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lockefanfic · 13 hours ago

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Last Chance

“Come over?”

You knew what the message meant, what she was asking for. What else could she mean, sending you that text at near midnight on a Friday night?

The night air is crisp as you leave your friend’s apartment, where his yearly Inbetween-Christmas-and-New-Years party was raging. It seemed to only get colder as you stood on the sidewalk waiting for your ride, and the Uber driver’s seeming reluctance to crank up the heat in his car meant that the ride across town to her apartment was almost equally as chilly.

Her building was a lot warmer, thankfully, and when she opens the door and greets you with a smile she gives you all the warmth you need.

“Come in,” Chou Tzuyu says with a small wave of her hand and nod of her head. “Drink?”

“I’ve had plenty at the party,” you admit, “but wouldn’t say no to water.”

“Good choice,” she says with a sly smile, cracking open her fridge to pull out a jug. “Gotta stay hydrated.”

You watch as she pours you a glass, her back turned to you as you enter her small but nicely furnished kitchen. She’s wearing a short, tight t-shirt and what were probably the tiniest pair of green cotton shorts known to man. The fit left much of her midsection and all of her long, shapely legs bare, highlighting the wideness of her hips and the fullness of her thighs. You hadn’t thought it possible, but she almost looked as attractive with the flimsy scraps of cotton on her as she did without them.

She hands you your glass of water, tapping it with her own as you both take sips and step into her living room.

“Had a real shitty week,” she says, unprompted, as though she somehow felt the need to justify calling you over on a Friday night, felt the need to justify what the both of you were about to do. “Kind of need to blow off some steam.”

“Fair enough. Work again?”

“Yeah,” she says with a sigh under her breath, leaning against the arm of her couch, where you join her. “Big project due next week that’s kept me at the office most nights. And…”

“And?”

“There’s this guy.”

You sigh, inwardly, hiding your reaction behind another sip of water. You feel a sting somewhere in the depths of your heart, one you do your best to keep hidden behind the barrier of nonchalance that you’d worked hard to maintain with her.

“Oh?” you manage.

“Co-worker,” she says, softly, after another sip. “Yeah, yeah, I know, ‘don’t date co-workers.’ But I’m pretty sure he’s into me, y’know? And I’ve been into him since, well, forever ago. But I’m so frustrated, because he won’t make a fucking move, no matter how many signals I send his way.”

“...and you’re into him?” you ask, even as the words hurt to say.

She fumbles a bit with the glass in her hand, staring down at it as though she were looking for the answer to your question in the transparent liquid that it contained.

“Well, yeah,” she admits. “I know I should really keep it professional, considering how long we’ve been working together and how much I rely on him at work, but… I dunno. I dunno what to make of it, that’s all. I just wish he’d call me or something, get it over with, one way or another. Was kind of hoping he’d ask me out over the holidays, but nothing.”

“Ah,” you admit. “Maybe he’s just not into girls that aren’t hot enough to be invited to Inbetween-Christmas-And-New-Year’s parties,” you tease. “I wouldn’t be either, to be honest.”

Tzuyu smirks and gives you a playful swat on the arm, the smirk turning into a warm smile. “Thanks for coming over,” she says, softly. “I need this.”

“I mean, I had to leave an above average Inbetween-Christmas-and-New-Year’s party because my moderately attractive friend across town needs my dick in her so she can get over some guy at work, but sure, I guess I kinda need it too.”

Tzuyu giggles - a soft, musical sound you never tired of hearing.

She locks eyes with you for a moment, and in that split second you feel disarmed, as though she sees right through you, right through the humor and sarcasm and other defenses you’d put up to keep her from seeing the real you. You worry, for a moment, that she sees right through your sarcastic, aloof facade you forced yourself to wear lest she see how you really felt about her.

The moment is fleeting, though, and after she takes your glass of water and places it on the coffee table next to hers, the look you find in her eyes is altogether different. There’s hunger there now, and need.

She pulls you to your feet, wraps her arms around your neck, and your heart stops beating for a moment when your lips touch.

Gentle, soft at first, as it always was, because despite being friends with benefits for a year or so and friends for much longer you both never quite got over that initial awkwardness, those odd, clumsy moments when you both knew what you wanted but weren’t quite sure how to go about initiating the process to get it.

You liked to think it was because you were both hopeless romantics at heart, and something within you both thought that sex without the feelings was beneath you, was something only indulged in by desperate single people who couldn’t get into a relationship to save their lives. Perhaps it was because neither of you wanted to be the one to admit, at least on the outside, that this was just for pleasure, that you were using a friend for an orgasm or two and that was it, end of story, we now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

But the feeling quickly fades amidst the feel of another body pressed to yours, and soon the kiss becomes heated. Tongues dance, mouths open, your lips crush against each other. Your hands roam - yours around that tiny waist of hers, hers around your neck, fingers furrowing into the hair at the back of your neck. You pull her against you and her body molds to yours, warm and soft and pliant.

You break the kiss, eager to have more of her, your heart pounding now, so loud you fear she might hear it pounding out of your chest. She gasps as you dive into her neck, her hands weaving further into your hair, nails digging into your scalp. She tilts her head to the side, gives more of herself to you.

“Fuck,” she hisses, between gritted teeth. “Fuck. Need this.”

You devour her neck, finding and fixating on those sensitive spots where you knew she loved to be kissed. Your hands slide up her back and cup her ass and you’re thankful again that she decided to wear such a flimsy outfit that did little to hide the wonders of her body.

She pulls away for a moment to pull her shirt up and over her head and she’s topless now, her hands working on your own clothes and divesting you of your button-up and t-shirt you wore beneath it. You come together again and the thrill of her soft, warm breasts pressing against your chest takes the breath away from your mouth for a moment, even as she covers your newly breathless lips with a kiss. The stiff peaks of her nipples press against you, tight and needy, sending a shiver up your spine.

You reach down, pick her up with your hands beneath her ass - and she giggles again as you carry her toward her bedroom. Her legs wrap themselves around your waist, her arms around your neck, but she weighs nothing against the need for her that gives you all the strength you need. She’s smiling and laughing and she’s everything you could ever want, right there in your arms.

She’s yours, and she’s not.

You drop her onto her bed, where her landing gives those small, perfect breasts of hers a delightful looking bounce. Your eyes find hers and for a moment, a split second, you’re afraid again - that she can see right through you, find the way you really feel about her beyond the hunger and lust and need.

Because Chou Tzuyu is perfect - when she’s topless on her bed, lips slightly parted, eyes hooded, yes - but she was also perfect when you met her in your senior-level psychology lecture, perfect when you helped her move into this very apartment, perfect when you went out for dinner after she landed her first big job in her field; the very same one where she’d meet the guy she was apparently so very into, the same guy you most decidedly were not, the same guy you were apparently a substitute for on a lonely Friday night.

You need her - that perfect, tight body, the wide hips and full thighs, the round, perky breasts and the beautiful smile - but in ways beyond the physical. You need her beyond lonely weeknights and 2am weekend hookups. You need her for Sunday mornings at the grocery store where you both plan your lunches for the week, you need her for vacations in Fukuoka and Amsterdam and Vancouver. You need her for random, candid photos on your phone during a coffee date where she believes, ridiculously, that she were anything less than perfect in your eyes.

But she’s not yours - at least, not in the way you would like. She’s half-naked on her bed and you’re between her spread thighs and she’s looking at you like she wants to devour you whole and somehow, someway, that’s not enough. It would never be enough. But it’s all you have. It’s all she can give you.

You bend to kiss her, and being past that clumsy, awkward initial phase, the kiss is heated, passionate. It’s also a short one, because the rest of her body beckoned, and you didn’t possess the patience or self-control to deny yourself what was yours to take. You indulge in the delights of Chou Tzuyu’s body because it’s a distraction from the feelings that you fear might take over if you indulge them, if you let yourself dream about what your life would be like if she weren’t just a friend, weren’t just a Friday night fuck.

You kiss a path down her neck, to her sharp, prominent collarbones, each soft peck eliciting a little gasp or hiss from her lips. When you reach her breasts she’s practically begging, back arched off the mattress, desperate to have your mouth on her. She loved having your hands on her small mounds, your lips locked over her nipples, licking and sucking. Smaller boobs are more sensitive, she’d said once, only half-jokingly, and you never forgot it.

You give her what she wants - what you both want. Your mouth latches on to one breast, lips closing over her tight nipple and sucking, licking, lightly biting.

Tzuyu moans - a long, languid sound of pleasure, her loudest of the night. You never tired of hearing the pleasure leaving her lips in long, wordless drawls. It was like music. It was a song that only she knew the lyrics to, that she performed only for you, and you never tired of hearing it play.

Your mouth and hand swap, your lips latching tightly to her other nipple while you squeeze the other one with an open palm, relishing the feel of the soft flesh beneath your fingers.

You spend a little longer on her right breast, because you knew it was somehow more sensitive than the other one - just another of those small things you knew about her body that no one else did. Another fact about Chou Tzuyu that belonged just to you, that you held tight against your chest and treasured greedily. You loved knowing that you knew things about her body no one else did.

You loved knowing that you were the only one who knew these dirty, filthy little things about her, and that you were the only man on earth she trusted with them. The thought of sharing that knowledge with another man - or even worse, of losing access to it altogether, having it taken away from you by some random asshole who didn’t know these things, hadn’t worked to learn them - made you feel something dark and upsetting, something between fear and anger.

Tzuyu is a moaning and sighing mess now, her legs wrapped around your lower back, her own back arching up and off the mattress in an attempt to offer more of her body to you. Her nails dig little spikes of pain into your scalp with each suckle you draw from her nipple. Her thighs part even further and you feel the warmth between them pressing against your belly, even through the green shorts riding up her hips. She moans and writhes beneath you and if you’d spent the rest of the night with her breasts in your mouth and under your palms you would’ve been satisfied with that alone.

But she has other ideas - wants more, craves more. The fingers she’s woven into your hair push you downward. You release her stiffened nipple from between your lips with a pop, gazing up momentarily to find her looking back at you, cheeks flushed, eyes half-lidded, a sigh on her lips. Their corners perk up in a barely noticeable, shy little smile.

Her tongue darts out, moistens her full pink lips, and you catch the unspoken request.

You bend your head again, returning your lips to her skin, starting a trail down her flat stomach, taking care to press a soft kiss on that cute belly button of hers. You open your eyes to watch her abs flex with every movement, delighting in the sight and feel of the tight muscle beneath the perfect, creamy skin. Hers was a body she’d spent many long hours in the gym and pilates studio for, and you were more than happy to make sure she knew how worth it it all was.

You reach her shorts, eventually - the flimsy strip of soft green cotton that was just barely enough to provide her with some measure of modesty. You take a moment to admire the way they sat on her hips, the way her full, flushed thighs look spread beneath them. She squirms under your gaze, her hips searching for friction, begging you to get them off her.

Your patience outlasts hers, because she’s the one to reach for the buttons keeping the shorts closed. You consider stopping her and undoing the buttons yourself, but there is a part of you that needs to see her undress herself for you, needs to watch her reveal her most intimate parts to you and you alone.

Thin, dainty fingers make quick work of the button, and she raises her hips, hooking her thumbs into the waistband and pulling them off her hips. You make way as she pulls the shorts off the long, endless length of her legs. She tosses them aside, over the side of the bed, where for all intents and purposes they cease to exist.

Her thighs remain tight together for a moment, only a few moments - and in those seconds her eyes are locked on yours, capturing and holding every ounce of your attention. Her thighs part, her legs spread and allow you back between them, but your eyes hold her gaze regardless. Her eyes tell you she wants you to relish the way she looks, naked and vulnerable, her body spread and laid out for you to take, to make yours for the rest of the night.

“Fuck, Tzuyu,” you mumble, unable to really say anything more than her name.

She smirks, those wonderful lips of hers curling into a smile. Without further word she grasps your skull with her palms and gently pushes you down towards her waiting pussy.

Her cunt is beautiful, like the rest of her - flushed and pink and glistening in the soft light of her bedroom, the insides of her thighs already moist with her juices. You bend down and give her a long, slow lick from the base of her opening to the top. The taste of her floods your palette just as the sound of the gasp that leaves her lungs fills your ears - a sound that is quickly muffled by the closing of her warm, moist thighs around your cheeks and face.

You do it again, give her another lick from bottom to top, then a third. You swirl her juices around on your tongue, relishing the taste of her. She’s squirming now, writhing, waiting for you to really commit to pleasuring her, her back arching and her nails digging more incessantly into your scalp.

You take a glance up at her - a viewpoint that you were truly blessed to bear witness to - past the flat planes of her stomach, between her heaving breasts, and finally to her face, flushed and pink, lower lip tucked under teeth, eyes fixed on you. She does it again - communicates her need without words, telling you, begging you, to give her the pleasure she so desperately needed.

And so you do, bending and closing your lips around the tender bud of her clit, your tongue darting out softly, gently, avoiding the sensitive nub and instead licking around it, tracing soft, slow circles around it, just the way you knew she liked.

The wordless song that has been leaving her mouth all night hits a higher tone, another octave as you work her over with your tongue. Everything intensifies for Tzuyu - the pleasure coursing up her spine, the wetness between her legs, the volume of the moans leaving her mouth. Her head falls back, eyes shutting, mouth now permanently ajar.

It intensifies for you, too - the pinpricks of irritation her nails are digging into your scalp become painful nails, the wet warmth of her thighs closes ever more around your cheeks, and the slick wetness of her cunt increases, making your lips and chin slick. You continue to swirl your tongue around the tender flesh surrounding her clit, neither increasing nor decreasing in pace - simply maintaining your current one, knowing from experience what made her body work, what would give her the most pleasure.

Tzuyu becomes a mewling, quivering mess beneath your tongue. The moans and profanities leaving her lips continue unabated. She forces herself every now and then to open her eyes, glance down at the top of your head nestled between her spread legs, the mere sight of you there, in her most intimate area with your lips around her clit, enough to send yet another spike of pleasure up her spine and into her addled brain.

“God, fuck, that feels so good,” she manages to gasp, her brain barely able to form recognizable words out of the stream of sounds leaving her mouth. “Fuck, keep going.”

You knew where exactly where she was, what level of pleasure she was experiencing - knowledge that was the product of many a night doing exactly this, pleasuring her just the way you were now. You knew that she was right there, dangling on the precipice, and that she needed just that one last nudge, one last push.

You slip your right hand from where it was wrapped around her thigh, sliding it beneath her, bringing your fingertips to her drenched opening. She gasps as she feels your fingertips at her thus far neglected entrance, knowing what it means, knowing what is about to come. You can almost feel her pussy writhe and ripple around your fingers, now a knuckle deep, urging you, begging you deeper.

“Please,” she gasps, and you oblige. You slide your index and middle fingers inside her, palm up, and the effect on her body is immediate. Her moans cut out, her entire body goes rigid for a moment, as though shocked by lightning. The silence left by the cessation of her moans leaves only the sound of her body writhing on the bed to fill your ears, along with the wet slickness of your fingers moving inside her.

Throughout it all your tongue is swirling around her clit, merciless, unwavering in its pace and depth and pressure. Your fingers are ones pushing her, upping stakes, sliding slowly deeper inside her slickness, curling upward, searching, finding, then teasing.

It takes only a few seconds of your fingertips grazing that most sensitive part of her before Tzuyu orgasms, taking herself by surprise almost as it did you. Her world explodes, her body goes stiff, her eyes shut and for a few wonderful moments all she sees is stars.

You almost have to fight to hold her down with your free hand flat on her tense belly lest your mouth lose contact with her spasming cunt. You fight to keep your tongue and fingers moving, if at a slightly slower pace, letting her ride it out, letting her feel and relish every second of the pleasure coursing its way through every fibre of her being. She’s quiet through it all, mouth frozen in a silent scream, which was rare - she was usually one to announce and talk through her pleasure, but here she was, rendered unable to even moan.

“Fucking hell,” she spits, sometime later when she is able to form words again. Her body is suddenly boneless and sinking into the mattress, utterly drained. Her thighs finally loosen around your head, much to your chagrin, because you’d grown fond of the sticky warmth you’d found between them.

She pulls your face up toward her, and you delight in the tour you’re given of her breathless, sweaty body beneath you as you crawl up the bed until you’re face-to-face. When you reach her lips she captures yours in a tight, passionate kiss, her tongue finding yours and tasting herself on its surface.

“I need you now,” she hisses, eyes boring into yours. You need her too. You always have, truth be told, but perhaps not in the same ways that she needed you. You want to say something, lying here, inches from her face, her eyes needy and vulnerable. But the words never come. The moment passes.

Before you can react any further her hands slide from your head to your shoulders, where she gives you a gentle push onto your back on the bed. She rolls atop you, straddling your hips.

There’s a coy smile on her lips as she undoes the belt at your waist before undoing the button and fly of your jeans and pulling them down your hips. She lets out a soft giggle as you raise your hips and pull the clothes off your legs as though they were on fire. This is all a game to her, a release, a fun, if momentary, distraction. The realization of that stings a little, somewhere deep inside you, where she can’t see the hurt she’s caused to you.

When you’re finally as naked as she is, she straddles you again. Your eyes find hers, as they always did, drawn to them, magnetically, as though you could always find what you needed in them. The small moment of levity and amusement she gained from watching you desperately undress disappears, replaced again by need and desire.

Her tongue slips out between her lips when she gazes down and sees your cock, hard and aching. Her hand reaches out to grasp it and you feel the air rush out of your lungs at this first intimate contact. She brings your tip to her entrance, dragging the head up and down through her lips, lathering it with her slick juices.

You want to say something, want to tell her how utterly captivating she looks on your lap, your cock at her entrance; you want to tell her how much you wish you were about to fuck your girlfriend or your wife and not just a friend; you want to tell her how the very thought of another man being where you are, right now, upsets you more than you had any right to be.

The moment passes - again. You slide inside her, and suddenly words don’t exist any more.

The sight of Chou Tzuyu impaled hilt-deep on your cock is like nothing else you’ve ever experienced, like nothing else you ever will. She’s feminine perfection, right here, on you, wrapped around you.

Her head is tilted back, mouth open in a silent moan, eyes shut, brow furrowed, as though deep in concentration. Her breasts are perfect and round and her nipples taut. Her abs flex - defined, toned. And her thighs - perfect, full, flushed. She’s more than you can take. She’s more than you can keep.

It’s a feeling that is only intensified when she begins to move, begins to use those strong, firm thighs and hips of hers to move herself up and down your cock, slowly, with soft, measured movements. She lets herself get used to you, get used to that delicious stretch of you inside her. It’s painful, in a way, how slowly she’s moving - it takes more self-control than you��d care to admit not to just hold her hips down and piston into the wonderful slickness of her cunt.

But hurting her was the last thing you wanted. If only she’d known how much she was hurting you. You wonder if she would stop if she knew. You wonder if she would even care.

Eventually she ups her pace as her body molds itself around you. She’s beginning to sigh and gasp now, mostly on the downstroke as your cock slides inside her, spreading her apart and stretching her out, sending shocks of pleasure throughout both your bodies with each entry. Your hands are firm on her hips, resisting for now the temptation to reach up and play with her softly bouncing breasts, or pull her back down onto your cock with more force. You’re content, feeling her, watching her take her pleasure from you.

Watching her use you.

Tzuyu feels your eyes on her, roaming her body, drinking in the sight of her. One hand reaches up to her breasts, capturing one, teasing the taut nipple for a moment with long, dainty fingertips, giving you a show. Eventually she brings both her hands to her scalp, gathering her hair, pulling it above her head and holding it there. She’s a vision, then and there - her hands above her head, back arching, breasts bouncing wildly as she continues to ride you.

“Jesus, Tzuyu,” you spit, the profanities tumbling from your mouth before you even knew you were speaking them. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

She lets her hair fall from the top of her head in a chocolate waterfall. Her hands cup her own breasts, fingertips playing with her aching nipples.

“You like me like this, baby?” she hisses, a question she knows the answer to. “You like me like this, bouncing on your cock, all tight and wet for you?”

“Fuck, yes, Tzuyu, fuck.”

Her lips curl into a wicked smile, before her lower lip curls under a perfect white tooth. She lets something deep and guttural escape her throat behind her bitten lip.

She bends over you, hands on either side of your head, hair framing a face twisted in pleasure.

She ups her pace, riding you fiercely now, hips slamming down onto yours at a pace that is almost violent. Your hands grasp her thighs, fingers clawing into the soft flesh, feeling the muscles beneath them work to throw their owner against you over and over and over.

“Fuck me,” she snaps, and you oblige.

You thrust upward to meet her, timing each movement of your hips to match with the downstroke of hers, and soon you are slamming your bodies against each other at a merciless pace.

Tzuyu shrieks - loud, sharp. She swears and spits and she’s becoming a loud, mewling mess atop you, but throughout it all she manages to keep riding you, keep bouncing that perfect body of hers atop your cock. Her cunt pulsates, squeezes you like a velvet glove. She’s so wet, leaking with so much arousal, that every slamming of your hips against each other is muffled by the wet stickiness that has coated much of your lower bodies.

“Oh god, oh god, I-” she begins, each word punctuated with a thrust of your cock into her cunt. “Oh fuck, I, so good-”

You watch her, watch that perfect face of hers twist in pleasure, watch as that perfect body of hers takes your cock. Your brow furrows and your hips burn with the effort but you feel none of the fatigue, none of the weariness of the physical effort. All that matters is her pleasure. All that matters is making sure she-

“Cumming-” she hisses, just barely before she does.

Her eyes shut, body stiffens, just as it did when she came on your mouth - and her cunt tightens wonderfully around your cock, pulsating, squeezing. You bury yourself inside her to the hilt, wanting to feel every second of her orgasming around you. You can feel the shocks of pleasure radiating from her, reaching her limbs, flooding her brain with sensation.

When she remembers to breathe she lets out a long, drawn out breath. Her arms, shaky, finally give way and she collapses atop you, head next to yours. For a few long seconds she does nothing but breathe heavily against you, the gasps and sighs that leave her mouth loud against your ear. Your hands roam her sweat-slick back, fingertips tracing a path down her spine and pulling a soft sigh from her tired lips.

“God,” she says into your ear. “Fuck, that was so good, baby.”

You loved and hated when she called you that. It was a pet name for lovers - and she only used it during sex. She only ever called you by your first name anywhere outside the bedroom. Another reminder of the boundaries. Of the limits.

“You feel amazing, Tzuyu,” you say, truthfully. Her cunt is still pulsating softly around your painfully stiff cock as the last waves of her orgasm leave her body. The warm slickness of her around you made a pleasant distraction from your emotions. Pleasant, but not easy.

You feel her lips curl into that sly smile of hers again against your cheek. She plants a few kisses under your ear, tracing a path along your jaw, until she finds your lips. Her hips begin to move again, side to side - not taking you in and out of her body, but just moving you around, swirling your stiffness inside her.

“Your turn, baby,” she whispers, half-lidded eyes locked on yours. “How do you want to cum in me?”

You’d had her in every position imaginable over the time you’ve been fuck buddies. But you always enjoyed one of them more than the others.

“Want you from behind-” you begin. “-Tzu.” you finish, resisting the temptation to call her ‘baby.’ Some small, bitter part of you felt she didn’t deserve to be called that, not if she was going to tease you, hurt you with its use, make a weapon out of it that she wielded carelessly, inconsiderately.

Thankfully, she doesn’t notice your momentary hesitation - maybe she was still recovering from the high of her orgasm, or maybe she was too focused on gyrating her hips around the stiffness still hilt-deep inside her.

“Alright, baby,” she says, again, the word stinging even if it was laced with the sweet honey of her voice. The smile on her lips is proof of how oblivious she is to the damage she wreaks with each wreckless use of it.

You didn’t blame her. How could you? How could you expect someone to know what you felt internally when you continually denied it externally?

You’d promised each other, when you first started this little arrangement, that you’d put an end to it if either of you found yourselves with anything even remotely resembling feelings for the other. But how could you end it, when you’re in her bed and you’re both naked and she’s wet and ready and on her hands and knees, looking over her shoulder at you, slick pink lips opening to say-

“Come take me, then.”

A stronger man would have ended this a long time ago. You were not that man, not today. You doubted there were many men in the world with that level of strength.

You bring yourself behind her, admiring the sight of her - perfect, as she always was, perfect in every sense of the world. She’s creamy skin and a tiny waist and those hips and thighs, my god, those hips and thighs. She’s there and wet and ready and wanting and who could say no?

You bring your tip to her opening, parting her lips with your head, swirling it, swiping it up and down her slick flesh, sending a shiver of pleasure into both of your bodies. She sighs and her back arches delightfully, the dip of her spine sharp and prominent in the low light of her bedroom. She mewls and sighs, her hips pushing back against you, needy, wanting.

“Fuck, baby, come on,” she sighs, she begs.

You loved her voice, soft and light, like silk spun into air - but you loved it most when it was begging, needy.

Her hips continue to push against you, the round cheeks of her ass pressing against you, trying to pull you inside her herself. “Please,” she continues, airy and breathless. “Put it in me. Don’t you want my pussy? Don’t you want me?”

You did. You wanted her, but in more ways than this. Chou Tzuyu is on her hands and knees in front of you and she’s dripping wet and begging and somehow it’s not enough.

One of her hands slides down her body, and her fingertips part the slick lips of her pussy. She’s glistening and pink and pure distilled need, right there, right here, ready for you to take.

And she doesn’t give a damn about your feelings, is blissfully oblivious to everything but the emptiness between her legs. All she wants is a fuck. That’s it. That’s all you are. You’re everything and nothing, all at once.

“Look how empty I am without you inside me, baby. Come fill me up.”

You slide inside her - how could you not, after hearing that? She’s so tight and hot and wet, and you forget, momentarily, everything other than the feel of her cunt wrapped around you.

You fuck her - hard, firm, your pace fuelled more than you would care to admit by a darkness inside you that you weren’t proud to admit to. Jealousy, of some man you’d never met, some man who made her feel like you never could? Anger, at her, for not seeing how you felt about her, how amazing you could be together?

Whatever it was, it was ugly and came from a dark place, and you didn’t want to acknowledge it. But you fuck Chou Tzuyu with it running through your veins - fast, hard. And she sighs and moans and thinks you’re just especially turned on today, want a harder fuck than usual. She doesn’t know any better. Doesn’t know that you’re using her body the way you are, as an outlet for your frustration and anger as much as an outlet for your pleasure.

You reach forward, running your fingers through her hair with a surprising gentleness, even as your cock hammers in and out of her body, rocking it, pounding her.

Then your fingers close, pull. She yelps, gasps.

Her spine arcs sharply backward as you pull backward on her hair. You use her hair like a leash, pulling back as you thrust forward. Tzuyu can do nothing but take it, her body given to you fully. The spasming and quivering of her cunt around you is evidence of her acceptance, her submission.

Your hips slap wetly against her ass with each hard thrust you make into her tight, slick pussy. The bedroom fills with it - flesh hitting flesh, wordless sighs and moans that turn into begging, profanity, name calling - the lewd soundtrack of sex.

“Fuck, fuck,” Tzuyu manages, “You’re so fucking deep, fuck, more, fuck me more-”

You shut her up. The hand pulling her hair wraps around her scalp, pushes her face down onto the bed. You pin her down, your palm flat against the back of her neck and upper shoulders. Throughout it all you are fucking her, using her, just as she uses you, even if it’s for different reasons, with entirely different depths of emotion.

Her mouth muffled against the bed, she’s unable to say or do much more. And you prefer her this way, because every word she says - even the ones that spur you into fucking her harder, faster, deeper - will only make it harder to leave her when you’re done.

Not that you needed much motivation to fuck her the way she liked - hard, deep, but not wild or uncontrolled. You maintain your pace, enjoying the way her cunt squeezed and tightened rhythmically around you. Tzuyu knew how to communicate with her body, knew how to tell you exactly what she wanted without words.

You watch her beneath you, relished the sight of her helpless and unable to do much of anything but take your cock again and again. Her moans and sighs are muffled by the cotton of her bedsheets, but you heard enough of them to tell you you were hitting just the right spots inside her. She’s under you and she’s yours and you do your best to stay in the moment, enjoy the feeling of her wrapped around you.

You feel that feeling in your core, the telltale building of pleasure in your gut that heralds your impending orgasm, tells you to fuck her harder and deeper and bury your cum inside her. She must have felt it too, somehow, in the slightly more erratic rhythm of your thrusts, or the tighter grip of your palm against the back of her neck.

Tzuyu turns her head enough to clear her mouth of the bedsheets, despite your palm on the back of her neck.

“Fucking cum in me,” she hisses, “Please cum inside me. Make me yours.”

The perfect words, on any other night - but on this night they only hurt you.

Because she isn’t yours, might never be. Tomorrow, she might be another man’s. Even as you thrust harder and harder and your orgasm comes closer and closer all you can think of is how empty this feels, how even if she’s under you and taking your cum she’s not what you want her to be, what you need her to be.

But for a moment, a fleeting, blissful moment, you forget all that. Your hand leaves the back of her neck to join the other one at her hips, pulling her hips back against yours as you crest your peak, burying yourself inside her and letting go.

She moans as she feels you pulse inside her, each movement of your cock signifying another rope of warm, thick cum that fills her thirsty, needy little cunt. You give her a few more short, sharp thrusts before you bury yourself inside her for the last time. She’s so fucking full of you that your juices begin to overflow from her stuffed pussy, around the lips still tightly wrapped around your shaft, down your balls and her flushed thighs.

Time freezes, becomes irrelevant, and for a few blessed minutes you forget everything about the way you feel about Chou Tzuyu.

When your senses return and your brain has recovered long enough to process thought, the first thing you’re aware of is her voice.

“Fuck,” she’s saying, “God, that was… god.” And then she’s saying your name, and it makes you wince, as though hearing her say it caused you pain.

You slip out of her, and she winces herself - although hers is borne of the emptiness you’ve left inside her and not out of any deeper emotion. She makes no effort to get off her hands and knees, staying frozen there, her ass in the air like some lewd testament to the sinful acts you’ve just committed. You watch, absent-mindedly, as your cum drips from her well-fucked cunt, down her thighs, staining her bed.

Eventually she falls onto her side, facing you. You’re sitting there, on your knees on the bed, watching her. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are glassy. She’s so perfect, so desirable - and you curse yourself for the millionth time that night that you lacked both the wisdom to find the words to say and the courage to say them.

But it doesn’t matter, because you’re not the guy she wants, not the one she’s waiting for a call from. And that’s when it hits you, dark and ugly and painful - you wonder if she were pretending you were him this whole time, pretending it was his cock fucking her, making her cum, cumming in her, using you like some fucktoy replacement for the real thing.

You turn away from her, as though the very sight of her were somehow painful to you, despite the fogginess of your post-orgasm haze. Before you know it, you’re climbing off the bed, finding your pants on the floor, throwing them on.

“Are you-?” she begins, her words soft as you find your t-shirt and button-up, throwing them on.

“I, uh, I have to get back to the party,” you stammer, hoping she would buy your flimsy excuse for an exit. But you had to leave, had to do anything to get out of that room. The thought of losing her, the thought of this being your last time together - it hurt, it was too much, and every fibre of you screamed to get away from it.

“Oh,” she says, softly. You turn to find that she’s sitting up on the bed now, her arms wrapping around her knees.

“There’s, uh, my friend, he, he introduced me to this girl,” you mumble, fabricating a story, trying to come up with some way to hurt her, just as she’s hurt you. “I told her I’d, uh, get back to the party. She likes me, I think,” you add, the words tasting like ashes in your mouth.

“Right,” she says, surprise and something else in her low voice. Her knees come up closer to her chest. “So, um, hey, about that guy-”

“Good luck with him,” you spit, cutting her off, afraid of what you might hear if you let her continue. “Uh, let me know how it goes.”

There’s a short silence, one that drags on for longer than you’d like. You don’t look up at her, unable to muster the courage to do so. You fumble with your shirt buttons, fingers numb.

“Sure,” she says, finally. “I… I think I’m going to call him tomorrow.”

“Right. I, uh, I should go. I’ll. Uh. I’ll talk to you later,” you say, as you turn towards her bedroom door.

You think you hear her say something, a couple of words.

Your eyes finally look up at her, but she’s looking away. You look for confirmation on her face, but she’s turned away from you, and her expression is unreadable. She suddenly looks small and vulnerable.

“Did- did you say something, Tzuyu?”

“Nothing,” she says, a hand pressed against the side of her face, her eyes shut, as though she were suddenly fighting a headache. But just as quickly it appears, it’s gone, and Tzuyu manages a weak smile, even if there’s no happiness or mirth in her eyes. “It’s nothing. Be safe getting back to the party, okay? And don’t forget your jacket - it’s cold outside. Let me know when you get there.”

“I, I will, Tzuyu,” you say, words shaky, unsure. “See ya.”

You leave her, leave her hot, stifling apartment.

The night is cold.

Author’s Note: High five to you if you guess what she said.

#twice #tzuyu #twice tzuyu #kpop smut

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lnfours · 1 year ago

Text

you are in love | l.n

summary: the moment where you knew he was the one.

warnings: best friends to lovers au, shitty dates, language, a little bit of innuendos, and just pure, tooth rotting fluff.

masterlist | inbox | listen

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

you walked out of the restaurant, nails tapping against your screen as you walked on the sidewalk. there was a soft, warm breeze in the city of monaco as you stared down at your phone. your phone locked once you found somewhere to stand, out of the sight from the crowds, and specifically the guy you had left at the dinner table.

can you come get me?

it was almost ten. and if he wasn’t asleep, he was definitely doing better things with his time-

of course, where are you?

your heart pattered against your chest, your fingers moving to tell him the name of the street corner you were standing at. he had responded quickly after, saying he’d be there in five.

and he was, the mclaren pulling up besides you. he had the top open for the nighttime summer breeze to flow through. you stepped closer, opening the door and climbing in carefully before closing it behind you.

“you alright?” he asked, car still parked as he made sure he didn’t have to go back into the restaurant and give the guy a piece of his mind.

when you nodded, he let out a breath of relief, “i just really know how to pick ‘em, huh?”

he huffed out a laugh, pulling onto the road, “we could say that,” he looked back over at you as you looked out the window, “back to mine? or yours?”

you met those stupidly beautiful green eyes and you let out a shaky breath as his eyes scanned your features, “yours is fine. blair is out of town anyway, so it’s been lonely.”

“oh, yeah? where she go this time? ibiza? france?” he joked and you snorted next to him. your roommate, blair, came from money. big money. and every other weekend, she always had somewhere new to take her father’s private jet. even if it was just to visit a louis vuitton store in paris.

her frequent trips had become an inside joke to you, max and lando. so far as to where the three of you make bets on which extravagant place shes visiting every time she leaves. this week, it’s bali.

“close,” you nod, “her family’s vacationing in bali this week.”

“damn,” he mumbled, “so close.”

you both shared a soft laugh, a comfortable silence falling over the two of you as you watched the city life out the window. he couldn’t help but take occasional glances towards you, his eyes falling to the necklace sparkling around your neck.

the one he had gotten you for your most recent birthday. you had refused to accept his gift at first, immediately shaking your head when you spotted the tiffany blue box underneath the wrapping paper.

but he insisted, and now you never took it off. a silver heart engraved with a little four. a subtle detail, but a special one. some people thought he seemed ‘full of himself’ because he got you a gift with his number on it. but, you were the one who encouraged him to chase his dreams. the one who pushed him to do better, the one who never believed for a second how the media tried to paint him out to be.

because, to you, he wasn’t ’lando norris: mclaren formula one driver with a sassy attitude who’s full of himself’, to you he was just ‘lando: the boy you’ve known your entire life, who knew everything about you, and the boy who would pick you up after a shitty date’.

at the end of the day, it was always the two of you against anything and everything. two peas in a pod, as cisca would say.

the two of you got to his apartment, his key unlocking the door and pushing it open. once you got inside, you kicked your heels off by the door as he made his way into the kitchen.

“do you still have those makeup wipes i left here?” you asked.

he nodded, reaching into one of the cupboards as he grabbed the white mug with little yellow stars on it. your mug.

“should be in the top drawer in the bathroom with your toothbrush and hairbrush,” he said, turning back to you, “want a coffee?”

you nodded, letting out a soft sigh, “please. milk and two-“

“two sugars,” he smiled softly, “i know.”

you smiled back at him before turning and walking down the hallway to his bedroom. when you entered, you took in the view of his freshly made bed and the hamper in the corner being empty. a sign that he had done his laundry and cleaned the house today.

you hummed softly, opening the closet door and thumbing through the different hoodies he had. you settled on an older mclaren one, the same one he had lent you a few years back when you were crying on his couch.

you also snagged a pair of sweatpants while you were in there, changing into them and placing your dress on his dresser. making a mental note to take it with you when he takes you home in the morning.

once you had taken your makeup off in the bathroom, you made your way back to the living room where he was sitting on the couch, phone in hand as he held his mug. you sat next to him, your mug on the table next to you. you took it into your hands, smiling over the rim.

“thank you,” you said.

“‘course,” he smiled, locking his phone and picking up the remote, “what episode were we on before we fell asleep the other night? i don’t remember,”

you looked over at the tv in front of you, now noticing he had the show the two of you had been watching pulled up. you twisted your lips in thought.

“uhm, i think six? maybe seven?” you said, he clicked on six and after a few seconds you realized the two of you had guessed correctly.

at some point during the show, your head had ended up on his shoulder. his arm had pulled you closer into him, taking in the smell of his cologne and the shampoo he used. a scent you had grown to love, to look forward to every time he wrapped his arms around you to give you a hug, or whenever you were close enough to him to pick up on it.

at some point you had zoned out, thinking to yourself. maybe the reason all these dates hadn’t worked out was because they all lacked something. something no one else had other than lando, the boy who knew you like the back of his hand.

you shifted, moving to look at the boy with curly brown hair, his face illuminated by the soft glow of the tv. you took in the beauty marks that freckled his face, the ones he used to complain about when he was younger, but you always said it was your favorite thing.

maybe it wasn’t the fact that lando knew you like the back of your hand that turned you away from all the other men who’d swipe right on you. maybe it was the fact that they weren’t him.

you didn’t know when, but somehow you had fallen in love with the boy next to you. i mean, who could blame you? he was everything you could ever dream of, the perfect man.

he turned and met your eyes, his face inches from yours now. you smiled softly, his lips turning up in return. his eyes scanned yours and you took in a nervous breath when his eyes traveled to your lips.

“i’m sorry that date didn’t work out for you,” he said softly, “these guys really don’t know what they’re missing out on.”

you shrugged, “it’s okay,” your heart was hammering against your chest, questioning silently to yourself if he could hear it.

he couldn’t, but he could tell when he scanned your face that you didn’t really seem all that upset. he wasn’t really sorry, either, to be fair. it might’ve seemed selfish, but he always anticipated your ‘can you come get me?’ texts whenever he knew you were going out. he prayed the dates would fail, so he could finally be the one to take you out and do it properly. give you that fairytale kind of love you deserve.

he blurted out before his mind could even filter it, “can i tell you something?”

you hummed. fuck, there was no going back now.

“i’m kind of glad those dates haven’t worked out.”

you furrowed your eyebrows in question, “why’s that?”

“because i want to be the one to take you out,” his voice was soft and it sent your heart right into your throat, “all the fancy dinners, the kissing goodnight at the doorstep, all of it.”

his eyes traveled back to your lips and you sucked in a breath, “can i tell you something too?”

he nodded, his face centimeters away from yours now. your warm breath fanned his face, the smell of your perfume and the hair product you had put in hours beforehand captivating him.

“i want all of that with you, too.” you smiled and he grinned back, a soft laugh leaving both of your lips. he reached up, his hand lifting your chin.

“you sure you want to be stuck with me?” he asked, “cause once i start, i don’t think i could stop.”

your nose brushed against his, “i wouldn’t have it any other way.”

that was all it took until his lips were pressing against yours. you kissed him back, the hand that wasn’t holding your jaw reaching to your hip and pulling you closer, leaving no room between you as you climbed into his lap.

your hands threaded through the curls on the nape of his neck, his arms wrapping around you. a moment of complete bliss, the moment you’ve been waiting for for what felt like ages.

“lets go to bed, yeah?”

you nodded back, nose bumping his as your face wore a smile. he stood from the couch, hands supporting your thighs before letting your legs wrap around his torso. he carried you down the hallway, your face nuzzled into the crook of his neck.

he placed you down on the mattress, the two of you entangling limbs underneath the sheets. he played with the soft strands of your hair, his lips pressing against the top of your head as you listened to his heart beat against his ribs. existing in complete contentment with each others company.

“breakfast in the morning?” he asked softly.

you thought about it for a minute, turning to look at him. it was dark, but you could still make out his face, “sure, just as long as you don’t burn the toast.”

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procyonloser · 2 months ago

Text

"You fucking kidding me right now?!" Adam yelled, dropping his bags, though his guitar case stayed firmly in hand.

Across the front of his van, someone had painted the word, CHEATER, and that was just the first offense he'd noticed. They'd keyed up the paint job, which was a super fucking awesome duochrome that shifted from gold to orange to purple - fucking ruined now. On the side were a litany of worse insults, saying he had a small dick, that he was a man whore, that he was a shitty musician.

He knew who'd done it, and he wasn't even fucking dating the bitch. She was just a groupie he'd fucked a few times on the road; yeah, he'd fucked a few other girls, so what?

"I'm so going to take you to court, you stupid cunt." Adam hissed to himself, getting in the driver's side. But, the van wouldn't start at all. It wouldn't even try to turn over. It just did nothing. She must have fucked with the engine too.

Which left Adam standing on the sidewalk, fuming, as he waited for an Uber to show up. He didn't even fucking live here! He was just on tour! People all over wanted to hear him play, or they would after they heard him at least!

An unremarkable car pulled up along side him, and the passenger window rolled down, and a blond man in the driver's seat leaned over to smile up at him. "Need some h-"

"Fucking finally!" Adam complained, getting a startled look in return. "I've been waiting for you for like twenty goddamn minutes." Adam waved his Uber app at the man, and told him the code.

"Please, get in. I'm Lucky, by the way." The man said with a wide smile. "I have water in the back, if you'd like."

Adam was still fuming, but he tossed his stuff in the back seat, grabbing out a water bottle and jumping into the passenger seat. Yeah, he knew ubers didn't like that, but he didn't do back seats. He was always in front.

He chugged the water, and crushed the bottle, before tossing it out the window.

"Charming," Lucky said, in not so subtle distaste.

"Fuck you, you don't know the night I've had. Some cunt ruined my van, my gig went shitty, cus the bar was like, no you're supposed to pay me. Like shit I'm doing that. Fucking pussies. Chick run, obviously. Can't do anything right." Adam huffed, reaching down to adjust the seat, pushing himself back and getting a bit more leg room. "So suck a dick and just take me to my hotel, shorty."

"Sure," Lucky said, barely even blinking at the insults.

Adam closed his eyes, and began to feel increasingly drowsy. Well, he'd had a long night. "Wake me up when we get there," he mumbled, before sleep took him.

Adam woke up to a not so gentle slap across the face. He startled upwards, eyes wide, finding himself unable to move. He was restrained, cuffs around his hands and legs, and he was entirely nude.

"W...what the fuck? Where am I?" Adam whispered, horror setting in. He'd woken up with some hard 4s before, after getting drunk, but nothing like this.

"Morning," a voice called, and Adam looked up to find the cabby sitting beside him, smiling brightly.

"...Lucky?" Adam asked in confusion.

"Oh, my name is actually Sam, but the news calls me Lucifer." He reached down, caressing Adam's cheek with heavy lidded eyes, not caring that Adam tried to jerk back and away from him.

"I'm a serial killer, sweetheart. And from what I can see, no one particularly likes you, your girlfriend dumped you, your car was ruined, your band is a joke... It would make sense that you'd just...go missing? Wouldn't it?"

Adam's blood went cold, horror began to set in, even though he wanted to scream and shout and curse the man. He tried pulling on his cuffs, but nothing budged. His attention was drawn back to Lucifer as he pulled out a very sharp looking ritualistic knife.

"W- wait, wait! I can...I can help you!" Adam got out, and Lucifer raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, I can help you! I don't like people either! So, I'm not going to say anything about this, you know, I could even tell you about...I don't know, people alone in bars and shit!" Adam tried to persuade him, but he knew it sounded more like begging. "I can...I can be useful, I promise."

Lucifer hummed to himself, appraising him. "You'll be a good boy for me?"

Adam swallowed hard, nodding his head. For some stupid fucking reason, he started to get slightly hard from that.

"Maybe I'll think about it," Lucifer said, but Adam's relief didn't last. "But I can't have you getting away in the meantime. I need to clip your wings."

#adamsapple #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel lucifer #serial killer au

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bluesworldd · 1 year ago

Text

PT1. Infunami !

↳ pairings: miles 42 x reader

↳ cw/tw: cursing, like 70% proofread, miles going through it, pet names: my love.

↳ genre: angst.

↳ synopsis: miles missed one too many dates and the truth comes out. poor miles

↳ blue says: lets just act like i didn’t disappear for a few months, thanks! enjoy

spoilers ahead !

┄┄ ︰ ┄୨୧┄ ︰ ┄┄

fuck

…fuckkkkk

10 missed calls…

miles rushed to get his suit off. fuck how many times has this been? he couldn’t help but think. five..? no five was to little… maybe 10? quickly he called the familiar number.

…ring

“please leave a-”

fuck. miles had no clue on how he was going to comeback from this one.. its been six months since the two of you started dating and within those six months miles had only took you on about twenty-five dates (yes he counted). now hear him out, 1. the two of you are teenagers and its not much two teenagers can do. 2. it would be way more if you considered cuddling together in your room as a “date”. look miles wasn’t proud of it ok? he s been busy with school and the prowler stuff so hes had a lot on his plate and trust, he does love you, more than you think, but its been a rough couple of months and he cant even remember the last time hes had over six hours of sleep. But fuck it, that was besides the point, now he had to focus on trying to not lose the person he loves….again

quickly he sent a text.

hey..im so sorry about tonight.

he checked the time…only 10:25, you should still be awake. miles knows that because your a bit of a night howl and just like him its hard for you to get sleep most nights…but for different reasons.

anyways.

idk if your still up but if you are just know im coming over.

fuck..im sorry seriously

just please text me back…

after a minute of nothing, in more suitable clothes, miles quickly ran out of his window and straight to you place. ok morales think… maybe a gift? no. miles knows you better, he tried to do that last time and he quickly realized he couldn’t buy your affection back. man that was a shitty three weeks, you had ignored him for a long time before he was at your door for hours begging to talk with him.

miles waited on the sidewalk before a cab stopped near him. getting in he was consumed by his thoughts. so what then? will they even buy the being at work bullshit again?

“kid where to!?” quickly snapping out of his thoughts miles told the cab drive your street address. only 10:33…fuck where did the time go? recently time for miles seemed to be slipping away and fast. never a slow moment to catch his breath or sit down and focus. that seemed to always be the case, especially after…anyways. maybe he could just tell the truth? he chuckled silently to himself. yeah..like thats a fucking option.

“where here” “oh yeah thanks” pulling his wallet out he handed the driver a twenty and a five. “just keep the change” exiting the car miles immediately headed for the back of your apartment where your fire escape was. he couldn’t bother going to your front door, after 6 p.m, no visitors, or rather no boyfriends were allowed in, specifically your mothers orders.

ok morales, just pray you don’t lose your relationships tonight, worry about the rest later. after climbing to the fourth floor he was meet with your window. please be open, please be open, please be- he lifted up the window.

thank god. miles made sure you weren’t in your room before climbing in. ok…now or never. going over towards your door miles knew this was risky. on the off-chance that you mother was up he would be really fucked. before he could open the door someone opened it first.

…miles let out a sigh of relief as he saw your face.

“what the-?!”

he quickly grabbed your wrist and pulled you into the room, shutting the door behind him. “….fuck?” you let out a disappointed sigh. “miles..what are you doing here?” a trick question he knew that you knew he was here to apologize but he didn’t say that part out loud, being a smartass would get him nowhere. “look i am beyond sorry-” “yeah i know miles” damn he could hear the hurt in you voice. you had your back turned to him now, focusing on getting you vanity in order. “…if you allow me, i can make it up to you this weekend” “yeah, i know miles…” is that a yes or…? “so…what day do you want to-” “i can always trust that you’ll make it up to me miles but what after?” ok..what? “what do you mean my love?” sighing you turned around to face him again. you couldn’t help but to roll your eyes, quickly mumbling “why do i even bother”

“ok look miles ill um talk to you later ight? it’s getting late anyways” you made your was towards him trying to get to you door. miles stopped you. “fuck, look i know i fucked up but please dont shut me out” he went to grab your hand but you stepped back. yeah, im fucked. “just please hear me out…” “you’ve released ive been hearing you out four times this month right?!” you said, your tone slightly rising. “and im beyond grateful my love, seriously i am, but if you can just hear me out one more time i can explain” turning back around you went to sit down. “well the floors all yours morales” usually, in any other instance, petty comments like that would have pissed him off but he had no right to be upset as of this moment.

“right…ok, i was called in late today. my manager said it was important and i couldn’t just bail on him you know..?” you slightly chuckled. “even you don’t believe that miles” ok yeah thats fair. “just please let me make it up to you my love.” he took a small step towards you “i already said i know that you will” now he was just confused “yeah so what does that mean? you’re saying nothing and everything at the same time” “it means i know that you will make it up to me miles, you always do, but what about after?” “will anything change…?” you voice grew smaller. miles wanted to respond but practically couldn’t. the room was left silent before you spoke up again “right, if thats your final answer than i think you should just-” “no, no, no. i promise i can change, you just have to be…” you glared at him “right…look i couldn’t be more grateful to have you as mine and i seriously dont want to lose you, just please..”

…a silent pause filled the room.

“than tell me the truth” you replied quietly. another silent pause followed. miles couldn’t do that, or else he would definitely lose you. “i..i cant do that.” your face contorted in confusion with a bit of anger. “and why exactly cant you?” you two stared at each before you made up your own conclusions “i see, maybe your too busy entertaining someone else ?” you huffed out. bow it was time for miles to be confused. “what?? why would i-?” miles sighed “no of course not i would never and you know that!” “so than whats the problem miles?! why exactly can’t you tell me the truth?” your voice gradually got louder, your patience clearer at its end. “if i do than you’ll be upset with me, so upset that you’ll most definitely break up with me” miles said quietly, a slight wobble in his voice although it was still prominent enough for you to hear. now you couldn’t help but be concerned. miles rarely got emotional during intense fights between the two of you, thats not to say miles is emotionally unavailable, just that he always stayed cool under pressure and fights.

“miles i cant be more upset with you than i already am, plus im the one asking for the truth so i can’t be mad at you, no matter what it is” you were slowly walking up to him now. hoping to reinsure him. “ok…listen, i cant tell you the full truth but please know im being completely honest when i say that: most times when i cant make it to our dates its because of my work..” you two stared at each other, miles was unable to read your face, although if you asked him, you looked pretty conflicted. as if you were deciding if he was telling the truth or not. after a small pause you came to your conclusion. “you know what miles? if its so hard to just-“

“fuck, ok im the prowler does that help?!”

the room grew silent as before, neither of you uttering a single word.

┄┄ ︰ ┄୨୧┄ ︰ ┄┄

#˗ˏˋblue is writing´ˎ˗#astv x reader #miles morales #earth 42 miles morales #miles morales x reader #astv miles #earth 42 miles morales x reader #atsv

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als-notebook · 9 months ago

Text

just me and you

A friend visits Noel after a long day at work.

It was late at the Mega Mall, and it would soon close for the day. Noel Gruber stood in the Taco Bell, exhausted; he was on the closing shift. Finally, he clocked out, his muscles aching. All he wanted to do was go home. He stepped out of the mall…

Just to realize it was pouring. Great. A fantastic end to an awful day. Noel stared at the rain from under the covered area, wondering if he should wait it out. He took his phone out of his pocket, checking the weather app. It said that it would be raining for the next hour. Even better, he thought. As he started to walk through the cold rain, he started to cry. He felt miserable, but he had to get home somehow.

Noel didn’t go far before he heard a familiar voice. “Hey! What are you doing out in the rain, dummy?”

Noel looked up from the concrete sidewalk to his right, his arms wrapped around himself, shaking. He simply stared at his friend with puffy, red eyes.

Mischa’s eyes landed on Noel’s, and his expression softened. He stepped out of his shitty car into the rain and wrapped his arms around the other boy. He rested one hand on his back, and the other on his head. Noel felt pathetic as he leaned into him, full-on sobbing, now.

“What are you doing here?”

“You said you were having a bad day. And I did not want you walking home in the rain.” Mischa replied. Noel remembered texting Mischa on his break about the shitty customers yelling at him, and his manager on his ass about everything. Mischa pulled away from Noel, looking at him. “Let’s get out of here, man.”

Mischa hurried to the driver’s seat, and Noel ran to the passenger’s seat. They both shut the car doors, sighing. “Okay. We go home now.” Mischa said, starting up his car and driving off.

Most of the drive, the two boys sat in silence, other than the hip-hop music playing on low volume and the sound of cars rolling through puddles. Sitting at a stop light, Noel broke the silence. “Sorry for getting your car all soaked.”

Mischa chuckled. “Hah! You are shaking like leaf. I’m more concerned about you being soaked than my car.”

Noel smiled sheepishly down at his hands in his lap. “You’re concerned about me?”

“Pffssh… Well…” Mischa said, a bit embarrassed. “Yes… You will get a cold…”

Noel looked at Mischa and grinned at him. “You’re so sweet.”

Mischa’s ears turned beet red, and he furrowed his brows. “I am not sweet. I am bitter… cool. And mysterious.”

“Sure you are,” Noel teased.

Soon, they reached Noel’s house. His mom’s car was not in the driveway—she was at work tonight. Mischa got out of the car, shutting the door, and walked over to the passenger’s side. He opened the door and held his hoodie over himself and the door. “Come on,” he said to Noel.

Noel looked up at the jacket in the air and stepped out of the car. Mischa shut the door and stayed close as the two rushed over to the covered porch. Noel walked onto the porch, and Mischa stayed on the steps. “There you go,” Mischa said to Noel, his hoodie still held above him. “I see you later.” Mischa began to walk away until he heard Noel say something from behind him.

“Wait. No. Stay.”

Mischa turned back around and looked at Noel, who stood fidgeting with his hands. He stepped onto the porch and held his jacket under his arm. “Okay.”

Noel looked at the ground, his cheeks turning pink. “You’re not going to ask why..?”

Mischa shrugged. “I do not need a reason. I will stay if you want me to stay.”

The two boys entered the house and Noel walked to the bathroom and grabbed a towel, drying his hair and his face.

“I’m gonna change,” he said to Mischa. Mischa nodded, and Noel grabbed a change of clothes and closed the bathroom door. Shortly after, Noel opened the door again, this time in a t-shirt and shorts. He glanced over at Mischa, who was still standing by the door awkwardly. “Oh, right,” he muttered, looking at his damp brown curls.

Noel went into the bathroom again, grabbing another dry towel. He approached Mischa and ruffled his hair with it.

“Yoo,” Mischa laughed. “I can dry my own hair!”

Noel laughed back at him. “Oh, whatever. Soo dramatic.” He stopped messing with Mischa’s hair, and threw the towel over his shoulder. “Do you want a change of clothes? Mine might fit you…”

Mischa shook his head. “Nah. I should dry off soon.” He didn’t get as soaked as Noel did–he wasn’t out in the rain for as long. “Do you feel better?”

Noel smiled, nodding. “Yeah. I do.” He looked at Mischa for a moment, tilting his head. “Thank you for caring so much.”

“It is only nature,” Mischa shrugged, looking away sheepishly.

“I’m like, actually exhausted. Do you wanna… stay over..?”

Mischa looked back at Noel, a little bit surprised. He thought about it, and he decided that he really didn’t want to go back home… or leave at all, for that matter. “Yeah. Sure.”

Noel smiled and grabbed Mischa’s wrist, leading him to his room. His room had beige walls, similar to the rest of the house. Noel had always wanted to paint the walls dark red, but was never allowed. It was decorated in dark decor. “Sorry it’s a bit of a mess in here… I take a lot of time choosing outfits,” Noel said, blushing. There were clothes strewn across the carpet.

“I don’t mind,” Mischa said. “It’s cleaner than my room, that’s for sure,” he said lightheartedly. What he did not mention was that he lived in a basement that was hardly an excuse for a room—but Noel knew that. And he didn’t blame him.

Noel got into the left side of his bed. “You can sleep on this side,” Noel said, nodding to the right.

Mischa stood in the doorway for a moment, not really understanding how the other boy was being so casual about this. Soon enough, though, he shrugged it off, realizing that he didn’t really mind, either. He closed the door and crawled into the bed next to Noel, facing him.

Noel looked back at Mischa, and he couldn’t help but smile. There was something so comforting about laying next to him in silence after a long day.

Mischa reached over, brushing Noel’s bangs out of his face and behind his ear. He looks so lovely, he thought.

Noel turned onto his back, staring at the ceiling before deciding to move in closer to Mischa; who accepted this move almost instantly, wrapping his arms around the other boy and resting his chin on top of his head. The two fell asleep quickly, wrapped up in each other’s warmth. They weren’t even a little bit concerned about Noel’s mother’s reaction, who would come into her son’s room after a long shift to check up on him, only to be met with the only slightly shocking sight of him sleeping comfortably in the arms of his close friend.

#nischa #ride the cyclone #oneshot

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onceuponaoneshotfanfic · 1 year ago

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Shut Up and Drive (Chapter 8)

Roy Kent x F1 Driver!Reader

3.5k words

Warnings: Language, unprotected sex, face sitting, fluff & feelings, Roy being a simp for his F1 Girlie ❤️

@agentstarkid ilysm, thanks for always reading my smut and telling me it's good 😝

Series Masterlist

From the moment he got back from Belgium, Roy had set to work getting his house ready. He’d painstakingly washed and cleaned everything, made sure he was stocked up on food and drinks, picked up some of the pretty-smelling shower stuff he remembered Keeley liking, even went and bought flowers for his dining room table. By the time he got your text letting him know your plane had landed, he felt that his home was ready to welcome you for the next few weeks.

He sat on his couch, staring at the turned off television, shitty knee bouncing anxiously. This was going to be great- right?

The two of you always had a good time when you were together. Lots of laughter and joking and flirting, not to mention sex. Even on the phone, Roy couldn’t help but smile at the sound of your voice. So spending all this time together was going to be great.

Unless you got bored of him. Or decided you didn’t like him as much as he liked you. Or you realized how much more appropriate it would be for you to date one of the young, handsome Greyhounds, rather than their grumpy old manager. Or-

I’m here!

The moment he saw your text, Roy was on his feet, practically running to the front door and throwing it open.

A perfect smile graced your face as you stepped out of your cab, offering Roy a little wave. “Hey there, Greyhound!”

Roy’s steps were quick as he walked down his sidewalk; you, on the other hand, broke into a sprint and launched yourself into his arms. He laughed into your hair and spun you around with ease, squeezing you tight. His heart felt light as he hugged you, breathing in your familiar smell and feeling your smile against his neck.

You gazed up at him with bright eyes once he set you down. “You gonna help me with my bags or what?”

With a chuckle, Roy walked with you to the cab, quickly grabbing your things and paying the driver, despite your insistence that you could pay for it yourself. With your suitcase in one hand and your duffel bag thrown over his shoulder, Roy took your hand and led you inside, wondering if you could hear the joyful hammering of his heart.

Fuck, you looked perfect inside his house, like you belonged there. He watched you look around curiously, taking in the photos and books and all the little things that made this house undeniably Roy’s. With a grin, you pointed at a framed drawing of two people on a football pitch, a dark-haired man and a blonde girl.

“Who’s the artist?” you asked in a light voice.

Roy wrapped his free arm around your waist. “My niece. Phoebe.”

“Cute,” you hummed, turning your gaze back to Roy. Your smile immediately softened. “So, this is Roy Kent’s house.”

“Yeah,” he breathed, smiling back at you. “And I’m really fucking glad you’re here.” He leaned down and kissed you deeply, his fingers digging into your waist. He pulled back with a content sigh. “Why don’t you go shower, and I’ll have dinner ready when you get out?”

You raised your eyebrows at him. “Roy Kent’s going to cook for me?” you teased.

“Only the best for the Empress.”

Keeping his hand on your waist, Roy steered you to his bedroom, where he set down your things on top of his perfectly made bed- the bed you knew you’d be spending a lot of time in. He pointed you towards the bathroom, suddenly edgy.

“There’s, er, towels and shit. Whatever you need.” Roy cleared his throat, gazing down at you with that familiar mix of affection and nerves. He brought his hand to your chin. “I’m really fucking glad you’re here,” he whispered.

“Me too,” you assured him, leaning forward to kiss his lips, lips you’d missed more than you’d realized. Instinctively, you gripped his waist, tugging him close so you could feel his warm chest against yours. Maybe you were tired from the flight, but you swore your knees went weak when you felt his tongue flick against your lips.

Before you could react, he pulled back, grinning goofily. “Better let you shower,” he murmured as his hand stroked your hair. “I’ll go get dinner going.” With one more quick peck to your lips, he was gone.

Humming giddily to yourself, you grabbed your things and headed into Roy’s bathroom. In the shower, you noted the surprising amount of fruity products; huh. You knew some guys kept those kinds of products for female guests. Some little part of you wondered when these bottles were last used, and by whom.

Stop it, you scolded yourself as the hot water dripped down your skin. No, you and Roy weren’t exclusive, but… you knew how he felt about you. He knew how you felt about him. He’d invited you to spend your break with him, for fuck’s sake. Surely things were heading in the exclusive direction… right?

Willing yourself to ignore that gnawing feeling in your gut, you finished your shower, scrubbing away your jealous pondering and the grime of travel. Refreshed, you threw on a comfy t-shirt and some sleep shorts, not caring how your still-wet hair dampened your shoulders. A delicious smell, a familiar one, led you to the kitchen, where Roy was standing over the stove, tea towel thrown over his shoudler.

His heart skipped a beat when he looked over at you. You looked so at home in his house already, smiling softly at him as you padded into his kitchen. He leaned down and pecked your lips, marveling at how he’d get to see you like this for a month, and already dreading how quickly these next few weeks would go. As you peered around him to get a look at the dinner he’d made, he willed himself to just enjoy each and every moment he got to spend with you.

“What’re we having?” you hummed, wrapping your arms around Roy’s waist, a deliciously domestic gesture.

He clearly liked it, based on the way he smiled at you. “Found a great risotto recipe,” he explained, gesturing to the pan on the stove.

Your mouth was practically watering. “That smells amazing,” you gushed, giving him a squeeze. “Funny, risotto’s one of my favorite foods, actually.”

“I know.”

“You know?” Your eyes widened as you gazed up at Roy with raised eyebrows.

A blush covered his face as he shrugged, eyes on his cooking. “Saw it in some fucking interview you did one time,” he mumbled. “They were asking you about when you visit Italy, you talked about some of your favorite foods, you mentioned risotto. So, I figured…” He wrinkled his nose. “It’s not fucking weird, is it?”

You buried your silly grin in his bicep. “Not weird at all,” you assured him. “It’s actually really sweet.”

“Good.” A kiss landed on the top of your head. “D’me a favor, there’s a bottle of wine in the dining room.” He nodded to the door on the side of the kitchen. “Grab it for me?”

Relieved to have something to do besides swoon over Roy’s thoughtfulness, you quickly disappeared into the dining room, noting that the table was already set for two, complete with flowers in a vase; something told you that Roy Kent didn’t usually keep flowers on his table like that. Shaking your head with giddiness, you grabbed the bottle and brought it back to the kitchen.

Roy took the bottle from you, quickly opening it and pouring it into two waiting glasses. “To the table,” he instructed before smacking a kiss to your cheek. “I’ll bring the food.”

With a hum, you did as you were told, stopping yourself from skipping to the dining room with your drinks in hand. Roy joined you, carrying dishes and setting them down carefully. He watched you, face tense, as you tucked into your dinner. When you let out a content moan, his shoulders relaxed, and he began eating his own food.

“You like it?” he asked, his voice thick with nervousness.

You nodded as you swallowed another bite. “It’s perfect,” you assured him. You laid a hand on his. “Absolutely perfect.”

And you were right. Dinner was perfect. Roy was perfect, if you were being honest with yourself. He listened attentively as you told him all about your travels over the last couple of days, made sure your wine glass stayed full, laughed at your jokes, made a few of his own. By the time he brought out the tiramisu he made- another food you’d mentioned in that interview- you were wondering how this month together could get any better.

But of course, Roy’s plans for the evening didn’t end with dinner.

The two of you lounged on his couch, just like the night you met, sipping wine and chattering quietly. Roy’s hand rested on your thigh, stroking your bare skin and watching you with a wistful smile, the kind that had your breath catching in your throat.

“What?” you asked, your voice quiet and breathy.

He shook his head and shrugged as he put his glass down. “Just… dinner was good? Dessert? The wine?” His brown eyes were earnest, begging you to say that you’d enjoyed everything.

“It was great,” you assured him, sitting up to bring your face to his. “Honestly, Roy. I don’t think anyone’s ever made me such a perfect meal.” You nudged his nose with yours. “Don’t think I’ve ever been this spoiled.”

Roy’s grip on your thigh tightened. “I like spoiling you,” he murmured, taking the wine glass out of your hand. “You deserve to be spoiled.”

The glint in his eye told you he was talking about more than just dinner.

Sure enough, he tilted your face to his, pressing a deep kiss to your lips. The hand on your thigh wandered up, dipping under the hem of your shorts, kneading your doughy flesh. A soft groan slipped past your lips and into his mouth as you brought your hands to his chest, grabbing greedily at the black t-shirt he wore.

As if he could feel your growing neediness, Roy stood, pulling you up with him. “Think you could let me spoil you a bit more?”

“If you insist,” you teased, letting him tug you along to the bedroom. He planted kisses on every inch of you he could reach as he stumbled backwards through the living room and down the hallway to his bedroom. You squealed as he pulled you onto the bed on top of him, wrapping his arms around you and slipping his hands under your shirt to roughly caress your back.

You spread your legs to straddle him, smiling against his mouth when you felt the bulge in his jeans rubbing against your already throbbing core. Always able to read your mind it seemed, Roy rolled you over onto your back and sat up, quickly taking care of his belt and shimmying out of his pants. Shooting you a wink, Roy pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it aside and revealing that gorgeous, furry chest of his. You reached up to run your hands over his stomach, biting your lip as your fingers brushed over his thick hair.

He leaned down over you, rolling his hips into yours, swallowing your soft moans in a heated kiss. “Fuck, I missed you,” he mumbled as he gripped your shirt. “Missed you so fucking much.”

“It’s only been a couple days, Kent,” you giggled as he peppered sloppy kisses down your jaw.

He shook his head, his beard scratching your sensitive skin. “Too fucking long,” he hummed as he toyed with the waistband of your sleep shorts. “You’ve got too many fucking clothes on.” Sucking gently on your neck, he tugged your shorts down, revealing the red lace panties you’d chosen carefully as you packed your bags the night before. The sound of Roy’s deep sigh as he teased the material had you confident that you’d made the right choice.

“Roy,” you breathed as he pulled your shirt up, revealing your bare breasts. His mouth immediately found one, his tongue swirling your nipple slowly, teasingly. You hardly recognized the mewling sound that came out of your mouth when he toyed with the hardening bud with his teeth; but, based on the way he bucked his hips, Roy definitely liked that sound.

After giving your breasts some attention, Roy rolled onto his back, pulling you with him. He raised his thick eyebrows as his hands roamed your thighs, fingers brushing against the lace of your panties.

“’ve got a request,” he growled, rolling his hips up against your core.

His hardness had you nodding desperately. “Anything,” you groaned, squeezing your eyes shut.

He grabbed your chin and pulled your face close to his, his eyes dark and shining with lust. “Want you to sit on my face,” he hissed before pressing a harsh kiss to your lips. “Need to fucking taste you, Empress.”

Immediately your thighs tightened around Roy. “Fuck,” you whined, heat rushing to every inch of your body.

“You like the sound of that?” he teased with a smug grin.

Not waiting for an answer, Roy roughly tugged at your panties, managing to get them down over your thighs. With firm hands, he practically dragged you up his body, not caring about the wet trail your already soaking pussy left on his thick chest hair, not stopping until you were hovering over his greedy mouth. His eyes focused on your core as he licked his lips.

“Is my empress ready to sit on her throne?” he growled, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine.

With that, he gripped your thighs, fingers digging into your skin, and pulled you against his mouth. Immediately, his moan vibrated through your body, prompting a high-pitched gasp from your mouth. His tongue slid through your slick slowly, taking his time exploring your folds. You grasped at the t-shirt you still wore, desperate to hang on to something.

Always attuned to your needs, Roy released your thighs and took your hands in his, intertwining your fingers. The gesture, so sweet and gentle, contrasted against the sinful sounds of Roy lapping up your arousal. He continued to moan and hum against your core, his beard scratching against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.

“Shit, Roy,” you moaned, your throaty voice coming from somewhere deep inside you. “You’re- fuck.”

He dipped his tongue inside your cunt, fucking you slowly as you continued to writhe above him. His groans trembled through your body as he devoured you. When his nose nudged against your clit, you let out an almost animalistic sound.

Fucking hell, he thought as he tightened his hold on your hands. So fucking perfect.

You rocked your hips over his face, desperate to feel his tongue reach deeper, deeper inside you. “Roy,” you whimpered. “Gonna fucking come, Roy.”

“Cmmph,” was his muffled answer, a begging sound that was easy to translate.

With your eyes shut, you focused your whole attention on the feeling of Roy’s tongue expertly ravishing your pussy- on the sound and sensation of his deep groans- on the soaking, lewd noises that filled the room- on the bead of sweat running down your temple- on his thumb stroking the back of your hand lovingly-

“Roy,” you whined, your hips stuttering as he devoured your orgasm. Your vision went white as your pussy clenched around his tongue, soaking his face in your release. He gorged himself on your pleasure, wishing that your climax could last forever, that he could just spend the rest of his life making you come over and over.

As you came down from your high, you slowed your movements until you finally slumped over, heavy breaths escaping your lips. Tenderly, you lifted yourself off of Roy’s face, letting him help you onto your back. When he turned and hovered over you, your heart skipped a beat; his beard was positively soaked, your release dripping from his face.

“You taste so good,” he cooed, stroking your flushed face. “So fucking good for me.” He crashed his mouth into yours, smearing your wetness against your lips. He pulled at your shirt, only breaking the kiss so he could rip it over your head and toss it to the floor, immediately bringing his hand to your breast. “My beautiful empress.”

Your hands worked down his body, roaming over his chest, not halting until you reached his painfully tight boxers. Trembling with anticipation, you slid them down, revealing his already leaking cock. With a sigh into his mouth, you began stroking him leisurely, deliberately. For once, there was no rush. No flights to catch, no texts from teammates, no goodbyes the next morning. Instead, tonight the two of you could explore, and touch, and enjoy each other.

He groaned into the kiss and bucked into your hand. “Tell me what you want,” he whined against your lips. “Anything you want.”

“Fuck me, Roy,” you breathed, giving his cock a gentle squeeze. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

Roy was more than happy to oblige. He moved your hand away from his cock and gave your knuckles a soft kiss before lining himself up at your entrance. Keeping his eyes on yours, he inched into you, slowly, slower than he’d ever entered you before. His heart melted when he saw the way your eyes fluttered with each little thrust, the way the corner of your mouth twitched upwards as he gently filled you.

You’d had a quickie in the boot room with Roy Kent. You’d taught him how to have phone sex. You’d been dominated and used by him in Belgium. Sex with Roy was good, always good, no matter how you did it.

But tonight, you let Roy Kent make love to you.

He took your hands in his again, holding them over your head as he pressed his forehead to yours. His mouth hovered above yours, so close you could feel his hot breath on your lips as he gently rocked into you. Your walls clenched around him, throbbing and begging him to fuck you harder, deeper.

“You,” he huffed, kissing your face sloppily, “are so fucking beautiful.” With a soft grunt, he gave a harsher drive, hitting that perfect spot. “How’d I get so fucking lucky?”

All you could you was whimper his name and chase his mouth, trying to capture it in a kiss. Instead, he smiled, eyes trained on your face. He gave another severe thrust, eyes lighting up when he heard the quiet sob you let out. He continued his pace, slow, intentional grinds into you, cherishing every whine and moan and whimper that you gave him. His cock throbbed inside you, desperate to give you everything he had, desperate to once again make you his.

Roy squeezed your hands tight as his hips stuttered, letting you know he was close. “So glad you’re here,” he cooed. “So… so fucking happy.”

Your heart fluttered even more than your walls as you squirmed beneath him. “Me too,” you breathed. “So, so happy, Roy.” Your voice trembled with a mixture of emotion and pleasure.

“Think you got one more for me?” he grunted, giving a particularly rough thrust. “Think that gorgeous pussy can come for me?”

All you could do was moan and whimper as he rolled his hips harshly, determined to have you climax again. Between his cock filling you deliciously, his mouth sucking at your neck, and the pure joy of being in Roy Kent’s bed, it wasn’t long before you were clenching tightly around him and practically screaming his name; some little voice in your head was grateful to be in a house rather than a hotel room, where you would probably have irritated the people in the room next door. However, that little voice was drowned out by Roy’s panting, punctuated by a chorus of your name and fuck, chanted over and over.

With a strangled “Fucking hell”, Roy tensed, flooding you with his orgasm. His mouth was on yours, tongues crashing, moans intertwining as his cock emptied inside you. You gripped his hands tightly enough that you knew your nails would leave little crescent marks on the backs of his hands; the thought had your aching cunt clenching, greedily accepting every drop Roy pumped into you.

The room was filled with ragged breaths as you both came down from your highs, sweaty bodies sticking to each other- not that either of you wanted to move. Roy kissed your jaw, a soft, tender kiss, and slowly pulled out of you.

“Fuck,” he groaned, rolling onto his back, keeping hold of one of your hands. “And I get a whole month of that?”

You giggled and squeezed his hand, reveling in the soreness between your legs. “A whole month, Kent,” you confirmed. “Think you can handle it?”

He brought your hand to his mouth and kissed it gently. “Think you might give me a fucking heart attack,” he joked. “But at least I’ll die with a fucking smile on my face.”

Taglist:@hotdoglamp@daydreamgoddess14@klaine-92@gibby31@anonurs@taytaylala12@unholyhuntress@thatonedogwithablog@seacactusplant@e-mmygrey@jane-dough @zara-aliza08 @sky-full-0f-fl0wers@deliriousfangirl61@katdahlali @deliriousfangirl61 @seatbacksandtraytables @andaende @an-anxiousace-from-outerspace @sunfairyy @kravitzwhore @angelbarnes-rogers @dqndilions @an-anxiousace-from-outerspace @savage-aespa @bannsshheeebiittcchhhh

#roy kent shut up and drive #roy kent x f1! reader #he's here he's there he's every fucking where #roy kent #roy kent x reader #roy kent fic #roy kent fanfic #roy kent fanfiction #roy kent smut #ted lasso fic #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fanfiction

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1toreyouapart · 2 months ago

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The Lies We Tell

Summary that tells you nothing: Sometimes everything you ever wanted has been right there, within reach, all along.

CW/TW: Angst, fluff, swearing, friends to lovers, jealousy, smut, fingering, PinV, pet names, friends with benefits, more to come as I actually get things written out.

Masterlist

Why Do Men?

Quinn pushed the food around on her plate, barely listening to the man across from her. He was attractive enough, seemed kind. But good God, he was boring. From the moment she walked in he droned on and on about him and what he did for work, how much money he made. His big flashy car he had. Right now she was really hoping that Noah had asked her to stay with him instead. In fact, she had been sure that he would. Instead, he had rushed out of that bathroom and she hadn't seen him since. Not even when she knocked on his door before she left.

Him telling her she had shitty taste in men still stung a bit. Mostly because it was true. And who was it that picked up the pieces after every failed date? Every brief relationship that failed after three months? Noah. Always there to pick up the pieces and put her back together again. She was willing to bet he already had a whole thing planned for when she got home tonight, too.

"You're one of those goth girls, right?"

Quinn snapped out of her head. What the fuck was this guy on about?

"Excuse me?"

"I'm asking because you look like one. Tattoos, dark hair. Dark clothes." He leaned forward. "Bet you're into some kinky shit, too."

Her stomach turned. What the fuck? Did he really just say that? It didn't matter so much that she wasn't goth. Though, she definitely had more gothic tendencies than not. The sexualization of goth girls, however, was too much. It was vile. It was disgusting. God. Noah had been right.

"Mmmm. This date is over." Sighing, frustrated, she got up, pulling out her wallet. "Here's my half."

"Oh, come on. Don't be like that. It's just a question."

"Be like what? Bored out of my mind because you can't shut the fuck up about how great you think you are? Or irritated because you seem to think that goth women exist for your pleasure?" She threw the money down on the table, laughing. "See you never."

Satisfied she walked away, pulling her phone out. Everything in her screamed at her to call Noah, not an Uber. Noah would be there faster. But she didn't want to hear his "I told you so" just yet. That might set her off even more and she was trying not to cause a scene.

The cool night air hit her skin as the app told her a driver was on her way. 15 minutes until her ride arrived. Cursing she pulled up the text thread with Noah, debating texting him that he had been right. Just then, however, her date appeared in front of her, angry.

"What the fuck is wrong with you? You're not even that pretty, anyway."

Quinn's stomach churned, her palms going sweaty as she glanced up and down the sidewalk. There were people. Lots of them. She should be safe, right? Fuck. What had Noah taught her? He had tried so hard to teach her how to defend herself. Now that the time may be here she couldn't remember a thing. Steeling herself for what may happen she lifted her chin, meeting the man's eyes.

"I said the date is over."

"You know, you should be grateful I even gave you the time of day. I make more money in a year than you ever will in your life."

She laughed. Genuinely deeply laughed. This guy wasn't going to attack her. His ego might be bruised, but that's as far as it would go. The type of guy that used his wealth to get sex. If he even actually made that much money.

"Says the grown ass man crying because the girl that 'isn't even that pretty.' Do you even hear yourself right now?"

"Whatever. Good luck finding a man that'll put up with you."

She watched as he walked off, ignoring the tiny crack in her armor that last comment had made. So many failed dates. Nothing lasting more than three months in the last seven years. Maybe he was right and there was something just inherently wrong with her. Her track record definitely spoke to that.

Her phone lit up, letting her know her ride had arrived just as a vehicle with an Uber sign in the window showed up. Thank fucking God. All she wanted right now was her pajamas, a movie, and her best friend.

Tags: @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard

#bad omens cult #noah sebastian #noah sebastian fanfiction #bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian smut #angst #noah sebastian angst #noah sebastian fic #fluff #noah sebastian fluff #what am i even doing #friends to lovers #bestfriend!noah #roommate!noah

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coneyislandbabey · 2 years ago

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going to california. -> e. roundtree

WARNINGS: some swearing, alcohol, sappy shit, use of my own personal headcanon that eddie's full name is edwin.

SYNOPSIS: you move to Los Angeles, and are surprised to run into an old childhood friend. word count: 3,351

The heat was different in Los Angeles. Not like New York City, where you’d spent the last few years of your life; all humid, thick walls of wet air that cloy inside your lungs and make you hot from the inside out, relentless, merciless warmth even in the dead of night, even with the windows open laying naked on the bed. No, here the air was thin and dry, the egg-yolk sun warming but not ruthlessly so. You stepped out of the car, joints creaking, and swallowed up a great lungful of that thin bright air, felt the clean glare of the sun bouncing off the hot car and onto your face. New. Everything you’d been hoping for already.

After graduating from your Pittsburgh high school a semester early, you had booked it onto a train to Manhattan about five seconds after your diploma was in your hands, getting a job in the mailroom of a newspaper and crashing on your cousin’s couch, sleeping only a few hours a night and spending every other waking moment writing or wandering the five boroughs sniffing out experiences to write about. Writing was your lifeblood, and it had been practically since you’d first learned how to hold a pen. You never knew exactly what you wanted to do with your life– where you wanted to go, what you wanted to see, where you wanted to end up– you only knew that you’d be writing the whole way through. And that’s what you did for those few years in New York. You wrote feverishly, a woman possessed. Your cousin complained daily of the little green desk lamp you kept on at all hours of the night, sitting in your sleep shirt with your notebook propped on the arm of the couch, fingers bruised from the ever-present pressure of pen against skin.

It worked out for you, though. All those sleepless nights, accepting strangers’ invitations to parties in Brooklyn or Alphabet City or even the Rockaways, dropping acid in people’s basements or getting drunk on the subway, even rising in the ranks of your job at the paper until you were a real and true reporter: after a year and a half, you had a half-presentable essay collection and a publisher who wanted to make your wildest dreams come true. And that was that; your essay collection was published a little over six months later, and every week it climbed higher on the best seller’s list. In the wake of your immediate success, your publisher wanted to start working on a second publication, another collection of essays or short stories or a novel, whatever you wanted, they just wanted your name on another book in their arsenal. You readily agreed, of course– this was the only thing you’d ever wanted to do. But you walked out of that meeting, and onto the streets of Manhattan, and all you felt was suffocation where there used to be inspiration.

It wasn’t a surprise to anyone in the city who knew you, and therefore knew your more impulsive tendencies, when you told them you’d bought a shitty old car for a hundred bucks and were planning to roadtrip your way to L.A. You hadn’t been behind the wheel of a car since before you’d moved to New York, but you’d seen the old thing with the ‘for sale’ sign tucked into the dash and you knew you had to have it. Already the inspiration was pouring in; a novelized account of your roadtrip across the country and ensuing introduction into Los Angeles society. The idea consumed your brain until there was room for nothing else, until you turned right around on the sidewalk and bought the car then and there. You spent the next 24 hours on a goodbye tour, visiting everyone you had come to love in those last few years, and then your meager belongings were all shoved into the backseat of your new acquisition and you were sitting in the driver’s seat, hoping to god you still remembered which pedal was the gas and which was the brakes.

You made it to the opposite coast after two weeks of seedy motels, eating roadside burgers with strangers, and climbing up to the roof of the car every night to lay out and see the stars the way you never could living in the city. And here you were, a week into your new Los Angeles life, having just spent most of your book earnings on buying a tiny, dilapidated house in Laurel Canyon with huge windows and the perfect little overgrown backyard for you to sit and write in. You felt it in your bones already, that this was where life would start to become important for you.

***

You had met Brandi the day you moved in. She and a few friends lived in the house across the street, and being the only one home at the time, she came over to help you move your stuff in when she noticed you unloading the car in the morning. She had a golden California tan and big blonde hair, and the kindest smile you’d ever seen. She was your best friend five minutes after meeting her.

“You have to come by tonight,” she said by way of greeting as she let herself in the front door. It was late afternoon, and you were stretched out across the couch on your stomach, editing something you’d written in your notebook on the road trip here. Old habits die hard. She worked as a cocktail waitress at The Troubadour, and in the few weeks you’d been living in Laurel Canyon, she’d tried to get you to go nearly every time she had a shift, to no avail.

“I don’t know, Brand–” you started, flipping your hair over your shoulder shifting to face her.

“No, man. Enough of this writing bubble thing you got going on. You’re coming out tonight,” she said sternly. You couldn’t help the laugh you let out– Brandi was spot on. Every time she asked you to go out, you told her you weren’t interested because you were trying to double down and polish up the road trip writing you’d done on the way here. “How are you supposed to– how did you say it? ‘Be inducted into Los Angeles Society’ if you never go out and see Los Angeles society?”

“Okay, fair point,” you responded, sitting up. “I’ll go tonight, alright? You got me.”

Brandi grinned, clapping her hands together in delight. “Okay, Yaz and Lynn will walk over and get you and you’ll all drive in together, alright? And I’ll see you there.”

“Sounds good,” you nodded.

“That was a lot easier than I thought it would be. I’ll see you later!” With that, Brandi disappeared down the front steps just as fast as she’d arrived. You sighed, closing your notebook and falling back onto the couch. After your few weeks of relative seclusion, you were more than ready to get back out into the world and have some fun, and yet, there was something uneasy growing in your chest. Actually going out in the city, that meant really starting this new part of your life, and well, honestly, that was a little terrifying. Better to rip the band-aid off now instead of rotting inside the house any longer.

***

A few hours later, you were dressed in a pair of bell bottoms and a sheer orange tie-front top with big bell sleeves, your makeup and hair more done and put together than they’d been in months. You observed yourself in the mirror one last time, before lighting a cigarette and loping down the stairs to where Brandi’s two roommates were waiting, equally glammed up, for you. You sat in the backseat of Yaz’s car on the way over, window all the way down and your chin resting on the sill. You were used to city sights, you knew your neighborhood and so many others in New York intimately, but L.A. was different, and so thrilling.

The Troubadour was different from the clubs you’d frequented in New York, but it still held some level of familiarity, and you were hit with an unexpected pang of nostalgia when you walked in with the girls. You grabbed Yaz and Lynn’s hands and pulled them farther in, toward the stage where an upbeat band was in the middle of a song, and immediately began dancing, trying to shake off the more complicated feelings of being here in this new place. When the song ended, you whistled loudly for the band, who were packing themselves up and off stage, making way for the next one.

“Our next band is one we know and love here, give it up for The Six!” a silky-voiced man announced into the microphone before vacating the stage. In his place, a band made up of four guys and one blonde woman took the stage, setting up their instruments and getting ready. You cheered with everyone else in the crowd, though you weren’t familiar with them the way the locals clearly were. Within a few seconds, the guitars had struck up, and the front man was at the microphone, lashing out the first lyrics of a song.

And you realized. No, you didn’t know them the way the locals did, but you knew them. The boys, at least. You recognized Graham Dunne first, that cherubic face and big baby blues the exact same as you’d last seen him in high school. Warren Rojas was behind him on the drums, unmistakable mop of curly black hair dancing as if it had a mind of its own on top of his bobbing head. The front-man, you guessed, was Graham’s brother Billy, just familiar enough to place the face despite never knowing the older boy back home. And, sure enough, there was Eddie Roundtree on bass. The last time you’d seen him, he was just a lanky kid with a guitar that he still gripped awkwardly in his too-big hands. (‘Not ‘too big”, you remember him telling you back then. ‘The rest of me just hasn’t caught up yet.”) He’d grown his hair out, you noted. Grown broader in the shoulders, too. His hands were no longer comically large, compared to the rest of him. He had such an easy command of the bass he was playing, so relaxed on the stage, like he belonged and he knew it. It was kind of hard for you to reconcile this version of him with the juvenile one you used to know.

And they were good, too. You could see the way a group like them could become something great, something once in a lifetime. They weren’t there yet, but you could vividly see just how it could happen for them. Eddie Roundtree and the Dunne boys and Warren Rojas, all in Los Angeles at the same time as you, all of you so far from home. You couldn’t help the startled laugh that bubbled up and out of you. Lynn turned a questioning look on you, but you didn’t have time to turn and start explaining yourself before Eddie’s eyes swept your way, probably drawn by the laughter. Those brown eyes settled on your own, lazily, for a few seconds, before widening ever so slightly. His hands slowed, but never faltered, on the strings for just a second. Something zinged through your chest when you realized that he recognized you, too, even after all these years.

You watched Eddie for the entirety of his band’s set. You couldn’t help it– his fingers dancing across the strings of his guitar were mesmerizing, and besides, you couldn’t get over the fact that this was the same boy from your childhood, that all of them were boys who’d slept through your shared classes, who had walked to your house after school to drop off your homework when you were home sick, who you commiserated with about running the mile in high school gym class.

Brandi found you during the last song, pulling you into a hug and squealing about how happy she was that you actually came. Reluctantly, you tore your eyes from the stage and gave your best friend your full attention, allowing her to drag you back to the bar so she could buy you a drink. By the time you had a drink in hand, The Six’s set was over and a new band was coming on, so you stayed back by the bar even after Brandi had to leave you alone to go do her job.

“I knew it was you, bluebird.” You whirled around at the nickname, coming face to face with Eddie. He was a few inches taller than you remembered, smiling down at you with a curious mix of surprise and something else swirling in his brown eyes.

“I haven’t heard that nickname in years,” you laughed. “Hi, Edwin.”

He groaned. “Nobody calls me that, woman.”

“I always have,” you pointed out, arching an eyebrow.

“Yeah, that’s true. What are you doing in L.A?”

“Writing, mostly,” you shrugged. “I’ve got one book out and now the publisher wants another. You know how it is.”

Eddie’s grin grew wider, if possible. “Glad to hear you’re still writing. I remember you back in high school, always carrying that notebook around that you’d never let anyone look at.”

You laughed, recalling the notebook yourself. You had treated that thing like it was your baby. “Yeah, well if you’re curious about my writing, you could buy my book and see.”

“First thing on my agenda tomorrow is to go out and get a copy,” he said easily, and you snorted.

“Good, you better like it. And what about you guys? When did you get here?”

“Few months ago. We’ve been playing gigs at a few regular spots while we put together an album.”

“I want a copy of that record as soon as it comes out!”

“You’ll be the first one to get one outside of the band,” Eddie grinned. “Where are you staying?”

“I bought a place in Laurel Canyon a few weeks ago. It’s tiny, but still a hell of a lot bigger than the living room I was sleeping in in New York,” you laughed.

“That’s where we are, too,” Eddie said, jerking his head in the direction of backstage. “And, New York? What have you been up to since high school?”

“Many things, Edwin, many things,” you grinned.

Eddie stayed quiet, all soft smile and soft eyes aimed in your direction. You felt something long dormant start to shift in your chest.

“I’m really glad to see you, bluebird,” he said after a moment, voice quieter than before. A sentiment just for the two of you to hear.

You nudged his shoulder affectionately with your own. “Me too, Roundtree.”

“What do you say about us getting together some night soon? You can fill me in on this whole New York story,” Eddie suggested.

“Only if you tell me how you all wound up here, doing this,” you responded.

“Deal,” Eddie said, sticking out his hand to shake. You took it; his palm was warm and calloused beneath your own.

***

“It was not like that!” you insisted through your laughter. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, Roundtree.”

Three nights later, and you and Eddie were sitting on your living room floor, bottle of scotch between you, very much on your way to being drunk and well into reminiscing about your shared high school days. He had shown up at your door a few hours earlier with a smile on his face, and the scotch and a copy of your book in his hands. You laughed so hard at the fact that he’d actually gone out and bought a copy of the book that you almost forgot to ask him how the hell he knew where you lived. Sheepishly, he told you that he’d seen you talking with Brandi and asked her after you left that first night.

“I promise, birdy, Jimmy McKenna was gone for you for years. You drove the poor kid crazy because he would try to flirt with you all the time and you just never picked up on it,” Eddie explained through his own laughter. You sorted quickly through memories of the boy Eddie was talking about, and as what he said slowly clicked into place, you only began to laugh harder.

“Oh, god,” you said, throwing an arm over your eyes. “I have always been such an idiot.”

“Not an idiot, just oblivious,” Eddie countered. “You were too wrapped up in your writing to notice anyone around you.”

“Not true! I noticed you,” you said defensively.

Eddie’s eyebrows raised slightly, a split second look of surprise washing over his features before they settled back into that soft smile he always seemed to be wearing around you. He took another swig of whisky, humming. “Lucky me, then.”

You scoffed, trying to cover the way your heart stuttered with another drink of whiskey. “You were one of the only people I liked hanging out with back then, Ed. I liked stopping to watch you and Graham and Warren mess around with your instruments in the garage whenever I walked by. When I took off to the city, I really did miss you.”

“Well, if it means anything, I missed you, too. We all did,” Eddie said. His voice was softer now, more serious, matching your own. “Nobody knew where you went, you were just gone when we got back from winter break.”

“I just had to get outta there, you know?” you sighed. “I worked my ass off so I could graduate early. I had all these visions of the life I wanted to live, and it was so big. I was so focused on getting there that I didn’t even realize there would be anything to miss until it was all gone.”

“Yeah, I get what you mean. Don’t tell the guys this, but even now I sometimes miss Pittsburgh,” he admitted.

“Me too,” you nodded. “I just keep collecting places to miss. Pittsburgh first, and now New York, too. I felt so suffocated there by the end, too, and now? Some nights I can’t even sleep because I’m not back on that awful couch in my cousin’s apartment, listening to the Manhattan traffic.”

“Guess that’s life, right? You just keep collecting things to miss,” Eddie said. At some point, he had shuffled closer to you, both of you sitting with your backs leaning against the bottom of the couch. You leaned your head on his shoulder. “I’m really happy I don’t have to miss you anymore, bluebird.”

You looked up, and there were those eyes, big and brown and full of affection, so close. Looking right at you, right through you, like he could see all your guts and bones and thoughts and desires all at once. Riding the tide of whiskey-fueled courage and extreme affection you were feeling for the man sitting next to you, you reached out, palm against his cheek, and pulled his face to yours. The kiss was slow and languid, noses nudging softly against skin, Eddie’s mouth gentle against your own. His hand moved to rest on your hip, a warm and comforting pressure against your skin.

When he pulled away, your breath catched at the sight of the silly little smirk gracing his face. “You don’t know how badly I’ve wanted to do that the entire time I’ve known you.”

“Oh fuck off Eddie, don’t tell me you had a crush on me in high school too and that’s just another thing I was too oblivious to realize,” you said, lightly shoving his shoulder.

“Okay, I won’t tell you if you kiss me again,” he said, grinning. Rolling your eyes, you grabbed his collar and pulled his face back to yours. You could feel his smile against your lips, which only made you want to hold him closer, to make up for all the years you’d gone without him in your life.

#daisy jones and the six #djats #eddie roundtree #eddie roundtree x reader #eddie loving #eddie loving x reader #warren rojas #warren rhodes #graham dunne #billy dunne #camila dunne #daisy jones #karen sirko

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