying. he did add an occasional hum of approval or offered a chuckle, but what he really focused on was the glimmer in your eyes, the sound of your voice, the way your hair fell. you were imperfect, he knew, but to him, you were perfect for him from head down to your pinky toe.

he wanted it all. he wanted it all for himself.

“..and then there was– oh.” following your line of sight, satoru spotted a small food stall illuminated from within and occupied by an elderly lady who seemed to be distracted by the malfunctioning radio. but that wasn’t what stood out – it was the strawberry crepes being sold.

“you want some, don’t you?” satoru chuckled, cerulean eyes glowing even in the dim lights of the street lamps lined up right beside the two of you.

“how did you know?” you inquired with curiosity laced in your voice.

shrugging his shoulders, satoru smirked. “you’ve been with megumi and me for a while now. it’d be a shame if i didn’t know what you wanted just from a glance.”

you couldn’t protest when satoru already strolled over to the elderly lady and ordered two strawberry crepes. gladly, the lady prepared the sweet treat and even added some extra whipped cream for satoru as if she could sense his sweet tooth. within mere ten minutes, the crepes were done, warm and adorned with ripe slices of scarlet strawberries.

sauntering back to you, satoru handed you your crepe, sat down right next to you and enjoyed the first bite which was as messy as it was sweet. a frown was etched onto satoru’s features as he dropped a strawberry onto the ground. a sweet treat forever lost and never to be savored as god intended.

taking note of satoru’s misery, you offered him one of your strawberries with a gentle smile adorning the curve of your lips. “here. you can have mine.”

“are you sure? it’s your strawberry after all.” who would’ve known that an insignificant thing such as a strawberry would bring a blush to his cheeks? sky blue eyes blinked once, twice at the fruit between your fingers before settling on your face. this was the chance he had been waiting for all evening, he realized.

“you’ve got some whipped cream on your lips.”

“huh?” hastily, you rushed to wipe your lips with your index finger and when you were done, you lifted your face again for further inspection. “is it gone?”

oh, how sweet you were. amused, satoru shook his head. “no. right there.”

nimble fingers tilted your face upwards while cerulean irises gazed into the cracks of your soul as satoru leaned in, closed the gap and sealed your lips with his own.

for a moment, your muscles froze. was this truly happening? was satoru actually kissing you? or was this another one of your daydreams right before he dropped you off at your doorstep? no, it was better than a mere daydream – it was reality.

fingertips twitched, needing to hold his face, his shoulders, anything. but before you could even lift a finger, satoru pulled away with a smile on his soft lips and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “this is much better than a strawberry.”

like a fish, you were left gaping at the man who just kissed you with the care of a lover. you wanted to say yes a thousand times over, but not a single words made it past your lips. satoru liked you, that much you knew. he had said so himself earlier that evening and yet, you were still left speechless like a canvas that was waiting to be painted with his love and kisses.

“it is,” you finally breathed, set aside your crepe and cupped satoru’s cheeks as you pulled him in for another sweet kiss.

lips melted into each other like candle wax as they danced with each other, explored and got to know each other all over again. no words were needed to explain the feeling, now in full bloom, engulfing you and satoru like a cocoon.

all that mattered was the taste of strawberries and whip cream on your lips and his hand caressing the nape of your neck.

taglist. @torusmochi, @cinnamonmon, @risuola, @ayanominitrash, @lordbugs, @phoenix666stuff, @hotvinimon, @stevenknightmarc, @sukunasleftkneecap, @erigaur , @lu-lynds, @staryukis

#gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru fluff #fic. the gojos & i

196 notes · View notes

lettersofalover · 20 days

Text

-> shameless | rhea ripley x bimbo!black!reader | mood board

anon request

genre: flirty, suggestive, begging

authors note: rhea…the woman that you are… happy mothers day to mami

it wasn't intentional. she was nonchalant and you were shamelessly vocal and feminine - qualities that tugged on her. you ignored the little ways she tied herself to you, finding her way into your orbit. teasing her was your favorite thing. her shy smile when you confronted her. you guys disagreed on quite a few things but she loved to argue with you, just to see you fired up. but now as she sat across from you, she was much more subdued.

her hooded eyes focusing in on your hands & the bracelets that adorned them. her eyes were trained on your manicured nails, the polish glistening as the light reflected off the tip. she wanted to feel your hands in her hair, tugging, choking her - as if your grip could actually hurt her but the pressure of your body on hers and your pretty hands wrapped around hers throat was an intoxicating daydream. it was a dream that played in her head endlessly.

“you just want to look at me, don’t you.” you leaned back in your chair and crossed your arms. her eyes didn’t leave your hands until they were covered.

“maybe…” her eyes found yours with a devious twinkle.

“only maybe? hm.” you replied, her mumbling got under your skin but you loved forcing her to say things with her chest. you liked a woman to be begging, chasing after you, on the edge of no return. to be shameless.

“looking at you isn’t even the half of what I want to do to you.” she spoke clearly, her eyes challenging your unfazed ones. the sigh that came out of your plump glossy lips corner turned into a smile - she was reeling and it was obvious. her mind thinking of how great your lips would look from her knees, how your nails digging into her neck and pushing her tongue harder into your wetness would make her climax without even being touched.

you could see right through her. she knew it, you knew it, everyone could tell. she was like a little puppy and god damn, you were walking her like a dog. you sighed once more, setting your elbows on the table and placing your face in your palm - scanning hook from hers eyes to lips, tauntingly slow before back up to hers eyes.

“you want to fuck me so bad, it’s so cute. and to think they call you mami.” you giggled and a blush crept up her neck and into her face, she had to pull a hand down her face to regain composure. she was quiet for a second, opening her mouth to say something but instead shook her head. her eyes avoided yours for a moment more, another blush simmering below the surface. you knew the looks she gave you were full of sin but you could see she wanted to be ruined, let you have her in any way you wanted.

“oh I forgot…you don’t want to fuck me. you want me to fuck you & treat you exactly how I like.”

“you’re not wrong.” she muttered casually as she attempted to occupy herself with other matters, pulling her hoodie over her head and grabbing her phone. she didn’t give a damn what was on the phone, she just couldn’t believe you saw right through it. that you knew she wanted someone to make her obsessive, to make her be yours only.

“i’ve seen your matches, you look good on your knees. will you beg for me?”

“without hesitation.”

you stood from your seat, walking around the table to where rhea sat, the high bar stools made rhea’s leaned back, man spread posture perfect for your own height. you listened to her blow out a breath as you leaned into her ear, “if you want me, mami, do something about it.”

#rhea ripley #mami rhea #rhea ripley x reader #rhea ripley x you #rhea ripley x oc #rhea ripley fic #rhea ripley fanfic #rhea Ripley smut #wwe #wwe fanfiction #loal asks

124 notes · View notes

holllandtrash · 1 year

Text

may the best man win | lando norris, pierre gasly

pairing: lando norris x reader, pierre gasly x reader part 7 (final part) to better left unsaid (the better series)

time passes, feelings changes and sometimes they grow stronger. do you attempt to return to the history you know, to what once made you feel comfortable? is it even possible for you to love again, but more importantly, are you ready to be loved?

word count: 6.6k tags: heartbreak lmao but its not all heartbreak, or is it idk all i know is im team max

Two Months Later

Pierre should have been ecstatic as he crossed the finish line in Abu Dhabi. It was his last lap, his last race of the year. He finished in the top ten in the driver standings, ahead of his team mate, which was something he should have been proud of, and he was.

He was also proud of the fight he put in this season, especially when the points became close, specifically with Lando. The two of them spent the better part of these last two months battling it out for the same finishing positions.

But competition with the British driver had been tense ever since Monza. While it was unspoken, they both took their frustrations out on the track. Both of them blamed the other for why you weren’t there.

Fans had picked up on it. Noticing that the two of them didn’t interact as much as they used to. There were no inside jokes shared in the paddock. They barely glanced at each other if they had press conferences lined up. There was a clear line drawn between them and that line was you.

Pierre told himself that you were at home watching the races, that you were still cheering him on, but there was no way of telling if that was true or not.

He had thought about inviting you to the last race of the season, just out of kindness, but he didn’t want to push you further away. You needed time.

So there was no one to congratulate him at the end of his last race. No one to drive back to the hotel with and reminisce about the season's highlights and no one to accompany him to the club where everyone was celebrating. It didn’t help that the girlfriends of other drivers were all there as well and Pierre just had to smile and greet them, pretending he wasn’t jealous even though all he wanted was you at his side.

Pierre stepped up to the bar. He’d be blind not to notice the tall blonde girl sitting on the stool wearing a tight black dress that made her legs look even longer. She eyed Pierre up as he approached, a coy smile on her face.

Pierre was polite, he smiled and nodded. She could have been a fan of motorsport for all he knew, he wasn’t going to be a prick. He rested his forearms against the surface of the bar and when the bartender approached, Pierre ordered a rum and coke. He didn’t need anything fancy tonight, he just wanted to get drunk.

The girl next to him adjusted herself on the seat, nearly slipping off. Pierre glanced in her direction, strictly out of concern, “You alright?”

She let out a breath of a chuckle, “Yeah, all good. Just-” she glanced around, but Pierre knew these tactics, he was familiar with them. “-just waiting for a friend, but I think I may have been ditched.”

Pierre hummed, turning his attention to the bar again, tapping his fingers against the counter as he waited. It was rum and coke. How long did it take?

He froze when he felt a freshly manicured hand rest on his arm. He glanced at the contact, trying not to let the distaste show, but why was this girl touching him?

Since you left him in Monza, Pierre hadn’t even bothered looking at another girl. He’d go out with his friends and other drivers, but he’d always end up back at his hotel room alone. He no longer cared about the chase, he didn’t care about getting in a quick fuck.

If he was being honest, there were dozens of nights where Pierre hovered his thumb over your contact name, debating calling you after a long day. He wanted to hear your voice, even if it was just for a second, even if you didn’t answer and he was left with your voicemail, he just wanted to hear you.

But he never called. He didn’t text. Didn’t even like any of your photos on instagram, giving you the space that he knew you needed. Granted, you made it clear it was Lando you were trying to distance yourself from, but Pierre knew that trying to interfere while you were in the process of moving on wouldn’t be beneficial.

So he waited, in the hopes that you would call. Or text. Or like one of his fucking tweets, literally anything. Anything to show that you still cared. That you weren’t done because he certainly wasn’t.

No one compared to you, and Pierre had known that for a while, long before that night in the club.

Ever since Lando joined F1 and you showed up at his side, Pierre took an interest in you. In the beginning, he didn’t know what sort of relationship you and Lando had, so he kept things respectful so as to not cross a line.

But he could hear your laugh from halfway across the paddock and instantly recognize it. Your smile lit up whatever room you walked into and it wasn’t long before Pierre came to realise that he wanted to be the reason for it.

So he tried talking to you, but at that point, he already had a reputation. You were polite, sure, but you didn’t give him the time of day that he wanted and your attention always went back to Lando.

Pierre noticed it pretty quickly, how in love with him you were. He could never figure out why, he still couldn’t. You deserved someone better than Lando, someone who put you first in their life.

And even when you started to see that someone else could love you, that Pierre could possibly love you, you still went back to Lando.

Pierre should have accepted this as something that would always happen. He should have gotten over you and flirted with the girl next to him in an attempt to forget you ever existed.

But that just wasn’t possible. You had made too much of an impact on his life and left too large of a gap when you left.

“You seem lovely, but I’m really not looking for anything,” Pierre let this girl down gently, slowly peeling her fingers off of his arm. He turned his head forward before she could say anything else and it was only a second later when she hopped off the seat and walked away.

The bartender came and placed the drink in front of him, apologising for the wait. Pierre brushed it off, it was a busy night in this club. He reached for his wallet to pull out his card and start a tab, knowing he’d be here for the next little while.

But the bartender shook his head. He wasn’t about to take the payment.

Pierre chalked it up to him being recognized. Not that it happened often, but every now and then he’d get a meal comped or his drinks paid for if the employee or manager of the establishment was a fan.

“Thanks mate,” Pierre put his wallet away and grabbed the rum and coke.

The bartender only nodded his head towards the opposite end of the bar, “Don’t thank me. Thank her.”

Pierre’s smile dropped. If it was that blonde girl again trying another move he would feel bad because he’d just have to let her down a second time. Pierre took a sip of his drink before working up the courage to look towards the end of the bar.

But that blonde girl wasn’t there. In fact, no one on that side was even remotely paying him attention, all focused on their own drinks and conversations or trying to shout their orders to the bartenders.

Pierre didn’t let himself think too much about it.

Until he felt a tap on the back of his shoulder.

He sighed, “I already said I’m not looking for anything.”

Pierre turned around, fully expecting to come face to face with the girl from earlier. He was bracing himself for the tight dress, shy smile and long blonde hair.

What he didn’t expect was you.

Standing there wearing a baby pink long sleeve shirt with a neckline that showed off more cleavage than normal and a white skirt that sat high on your hips, giving you a very barbie-esque sort of feel, especially with the coloured heels to match. The lights from the club were flickering, highlighting the features that Pierre had burned into his mind. Your full lips, the small birthmarks you tried to hide with make up and your eyes that weren’t as important in colour as they were in the way that completely absorbed him.

You were standing right in front of him.

You glanced at the rum in coke in his hand, that familiar charming smile appearing on your lips as you darted your line of sight upwards to meet his own eyes.

“I owed you a drink,” you said, then you swallowed, eyebrows pinched together. “Or maybe I just owed you a thank you, I couldn’t remember.”

It was a cute call back to that night in the club, the first time you had given him more than just a friendly smile. He charmed his way in that night, and the rejection from Lando made it all the much easier to agree to leave with him, but you were thankful the night didn’t end with the two of you tangled between the sheets.

A relationship started that night. It started the second Pierre bought the drink for you, knowing he’d have an excuse to approach you later. Neither of you could have predicted how the next few weeks would follow.

Now here you were, after avoiding him for two months. And Pierre wasn’t one who often found himself speechless, but there were no words in any language that could describe how he was feeling.

He wanted to be happy to see you. He wanted to pick you up and spin you around and kiss you like no one was watching.

But the fact that you were in Abu Dhabi and he wasn’t the one who invited you, the door creaked opened for more insecurities to slide in.

If you weren’t there because of Pierre, you were there because of Lando.

Two Weeks Earlier

You flipped through a manila folder, slowly spinning back and forth in your chair. Recently you’ve been dedicating more time to your job and it was a helpful distraction. Most of your coworkers knew you had connections in the F1 world, but none of them knew what was going on behind the scenes.

And because this motorsport series was so popular, you found yourself walking in on various conversations. Someone asked for your input on the Circuit of the Americas and you said about five words before changing the topic. Someone else asked what your thoughts were on the unexpected Alpine podium and you just shrugged and smiled, saying something along the lines of it was well deserved. When another coworker asked about an incident Lando faced during the qualifying session in Mexico, you said that it probably wouldn’t affect his race and then you pulled out your phone to tune out the rest of what was being said.

You couldn’t escape these drivers, you couldn’t run from this sport. The most you could do was at least try and avoid the conversations about them.

But when your coworker, Sam, walked by your desk at the end of a work day, he did a double take and knocked on your cubicle wall.

“Hi,” you glanced up from the documents in your hand. “Heading out?”

“Yeah, but I meant to ask-” Sam looked over your head at the row of windows on the opposite side of your work station. “Since when does Lando Norris let you borrow his cars?”

You scoffed, “What the hell are you talking about?”

“There’s a McLaren 720S outside,” Sam pointed out. “Isn’t that what he drives?”

“I don’t know what Lando drives but I can assure you, that man wouldn’t let me behind the wheel of any of his cars,” you spun to face your computer, wanting this conversation to be over. You wished no one knew you were friends with him.

Sam didn’t leave though. Instead, he pulled his phone out of his back pocket. You could hear the keyboard sound effects as he furiously typed away before shoving his phone in your face. It took you a second to understand what you were looking at, but on the small screen was an image of Lando next to a blue McLaren 720s, a huge smile on his face.

“What am I supposed to do with this information?” you looked up at Sam.

“It’s the exact same car that’s outside.”

“Well I didn’t drive it.”

Sam’s eyes widened, “Is he here? Is he picking you up from work? Do you think I could-”

“Okay slow down,” you laughed, trying to make light of this situation but internally you were panicking. Was Lando here? In London? “I’m sure he’s not the only one who owns-”

You couldn’t finish your sentence. Not when the man of the hour himself came walking around the corner, being escorted by two other employees who were undoubtedly fans. Why else would they have let him into the employees only area? Lando wore a baggy jumper, his hands tucked into his pockets as he looked around with wide eyes until he finally spotted you.

Sam’s jaw dropped and you understood why. You never tried to hide your friendship with the driver, but him showing up at your place of work was not something that ever happened. And you couldn’t understand why it was happening now.

Lando’s feet shuffled against the floor. He thanked the two employees for showing them where you sat, but they didn’t return to their work, they just hovered a few feet away, curiosity getting the better of them.

He nodded at Sam, offering him a smile as well and when Sam glanced your way you nodded your head for him to get the hint, hoping he’d give you at least a bit of privacy. Sam cleared his throat, still starstruck, but he walked away, joining the other employees who stood near the corner.

Lando stepped into your cubicle and leaned against the desk. You weren’t a fan of the height difference and you didn’t want to feel as though he was talking down to you, so you stood up from your chair. You leaned against the wall opposite of him, making sure to keep as much room between you as possible.

“This part of the gallery usually isn’t open to visitors,” you pointed out, not even bothering with an actual greeting. You didn’t like that he used his status to enter this side of the building.

“Look I said I was fine waiting for you to get off work and they just-” Lando glanced over his shoulder and at once, the three coworkers of yours all scurried off in their own directions. Lando sighed and looked at you again, “I needed to talk to you.”

It had been just over two months since you last spoke. Since you left Monza without giving him an explanation. Since you stood in his driver's room and said ‘this ends here’. You were firm with that statement.

Lando respected that, for the most part. He gave you space. He didn’t call or text, even though Max told you that there were a handful of times when he almost did and he had to physically force the phone out of Lando’s hands.

But he should have waited until you decided you were ready to reach out again. He had no reason for showing up at your place of work.

Now that he was here, you felt so unprepared. You didn’t know what to say to him, you didn’t know what he was going to say. Usually you worked your way up to any difficult conversations but Lando showing up out of the blue completely blindsided you.

I needed to talk to you, he said. You hated that. The word need. Lando always needed something from you. He took so much. Your energy, your time, your love, and never gave any of it back and you put up with it for way too long. He didn’t have the right to need anything from you anymore.

“This couldn’t have waited?” You asked, gesturing to the work space around you. “Better yet, you couldn’t have waited until I wanted to talk?”

“No, because I was starting to get the feeling that time would never come.”

“So instead of respecting the space I asked for, you decided that what you wanted took priority?” You crossed your arms over your chest, “Do you sort of see how that’s not fair? How it’s selfish? Or have you just not learned anything in my absence?”

“I learned you don’t need me,” he shrugged his shoulders, as if that conclusion was one he could just brush off, like it still hasn’t fully resonated with him.

But it was a true statement. Your silence said it all.

Lando nodded slowly, “So you don’t- you don’t miss me at all?”

That’s where you still conflicted.

You did miss Lando, there was no denying that. He was your best friend, you shared hundreds of memories with him and it did feel like something was missing in your life these last few months.

But you needed him gone to get over him.

Being in love with him took so much out of you. Knowing that he didn’t, and never would, love you back was something you needed to accept and grow from. Taking this step back, you realised just how much of yourself you dedicated to Lando and to his life.

So you kept taking those steps back until he was no longer within reach. You needed to keep putting the distance between yourself and him. You needed to be your own person. You couldn’t just be Lando’s best friend anymore. As much as he wanted that, it wasn’t doing you any favours.

“Of course I missed you,” you dropped your head, jaw tightening for a second. “But I don’t love you anymore, Lando.”

Again, Lando nodded. If you were looking up, you would have seen the way his features softened, making him look so much younger than he actually was. He always had a boyish charm to him and when he was hurt or unsettled, those young mannerisms in him jumped out.

“Sort of feels like a break up,” Lando forced a smile on his face, as if it made this any easier.

But he was right. This was, in a sense, your relationship coming to an end. There was a dull ache in your chest as it hit, but deep down you had known this was coming for a while. The conversation, the confrontation and eventually, the conclusion.

You once loved Lando. How could you not?

You once loved everything about him. From his different types of laughs to the way you could tell his smiles apart better than he could. You supported him for years, you were his rock and one point, you thought that he was yours.

But he was a crutch. Something you could learn to live without. Something you didn’t need, but was too scared to give up.

He would always be someone you cared about, but his place in your life meant something different now. More importantly, you took away his ability to crush your heart in his hands without so much as a second thought.

You both noticed a few employees sliding on their jackets and heading for the door. Lando ran a hand through his hair before glancing at his watch, “Did you want a ride home?”

“No, I’m meeting a friend for dinner,” you denied his offer, but you noticed the way his eyebrows momentarily raised. You rolled your eyes, “It’s not a date if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“No I-” Lando stammered over his words. “I mean, it’s natural to be curious. But you’re allowed- obviously you can date whoever-”

“Lando,” you cut him off before he could say something stupid. He instantly closed his mouth and let you speak. “I’m going to walk you out, okay?”

And that was that. You grabbed your jacket and turned off your monitor. Lando grabbed your bag for you and waited until your coat was on before handing it over. The two of you walked side by side towards the doors of the gallery, elbows brushing occasionally.

As you stepped outside, you were thankful that the silence wasn’t heavy. There was nothing left for you to say and Lando knew he couldn’t change your mind. Your friendship, while not completely destroyed, was certainly tainted. The space between you might become less distant over time, but it was permanent.

You could still watch the races and support him, but on your own accord, the way you decided to. There would be no more McLaren paddock passes. There would be no more hanging out in his motorhome, you would just be a friend who could cheer him on from afar.

Sure enough, Lando’s McLaren was parked outside. You walked with him towards the driver's side door, but you weren’t surprised in the slightest when he made no effort to get in or say goodbye.

He inhaled a heavy breath and you just knew whatever words were to follow weren’t going to be good.

“What if things were different?”

You had spent so much wondering about the what if’s that hearing Lando ask it now was almost humorous.

“That’s a dangerous game, Lando.”

He leaned against the side of his car, “What is?”

“Asking what if.”

Lando chuckled, dipping his head momentarily. “It’s a genuine question, though. What if things were different?”

“But they’re not,” that was all you could say. It was the truth you accepted and now it was his turn to accept it as well. “Things will never be different. You don’t love me, you never loved me and that’s all I wanted from you. I can’t hold that against you and in return I need you to be okay with me taking a step back from your life.”

There were so many thoughts travelling behind those bright eyes of his, you could tell he was trying to figure out which one to land on.

You made it easier for him, “Why did you come here?”

That seemed to catch him off guard, “What do you mean?”

“Well I know you didn’t come here to ask me what if things were different so why are you here? I mean, you have two races left. You’ve gone this far without me. If you’re trying to pull some sort of grand gesture, could you not have at least waited until the end of the season?”

Lando hesitated before answering you, thinking of the right words first before just opening his mouth, “I won’t lie, Y/N, I wanted to see how you were doing. I think part of me expected you to come back or reach out and when you didn’t-” he shrugged, he always shrugged. “I just wanted to check in. No grand gesture, don’t worry. I know where you stand, but I’m allowed to still care about you.”

A gust of wind hit your back, blowing a few strands of hair in front of your face. It was early November, not an ideal time of the year to be standing outside and having a conversation, but this might be the last opportunity you two had to air things out.

So you sucked it up and dealt with the cold, shoving your hands in your pockets and watching as Lando licked his lips. He also avoided your eye contact, something he only did when he was nervous.

“I also want to apologise.”

Your eyebrow twitched, “For what?”

This man definitely owed you a few apologies, but you didn’t know what was going to come out of his mouth next.

“Everything, really,” Lando laughed softly and it almost made you smile in response. You were only human, you could miss his laugh.

You nudged your foot against his, “I’m going to need a little more than that.”

He finally looked at you. There was a time when his grey eyes would have floored you, but not anymore. You were still standing.

“Everything,” Lando repeated, quieter this time. “For taking you for granted. Your friendship, your support, everything you gave me. For not appreciating you how I should have. For leading you on. For getting in the way of you and Pierre. For not loving you the way you wanted me to- I could go on, Y/N, but I need you to know I’m truly sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you needed.”

Maybe he did learn something in your absence.

You didn’t know what to say. There were no words that could show your appreciation for his growth, for his ability to take responsibility and acknowledge what went wrong.

So instead of trying to rely on words, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him. Lando hesitated, unsure if he was even allowed to hug you back before slowly raising his arms and snaking them around your waist.

He knew this would be the last time he’d get to hold you like this.

You knew this would be the last time you’d ever allow yourself to be this close to him.

So there was no hurry to pull away. You could feel Lando’s heartbeat against his chest, his body heat pulling you in like a moth to a flame, his heavy breath as his face dipped right next to yours.

You held each other for a minute, maybe two. No more words were exchanged, but you and Lando had a bond that couldn't be described by anything the English dictionary had to offer.

Even in these uncertain times, you could count on his embrace to make the world around you freeze. You both had your own problems, your own reasons for needing space from each other but in his arms, they didn’t matter. You felt safe, comforted, this was the Lando that you had loved and it was hard to believe you weren’t going to have this anymore.

And then it was like Lando knew he had to be the one to let go. He had to be the one to release you, to stop giving you a reason to hold on.

He dropped his arms, both of you deciding not to speak about how painful this was, but your staggered inhale of a breath said it all. The way he sniffed and rubbed the back of his neck told you that this wasn’t any easier for him than it was for you.

For a brief second, you were almost crazy enough to apologise. It always hurt you to see Lando struggling, but your absence was something he was going to have to learn to live with. You didn’t need to apologise for it, for trying to better yourself.

“There is, actually, one more thing,” Lando suddenly said, reaching for the handle of the door, propping it open. You watched as the door to his luxury car swung upwards instead of out as Lando reached inside and grabbed an envelope. When he turned back around and handed it over, it was impossible to tell what it was.

Lando didn’t say anything as you opened it. His lips curled upwards when the realisation of what was inside slowly hit you.

“A Paddock pass,” you swallowed, recognising the lanyard.

“And plane tickets,” he added. “And a hotel booking. For Abu Dhabi.”

“The last race.”

“You should be there,” he said, taking in a sharp breath. His shoulders tensed, like he was suddenly debating if this was the best idea.

“Lando I can’t hang out in McLaren,” you sighed, wondering if the last five minutes of your conversation had already escaped him.

“No, you should be there for you,” Lando clarified. “You love the sport, Y/N, you’ve always attended the last race of the season. That shouldn’t change.”

You pulled the pass out of the envelope and twirled it around your fingers. The bright font of Abu Dhabi Grand Prix stood out along the black and you had to admit, it was a kind gesture, a selfless one for a change.

“You should be there,” Lando repeated. “And I’m not the only one who thinks that.”

Your eyebrows pinched together as you looked up at him again, dropping the pass into the envelope. “What do you mean?”

This man actually had the audacity to look at you like you were stupid.

“Oh come on Y/N,” a chuckle passed through his lips. “Pierre?”

You hesitated, “What about him?”

“He wants you there.”

“We haven’t spoken in weeks.”

“He still wants you there.” Lando shook his head, putting a stop to your doubts before they could creep up. “He’s just got more restraint than me and isn’t about to reach out or make you feel like you have to be there.”

You shrugged your shoulders. There was no question about it, you missed Pierre, but you were the one who ended things with him. You weren’t sure if you had the right to go back to him now and ask for a fresh start.

“Think about it, okay?” Lando extended his hand to give your arm an encouraging pat. He then made the move to get into his car and you took a step back to give him space. His eyes raked over you once more, probably wondering if this was the last time he would see you in the next little while, but he didn’t comment on it. He chose not to acknowledge it either, instead saying a quiet, “See you later,” and hoping those words would come true.

You had a few weeks to decide if you wanted to attend the last race of the season. You wanted to be strong and stay home. You nearly ripped the tickets up at one point, thinking it would make the decision easier, but everything was digital nowadays so it wasn't like that gesture mattered.

You wanted to watch the race. You wanted to cheer on your favourite drivers. You wanted to see Pierre.

And eventually it was your desire for all of those things that overpowered the distance you knew was better for you.

So you found yourself in Abu Dhabi that last weekend in November. You walked into the paddock when you knew the drivers would be busy with their teams and headed straight for the Paddock Club, choosing to watch the race from there. You kept your sunglasses on and made yourself as unapproachable as possible as you silently watched and rooted for the French driver.

When word got out of a few drivers heading to a specific nightclub, you knew that would be your chance to talk to Pierre. After the race and before he got drunk.

You weren’t even sure what you were going to say. Lando said he would want you to be there, but you still had your fears. You had called things off and there was no guarantee that he would want to pick things back up, that he would be so open to letting you back into his life.

When he ordered a drink, you saw it as an opportunity. When the bartender was near you, you quickly paid for Pierre’s rum and coke. He didn’t question it and neither did Pierre.

You walked around the side of the bartop, behind all of the other patrons and watched as Pierre tried to look for who had paid for his drink. You thought about saying his name to get his attention, you even thought about just walking away because was this really a good idea? But when his back was towards you, something in you pulled you forward, just enough so you could tap on his shoulder.

He turned around, wearing an expression you couldn't quite read. Maybe this was a bad idea.

“I owed you a drink,” you blurted out, thinking of the first night you finally decided to give him more than thirty seconds of your time.

Pierre had approached you in the bar and bought your drink, telling him that you could thank him later. His words were laced with dirty intent, and while you were nowhere near as charming as Pierre was, you still tried.

“Or maybe I just owed you a thank you, I couldn’t remember,” you quickly added.

Pierre was silent for a few seconds, mouth slightly agape. He certainly hadn’t expected you to show up and now he was speechless. There had been hundreds of things he wanted to say to you over the course of the last few weeks but for the life of him, none of them came to mind.

You had no choice but to take control of the conversation for a change, “It was a good race. Good job. A top ten finish, and you beat the McLarens that must-

“You watched?” Pierre asked. He hadn’t meant to cut you off but he was still trying to process that you were actually right there and now to find out you were also in the audience watching? He was about to implode.

“Of course,” you nodded. Someone tried to step past you so you moved closer to Pierre to make room. And it was like nothing had changed, Pierre raised his hand to rest on your waist, automatically feeling that urge to reach for you, to be touching you.

He quickly put the drink down on the bartop, he had no desire for it anymore. The absolute last thing he wanted to do right now was get drunk.

With his other hand free, Pierre raised it to cup the side of your face. He tucked a few strands of hair behind your ear, his thumb tracing over your cheek. You were really there.

“Chérie,” he spoke so quietly, his voice almost drowned out by the music playing from the speakers around you. But you watched his lips as he spoke, taking in every word, every breath. “You don’t know how bad I missed you.”

That was a weight lifted off your shoulders. Lando was right, Pierre did want you there.

And you could have said you missed him too. You could have laughed it off and teased him for it. You could have rolled your eyes, something he was all too familiar with seeing.

But instead of doing any of that, you grabbed hold of the collar of his shirt and closed the last bit of space between you. You kissed him like you were making up for lost time, you basically were. Pierre’s hand slid to rest where your neck met your jaw and there was a desire to rush, to taste every bit of his tongue against yours, to let him intoxicate all of your senses, but Pierre’s moves were slow. He wanted to take his time, relish in this moment and to keep you in his grasp for as long as he could, until you were both desperate for a breath.

Pierre pressed another kiss to your lips, and then another, and another and then to your cheeks and your forehead and every visible spot on your face that he thought needed some attention. You giggled like a schoolgirl as his arm slipped around your neck, pulling you tight into his chest to hold you, hug you, feel you in his arms.

“I missed you,” Pierre said again, still quiet but there was no underlying ache in his tone. He missed you, but he didn’t have to anymore. You weren’t going anywhere.

Neither of you cared that you were sharing this embrace in the middle of the club, but other people certainly didn’t like it. When someone made a playful 'get a room' comment, Pierre laughed into your ear. God you never wanted to go two months without hearing his laughter ever again.

“Let’s get out of here,” Pierre suggested, placing his forefinger under your chin to tilt your face up. He kissed you again, his hand slipping into yours before turning around, his eyes set on the door. You happily followed.

The club was crowded. You recognized a few paddock employees and members from various teams and of course the drivers who were out partying, but everyone was in their own little world as the two of you walked past.

Well…

Not everyone.

It happened so fast. You turned your head at the right second and caught Lando’s eyes from where he sat in a booth. Not only was he watching you, he was watching you leave with Pierre.

Someone walked in front of you, cutting off your line of sight for a brief moment. You felt Pierre’s grip on your hand tighten. Looking up, and saw that Pierre was staring straight ahead. If he noticed Lando, he didn’t hint towards it.

Glancing back at Lando one last time, you watched as he lifted the drink in his hand and nodded once, a toast-like gesture, but in this case it was so much more than a little congratulatory one-sided cheers.

He released his final hold over you. There were no more strings tying you to Lando. He wasn’t going to get in between you and Pierre. He was going to let you be happy with the French driver.

Lando would still continue to want what was best for you, but that wasn’t him anymore. That was Pierre.

So he watched as a sliver of a smile appeared on your lips, so quick he almost missed it, before following Pierre outside. You were gone.

Feeling a nudge on his arm, Lando turned his head and met the concerned eyes of Max. Max, someone who had been a witness to everything these last few months, was definitely happy to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

“You alright?” Max asked him and Lando just nodded, glancing at the spot you just abandoned.

“Yeah,” he didn’t sound very convincing, but Max knew that eventually he’d say it and mean it.

He brought his drink up to his lips, “I guess the best man won.”

Lando rolled his eyes, shoving Max with his elbow. Not hard enough to hurt him but enough that he spilled his beer over the front of his shirt.

“It was never a competition you numbskull.”

Max plastered his best dumbfounded look on his face, “Oh, you mean Y/N? I’m not talking about her. I’m talking about the driver standings.”

Lando snorted, knowing that Max was most definitely not talking about the driver standings, but it was a good retort to fall back on. Pierre had beat him in the last two races, putting him ahead of the two McLaren drivers in the championship.

Lando put up a good fight throughout the season but towards the end he managed to come to the realisation that no matter what, he wouldn’t pull ahead. Beating Pierre wasn’t in his cards.

Neither was keeping you.

But not all hope was lost. Lando would fight even harder next year. This year’s competition made him a better driver. And motorsport aside, he knew he’d still see you around. At a distance, only in passing, and most likely with Pierre, but you’d be there.

Losing you forced him to grow up. He had no choice but to better himself, and he would.

The what if’s would continue to haunt him, they would haunt all of you. The ghosts of what could have been. The paths you never took. What if Pierre hadn’t hit on you that night in the club? What if Lando spoke to you the morning after? What if you spent the summer break alone? What if what if what if.

The thing was, though, none of it mattered.

You were happy. Lando would learn to live without you. Pierre played the long game and it worked out in his favour. The lingering questions didn’t matter. The only thing left to do was look ahead. The past held nothing, whereas your future, all of your futures, were brighter and better than they had ever been before.

why am i crying lmao

and with that, the better series comes to an end :') thank you everyone for reading and for sharing your thoughts and being so invested in their silly little lives.

i will most definitely be writing another mini series, and if you have ideas or see something on my prompt list, pls send me a request here! i can't promise it'll turn into a 7-part fic but i do love getting requests and who knows?? maybe i'll write a lando fic and turn u all back into lando girlies??

love u all so much and for the record, i was always team pierre

#pierre gasly x you #pierre gasly fanfic #pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly x y/n #pierre gasly #lando norris one shot #lando norris social media au #lando norris au #lando norris #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #f1 one shot #f1 requests #f1 au #formula 1 #holllandtrash

1K notes · View notes