#'both sexes' yeah the one i have with ur dad and the one i have with ur mom | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

madelynraemunson · 1 month

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pass the salt • e.m. smut

DAD’S BEST FRIEND!OLDER!EDDIE x FEM!READER

summary: you’re home from college and staying with your dad for the summer, spending as much time as you possibly can with him…and his hot best friend that you’ve never seen in your life.

authors note: okay have you guys ever seen those text posts like “when you say ‘daddy pass the salt please’ and your father and your man both reach for it” 💀💀 well this is inspired by that concept. also i went overboard and this is a LONG BOI

disclaimers — photo credits to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple 🫶🏼porn with plot, reader’s nickname is “sunshine”, reader has female anatomy, race unspecified, divider: @iluvpooks

NSFW — 18+ obv, porn with plot, daddy kink pls keep scrolling if it’s not ur thing, slight age gap (eddie is mid to late 30s, reader is in her early 20s), corruption kink, size kink, masturbation (m&f), p in v sex (protected), dirty talk, teasing, sexual innuendos, extreme flirting, eddie kinda being a perv, praise kink

The sound of breakfast on the griddle summons you downstairs.

Dad never cooks.

For as long as you can remember, weekends at your dad’s have always consisted of Lucky Charms cereal and powdered donuts. That tradition continued even after you started college.

Oh yeah. Someone is here, alright. Someone Dad desperately wants to impress.

Trailing after the commotion, your fuzzy pink slippers guide you down the wooden steps of your dad’s ‘bachelor pad’ and into the kitchen. And when you near the bottom of the steps, you can make out two distinct voices — one belonging to Dad, another belonging to someone who's identity is obscure.

“God, I fucking missed you, Jeff. Missed everyone so much.”

The smells of pancake batter, cigarette smoke, mint, and petroleum fuel reel you in, but not nearly as much as the sight of the man sitting on the opposite side of your dad. He's built, handsome with wavy brown hair, leather, black denim, twiddling a toothpick between his teeth as he listens to your dad speak with a smile on his face. That is, until you come into sight. It then that his intense focus circles in on you.

Funny. You don’t remember this friend. And something in your gut tells you that you won’t ever be forgetting him after this.

The stranger's grin curls into a wonder-filled smirk. You can feel your knees start to buckle.

“Uh oh. Looks like our shenanigans woke up Sleeping Beauty.”

When you get a closer look at Dad’s friend, you observe his faint brown beard — neatly kept and lightly peppered with some gray — delicious lips, shiny white teeth, and grooves along his laugh lines that would deepen with every theatrical cackle he belted out.

You can't help but freeze in your tracks as him and your dad continue on with their banter, reliving their glory days like it was yesterday. Man. What a damn dreamboat.

Your dad’s eyes light up with glee when he sees you.

“Hey, good morning, Sunshine!” Dad cheers. “Thought you’d never wake up. This is my friend Eddie. We were in that band together in high school. Come say hi.”

"Yeah, come say hi," Eddie agrees. feeding into the obvious tension in the room. "I don't bite."

The stranger laughs at his own comment as soon as he utters it.

There’s a charm — a magic — about Eddie that could only be found in Hollywood or the Big City. But of course, you didn't expect any less from Dad's supposed ‘Rockstar Friend’.

When your parents had you at 17, life went on for Dad’s band Corroded Coffin. And although he missed out on the ‘Sex, Drugs, and Rock&Roll’, Dad insists that tea parties and white picket fences were an ideal trade-off. Because — despite how things ended with Mom — it still meant a life spent with you.

You tell him your name as Eddie offers you his hand to shake. Electricity serges through you when your hand is enveloped by his firm, calloused one. Eddie smiles down at you, his presence all-consuming. It's almost as if he knows it. And as much as you were dying to, you resist the urge to fall into him.

Eddie's no better.

It takes everything in Eddie's power to keep his eyes above your collarbones, reprimanding himself with the utmost tedium. Because heaven knows he'd be TOAST if his best friend found out that Eddie thought that you were absolutely stunning — strutting around the house the way that you do, without a bra underneath that poor excuse of a sleep shirt — a sleep shirt far too tight for your own good. With tight, pajama shorts to match…

Of course, this is all an assumption…Not that he caught wind of it or anything.

“You know…” he mentions. “Your dad has told me SO much about little miss Sunshine.”

“Me, really?” is all you can say behind those fuscia cheeks.

“Really,” Eddie insists. “He never shuts up about you, darling.”

“Hopefully you’ve only heard good things,” you mutter faintly.

And instantly, your dad and Eddie share a laugh.

“Only good things,” Eddie assures you. He nudges your dad playfully.

Your dad doesn’t exactly deny the last part, basically confirming to Eddie that you’ve got a hint of spunk to you. The heat settles at your cheeks as you shy away from your father’s curious friend.

Taking note of how timid you’ve just become, Eddie furrows his brows.

“What — was that an implication that you’re not always good?”

“No comment,” your smile melts into an awkward one.

“Kept me on my toes back then,” your dad reflects with a sigh. “Keeps me on my toes now.”

“You don’t say…” Eddie smirks slightly, gaze panning back over to you.

Eventually your dad leaves you two alone, going into the garage to fetch something that he insists Eddie would like. But little did he know that such thing was already in the room, leaning…reaching into the fridge for some orange juice, not realizing its atmosphere caused your nipples to harden.

Eddie’s eyes proceed to follow you as you strut back to the griddle, flipping some hot cakes over before tending to your messy bedhead.

Eddie probably doesn’t know — or maybe he does, who knows? — that you feel him staring at you. It’s a burning gaze that practically impales you, but you’re too nervous to say anything. You’re better off pretending like it’s something you don’t notice.

You and Eddie continue to help yourselves to breakfast, enjoying the company of each other and your mutual silence. That is, until Eddie speaks up.

“Got some sausage for you if you’d like.”

“I’m sorry?” you sputter, looking up from your food.

Eddie shoots you a weird glance as he holds up some breakfast franks.

“Sausage?” he repeats. “Store was out of beef so I settled for turkey. Hope that’s not a problem.”

“Not at all,” you clear your throat. “I love turkey sausage.”

“Okay, good,” Eddie chuckles, seemingly relieved at how quickly the situation had diffused.

“Cool,” you chuckle with him while taking some links to cook.

The silence returns once more and is replaced by the sizzling of the grill. It’s short lived, however, because soon, the man nearly twice your age speaks again.

“What’d you think I said?” Eddie circles back.

“Nothing, why?”

“You just looked stunned.”

“I just woke up,” you shrug. “My mind’s somewhere else.”

“I can tell,” he smirks. “Get that thing out of the gutter.”

The coming days paved way for some more innocent flirting.

…Like when you make sure to wear the shortest skirt in your closet when running Eddie his afternoon beer in the garage.

“Well don’t you look absolutely darling…” he says as he peers up from his guitar.

“Hehe,” you smirk connivingly. “Thank you!”

“You are so welcome.”

Eddie downs the liquid guilt along with his pride, watching you strut around…the hem of that pleated cotton fabric just barely covering the roundness of your asscheeks. And as you blush a rosy pink when you process his little remarks, Eddie can only clear his throat in arousal, fantasizing about just how badly he wanted to turn your other cheeks that very shade.

…Or when you come downstairs the next day to help Dad manually wash his car.

While he and Eddie are harassing each other with soap and that god-forsaken hose, you decide to join in on all the fun.

“Watch out, Sunshine,” Eddie forewarns. “You’ve just entered the splash zone!”

And with the intention of cooling you off on a hot summer day like this, Eddie teasingly sprays you with said hose, your white shirt becoming transparent when lathered with water. He could see everything. Your erect nipples. Your perky tits bouncing in the sunlight as you jump around in excitement. How glazed your oil-nnuendo’ed skin looked when glimmering in the sun. All as intended.

“You got me,” you surrender yourself to him. “You got me good, Eddie.”

And when you walk away, Eddie mutters slyly to himself.

“Yes, yes I did.”

…And then there’s dessert after dinner.

Eddie watches as you lick your popsicle, his fingers curling at his thighs in arousal as you retract the wrapper before enclosing your lips around the bright pink dessert. And he swears he’s going to blow his pants when he envisions the melted sugar shooting into your mouth with the swiftest hollowing of your cheeks, the quiet suction noise you make with your pursed lips forcing him to adjust the way he’s sitting.

…The final instance takes the cake.

“What’s your major?”

You’re in the home library grazing some of Dad’s old books and vinyls, talking to Eddie while your father gets ready for the day. Meanwhile, Eddie is perched at your dad’s desk, rolling around in his expensive swivel chair and occasionally doing some spins on it to make you laugh.

“History.”

“Sounds boring.”

“You just haven’t found a topic that interests you,” you point out.

“Mm,” is all Eddie says. “Maybe I will eventually.”

Eddie watches as you waltz around in front of him, following your movements with his eyes as you get onto your tippy-toes in order to grab some books on the top shelf.

“Oh my god!” you yelp.

Your plan to entice him seemingly fails when you graze a book that’s halfway off the shelf. It’s already flying off of its platform, headed straight towards Eddie's lap before you can even stop it.

Eddie catches it before any damage can be done, saving Dad’s old campaign book with the hand furthest from you and snaking the other around your waist to prevent you from sinking any further into him.

Phew. Crisis averted.

Your eyes meet again.

“I’m so sorry, Eddie,” you gasp in embarrassment. “That book has a mind of its own.”

“You’re fine,” Eddie laughs. “Can’t defy the laws of gravity. Sometimes it betrays us.”

You feel yourself burning up a fever. Excusing yourself from the room, you leave Dad’s library and make your way over to the kitchen for a glass of water.

But you’re nearly taken aback when you feel tight, calloused hands wrap around your hips, and like a feather it’s like you’re whisked away into the air, and soon your body is pressed up against the wall.

Slam!

Breathing heavily against each other now — chest to chest, lips so unbearably close you can smell the whiskey — Eddie draws you even closer to him. You both study each other intently. It’s like you’re waiting for the other to say something. Eddie does the honors and speaks first.

“I wasn’t born last night, doll. I was also your age at one point.”

———

To his own despair, Eddie touches himself later that night. Facing your room, he strokes his rock hard cock with his lotioned-up hand, running his thumb across the slit of his head, pretending it’s your tongue giving him a little tease like you did the popsicle.

“Fuuuck,” he grunts quietly. “You like when I fuck your throat, baby? Gonna suck me dry with that pretty little mouth of yours?”

You’re playing make-believe just as much. Because at the same time, in your room, you’re a drooling, pathetic mess, riding your wall-mounted toy to oblivion in your bathroom, legs trembling when the thick, veiny piece of silicone slams into the spongy part of your heat, initiating shock-waves all across your body.

“Eddie,” you find yourself blubbering. “EddieEddieEddieEddie…”

You both know it can’t be like this, but that was the mere thrill of it all. And when you both have overcome your peak, just one mere wall apart, the floodgates of guilt outweighs both your arousals the way it comes pouring in.

So, so wrong. But oh, so right.

You’re anticipating…waiting…aching for Eddie to make the next move.

He doesn’t.

“Going to the store again,” Eddie announces. “Hopefully this time they’ll have beef sausage. Need anything?”

Need you, is what you think. But you end up shaking your head, a part of you disappointed that you and Eddie won’t be able to spend some time alone together.

“No,” there’s defeat in your voice.

“Are you sure?” Eddie questions softly.

“Mhm,” you nod.

“Okay,” he gives you a grin, one in the form of a tight-lipped smile. “I’ll be right back. You be good.”

“Ha-ha,” you roll your eyes.

——

Eddie leaves the door of his room open that night. Just a smidge. You end up following the sound of his TV that he’s placed at a low volume, making out that it’s Seinfeld just by Jerry’s voice and the laugh track.

Your heart skips a beat as Eddie laughs along with the show, shaking his head at a stupid joke. But he shifts his focus immediately onto you when he sees you at the doorway.

“Having some alone time tonight?” you ask him.

“Mmm…not by choice,” he responds. “Tuckered your dad out after dinner doing P90X.”

Eddie follows a crazy workout routine. He says that it helps with his stamina, especially when he does crowd work during his stage performances. Your mind can’t help but wonder what else he may be using it for.

You snort. “Yeah. Dad wasn’t what you’d call an athlete in high school.”

Eddie laughs at that too. Both you and him know that.

He then pats the space on his bed beside him. “Wanna come watch with me?”

Your stomach does a series of cartwheels when you process Eddie’s question. You know what’s bound to happen if you follow through. And it seems Eddie knows it too. Even if there wasn’t any sexual tension between you both already, the concept of it all would rub anyone that way.

But you still follow through with it. Just like Eddie knew you would.

“You comfortable?” Eddie asks you, eyeing you endearingly as you squirm around on the bed.

“Yeah,” you breathe.

“Good…” he replies, voice nearly at a strained whisper now.

You two watch the show in silence for a few minutes, exchanging commentary and pleasantries regarding the show every so often. It’s not too long after Eddie pulls a laugh from you that he starts closing up the space between you both, scooting himself closer…and resting his gruff palm over the base of your knee.

You inhale sharply as he does so. And evident by your refusal to pull away, it’s enough of a green light for Eddie to hike up further.

A soft moan escapes your mouth from the back of your flustered throat, but you bite your lip in restraint.

"I'm sorry," you whisper.

"For what?”

You shrug sheepishly as Eddie continues to graze your thigh. Your breathing falters even more.

“Don’t be scared,” Eddie coos.

“I’m not,” you insist.

“Then what’s stopping you from getting on top of me? Hm?”

He’s in between your legs now, the rough material of his denim jeans riding up your sex, teasing your clit with every calculated rub against it.

“And riding my rock hard cock til those pretty legs give out?” Eddie continues. “I see how you’ve been looking at me, doll. It's all over your face how bad you want it.”

“The bed is squeaky,” you answer honestly. “And that headboard is a lost cause.”

Eddie puts the dirty talk on pause, squirming around to assess the guest bed’s squeak factor. When it checks out, he gives you an understanding nod. You giggle.

Eddie wastes no more time. You watch as he grabs one of the pillows on the bed and wedges it between the wall and headboard. He issues you a sly smile.

“Oldest trick in the book.”

You're back to fooling around shortly after, your aching core burning with lust as you pine for him.

“The boys at school ever touch you this good?” Eddie quips rubbing circles around your puffy, needy folds as you hopelessly cling to him out of pleasure.

“No, Eddie.”

“Didn’t think so.”

He continues to tease, gliding his fingers along your slit before slowly inserting two large digits inside of you.

His calculated pumps into your needy pussy are steady, a pace so agonizingly beautiful that it makes you squeal sweet nothings into the crook of his neck.

"Shh, baby," Eddie hushes you. "Your dad's gonna hear us. Gotta be quiet for me, mkay?"

Your hot, messy, and muffled sounds cease as Eddie soothes your quivering lips with his tender ones.

The wet sounds that ricochet and fill the room in tandem is almost enough to send him over. And Eddie is sure to communicate that… with an abrupt curving of his three thick fingers.

Fuck.

Needing him direly now, you tug helplessly at his pants.

“God, Eddie,” you whimper. “Just fuck me already. Please.”

Eddie laughs at the desperation. He hasn’t ravaged you to his fullest extent yet, and you’re already a pooling mess beside him.

“Well since you said please, sweet girl,” Eddie obliges as he starts to undress himself. “Your wish is my command."

You watch Eddie as reaches over into the bedside drawer for a fresh box of condoms. Looks like the sausage links weren't the only things he went to the store for.

“Oh.”

Eddie chuckles at your observation before shrugging. Can you really blame him? You both knew what was coming.

You watch with absolute lust as Eddie slides the piece of rubber over his long, girthy, throbbing cock. He’s bigger than anyone you’ve ever had before, and the snarky, hooded-eye smile as he watches you fawn reveals to you that he knows exactly how to use it.

"On your stomach, babygirl. Will have you all nice and pounded out just like you wanted.”

You situate yourself in prone and spread your legs for Eddie to line himself up against them. He teases his wrapped cock against the entrance of your pussy, and when his soothing countdown is over, your lips part in disposition as you accommodate his ruinous stretch.

A throaty moan spills out of the both of you the moment Eddie snaps his hips in and out of you. Meanwhile, one of his hands lays tauntingly at your stomach, so the prideful man can feel himself wriggling inside you, glazing his shaft with your slick more and more with every pump into your weak cunt.

"Fuck, Eddie... yes..." you mewl. "R-right there, Eddie, please..."

And then it picks up. You can feel Eddie’s hips practically collapse right onto you, his balls slapping against you as he digs further into your body.

"God damn..." the man sighs in disbelief.

He can only beam down at you in awe. You were taking him so good, pussy swallowing him so nice and tight. And when you nestle your ankles between each other to keep him there in prone, the nearly cries out in pleasure, but refrains because he knows your dad is resting — just a thin wall over.

That still doesn’t stop him from going to town though. Practically seeing stars, the broken record of a mouth that belongs to you chants Eddie’s name like it’s all you know. Eddie attempts to keep you contained, offering you his fingers to suck on as he’s railing you dumb.

And when he fucks you through your climax, Eddie continues with his string of lust-filled praises, satisfied at himself that he was able to make you wet enough to soak the mattress.

“Did so good for me, angel,” he praises you as he sucks at your temple. “Always knew you weren’t all that innocent.”

The griddle comes out again on Eddie’s last day. But this time, for a homestyle southern dinner.

You and Eddie were on mashed potatoes and gravy duty at the stove, an ordeal that only opened doors for lots of innuendos on Eddie’s part. Meanwhile, Dad insisted on making the rest, having taken pride in continuing his Mama’s legacy.

“This is amazing, Daddy,” you rave. “I really missed this. Do you mind passing the salt, please?”

And to your horror, you watch as your father and Eddie automatically extend their arms, bumping into one another in the process en route to getting you the salt.

The gentlemen meet each other’s eyes.

“Ohp!” Eddie exclaims, letting out a slight chuckle. “Sorry.”

You try your hardest not to blush. Eddie kicks you from under the table, and softly he oh-so-seductively he mutters,

“I was just tryna help her out.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #older! eddie munson #older!eddie #older!eddie munson smut #older!eddie smut #dad’s best friend!eddie #dad’s best friend!eddie munson #dom!eddie #dom!eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson x reader smut

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rinhaler · 5 months

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so my ex just used me to get better and then dated someone else once he was okay, so i’m requesting a toji fucking megumi’s ex gf to teach his son a lesson, or megumi’s gf ends up taking “Break my heart? i’ll be your step mom.” too seriously 🫶

fuck ur ex fuck him i hate him idek know him but i hate him!!!! enjoy the filth <3

warnings: 18+ MDNI, age gap, implied cheating, vaginal sex, revenge sex, clit rubbing, pet names, praise, slight cucking, creampie.

words: .8k

“Oh. God, T-Toji—!” you cry out as his cock buries deeper and deeper inside of you.

The prominent veins stimulate your walls with every thrust while his cockhead pummels against your g-spot with perfect precision. He doesn’t miss a beat, either, he possesses an endless supply of stamina and he’s using it to his advantage.

He silences you with a nasty, drool infused kiss as your tongues tangle effortlessly. It’s hard to feel guilty about letting your ex’s dad rail you when it feels this good. It was a messy breakup, and yet, you didn’t feel the need to cut off Toji. You broke up with Megumi, after all. Not his dad.

Though you didn’t expect to be lifted onto his chest of drawers when you came over and fucked within an inch of your life. You decided to come over and collect the last of your things and ended up staying a little longer than planned when Toji offered you a glass of wine. In hindsight, you’ve realised that he offered and spilled it on you just to get you upstairs.

“Kid’s a fuckin’ idiot,” he snarls, resting his forehead against yours. “Perfect little pussy, baby, so fucking perfect.”

You watch him as he pulls his head away from yours and licks his thumb, lowering it to rub your puffy clit without slowing his thrusts. Your head falls back against the wall behind you, feeling lighter than air and losing all sense of control as he fucks into you slow and deep.

He smiles at you as you place your hands on his shoulders, moving his lips to softly kiss each of them.

“Knew he’d fuck things up eventually,” he announces, confidently, “The minute I saw ya, I knew Megumi wasn’t gonna be able to handle you, darlin’.”

“Fuck, Toji, h-have you been waiting for this?” you ask him, already knowing the answer by the way he smirks.

“You think too much.” he tells you, leaning forwards to make out with you again. He’s right, of course, but the harder he ploughs into you the muddier your thoughts become. All you can think about is him. There’s inklings of regret as Megumi flashes through your mind. He sees it behind your eyes, he must do. Because soon after he grabs your face in one large hand until your cheeks pucker. “Stop thinkin’ about the piece of shit, he’s not thinking about you.”

“Oh my God…” you huff, knowing he’s right. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer again, moaning into his mouth as your walls begin to tighten. “Make me— wanna cum—” you tell him, earning another passion induced kiss and faster thrusts.

“Yeah? Wanna cum, baby?” he asks, and you nod in turn. “Can I cum in this pretty cunt?”

“P-Please, yes please!”

The moaning from both of you is raucous as he chases his own high and forces you into yours. You cream around him beautifully. He still can’t believe what an idiot Megumi was to let you go. But he won’t complain, not when he’s emptying his balls into your gorgeous little pussy.

You pant and move the hair out of his face being stuck down by his sweaty forehead. He laughs, softly, and you can’t help but join him when the reality sinks in. Though he helps you down and picks up your underwear from the floor. He grabs his shirt while you slip into them, feeling particularly vile when you feel his warm seed seep into the gusset of your panties.

He watches you as you pick up your jacket and your phone.

“You’re on your phone already?” he laughs. “Don’t tell me I was just a cheap fuck.” he teases you, and you smile.

“No, sorry.” you smile back as you let the intrusive thoughts whirring through your mind win. You were going to delete his number, though you’re glad you didn’t as you hit dial on Megumi’s number. You’re pleased Toji doesn’t hear the faint ringing sound, and you’re even happier when you see the time going up on your screen, seeing that Megumi actually answered.

“hello?” you hear him say a few times, muffling the sound as you put it in your jacket pocket.

“I can’t believe we had sex, Toji.” you speak, doing all you can to not smirk as you’re sure Megumi’s heart just dropped. “You won’t tell Megumi, will you? I’m so mad at him… I hate him… but I don’t want to hurt him.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not telling him.” Toji nods, agreeing. “Can’t lie though, I wouldn’t mind fucking you again.” he chuckles.

“Then…” you approach him again, kissing him. “Fuck me again, Toji. Wan’ your cock again. Want you t’cum in me again. Need you… s’bad.” you moan quietly as his hands begin exploring your body. He lifts you up and throws you down onto the bed, pulling his jeans down again.

“Fuck me, princess, thought you’d never ask.”

You begin kissing again, unsure how much of that Megumi heard. But you make sure to keep your volume sufficiently high as you make out with his dad.

It’s the least he deserves for cheating.

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macfrog · 10 months

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company cowboy like me chapter six

lfg i am so happy to finally be back writing!!! here's a new part of cowboy like me to celebrate - you can also catch parts one thru five over on my masterlist 🤍 love u all lmk ur thoughts whose side are we on with the argument? 😏

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: joel and his hands help you feel better after an argument with your dad

warnings: 18+ minors dni!!! shower fun, handjob, fingering, bit of comeplay, like, allusions to exhibitionism?? not rly tho, dom!joel, unprotected p in v sex (i do not condone it unless it is fictional), praise kink, overstimulation, begging, age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), cursing, grilled cheese consumption (for all my lactose intolerant babies i got u)

word count: 8.4k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

“Please let me cum, promise I’ll be good. I’ll be quiet.” He laughs, some smug, cocky laugh. If you had a sliver of energy and half the feeling in your body, you’d bat his arm. “Don’t want you to be quiet, angel. You wanted to get caught, remember? Get us caught, then. Let ‘em all hear just what you’re up to.” “No,” you moan, head shaking, “don’t wanna get caught. Just w-wanna cum. Please, Joel…”

The birds singing. A car passing by on the street outside. The dull buzz of the shower running, and the gentle humming of the man standing in it. Whichever one wakes you first, you don’t much care. Your eyes have fluttered open to find the bathroom door half-open, the steamed-up shower right ahead of you.

You can see his silhouette moving around. Hands raising to rub shampoo into his hair. Dipping to push soap suds down the trail from his belly button. You’re half-naked in his bed, still sore from your antics from the night before, and he’s winding that coil all over again. Just from showering.

You push yourself off the bed with a groan. Your thighs burn as you move them; between your legs feels just as tender. His t-shirt hangs off you.

You slowly wander over to the bathroom door and pause to listen. It’s one of his country songs he’s always playing in the truck. And this man swears he ain’t a country fan.

Your head leans against the doorframe. One gentle push and he’ll know you’re right here.

The t-shirt comes off in one swift movement, and in you go.

“Mornin’, baby,” he coos as you walk over the threshold. When he peers around the steamed-up glass, he notices your lack of clothing, and mumbles an Oh as you step inside.

“What time does Sarah’s flight get in?” you ask innocently. His eyes are making their way slowly down your figure.

“An–” He clears his throat. “An hour.”

“You got time, then?”

He smirks as you soak yourself under the hot stream of water, and says, “Always got time for you.”

Your hands cup his strong jaw and pull him down to you. He obliges, lips parting to crash against yours. Tongues twisting and curling around one another, hands squeezing and scratching and stroking bodies. His palms find your tits and he squeezes, pulling a moan from your lips.

“So fuckin’ needy,” he murmurs against your lips.

You smile back into the kiss, replying, “It’s all your fault.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” your hand starts travelling south, “got – me – fuck – all ruined.”

Joel’s already hard when your hands take hold of him. Like, fucking hard. So hard you actually look down as you grip him with both hands, awestruck by how quickly he’s turned on. When you look back up, a cocky smile fills his cheeks.

“Get goin’ then. I ain’t got all mornin’.”

“Fuck you.” You drag your hand up his length.

“That’s what I got you for,” he breathes, leaning his head back against the tile, eyes closing.

This is the part you like. Sure, Joel’s hot when he’s being dominant, fucking you senseless, whispering filth in your ear, even just the way his hands grip your body. But this – when he’s under your hand, right where you want him, right where he wants to be. This is it for you.

Watching him unravel at your touch, the way you squeeze him, pull him, take care of him; your words, sweet and smooth as honey in his ear, asking how good it feels, telling him how good he looks, peppering wet kisses down his neck and across his chest; and then, when he’s close, the way he pants and takes hold of your wrist, telling you without speaking exactly how to fuckin’ get him there.

When you feel his hips buck, you sink to your knees and hold the head of his cock on your tongue. He tilts his head to look down at you, mouth agape, hand on the back of your head. You stroke his length a few more times, the tip swirling over your pink lips, before he grunts, releasing all over your tongue, watching as you take every last drop.

“Good girl…” he whispers, over and over until he goes limp. You never take your eyes off of him as you lick your lips and swallow. “Good fuckin’ girl.”

When he comes down from his high, Joel takes your hands and pulls you back up to stand. He lazily bumps his nose against yours and then pulls you in, filling your mouth with his tongue. He groans into the kiss, tangling his hand in your hair, tasting himself on you.

“You know how good you are to me?”

Your face lights up when you look up at him. You could almost say something you think you’d regret afterward. When the wave of bravery washes down the drain with the water from above, you settle for your usual cocky teasing: “I know. You don’t gotta tell me.”

He laughs and turns you gently so your back is to him. He shifts your wet hair out of the way, and then begins to massage your shoulders. His hands drop down your arms, squeezing and rubbing, then back up, feeling their way over your breasts and down your stomach.

“Gonna make you feel nice ‘n better, after last night.”

Your lips fall open, silently begging him not to stop, to keep going further down, to fuck you with his fingers against the cool tile.

You forget he’s a mind reader. He’s already doing it before your thought is done.

Fingers run over your clit, already sensitive and swollen, and you gasp.

“That feel good, darlin’?” he whispers in your ear.

Your head falls back to his shoulder with a moan, and he kisses your neck, sucking softly on the sensitive spots that were between his teeth last night. His fingers rub you gently.

“So pretty for me, baby.”

You can feel your legs starting to give, but his free arm wraps around your waist, holding you up so that, even if you wanted to, you couldn’t collapse.

His fingers dip lower still, parting your lips, running through your folds. He’s so good, you think you might be dreaming. Then he inserts a curled finger and you know for sure, this is no dream.

“Joel…”

You squirm under his touch, and it only pushes him further. A second finger, stretching you out more, pressing up against the soft, spongey insides of your pussy. You grip onto his arm snaked around your waist with one hand, place the other against the tile to steady yourself.

“Doin’ so good, baby, that’s it. Just like that.” His voice is as smooth as whiskey in your ear, the drawl of his accent sending you as far as the fingers hooked inside your cunt.

Your breathing starts to stammer, your stomach tightening with your orgasm fast approaching. Joel inserts a third finger, making you cry out, and your head knocks into his shoulder again. Pleasure sparks between your legs, the weight of you riding on Joel’s hand, fire igniting through every nerve in your body.

“‘attagirl, all over me,” Joel coaches you through it, his other hand forced to let go of your waist to steady you both against the wall as your release doubles you over.

You come back to earth; stars in your vision, feeling the weight of him on your back, protecting you from the spray of water from the shower, chin still dipped over your shoulder.

“We’re good at this,” he whispers, and you give a blissful smile. “One day they’ll make a movie about us.”

You come back to reality with a hearty laugh, turning back around slowly. Joel’s arms snake around your waist and he pulls you in for a deep kiss.

“Maybe one day we could do that ourselves,” you tease.

He gives a smile which means more than it looks. You’re a mind reader, too. He likes that idea. He’s…considering it.

“I gotta go,” Joel says after some time.

You nod.

He follows you out of the shower and hands you the towel he’d sat on the counter for himself, dripping off to the linen closet in the hallway for another while you pat yourself dry. You scoop up his shirt and throw it over yourself, laying back down on his bed to wait for him finishing up getting ready.

Another thing you love doing: watching him. Whether he’s driving, grabbing a beer from the fridge, or just getting dressed like right now, you like to watch him. Study him. Know him better than he knows himself.

He doesn’t typically let you watch him do much – his hands are usually all over you with the precious little time you two get together – and when he clocks you staring over at him as he buckles his belt, he snorts.

“Besotted, ain’tcha?”

He stands at the foot of the bed. You say nothing back. Then he begins crawling up, knees apart to climb over your legs, and crouches over you as you giggle.

His head drops down to give you one last meaningful kiss before you know he has to leave. When you part, his forehead leans against yours.

“Hook, line, and sinker,” he softly says.

You don’t have a reply. At least, not one you want him to hear. Yet.

“Go pick up Sarah. I’ll be gone when you come back.”

He stands, and you take his offered hand to pull yourself up from the bed.

“Don’t have to be. I’ll tell her you wanted to surprise her.”

You shake your head. “I got work later anyways. And y’all deserve some time alone to catch up. I’ll see you when I see you.”

“Okay, darlin’,” he says in a mocking baby tone, pouting his lips. Pulls you in for a quick squeeze. Then turns and wanders off down the hall to the top of the stairs.

“How will you cope without being the center of my attention?” he calls back.

You smile to yourself and watch as his figure disappears. You stand on his carpet, still, silent, until the front door shuts and his truck engine hums in the drive.

Your eyes travel around his room. His unmade bed, one big dip in the middle of the mattress where your bodies had been pressed together, limbs intertwined, sharing breath. The small pile of your clothes Joel had laid out as you dozed, neatly tucked on a dresser, your phone laying on top. A framed photo of him and Sarah on his windowsill that makes your chest tighten when your eyes find it.

You turn away and start getting ready, picking up your clothes one by one. Your panties are missing – not that they’d be much use anyways, the last state you saw them in. It’d be hot to go commando if you thought Joel might find out; less hot when you’re just about to head off on a walk of shame back to your dad’s.

You wander around to Joel’s nightstand and roll the drawer open. Pick up a pair of white boxers and pull them on. As you leave, you throw his tee over your elbow.

He won’t notice it’s gone, right?

----------

You’re perched on your window seat, watching the quiet street below. It’s been two days since you last saw Joel, strolling down his hallway to go pick up Sarah. You’d been working the past couple days anyway, but your mind had been elsewhere.

You and Joel weren’t able to see each other for obvious reasons, but he was always at the end of the phone whenever you were bored and wanted attention. Truthfully, you’d spent every waking minute hanging over your cell, waiting for it to light up with a message or call from him.

You unlock it and scroll through the last few texts you’d exchanged.

Joel: Decorations were a hit. Should be all over Instagram or whatever

You: You’re welcome ;)

Joel: Don’t I get any credit?

You: You can take the credit for blowing my back out afterward. Let me have the decs

Joel: Fair.

You smile, reading back over the messages. You’d been trying not to bother him so much now that Sarah was back, but you’re struggling to find anything to distract your thoughts from him. What he’s up to, where he is, who he’s with…and not even in a jealous way. Just…because you miss him.

That’s the weird part. Missing him.

Sure, for the last two weeks, anytime your hands have been on your body, it’s Joel’s name passing your lips in breathy moans. But missing the sound of his voice? The smell of him?

That’s new. That’s weird.

There’s a knock at your bedroom door.

“Yeah?”

Your dad nudges in, toolbox in hand. “Hey, hon. Just thought I’d have a look at that latch on your window that keeps catchin’.”

“Oh,” you say, shifting from your seat. “Sure. Thanks.”

He sets the toolbox at the end of your bed, and you shift some cushions and blankets to sit beside it. As he’s digging through his tools, he glances up and notices the men’s large t-shirt laying strewn across your pillows.

“New shirt?” he asks.

You look over your shoulder. Fuck.

“Texas Rangers.” Your dad raises his eyebrows, nodding. “Impressed.”

“Yeah, I– I, uh…” You’re scrambling for some excuse, words tripping over one another in the scram to explain. “Got it at a thrift store the other day. It’s nice to sleep in, I guess.”

He hums and then turns, completely oblivious. “Might head over to Joel’s once I’ve done this, since I got the tools out. He has some pipe in his bathroom he reckons is leakin’. You wanna come? See Sarah for a bit?”

“Maybe…” you hum, not really listening. You’re typing a message out to Joel.

You: My dad just totally spotted your shirt on my bed…

Joel: So you’ve got my shirt? I was looking all over for it.

You: Is it really that much of a surprise? Had to say I’d thrifted it

Joel: Offended by the fact you wanted him to believe anyone would throw out a Rangers shirt

You: Well, he believed it, so what does that tell you, cowboy?

Joel: Given what we know your dad’s oblivious to right now, not a lot, kid

You: Speaking of, when can I see you?

Joel: Tough right now with Sarah being home. Sorry baby. Soon as we can, I promise.

You throw yourself back onto your bed with a sigh.

“Boy trouble?” your dad asks.

“Huh?” You sit up straight. What…the fuck?

He chuckles, messing around with the window, his back turned to you. “Awfully big sigh. I know that sigh. Who is he?”

If Joel were in the room right now, he’d be masking his laughter behind a closed fist at the mere sight of your face. You stare at your dad’s back for a decent amount of time, long enough for him to turn back and look at you.

“You hearin’ me?” he asks. “It someone I know? It ain’t your friend Sam from Frank’s, is it? That boy don’t know his hand from his foot at the best ’a times. You can do better than him.”

“It ain’t a boy. And I appreciate the advice, but I’m good, Dad.”

“Speakin’ of advice…” He walks slowly over to the bed, switching out some tools. “I got this supplier whose daughter works in human resources at…uh…some company, downtown. Name escapes me. He was tellin’ me it’s good money, lotta hours…Said she’d be happy to meet with you if you wanted to go in for an interview.”

“I…I’m okay, I think. Thanks, though.”

“Sure? I thought maybe you’d wanna be lookin’ for something a little more…permanent.”

“I will,” you reply, glancing down at your phone. No new messages. “I just…I’m happy at Sal’s right now.”

“Right, right. And Sal’s been real good to you, kiddo.”

“I kinda wanna see what I can get with my degree anyway.”

Your thumbs dance over the keyboard, still hunting for attention from Joel, and searching for the right words to get it. You’re barely even present in the room with your dad when you hear him ask, “Film? You really think there’s gonna be much out there?”

Your head whips up. He’s sauntering back over to the window. Your phone lands with a thud on your bed beside your thigh.

“Uh…I don’t know. ‘s why I wanna look.”

“Hm.”

“Hm?”

He shakes his head, screwing something into your window frame. “Naw, I just…don’t know what you’re gonna find, is all.” He chuckles a little. Kinda chuckle that makes your fists ball.

You watch him through thin eyes, pulling your bottom lip under your teeth. “Well, I got Sal’s to keep me goin’ until I do find somethin’.”

Your dad doesn’t reply. You stare him down until he turns around, notices you, and raises his brows, forehead crinkling.

When he dives back into the toolbox instead of responding, you start to feel heat in your belly.

You speak through your teeth. “Is that…Is it okay?”

“Sure, hon. I ain’t tellin’ you what to do.”

“Well, you ain’t tellin’ me much else, though, so…”

“I’m only thinking,” he lifts his palms, your eyes trace them, “your degree is very specific. And there maybe isn’t a lot of specific work down this way for somethin’ like film. That’s all. I thought HR might be a good move.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. He’s closing over the metal lid.

“Then why’d I go through four years of studying it?”

“Because it interested you. And because you were good at it–”

“So, shouldn’t I be doin’ something with it?”

“–but ultimately, hon, a degree’s just a degree, you understand?”

Your face screws up, lip curled. “Huh?”

“Lotta folks don’t got a degree. Lotta folks get one, and it goes to waste. They spend all that money, all that time…and work part-time in some dead-end job for the rest of their lives. Chasin’ a career that’s never comin’.”

You choke back a laugh, a stunned, confused, livid laugh. Your lips tremble and twist in and out of different shapes, trying to form words that your voice won’t speak.

“You worked damn hard to get that degree. Now, use it. Use it right.”

He slaps the toolbox closed and starts trotting out of your room, and you find your voice.

“Oh, screw you!”

Your dad’s hand hooks around the doorframe and he turns back. “Pardon me?”

“What fuckin’ right do you have to tell me I’m gonna end up in a dead-end job? Ain’t a job a job?”

“Woah, kiddo,” he holds a hand out, “no, no, that’s not what I’m sayin’. Not at all.”

“You’re saying I should give up tryna get a job I actually want, and get a real job, right? That– That film ain’t much of a thing? I worked my ass off for nothin’?”

“No, you worked your ass off for everything, and you deserve to find somethin’ that rewards all your hard work.”

“Oh, what the fuck does that even mean?” You throw your arms up, striding across the room.

He shakes his head with a sigh. “It means – I just want what’s best for you. I was just thinkin’ out loud, honey. That’s all.”

In one sweep, he’s gone. The toolbox rattles down the hall and recedes into background noise. You’re stood in a cloud of rage at your door, breath coming hard and fast out of your nose, staring at the empty hallway before you.

You stalk over to your bed and your thumbs finally figure out what to send to Joel.

You: Are you free to talk real quick??

He’s calling you within thirty seconds.

“What’s up?” his voice speaks before you even open your mouth, and instantly you feel yourself calming.

“Are you eating?”

“Mhm. Grilled cheese.”

You can hear the chewing sounds through the receiver.

“You mind swallowing before you talk?”

“Sorry, darlin’,” he chuckles a little, then clears his throat. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Just…” You sigh. “Fuck…I don’t even know.”

Your head falls into one hand as you pace back and forth.

“I had this argument with my dad; he’s goin’ on about careers and jobs and using my degree – but to do somethin’ I don’t wanna do. Then, he’s makin’ out like I’ll never find a job in film, or in anything I want. And he said that– He basically said that I’ll be in a dead-end job forever, ‘less I go work in human resources.”

Joel’s quiet for a few seconds until he realizes you’re done. “’sec, baby, I got a mouthful of grilled cheese over here.”

You roll your eyes and, after a gulp, his voice floats back through your phone.

“He wants you to– Human resources, I hear that right?”

“Yup. He says it’s a good place to be, apparently.”

“Your dad, the contractor?”

You throw your arm up in the air again. “Thank you!”

Joel and his laughter cut you short before you start another rant.

“Alright, alright, first of all…you already got a job, and it’s a good, steady job; you like it, you’re happy enough there, right?”

“Mhm,” you agree.

“Mhm. So that’s not an issue. Second, you’re twenty-three. That’s still young, darlin’. You got your whole life to try and find somethin’ you really like. Hell, I didn’t figure it out until I had Sarah. You got time. Don’t worry about it.

“And third: who gives a fuck what your dad thinks? If you’re happy, what’s it matter what him or anyone else says?”

You nod, sitting down on your bed. Your eyes are starting to well.

“Hm?” Joel beckons.

“Yeah,” you squeak.

“Don’t you worry that pretty little mind, baby. It was just an argument. He wants what’s best for you, ‘n if I know him half as well as I do, he just got his words a little jumbled up.”

“I’m still fuckin’ mad at him, though,” you mumble.

Joel laughs. “Yeah. ‘n I reckon you’re allowed to be, for a little bit.”

“Thanks. Sorry for interruptin’ you ‘n your grilled cheese.”

“’s alright. I gotta make you one of these next time you’re over here, I’m a master at ‘em. Sarah’s favorite.”

You lay back on your bed, giggling. “I’m gonna hold you to that, y’know.”

“Oh, I know, kid. Hey, I was actually thinking of dropping by tomorrow mornin’, got some papers your dad wants to take a look at. Figured I’d catch ‘im before he goes off to work.”

You feel your heart swell just at the thought of him being in front of you, actually in person, standing right there. Cotton-covered chest to be touched, worked hands to be held, rough but gentle lips to be kissed.

Hard cock to be – never mind.

“Yeah?” you say, coolly, trying not to let him in on the butterflies swirling around your stomach.

“Yep. Better be awake. I’ll want my t-shirt back.”

“Setting my alarm as we speak.”

----------

You’re in the kitchen making breakfast when you hear the front door open, and an all too familiar Texas drawl.

“Anybody home?”

You lean back from the counter and stare down the hallway toward the door, which he closes and turns to face you.

“Hello, darlin’.”

“Hi,” you mutter, smiling.

“Dad in?”

You nod. “Upstairs. Getting ready.”

His fingers tug on your t-shirt sleeve. His t-shirt sleeve.

“Nice shirt.”

You give a bashful smile, but he’s grinning. The fucker loves seeing you in his clothes as much as you love wearing them. He doesn’t care.

Joel sets his papers on the countertop and runs a hand through your hair, sweeping it out of your face. You lean into his touch by instinct, then catch yourself, and move away, but Joel stays where he is.

“You okay?” he murmurs.

“Mhm. Want some cereal?”

He smiles, shaking his head, then lowers his chin and softly presses his lips to yours.

Your hands drop the box like it’s scorching hot, and link around his neck. He pushes against you, pinning you to the counter.

If it weren’t for the thudding of your dad’s footsteps down the stairs right then, you’d probably ask Joel to fuck you right here and now in your kitchen. You’re that needy.

“Hey, partner,” your dad calls when he notices Joel, now standing a good four feet away from you, papers back in his fist.

You pour some milk in the bowl and lean back against the island, cereal in hand.

“Brought that paperwork.” Joel lifts his fist, and your dad nods gratefully.

“Hey,” your dad says, turning to you and knocking your shoulder with his index finger. “Here’s the number of that guy’s daughter I was talkin’ about…”

You take a deep breath, studying the card in his hand, the name Vanessa Hart printed below some logo. Joel notices your expression when your dad holds it out between two fingers. He knows y’all fought – though he’s not meant to – but he doesn’t know you two haven’t spoken since. You ate dinner in your room alone last night.

The look in your eye catches him up just fine.

“What’s this?” Joel asks, returning the papers to the counter behind you and taking the business card from your dad’s hand. He tosses it over before passing to you. You wordlessly take it, sliding your bowl alongside his paperwork.

“She’s been thinkin’ about work. Lookin’ around for somethin’ a little more…challenging, than retail anyway. Right?”

You raise your eyebrows. “Right.”

Joel looks at you intently. Knowingly. “Thought you wanted to be a journalist, or something? Film…? No?”

You glance up at him. “I, um…”

“This is maybe somethin’ a little more realistic, y’know.” Your dad shifts from foot to foot, almost awkwardly.

“She got a degree in film,” Joel mutters, almost leaning into you to make you answer. Your eyes travel along to his shoulder. “You like film, right?”

“I like film. Yeah. It was good.”

“So, you don’t wanna do somethin’ with that?”

Your shoulders tense as you look up at him, trying to answer him honestly and at the same time, stop another heated discussion from happening between you and your dad, who then initiates that discussion himself by piping up.

“What’s Sarah doin’, again, Joel?”

You wince, knowing what’s about to happen.

“Sports Science.” Joel’s voice feels dangerous. He’s still staring at you. Vanessa’s card is beginning to tremble in your hands as you flip it over and over.

“See? Now, that, I would understand. That’s a great degree. Not that yours isn’t,” your dad shoots you a look as he’s packing his lunch into his bag, “just that, with Sports Science, I mean…she could do lotsa stuff.”

“I could do lots with film, too, Dad.” You try to mask the anger through your teeth.

“Like what?”

Joel sighs under his breath. Your eyes dart across his. You take a deep breath, steady yourself.

“Like…journalism, or production, or promotion. Lots of behind-the-scenes stuff.”

“I’m just tryna look out for you, kiddo, just tryna be realistic. Like I said last night, there aren’t so many opportunities in that sorta stuff down here. Fine, up in New York, but in Austin? Nah.”

“Maybe you just gotta move back to New York. I’ll come with ya,” Joel says, shrugging, with an expression that elicits a laugh from you. He looks relieved to see you smile.

Your dad clears his throat and takes a step closer to you. Your smile fades as quickly as it appeared.

“I just want what’s best for you. The arts…ain’t really a steady job. Somethin’ like Sports Science, see, now, that’s safe. That’s a good choice.”

“A good choice,” you echo, your face flushing. “So, mine wasn’t a good choice?”

“No, it’s just that–”

“Why are we havin’ this same conversation again, Dad?” You throw the card behind you on the counter. “I said I’d do my own thing, in my own time, and you come up with even more to shove in my damn face. You can’t just leave it? Not even for one day?”

“Aw, c’mon, hon, film? Tell me what you found, lookin’ for jobs in film. Go on.”

Joel’s head cocks and he holds a hand out. “Alright, that’s enough.”

“No, tell me. I’m seriously askin’. What did you find? ‘cause I’ve been lookin’, kiddo–”

You scoff. “Oh, you’ve been looking.”

“Yes, I have, which seems to be a damn sight more ‘n you’ve done, and there ain’t nothin’. Now, I’m sorry for bringing it up. I thought I was doin’ a good thing. Thought you’d appreciate me helpin’ out.”

“Sure. I appreciate you steppin’ foot where you ain’t wanted. And then insulting me while you’re at it.”

Your dad sighs and lifts his arms, bringing them down onto his thighs with a clap. Then he picks his bag up, slings it over his shoulder, and turns back to you.

“I just wanted to help. I’m gone, alright? Joel, thanks for those, I’ll take a look when I’m home.”

Without another word, he strides down the hall and heads out the front door.

Joel’s hand immediately wraps around your arm.

“Hey,” he says when you turn away, tears forming. “Woah, hey. It’s alright.”

He pulls you into his chest and rests his chin on your head, and you bury your face into his shirt, groaning with rage. He rubs the back of your head and hushes you as you weep into his chest.

He pulls away, cupping your chin and pushing the hair out of your face. You’re still bubbling away, Joel’s thumbs wiping away tears hot with anger from your cheeks.

“I’m not crying ‘cause I’m upset,” you sniff, and he nods, softly caressing your face. “I’m crying ‘cause I’m fuckin’ angry.”

“I know, baby,” he fusses. “He’s bein’ an ass, no doubt about that.”

“I told you.” You ball your fists and lightly bump them against his strong chest. “Fuckin’ dick.”

“Fuckin’ dick,” Joel agrees, and you laugh. “Tell me what to do to make you feel better.”

You lean back, Joel’s hand locked around yours to stop you from falling. A dark thought crosses your mind, and you do your best not to let it show through your eyes. Joel seems oblivious when he reels you in and your hands come to rest on his pecs.

“I dunno,” you mumble, eyes stuck on the fabric of his shirt.

“Must be somethin’. What do you want me to do?”

“Just…stick around for a bit? Keep me company.”

“Company, huh? What’s that entail?”

“We could…watch a movie?” Your fingers flirt with the collar of his open shirt. “…could…talk…?”

Joel studies you as you slowly peel the button-up from his shoulders, letting it rest on his biceps.

“Darlin’,” he murmurs, realizing where you’re at, “I got stuff I should be doin’ today.”

“I know. Just…make me feel better first.”

He sighs, looking at you from beneath his brows. His shirt is hanging from his elbows, his palms planted firmly against your waist. His hands are squeezing you just enough to encourage you to keep going.

“Won’t be long. Promise. You can have your shirt back, after it.”

You angle your jaw and smile sweetly at him, and he lowers his to meet you halfway. Your breath hot against his lips, you whisper, “’s not like either of us are gonna last longer than five minutes, anyway,” and he closes the space between you.

When your lips connect, Joel pushes off the counter and begins backing you toward the couch.

“I love,” you breathe into the kiss, “when you do that.”

“Do what?” he mutters back, lifting the hem of your top.

You fall back onto the couch and Joel follows.

“Give in to me.”

He pulls back, eyes skimming across your half-naked body, t-shirt ruffled up to the bottom of your bare breasts.

“That’s all I do, baby.”

You open your legs beneath him and his hips slot between yours, hardening jeans rubbing against your sleep shorts. His tongue leaves wet marks down your neck and across your collarbone, hands creeping further up your naked torso.

When you buck your hips, Joel understands, and takes the waist of your shorts in tight fists, pulling them off your legs in one movement. His hand comes down to cup your sex and shift your underwear aside. He’s moving without thinking; it’s instinct by this point. He knows exactly what to do to get you where he wants you.

His fingers move around your folds, dancing in and out of your entrance, rubbing your clit. It’s not enough. It’s never fucking enough. You whine, and he listens again, slipping two fingers inside your wet cunt.

Your back arches, chest rising to meet his. A sigh of relief passes your lips, finally feeling his body on – and in – yours again.

“We– I don’t wanna– fucking hell, Joel– I can’t wait this long for you,” you whimper, as he dips his jaw to suck a bruise into your neck.

“Hm?”

“Too – fucking – long. I need you – all the fuckin’ time.”

He’s humming against your hot skin. Your fingers are knotting in his hair, dark brown flecked with streaks of gray tangled around your knuckles.

His fingers burrow deeper, stretching your wet pussy out just right. You clench around him.

“Need you,” you breathe again, “all the time.”

“You got me, pretty girl,” Joel coos, lips now dancing across yours. “I’m here now.”

Your foreheads lock like they always do, Joel’s eyes trained on yours like they always are. He fucking loves watching you, loves the way your eyes glaze over and you submit to whatever he wants to do to you. I started it, and I know how to finish it.

His thumb begins to rub your clit, pad drawing circles around and round. Your hips lift again in response, and you feel a smirk pull on Joel’s lips. You’re writhing under his touch, the entire room filling with filthy moans of his name and of yours, tangling together in the air and knotting as tight as the pressure building in your stomach.

You reach down and begin to unbuckle his belt, hands weaving around Joel’s wrist to gain access to his jeans. Your fingers graze the rough teeth of his zipper when you hear something outside.

The sound of a car door slamming.

Your lips freeze against Joel’s. His hand stops dead against your core.

“Was that–?”

The front door bursts open and the hallway fills with the early morning light.

Joel heaves himself off of you, scarpering to the other side of the room as you straighten up, slam your sensitive legs closed and kick your shorts under the couch. Your tee is long enough to cover your thighs, only if you stay seated.

Your dad rounds the corner to the room just as you both assume position.

“Joel still around? His truck’s– Oh, hey, bud. What the hell you still doin’ here?”

Joel clears his throat. “She, uh– She said somethin’ was up with the TV. Bad signal or somethin’, right?”

“Right.” You nod almost furiously.

Your dad blinks. Looks from you, to Joel, to the TV behind him. Which is switched off.

You toe the line between still mad at your dad, and wanting to appear totally innocent. “Joel was just having a look. He, uh…switched it off.”

“Waitin’ for it to reboot.” Joel sways back to hold a steady – slick-covered – hand to the TV set. You wince as he notices your gleaming wet coating his fingers, unreadable expression on his face, and calmly holds them behind his back.

“That so?” your dad says, pouting his lips. “I didn’t notice anything last night.”

Joel doesn’t reply, instead choosing to let the moment pass in awkward silence until your dad changes the subject. Joel knows him better than most, and it works in the end, but you wish he’d just fucking say something to take your mind off of the hand he’s currently hiding behind his back and your shorts disturbing the dust under the couch.

“Left my hardhat,” your dad says, almost flatly. “You seen it, kiddo?”

You shake your head. “Nope.”

“You wanna help me look?”

Right now? With no pants on? And your best friend stood less than six feet away? You know what, I’m good, Dad.

“Not really.”

He sighs and shakes his head to Joel, a Can you believe her?

Joel sputters out a forced chuckle, which he cuts short when he notices your sharp glare in his direction.

When your dad disappears upstairs, you fish your shorts out and throw them on.

“That,” Joel leans into you, motioning to where your dad was just standing, “was too damn close, you hear?”

“How was I supposed to know he’d come back?” you hiss.

“If we’re–” another flappy hand movement between the two of you, “y’know, we gotta be on alert for any–”

“We–” you mimic his gesture, “thought we had an empty house. If he walks in on somethin’, then that’s–”

“Don’t tell me that’s on him, kid.” Joel tilts his head, inviting you to finish your sentence with something more sensible. Before you can answer, your dad calls out.

“Got it!”

His boots thud back down the stairs.

You and Joel spring back to your positions, an unassuming two meters of carpet separating you both. Your dad stands at the opposite end of the coffee table, holding his hardhat up like it’s a trophy.

“Alright,” you clap your hands, “see ya, then.”

You brush past him toward the kitchen, feigning grabbing a drink. In your wake, you hear him mumble something to Joel about you not forgiving him just yet. Joel doesn’t laugh.

Eventually, he doddles off to the door, and Joel slowly follows. You hear the click of the door handle, and the hallway floods with light again, tile floor painted with Joel’s silhouette. When the sound of the engine trudges off into the distance, the door slams shut, and his figure materializes beside you once again.

You’re holding a bottle of water against your lips. Not drinking. Joel takes the bottle and sets it down on the counter.

He doesn’t speak. Barely even looks at you. Just takes your waist and hoists you up onto the kitchen counter. It’s cold under your bare thighs, but he lifts your knees and tugs at the waistband of your shorts, slipping them off for the second time in, what, ten minutes?

You sit still and watch him, stood between your legs, looking you up and down. His gaze falls to his still soaked fingers, and with a blank expression, like it’s as normal as passing you the sauce over dinner, he lifts his hand.

“Wanna clean up your mess for me?”

He presses the pads of his fingers to your bottom lip. Asks you without words to part them.

Your mouth falls open, not because you tell it to, but because his words pour a fog over your entire body that dumbs you senseless. That same intoxicating drawl, the way his head tilts with every perfectly innocent question laced with just the right amount of filth to have you do whatever the fuck he tells you.

He pushes his fingers into your mouth, resting them on your tongue.

“Now, pretty girl. Put that mouth to good use.”

“Joel–” you mumble into his knuckles, but he shushes you.

“Clean. Them.”

In a fluttering haze, you close your mouth around his thick fingers and suck, tongue slipping over them, under, between. Joel watches almost dangerously, like a wild animal watching its prey. He’s focused entirely on your wet lips, the way they’re bobbing up and down over his knuckles.

His fingers are sweet, coated in your thick arousal, and when you loosen your jaw, he pushes them in further. Almost chokes you with the way he forces them back. His eyes are dark, clouded over by the way your pretty little mouth looks. The way it feels, choking and spitting all over him.

When your eyes close over, his free hand comes up to cup the back of your head.

“Look at me, baby,” he murmurs, and your eyes flutter back open; light seeps into your vision and chases everything but the man between your legs out of focus.

You can’t taste yourself on him anymore. He tastes like Joel again. But he doesn’t stop. His fingers hit the back of your throat, and he only withdraws them when you gag.

He slips out, soaked in your saliva, and his wet hand falls back to place on your thigh.

You’re breathing heavily, drool dripping from your lips, but you know for a fucking fact if you move to wipe it, he’ll stop you.

His grip on the back of your neck tightens suddenly.

“You wanna act like a little whore? You get treated like one.”

His hand moves to his waistband and he undoes his own belt, batting away your fingers when you try to help.

He lets you link your arms over his shoulders as he messily unzips his jeans, tugging them down only a little. His rough hand grabs your knee and hooks it over his elbow, opening your legs wide for him.

“J…”

“Shut up.”

Now’s not the time for talking. He’s got a glassy expression in his eye that you don’t recognize. He doesn’t want to fucking talk. He wants you to make him cum.

“Wanted me to fuck you on your dad’s couch, huh? Wanted to make a mess in his livin’ room?”

“Mhm,” you whine, and he lifts your ass up to bring a hand down on it. Shut up.

“’n what if he’d walked in a few minutes later than he did? Saw the pair of us? That what you want?”

You bite your lip and look at him under hooded lids; answer enough. Nah, you didn’t want your dad to see you guys. But, fuck, you liked the thought of being caught.

“Dirty fuckin’ girl,” he’s murmuring, lining up to your cunt, pre-cum soaking the reddened tip of his cock. You’re staring at it, mesmerized, mind totally blanked by it.

“Look at you,” he whispers roughly, “drunk on it, aren’t you darlin’? You want it inside you?”

You nod, but it doesn’t matter. The slightest movement of your head and he’s pushing inside you, stretching your tight hole around the thick head of his cock.

Joel groans and his head falls back, eyes on the ceiling. He makes it halfway in before he’s pulling back again.

“Fuck,” you whisper.

“Shut – the fuck – up,” he replies, hips pushing forward into yours again.

You bite back a whine as he pushes further and further, filling you up, pain and pleasure and fucking bliss rippling through you, driven by Joel.

He wastes no time letting you adjust, no long, slow strokes. No tender kisses or fingers guiding his dick in. He picks up a dangerous pace from the outset, hips snapping into yours, bouncing you against the kitchen counter.

This is what this is, isn’t it? This whole thing between you guys. You have needs; Joel has needs. You’re just both coincidentally very good at helping the other meet their needs. What’s wrong with that, right?

Your head starts to swim with the feeling of Joel’s cock spearing you, the image of your kitchen floating in and out of focus, the thought of being one doorway away from being caught. You imagine Marcia in her backyard, almost in plain view of you two right now, seeing you propped up on the counter with your dad’s best friend between your legs, fucking the hell out of you.

And then your eyes find Joel again, beads of sweat at his forehead, cheeks flushed. He meets your lazy gaze and his hand takes your jaw, thumb and finger on each side.

“Good?” he asks, breathless, teeth gritted.

You nod.

Then Joel nods. “Good.” His eyes close over and he fucks you even harder onto his length, hurting so good every time your bodies connect.

The heat is stifling, not from the Texan summer, but from the two of you – sweating, panting, fucking off one another, bodies slipping against and sticking. The air fills thick with your stifled moans, Joel’s bitten grunts, the slapping of skin, your wet mixing with his.

You can’t take it anymore. Your head lulls back with a loud, long moan. Joel knows that moan.

“Think I should let you cum?” he asks. “You think you deserve it?”

“Fuck – please – Joel,” you’re panting, and he spanks your ass again. It doubles you over; your head collapses against his shoulder.

“Mm,” he hums, contemplating. “Dunno if you do, babygirl.”

“L-let me cum,” you plead, tears falling from your eyes, electricity whirling around your core. Your head rolls around on his strong shoulder. “’m so close.”

“Know you are, darlin’. ‘s too easy to do this to you,” Joel pants, breath jerking each time his hips do. “Get so wound up for me, every damn time.”

“Joel,” you’re begging now, unable to loosen your grip on his shoulders. “Fucking – please.”

“Come over for five minutes and you can’t keep your hands off me, can you?”

You whimper in response, the feeling between your legs turning to tightly-wound pain. Your hands have come down to hold onto the edge of the counter, marble cutting into your damp skin under your grip.

“Want to…Want…”

“Tell me, baby. Talk.”

“Want to cum, Joel,” you pine, eyes screwing shut.

“I’m gonna let you, pretty girl. You don’t gotta worry about that. Just gotta ask nicely, huh?”

“Fuck,” you whisper, stars and tears clearing from your vision to reveal him once more. You don’t have the fucking energy to beg him anymore. Not like this. “Please, Joel.”

“Nicer.”

“Please let me cum, promise I’ll be good. I’ll be quiet.”

He laughs, some smug, cocky laugh. If you had a sliver of energy and half the feeling in your body, you’d bat his arm.

“Don’t want you to be quiet, angel. You wanted to get caught, remember? Get us caught, then. Let ‘em all hear just what you’re up to.”

“No,” you moan, head shaking, “don’t wanna get caught. Just w-wanna cum. Please, Joel…”

You shake your head, pathetic beg painted all over your face. Joel’s expression falters, softens, only for a nanosecond, but you know him well enough to notice it. Something in his exterior breaks, something cracks.

“Then why didn’t you fuckin’ say so?” he coos. His arms wrap around you – finally – holding you up against his torso, his lips pressed to your ear. “Come on, darlin’, you can let go.”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before it happens. Your orgasm floods over you, pulsing from your soaking pussy up and across your stomach, lighting your shoulders and tightening your grip on Joel. You bite into his shoulder, muffling a sob as your walls contract, coil snaps, tension relieves.

You fucking hurt. All over. You don’t even feel him pull out, don’t realize he’s gone until he’s pumping cum all over your stomach, jacking himself to the sound of you coming undone. It’s only when you come around and feel the hot wet rolling down your tummy that you notice.

Joel’s breathing is labored. His dark tee has sweat patches under the arms, along his chest. You can feel it on his back.

You lean against him for what feels like hours, legs either side of him, his soft dick on your stomach, cum seeping into your panties. He lets you, just holds you tight and gently sways, listening to your breath slowly steadying, feeling your body stop shaking.

His voice is nothing but vibrations under your cheek, resting safely on his chest. Your ears are still ringing too loud to actually hear the words he says.

When you don’t reply, Joel’s hands cup your cheeks and lift your head to face him. You read the words on his lips.

“Need to know you’re okay before I go.”

“I’m okay,” you mumble.

“Can you walk?”

Your eyes roll back by themselves as he takes a step back, one hand around yours, the other braced in case you fall. You slip off the counter shakily, and, with as much effort as it’d probably take to go for a hike right now in the sun, you stand straight.

“I can take it,” you tell him.

Joel takes a deep breath. “Know you can, baby. Did so well for me.” He tugs his tee down over your stomach to cover the mess he’s made. “You want help cleaning up?”

You give one lazy shake of your head, almost entirely leaning on your shoulder. “I’m gonna head for a shower anyways.”

He takes your shorts and kneels, pulling them back over your legs one by one. You’re bracing yourself on his shoulders, and he stands as he settles them on your waist.

Joel gives your hand a gentle pull and leads you down the hallway. You walk with him, knees weak, to the front door. Joel holds it open and you let go of his fingers to step into the burning sun, hand coming up to shield your eyes. The breath of fresh air wakes you up from your state a little.

“Bright one,” you murmur, as his shoulder comes to meet yours.

“Oh, mornin’, Joel,” Hank calls from the sidewalk as he hobbles by, newspaper under his arm. He sings your name and you nod back in greeting. “You’re both up ‘n about early.”

“Broken TV,” Joel waves back, turning to look at you, “and a few other things needed fixin’.”

Hank nods and keeps walking. When he rounds the corner toward his own house, you glance back at Joel.

“What?” you ask.

“Still wearin’ my shirt.”

“You want it back now? Here ‘n now?”

“If you’re offering a striptease, baby, I’ll take it. Out here or inside, I don’t mind.”

You slap his arm and turn back to head inside. “I’ve had enough of you today.”

“You call me anytime that TV starts playin’ up, darlin’,” he calls over his shoulder.

You blindly throw your middle finger up over your shoulder in response, and feel his strong fingers wrap around your wrist. He tugs you back, and you swirl around to meet his stoic gaze.

“Day or night,” he tells you, “you call me.”

He walks off to his truck.

----------

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leclsrc · 1 year

Text

sweet pea ✴︎ cl16

genre: friends to lovers, dad charles/pregnancy au, fluff!, humor, super slight angst

word count: 4.6k

“I thought the puking was food poisoning,” he says. “Jesus, you know how many takeout places I’ve avoided lately?” “Well, it’s not Panda Express. It’s your alien sperm.”

Or: you finally reap what you sow after fooling around with your best friend. The reaping in question is a kid.

notes... some nsfw allusions, nothing too bad. if pregnancy isnt ur thing this is all about it so.

auds here... i hated this for a long time so i thought id never post it hahahah but i will now bec i just redid some scenes and its okay in my eyes... also this is a bit overdue. i hope u like it everyone! :) title from this

It’s an hour before the race and you’re absent from your usual spot greeting friends and guests along the paddock. Instead, you’re leaned against the wall of the tiny motorhome bathroom, silently digging your toes into your sandals. Charles knocks twice before trying to open the door and succeeding. He beams when he sees you, goes, “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

He offers a hand, but you let your eyes shut, refusing to take it. You fail to even make eye contact, holding up the plastic stick that’d been in your clammy grip for about twenty minutes. It’s an omen, a portent, a cursed thing, casting your best friend into silence.

It’s cold and sterile in the bathroom—a stark contrast to where other families might find out they’re pregnant for the first time. You imagine a lemon yellow room bathed in noon sunlight and a happy balding doctor going “It’s positive, mama!” You picture a white family SUV in the parking lot, a happy blonde couple jumping into each other’s arms with unadulterated happiness.

Instead, you get: “Do you have COVI—oh.”

“Yeah.” You say, pursing your lips. You swallow. “Oh.”

“I thought the puking was food poisoning,” he says. “Jesus, you know how many takeout places I’ve avoided lately?”

“Well, it’s not Panda Express. It’s your alien sperm,” you counter, lifting yourself from the wall and bumping past Charles on your way out and into his room. He follows, brows knitted together, muttering something French under his breath.

“By that logic, that’d mean you’re an alien now, too. See, your kinks have finally met their match.”

You turn, effectively stopping him in his tracks. He almost collides with you, his eyes trained determinedly on the positive pregnancy test in his hand. You cross your arms and narrow your eyes, annoyed. “Seriously. Jokes? Right now?”

“I mean—”

“Whatever,” you say, waving him off. “Just go and drive. We can talk about this later.”

“I’ll dedicate the race to the little alien.” He giggles, mimicking a champagne spray, waving the invisible bottle back and forth toward your still-not-showing stomach. His accent switches to a measly English one when he goes, “Oh my Gawd! And there goes the alien Leclerc! Wins in first! From pole!”

“Get out. Or so help me God this baby is growing up without you.”

He ends up winning. (“Should I dedicate every race to the ali—” “Stop calling it that.”)

—

This is nothing but a final culmination of your very layered relationship with Charles. For years, you two had comfortably gone by the “best friends” label, with a hidden “with benefits” clause. You’d grown up together, separated only when you went to university in New York. Your re-arrival in Monaco, coupled with the both of you having grown older and more independent, marked the start of the sex.

It works like clockwork. To relieve stress, to celebrate, to cure boredom. At some point, both of you just inwardly admitted there was a certain weakness to it. A glass of wine, a stick of tobacco, and you’d give in to the temptation easily. Then, in the morning—sometimes in Monaco, other times in foreign countries where your body feels like it’s still three a.m.—you come to a mutual agreement to never do it again.

But you always do, laughing in between kisses, mumbling whispered nothings between the sheets (or in the bathtub, or against the wall, or—that one time—on the balcony.) And now there’s proof of it. Well, barely any yet, you realize, staring at yourself in the mirror of Charles’ hotel room. You turn and flop yourself onto the bed, but face-up. You inch yourself toward the headboard and lean against it in a half-seated position.

“I can’t believe I’m…” You sigh. Finally, the jokes fizzle. This is the real talk.

Charles burrows himself next to you, shirtless and in a stupid pair of boxers with red hearts all over them. You’d gotten them as a Valentine’s Day gag two years ago, but now you’re thinking of the future, of telling this kid their dad has a pair of heart-decorated boxers. Momentarily, and temptingly so, you weigh the options of telling Charles you were joking and running away before sunup.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asks. He’d learned the phrase from some obscure American rom-com, if you recall correctly. He uses it constantly, and for many years, improperly.

“I’ll give you them for free,” you say, breathless with worry. “We’re having a kid.”

A hand places itself on your knee. You almost jerk away, but you relax. “What do you want to do?”

“With?” You ask, emptily. There’s so much to do. “The baby?”

“Well, I mean, yeah, but also us.”

“We’re not dating,” you say, a bit sharper than intended.

“We could.” He pauses. “For its sake.” He pokes your abdomen.

“I don’t—” You inhale, trying to reorganize all your thoughts. “I don’t want people thinking we’re suddenly dating and engaged and happy just because I’m about to pop a Charles Jr. out. I mean, what are you going to do with your racing? With a kid on the way, how’s travel going to work? My job? My masters?”

“I think… I think you and I are lucky enough,” he says slowly, “to be able to weigh all these options without losing too much time or resources. I will support you no matter what, and you know that. And really, who cares if people think we ‘date’ because of the baby? You and I have been ‘dating’ since we were eleven.”

You don’t realize you’re crying until your laugh is mixed with a sob. You don’t know if you’re sad, pissed, overwhelmed, loved—or all four. “Okay? So… let’s both think about it. More you than me. And tomorrow, we can weigh this all over again. Let’s sleep on it. Remember? La nuit—”

“—porte conseil,” you finish tearily. “Okay.”

—

It’s two weeks later. Charles gets stuck in the paddock doing something or other for Sunday, so you’re left to your own devices in the parking lot. Five minutes of waiting turns to fifteen, then a half hour. That’s the catalyst for your mid-evening freakout—suddenly you’re thinking about all the times you and this weird thing inside you might be alone, left for work, by an athlete dad.

“Are you okay?” A voice asks when you’re heaving out another dry, panic-induced sigh. You turn, finding it familiar, and see Seb behind you. He may have been Charles’ teammate, but he’s a friend to you, too, and you find he’s always the most grounded in heated discussions.

“Seb,” you croak, caught off guard. “I’m fine.” Your voice breaks on the ine, and suddenly fat tears roll quietly down your face.

You tell him eventually, when he asks you again if you’re okay, making him the second person to know; still, the telling doesn’t get easier. You didn’t even tell Charles, you think. You merely shoved a Clearblue stick in his face and waited for the goofy reaction that would undoubtedly meet your ears.

“A baby,” he says softly. Happily. “Congratulations. This is a big step… but you don’t sound excited.”

“I mean,” you say in between waves of tears, “I am? I am. But—it happened so fast—we’re not even officially together—and Charles is—”

“Do I need to talk some sense into Charles?” Seb asks suddenly, concerned.

“No. He’s—he’s being great. Really supportive.” You wipe the tears and fresh ones come. “He’s happy. You know him. I think I’m just overwhelmed. I mean I’m the one who’s toting this baby around.”

“Take it one step at a time,” he muses. “See a doctor, work out non-race schedules with Mattia, get everything in order. If I know you, this baby will be in the best hands. And that’s not even counting Charles.” He pulls you in for a hug that lasts ages, one that says thank you and I love you better than words. You inhale, find the tears have stopped. You realize what comes after this—it’s telling everyone else. Lily, your best friend. Carlos. Charles’ family. Your family. The fans, oh God you’d forgotten about the fans. The social media announcements.

Charles strolls into the parking lot—runs, more like, with apologies spouting out of him, just two minutes after Seb leaves. He presses a delicate, apologetic kiss to your forehead, a hand on your stomach. “Hey,” he says. Then, to your abdomen, covered by a sweatshirt, “Hey there, alien.” You wonder what this will be like in two months. In seven. In nine.

—

You tell your families over lunch on a lucky off day. There is little surprise—just tears from both your moms and Arthur teasingly asking you to recount the details of conception. You’re in a sundress serving crostini when Pascale pulls you aside to the back of the yard.

She presses a kiss to your cheek, one of conviction and faith. “I always knew,” she says. “You’re going to be a wonderful mom.”

—

The drivers all find out one way or another, news trickling through the grapevine like honey. You share it to Lily first, and of course she tells Alex. You tell Lewis, too, over spring rolls that he claims will power up the baby when it’s born. Charles tells Pierre, who tells Yuki, and Carlos, who tells Lando. You tell Mick, who hugs you and says, “Oh my god! I already knew, Seb told me. I kept wanting to say congratulations.”

It’s a matter of two weeks before everybody knows. You know because you’ve barely taken a step into the dimly lit Ferrari motorhome when you halt and bolt back outside, harboring yourself a few metres away at a safe distance. Charles, who had been walking beside you, arm looped around your waist, turns, puzzled.

“What’s going on?” He asks.

“No. Nuh-uh. It smells in there.”

He sniffs the darkness, fumbles for the light switch. “No it doesn’t.”

“It smells like”—you grit your teeth, trying to identify the stench—“cheese. And champagne.”

“Why would it smell like che—”

He bangs the light open and illuminates a surprise party. The entire grid starts cheering, having unheard the entire conversation. There’s a huge banner that says CONGRATULATIONS PARENTS, and on a makeshift table in the centre, an assortment of cake slices, cheese, and flutes of champagne. Charles laughs with delight at the surprise, and then turns to find you squatting on the ground, trying to quell your stomach.

“Give me five,” you say, waving him off.

He returns after ten to find you still trying to calm the waves of nausea. You hear his footsteps and heave yourself up, standing to face him. “I asked Esteban and Max to evacuate the place of cheese and champagne. It’s just coffee and cake now. I even got three fans going.”

“Desolée,” you say, miserable. He wraps two big arms around you, nestling his chin atop your head. “I feel like a high-maintenance monster.”

“Don’t be silly. You’re not the monster. The alien is.”

“I told you to stop calling it that,” you say, shutting your eyes and leaning into his touch. “Before it catches on.”

“Okay. E.T.? Spock? Open to suggestions.” Hand in yours, he walks you gently to the party, arising loud cheers again. In between sips of hot water, he says, “How about Chewy?”

—

The sense of smell proves to be useful in endeavours elsewhere.

“You never clean your car,” you say, lying horizontal on the leather seat and picking bits of dirt off. “I can smell month old Cheetos.”

Charles watches you obsessively nitpick at the detailing. “Last time you looked like this, I gave you a baby.”

“One more word,” you warn sharply.

“But seriously, be careful. The alien might get stressed.”

You brace yourself for the stupid words that will indubitably follow.

“Don’t worry. If it falls out I’ll plop it in a race car and it’ll be the next Hamilton. Imagine how light it’ll be.”

There it is.

—

Your first trip to the doctor’s is interesting. Charles insists on wearing a wig because he’s so easily recognized in Monaco, so now you look like you’re conceiving a baby with Weird Al Yankovic.

The doctor wheels in a cart with a monitor and all the necessary equipment, and even if it suddenly feels all too real, Charles squeezes your hand and you’re calm again. “I’m back,” she says, sliding into a wheely chair beside you and gelling your stomach.

“Hi, Back,” Charles responds in a crude, twangy Texan accent. The dad humor starts early, you suppose.

You grit your teeth to try and excuse his embarrassing behavior, but suddenly the monitor clicks open and there it is. It looks like the ones in movies, print-outs from friends, but at the same time it doesn’t. It looks different. Special. Yours. You zero in on it, breathless. That’s yours. The doctor says a couple minor things—nothing worrisome—and when you turn to relay it to Charles in case he’d zoned out, you find his face splotchy.

“Are you crying?”

“That’s ours,” he says, dipping down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“It’s mine and Charles’, not mine and Bob Ross’,” you say, but you pull him closer anyway.

You order two printouts. The week next, you discover that Charles snuck back in to order an extra eight and has mailed them out to friends and drivers. You find out because Kylian Mbappe messages you “Due in April? Make me godfather!” on Instagram.

—

Gradually, you fall into a pattern of being queasy constantly. You get nitpicky with meals, and not irrationally—Charles had fed you a spicy hotdog and you’d gone half a bite before hurling it, and your breakfast, into the nearest toilet. You find solace in your cravings—all of which happen to be the same everyday.

Chinese takeout from just about any restaurant ends up being your best friend. You somehow can’t stomach anything but that specific cuisine, much to your own surprise. You find new ways to combine them with each other. Rice paper wrappers with chow mein. Hotpot with fried rice. If you’re not eating Chinese, you reduce your appetite to crackers or hot tea to avoid becoming too nauseated.

It’s poetic almost, the way he sets out the food carefully, in the order you like them. He always presses a kiss to your forehead after.

Around this time, you develop a crazy sex drive, waking Charles up at numerous points of the night, begging into his neck for something, anything. You last an hour before you’re asking again. This proves especially difficult before races, where Charles gives in a bit too easily and Carlos has to knock on the door, going “You have to finish somewhere else too, Charles!”

—

You insist Charles hold off on telling the fans, for a few months. It goes okay until your outfits on the paddock evolve into the variety of “Charles’ hoodies” to hide the increasingly evident bloat of pregnancy, and nosy fans start speculating all over Twitter. That’s when he sits you down and gently tells you he thinks it’s time you both announce it.

You’re sitting beside him in his hotel room, after two calls with his bosses, trying to formulate the proper announcement. You download PicsArt to make it pretty and clean and formatted—because the poor guy was about to post a Notes app screenshot—and then it’s on the Internet.

“She’s truly MOTHER,” one fan comments. Despite yourself, you press the heart icon beside it. It’s your bit of comfort when you catch sight of the nastier comments under the post.

—

You’re ironically gifted an ancient 80s aerobic exercise DVD for mums by Lily and Alex. You’re sure it’s older than you. Charles, though, in his valiant effort to connect with you and Chewy, does the routine everyday. You wake up to the electronic synthpop and Charles doing booty squats in the living room.

The permed instructor smiles through the scratchy 80s quality and goes, “You are rocking it, momma!”

“You hear that?!” Charles pants. “I am rocking it!”

—

Your first parenting fight ends up being one over the baby’s name. Yeah. Of all things. You don’t know why you’re so worked up about it, considering you don’t even know the gender of the baby yet. You arrive in Monaco to mark the first of five off days and Charles makes some random, offhand joke about naming the baby Daryl, and you suddenly start rambling on and on about how it’s too ugly, even if you’d never thought about names before now.

“It’s not going to be Daryl. It won’t be Daryl,” Charles says, hands on your shoulders. You heave another sob. “Please stop crying. You never cry. I’m a bit freaked out.”

“It’s—just—that,” you hiccup, “I—don’t—want to name a—our—baby—Daryl.”

“Yeah, yep,” he says, soothingly. “I got you. It’s not going to be Daryl. Never. We don’t need to decide anything. You gonna calm down for me?”

“I can’t—stop—crying,” you snivel desperately, burying your face in your hands.

He presses a firm kiss to the corner of your quivering lips, and you tug him in for a real one. You calm down when you pull away, exhaling. You gaze at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“Blame the alien,” you sniff.

He kisses your stomach, which shows signs of pregnancy more and more as the days pass. “Hear that?” He whispers into the skin. “She’s blaming you, Chewy.”

—

Your next trip to the doctor’s is with your appointed private physician, Dr. Davies. Two minutes before the doctor walks in, you make a serious and compelling order for Charles to remove the Weird Al wig, which he does—but stores in your bag, “just in case.” It’s also his opporunity to play teacher’s pet and showcase how involved he is in your pregnancy, which, judging by the amount of weird cultish pregnancy books he’s burned through, is very much so.

“It’s gonna be a boy,” you declare while you’re being gelled up. You’re past the point of denial and bloat, now showing way too obviously. “Mom’s intuition.”

“Well, all the books say it’s a girl,” he says proudly.

“Yeah, they also say drinking lemon juice while trying to conceive gives you a girl. I’m sure scientific accuracy was their greatest objective.”

“Girl.”

“Boy,” you say dismissively.

“Girl.”

“Boy.”

“Girl.” It’s not Charles this time, it’s the physician, with a small smile on his face.

You squeeze Charles’ hand so hard you’re half sure it’s chipped off and fallen to the tiled floor. You’re having a girl. Normally Charles would turn and make some petty statement about he’d been right, but—you’re having a girl. A pretty baby girl. You almost can’t believe it. He totally can’t, pressing kisses to your hair and face.

You let him buy pink paint later that day.

—

You predict it, but it comes—fights and squabbles over nothing at all.

First it’s about work, then housing, then his job, then the danger of his job. It’s petty, and usually you storm off in an emotional cloud of irrationality, brought down after a talk, a play-by-play, compromise, reassurance. It’s hard when you’re carrying around a human being, you want to say. Try being in my shoes.

“Can we talk?” Charles says, in the thick of another fight. You’re on the balcony of your flat, mulling over nothing at all. Your stomach is heavy, you’re always exhausted, you never feel pretty anymore even if Charles is always unfailing at telling you you are.

“Okay,” you murmur, turning. You’ve already developed a habit of placing your hands on your bump always.

He inhales. “I’m scared.”

This is a first. And you realize—in these six months of being pregnant, Charles has been your rock, but has never expressed much fear until now. He’s always been good. Great. Supportive. “Of what?”

“Of—becoming a dad.” He pauses, as if to weigh his words. “I don’t have… a blueprint anymore.”

It dawns on you what he’s talking about. You accept the hug when it comes, holding the nape of his neck. He isn’t crying, but is close to it. His voice is shaky when he continues, whispers against your ear. “What if I don’t know what to do?”

“Baby,” you say, weakly. You push him gently so he’s looking into your eyes. “If the way you’ve taken care of me the past how many months is any indication of how you’ll treat this alien, I know she’s in good hands. You’ve got so much of your dad in you. You’re caring, sweet, you even got a headstart on the dad jokes.” He laughs. “I want this. And the only reason I ever did was because I knew you’d be with me, being an amazing dad, and an even better…”

“Boyfriend,” he says. His eyes hold hesitance—but you quell it with a nod.

“Boyfriend,” you echo. “For now.”

—

The nursery looks like a nursery in February. It was a storage room in Charles’ flat that had really, at some point, become yours, too. Full of boxes and old suits and memories, it’d taken weeks to properly store everything and make way for the furniture. Charles, of course, insists on painting it himself, with the shade of pink he purchased especially for the room.

He hits his head twice and touches the wet paint. There’s a handprint embossed above the bassinet. (Yours is next to it, at his insistence.)

—

You’re a yoga ball by mid-March, having trouble sleeping and dealing with everything being swollen. Charles helps you through it all, turning the heating up and down every time you get even a bit scratchy with the temperature in the flat or motorhome. Your cravings also morph again at this point, into rigatoni that Charles cooked sometime over winter; he requests Ferrari add an induction stove to every race weekend motorhome that you can make it to so he can cook it at your beck and call.

The season begins. Every race is dedicated to Chewy, and every race is won.

—

It’s early morning in late March when Dr. Davies sends you an email with a one-liner that sounds firm enough to set you and Charles in place after two races that involve you being flown around.

Absolutely NO more air and long car travel for Mommy.

“Can we manage?” You mope, rereading the email, genuinely distressed as you watch your boyfriend pack for Australia. It’s a long haul flight, with only one stopover in Zurich, and you’re filled with anxiety. There isn’t a compromise—until you’re popping the baby out, Charles needs to try and score the title.

“You know I can always drop out of races,” he says softly. “That’s what reserve drivers are for.”

“It’s not the same,” you argue. “I’m just worried.”

“You’re not due ’til the 12th,” he assures you. “I’ll be back then, even if it means dropping a race.”

He leans down and kisses you softly, rubbing your shoulders and ankles. “I’ll be back before you know it. Get some sleep first, okay?” He repeats the sentiment to your stomach, adding a kiss and a bye bye Chewy. You drift off to a sorrowful sleep when he departs, a slow ache in your lower back blooming that feels just like many of the other slow aches lately.

You’re up after a half hour with discomfort. You suppose something is just up with your sleep position, and readjust yourself. The discomfort sharpens, then melts. You sigh with relief, a long whistley exhale, and sleep again.

Bliss lasts about three hours, then you’re up again, groaning. You’re not due for a prenatal yoga class until four in the afternoon, and your body isn’t used to being awake. Hell, it’s not used to being this pained. You shift once, twice, trying to sleep with fruitless and exhausting attempts. It takes a while, but in between shifting positions and trying to make yourself yawn, it registers.

“Chewy.” You groan, cupping your gigantic bump. “Seriously?”

—

The first person you call is Charles, naturally. He should be in Zurich, but maybe signal is spotty or something, because none of your texts or calls ping. So you move down the list to the person you know will be in Monaco and not off racing, like everybody you know is—and it just so happens to be Dr. Davies.

You always thought Charles would be nowhere but beside you when you went into labor. But you’re here clutching the straps of your overnight bag being driven to the hospital, exhale, inhale, try Charles, try Carlos. Exhale, inhale. Try Charles. Try Carlos. Your contractions don’t quell; they only grow in intensity and you wince the whole ride through.

“Looks like it’s going to be a fast labor,” Dr. Davies says when he’s done checking you in and making sure everything is in order. You nod, breathless and flushed. You’ve called your mum here and she’s on the way with Charles’ but—Charles is the issue.

“I will weld myself shut if it means I’m giving birth without the dad,” you beg. “Without Charles.”

Charles, who picks up after forty-five minutes of radio silence. He’s in the jet. Give him an hour. “I will pilot this plane myself if I have to. Don’t do anything—don’t make any decisions without me.”

“Too fucking late.” You say, wheezy with labor. “I’m putting N/A on the certificate.”

“You carry Chewy around for nine months and I don’t get to meet her first?” He asks, in a last-ditch effort to cheer you up. You tear up, splotchy and red all over.

“We can’t call her Chewy. We never discussed names. And oh God it can’t be Daryl,” you say, whimpers turning into half-sobs of overwhelm and yearning. You’re scared. You need Charles, who’s been with you for every week, every milestone, every kick, every rigatoni craving. But he’s not here. You have Dr. Davies, and in five minutes you’ll have your mum and Pascale, but they are not Charles. You breathe heavy into the phone.

“I love you,” you say finally. “Please, I love you.”

“I love you more,” he says gently. “I love you. I’ll be there, okay? Just—just wait for me.”

—

Lil 3s ago

does it hurt?

i know it does but i’m trying to make u feel better

love from houston. i will call you ASAP.

You 1s ago

yeah it hurts so bad

apparently they don’t do epidurals

fuck europe

—

In between quiet periods and intense ones, you finally reach your peak. A nurse takes one glance and nods and your bed is disengaged and wheeling around again. Pascale squeezes your left hand, your mum the other. “Wait!” You pant, voice spent, totally tired, flustered.

The nurses exchange a look. “Ma’am—”

“No, you don’t understand. The dad, my—the dad—he’s out—and I don’t.” You pause, the onset of a cry coming on. Pascale takes the lead, firm, asking for a few more moments of patience.

“I can’t do this,” you say hopelessly, throwing your flushed head back. “No. Not without Charles.”

“I’m here,” Charles says, bounding through the door. He’s in official Ferrari gear and his hair is disheveled and he's clearly been crying. Had Chewy not been wedging her way out, you would’ve kissed him right then. You feel nothing but love.

“You’re a sneaky fucker,” you say instead, and the rest is a blur.

—

It’s an hour before the race and Charles is absent from his usual spot greeting friends and guests along the paddock. Instead, he’s leaned against the wall of the motorhome, silently digging his toes into his shoes. You knock twice before trying to open the door and succeeding. You beam when you see him. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

His two girls.

Julia stretches out a chubby hand, but he smiles teasingly, refusing to take it. He holds eye contact, holding up the ring that’d been in his clammy grip for about twenty minutes. It’s a symbol, a sign, a blessed thing, casting his girlfriend into silence.

It’s a bit dark—a stark contrast to where other guys might propose for the first time. He imagines a Caribbean beach bathed in sunset. He pictures a Jeep in the sand, a happy blonde couple jumping into each other’s arms with unadulterated happiness. He figures if you don’t like this, he’ll pay for that.

Instead, he gets: “You’re a doofus—oh.”

“Yeah.” He says, pursing his lips. He swallows, gives you the biggest smile of his life. “Oh.”

It’s perfect.

#f1 #leclsrc1000 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc x reader #f1 x reader

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princessbrunette · 4 months

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alright. in your profesh opinion bcos my brain kept going back n forth

jj and rafe being called "dad" vs "daddy"

do they both like both, or one over the other, is one of them a firm no. like what are the vibes here

the professional has arrived take a seat get comfy cuddle a throw pillow.

like what we discussed on your blog, you start calling jj dad and it’s kinda like a fun silly little joke yk ?? like yeah this is dad <3 he tells me what to do ! <3 and jj is just like ok girlie whatever u want idc. and honestly, he’s fine with dad domestically just in your day to day life. but when you fuck, he prefers daddy. he’s a little more simple as a man, and daddy is just more sexual to him. you’re a long term future investment to him, yk? he wants to actually give you kids one day (so does rafe but his pea brain doesn’t go too far ahead) so he wants to kinda keep that separate to sex probably .

rafe is the opposite. he looooves “daddy” domestically. wants you to call him daddy infront of his friends when you bring his drink over from the golf cart, say “stoppp daddy” infront of barry when he manhandles you a little too hard to sit still, even smile sweetly n say “thank you daddy” when he taps his card at the nail salon infront of the lady who did them….. but the minute things heat up….. its just easier for him to shorten the word yk! “y’gonna fuckin’ listen to dad next time or what, huh?” all aggressive in your ear whilst he pounds you from the back, holding your face in his grip. likes it when you clamber all over him after a party, drunk and loose, slurring out a “c’n i have it please, dad?” even just a simple “hi dad” against his mouth when he joins you in the shower, him leaving a big wet smooch against ur mouth <3

#hanasnx #rafe cameron prompt #jj maybank prompt

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toxicanonymity · 1 year

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Non con sex pollen fic where Joel and the reader are waken up in a random room together and he recognizes who you are because he used to be friends with ur dad , he starts begging the people who took them to let him out because the reader isn’t the only person that’s ended up in this situation with him, and then there’s smoke that enters the room but it only has an effect on Joel, if you even decide to turn this into anything can you add oral f receiving pls and do the smut however you want! I’ll love it either way <3 IM SO SORRY ITS ALOT

Lazaretto (sex pollen)

2.6k ONE SHOT / joel x afab!reader / master

Part 2 HERE

WARNINGS: non-con, sex pollen, manhandling, oral f receiving, unsafe P in V sex, anal, reader menstruates. poorly edited. Horror elements apparently lol idk how sex pollen is normally written. 18+

You wake up in a heavy-duty four-wall tent with a burly stranger, both of you in hospital gowns. You were sedated and you're still groggy when a man in a biohazard suit explains you’re being quarantined in a makeshift lazaretto outside the overcrowded army hospital. Neither of you were bitten in the chaos earlier, but it’s a precaution. You'll be monitored for 24 hours, treated with an antifungal fog, then monitored for another 24 hours before they release you. You sign a release about potential side effects which include psychological and sexual disturbances.

He doesn’t elaborate, but Joel is clearly disturbed as if it’s not his first time.

“No,” he says. “No!" He screams, then begs, "Let me out, or let her out, I don’t care.”

“I’m not authorized to let anyone out.”

“Then put me in my own tent!"

“I’m afraid we’re far past capacity. Most units have three.”

“Can you at least tie me up or somethin’?”

“I’m afraid not.”

"Then get me away from her!"

You're offended and confused. The quarantine man leaves. For a while, neither of you talk except to say some variation of, “this is bullshit.” Joel seems genuinely distressed. You have your own problems to worry about. You’re at the tail end of your period and don’t have any provisions, not even any underwear. You want to check and see if you’re still bleeding, but not with this stranger in the tent.

You ask him, “What are you so worried about?”

He starts to say something but stops himself and says, “I’ll tell you later.”

"What did I do?" You ask and your temples feel weak.

He recognizes how mean he must have sounded. "Nothing at all, sugar. It's me. I had. . . a bad reaction in the past."

He changes the subject and tells you he recognizes you. It hits you - Joel Miller - he used to run a smuggling route with your dad. Life has hardened Joel into a much stronger, more attractive man since then. He’s not a big talker, but he occasionally indulges your questions about pre-outbreak life. You start to really enjoy his company. For a minute at a time, you manage to forget about the scary circumstances.

There’s one old cot and a blanket. He says you can have them because he won’t be able to sleep anyway. You’re not comfortable but you manage to fall asleep. You wake up shivering and ask if he’ll join you. He hesitantly agrees, then settles in behind you. You grab his hand and hold it tight. You’re gushing between the legs. You expect a nice red spot on both your gowns in the morning, but that should be the least of your worries.

“Do you think we’re okay?” you whisper.

“Yeah, we’re okay,” he replies softly in your ear.

You start sniffling. “I’m scared.”

He tightens his arm over you. “I know, sugar. You’re gonna be alright. We’re alright.” You can hear his heart beating faster.

As you drift off to sleep, it’s impossible not to notice through your gowns when his dick hardens against you. He backs off a little but you push your ass back into him and tighten your grip on his hand. His chest swells against your back and you feel him inhale your hair, but he doesn't make a move and neither do you.

When you wake up, he’s lying on his stomach on the floor using his massive bicep as a pillow. Before he notices you’re awake, you subtly dip your finger into youreslf to check for your period, and it’s not there. You were just wet. You sit up and look at the back of your gown. Nothing. When he sees you’re awake and sits up, the fear returns to his eyes. He says, “I reckon the fog will come soon, now.” There’s no clock, but he senses it. He moves his jaw side to side anxiously and his eyes dart around the tent.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

He opens his mouth several times then stops before he manages to say it. “Look, if. . . If I do anything after they fog us. . . it’s not me, okay?"

"Okay. . .do anything like what?"

"It . . . The fog has an effect on certain people." He swallows and looks away. "Like a sexual effect. It can make you . . . Aggressive."

"Oh. . ."

"Listen. You can fight me off, do whatever you have to do, okay?"

"Okay."

Your heart beats faster wondering what's in store. You can’t imagine it’s that bad.

Finally, one side of the tent ripples as a small, circular portal is opened and something clicks into it. The tent begins to fill with fog. The fog smells faintly like a thunderstorm and settles toward the ground before it slowly rises. Joel backs away from it, sitting in the very corner of the tent as it spreads across the floor. As the fog continues to pour in, he stands up and turns his face toward the ceiling. But it reaches him. He tries not to breathe it, with his mouth in his gown, but it’s no use. He squats down, facing away from you.

He swallows. “I’m sorry.” His voice is shaky. He looks back at you one last time apologetically, then pinches his eyes shut and takes deep breaths. The fog valve is shut. For a few minutes, you can hardly see him.

You hear the sticky footsteps of his bare feet on the floor, then he gets close enough to see him through the fog, just a few feet away from you. His whole face has darkened. And it further darkens as he looks at you in a trance. He wets his lips like you’re something to eat. His chest rises and falls with heaving breaths.

Minutes ago, it was hard to imagine being afraid of him, but he’s a whole different man now. You get up from the cot, walk backwards to the opposite side of the tent, and sit in the corner.

He crosses the tent in two long, swift strides. As he looms over you, it’s impossible to ignore the massive tent in his gown or his muscular thighs.

“Get up,” he demands through the fading fog. You look down and stay where you are, pulling your gown over your knees, shrinking into yourself.

“GET UP NOW!” he yells with his mouth wide open, face red, hair bouncing.

You still don’t.

"I’m sorry,” he says, then darkens again. “But you're askin' for it.” He squats down and gently cups your face. “Get up.”

You don’t. “You don’t want to do this.” A last ditch effort: “I have my period!” But it only makes him more feral. You see it in his face right after you say it.

Joel grabs you roughly by both elbows and manhandles you to your feet, then pushes you over to the cot. He tears your gown off and throws you down on the cot face-up. He scans you head to toe. You futilely try to cover yourself with your arms and hands. You’d feel even more naked without the fog though, which still hangs in the air. You start to sit up and he forces you back down, pinning you with an arm across your chest. "Starving,” he growls in your ear, giving you butterflies. He grabs your hand off your pussy then shoves his own between your legs and the butterflies swarm to your core. You try and fail to keep your legs shut tight but the pressure of your thighs around his hand feels far too good between your legs.

“Joel, stop,” you plead. “You’re not yourself.” You beg him to stop, but you're getting wetter by the minute. His intensity turns you on.

“No use, darlin’.” He inserts his middle finger and breathes heavily. “Nothin’s stoppin’ this."

You still try, though. You thrash and kick, then he grabs you by the arms so hard his fingers dig deep into your muscles, practically to the bone. “Sit still, damnit.” He softens only for a moment. “Don't wanna have to hurt you.” Then he darkens again.

Your face gets cold and you swallow. He kneels at the foot of the cot and uses your thighs to violently yank you toward him so your ass is at the end. He pries your legs open and holds them that way with his massive hands. His mouth latches onto your pussy and you’re flooded with a rush of arousal as the hook of his nose begins to massage your clit. He really digs in, pressing his lips hard into you, thrusting his tongue inside you. A ball of tension gathers in your traitorous core and you twitch.

He’s grunting “Mm” as he sucks and laps. You squirm and he forces you still again and continues, ravenous to consume you. He looks up with black eyes, and the animal between your legs terrifies you. He intensifies his eating and you feel it coming. The next time he thrusts his tongue inside you, his nose drags up your clit. You moan and your spine arches as you see stars. He stops and watches you unravel with his head still firmly planted between your legs. Your eyes water with your pulsations as you stare up at the ceiling of the tent. He lifts his head and a lighter patch of his beard is just barely tinged with your period. He dug it out of you. He inserts his fingers and you clench around him with the aftershocks. You close your eyes and catch your breath.

He must stand up, because before you know it, you feel his tip at your entrance. Your body wants him inside you. You could make it easy on him, but you don’t want him to fuck you and regret it. It’s not just your body – you’re realizing you want him, too. You may be getting ahead of yourself, but it’s the product of a near-death experience, of being sealed in a tent with him for 24 hours, and of getting head within an inch of your life. The perfect storm. If you’re going to have him, it has to be under different circumstances or he may never want to do it again.

He begins to push in.

“Joel, no!” You squirm and thrash.

He sighs. “You're just gonna tucker yourself out like that.”

You still give it your best try, but he’s right. You’re no match for his strength. He overpowers you, pins you down with his weight, then shoves his thick cock into you with a grunt. Your wet little hole can hardly take him. You yelp as his unforgiving girth splits you open and fills you up. When his length retreats, you try to push him off, but you can’t. “You’re takin' it one way or another, darlin’.”

He bottoms out with a guttural roar like he’s charging into battle. He pounds you brutally, slamming to the hilt each time. It hurts but it isn’t long before it starts to feel okay, then good, and then, the delicious stretch of his girth feels like something you never knew you needed. After a minute or two, you stop squirming and thrashing. It's happening, and you might as well enjoy it.

When you stop fighting, he takes his weight off you and stands at the foot of the cot, your thighs in his hands, pulling you back on his dick as his hips snap into you. His hair is messy and his face and neck are splotched red. His big arms bulge out from under the gown. You’ve never seen such intensity on anyone’s face before.

After a few minutes of him pistoning into you, you feel another climax building. You whimper and he rails you even harder, sweating, grunting, growling. When you come, it’s a burst unlike anything you've ever felt. You hear yourself wailing as he fucks you through it. Your walls are still contracting around his cock when he grabs onto your hips for dear life and plunges into you with more force than ever.

You realize he’s going to come inside and yell, “No!” You try to get away. You try to fight back, but he’s too strong and determined. Rage falls across his face. A groan rips out of his throat as his cock erupts into you, pulsing massively, extending your climax longer than you thought possible. It’s a feeling you’ve never felt before.

Your whole body is spent. When he’s finished coming, he slides out of you and you lie there limp with your eyes closed. It’s quiet for a minute. The fog has settled more.

He groans softly. Then, "I'm sorry. . ." You open your eyes and sit up. You reach for him at the foot of the cot, but he backs away. It seems like he can't look at you. His eyes are tearful.

"It's okay. Look at me, Joel. It's okay."

It's quiet for a minute.

"God damnit,” he whispers. He covers himself and when your eyes follow his hand, it’s clear he’s hard again or it never went away. The fog has faded enough that it seems he at least has the wherewithal to jack off instead. "Close your eyes," he says as he turns away and wraps his hand around his cock. You study his eyes and they’re dark, but not as dark as they were. You lie down with your eyes shut and listen to his breath and the squish of his hand around his cock, wet with your slick.

The rhythmic squish gets closer and closer. You open your eyes to the darkest look on his face. He’s standing there at the foot of the cot, gown pushed up out of the way again as he strokes his stiff, imposing cock.

“Flip over,” he demands but gives you no time to comply. He grabs you under the arms.

“Okay, okay,” you comply and he forces you down on your stomach.

He wedges the tip of his cock between your cheeks, aligning himself at your asshole. You’re terrified. You beg, "no, wait," but he's not there anymore. It's not really him.

He plunges into your tight, virgin hole and you yelp in shock. His hands on your hips lift your ass in the air and you bury your head in your arm, biting your own skin as he yanks you back into him, making your ass flush with his pelvis. You’re stuffed full of him, fuller than you’ve ever felt, even fuller than when he was in your pussy.

He pummels you with abandon and your eyes well up in tears. You're mortified, you've never done this before, and you have so many fears – is he going to ruin you? Is there going to be a mess? But each time he buries his length in your ass, it feels better and your fears fade into pleasure. The longer he pounds you, the better it feels. It feels surprisingly good, much better than you ever thought it would. The tent seems to echo with his grunts and the slap of skin.

Another orgasm is brewing as he pounds your guts. It builds faster this time. He grunts louder, then your whole body is seized by the deepest, most powerful climax. You whimper, then your whimper turns into a groan as your ass spasms and your pussy clenches around nothing.

And then he pulses inside you, filling up another hole. By the time he's through with you, you're filled to the brim with him. He slides out and you turn around.

He stumbles backwards in horror at what he's done.

“I’m sorry, sugar. I’m so sorry."

Part 2 HERE

Thank you for reading and engaging! Might wanna follow me if you like this because my posts are getting reported and might not show up in the tags.

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#joel miller/reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #dark!joel miller #toxicanonymity ☠️#tw: noncon #pedro pascal fic #dark!joel #horny!joel miller #horny!joel #sex pollen #lazaretto #content label

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brodieland · 9 days

Text

.˚ 𓈒 ࣪.𝝑𝝔 10 Things I hate about you ´ˎ˗

Percy Jackson x Fem!Reader Synopsis: Its the day of the party, and Percy and Y/N have some realizations. Does it go the good way or bad way??? Warning(s): cursing, underage drinking, sex jokes if I may Word Count: 2555 A/N: the urge to add a little bit of a smau was too great I fear😕

╰➤ MASTERLIST pt5

You were currently in your sisters room laying on her bed, thinking about why you even agreed to go in the first place. Silena was currently digging around her closet for something to wear, and let out a groan as she turned toward you.

"Y/N, this one or this one," she held up a pink dress and a nearly Identical slightly darker pink dress.

"Silena, I hate to be the one to say this, but I swear its not this serious," she rolled her eyes as she threw down the dresses and went back into her closet. "I liked the pink one though."

She kept running through her closet before pulling out a black dress, "Is this yours, I don't remember buying this?"

"Hm," you sat up and faced her examining the dress. "Did you not buy this during your secret little 'emo' phase?"

"God don't remind me," you chuckled at her embarrassment. "Suits you though, here. Maybe you can wear it later."

She tossed you the dress and she was right. It did suit you. "Maybe I can."

﹒º. ౨ৎ

＠Y/N2lit ● 20 min

Liked by BeauregardOnTop and others... ＠Y/N2lit: me n my sister a lit asf duo ＠BeauregardOnTop View comments...

＠BeauregardOnTop: ayo emo ass fit?? →＠Y/N2lit: ＠BeauregardOnTop this is ur dress?? but if I brought up ur emo phase suddenly im the villian right? →＠BeauregardOnTop: ＠Y/N2lit oh okay sorry

＠percy2lit: holy skibidi →＠Y/N2lit: WHY DID U CHANGE UR USER TO MATCH MINE →＠percy2lit: wow I didn't even notice🤷🏻‍♂️ →＠Y/N2lit: delete ur acc lil boy

﹒º. ౨ৎ

'Who does he think he is?' You and Silena were still in her room getting ready while she put on her 16th layer of lipgloss.

"Your gonna run out of lipgloss, and you just bought it," you said without looking up from your phone.

"I need to look as good as possible," you had to fight the urge to roll your eyes.

"My god you'll be fine. You would have guys falling at your feet even if your lips were chapped and gross."

She jokingly glared and you chuckled, suddenly the door bell ringed. You and Silena walked downstairs and saw your dad standing by the door staring at Percy, not looking very amused.

"Percy," you asked.

"Hey Y/N, I said I'd pick you up at nine didn't I?"

You looked down and saw that it was in fact, nine on the dot. "You're a punctual fella aint ya?"

"And what's going on here," you dad sternly asked. He looked between you two with an eyebrow raised.

"Well," your sister started. "Y/N here is going out, so that means so can I, right?"

"You look really good by the way," Percy interjected, earning a glare from your dad and a chuckle from your sister.

"And how were you planning me on 'picking me up,'" you used air quotes as you ignored your dad. "Did you plan on stuffing me in the basket of your bike?"

Percy looked back at his blue bike laying down in the lawn, then back at you. "Maybe I didn't think that far ahead, but its the thought that counts, no?"

You laughed at his effort. "Yeah okay, sure. Anyways I'm driving," you said as you swung your fingers around your fingers and walked out to your car.

﹒º. ౨ৎ

Charles and Leo were at the party, one was drinking in peace and the other one was slowly starting to freak out. Guess who's who.

"Dude, just relax," Leo said as he tried shoving his drink into Charles face. He just moved it away with his hand.

"You don't understand me sometimes."

"Thank fucking god. I think I'd kill myself," Charles just glared at Leo, and he held his arms up in surrender. Both of them paused when they heard the front door open and Charles whipped his head around. He saw Silena walk in and he could've sworn a fly flew in his mouth. Her pink dress fit her beautifully and the way her long dark hair fell behind her made her look unreal.

"Y/Ns actually pretty hot when she tries," Leo nodded approvingly. He turned to his friend and saw him shamelessly staring at the other sister. "Dude, you look like a creep. Go talk to her."

"Your welcome," Charles clearly was not paying attention.

"The house is on fire."

"Yeah no, I got it."

"I'm literally getting my dick sucked right now."

"Cool- what," Charles turned as quick as possible and stared right a Leo.

"The house on fire gets no reaction but me getting a blowjob is absolutely outlandish??" Leo sassed.

"Can you not talk about your dick??"

"Can you focus up on your lady," Leo pointed back over to Silena, and to the slowly approaching Luke coming in from 'round the corner. "Might be time to lock in, I dunno know though, don't quote me."

Charles shrugged Leo off and went walking towards Silena. "Hey, you made it."

"Yeah thanks to you," Silena said as she continued to scan the room. She looked back at Charles and quickly looked him up and down and cleared her throat. "You clean up nice y'know."

"Yeah, you look-"

"Hey gorgeous," Luke announced from behind Silena, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "Glad your here."

Silena smiled as she thanked him and looked back at Charles. "Hey Charles, I'll see you around, alright?"

"Yeah, um. Sure," Charles watched Luke smiled at him like an asshole as he led Silena away. Charles turned back around and made his way towards Leo again.

﹒º. ౨ৎ

You watched from afar as Luke made his move on your sister, sending you weird looks as he did so. God how you hated him more than anything. He was a massive douche and it bothered you to think Silena could like a guy like that, but then again, surface deep attractions all he's got going for him, and you knew your sister would hopefully find that out on her own.

You just tried to ignore it and went off to the kitchen for some shots. You saw a half filled bottle Smirnoffs and quickly secured it for yourself.

One shot. Two shot.

Then Percy walked into the kitchen. "Woah, whats the rush?"

"I only had two," you said as Percy took a shot for himself. He decided that was it if this was the way you were going to drink throughout the night. "Isn't this what I'm 'supposed' to be doing. Drinking and dancing?"

You snatched the bottle and took a third shot. You knew you should've probably stopped there, at least for now, but Luke was terribly flirting with your sister, and murder was depressingly illegal. Percy looked away for a second and when he looked back you were gone. He quickly walked around trying to look for you when he was stopped by Charles.

"Dude, we have to stop this," he said.

"Stop what," Percy asked.

"This whole thing," he waved his arms around. "She doesn't want me, she just wants him."

He looked sad and defeated, and Percy felt bad. And weirdly enough, he didn't want to stop taking you out. "Charles, do you like her or not? Is she worth this whole thing?"

"I mean, I thought so but-"

"But nothing, yes or no?"

"Yeah, yeah she is."

"Then no, this isn't over till you get the girl, and I know you can dude," Percy patted Charles shoulders and walked off to find you. He saw you across the room taking another shot, but when he went to speed walk over to you he was stopped yet again. This time, by Luke.

"God, I knew you were the right person to turn to."

"Huh," Percy turned confused, and was starting to get annoyed.

"You did the impossible, removing the stick from Y/N's ass," Luke cheered.

"Yeah whatever," Percy rolled his eyes, getting more bothered with the way people spoke about you. And before he got the chance to push Luke away and make his way back over to you, the music started blaring and cheering started getting louder, including Luke's cheering. Percy was now purely annoyed, he just wanted to make his way back over to you, hopefully stopping you from taking anymore shots.

He walked toward the center of the cheering to see you hopping on a table and dancing to the beat of the roaring music. Your body was swaying and Percy right then and there forgot that he was paid to take you here. He forgot that if it wasn't for some random guy coming up to him wanting to date your sister, he wouldn't be standing here watching you dance like there was no one in the room, like it was just you and him right now.

He wondered where'd he be right now if he had said no. Would he be home, or would he maybe have found another girl in this short time period? Probably not, but anything could happened in such a short time frame, like this. Percy thought there was something about a girl who can so brazenly insult you like it was nothing, yet still bandaged you up if you were hurt. He was quickly snapped from his daydream when you slipped from the table and fell into his arms.

"Oh, its you," you blew raspberries in his face as you went to stand up. "I'll be fine."

As you went to stand, you started stumbling back down, making Percy grab you again. "Yup, your very fine."

"Stop flirting with me Jackson," you rolled your eyes and he just laughed. He started leading you out the house, away from all the noise, and all the alcohol, so you could rest up. You've had one too many drinks and it was now time to stop. "I wanna sleep."

You two were outside, and you had wandered off and found a nearby bench to lay down on. "You shouldn't walk off like this, might get kidnapped y'know."

"Oh and you'd care? I'm only ever mean to you if you hadn't noticed."

"Well of course, you know I think I might have a thing for girls who hate me."

"As opposed to what, the girls who like you? Because I've yet to see those," Percy grabbed your arms and stood you up. He rummaged through his pockets for your keys. Percy was thankful that your dress didn't have pockets and wouldn't have to wrestle you for said keys.

"See, just like that, why have compliments when I could get insulted like there's no tomorrow" he said as he opened the door for you. He walked over to the drivers seat and when he sat down you gave him a weird look. "Yes?"

"Can you even drive?"

"Just because I don't have a car doesn't mean I don't have a license," you were still staring straight at him, looking between both his eyes.

"Your eyes are really sea-green, I really like sea-green," you smiled and Percy felt speechless. He smiled softly.

"Lets get you home."

﹒º. ౨ৎ

Silena was absolutely bored out of her mind. For the past who knows who long she's been forced to taking pictures of Luke for his instagram. His excuse? 'your gorgeous hands take gorgeous pictures.'

If he called her 'gorgeous' one more time there, Silena might've shown up. She handed him back the phone as he continued to talk about himself, again. That seems to be all he ever does. 'What the hell did I ever see in him,' Silena thought.

After like 15 minutes, the party was getting stale and people were starting to leave. The two walked out together when Silena was approached by a good friend of hers, Drew.

"So Silena, ready to hit the next party," Luke asked.

"Darn," she looked down at her phone. "Gotta be home in 20 minutes."

She pretended to look disappointed when Drew quickly spoke up, "I don't have to be home till like, 2-3AM."

She boasted as Silena looked her up and down. "That settles it. Silena, this is your last shot. You coming or not?"

"Nope, I can't. Sorry," she shrugged as they quickly sped off into Luke's convertible. Silena rolled her eyes she realized she now didn't have a ride home. Looking around, the only person she saw was Charles. Despite feeling awkward for having somewhat blown him off earlier, she still approached him.

"Hey there Charles," Silena waved. He half-heartedly smiled back. "Can you, um- give me a ride home?"

Charles felt his heart slightly speed up, but still felt slightly dejected. Silena had sent the whole night with Luke, why would she not just leave with him? "Yeah, of course."

They both drove home in silence. It felt kind of awkward, then Charles had pulled up in front of the Beauregard house and parked. The two sat in silence not moving, but when Silena turned over, Charles seemed to have a face on. "Charles, is something wrong?"

"Is something wrong?"

"Well yeah-"

"No nothing. There's nothing wrong. I mean sure yeah I went through the trouble to get your sister asked out so you'd finally be able to date. But of course I did it for Luke. I did it for Luke but I literally learned how to speak French for you-"

Charles was quickly cut off by Silena leaving over and grabbing Charles face into a kiss that could've melted him on the spot. They went on for a moment before Silena went back into her seat. The two were panting before Silena spoke up.

"A whole language, just for me," she giggled, and Charles felt slightly embarrassed for having admitted to that. "I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

He nodded as he watched Silena step out of the car, waving to him as she walked off to the front door. Charles started cheering in his car before driving off back to his own home.

﹒º. ౨ৎ

It was the next Beauregard's turn to be dropped off by a man tonight.

As Percy parked your car in its normal spot in the drive way, he turned to look at you. "You still wasted or are you sobering up now?"

"I'm as sober as a judge," you declared, waving your finger in the air. You turned toward him and stared at him, reaching over and twirling a piece of his black hair between your fingers. "Your hairs soft."

You were close now. Close enough for him to smell the vodka expelling from your breathe. You looked into his eyes, and leaned slightly in. Percy thought about leaning in, but the shots on shots you took tonight made it not such a good idea.

When you noticed he didn't lean in, you felt a mix between mad and embarrassed. You quickly grabbed your keys and slammed the car door shut on your way out, running up to your house door and rushing in as fast as you could. Percy sighed as he sat back, feeling like an idiot.

One sister had a happy ending with the boy she didn't expect, and the other couldn't even get a kiss goodnight from a guy who was paid to be here (more and more everyday, he cared less and less about the money).

﹒º. ౨ৎ

✰Taglist: @liviessun @lara20aral @balletfilmss @job-ross-the-second @brokecollegebitch @riaaavm @avihashearts4lix @huera-ne @zn0v1a @sofiacblair @itzjustj-1000 (just lemme know if you wanna be added)

#percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #percy jackson pjo #percy pjo #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson x you #charles pjo #charles beckendorf #silena pjo #silena beauregard #charlena

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poursomesunaonme · 9 months

Text

taste you still !

pairing: miguel o'hara x fem!reader

summary: you've been the o'hara's babysitter for quite some time; miguel thinks it's time for a raise!

wc: 4k

a/n: i have nothing to say for myself - i wrote this in two hours off two glasses of wine LMAO

cw: minors dni (pls have ur age in ur bio)!, age gap (reader is in college), drinking (clear for consent tho), pet names (sweetheart, bunny, conejita, little girl), doggy, oral (fem and male receiving), handjob, 69, biting, edging, scratching, size kink, overstim, nipple play, squirting, modified missionary, finger sucking, unprotected sex, creampie, aftercare!

the tv flickers idly across the room as you fiddle with the hem of your skirt. gabriella had been asleep for a few hours. glancing at your phone, you find it’s just past midnight. it’s a warm, friday summer night. a soft drizzle begins to come down outside.

classes just finished for the summer. if it had been any other friday, you’d be out at bars tearing it up with your friends. however, the single dad you nanny for called you in last minute. you didn’t mind.

the moist rainy air from the outside defeats the advances of the air conditioner, and it’s beginning to get hot in the living room where you sit. you’re thankful for wearing light clothes, as it helps with the heat beginning to settle. the warmth and the sound of the rain to help your body settle, and you begin to doze off.

you jump as the lock clicks, signaling the return of your employer. you clear your throat and check your phone before putting it down, acting like you were watching whatever animal documentary was on the tv.

2:26am had blinked across your screen. the father enters the house with a quiet sigh, locking the door behind him.

“hi, mr. o’hara,” you say lightly as he hangs his coat and shakes his umbrella before putting it in a plastic bag to dry off.

“hey, sweetheart,” he says, trying to keep the noise down to keep from waking his daughter as he kicks off his shoes, too tired to care if they land strewn across the floor.

“how was your night?”

“i need a drink.” he chuckles, his footsteps receding into the kitchen to assuage his desire. “do you want one?”

he had never offered you a drink before. of course, you’re of age - it was just uncommon, given your position in his family.

“i, uh…” you stumble over your words. “sure. please. it’s been a long day.”

“i hope gabriella didn’t give you much trouble.” the crackling sound of ice breaking under an expensive scotch drifts from the kitchen.

“no, she was great. she just… she missed you.”

the words unspoken scream that you did as well, but you ignore them. it was delusional to think of him that way, but you couldn’t help yourself for that split second. it was rare to spend more than ten minutes with him when you helped him out with nannying - there was no reason for you to feel such an emotion.

“yeah… i missed her too.”

some underlying meaning laces his choice of words. the sound of his footsteps alert you to his presence before he reaches over the couch from behind you to offer you the glass. you jump slightly, but accept it. he sits heavily next to you, the couch creaking under his sudden weight. you both take a heavy sip of the drink. it slightly burns your throat, but you manage to choke it down anyway.

you’re aware of his identity, as it was necessary to be privy to such matters when taking care of his daughter. you had detailed protocols to follow in case of such emergencies and the like, but that didn’t mean that you would ask about his mission. you assumed the subject was off limits, and that strategy kept you in good graces with the man. instead, he asks you about how the end of your school was, if there was any issue in securing an apartment for the next semester, mundane things and the like.

you answer all of his questions politely. as much as you want to inquire about his missions, you refrain from doing so. he finishes his drink in no time, asking if you’d like another. you eye your drink then finish the whole thing, handing the empty glass back to him.

you swear he mutters “good girl” under his breath. it makes your stomach churn in a way you could have never imagined.

when he sits next to you with the drinks refreshed, it’s much closer. you feel the heat radiating off his body. the alcohol begins to course through your veins, and you can’t control the way your body easily gravitates toward him. you struggle against the muffling feeling, struggle to keep control of your body that so badly wants to be pressed against his.

“oh, did i make a mistake?” he murmurs when he notices your proximity. “want me to order you an uber?”

“no, no, mr. o’hara.” you shake off his offer. “i’m okay. thank you though.”

he pauses, swishing the alcohol in the glass before downing it swiftly. “in that case, i’m gonna go shower. you can leave if you’d like, or you can strip down naked and wait for me in bed.”

so i can finally fucking ravage you is the ending that he wishes to add, but he doesn’t want to scare you.

you’re taking a sip as he speaks, nearly spitting your drink out at his proposition. however, you keep your composure and say nothing as he finishes his drink in one swift gulp and gets up from the couch, leaving a shivering feeling through your skin.

the second he leaves earshot, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding.

you’re fucked.

it’s like he knows the way you look at him in those minute moments when he leaves and returns from work. it’s like he knows that you continuously brag to your friends about how handsome he was. it’s like he knows that you’ve said countless times that you’d jump him if you were ever given the chance.

but that was all just a silly little crush. you never imagined that he would actually give you the opportunity.

he’d made you an offer you’d be downright stupid to refuse.

which is how you end up splayed in his bed, the cool air of the bedroom chilling your skin. it was the obvious choice. your chest rises and falls with anticipation. the hopes of the man following through with his lewd offer brings on an ever-quickening heart rate. you adjust your position again and again, hoping that each following pose will please him more than the last and help assuage the nervous feeling gnawing in your gut.

just as you chose the simple option to lay back against the pillows with your legs folded delicately together to one side, the shower turns off. miguel doesn’t even bother drying off before he emerges from the bathroom in a dramatic billow of steam, wet gray-streaked hair tumbling into his face. small droplets of water roll off his naked body and splatter against the floor. the musky scent of his body wash hits your nose. it makes you dizzy. combined with the sight of him and the heavy alcohol rushing through your bloodstream, you’re completely susceptible to whatever plans he has in store. you lose your breath at the sight of his tan, toned body approaching you.

“get on your hands and knees.” the way he commands you is almost a detached sigh. you don’t hesitate to obey, however. without thinking, you get up from the position to poise yourself at the end of the bed in the way he ordered. your heart speeds up, pounding against your ribcage. this position already? skipping to the main event? you aren’t complaining, just surprised.

that feeling of surprise continues when you hear his knees heavily drop to the floor and his hands cup the globes of your ass and spread them apart. the cold air hits that warm center and you gasp. you gasp because the feeling is surprising and his lips press between your folds and you gasp because he groans so deeply at the first taste of you.

you’re fucked.

he takes no time to begin diving into every inch of your cunt. you clutch at the bedsheets, wincing at the cold droplets from his hair running down the back of your thighs.

“mr… mr. miguel.” you squeak, unable to muster up the brainpower to say anything else. he works like it’s necessary for him to keep breathing, like he can’t wait to do anything else, like he’s starving, and you’re the first meal he’s come across in days.

“is this okay?” he finally pulls back, drawing a gasp from your lips at the cold air hitting that warm place again. “just can’t… fuck… hold myself back.”

you make the mistake of craning your neck to meet his eyes at his panting candor. his face just barely hovers above your ass, hands still spreading you apart. you gulp at the sight of the shimmer of your essence on his lips. he pants heavily, broad shoulders heaving with the force of his breath. his eyes are gleaming, his pupils blown out with lust. he looks fucking crazy, hair tumbling into his face.

you can feel your face heat up at the sight of him, feel your expression fall as you acknowledge again and again and again: you’re fucked.

a nod is all you can manage to urge him to continue. you turn around and focus on the shiny silk pillows to ground yourself, bracing for the impact.

he merely grunts and dives back between your legs, splattering the last few drops remaining from his dewy skin onto you. it takes everything in you not to collapse when he begins working with an increased fervor. apparently, your words gave him great encouragement, as he intensified the movements, even daring to remove his lips from your folds to plant heavy, open-mouthed kisses on the backs of your thighs - and even daring to nip at the sensitive skin.

before you know it, you sink down into the comforter, fingers whitening in a death grip on the sheets for support. miguel doesn’t seem to notice - he’s too lost in the feeling of the increasing warmth on his tongue, of the blood rushing to where your body deems it to be.

just as you’re about to finish, he pulls back. it draws a whimper from you, but before you can utter a word of complaint, he straightens up and begins to rub his length between the sticky wetness that welcomes him. you whimper at the feeling, pushing your hips back against him as an invitation inside. he wastes no time in accepting, pushing into you once he’s amply coated.

your eyes bulge out of your head and you cry out a stilted moan as he doesn’t stop - not until he’s fully sheathed in you. you sink down fully into the mattress, only supported by his hands when they grasp your waist to hold your lower body upright. the beginnings of claws begin to poke into the meat of your hips. overwhelming feelings circulate through every part of your body. your mind begins to fog over. you can’t differentiate the feeling from the alcohol or the pleasure; they work in tandem.

he doesn’t waist time to begin thrusting into you, more surely than he’s done anything in his life. the rhythm is slow, but deep, and it drives you over the edge in no time. since he left you hanging from the ministrations of his mouth, the movements of his length deep within you shove you over the precipice of pleasure.

“miguel… please, don’t stop.” you whimper. your eyes roll into the back of your head and you feel a great weight press into your back. his lips appear on the shell of your ear.

“don’t hold back for me, bunny,” is the whisper. “let go.”

you do as you're told, whimpers muffled against the mattress as you give into the pleasure, squeezing and convulsing around his length. he licks behind your ear before nibbling on the lobe, drawing an extended moan that takes your breath away. you can’t muster up any words - no praise, no thanks. just incoherent sounds that express the feelings that you can’t articulate with the onslaught of pressure.

"mi conejita..."

miguel continues to rut into you like a wild animal. his body presses flush against your back as his hips move, only going deeper and deeper as he jerks them back and forth. there’s no relief, no breaks you get from his demanding size, from his desire to puncture you deeper and deeper until he finds his own sense of relief.

just as you finish, you think there will be a moment in the trembling of your legs that miguel will spare you. however, you’re wrong. the feeling of you constricting around him ignites a new passion in him, one that results in his lips meeting your neck, your shoulders, your back - one that draws his teeth into your skin.

a gasp escapes at the feeling of him nibbling on that sensitive skin, of the feeling of his hips continuing to mercilessly ram into yours. you don’t want him to stop. your hands clutch as the sheets, begging for some stability from the bed, but it doesn’t come.

instead, miguel’s hands wrap around your chest to pull you up as he straightens up. his grip tigthens as you settle pressed against his sweating, heavily chest. when you’re secured, his hands begin to move. first and foremost, they grab your chin to face him and without hesitation, his lips crash against yours. his fingers squeeze your jaw to pry it open and his tongue shoves down your throat. you whimper against him. he eats the sound whole.

his hands don’t stop once they leave your chin, trusting that your lips won’t leave his. they reach down to pinch and pull your nipples, wander down to rub slow circles into your poor overstimulated clit. the sound of his hips slapping against your raw skin is overwhelming, you can’t help but lean back into his chest for support, his tongue still craving the inside of your mouth. he grunts in surprise when you start to suck his tongue desperately. the sound simmers in his chest as he chuckles.

“you’re gonna be the death of me, little girl.”

you find yourself smiling, find yourself squeezing him as he moves inside, threatening to tear your insides apart.

“fuck,” he moans into your mouth. “christ, you’re tight.”

you moan and whine into his mouth, and he devours those sounds as well. the vibrations only spur him forward, only egg him on to continue ramming his hips into your body. his fingers rub unceasingly against your increasingly sensitive clit.

“i’m gonna-” you manage to slur around his overpowering tongue and teeth. “i’m gonna cum again.”

he groans, lowly and long. it’s a lewd sound, one that sends all the heat from your body straight down between your legs. it’s an encouragement, one that sends you over the edge within a split second. you moan, legs shaking as you begin to collapse onto the bed again. you can’t help the weakness, can’t help the fact that your legs turn to jelly as he rams into you with want and need that you can’t even begin to fathom.

you squeal as a fresh spurt of juices flow from your cunt, flow around his length, and down your inner thighs.

he swears again at the sensation of liquid beginning to run down his length, trickling down his own legs. “shit… shit… i-i need that. i need you to do that again.”

he pants and pulls out. you gasp at the empty feeling, but he doesn’t give you much time to process it fully before he lays down on the bed and snatches your waist, pulling you over to align your hips with his face. before you can utter a word of objection or acceptance, he yanks you into his face, burying himself in the warm grave of your cunt.

you throw your head back and moan weakly, tired and overstimulated from the last orgasms, but he doesn’t stop. his ministrations are unyielding, even when you plant your hands against his hips to steady yourself. his hard length stands in front of you, just barely out of reach of your mouth. you can’t help yourself from drooling at the sight, of precum spilling from the tip and mixing with your juices that still dribble down the veins.

you try to move forward, but he pulls your hips back stubbornly, shoving his tongue into you. you whimper, opting you reach your hand out to wrap around and pump his length until you can get your mouth on the impressive sight. he slows as he realizes what you want to do. he knows how much bigger he is than you. he slides up the pillows to sit up, closing the distance between you and your prize until your lips suckle on the tip, drawing a hiss from him. as if an attempt to silence the sound, his teeth sink into your asscheck.

“fuck,” you groan as the teethmarks in your skin join the bitemarks he left on your neck, back, and shoulders, still fresh and throbbing. you attempt to shake off the feeling and start to bob your mouth up and down on his length, drooling over the musky taste of his precum when your tongue trails down the base, every vein drawn like a map under your tongue.

he doesn’t let you indulge yourself for long before he jerks your hips back against his face once more, drawing your mouth from his length with a soft pop. you moan in indignation, attempting to lunge back to continue your work. however, miguel’s grip on your hips, the nails beginning to dig in the muscles, successfully stops you.

instead, you pump down his shaft, hoping that you’re pleasing him as much as he’s pleasing you. another wave of pleasure rolls over you, and you can’t help but whine at the vibration of miguel’s moans as he gulps down the juices that flow heartily from your center. his dick twitches in your palm.

“please…” you whimper. “please fuck me… please…”

“no” is the simple answer. “you’re cumming on my face, mi conejita.”

your cheeks heat at his unashamed lewdness, at how he so easily expresses his desire for you. how long had he been feeling his way? how long had he wanted to ravish you like this? he seems so resigned to his desires that he just can’t help himself anymore.

he gets his wish soon enough, pulling you so far onto him that his nose dips into your entrance, triggering an explosion of pleasure within you. he groans as your legs begin to shake around his face, as you give up on pumping his shaft because you can’t focus on anything else but not losing your mind at how good he makes you feel.

miguel doesn’t give you a reprieve in his agenda, slapping your ass twice to signal a position change before you can even catch your breath.

“get up,” he growls, and you obey. he pushes you down on the bed in his place - the pillows are still warm from where he sat, still damp from the juices running freely down his face and jawline to soak the sheets. without hesitation, he grips your calves and throws them over his shoulders. you’re completely powerless underneath him when he pushes into you fully, not waiting a split second to begin ramming into you, even deeper than before.

it’s nearly unbearable, especially when he grabs your wrists, crosses them with a single hand, and holds them over your head before his lips crash onto yours. your moans pour into his mouth, and he takes them without a second thought, returning them with equal fervor. each pound of his hips forces water droplets from his damp hair onto your shaking body. the way he presses down into you, the way the weight of him presses your thighs against your chest, the stretch aching, the opening angle of your hips for him to ram deeper into your warmth… it’s too much.

tears bead at the corners of your eyes when you open them to find him watching your face, even as he’s shoving his tongue down your throat. you feel the corners of his mouth turn up into a smile at the sight of you so weak with want, with desire. he looks fucking feral.

he pulls back, watching your reaction as he turns his head to press sloppy kisses to your calves, nipping at the skin. welting bumps appear under his mouth, like he’s decorating you in just the fashion he likes. when he’s finished, his lips crash onto yours again. he doesn’t stop, doesn’t show mercy, not even when you’re babbling for him to continue, to push you over the edge once more.

“i gotta…” he pants, finally drawing back from your lips to examine your whole body shaking against the rough motion of his hips bulldozing into you. a single line of spit still joins your lips. “i gotta taste you still… fuck.”

he thinks for a moment before his fingers dive between your folds, gathering an ample amount of essence before he raises them to your mouth, spreading the liquid across your lips. you can barely function at the lewd sight, even when he presses his fingers into your mouth, leading your tongue to swish around them and lap up every last drop. his face contorts when your lips close around his digits, sucking his digits dry.

his mouth crashes against yours, exploring every bud in your mouth with renewed fervor at the flavor of your cunt all throughout your mouth. you realize he had let go of your hands and you use the freedom to latch your nails into his back, clawing it to ribbons. he thrusts into you with refreshing vigor, spurred by the satisfaction of your taste, at your nails sinking into his skin, and the warm, pulsing feeling of your cunt around his length at the same time. he doesn’t last long, doesn’t make it much more time before he moans and whimpers into your mouth, warm cum spilling into you. he removes his mouth from your kiss bitten lips and opts to bite into your neck, so hard you’re afraid you’ll bleed - but it’s enough to send you tumbling over the edge with him. but it doesn’t matter, not when he’s groaning against you, fucking the last bit of himself into you, slowing his hips more and more.

when he’s finally finished, you squeeze your arms around him, removing your nails from his skin, welcoming him an embrace for him to collapse into. he accepts the invitation graciously, his full weight pressing upon you as your legs fall from their position on either side of his hips.

he sighs into your neck, into the satisfying feeling of his cum beginning to ooze from your warmth, down your ass, spilling onto the bed. there’s a few moments of wordlessness, the only sound echoing the room is breathless panting.

“well, consider this payment for watching gabi tonight?”

you laugh at his offhanded comment that breaks the silence and press a kiss onto his heaving shoulders.

“no, i’m still expecting the same rate.”

“in this economy? times are changing, sweetheart.” he raises his head to meet your eyes as you laugh. “i hear this is the new salary. don’t tell me you’re that opposed.”

“i’m not… of course not.” you laugh nervously. he chuckles at the sight of you getting so flustered. he swiftly rises, pulling out of you so fast that you barely have time to process it before he gets warm rags and towels from the bathroom.

he comes back and kisses your forehead gently, wiping the residue of the wild night from your body. it’s a tender gesture, one that you didn’t expect from the rugged creature. however, it’s not unwelcome.

“well, if you’d like to stick with me, i’m sure there will be some benefits in the future, if you’re willing to stay on.” he pauses and grins. “and it’ll be nice to have you here in bed in case i get called out in the middle of the night. you always sound so pissed at me when i call to wake you up.”

he dries off your wet skin with a towel before letting all of the material fall to the ground, forgotten. his body curls around you, the overwhelming size and warmth of him surrounding you.

you smirk, letting out a giggle at the continuation of the joke, heat pooling in your cheeks from the easy closeness he pursues with you. “of course, mr. o’hara. i don’t think anyone else could match such a wonderful deal.”

divider by: @/ffffffaatality

@dilftaroooo come n get it !

#miguel o'hara #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x you #miguel o'hara x you #tw age gap #🪐beanie writes!

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nvrsaidiwasinurcloset · 3 months

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Hii so idk if u are planning on doing a part 2 for the stepcest or angst for a part 2 but I was wondering if you could write an angst about how they sneak around and eventually get caught?? It’s ok if ur not planning on a pt 2 😭 love ur writing style btwwww

Yasss I hope you like it! I wanted to post this last night but my sleep meds kicked in before I got to finish this part. There will be a part 3, as long as people want to read it:)

Pleaser - Stepbrother!Ethan Landry x Fem!Reader - Part 2

This contains SMUT - Minors DNI

Part 1, Part 3

Summary: Your mom and Ethan's dad come home early, catching you in the act.

*there are mentions of a panic attack and some violence-related things, nothing too graphic...except the sex stuff:)*

A/N: I didn't think a lot of people would like the first part of this, and I kinda left this part on a cliffhanger because I love to be dramatic lol. If y'all want a part 3, let me know:)

You frowned when you looked at your phone and saw that your mom and Ethan’s dad would be home in a few hours. It was like everything changed after that first night. You were both loving the time you got to spend together, not just the sex. It really bummed you out that he could’ve potentially been a good boyfriend, but thanks to your mom getting swept off her feet by his dad, there’s no way it could work now.

You could tell that Ethan hated it, too. If it was up to him, they’d never come back, and he’d have you all to himself. He knew it wasn’t right, but he was catching feelings. The only thing that was going to get him through the rest of the summer was knowing that you were going to the same school in the fall. No parents, and no one would know that you were his stepsister.

“Hey cutie, what are you doing?” he asked, as he walked into the kitchen to see you in front of the counter, your back turned to him. He wrapped his arms around your waist and laid his head on your shoulder.

He got concerned when he heard you sniffle, so he turned you around to face him. “What’s wrong?”

You wiped tears off your cheeks as you looked at him.

“Everything’s wrong. THIS is wrong,” you said, your hand gesturing between the two of you.

“I thought you liked the last couple days,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck as he stared at the linoleum tiles on the kitchen floor. He’d be lying if he said his heart wasn’t breaking.

“I did, Ethan! That’s the problem. I don’t want this to end,” you cried, as he pulled you into his arms.

“It doesn’t have to,” he said, kissing the top of your head. “We can make everything work. It’ll be okay.”

“How? There’s no way,” you mumbled into his chest as he soothingly rubbed your back.

“We just have to keep it a secret.”

You hated that idea but knew it was the only option. He stepped back to wipe the stray tears off your cheeks, before leaning down to kiss you.

He started to pull away, but you pulled him back in. Your lips moved so well with his, desperate to go at it again before your mom and Wayne returned home.

“If we’re going to do this, we need to be quick,” he said, pulling his phone out of the pocket of his sweatpants and checking the time. “Dad said they left a little early, so they’ll be here in an hour.”

“Your bed or mine?” you asked, lacing your fingers in his.

“I like yours. It’s more comfortable,” he said, “I should really complain about that.”

“Yeah, then we’d have to explain why you know how nice my bed is,” you laughed, leading him to your room.

He helped you out of your clothes, not wanting to waste a single second of the time you had left. He started to strip, his clothes joining yours in the pile on the floor.

“What do you want, babe?” he asked, his hands running up your sides as you stood in front of him.

“I want to ride you,” you said, his eyes darkening at the thought.

“Since I don’t know how long I’ll have to wait to do it again, can I please eat your pussy first?”

“Please,” you whispered, as he pushed you back on the bed.

His head was between your thighs within seconds, his mouth working its magic. His tongue darted in and out of your dripping core, trying to get every last drop of you.

“Fuck, that feels so good,” you whimpered, your hands running through his hair.

He gripped your thighs as he ate you out, pulling you as close to his face as possible.

His tongue started to focus on your clit, circling it with his tongue before he sucked it into his mouth.

“Oh shit,” you cried out, your grip tightening on his hair. He groaned, the feeling making you arch your back.

You started to move your hips against his tongue as your orgasm began to build, craving that sweet ecstasy. Your brain got foggy as you started to hit your peak. The only thing you could think about was how amazing he was making you feel as you tried to form words.

“I’m gonna-“ was all you got out, before your body started to shake. He slid his tongue back inside your pussy, massaging your fluttering entrance with it.

Ethan loved seeing you like this. The pleasure coursing through your veins and knowing he’s the one that caused it, made his cock throb.

He laid down beside you after he got you through your orgasm. “Come on, baby. Get on top of me.”

You sat up, the tingling feeling in your body fading as you straddled him. Your lips went to his as your pussy rubbed against him. He was gasping at the friction against his erection, but he needed to be inside of you.

“Condom,” he mumbled against your lips.

You sighed as you reached over to the bedside table and grabbed one, making a mental note to put them back under your bed when the two of you were done.

You started to stroke him, a low groan slipping past his lips, before you rolled the condom on him.

You both moaned out when you sank down onto him, before he muttered “So fucking tight.”

His hands went to your hips as you started to move, your pace building up quickly. The palms of your hands were pressed against his chest as you rolled your hips against his. You knew you didn’t have a lot of time left, and you didn’t want to risk getting caught. He watched the way your tits bounced as you rode him, pulling you forward to take one of your nipples in his mouth.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, the position of your hips making it easier for him do drill into your g-spot as his thrusts started to meet yours.

Both of your movements completely stopped though, as you heard heavy footsteps walking past your door.

Ethan’s wide eyes connected with your terrified ones, as Wayne yelled “Ethan, where are you?” from his bedroom a few doors down from yours.

You were frozen in fear as you were still on top of him. “Baby, you gotta get up,” he whispered. You tried to, but it was too late once the doorknob to your room turned, your mom walking in. The smile on her face dropped as she saw you, a look of disgust on her face.

“Get dressed, now,” she said through gritted teeth, your heart pounding in your chest as tears started to form in your eyes.

She walked out, slamming the door behind her. You looked down to see Ethan’s tomato-red face, “Oh my god.”

He wiped your tears away as they slid down your cheeks, “We need to get dressed, baby. You need to get off me.”

You raised your hips as he slid out of you, your body now shaking in your fear. He slid the condom off, throwing it in the wastebasket and quickly putting his clothes on. You heard arguing from the living room as you tried to get dressed, your hands shaking as Ethan came over to help you.

“It’s okay, baby,” he said, pulling your shirt down over your head.

“How the fuck is this okay?” you whispered, as he helped you put your jeans back on.

“Look, I’ll say this was all my fault,” he said, before kissing you for what you felt would be the last time.

“It’s not, though.” Tears flowed down your cheeks as you felt your chest getting tighter.

“Hey, breathe, baby,” he said, pulling you into his chest so he could rub his hands across your back.

You heard footsteps outside of the door again, Wayne yelling, “Ethan, get out here now!”

He pulled away from you, his own anxiety creeping up as he made his way towards the door. The footsteps headed back to the living room as the arguing continued.

You followed Ethan, not wanting him to take the fall for this, even though his eyes pleaded with yours for you to let him.

“Your perverted son took advantage of my daughter!” your mom yelled, anger dripping off her words.

“You said she was on top of him! How do you know it wasn’t the other way around?!” Wayne snapped.

Your mom was about to say something, when she noticed Ethan standing in the doorway, and you right behind him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, you little creep?” she asked, walking towards Ethan.

“Stop!” you screamed at her. She stopped in her tracks, looking you over. You’d never raised your voice at her. “I’m the reason this happened.”

Wayne scoffed in the background as your mother’s face dropped.

“No, you’re not. Stop talking,” Ethan said, as your mom got closer to Ethan, her hand connecting with his face. The sharp slap made your ears ring as Wayne started to yell. “Don’t touch my son!”

“Your son had no problem touching my daughter!” she screamed. “Get out. Both of you.” She said coldly, looking between Ethan and Wayne.

“Mom, please calm down. I know this is bad, but-“ she cut you off before you could finish speaking.

“I don’t even know who you are.”

A sob slipped past your lips as you felt your chest getting tighter again, your panic attack rushing over your body as you struggled to breathe. Ethan turned to look at you. “Hey, it’s okay. Breathe.”

“Don’t you fucking speak to her,” your mom snapped, pulling Ethan away from you. “I never should’ve trusted you alone with her.”

“Stop blaming this all on Ethan! We don’t even know what the story is!” Wayne yelled, as Ethan started to get mad.

“You want to know what the fucking story is? You two got married before you even asked us how we felt about it! I didn’t plan for any of this to happen, she didn’t either,” Ethan yelled, “I wish you two would’ve thought about asking us how we felt about it, because I would’ve told you I hated the idea of living down the hall from the girl I caught feelings for. Having to refer to her as my stepsister makes me feel so fucking sick to my stomach. I hate this!”

Your mom walked over to you, trying to calm you down when she noticed your breathing wasn’t normal. Your vision got hazy as you struggled to take more than shallow breaths. “Hey, Ethan! Help me!” your mom yelled, as you dropped to your knees.

He bolted towards you, lifting you back up to hold you against him as he swayed with you in his arms, trying to calm you down. His arms around you were soothing, as you started to inhale deeper than you were able to seconds before.

Your mom stood there, watching the two of you. She was still mad, but there were other things she and Wayne needed to talk to you about.

“We’re separating,” your mom said, as you pulled your head away from Ethan’s chest. “We did rush into this.”

Wayne’s head nodded as he stared at the floor.

“Why did you go on that trip then?” you asked, your words still shaky as you calmed down.

“We went on the trip to see if there was any way we could make this work. We ended up heading home early because we knew we couldn’t,” Wayne said, as Ethan looked over to him.

“You seemed so happy,” Ethan said, as Wayne chuckled.

“We didn’t want you two to worry. We were going to make things seem normal until you guys went off to school.”

“We were going to tell you when you came home for Thanksgiving,” your mom said, a hint of sadness in her voice. “At this point, I think we should start to think about Wayne and Ethan moving out, as soon as possible.”

“Yeah, I’ll reach out to my friend that’s a realtor in the morning,” Wayne said, still not looking up from the floor.

You stood there next to Ethan, not sure how to feel. Your mom and Ethan’s dad weren’t showing a lot of emotion.

“I think we need to have a conversation,” your mom said to you, gesturing for you to come with her. Your scared eyes met with Ethans before you followed her through the house and out the side door. You both took a seat on the patio chairs, as she took a deep breath. “How long has that been going on?”

“You mean, how long have I had a crush on him? Or what you walked in on?” you asked, your gaze not meeting hers.

“Were you interested in him before you knew I was seeing Wayne?” she asked, smoothing a wrinkle out of her shirt as she spoke.

“Yeah, I’ve liked him for the last couple years,” you admitted, “I’m sorry if I disappointed you.”

“I wish you would’ve told me,” she sighed, “Maybe it would’ve stopped me from making my mistake.”

She let out a small laugh, as you started to feel sad for her. “Mom, why did you get married without talking to me about it?”

“I don’t know, I think I just didn’t want to be alone. Wayne felt the same way. We both had a child going off to college, and our houses were going to be empty. I knew you’d think we were moving too fast.”

You both sat in silence for a few minutes, deep in thought.

“This thing between you and Ethan can’t happen. At least not while he’s in the same house as you,” she finally spoke. “I’m not sure what people will think, but the marriage did only last a few months.”

“Seriously?” you asked, a smile forming on your lips.

“I need to know though, were you being safe with him?” her heart was pounding as she asked the question, hoping your answer would be what she wanted it to be.

“Yes,” you said, as she let out a sigh of relief.

“I know you’re going to be here with him alone while Wayne and I are both working, at least until they get another house. I’m going to ask Wayne if he’d help me put up cameras in the house. Just so I know you aren’t doing things you shouldn’t be,” she said, as you felt the small glint of happiness fade to anger.

“That’s a serious invasion of my privacy,” you said, before she put her hand up.

“I’m not going to put them in the bedrooms or the bathroom. I just want one in the main hallway, one in the living room, and one in the kitchen. I meant what I said earlier when I said I didn’t know who you are,” you heard the disappointment in her voice again.

“This is stupid,” you said, getting up and walking back through the side door.

Ethan was sitting on the couch talking to his dad as you made your way through the house. His eyes were on you, observing the pissed look on your face. When you walked into your room and slammed the door, he had this awful feeling in the pit of his stomach.

That night, Ethan and his dad went to the store to get the cameras. You soon heard the sound of the drill outside of your door as they mounted a camera to the wall in the hallway. You rolled your eyes, irritated at the sound and the privacy you no longer had.

“Hey, I picked up some food,” Wayne said against your door. As pissed as you were, you were still hungry. You opened the door and took the bag from him but noticed Ethan behind him on a ladder with the drill. His shirt raised up a little, showing his toned stomach as he installed the camera. He winked at you when his eyes connected to yours.

“Goodnight,” Wayne said, moving away from the door. You closed it behind him and pulled out your phone to text Ethan.

You: I can’t believe you’re helping with this

A few minutes after the drilling stopped, you got a response from Ethan.

Ethan: Did you forget that I’m good with technology? I have a plan

You smiled as you read it, curious to know what his secret plan was.

#ethan landry #scream smut #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry smut

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rowretro · 3 months

Text

𝕆𝕙 𝕓𝕒𝕓𝕪 𝕓𝕒𝕓𝕪

WARNINGS: Blood, violence, mentions of sexual things, like wyr games if ykwim

✧tag list✧: @strawbsj @nikipedia07 @enhypensccstarlight @nikisdubblchococake

✧CHAPTER 1✧

Y/n watched as the kids hugged their parents before running to the school bus, to go to their school. Sighing, she went downstairs, smiling as she heard her little pet bunny hop to the door part of the cage, wanting to be set free. "Suzi~" she cooed, opening the cage as she stroked the bunny's head, softly booping it's pink nose.

The girl lifted the bunny by it's ears and left it in the bigger cage that was in her backyard, not wanting to take the risk of letting the bunny in her house, knowing full well the tiny menace will chew threw the wires and get electrocuted. She glanced at the small greenhouse she kept just for her butterflies. Her late mother was a lepidopterist, since her murder, y/n was given this extremely expensive build in the back of her apartment.

Locking all the doors, she hopped onto her motorbike and rode to school. Upon arriving at the school, she didn't even bother entering the building, because there he was, getting into yet another fight. Riki harshly punched male in the same spot multiple times, the male striking back, aiming for Riki's face, but he ducked. She wore her earphones, and purposefully pushed past him. Riki glared at the girl, already pissed, Sungchan used this chance to finally punch Riki.

He pulled on Riki's hair and kneed him in his stomach before running off. "MOTHERFUCKER GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE YOU PUSSY!" Riki yelled, running after him. God how bad he wanted to kill y/n. The girl smirked to herself as she slumped in her seat, in the back of the classroom, doodling on her notebook. She was only a few minutes late, her head down on the table, one earphone in, as she tried to nap.

It wasn't that easy to nap when she could hear Yeonjun and Taehyun, just a few rows in front of her, mention her name a few time, disgust evident on her face as she overheard them "Would you rather... be locked in an empty classroom with Mrs Lee, or... have sex with y/n?" Yeonjun asked with a grin as Taehyun snickerred. "Please, she's hot but she's our teacher, plus Y/n is kinda hot... Yeah Ima go with y/n" the male said.

The girl threw a paper ball in their direction, then pretended to be asleep. "Who tf was that?" Yeonjun asked, sounding like he meant business. "It was me." Y/n simply said, glaring holes into his head "w-well uh... Don't do it again!" he said sheepishly, trying to put on a tough act, before turning away and continuing his little immature game. The girl was suddenly yanked off of her seat, a painful tug at her hair.

"You fucking bitch look what you did!" Riki yelled, pointing t the small blood stain on his white shirt "I wouldn't have cared if it was his blood, BUT IT'S MINE, you think I'll let you get away with this?!" Riki asked glaring at her, as she looked back at him, unamused. Riki was never the type to hit women, but with y/n it's like something possesses him, and all he wants is to beat her until she begs for mercy. God he hated that dirty smirk on her lips.

"babyboy I'll count to three, and if you don't let go of my hair, then your pretty face will be met with a chair." she dared as Riki didn't let go "3...2... 2 and a half...1 bitch ur dead." She simply said, pulling onto the chair and swinging it at him, to his luck, a teacher stepped in, grabbing the chair from her. "NISHIMURA RIKI! KIM Y/N! TO THE PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE RIGHT NOW!" the women yelled as they both walked there.

The 2 were now stuck in a room, each writting the word "sorry" until 5 pages were full, beside them was Y/n's older brother, Sunoo who had to come off of work early to see his sister's hair a mess, and blood stains on his dear friend Riki. "How many times do I have to tell you? STOP GETTING ME CALLED INTO THIS OFFICE. Y/n, I replaced dad's contact details with mine for your wellbeing, NOT FOR YOU TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF IT AND HAVE ME COME IN EVERYTIME YOU TO SQUABBLE OVER SOMETHING STUPID!" He yelled as the girl groaned.

Yep, this was what everyday in a high school these two went to would be like. Sunoo sighed, using his hands to detangle the girl's hair, as he brushed it out for her, glaring at Riki "And you, Didn't I tell you not to motorbike race with those boys?! so fucking egoistic, do you need to prove every 5 seconds that you're better than them?! I told you so many times, don't mess with them they come from shitty backgrounds and the police won't dare to lock them away, you have sisters right? can't you behave for once?!" Sunoo lectured as he rolled his eyes.

"Ah- you're pulling too hard!" y/n whined as Sunoo flicked her forehead "I won't let you do my nails if you keep getting into trouble like this!" Sunoo added before aggressively, yet gently brushing her hair out. Riki just slept, his head on the blank papers as y/n pulled out her back up phone to scroll through.

✧𝕆𝕙 𝕓𝕒𝕓𝕪 𝕓𝕒𝕓𝕪✧

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yandere-daydreams · 8 months

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Feel free to ignore this! I'm just v sleep deprived and having brain rot inspired by some things I saw in ur writing and thought it may be up ur alley. Also this brainrot thingy is mainly aimed at readers who have the ability to get pregnant so if that don't sit right with you feel free to ignore it or change aspects of it!

Hear me out right. A mix of the sex doll au and hybrid au (either fox or husky) for childe. But like in the doll au how he replaces components as a form of trying to live out the dad fantasy? Yeah that but in the hybrid au. Like reader is trying to rehabilitate this poor little baby fox kit/husky puppy that's really sickly and was abandoned. Childe basically looks at the reader playing nurse/mommy for this poor thing almost 24/7 (his attention is being deprived lol) and goes "oh yeah that little one is ours duh". He starts exhibiting protective dad behavior while simultaneously being like "look at how good of a job I can do".

Follow up to that the pup/kit either gets better and can be handed off to another conservationist who has other young hybrids and would do a better job at caring for them in a group environment with other hybrid kiddos so there's less of a risk of em becoming too domesticated. And reader is supper bummed out about it for a while bc all their attention was zoned in on this one really precious little one and now they've moved onto bigger pastures 🥲. Meanwhile childe sees this and is like "oh now I can both console my mate in their grief, I've proven I'm a capable partner, I can totally help them make new little ones!"

Take all of that inspo/brainstorming as u will. Also if you consider people submitting ideas as commissions I apologize for misunderstanding! Did not intend to overstep 🙇‍♀️

tw - implied violence, child neglect/abandonment, and obsessive behavior.

fjdkljdfksdj i think this would probably be more plausible with husky!childe, but something about this scenario with fox!childe is just,,,

it'd just be so sweet to watch him dote over the tiny, terrified kit one of your friends found shivering in a snowbank. you really aren't qualified to take care of such a young hybrid, but while you scramble to get a hold of a more experienced volunteer, childe picks up the slack. despite being old enough to walk, the poor thing barely leaves his arms. he handles their near-hourly feedings, modifies the ill-fitting clothes you pull out of storage to accommodate their tail and hind legs, even lets them crawl between you and him at night and violate his cardinal rule (no one else gets to so much as touch your bed except for him - an unspoken law that's resulted in more than a few bitten hands and bleeding guests). he does his best to put a dent in their never-ending energy, and when it's time for you to take over, he's never more than a few feet away, wagging his tail as you take the kit's temperature and try to convince them to swallow a few drops of medicine. and, when you finally contact a volunteer with a small shelter and a pack of orphaned kits, childe seems as happy as you are, rubbing his cheek against theirs as he tells them that they'll be home soon enough. it's sweet, even if fox-hybrid dynamics are, admittedly, a little lost on you. honestly, you're just relieved you'll be able to sleep through the night again.

at least, you're relieved until you get back from work the next day, until you find your door unlocked and your apartment wrecked, furniture overturned and rust-colored stains soaked into your carpeting. you find childe on the foot of your bed, bouncing a crying kit in his lap and gushing them quietly, but he doesn't look concerned. if anything, his posture is slack, the smile written across his face nothing short of ecstatic. he looks calm. he looks happy.

he looks like someone who only just found his way home.

#hybrid au #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere childe #childe x reader #yandere ajax #yandere tartaglia

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nikkistradlinhemmings · 4 months

Text

Dream girl// Izzy stradlin smut, part one<3

-Female y/n-

(Part two - https://www.tumblr.com/nikkistradlinhemmings/738058350804287488/dream-girl-izzy-stradlin-part-two )

(Sorry if there are any mistakes, I have not yet properly proofread)

Warnings: P & V sex, losing virginity, oral sex, fingering, submissive, dirty talk, smoking, swearing, alcohol, partying, etc….

Summary: Izzy had a really realistic dream of a fellow famous rockstar daughter. He tried to find her and bumps into her at her house party.

Izzy sat himself at the bar in the rainbow, on the strip, he ordered him self a drink, he thought to light a cigarette, he pulled out his pack, and placed one in his mouth, slightly hanging form his lips as he panicked looking though his pocket in his leather jacket to fine his lighter. Which he did not have. He let out a sigh…

Her turned to his left and saw a gorgeous girl sitting there.

“Hey miss you got a lighter?” He asked him his raspy voice, “oh uhh yeah here” she said handing him her lighter, he slightly took it from her and lights his cigarette. He blows smoke into the air that smells of ash and tobacco. “I’m y/n by the way” she said trying to be nice and friendly.

Izzy smiles at her, he has dimple on his cheeks too. he blows out one more puff of smoke as he lowers his cigarette from his lips "Nice to meet you, y/n. You come here often?" “Eh not really” Izzy notices her demeanour and smiles at her, taking another puff of smoke “You a drinkin' kind of girl?" “More of a whisky girl myself”

"Yeah, same here. Bartender? Bring me and the pretty lady a whiskey each" Izzy orders the drinks for them both as he leans on the bar, looking her up and down as he talks to her. The bartender comes back with your drinks and passes it to them both. The bar is somewhat loud as they both get their glass to drink from, the crowd of people seems to be dancing and smiling as y/n both take a sip from their drinks. After a few seconds, Izzy looks y/n in the eyes and says

"You know, I like you. We should grab a table and have a good conversation."

“Alright” she said agreeing with him. Izzy takes her by the hand to one of the free tables in the corner of the bar. He takes a seat opposite to y/n, and slides a little closer to her as she take another sip from her drink. He looks at y/n as y/n look at him, and then he leans over and places his hand on her thigh. “You know I caught ur name” she said breaking the silence. “I never threw it” he said shrugging his right shoulder. “Oh. Cliche.” She said joking with him.

Izzy gives you a sly smile as he leans forward more. "Oh, forgive me. I'm Izzy Stradlin. Rhythm guitarist for gun n rose and..." his hand moves up her thigh a little bit further while he's still speaking but he pauses when he notices she flinch. Izzy pulls his hand away as soon as he takes notice of her reaction to his touch. He pulls back for a second and then laughs softly

"Hey, my apologies. You must get lots of guys hitting on you all of the time, huh?" “Oh yeah a lot of rockstars… wait you said guns n’ roses… right?”Izzy smiles as he nods his head at y/n, "Yes, that's right! I play rhythm guitar for gun n roses" “I think you played a show with my dad” she said lighting her own cigarette.

Izzy perks up with excitement in his voice "Wait... who's your father?” “Steven Tyler, from Aerosmith…” y/n said taking a drag from her cigarette then a sip of her whisky. Izzy's eyes get wide as he realizes that she is saying Steven Tyler, the lead singer of Aerosmith is her father.

"You're Steven Tyler's daughter?" “Live in the flesh, any way how old are you Mr stradlin” she said lightly laughing. Izzy laughs as he sips from his drink. "Call me Izzy, please. And I'm 25 years old". He pauses for a second and then smiles at you as he starts to speak again. "Tell me, how old are you, dear?" “21, and imma call ya Mr stradlin deal with it” she continues to laugh. He laughs one more time before taking a sip of his drink, “alright miss Tyler… I’ll deal with it. So you’re 21 yeah? I thought someone as young and beautiful as yourself would need to have a group of friends around, you know parties, dancing?” He said wondering about her and her personality.

“Young? You’re like 4 years older than me” she said with a surprise look in her face from him calling her young… Izzy laughs as he shakes his head

"Come on, darling, when you're in your 20's, 4 years feels like 10 years. You're still so young and full of energy when you're in your 21, you would never stop dancing and singing the whole night with your friends."

“Nah fuck that, I’d rather stay home and play guitar and make music you know?” She said siping from her drink. Izzy pauses for a few seconds before smiling at y/n.

"I get it now.... Your father being in Aerosmith and everything. You play rock music too, don't you?"

“Ding, ding, ding!” She said slightly being sarcastic. Izzy laughed finding her amusing and never feeling like that with anyone..

"So I'm talking to someone with the same passion I have in music. This is quite a nice surprise for me tonight". he nods his head and smiles. “Yeah you normally talk and fuck groupies right?” Izzy laughs as she make that comment. "Is that what you think? What makes you say that?” “Ur hot and you obviously have groupies don’t even lie”. Y/n said looking at him up and down admitting that he was hot, cos it was the truth.

He leans forward and slightly whispers…“Can I tell you a secret y/n?” “Go for it” she said tilting her head to the side. Izzy leans in close to y/n and whispers this into her ear..

"If you allow me to, I'd much rather spend this evening talking with someone as interesting and beautiful as you, than talking to any women that only care about my celebrity status" Izzy puts his hand on herthigh, slowing moving up and smiles at her. "Say, what do you say we leave this bar and go somewhere more private? It's a little loud here"

She lifted her left eyebrow as she processed what he said. “You know I’m not gonna fuck you izzy, I’m not like that” she said looking away from him. Izzy's smile turns to a frown the minute he heard her words, Izzy sighs a little bit, he takes his hand off your thigh and leans back in his seat. He sips his drink for a few seconds, staring at you for a few seconds. "Look, I respect that. But, is it so wrong to have a little bit of fun every once in a while?" Y/n huffs at him in frustration. “Izzy I’m a 21 year old virgin, I have turned down a lot of rockstar ur not gonna be the last” Izzy was a bit shocked to find out a pretty gorgeous girl like y/n was a 21 year old virgin. But izzy smiles as he laughs

"I'm just trying to figure out what would impress you. Because if you're saying my charms, status, or talents won't work. I'm genuinely confused on what would get me to your heart." Y/n laughs at him, “why me tho?” She asked butting out her cigarette, lzzy gets a bit quiet as he takes this question to heart. "I see someone like you, who is very independent and someone who can stand up for herself. What I see in you is someone who is willing to fight for what they want and who can stand their ground. Those are traits that I really admire. As I'm sure you've noticed, most women fall over for me just by looking at me. When I see you, there's something more to you.. something inside that's really attractive."

She raises her eyebrows at him in not believing him… lzzy can tell she is very skeptical about him, because he's clearly a rockstar and women have fallen head over heels for him in the past. But there's something about him that seems genuine.

"I may be charming, I may be good looking, but I really mean what I say. I'm interested in you, and I want to get to know you better. If you'll let me…..I'm also very curious to know why you've shut down every other rock star who's come onto you." “Honestly I haven’t found the one, you know it’s just hard you know” she said being completely honest and shrugging her shoulders.

Izzy chuckles a little bit and nods his head

“I know what you mean. I find it difficult as well, to not let the fame and success of being a rock star get into me and ruin any chance I have of connecting with someone who is interested in me because of me, and not just my persona"

She nodded her head to show that she was listening and agreed with him. “Yeah exactly”. Izzy smiles as he leans in a bit closer "Well, maybe you should give this rockstar a chance, hm? Because for me, you don't seem like the kind of girl that I want to just be with casually, no offence. You're a special kind of girl to me."

“Hmm Izzy let’s get one things straight, okay?” Her voice had a hint of sternness. He just nodded and raised his eyebrows. “I’m not gonna fuck you, I’m not a groupie I’m not one girl you can fuck and never talk to again, I’m more of the relationship type of girl, if you want me you have me for a very long long time, understand!?”

she was very stern, he could tell she was being serious. Izzy was taken aback by this sudden outburst of emotions. He didn't say anything at first as he looked at her, he wasn't used to being talked to this way and actually enjoyed the sternness she had. It made him want her more.

"That's completely understandable, and frankly I'd be more surprised if you were that kind of girl. But I'm curious about one thing. Just why are you so willing to be in a long-term relationship with someone who you just met? Why would you want that with me?" “Well Izzy I’m not gonna lie, you are very attractive but in general” she said as she nodded understanding what her point was…

“May I please ask you a question miss tyler?” “Yes” “is there a chance I could get at least one kiss from you, right now? You don’t have to answer tho” he leans back in his seat and making eye contact with her. “Why?” She said tilting her head to the side again.

Izzy pauses for a beat before he replies "Honestly, because I really like you. I like to think I can read the body language of women. There is a connection here, and I think this feeling may be mutual. Your beauty is distracting, and I can't help but want to kiss you right now." “Will it make you shut up?” Izzy chuckles and responds. "If you're asking me if I'll shut up if you give me one kiss, I'd be lying if I said yes. I'd want more from you if you gave me one kiss. But maybe we should start with one kiss and see how it goes from there?"

Y/n leans over the table and grabs his shirt and pulls him closer, Izzy is taken by surprise at how she approach him and take control, making him lean closer to her. Y/ns beauty is truly distracting, and he's not able to keep his eyes off her.It's hard to even breathe when you're this close. erini makes eye contact, her face in inches away from his, izzy looks back at you, your eyes are so captivating.

Their lips are so close together, the anticipation is rising. Izzy's hands lightly grab your waist and start to pull you in for the kiss.. Izzy's eyes have now closed, and their lips are so close together. Their breaths are now mixed together, Izzy is losing control of himself from the heat of the moment.

There is no doubt they both wanted this moment. The kiss is filled with passion and desire. The feeling of her lips against his is sending electricity throughout Izzy’s body it feels amazing. There is no hesitation at all between them, as the kiss goes on for a good few seconds before she then pull away from him.

“Izzy?” She said breaking the kiss and making eye contact with him.

Izzy's eyes have now locked onto hers, he is taking this very seriously and it's clear he wants to go farther than just kissing. He whispers into her ear.

"Please, tell me what you're thinking right now. You can be honest with me, I won't judge you for how you're feeling right now."

“I’m thinking you should wake up… wake up Izzy” she said being dead serious. “W-what?”

Izzy slowly wakes up from his dream, he sat up quickly and realized he was back in his room. The dream felt extremely real, but he quickly realized that it was just that… a dream. His mind then started to think about who he was dreaming about. A very stunning woman, he couldn't even remember her name. Did she even exist? or was she his imagination…

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