#and i still dated him. for. a whole summer
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FABLE OF THE DOG : 2. Sugar, Not so Sweet
Series Masterlist; Chapter: 1,
Pairing: Joel Miller x FMC
Rating: Explicit 18+
Content Warnings: Cowboy/Heiress AU; Slowburn(ish); Original Characters; Alcohol Use; Allusions to Attempted Suicide; Discussions of Grief; Daddy Issues; Parental Neglect; Angst and Fluff; Older Man/Younger Woman; Jealousy; Possessive Behavior; Brat Taming; Extremely Bossy Old Man; Past Teenage Crush; Yearning and Longing Galore; A Home is a Place but ALSO a Person!; Found Family
A/N: This is a deeply, deeply unserious chapter, and I make no apologies—I was taken away by whimsy!!!!
Apologies however, for the French people slander, I went on a truly heinous date with a oui oui baguette loser last month. I’m still working through my anger.
Word Count: 13.4K
Read on AO3
2. Sugar, Not so Sweet
They appear at the break of dawn, the young man and the boy.
“How many heads’ve you got total?”
Joel appraises him, the fresh-faced look, a boy just crossed over into the cusp of manhood—though he’s large and strong and earnest in the eyes. He’d be a good hire, if not for—
He glances over at the young boy sitting on the bunk’s couch, snickering quietly with Ellie as his brother tries to barter a place for the two of them.
“Near to thirty large about now. We’re fixin’ to breed, but we’re pushin’ our limitations.”
“So you need hands,” he says eagerly.
“We do,” Joel returns slowly, chewing on the mint he’d plucked from out front. His stomach is in knots, has been since—days and days and days ago, last night, and so much worse now. There’s a sick heat settled deep that he doesn’t know how he’ll scourge out and quick.
“Listen, I know it’s unconventional, but—”
“Where’s his parents?” He tips his chin at the boy, and Ellie peers slyly over her shoulder at him. He’ll get hell for this later, he knows, she knows.
“Our momma’s down south—by way of Odessa. She cowboys during the summer too, and—”
Joel sits up in his seat. “Texas?”
“Come on, Texas,” Tommy slinks behind him, sneaking an arm over his shoulder to thump Joel roughly on the chest. “Just say yes.” He lets out a gruff sound masking a cough, fucking Tommy, and leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Ellie rise from the sofa and leave the bunk quietly with a parting pat on the boy's head.
“You’re from Texas, too?” The young man asks brightly, that look of hope in his eyes that Joel’s about to quash.
“We’re from Austin,” Tommy says from the coffee pot, his mustache spreading wide over a shit-eating grin. “Southerners way up here, we gotta stay united amongst all these Yanks’,” his brother puts on the drawl heavy, and Joel rolls his eyes. Clown.
“Listen, Henry,” he says, trying to turn the conversation back to business. He looks at the boy again, the back of the small head bent and silent and something that could, perhaps, be thought of as guilt pulses through him, but to be honest, there’s so much of that moving about Joel’s system right about now, that it’s just one more drop of poison filling his cup. It doesn’t matter. He needs to do what’s right.
For who? He can’t very well tell yet.
“I’m sure you’re a hard worker, son, and I’d not hesitate to give you a place were we in different circumstances, but I just don’t see how this would work—”
Henry leans forward in his chair too, ready to plead his case, fight for his brother and the generously paying jobs the Kelly’s are famous for. There’s something about the boy newly turned man that reminds Joel of himself. Perhaps during that young and fragile youth of his twenties, when he’d been alone with a newborn baby, trying to figure out the whole world and himself.
“I know it’s unconventional, but he’s a good kid. He’s quiet and keeps to himself, and it’d only be for the summer, sir. We head back down for the start of the school year. It’s difficult, but it’s harder for my momma to get work with a kid than it is for me.” He trips over his words with the speed at which he’s spitting them at Joel, trying to convince him, and he knows that the fair thing would be to take them in. To give this man a chance the way Joel had been given one so many years ago, the mercy of safe harbor. But he’s got a finite amount of goodness in him now, he’s got to save it all for only one person. There’s none left for anyone else. And Joel doesn't want trouble, he’s got enough of that around here right about now. “He’s got his books and his summer worksheets, and he knows how to manage on his own while I work. I swear, he won’t be in any sort of way. You can—”
And then, amidst the young strangers' rambling plea, Joel's heart falls through his stomach. Here comes that trouble anyways.
“What’s going on here?” In that soft, lovely voice that haunted his dreams last night.
All the cowboys rise from their seats at the sound of your presence.
From over your shoulder, Joel sees Ellie’s face twisted in a grimace at him, the flash of her middle finger and then her tongue.
“Goddamnit, Ellie,” he growls low.
You look exhausted, eyes red rimmed and swollen—as if you’d been crying all night, and Joel’s tongue is a swollen, poisoned thing in his mouth—a husk of guilt is all he is. He swallows convulsively, trying to find his words, trying to not scream at the thought of being what’s made you cry, trying not to look down the length of you and failing. Silky sleep shorts end way too high up on the long length of those too pretty thighs, an oversized pullover with Yale emblazoned across the front, a little hole at the neck and a large dark stain marr the front of it. You’ve got on a too big robe, dark and plaid, draped over your shoulders with your hair all a mess. He can see Ellie’s trying to pull it into some semblance of a braid behind your back discreetly while you stare at him with those eyes that, and he’s being damn honest now, fucking terrify him. Those puffy, ridiculous tan boots women wear, the impractical ones that become a sogging mess in the snow or wet despite the fact he understands they’re supposed to be worn in winter, are on your feet, two mismatched socks peek out above the tops.
He’s pretty sure one of them has bombs with a capital ‘F’ in the tiny centers printed over it. The other, some sort of Easter bunny carrot print. Absolutely ridiculous, and he can’t help it, he notices it all.
And worst of all, in your grip is that World’s Best Dad mug you’d sent the old fucker for Christmas several years ago, a little holiday fuck you from his best daughter. It’d been one of the years he hadn’t let you come home for the winter break, forced you to spend the holiday alone at that boarding school of yours. The whole ranch had known and whispered about it, and he’d felt embarrassed and offended on your behalf, that they’d all gossiped about the girl you were behind your back when they should’ve respected you for the woman you’d become one day, the one that’d eventually pay all of their earnings.
And the jackass had the audacity to use the mug all the time afterwards. Joel was pretty sure it’d been his favorite.
“We were just wrapping up,” Joel says, clearing his throat, finally finding his voice. It’s almost physically painful to look at you directly in the eyes, and the heat of shame and regret claws its way up his throat at the hollow look he sees there. You’re so angry at him, and he deserves it.
“This is the new Kelly,” Ellie tells Henry, cutting him off, pressing you forward with her hands wrapped around your shoulders. Your shorts are way too short to be in here right now, and Joel feels something else, even hotter than shame, stirring inside him. “If you want work here, this is who you need to talk to. The big boss.”
“Miss Kelly,” Henry says reverently, pulling his cap off to press against his chest. “It’s a mighty fine honor gettin’ to meet you. I was just telling your foreman here,” he motions the cap towards Joel, and he feels like a bear who’s about to rip it out of his grip and stuff it down his throat. Fucking Ellie going and snitching on him. “How me and my brother Henry travel for the summer. I’ve got letters here, I’ve worked at the King before, and have a number your man can call if he needs more references. I’ve got lots of experience and—”
“What will you do with him?” Your gaze is on the little boy, has been the entire time. Joel steps forward and over the back of the couch he sees the kid, Sam, has a comic book in his lap he’s been reading this whole time, while adults who should have no bearing on his life decide what will and will not be for him. “While you work—”
Joel looks back at you, and he knows already what it’ll be.
Henry’s smile is wide and gleaming, putting on the charm. What he doesn’t see, what Joel does, is that bleak sadness in your gaze that he’d put there himself last night. He needs to speak with you, to explain, to make it right between the two of you.
“He’s good at entertaining himself. I promise he won’t be in the way or nothin’. He’s got books and summer work, and he’s learning to play the guitar. He won’t be in the way,” Henry says again.
“What about school?”
“We only travel during the summer. We’re back in Texas for the school year.” And at that, you finally look back at Joel, and his heart shoots from his belly to his throat, ready to be spit up at your feet.
You watch him for a long searing moment, and there's such sadness there. He doesn’t know what would have been better, what would have been the correct recourse, how to make that look go away. To give you what you want? To do what he thinks is right or what should be right? He’d never thought, never considered anything like this. It’s all too much too fast, and he feels suddenly lost and childlike in the face of you and all you stand for.
“They stay,” you say only for Joel.
Henry lets out a whoop of victory, rushing forward to thank you profusely, but Jesse, who’s standing by the door, blocks his rush forward with a hand to his chest before he can get too close to the new boss. You’re for protecting now, above all else, it’s the unspoken word they all suddenly understand keenly.
You stare solemnly at Joel for only a second longer, those sleep sloped doe eyes, before you’re turning without another word.
-
“He never did a very good job of hiding the way he treated you, sweetheart. I couldn’t ever respect a man like that.”
The cricket song is a symphony of sound around the two of you, and you’re suspended for a second, he sees it come on—a rose hued haze, and then blink-of-an-eye donning a look that spells nothing but disaster. He’s thrown off course by it for a single second, that girl fantasy glow, before you’re launching yourself at him, and then it’s nothing but a soft wet mouth, smoked fruit and fired oak, the slick of your tongue against his bottom lip as you kiss him.
You’re kissing him.
He’s a frozen solid husk, eyes wide open as he stares down at the look on your face—something like agony. The tiny frown between your eyebrows, concentration, and a single diamond tear caught in the web of your lashes, and he can’t help but notice the soft press of your breasts against his chest, you’re not wearing a bra, before he’s shoving you back by the shoulders, scrambling to get as far away from you as quickly as he can.
His back hits the railing before he can get far enough. “What the fuck are you doing?” He spits, but can’t help but lick his tongue along his bottom lip, tasting where you’ve just been.
His stomach is suddenly hot.
You swallow convulsively, bleary eyed look turning to hurt, pressing your palm to your belly, twisting your fingers in the fabric of your sweater there. “I don’t— I didn’t—” Your eyelashes flutter shut, closing the hurt, confused look away from him for one blessed second. You press your other palm to your forehead, gripping yourself as if you’re trying to hold your very skin together.
What do you think you’re doing? He enunciates each word like the lash of a whip, and then licks his lips again to soften those same blows for himself.
Something is about to go inexplicably wrong here. Something already has. A tragedy worse than the death of a father
“I just thought that—” You blink your eyes open and they’re wet, and he’s about to bark at you to not fucking cry or he’ll lose it completely, but he swallows it or loses the thought to madness. He feels incomprehensibly insane, inconceivably triggered.
This is like nothing he’d ever imagined, and it tilts him on his axis, skews his vision, headlights blinding you in a dead-on collision.
What are you doing—thinking?
“I— I watched you grow up. I watched you—” You take an anxious step towards him, some word on your lips he can’t even make out because his hearing has gone out, and now he’s all of a sudden deaf in both ears instead of just one. He hardens his voice further. He makes sure you understand. “This is fucking wrong, and you need to get away from me right now,” reversing his movements, taking a threatening step forward, stomping his heavy boot against the floorboards beneath so that you’re jumping, skittering backwards like a frightened little rabbit.
And Joel, the beast, crushing her beneath his foot.
You wrap both of your hands around the delicate column of your throat; he imagines you’re holding in your hurt sounds, and it makes him even angrier.
“Listen to me—” he starts again.
But you cut him off, shaking your head, the confused sleep-look being blinked away so that now it’s spitting fire that is awake and angry in your gaze. “But you didn’t,” you say. “You barely know me. We’re almost strangers.” A scoff, and then switching again to soft, to girl-like, to hurt: “And I’m all grown up now, Joel.”
“I don’t know what you reckon is happenin’ here between us. Or what you think— what you—” He looks away, can’t bear the sight of it, you, fuck, he spits, again, fuck. “If I gave you the wrong impression, I’m sorry, but—”
Then in a broken little voice grasping for straws, “But we were born on the same day,” and you say it like a question. Like it should mean more. Like, and he realizes it now, like it means the world.
He turns back to look at you, and he feels full of everything but mercy—too much regret. “And what? What do you think that means? That we’re connected—meant to be?” His voice sounds full of cruelty. “Don’t be delusional. It’s also the day my daughter died. D’you know that?”
A blink. “What?”
“She died on my thirty-fourth birthday.”
Again. “But… Wh—at?” Broken up word, and your chin does a little wobbling dance, jutting this way and that, and you have a dimple in your cheek that comes out when you’re happy, but also when you’re sad. When you’re about to cry. He sees it now, and starkly.
He’s ruining something sacred.
Joel steels himself. “Whatever it is you’ve made up in your mind about us, it’s a fantasy. Something not real that you need to let go of. Are you hearin’ me?”
“I— I think…” You won’t stop blinking, your hands look like they’re about to strangle you, and he steps forward as if to stop you or save you from yourself. “Why didn’t you ever say?”
But instead of saving, “Why would I? Why would I ever tell you that?” He does not want to hurt you, and yet he cannot help it, and Joel wonders if this is how your father felt every time he failed you—like a lesser man. “Wasn’t for you to know—it doesn’t mean the same thing to us.” That day. He makes himself clear: “Whatever child’s fantasy you’re still holding onto, you need to let it go.”
-
He rushes out of the bunk after you, a growled, you little shit, at Ellie as he passes her.
“Man, what’d you fuckin’ do?” She calls after him in that tone that tells him that of course she knows what’s happened. You two’ve never been able to keep a single thing from each other. Asshole! She shouts at his back as he catches up to your slowly retreating form. Your movements are sluggish, exhausted.
He calls your name and tries to moderate his tone from being as aggressive as he feels right now. “We gotta talk.” He follows after you, hot on your heels and then jumping back like a scared mut when you spin around on your ridiculous boot to face him.
“Speak.” It’s a high-handed tone, that one. One that says he’s the grunt here, and you the queen, that you’d both forgotten it last night, but the battlelines are clearly drawn now. There’ll be no more forgetting.
And it’s all his fault.
“You can’t—” His heart thumps and thumps and thumps like a pitiful thing. “You can’t undermine me in front of the boys like that. There’s a reason I was saying no.”
“Which is?”
“That the kid’ll be in the way.”
And you flinch and Joel prays for a gun to the back of the skull. Fucking Christ, but this is difficult.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he gruffs. “You know what I mean. This is hard work we do here. I don’t want the kid gettin’ hurt, I don’t want to be responsible for that. What goes on here is on me. The people who get hurt, it’s all on me, and I take that responsibility damn serious.”
You tilt your head at him in that queer, inspecting way of yours. The one he’d watched you pull like a weapon against your father so many times. He finds he hates it now, detests it, being wielded against himself. You ignore his words, “What was your arrangement here—with him? How did this work with the ranch?”
There has been that thought always, and obviously, of you as something higher, that symbol of the family or the safe haven this place has been for Joel. The not-respect he had for your father, but surely the understanding—you've always been all wrapped up in that. He's at times felt grateful for your existence, perhaps, in ways. That something as good, as better, as you could exist in the same world Joel exists in. Perhaps he’d admired you in ways, even as a young girl, for your goodness, your sincerity. But he finds now, at this look of disdain you’re wearing against him, that he hates the feeling of being less than you, of not being good enough to even stand in your presence.
He’s done wrong, marred it all in ugliness. He’s put himself in this position somehow, by hurting you, by confusing you, by wanting—
“I do what I need to, what the ranch needs. Whatever decision I need to make, I call it and it’s on me. Monthly reports to him and that was it. He understood that what happens out here is different to what can be told and sometimes you can’t plan for certain shit. He focused on the business, I focus on the ranch.”
By wanting what?
Bringing the mug to your lips, you take a long sip, humming. It’s all a taunt. Joel realizes, suddenly, and with painful clarity, that this has all been a grave miscalculation on his part.
As uncomfortable as it is for even him to admit, you are, and undeservedly, a person used to not being wanted, used to rejection. Joel understands this with the quick fire blink of an eye. And he has, in his shock, or— or… he doesn't know—instantaneous awakening—unintentionally alienated you, made an enemy.
I see, you murmur quietly coupled with a bitter cough of laughter that doesn’t sound anything like the sweet sound he’s used to hearing from you. Yes, a very bad mistake has been made indeed. “Well, you’re practically king here, aren’t you then? Quite the partnership the two of you had.” You smile wide, all bright teeth.
The coffee sloshes in the mug held in your unsteady hand, and he worries there’s something stronger in there too.
“Not at all. I’m just good at what I do.” He shoves fisted hands into his pockets, trying to keep patient. Trying not to throttle you, check your drink for himself.
“And is this how you’d like to continue going forward? I mind my own business, and you do as you please?”
He shakes his head slow, grinds the pulverized mint between his molars, “I want whatever you think’s best. You’re the Kelly now, after all.” You get a look on your face like you don’t like the sound of that at all, and he turns to spit the greens between his teeth, coughing roughly.
“Yeah, I’m sure of that,” you say with teeth bared, and then whipping your head away from him as if you can’t bear the sight of him a second longer. The coffee sloshes the other way, splashing against your wrist. He hopes it’s not burning you. “You know, you’ve got some fucking nerve, Joel. You—”
The robe—all of a sudden, saturated by the dark liquid, it grabs his attention. It’s in a plaid print, expensive looking, like something you’d see an older man wearing. A man’s robe? He cocks his head, “Whose robe is that?” Cutting your tirade short.
What? You spit, all sass, his stomach burns, turning to look back at him as if he’s gone idiotic, grown a second head. He feels a little bit like he’s in the process of doing so—wracked with growing pains. “It’s my ex-boyfriend’s. Can you focus, please? I’m trying to have a fight with you right now.” And you scrunch your nose too adorably for him to find anything besides endearing. Certainly not intimidating.
He grunts, displeased.
“I know you don’t want to hear it—”
“Then keep it to yourself.” You turn, continuing on your way up to the house, coffee flies with your spin, boyfriend’s robe whipping out in your wake as he follows like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs.
A little desperately, like a dog, too. A begging for scraps imitation game he hadn’t intended to play but feels obligated to now, and by his own doing.
“But I want to say—about last night…”
You turn on your heel out of nowhere again, and he stumbles to not rush head first into you, to not touch you.
The look on your face is all heartbreak. “Do you remember—when I was away at school—and I fell off the horse? When I came home with that broken arm and couldn’t get back on and you helped me? Do you remember that, Joel? How you reminded me how I was supposed to do it—”
He coughs, uncomfortable, shifting like that same scared dog. “You remember these things different than I do.” The words feel cowardly spilling from his tongue, but he should be honest. Shouldn’t he?
This is what he should be doing, isn’t it?
“I remember that you were kind. That you cared. That’s what I remember.” Your eyes are glossed again, and now it’s Joel that has to look away.
-
“I didn’t care. It was my job to serve your father. To do as he’d want me to. It was a responsibility.”
It’s happening again. A tale like any other you’ve too often heard. You know he’s not lying, and yet everything he says feels precariously close to it.
“Why are you being like this?” And you ask it very practically, like you really want to know, like you’ve asked the same sort of question to the same sort of figure before, and so now you’re extremely well practiced, an expert even.
“You remember these things differently. Wrong—That’s not how I meant any of it—whatever you’re thinkin’. It was just a kindness.”
“No, but I— but you…” That’s the point, you want to say, a kindness, but the words stick. You look away again, colored in shame, can’t bear the sight of him. “Maybe you’re right,” you whisper with that very remembered kindness of your lonely childhood thrown back in your face now. “Maybe I do.”
“Listen to me—I’d like for things between us to be— I’m not… I don’t now what to fuckin’ say to you.”
“Honey—” Dina calls from the porch, your father’s assistant, now yours by inheritance, you suppose. “We gotta go soon—gotta get you ready.”
“I have things to do with Dina. I don’t have time for you—for this. Do what you want, run it how you like,” the ranch, “But the kid stays. That’s final.”
You won’t look at him again, you decide. You’ll learn to want a new thing. You’ll learn to love a new thing.
If you had it in you, you’d laugh in his face.
Have you been in love with him? Probably not in any way that could’ve been called mature, it was the girl-fantasy of a neglected child latching on to a man who’d always seemed nothing but steady and kind.
So you’ll learn to grow up now, no choice left in the matter, let the fantasy go.
-
Despite your desire for debauchery and the three days of bad behavior you’d promised yourself, you’ve got shit to do.
An hour after your ridiculous non-conversation with the ridiculous man, you and Dina are stepping back out into the summer sunshine when your phone rings with a call from another ridiculous man for what promises to surely be another even more ridiculous conversation.
Jacopo.
You’d met through the friend of a friend at the party of someone or another in Monaco. Come from an Italian mother and a French father, you should’ve known he was going to be an arrogant asshole from the get go, but he’d been beautiful and momentarily distracting—things you knew you didn’t really want but told yourself would suffice. Really, all he was, was boring, the same as everyone else, wanting something from you without having to truly return anything in full.
Jacopo the jockey—sounds like a goddamn cartoon.
You liked to call him Jack, like he were the same sort of plebeian he saw all Americans as, and which he absolutely loathed with the sort of passion only an uppity French man could possess.
In the distance, you can see Joel, Frank and Bill propped up against the corral watching as Jesse runs Ellie atop a gorgeous chestnut Quarter. Sometimes she likes to compete, when she can get Joel to stop complaining about it for a second.
Dina makes her way towards them, “Tell them we’ll take the Ghibli,” you call after her to which she throws a thumbs up. At the sound of your voice he peers over his shoulder, finding your eyes immediately, catching there—fish on a burning hook. And then turns full around, leaning back to rest his elbows on the iron grate as you take French boys call, settling in to watch you.
“Hi, Jack, sweetie. How’s it hangin’?”
“I do not know what this means.”
Bore. “What do you want, Jacopo? I’m busy.”
“My love, we must speak. I have heard of your father. You should have call me, I will come to be with you now. Tell me where you are.”
“Why the hell would I want you to come be with me? We broke up. Remember?”
Joel watches you as the French idiot prattles on about how he loves you and how you need him and how the two of you belong together, blah blah. Odious man, you don’t know how you ever let him inside of you.
Across the lawn, he isn’t looking away, and his gaze burns where it touches. You feel—humiliated, hurt, rejected, so angry it’s a physical ache.
Not surprised.
Perhaps in some way, his rejection was what you’d wanted, had been looking for. Perhaps, it was your subconscious search for the easy way out. Because, and really, what else had you thought would happen when you’d thrown yourself at him half drunk? That he’d suddenly stop seeing you as the child he’d known you for always, take you as a woman, want you, fuck you right there on your newly dead father’s front deck?
Ridiculous.
You can’t even think about the birthday—about her. It’s a snipped lifeline, a crushed tether.
“Cherie, I must tell you I am feeling very neglected now by you. You don’t call. You do not love me no longer, or what is the problem?” More nonsense and really, this fuckin’ guy needs a boot in his ass pronto.
And the one still watching you—something even worse. He’s got his mangy brown cowboy hat pulled low over his brow, the one for the ranch, not the lovely dark one for escorting orphans to the funerals of dead fathers, and his jaw works the mint leaves you know he’s got between his teeth, slow and steady. You should hiss at him. Instead, your tummy smolders with heat and butterflies.
Stop looking at me, you horrible man, you want to shout.
Humming and hawing at the annoying voice coming through the phone, you smooth your palm over the silk of your dress. You’d wanted to look nice today, your first Kelly meeting. You wanted to look better than you feel, which is like shit, quite frankly.
There are tiny green paisleys patterned over the deep blue of the dress, a shock of dark red maroon for the cashmere knit of the cardigan tied over your shoulders, and a little silken kerchief wrapped around your throat, something from your mother’s things you’d gone through last night after Joel had ordered you to bed with your tail tucked between your legs and tears in your throat.
Twenty four years later, and your father still had all her things preserved in their bedroom as if she’d only stepped out for the afternoon. A veritable mausoleum right there in your house-not-home.
You’d never even stood a chance.
-
He watches you begin to pace across the deck, but the look on your face tells him you aren’t quite listening to whatever it is the person on the phone’s saying to you.
The gold and silver bangles that slide around your fine boned wrists jingle a song of temptation. Siren song, bird song, death march, something he’d follow with blind eyes, recognize deaf. And heavy gold and jeweled rings along your fingers that shine almost as bright as the spilled silk of your hair. Swathed in shades of jewel, you’re all woman, done up and ready to go out and devastate.
He doesn’t know how any man could ever look at you and not want you.
He doesn’t know how he’ll ever be the same from here on out.
“Who’s she talkin’ to?” He asks Dina, tipping his chin over at you. He can hear you raising your voice, something about you fucking French moron, and he doesn’t like the hunch he’s got about who it is.
“Boyfriend,” Dina says while she watches Ellie work the horse with hearts in her eyes.
“Thought he was an ex.”
She peers up at him suspiciously at that, a queer little smile tipping the corners of her mouth upwards. “Well maybe now that he knows how much she’s worth he’ll be coming back, huh?”
Joel swears all these fuckin’ women are conspiring against him, trying to send him to an early grave. “He steps foot on this ranch, and I’ll shoot him in the goddamn ass.”
She laughs, throwing her head back which inevitably draws Ellie’s attention. “You are literally so dramatic.”
“What’s he bein’ dramatic about now?” Ellie calls from behind, trotting up to the corral edge.
“Ohhh, nothin’. Just Joel being Joel. Right, old man?” Dina bumps her hip against his and he grunts, refusing to be goaded. He’s not being dramatic, it’s his responsibility to take care of you now, to watch over you.
That’s all.
“I’m never dramatic,” he tells them very seriously.
On the porch, the spat reaches a crescendo and they all turn to watch the show.
Why don’t you shove the whole Eiffel Tower up your ass, you fucking dipshit. And don’t you ever call me again!
“Little girl’s got a mouth on her,” Bill murmurs.
Ellie lets out a long whistle. Deserved, Dina adds. On the porch, you let out a strangled little screech, stomping the high heel of your boot as if you’ve got half a mind to throw a fit.
Joel feels hypnotized, speared through the gut.
He wants to know what the ex-boyfriend said. What his name is. Where he’s from and who he is and what he does and how he is and every single thing about him and how it was between the two of you.
He is suddenly desperate to know everything there is to know about you in a way that makes his throat feel swollen with guilt. In a way he didn’t ever think he’d want from you.
All the things you keep close, all the small intimacies that make you this person you are now, that’s what he wants.
You stomp down the steps, making your way towards them, eyes directly on his, and you’re too fucking beautiful for his own good, watching you feels like a sin.
Makes him feel in danger, like prey.
“All men should die,” you yell over.
See.
“I agree,” Dina says cheerfully.
“You know you can have a baby with the junk in your bones from another woman now,” Ellie adds helpfully.
“The junk in your bones?” Joel says.
“I don’t think that’s true.”
“Yeah, like really we don’t even need you for shit anymore.”
“They should all be put in a hole in the ground in the middle of Nebraska and only be let out when a girl wants to bone.”
“To bone—Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Ellie.”
“I love that idea,” you say, finally coming to stand right before Joel. He swallows hard, stays silent—feels like the cat’s finally caught his tongue.
“Why Nebraska?” Franks asks, puzzled.
He’s got to stop looking at you, he’s got to get away from the sight of your eyes, feels like the colors of you seem to pulse brighter, and he feels it all like a touch against his skin. He turns to look at Ellie over his shoulder and with a huge, shit-eating grin she says, “Cause who the fuck knows where fuckin’ Nebraska is, huh?” Her eyes flash to you and then quickly back to Joel, winking, cheeky, knowing. He feels the noose tighten.
They’re definitely conspiring against him.
The three of you cackle—at his expense.
“Where’re you two headed?” Bill asks with a frown when the three little hyenas settle.
“She’s got a meeting in Jackson,” Dina tells him. “First part’ll be quick—she’s just gotta kick some pushy jackass to the curb and tell him we’re not leasing mineral rights to him no matter how hard he begs or how much money he throws at us. Then…” she trails off, throwing you a worried glance, but your eyes are on the far off mountains now, and Joel watches a shaky swallow pass through your throat.
“Then we’ve got the will reading,” you say.
A sharp ache starts up behind Joel’s left eye, all the easygoing laughter of a few moments ago sucked away with a few words and a single reminder. That you’re not the girl you used to be, laughing and playing with Ellie, that your father is dead, that you have a world of responsibility to face now.
“You shouldn’t have to go all the way into town. They should be comin’ to you here.”
“I want to get out—see his office.”
“S’only been a few days, honey,” Frank says gently. “You should take it easy.”
“Thanks, Frank,” you reach out to squeeze his arm, flush of emotion across the bridge of your nose. “I’m okay, promise.”
Joel takes you in, in full. You’ve got something shimmery swept across the highs of your cheekbones and glossy lips, the fine grain of your skin—pristine like you're made of sugar and everything good in the world. The silky wisps of baby hair at your temples that look softer than anything he’s probably ever touched in his whole life. And you’re so beautiful it almost hurts the eye to look at you, beautiful in a way that makes men cower at the sight, like you’d be the strongest thing in the whole world. But he sees all the rest too. The delicate curves of your shoulders, the fine swoop of your collarbone and the quick-fire beat of your pulse beneath the fragile skin of your throat. There’s fear all around you in a way, a desperate sort of sadness.
He wishes there was more he could do for you, that he could bear the burden of all this entirely in your stead, that he could be all you need and want him to be without having to sacrifice his soul to give it to you.
Your eyes flash back to his, and he worries for a second that you can read his mind.
Behind you, Jesse pulls up with the sleek black of your father’s favorite car. Of course you’d choose this for today, bets you’ll find a way to turn it into a pretzel before the days end.
“Take Jesse with you,” he says low at your back as you turn for the car.
You look over your shoulder at him and his spine throbs. “No.”
Following you around the front of the car, he pulls the door open for you. “You’re not moving around alone anymore. He’s going. Jesse—” he whistles, “You’re going into town with Miss Kelly.”
“Yezzir,” he smiles with the sunny easiness only he possesses.
“Excuse me,” you turn to frown up at him, stomping your foot again, and you’re a little bit of a brat, he’s realizing. “There’s no room in the car for him. He can’t come.”
“He’ll take a truck,” he says, leaving no room for discussion, but then gentles his voice again, “Things are gonna be different now. You’re the Kelly, you can’t go on all gung ho about your new reality. You need taking care of. Can you not fight me on this, please?”
“What I need—”
“Is to be protected.”
You give a delicate little huff through your nose that he finds to be just about the cutest damn thing he’s ever seen in his whole life. “Then it’ll be my choice how and who.”
“It’s easier if you just do as I say.” Grasping, grasping, praying for patience.
“You overbearing d—”
“You’ll be okay meeting this jackoff? Don’t need me to come with you?”
You glower at him.
“I’m bein’ serious with you. I know you’re capable,” he puts his hands out, palms up in a conceding gesture, “But this is new, and there’s no shame in asking for support.”
At that, you get a confused little pinch between your brows, softest rose shaped mouth he’s ever seen—felt—all pursed up, and he thinks it’s wrong now, trying to be sweet to you after last night, looking at you this way and seeing the things he’s seeing. He should stay away, go away forever, find a hole in the ground in the middle of nowhere to bury himself in like you’d said, but he worries now, and quite desperately really, that he won’t ever be able to leave your side again after all this.
“I have Dina.”
“I know, but—”
“Can you please just… not. I think— I think it’s better if we just steer clear of each other. If I need something,” you look away now, hazy look from last night back in your gaze again, like you’re remembering, like you’re wanting something else he’s not willing, not capable of giving, “I’ll ask for it. Otherwise you can focus on what’s important to you.”
Gut punch.
He soldiers on, can’t help it.
“You feelin’ alright?”
Your eyes flit back to him for a fleeting second and there’s honesty in your gaze now, maybe something extremely vulnerable too, and then shuttering again, looking away again. He’d demand your gaze if he had the right, insist you tell him everything there is to know with just your eyes if you were his.
But really, he’s got no right to ask anything.
So instead, “Tell me what’s wrong,” he begs, praying you don’t say him.
What’s wrong? A laugh and—nothing. Like your father isn’t dead, like he hadn’t hurt you as he had last night, like you’re looking for answers etched into the mountains or the sky. You bring your thumb to your right temple and his own aches in response, digging there for some unseen pain to be gouged out. “Tired—was having bad dreams.” Your voice sounds full of air, and you’ve got a huge emerald on your ring finger, an even larger turquoise stone beside it, other hand is covered in a row of opals—you’re a treasure of a girl, all the way inside and out, and it’s like he’s staring at a work of art, knowing that if he were to touch, it’d all be ruined. Your voice full of air floats in his bad ear and booms out the good one full of forlorn want.
It feels like you’re the only two people left in the whole of Wyoming, standing here together under the sweet sun, maybe the whole world, and he’s ridden in guilt, wants to tell you he’s sorry again, beg or something, and thinks that God should give you the chance to rewind time when you’ve made someone feel this bad without meaning to.
You whisper at the Tetons, and he’s all but forgotten, “I feel a little bit like I’m the real nightmare.”
“You couldn’t ever be, sweetheart,” he tells you and means it with his whole heart.
It’s all agony swimming in your eyes, and if you don’t stop him, he’s going to take you into his arms right here in front of everyone. You need more than protecting, it’s clear, you need caring for, you need loving—the sort of something he can tell you’ve never had in your whole life.
“Ready to go, honey?” Dina calls from the other side of the car, her canoodling with Ellie finally come to a pause.
You’re snapped out of your reverie, looking down at your feet, impractical boots again, these ones sexy and tall and not for his admiring, blinking away the wash of heat that’s bloomed across the bridge of your freckled little nose.
“Did she eat?” He asks Dina over your head.
“Ehhhhh, but I brought a smoothie,” she pulls out a thermos from her large bag and smiles all beaming and large.
“A smoothie ain’t food. Get something else in town.”
“You're so prepared,” Ellie sighs dreamily beside her.
“You’re annoying me,” you grouch at him, tossing your bag into the backseat, sliding into the luxuriously leathered interior as he shuts the door gently behind you, bending down to brace his palms against the open window.
“Drive careful. Call me if you need anything.”
“You’re kinda a helicopter mom. You know that, Joel?” Dina tells him with that sweet smile of hers.
“Do not entertain his nonsense,” you snap.
“She’s just grumpy because Vogue France posted a piece on her and the funeral—the heiress to watch, they’ve called her.”
“I don’t know who they think I am—Kendall fucking Roy? This isn’t HBO, it’s my goddamn life.”
“It’s fine, drink your smoothie, here,” Dina soothes.
“I don’t got a clue what any of that means,” Joel says. “And do up your belt,” frowning at you and pulling away just in time when you speed off with half the admonishment still on his tongue
-
The bar is loud and sweaty and crowded enough there’s room for your spite, which he knows, is all this night out is.
The day had gone from terrible to horrible to heinous, and he’s officially reached his limit now. You’d returned from your late morning in Jackson toting a gray cloud that’d settled over the entire ranch and everyone in it. All work had come to a slow and grinding halt, the mood morose, knowing that the lady of the manor was grieving and angry.
And then a few hours into the evening, you, Ellie, and Dina had spun into the bunk, already giggling on drinks he was certain were too sugary and way too strong to end in anything good. Looking to rile up the boys into heading back to Jackson and finding a bar to terrorize.
And so here he now finds himself, stepping through the door of The Mushroom, ridiculous name for a bar if anyone asked him, eyes searching for the gleam of your hair, that tiny fucking outfit you’d draped yourself in. You were hunting for trouble, to aggravate him, trying to hurt him with your, you’re not invited, Joel—no one wants you to come.
Angry, angry as a spitting fire.
He’d felt like shit about himself and your upset for a second, and then had thought: Well, are you going to cowboy up, Joel? Or just lay here and bleed?
Now, there’s something sick in him that wants more of it, to take everything you’ve got to give, to see how far you can go, to push you just a little bit further too.
A masochist, is what he reckons he might actually be.
He finds Ellie’s bent head whispering into Dina’s ear, giggling and dragging her fingertips up the other girls bare arm, and he feels a thump of fondness for the two—happier than he can say that they’ve finally worked it all out after months of their will-they-won’t-they struggle.
Making his way over to them, he catches Frank in the distance, dancing to the countryfied Abba cover of Chiquitita the local band’s currently playing while Bill stands nearby, serious and menacing, keeping anyone from getting too close to his partner.
No sign of you, and the backs of his knees itch and burn.
“Where is she?” He demands when he reaches Ellie at their place against the bar.
“Oh, dude. She’s gonna be soooo pissed.”
“Where, Ellie?”
Get you anything to drink, sugar? The bartender calls and Joel shakes her away, panic thumping in his gut the longer he doesn’t have eyes on you.
Dina knocks her head towards the end of the L-shaped bar, closest to the throng of dancing patrons, and there in the last seat and partially obscured by someone’s shoulder and ridiculously feathered hat, you sit.
“Who the fuck is that?”
“Can you please just leave her alone. She needs to blow some steam off.”
“Yeah, Joel, we’re watching her,” Dina adds, always the peacekeeper.
Or blow someone, Ellie adds in a snicker, and he gives her a death glare. “You need to quit the asshole act,” she tells him, purposefully thunking her beer hard enough on the bartop that some of it sloshes over the lip of the bottle onto his hand braced against the edge.
Real mature.
“Changed my mind,” he tells the bartender when she heads back their way, “Shot of Jameson.”
Beside him, Jesse appears, beer in hand as he leans against the bar to watch you also. “That might just be the most beautiful girl I’ve seen in my whole life, honest to God,” he sighs wistfully.
Joel sees red—this is just too much. “Quit fuckin’ lookin’ at her,” he snaps.
Ellie snickers knowingly, and Frank and Bill join the group, picking up on the topic of conversation.
“That little girl can drink a grown man under the goddamn table,” Bill says.
“And looks good as hell doing it too—”
“Eyes off, you little shit,” Joel sends a threatening glance at Jesse again.
Ellie ignores them both. “He’s a finance bro or some shit—from New York—here to play cowboy dress up with the group he’s with. Nothing I can’t handle, and you need to cool it and leave or have a drink and let her have fun.”
“She’s vulnerable right now, Ellie—”
“Yeah, you would know.”
Joel’s turn to do the ignoring, “And she needs someone to watch her back.”
“I’m fuckin’ watching it, man. You’re so annoying, and I’ll have you know that—” The fucker’s got a thick lock of your long hair trapped between his probably manicured fucking fingers, smoothing it between his thumb and index and then looping it around and around, drawing you in closer.
Joel’s about to start howling.
You’ve done something to him, knocked something askew inside him, and he needs you to set it back to rights. Let him out of this saw trap he’s been caught in.
The man says something that has you throwing your head back in an overly eager laugh, loud and melodic in the most hypnotizing sort of way, meant to draw the eye or seduce or send his gut to twisting and aching.
Ellie’s saying something about how you need to have fun, how you need to find yourself, and all Joel can think is that he can be the one to give you that, to help you do all that while still making sure you’re alright, taken care of.
Over the wannabe cowboy’s shoulder, he sees your eyes land on him, and you give him one of those serenely beautiful smiles he knows means he’s about to lose his fucking mind and cause a scene.
A provocation of a smile is what it is.
You cross one long leg over the other, a flash of hot pink his eyes can’t help but flash to beneath the obscene hem of your skirt and lean in to whisper something, glossy lips right at his ear, and a tick starts up below Joel’s left eye. The fuckwit pulls you in closer, and you tip into him, hand on his shoulder—your eyes never leave Joel’s, and then you’re pulling him off the barstool and leading him into the throng of dancing people. He’s desperate to know what the back of your hot pink underwear looks like—string of lace wedged between the cleft of your ass, or silk wrapping around the full cheek like a perfect present? The man pulls you into himself, spinning you around, and you’re made up of blues and purples and pinks, shimmering like something that shouldn’t exist here amongst all the rest of them. Slinky little top made of silk like water and sparkles, your cheeks, flushed with drink or heat, but he’ll tell himself it’s because of him, because you’re still angry at him, thinking of him, and it soothes the tempest that’s brewing in his gut.
He spins you towards himself, the man Joel’s about to beat senseless, shooting the Jameson without really tasting anything but the insane jealousy souring to irrational fury on his tongue, it pulses in his throat once, twice, and the fucker tugs you into himself again by a handful of your ass in that too short skirt and sticks his tongue in your mouth. Joel slams the glass on the bartop, not seeing red anymore, something like dark spots now, he’s so fucking pissed off.
Ellie yelps his name, her and Jesse scrambling after him, but they’re too late and he’s there already, pulling you away, and gently because he might be feeling a little bit like a demon right now, but he knows what you are and how to handle you no matter what—and slams his fist into the fuckers nose, the satisfying crunch of broken bone and a pathetic cry sounds as he hits the sticky bar floor. The people around peer over in nothing more than mild curiosity, this is a cowboy bar after all.
He watches the man for a second, making sure he stays down, and then turns to look at you and isn’t at all surprised when he finds that look of victory on your face.
“Ready to go?” Voice all sweet innocence.
You’re going to kill him.
Spinning around on the toe of your boot, the hem of your little skirt flutters with your movements and he catches a flash of cheek, mystery of your panties still unsolved.
“You’re a real dumbass, you know that?” Ellie snarks as they pass the group of them.
He chooses to ignore that observation. “Don’t stay out too late. And let Bill drive back.”
Following you out into the night, he tries to take control of himself, to lie away the heat he feels sitting heavy in his stomach.
He wishes he had a mint leaf to pulverize between his molars, he wishes he could pull you over his knee and spank your ass for being such a bad girl. And looming behind you, he knows you’re not even a little bit intimidated by his size as you dance and prance across the parking lot towards his truck.
“I know you’re ticked off because of last night and today, but you can’t lash out just because you’re angry with me.”
All he gets in response is that head-thrown-back wind chime laughter—the real one, which is something.
“You need to stop misbehaving,” he breathes down your neck.
“Hmm, I don’t think I will,” you singsong.
“Are you drunk?” Refusing to be distracted, he’s going to stand strictly on business, he promises himself.
You spin around again—always catching him off guard and pissing him off—hooking yourself on his shirtfront, pulling yourself into him like you’re trying to dance some fucked up dance he doesn’t know the steps to.
“Not at all.”
“You need to not be touching me right now,” he warns, the threads of his control dangerously close to snapping, walking you backwards without putting his hands on you. Chest to chest, he feels like he could breathe fire if he really set his mind to it.
“Yes, sir,” you say sweetly, dragging your palms down his chest and belly before letting him go, skipping ahead of him, humming an off-key rendition of whatever kitschy, poor excuse for a country song they’d been playing at the end in there.
The even poorer excuse for a skirt bounces along the curve of your ass, driving him fucking mad—he’s goig to have a heart attack, he’s middle aged, he can’t handle this shit anymore—you.
Stop that, he growls.
“God, you don’t like anything—you’re no fun,” you pout.
Coming to the truck, he yanks the door open for you. “Get in the damn truck.” And he makes sure to turn away and not ogle your ass as you hop in, his palm hovering in the vicinity of your elbow if you need him.
The prospect of an hour and a half of the dark drive and the scent of your musky sweet perfume and sweat soaked skin has his heart pounding. When he pulls his door open, you’re turned in your seat expectantly waiting for him, folded knees up on the seat and pink triangle right there to taunt him.
“Sit right—put on your seatbelt.”
“You’re so bossy.” An exaggerated sigh and your voice is so fucking sassy, a tiny bit of a needy whine threaded through it, he feels his patience snap.
Grabbing hold of your damp cheeks he squeezes hard enough to force your full mouth into a pout and giving your head a little shake he says, “And you need managing, little girl. Put your fucking belt on, or I’ll put it on for you.”
Eyes all pupil and gone blurry, you lick your lips and he can smell the sweet fruit scent of your breath. He groans, pushing you back—mistake, mistake, putting his hands on you at all—and peels out of the parking lot, and he is not hard in his jeans for you.
“Are you mad at me?” You ask after several moments of forced silence.
“No.”
“Not even for last night?”
“I don’t want to talk about that.”
“Why not?”
“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it either.”
“Well, now I’ve changed my mind.”
Jesus, he mutters. “There’s nothing to discuss—already told you what I think and how it’s going to be and that’s final. You need to let it go, you hear me?”
You give a little groaning screech through your clenched teeth, turning away from him, still not wearing your goddamn seatbelt, never doing as he says.
Toeing your boots off roughly, the little skirt hitches high enough on your thighs he catches a glimpse of the smooth glowing skin of your hip, eyes trying to watch the road and your thighs at the same time.
“You’re horrible,” you say through a grimace, but your voice cracks a little bit at the end, and you’ve still got your face turned away so that he can’t tell if he’s made you cry or not now.
“Are you cryin’?” He demands.
“No,” you sniffle, wiping your cheek on a lifted shoulder
“Yes you are, liar.” Fuck—fuck, fuck.
“Well you’re bein’ mean,” you whine, finally turning to look at him again, and you’re all rose glow, cheeks flushed and eyes glossy, lips red as a cherry.
No man should be tested like this. It’s wrong—unnatural.
He tries to gentle his voice and steady the pounding of his heart, pressing down on the gas, wishing the road would disappear from beneath the tires of the truck and that he could have you home and away from him already. “Not bein’ mean, sweetheart. Just—just…” He sighs, “Goddamnit, just don’t how how to handle you,” he curses, losing the grasp on his gentleness.
“See—you are angry with me!” A tear slips down your cheek, and Joel’s mouth waters.
His heart kicks up another notch, hypnotized, “You make me fuckin’ crazy—is that what you wanna hear?”
“Yes.” You turn full in the seat to face him, bent knees against the center console block his view of the apex of your thighs. Fucking Christ.
“Sit right. You’re flashing your bits,” he tries and fails to focus on the road.
“Yeah, that’s ‘cause I want you to see them, stupid.”
Jesus. “How much did you have to drink?”
“Only one High Noon.”
“The hell is that? And quit lookin’ at me like that.”
“Like what?” Your knees shift against each other, and he’s gripping the steering wheel so tight he feels like he could rip it out of the dash.
“You fuckin’ know like what.”
“Well if you hadn’t been such a cock block earlier, I’d be looking at someone else like this right now.”
And the teasing is too much. The bare legs and the tiny skirt and the hair and the lips and the sound of your voice, the kiss last night replaying in his mind over and over and over again like some lovesick taunt, the look of hurt he’d put on your face and the idea of you bare and slick, taking some other man that isn’t him. It’s too much.
He jerks the truck roughly onto the road shoulder and into the grass, wheels spinning and gravel flying. Joel—you squeal, being jostled in your seat so that all he can see are soft thighs and pretty tits bouncing in his peripheral. He puts the truck in park, ripping his seat belt off, reaching over to tug you roughly forward by the nape, his fingers twisting in your hair in a hold he knows is too hard for something so delicate, his other hand grips below the bend of one knee squeezing hard.
“If you think I’m gonna let you spread your legs for anyone fucking else—” he growls.
“Anyone else?” You laugh in his face, eyes spinning with something a little maniacal.
He thought he’d been worried for his soul, that taking you would be the undoing of everything he’d tried so hard to mend back together after Sarah. And really, he had tried so hard—to be good, to be better, to atone for all he’d not done before her, all he’d done after her. He’d tried to make himself into something that was respectful of her memory and the second chance Kelly had given him.
But right here, and again because anytime he looks at you, is within a mile of your vicinity, it feels like you’re the only two people on the whole goddamn planet, he doesn’t think he really gives a fuck for being good or atoning or souls at all. Not even a little bit.
He follows your lead from last night and kisses you, is sure to take your tongue this time. Forcing his thumb and forefinger between the line of your molars, he presses down hard enough to hurt the baby soft skin, spreading your jaw open wide so that he can lick into your mouth deep and wet. He wants to scare you, cow you, intimidate you into behaving with this hunger that seems to swallow him whole—remind you that he’s let you have your fun thus far, but the both of you know who’s playing games and who’s not.
You let out a shocked little gasp onto his tongue, fingers twisting in the fabric over his shoulder, and he tightens his grip under your knee, tugging you just that little bit further forward, and when he pulls back to look at you, spit slick, swollen mouth and wide eyes, tits about to spill out of your top, you push his face away roughly, dragging your nails down the skin of his cheek with a tiny snarling growl.
Spoiled little brat.
“Don’t be fuckin’ childish,” he snarls back, and pulls you roughly over the console and into his lap.
“I can’t stand you,” you pant, settling above him, coming in to kiss him again, and he can’t deny it anymore. He’s hard as fuck for you.
You moan into his mouth, high and throaty at the same time, girlish little sigh at the end that has him gripping your hip tightly, trying to stop himself from thrusting up against you.
“Can you taste him?” You lick his tongue. “He kinda looked like you, didn’t he? That’s why I chose him.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
He’s going to stop this now, at any moment. He’s going to push you away and tell you this is wrong and that the two of you can’t do this.
Instead, you wrap your arms around his neck, pressing your tits high against his chest and grinding your lace covered little cunt against his cock.
He groans into your mouth, pushed straight over the edge and free falling, cupping your ass to lift you off of himself a little bit, he just needs a second, before he takes a breath and presses you back down harder, rolling your hips against his lap. Little animal sounds, an ah, ah, ah and an oh, coupled with his mewled name. Cupping the soft of your ass in the palms of his hands, his calluses scrape against silken skin, and you fit him as if he’d dreamt you up just for himself; perfectly lush curves he can squeeze as hard as he wants because you’re not getting away from him now that he’s caught you in his snare. He drags his fingertips up the roundness of your asscheeks, and the mystery’s solved, it’s a thong. Catching the lace between his fingers he pulls the flimsy string upwards and tight against your pussy, a pained moan when he pulls even harder, making sure the fabric digs against your skin.
He knows if he cups you there you’ll be wet for him, for him, no one else but him. Knows he could bend you face first over the console, pull the soaked lace aside and suck on your wet little clit, make you come in his mouth.
“Fuck, baby,” he groans.
Joel, Joel, Joel, you hum in a dream voice.
He can feel two little dimples at the low of your back, imagines what they’d look like with his thumbs gripped there as your ass takes his cock.
He can’t say it enough—he feels fucking insane.
“Touch me,” you beg, sliding and pressing against him, long hair like water slipping all over and against him too.
Oh my God, he whisper moans when you spread your knees as wide as the seat allows, rocking your hips in short little hitches against the ridge of his cockhead. He knows your little clit is right there, cunt a knot of indescribable heat against him, and you pull your mouth away from his, letting your head fall back, hair a tangled curtain. He drags his nails back down your ass hard enough he hopes he’s leaving marks, leaning forward to lick along the salt tracks of your tears, watching you use him.
“Do not fucking come,” he orders. He can’t—he can’t watch you do it and not be inside you when it happens, and the two of you absolutely cannot take this that far.
He pulls your hips up again, forcing your movements still and you huff at him, whining.
“We gotta stop.”
Noooo. “No, Joel. Please,” you cry, trying to pull yourself towards him—your mouth is so swollen—trying to escape his hold and get what you want for yourself.
Grasping at the last vestiges of his sanity, “Fuck— No. No more.” He lifts you off his lap and back into your seat, sitting back to press himself against the door and adjusting the throbbing erection in his jeans, so hard it’s making him a little nauseous. If he doesn’t stop, he’s going to stuff his cock inside of you right here and now. He tucks the thick head up under his waistband, trying to find any sort of momentary relief.
There isn’t enough oxygen in this truck. He needs air, space, to taste you.
“Fine,” prim little nose in the air. You stretch one leg out across the console to dangle over his groin and let the other drop to the cab floor. “That’s fine—I’ll just take care of it myself then,” you tease provocatively, fingertips dragging up the inside of your thigh.
He shoots forward to stop your movement, gripping your wrist in a vice—baby bird bones beneath his fist, and you moan at his touch like the little wanton he’s coming to realize you are, writhing in your seat. “Don’t you fucking dare. I swear to God I’ll put you over my knee.”
“Jokes on you, I’d like that shit,” you sass back, ripping your wrist out of his hold, little socked foot kicking towards his face. He catches it, holding it in his grip and squeezing. “And I don’t really care if you’re not mad at me because I’m mad at you.”
“I know you are, sweetheart,” and the mood changes, smolders into something more serious, more honest.
-
“Why didn’t you go today? The lawyer asked you to—” You’d wanted to find him as soon as you’d gotten home earlier, demand he give you an explanation. Cowardice had won over that desire, and going out to find a drink and a replacement man had seemed the easier alternative.
“Wasn’t my place.” Spreading his thighs wider in his seat to accommodate himself, he presses his hips forward, and you can make out the heft of his cock beneath his jeans—your belly twists all full of heat and bubbles.
“Did you know he was leaving you something?”
He laughs a bitter bark of a laugh. “No—never thought—” the words die in his throat and he stares out the window, lost to the memory of your father. “No, I didn’t think he was leaving me anything before I got the call.”
“It’ll make a good nest egg.”
“Don’t want it.”
He won’t turn to look at you now, and you know that this conversation in the aftermath of touching you shames him.
“You’re taking it. You don’t have a choice.” His eyes flash fire at you and then flit away. “He had all your banking information, it’s probably already there.”
Fucking Christ, he spits the murmured curse, bracing his elbow against the curve of the steering wheel, cupping his palm over his mouth as if to keep his anger and frustration in. The bulge of his bicep beneath his dark hoodie distracts you for a moment.
You’d spent enough time watching him over the years that you’d learned all the things you knew he tried to hide in plain sight. That gentleness, that patience, that heart—that he is an inconceivably good and honest man. Things that are ultimately impossible to hide.
Your eyes flash to the temple where a gristle of scar tissues is slashed across his skin. The meaning behind a scar like that, coupled with his bad ear and his green eyed photograph—it’s hard to hide. People can always tell when you’ve tried to kill yourself, you know.
Which all goes to say—and you’re quite certain of this—that yes, the two of you are strangers, in ways, but in others, or in your own way, you know this man. You understand his nature. You know he wouldn’t have ever wanted it—that he does not want it and never will. He isn’t the sort of man who’d ever look a million dollars in the eye and feel moved by them.
His humanity means more to him than his life, you’d heard Tommy say about him once to your father when you’d been an eavesdropping little girl. You hadn’t understood at the time, but now you do.
The dark pullover and jeans, incongruously boyish, the scuffed boots—he’s so himself and so fucking hot and you want him so, so badly, and looking at him sitting here now, gorgeous, hair mused by your fingers, and your slick smeared across his jeans—you look down at your own twisted fingers in your lap, a little ashamed now too—and you can’t fathom why or how he’d ever look at you and feel moved by the likes of you either.
You’re ashamed that you’re even angry at him for it at all, resentful of this gift your father has given him when really it is not only resentment, maybe not even truly that at all. More so, it’s a complicated mixing pot of feelings that these two men seem to have always been twisted up into knots together inside of you. Resentful, not because you don’t want him to have it. You want him to have everything he deserves or could ever think to want and more, but perhaps, because this was the final nail in the coffin scrap of proof that your father had cared about him in a very real way that you’d never experienced—in a way that was entirely Oswald Kelly’s own choice and not because of dead mothers or obligation or legacy.
“It’s good he left it for you,” you say gently and mean it.
He looks at you out of the corner of his eyes, looks away, from under the cover of his palm says, “S’not fair to you.”
“It doesn’t have anything to do with me. This is about you and you deserving this, and I’m glad he gave you your due. He should’ve left more.”
His eyes flutter shut, sighing deeply and shakes his head. “You’ve made me into something I’m not. You need to see that.”
“You’re not some sort of cautionary tale, Joel.”
“You don’t know a thing about it,” voice like he could he angry but is being very careful to remain not. “You don’t know the things I’ve done, the reasons why I came here. You should look at me and see nothin’ worthwhile.”
“My father saw something,” you argue. “You let my father see that something. And I do too, no matter what you say, no matter what you do or how hard you push me away; I’m used to it, and you won’t change my mind.”
He gives you a look like you’re hurting him, like your truths hurt him. “We’re goin’ home. This is enough,” he gruffs, pulling the truck into drive again and peeling out of the grassy knoll.
Fight dying in your throat, you feel suddenly exhausted, shivering coldly, belly an ember of unsated lust, your orgasm is tight and wet between your legs and you don’t want to argue or impose yourself on him anymore. You don’t want to feel like you’re imposing yourself now when he’d never made you feel like that before.
The night is a pitch dark blur falling away behind your glazed over eyes, and huddling into yourself against the door, you hide your face away in your shoulder, belly swooping with nausea.
“You drive too fast, I’m dizzy,” you mumble, and he immediately slows, foot easing off the gas.
“You gonna puke?”
“Yes, all over your face.”
“I’m serious, darlin’. Need me to stop?”
“No. I just want to be home,” said in as small a voice as you can manage, hoping he won’t catch your words, and soon he’s turning off into the long drive to the house.
When he pulls to a stop, you scramble to grab your boots before he can say anything else, but he’s unnaturally quick for such a large man, out the door and around the nose of the truck, pulling your own door open before you can even get a single boot on. He pulls them from your grasp, and then tugs you bodily out of your seat, slinging you over his shoulder as if you were some sack of nuisance prone potatoes. You screech, flailing, trying to knee him in the gut, but he bands a strong arm across the backs of your thighs, pinning you in obedient place. “Quit.”
“What the fuck are you doing?” You howl, hitting him repeatedly on the ass, trying to wriggle and make his life as difficult as you possibly can.
This man has absolutely no consideration or respect or sense of personal space!
Technically, neither do you—but that’s neither here nor there.
You scream like a hyena, shrill and long and he pinches your ass hard, right at the inner crease of your thigh and ass cheek, too close to your still wet pussy for comfort. “I said quit.”
“Everything alright out here?” You hear Jesse’s voice call from the direction of the bunk, they must’ve beat you two here while you’d been trying to seduce Joel into making you come.
The snap of Joel’s fingers and then, “Mind your own fucking business.”
“You are so rude.”
He bumps you on his shoulder, jostling you on the soft of your belly and making your cunt go even tighter. You hate him. “Quiet, you.”
Letting himself in the dark of your house, he makes his way up the stairs while you hang quietly upside down now, a little astounded, a lot turned on by how strong he is, lugging you all the way upstairs without even a change in his breathing.
But as soon as he steps foot into your bedroom, now set to rights from yesterday’s disaster, you feel the change come on him. The shift and deepening of his breaths, the expanse of his ribs going wide and winglike as he sucks in a big gulp of air. You press your palm flat to the center of his back, feeling the whistle of his breath go in and out of him until he’s slipping you off his shoulder to bounce gently backwards onto your soft bed.
He stands above you for a quiet moment, and you take in the broad shape of him backlit by the moonlight of your open drapes. He’s huge and imposing cast in this darkness, something out of a dream.
Literally—out of your own teenage fantasy dreams.
Has anyone in all the world ever wanted someone as badly as you want him?
You can feel the press of his left knee against the inside of your right one, and you wish he’d put it between your thighs, join you on the bed.
“Can I ask you something?” You reach your fingers out and he tangles his hand with yours and it’s a small victory.
“Yeah.”
“Would you come to my funeral?”
His fingers jolt— “What?”
“If I died.”
“Don’t say shit like that.”
“Tell me that you would—” You tug him forward and he lets himself come, bending over your prone form, braced on one arm and still holding onto your fingers with the other. “—That I wouldn't be alone even there.”
“You’re not alone.”
“Would you?”
“Makes me angry when you say shit like this—as if you don’t believe I’m going to take care of you.”
“Please tell me, Joel. Promise me—” and you reach up to gently touch the scar across his temple.
He goes frozen and understanding. “I’d come,” and you know it costs him something to give in to such an imagining and it makes you all the more grateful for it.
Fingers sliding back into the curls at his temple, silver speckled, you know, you pull him further towards you until he’s close enough to press a softly hot kiss to his mouth. The two of you hold there for a moment, another, another, you can feel the wash of his heavy breathing through his nose, the flutter of his long lashes tangling with yours—you hope he’s searching for you in the dark—and you lift your knee up onto the bed, bending to open yourself to him.
He pulls back, hand shooting to your jaw to grip you tightly in place, breath ragged, animal being hunted.
You smile.
“Not gonna fuck you,” he says low.
“Why not?” It’s what you want, you deserve to have what you want. He squeezes your face once, presses another hard, too quick kiss to your mouth and then flips you over onto your belly, turning your skirt up over your ass to expose you. He tugs once on the string of your thong, drawing his finger along the lace wedged between your ass cheeks and then pulls his hand away for a moment before he’s spanking you hard and quick.
Owwww, you whine, hitching your rump towards him, wanting more despite the sting. He bends his head and bites you even harder at the inner corner of your asscheek, teeth digging hard and long enough to leave a mark. You whine again, high and mewling, trying to escape his meanness and he smacks you again on the other cheek.
“Go to bed, little girl. I’ll see you in the mornin’.”
And he’s leaving you, broad shouldered form slipping out your bedroom door and leaving you aching and angry to scream into your pillow.
You’re pretty sure you hear his deep laugh before the slam of the door sounds below, and you’re slipping your greedy fingers into the ruined wet of your panties, petting away the ache he’s left.
-
The late May night is cool, despite the daytime heat, and Ellie shivers in her Carhartt, watching as Joel slips out the back kitchen door of the big house.
“The hell is going on with those two?” Jesse says beside her, pulling long on his beer. The litter of yellow cans around them speaks to his mullish whining that he’d not been able to pull tonight. Sometimes he annoys her, but in that sort of endearing little brother way that makes her want to kick his ass and protect him at the same time.
“Nothin’, they’re fine—just gotta fuck it out.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“Naw—just smarter than you, man.”
“They like each other?”
“God, Jesse, you wouldn’t see an obvious thing if it were a tipsy bison barrelin’ towards you full speed in the middle of the day.”
“I don’t know what that means,” he says a little pathetically. Moping men—Ellie really can’t be assed to deal with them all.
“It’s fine. You don’t need to understand. I do—I see all, I know all. You mere mortals wouldn’t understand.”
“S’kinda weird, no? Them two—him bein’ so much older, her bein’…well, you know— her.”
“Nope. Makes perfect sense—they need each other, you see.”
He shrugs, I guess—“You’re fuckin’ weird, too. You know that?”
She takes a swig of her beer now also, hoping the two idiots she loves most in the world, after Dina of course, figure each other out before the whole ranch has to suffer for it too.
“Wrong again, Jesse. Wrong again.”
Netherfeildren’s Masterlist
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#fable of the dog fic#vic fic#joel miller x FMC#joel miller#joel miller smut#the last of us au#joel miller fanfiction
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May 22; Jaws
Ship; Frank x James (frames? / jank?? / potterbottom!?! / LONGPOTTER?!!!! / prank??????) (as suggested in the notes: bottomchaser)
@marauders-rarepair-fics
James thought it was a brilliant idea, suggesting the muggle cinema as a first date. He's been there once with Sirius, last summer, and they saw an action film which was wicked. Frank loves movies, so instantly, James suggested it.
He'd only wanted to impress the bloke he's been crushing on for years. He never thought he'd get a chance, being a whole five years younger and all. But they really hit it off after bumping into one another down the pub, and James actually has a chance!
Though, he's fucking it up right as we speak, sitting here, breaking a sweat in the cinema. Thank Merlin its dark in here.
James never thought sharks would be so terrifying, but they are. They're bloody horrific, the terrors this one shark are committing is just obscene and James doesn't think he's ever going to sleep again. He's certainly never going in the ocean. Goodbye dreams of visiting the seaside, you will be missed.
When Frank gave the option of Jaws or The Exorcist, he really thought Jaws was the right option.
He screams, uncontrollably, when the shark pops up and takes a bite out of an innocent swimmer, hiding himself behind his hands, knees too, having pulled his feet up onto the seat.
"Are you alright?" Frank asked.
James is mortified, he'd been trying so hard to keep his cool, "Why aren't they helping!?" He hissed, "The people holding the camera. They're just recording these horrors! Why would they do this?"
"James..." Frank said, clearly trying to hide his smile.
James screams again, as someone on the screen gets eaten alive.
"James!" Frank can't help but laugh, reaching out to take James' hand to sooth, "It's not real. It's not real. It's all fake. That's a fake shark, and all those people are alive, and that's not real blood, it's just paint."
James blinked, looking at the screen, then back at Frank, "What?"
"Films aren't real, James. It's all made up, like a book, but you can watch it."
James can't believe his ears. It's really quite soothing to know he's not witnessing live murder, but it's still bloody terrifying, no less, "Bloody hell."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." Frank whispered, giving James' hand a firm squeeze. "Do you want to go?"
"It's okay..." He breathed, laughing at himself a little, "I'm okay, I'll be okay."
"Alright." Frank smiled, sitting back in his chair, "Let me know if you get too scared though, it's so realistic I don't blame you for thinking that."
"O-okay." James swallowed, "Maybe we can get some ice cream after?"
"I think that's a great idea." Frank smiled, and they continued to watch the movie.
Frank didn't let go of James' hand. His heart rabbited in his chest, not from the fear of the movie now, but for the man beside him. He wasn't even watching the film anymore, and Frank must have noticed, because at one point he let go of James' hand, lifted the armrest between them, and pulled James into his side. And there they were, cuddling in the cinema, watching the most horrifying thing James has ever seen, with the man of his dreams running his hands through James' hair, soothing him through all the scary bits.
Maybe Jaws was the perfect choice after-all.
#wtf is their shipname#they're all awful someone help!#jay writes#marauders rarepair microfic#may 22; jaws#james x frank#frames#fr please idk what their ship name is#james potter#frank longbottom#maruaders era#marauders rarepair#rarepair#marauders#the marauders#prongs#fluff
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thinking about when i had a boyfriend but before he was my boyfriend and we were just talking i tried to tell him about how this one girl led me on really badly (i still have a buncha posts on here from fall 2021 about liking her, lol) as friends confiding in friends . but then after i told the story he tried to convince me that she didnt actually lead me on and i was just delusional
#like. what.#she literally led me on. like. she fuckin kissed me and shit#and i was so into her. and she knew it and she used it until she got what she wanted from someone else and then she dropped me into oblivio#she also used me again near the end of summer 2022 when i was getting over aforementioned ex bf but. i dont talk about that one with Anyon#anyways back to the ex. he literally just made me feel so. unwanted. all the damn time#and then expected me to basically just be his mother. cuz he had fuckin mommy issues that he wouldnt acknowledge#when . that wasnt what i fucking wanted at all. i just wanted to Be wanted and that was the one thing from a literal boyfriend he never gav#he never even complimented me or any of that shit. and he was So bad at kissing and touching me lmfao#he was. such an unbelievably Bad partner . like i still get hives thinking about it lmao#and i still dated him. for. a whole summer#and a couple months before that summer#and then i drunk called him several times in the months after that breakup#i was just convinced that no one else would ever even be interested in me. lol. so i just held on to him for a hot minute#but. then i pulled the hottest guy in my town (not exaggerating. he literally Is. like its a known fact. everyone agrees on it)#and he's a much better kisser.#and he's so much more fun to hang out with . like every moment with him feels like an a24 film or a lana del rey song#and now me and my friends always just talk about the ex as a meme bc. hes such a fucking loser#so. fuck him#(fuck him as in fuck my ex and fuck him as in literally fuck the hot guy)#hi ellie if youre seeing this.#r
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cw: kids, reader has birth control implant
"Do you have something to tell me?"
Bakugo still has half of his hero uniform on, smudges of grime and soot across his face and neck. There's a clear, white demarcation where his shirt was and a trail of dirt behind his boots.
"I just fucking vaccuumed."
"I'll do it later." He quickly dismisses, even as he begins to kick off his shoes. "Why are there condoms on the grocery list?"
You shrug and go back to parusing on your phone. "We'll need them."
"For fucking what?"
You shoot his a glance, one eyebrow lifted. "For sex, dumbass."
"Dumbass." He repeats back, tone high and mocking. "We've never used a single condom our whole relationship-- you let me cream you the first fucking date."
You wrinkle your nose, even though he's right. There hasn't been a day since that first date that you haven't felt the delightfully uncomfortable wetness of cum sliding around inside you.
"Don't say it like that- you're gross." You raise your arm and gesture to the little scar there. "My birth control has to come out- its at the end of its life."
He rolls his eyes with a grunt, arms crossed tight over his torso. "That's it?"
"You were the one who said a kid 'maybe next year,' so we'll need condoms until then."
Bakugo plops down on the couch next to you, throwing your calves over his thighs. "We'll just move up the timeline. Start making one now, baby for the summer. No condoms."
"No."
"No?"
"No. I don't want to be pregnant in the summer. It's too hot to be carrying another human-- and I want to drink on the beach."
Bakugo looks at you with a grimace, lip curled up to show gum. "Are you fucking serious?"
"We can start trying in, I dunno." You count on your fingers, trying to do the math. "End of August."
"August?!" he gapes. "Motherfucker. I gotta call Kirishima."
"About condoms?"
"I gotta ask him about saving his brats onesies." He leans back on to the couch, brow knitted tight. "There's no way I'm not knocking you up by accident before August."
You shoot him a glare.
He meets your eye. "Keep giving me attitude and you'll have a bun in the oven by next month."
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um i NEED a baby fever felix fic please?? like the whole breeding thing has MY soul
Oh, anon, you get it. You totally get the idea.
𝕱𝖊𝖑𝖎𝖝 𝖈𝖆𝖙𝖙𝖔𝖓 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖇𝖆𝖇𝖞 𝖋𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗
Warnings: nsfw, breeding
:**:.☆*.:｡:**:.☆*.:｡:**:.☆*.:｡:**:.☆*.:｡:**:.☆*.:｡:**:.
:**:.☆*.:｡:**:.☆*.:｡:**:.☆*.:｡:**:.☆*.:｡:**:.☆*.:｡:**:.
Firstly, I just know Felix wants kids. He’s always imagined one, two at most. He was brought up on the idea that he needed to keep the family name alive, to have a son, an heir. I can imagine Elspeth keeping up this mantra throughout Felix’s life. Telling him it’s what he’s made for, it’s his duty as their son.
He would want to be the first. He would want to have a baby before Venetia (although i doubt she’d ever settle down).
But he would want to do it first. He would make the family proud.
He kept this idea up his whole life, he needed to settle down, marry and have a baby as soon as he could.
He looked all over for the right person, he knew it was you. As soon as he held your hand on the first date, he knew you were the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.
Felix would bring it up with you frequently, little jokes here and there. Late night chats “what would you name our baby?” Type thing. But deep down you could tell it was what he truly desired.
He would confront you just before your last weeks at Oxford, you were about to enter the world.
We would lay down on the foot of your bed, looking up at you lovingly as you read over your notes. A feeling of ease in the air.
“Darling?” He looks up at you, that mischievous look in his eyes you’ve come to associate with lust. “Felix, baby, not right now”. He strokes your leg lovingly, admiring the tan you’d gained from the early summer sun. “No, sweetheart, not that” he laughs.
He looks up at you, grinning, “you know.. you now how we want to be married” he rolls over, gazing at the ceiling as he takes a drag of his long dead cigarette. He waits a beat, seeing if you’d reply. “I’ve been thinking. About our future.”
And that’s where it all began.
It took a long time to convince you, I mean, you were young. You were both very young. Yet you couldn’t see a future without Felix, he was your whole world. You couldn’t imagine marrying anyone else.
From then on, every time he’d fuck you, he’d have intent. He needed to have you, fully have you. He can’t wait to see you stuffed with his cock, it’s all he thinks of throughout the day.
He would hold off having sex sometimes, just to build up the tension. Because he knows that when he wants to cum, he only wants to do it inside of you. Deep within your pussy.
He fucks you hard. Like it’s his last wish on earth to knock up his princess. As he thrusts into you wildly, he imagined how godly you would look with a round, swollen belly. How absolutely delicious you would be, helpless, unable to cope properly without him.
With a hard grip on your hips, Felix fucks himself harshly into you, desperate to breed you fully. To fuck you stupid.
You can feel him falter slightly, his thrusts become erratic. He’s close. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him in closer to you.
The thought drives him insane, over the line as he cums with hot ropes into your pussy. He fold over, caging you with his arms. His chest heaving. His body glistening, sweat beading down his chest.
“Fuck. Oh god- babe. You’re mine. Always mine, you always will be”
He throws forwards a few experimental thrusts and lets out a deep moan. “So fucking good for me”
You look so gorgeous, laying beneath him, completely still. Your pretty body twitching with pleasure.
And he refuses to pull out for so long. Making sure he knocks you up. Plugging up your sweet hole with his seed.
And then he realises, he will have to marry you soon too.
#saltburn#felix catton x reader#felix catton#jacob elordi x reader#oliver quick x reader#felix catton smut#felix catton blurb
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in unholy denial
･ ｡ﾟ*. 18+, minors DNI . * ｡ﾟ･
pairing: wanda maximoff x reader
summary: you’re the perfect all-american girl; a good student, a weekly churchgoer, you’re even dating the high school quarter back. so it’s all a big shock to you when your family decides to send you to a conversion camp, claiming they believe you’re a lesbian. you don’t agree with their accusation, telling everyone that you don’t like girls at all. but then you meet your camp mate wanda maximoff, who seems determined to sway your mind in another direction…
warning(s): conversion therapy, homophobia (externalised and internalised), religious mentions (christianity), smut, fingering, thigh riding, loss of virginity, hickeys, slight dubcon (only kissing), swearing, pet names (princess, honey), wanda and r are in high school but of age (over 18), cheating (r has a bf), slightly innocent reader, nude magazine, etc. minors dni
author’s note: this is my first time writing and uploading smut so i really hope it’s not terrible 🙏🏻this is heavily inspired by ‘but i’m a cheerleader’, only this time it’s with teenage wanda and much more smutty :) i also took light inspiration from @imaginedanvrs and her fic ‘atonement’, and though i did take a different turn, check it out because all of their writing is amazing :))
wc: 11.7K words
The car is quite on the ride up. You stare out the window, watching as your world begins to disappear. The camp is just under two hours away from your home town; far away enough that it feels like a whole different world, but close enough that your parents can still come visit on the weekends.
You’re not being punished. At least that’s what your parents have told you. They just want what’s best for you, want to help you find the right journey in life. Apparently this camp was supposed to do that for you. Though, you could quite see how - the apparent problem they claim to be able to fix, not identifiable to any part of your mind.
When they’d first brought up the idea, you’d been quick to confusion. A conversion therapy camp? But you weren’t gay. You had a boyfriend, the football team’s best quarterback at that, and you two were very happy together. He was handsome and kind, and you loved him. Except for maybe when he tried to kiss you, always left feeling grossed out by the encounter as his tongue tried to play with yours. But he must just be a bad kisser. That was at least what you always told yourself…
Aside from that, there were so many things that couldn’t have possibly lead your parents to believe you were gay. You were one of the top students at school, always getting the highest grades. Every Sunday you attended church, said your nightly prayers each evening before you slept. You were in the church choir, for goodness sake!
Still, your parents had sat you down in the living room one night and had a very serious conversation with you. They were concerned mostly, worried that something sinister had crept in and was tainting your life. You’d used all of your excuses in protest but they’d came prepared with their own.
A few posters from your room, filled with woman in bikini tops. You liked the patterns. Songs from your playlist that held ulterior meaning. You just liked the way they sound. The fact you hated kissing your boyfriend; a few comments you’d made to your friends about other girls at church. You thought everyone felt that way…
In the end, they’d convinced you to come along to the program, claiming it was in your best interest to attend and get the help you need. Although you didn’t believe you needed any help at all, you had agreed. If this camp was going to help them feel better, you were willing to give it a go, even if it meant getting treatment for a nonexistent problem…
Still, your heart aches a little as your small family car drives away from the suburbs you are used to, the view soon replaced by dense forest trees and vibrant undergrowth. The program was set out almost like a Summer camp, out near a lake where members could swim during their free time. That was one of the activities you’d read in the pamphlet your parents had handed you, the camp explained in its entirety alongside its promise to guarantee positive results. You’d initially asked your parents how long you would have to spend there, worried about being forced to remain when there wasn’t a problem with you to begin with, but your mom had simply smiled back softly and replied, ‘let’s just see how you get on’.
You’re almost lost in thought when the car finally turns on to the last stretch of its journey. The sight ahead of you drags you back to the present moment, eyes now searching the wide opening in the trees as the camp comes into view. It’s easy to spot, the only buildings around for a long while, and the white shutters standing out vibrantly against the green trees. The lake comes into view too, shimmering in the morning summer sun.
Soon the car slows, coming to a halt outside what looks to be the main building, its size large compared to the other’s dotted around. The ranch-style house is painted a soft blue, the fixtures and wrap-around porch shining dazzling white. All in all, it looks rather beautiful.
Your parents are the first out the car, looking around as they close the doors. You follow a moment later, eyes drifting over your surroundings as you inhale the sweet smells of the forest air. A pair of footsteps soon diverts your attention, your gaze falling to a tall blonde man making his way in your direction from the large blue house. He’s dressed very similarly to the men you see at church; a pair of neat navy slacks and a matching blue and white gingham shirt. You and your parents come to stand together on one side of the car just as he reaches your feet.
“Good morning,” the blonde says, his grin reaching from ear to ear. “Mr and Mrs Y/L/N, isn’t it?” There’s an exchange of hand shakes as your parents confirm his assumption. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. And you must be young Y/N.” His gaze falls to you as he speaks, a hand outstretching in your direction.
You take it, shaking it gently as you nod your head. “It’s nice to meet you, sir.”
The blonde lets out a low chuckle as he releases your hand, his attention turning back to your parents. “What a polite little girl you have,” he says, his smile widening. Your parents seem to take pride in his compliment, inching closer together as they stand and look over at you. “But please,” the man continues, turning back to you. “My name is reverend Steve so you can call me as such. Or just Steve if you prefer.” He smiles again as he shrugs his shoulders. “Sir always feels a bit too formal.”
There’s a trade of small laughter between the adults but you don’t find yourself joining in, still feeling a little apprehensive about this whole scenario.
“I do hope your journey here was alright.”
“Oh, just fine,” your father replies in response to reverend Steve’s question, smiling easily back at him.
“Good. I’m so glad to hear that. We’re just so happy to have Y/N here. And don’t worry, your daughter is in very good hands.”
Just at that moment, you notice another figure approaching your group, a woman, originating from the same place Steve had. When she reaches you, there’s a soft smile on her face, her red hair dazzling in the Summer sun. The reverend reaches one of his arms out, bringing the woman close to his side as his hand rests on her hip. “I’d like you to meet my wife, Natasha. She helps direct things around here, especially with the girls.”
Her hand also extends out to your parents to meet in a soft handshake as she smiles widely back at them. “Hi, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” With your parents, reciprocating the sentiment, the redhead then turns her attention to you. Her eyes sparkle a bright shade of green as the morning sun hits them. “Hello, Y/N,”
You find yourself momentarily stumbling over your words, something about the woman distracting you until she speaks. “Good morning,” you manage eventually, smiling back nervously.
In the time you’ve greeted her, it seems your parents have retrieved your luggage from the back of the car. “These are your bags?” Reverend Steve asks, reaching to pick them up. In truth, you hadn’t even noticed them being moved there. “I’ll just take these up to your dorm room, Y/N.” He smiles once more at you before he turns, walking towards the house with your belongings in tow.
“I’ll give them a little check over once we get there,” Natasha says, drawing your attention back to her. She passes you a playful wink that causes a strange feeling in your chest. “But I’m sure there’s nothing in there that will get you in trouble, hm?”
“I don’t think-“ Your response is cut off by your sudden realisation you’re standing alone, your parents retreating back to the car and already starting the engine. “Wait I-“
“Don’t worry.” The redhead’s words yet again distract you, pulling your attention away from the vehicle behind you. “They’ll be back at the weekend to visit. You’ll be seeing them again in no time.” Natasha turns to stand side by side with you, her hand resting on your back as she gently begins to press you forwards. “Now how about you just come with me and I can show you around the place. How does that sound?”
“A-alright,” you stumble, giving one glance back to the car that has already pulled away from the camp. You let the woman by your side guide you as you watch it slowly move further and further away up the road, officially leaving you all alone.
The tour Natasha gives you, however, helps to lift your spirits a little. The camp grounds are rather beautiful, the grass vibrant and speckled with small colourful flowers. The buildings themselves are also very pleasant, all adding to the soft summer camp feel the area had. Natasha first directs you to the small bunker home her and Steve resided in, claiming members were not allowed inside but there was a small bell if you ever needed them at any time. Next, she shows you the church; a small yet grand building with dazzling stained glass windows. As you walk the pews, Natasha tells you how their service is held each morning, directed by Steve himself.
“I hear you’re in your church choir?” Natasha quips as you take in the way the light hits the windows, spreading bright colours across the floor of the building.
“Yes,” you reply, lifting your head and smiling sheepishly. “I have been since I was thirteen.”
“You’ll have to sing for us one time,” Natasha says playfully, before beckoning you out of the church and off to your next destination. On your way, she explains a little of how their program works; a mixture of group lessons and singular sessions to help you understand your problem. “Do you still attend bible study, Y/N?” Natasha asks as you approach the main building.
Shyly, you turn to face her. “No. I stopped a few years ago when I turned sixteen.”
The redhead clicks her tongue but overall doesn’t seem too disappointed, still smiling over you. “Don’t worry,” she replies. “I’m sure our study will set you just right again.” She passes you another wink before you step in through another door that she opens ahead of you.
The building has a wide front opening, a set of grand stairs set out ahead in the expanse of the tall ceilings. At the bottom of them, you suddenly notice a tall girl standing there. She’s wearing a neat uniform, her long black hair pulled back into two braids. “Y/N,” Natasha says, gesturing towards the girl. “I’d like you to meet Kate. She’ll be your mentor while you settle in.”
The raven-hair girl smiles at you as she extends a hand. You shake it, sharing a quick greeting before she hands you a welcome packet. Natasha explains how all of the rules are written inside, alongside a list of other expectations and your schedule for your stay. You hold on to it against your chest as the pair walk you around the house on your continued tour.
Inside of the main building, it feels somewhat like a mixture of a house and a school. There are two classrooms, both filled with a set of students learning from a tutor at the front of the class. A large dining hall was also set up, functioning like a school canteen. Downstairs there were a few recreational spaces with small couches arranged around card tables, all littered with various bible verse posters along the walls. As you move upstairs, Natasha shows you the bathrooms and the couple isolation rooms they had, though she assured you, you most likely wouldn’t be spending any time in there.
“Now, let’s get you some uniform, hm?” Natasha says, moving further down the corridor. She opens a long cupboard, filled with rows of pleated skirts and crisp white shirts. She looks through the rails before handing you a set of uniform in your size. Her and Kate then give you some privacy in the cupboard to change while they step outside.
The uniform is light blue, the skirt pleated through with lines of navy. The sweater vest is a matching dark blue, the logo of the camp embroidered onto one breast. You pull it on over the white button shirt, followed by the long white socks and black patent shoes Natasha had also provided. When you step out of the cupboard, the older woman takes hold of your old clothes, claiming she’ll take care of them for you until you’d be needing them again. You’re not entirely sure what she means but she’s continuing on with the tour once more before you can truly give it much thought.
“These are the girl’s dormitories,” the redhead says as she opens another door, guiding you inside. As you step in, you notice two rows of small cots, lined up with matching pink floral bedsheets. You notice one on the end, your bags sat atop waiting for you. But what catches your eye even more, is the brunette girl splayed across one of the middle beds, a magazine between her hands. She looks up as all three of you walk into the room, her green eyes meeting directly with you.
“Miss Maximoff,” Natasha says as soon as she notices the girl. “Aren’t you supposed to be in your lessons right now?”
The girl diverts her gaze to the camp director. “I didn’t feel well so I came to lie down.”
The way the girl lay across her stomach, face perfectly amused as her eyes flitted across her magazine didn’t exactly come across to you as unwell. It seems that Natasha too picks up on her lie, simply passing the brunette a small scowl. “Nice try.”
There’s a moment where the girl stares back, almost daring the women with her gaze, but she soon gives up, instead rolling her eyes as a long frustrated sigh escapes her lips. “Fine,” she mumbles, lifting herself up from the bed and slowly walking towards you. As she does, you notice how her shirt is unbuttoned further down and how her skirt is rolled at her waist, climbing the front of her thighs.
Natasha seems unfazed by her antics, simply holding out her hand which the brunnete places her magazine into with another sigh. The redhead gives it a once over before staring back at the girl. “This is contraband. Where did you find it?”
The brunette simple smirks in response. Her shoulders briefly brushes against yours as she squeezes her way through your group, headed towards the door. Before she leaves, she turns, walking gently backwards as the smirk widens on her face. “The Lord showed me the way to it.” She turns again quickly, disappearing from the dormitory alongside her lingering gaze.
Natasha doesn’t make any move to follow her, simply inclines her head as as she shouts down the corridor. “Roll down your skirt, Miss Maximoff!” Her voice still echoing, the redhead then turns back to you, that perfect smile returning almost as quickly as it at dropped. “I’m so sorry about that,” she says, glancing down at you. “Some of the other girls are a little…challenged in finding the light. Sometimes they can be a bad influence but I’m sure if you just stick with Kate, you’ll be just fine.”
You glance at the tall girl stood beside you, her soft grin looking back. “If you have any questions, feel free to ask Kate. Or of course, me or Steve at any point,” Natasha adds, drawing your attention back to her. You nod in response and she smiles back, placing a hand on to your shoulder. “Now, how about we take a look at your bags?”
———
Settling in isn’t as hard as you thought it might be. Kate is nice, you discover quickly, and helps you get unpacked. You tuck your things away into the drawers under your bed, then some more of your belongings in to the bedside table - next to the complementary bible you find tucked inside. Kate explains you can put up some photos with blue tac if you wish, pointing out to some of the other girls’ beds who have done the same. You borrow some of said blue tac from her as you stick a photo of your family alongside one of you and your boyfriend up on to the wall.
Afterwards, Kate sits with you while you look through your welcome packet. A lot of it relates to the pamphlet your parents had given you before your arrival, talking all about the camp and its methods of tackling what they phrase, ‘the misdirection of youths towards homosexuality’. The entire idea is still a little scattered in your head, but you brush it aside as you delve further into the rules and scheduling of the camp.
There are quite a few rules written down, a lot of which you recognise from your own home regulations. No curse words are to be used, nor any other inappropriate language. The Lord’s name must not be used in vain. Members must pray before each meal and every night before bed. Uniform must be worn at all times.
Then there are other rules that make you feel a little more uncertain. There is strictly NO fraternising between members. No member is permitted in the opposite dormitory to which they are assigned. Any inappropriate belongings will be confiscated.
The last rule makes you wonder back to the girl you’d seen sat inside the dormitory. There have been something ‘inappropriate’ about her magazine, obviously leading to the confiscation by Natasha. You weren’t quite sure what about it could be so bad, the name you’d glanced at briefly unrecognisable before Natasha had quickly stashed it away from your sight. If anything, the whole ordeal had only made you more curious about the strange girl and what exactly she had been reading.
As if the universe could hear your thoughts, it’s barely a few hours later when you collide with the girl once more. It’s lunch time, Kate and you just having sat down with your plates of food after she’d explained how they were set out each meal time. The dining room is filling up, all of the other camp members filing in to take their place at differing tables. It’s as your inspecting the meal in front of you that a very particular member sets herself down in front you.
“Hey, newbie.”
Your head raises from the table as you hear the voice, looking up to meet the same pair of green eyes that you recalled from earlier. The brunette stares back at you, a small smile playing at her lips as she watches your face. “Uh…hi?”
You don’t get to say much more before Kate is speaking up, leaning over the table with a scowl. “Get lost, Maximoff. We don’t want you to sit with us.”
The brunnete turns to look at the other girl, a frown of her own appearing between two perfect brows. “Loosen up, Bishop. I just wanted to say hello to our newest addition.” As she finishes, her eyes trail back to you, the scowl dropping away to that same smirking expression. For a moment it seems as if she looks you up and down, scanning over your uniform before studying your face again. “I’m Wanda,” she says eventually, voice light. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
You smile back a little awkwardly, torn between your polite nature and the instructions you had received to avoid this exact girl sat opposite you. “Y/N,” you reply, letting your manners overtake the situation.
“Just go away, Wanda,” Kate butts in suddenly, her voice raised. “I’m her mentor, not you.”
The brunette screws up her face as she turns to the raven-haired girl, scoffing under her breath. “God Kate, you’re so fucking uptight.” She sighs loudly as she pushes herself up from the table. As she does, you notice how her skirt is still rolled at the waist. But you don’t settle on it too long, distracted as she begins to speak again. “I’ll see you around, Y/N,” Wanda says, her voice playful once more. Her eyes train on you for just a moment as she backs away from the table, another girl soon taking her place.
“Just ignore her,” Kate grumbles over to you. She begins to list a string of complaints about the girl but doesn’t get far, soon interrupted by Reverend Steve calling for grace at the front of the room. You bow your head as he begins to pray, clasping your hands under your chin just as you did with every meal you ate at home. A chorus of ‘amens’ rings out as the prayer finishes, all heads lifting once more to begin eating their lunch. As you lift yours, your gaze briefly flashes across the room, catching across the way, a pair of green eyes staring back at you. Wanda sits smirking, but you don’t see much else, quickly finding yourself flustered and looking away, turning your concentration instead to the plate of food sat in front of you.
———
Natasha’s office is very nice. That’s your first thought when you enter through the door, guided by her hand on the base of your spine. There are a few wide windows on one wall, white shutters open to give a view of the lake just down a grassy hill. Her desk sits in one corner, a plush vibrant chair close by, then across the way, a small couch. There are shelves littered with both plants and framed pictures, most depicting some sort of bible verse.
You sit yourself down on the sofa while Natasha settles in her chair beside her desk, pulling out a notebook as she turns to face you. There’s an exchange of pleasantries as she explains exactly how these private sessions will go and how anything you say is entirely confidential. You nod, sitting rather folded in on yourself, uncertainty still coursing through your body.
“So Y/N,” Natasha says eventually, crossing her legs over the other. “To start off, why don’t you tell me a little bit about the first time you experienced homosexual tendencies.”
The request is one that leaves you stumbling a little. “Oh I- well…” You swallow, landing on the same response you’d had every time your parents had suggested the idea. “I’m not actually gay. Everyone just thinks that I am.”
Natasha’s face changes, taking on a soft but curious expression. “And why do you say that?”
“Well I’m not,” you reply. “I don’t- I don’t like girls. I have a boyfriend.”
That fact alone seemed enough to you for this whole endeavour to be needless. You didn’t like girls, couldn’t like them. You and your boyfriend had been going strong for over two years. He was handsome, funny, and you were sure you loved him. Even if you did feel slightly disgusted every time his lips touched yours…
“Listen Y/N,” Natasha says, her voice calm. “I know this whole experience can seem a little daunting but we’re here to help you, okay?” She smiles softly, the intention of her words feeling truthful. “But the first step of your journey needs to be your admittance to your problem.”
It isn’t that you don’t feel comfortable telling Natasha about your problem, in fact you actually feel a strange warmth in your stomach whenever she talks to you, but in your mind, there was no problem to begin with. “I’m not gay.”
Natasha sighs at your answer. She adjusts herself in her seat, her soft gaze looking back at you. “Think about it like this; homosexuality is like a disease. These thoughts weave their way into your mind, changing your behaviour.” The redhead raises a set of perfect brows. “But we can’t begin to heal if we don’t have a proper diagnosis. Can’t administer the right treatment if we can’t admit we’re ill, right?”
Her analogy isn’t lost on you, somewhat similar to something you’d heard your pastor say back at your home church. “Yeah…I guess that makes sense.”
“Now what you’re experiencing can be fixed,” Natasha continues. “I’ve seen it fixed many times before. You can heal Y/N, break away from this and find the light of our good lord.” With his name, Natasha glances up to the cross hanging on the wall beside you. Your eyes follow too. “Don’t you want that?”
You turn back to the woman, your voice sounding small. “Of course I do.”
Natasha smiles. “That’s good.” She rearranges herself again, adjusting to hold her notebook and pen better. “Now, could you maybe tell me first time you can remember ever having thoughts about other women?”
“I don’t-I haven’t,” you stumble. “I don’t think about them like that.”
Like that. It was a phrase you’d repeated like a mantra in your head. You didn’t want a girlfriend, you didn’t want a girl to kiss you. You thought about girls the same way everyone else did. Sure, sometimes your eyes would fall to their ass when they walked to the front of class, or perhaps you got a bit hot and bothered in the changing rooms before gym, maybe even your favourite movie scene was the one where all the girls would go to the beach and play in the water. But that was what everyone else thought too…right?
“Alright,” Natasha says, sighing again. “I can see you’re really struggling with this, but that’s okay. I’m here to help you.” She smiles. “How about we take a little look at your family history, hm? See if that can get things kickstarted for us?”
You spend the rest of your session talking about your family. Natasha asks about extended members, questioning about any problems there may be down your blood line. But as far as you know, it all comes up clean, your entire family the same good Christian folks you’ve always known them to be.
Finding nothing of interest, Natasha moves on to talk about your childhood. She asks about your time at school, how long you’d attended church, what sort of friends you had. It’s all scribbled down on the notebook in her hand as you list off answers, all the perfect idiom of what a good Christian girl should be.
By the end of your session, you’ve spoke about almost everything that’s led you up to where you are now. Natasha asks again about your feelings towards women, trying to compare the reasons your parents sent you here to real acts of homosexuality. But all in all, it’s no use. At the end of the hour, you’re still in denial, refusing any accusation of your alleged problem. Thankfully, Natasha doesn’t seem angry, still smiling softly as you leave her office. She send you away with an assignment to think about what could be your ‘root’, what she terms the initial source of your unholy thoughts, determined once you figure this out, it will begin your journey to sanctuary.
———
The next few days pass by without much excitement. You begin to settle into your lessons, listening as a few ex-members of the program give speeches of their experiences, or as Steve talks about how God can help give meaning to your life. There are group therapy sessions you attend, though mostly sit quietly through, but listen while others talk about their own experiences and thoughts. It’s in them you notice a certain person who seems to stare at you from across the room. You try to avoid making eye contact but it seems each time you glance over, Wanda’s stare is trained on you.
Following what Natasha had said when you first arrived, you tried to stick to Kate’s side as much as possible, avoiding the other girl who seemed to look at you more often than not. When you weren’t in lessons you could avoid her, instead hanging around with Kate and her friends in the recreational spaces, sometimes watching one of the approved DVDs that lay beneath the TV. At meals, your group sits together, always saying your prayers before eating your food. But it seems even there you can’t escape the strange brunette, always catching her stare from across the room. It’s only in bible study, on the day that marks a week since your arrival, that you actually get to speak to her again.
Kate was sick today. She’d caught a head cold, presumably from her parents who came to visit her at the weekend. You had also had a visit, your mother and father asking every possible question about your stay and how you were finding camp. The visit had went well, but now a few days later you were left with no mentor to guide you throughout your day. It isn’t too much of a worry in your mind though, the layout and scheduling of the camp already becoming a familiar routine to your body. But what you aren’t used to, is a certain strange individual sitting in the seat where your mentor usually sat.
You don’t notice it is Wanda at first. Feeling the body slide against yours on the bench, your first thought is perhaps that Kate has made a miraculous recovery. But when you turn to face the individual and are met with piercing green eyes, you are certainly even more surprised. “Um,” you fumble, looking back at the brunette as you try to stumble for words. “That’s Kate’s seat.”
Wanda raises a brow, her head spinning to look around the room before it returns to you. “I don’t see her.” She smirks. “Besides, no seating arrangements, right?”
Technically she is correct. There is nothing actually stopping her from sitting beside you apart from your slight aversion to interacting with her. You slide your body away a few inches to the right, shifting away from the touch Wanda had initiated as she sat down a little to close. The brunette seems to notice, glancing down at the gap now settled between you, but she doesn’t say anything about it, instead just looking up at you as she flashes a set of white teeth. “So Y/N,” she begins, rolling your name easily over her tongue. “Where are you from?”
“Not far,” you reply, still inclined to politeness even with your anxiety around the interaction. You elaborate further, telling her the name of your town just two hours north of the camp.
Wanda hums at your response then crosses her legs on the bench. You try not to notice the way her rolled skirt flashes a pair of smooth pale legs. “I’m from down south,” she says. “Further than you, though. About six hours. My parents only come to visit about once a month.”
You met her eye as you try to think of a response, but before you can, you’re being interrupted. Reverend Steve calls out at the front of the class, silencing everyone so that he can begin calling the register. As names echo out across the room, you and Wanda’s conversation dies, but the soft warmth emanating from her body close to yours, does not leave for the rest of the lesson.
Having quit bible study over three years ago, you were a little worried you wouldn’t be able to keep up, but as Kate had told you last week, some of these kids had never even been to church, so the pace was definitely slow enough for you to follow along. The story Steve told today was one you knew rather well actually, one of the most prominent ones you could recall from your early teens. Still, you pay the upmost attention throughout the entire time he talks, eyes trained on his figure at the front of the classroom. What makes that a little difficult however, is the girl sat right beside you.
Wanda is easily distracted you notice quickly, constantly fidgeting with the pen in her hand - your pen actually, borrowed by the brunette when she claimed she had forgotten her own. You sit a little in shock as she casually graffitis the open bible sat upon the desk in front of her, mindlessly drawing squiggles and random shapes into the margin. You try your best to ignore her antics but it’s a little hard when she accidentally tosses her pen across the desk, following a failed attempt to spin it around her fingers. It lands over on your side, just to the right of your own bible. You go to reach for it to hand back to her but it seems she’s already moving before you can even get the chance.
Her body lifts slightly from the bench, stretching out across the table with one arm for her lost pen. As she does, her chest is brought closer to your face. Your eyes fall on the black cross hanging around her neck, then suddenly dip lower, catching the area of her shirt where her buttons are undone further than they should be. There’s the briefest of moments where your eyes linger there, passing over the ever so slightly visible cleavage that swells on her chest, but it’s less than seconds later you’re darting away. Wanda eventually picks her pen back up, after what feels like an eternity, and pulls back in her chair. You glance momentarily over at her, then quickly return to the bible open in front of you, trying your best to follow along with the passage Steve reads aloud while ignoring the strange sensation that has settled in your lower stomach.
———
Camp isn’t quite the way you imagined it to be. Before you arrived, you thought it would be entirely awful, like a prison only with more…God. But for most of your experience, it just feels like you’re back in school. Although, now your lessons about maths or science are replaced by those about God and the way into his heart. Just over two weeks in, you’ve picked up the swing of things quite nicely, falling into an easy routine as you move through the services and lessons with ease. The one thing you just can’t quite seem to grasp is the understanding of why you’re here in the first place.
You’ve had three private sessions now with Natasha, each of them as feeble at finding a change as the last. You’re still not ready to admit your problem, as Natasha puts it, reluctant to find the issue within yourself. But as you’ve said since before you even came, it’s a simple fact you aren’t gay. Natasha seems determined in her ways to make you see something different.
She’s handed you a book, walking out from your last session. The title reads, ‘My Sexuality and Me: Finding the Root of Homosexual Tendencies’. You’re tasked with reading it before your next session in hopes it might finally help you understand your own thoughts. For now, however, it has to wait. Leaving your session, you go up to the dorm to drop it by your bed, taking just a moment before you have to head to your next organised activity.
The camp helps run on a set of scheduled chores that the members have to carry out. It’s on a rota, something Kate had shown you on your very first day, and changes each week. There’s everything from weed picking to cleaning dishes, all work that helps to keep the camp in shape for everyone staying there. Reverend Steve mentioned something about the work ethic helping everyone be grateful for what the lord had given them.
You have to go down to check the rota, forgetting what was scheduled for you this week. Most of the others are already dotted around the camp doing their chores, apparently your one-on-one session running over slightly and causing you to be a little late. You make your way down the stairs to the main room where the rota is located, pinned into a notice board on the wall. But as you turn the corner at the bottom of the stairs, you notice that you are in fact, not alone.
Wanda turns almost immediately when you round the corner. She’s stood up against the notice board, back resting upon the wall with one foot lifted against it. A smile appears on her face as you come into view, her teeth shining around the piece of pink bubblegum she chews. “Hey, princess.”
You try not to scoff at the name - an endearment the brunette had coined after seeing you one night writing in your diary about your boyfriend, claiming you were like a locked away princess longing for her prince to come save her. You’d rolled your eyes at her comment at the time, and had to deal with its return each time you’d bumped into her in the past week. Now, you try to ignore it as you walk past her and stare up at the notice board trying to find the chore schedule. However, Wanda is speaking again before you even get the chance to locate it.
“Looks like it’s you and me this week.” You glance over at her, watching as a pink bubble forms at her lips. You want to ignore her teasing, looking back to the board to locate where you would be stationed, but when your eyes fall upon the schedule, you realise she is right. Written on the notice board, right below the date of the beginning of the week is your and Wanda’s name, then below it; house duty.
You turn back to look at her, a pair of green eyes glinting your way. For a moment you think there’s some kind of mistake. After all, you had always been with Kate before. But then, not far away from yours is indeed Kate’s name written, not on house duty, but on pantry organisation.
Wanda smirks as she rolls the gum in her mouth, eyes fixated on you as she blows another bubble. When it pops, she finally speaks again. “You’ve never done house duty, have you?”
She’s right. You’re in unfamiliar territory and you don’t have your usual mentor to help guide you. “No,” you reply simply, gently shaking your head.
Wanda breathes out a laugh, throwing her head back slightly as she drops her leg from the wall. “Come on, princess,” she says teasingly, walking to close the gap between you. “I’ll guide you.”
Her hand is reaching for yours before you can protest against it. Soft skin slips into yours, gripping hold and quickly dragging you down the corridor. You stumble slightly, surprised by the whole encounter but Wanda doesn’t seemed fazed. She simply pulls you along the hall like a lost puppy. When your brain restarts from the initial shock, you look down at the way your fingers are grasped between hers. It’s a simple interaction at its core, an innocuous hand hold as she shows you the way to go. You’d done the same thing with your own friends back home many of times, but something about this one feels a little different. Something about the way her soft skin is warm against yours creates an odd fuzz in your head.
“Here we are,” Wanda announces, suddenly dropping your hand. You try not to think about the way it now feels cold as you watch her reach for a door handle. It opens to a cupboard, full of what looks like cleaning supplies. “We basically just dust everything,” the brunette continues, turning back to look at you. “Just dust and vacuum the floors in every room in the house. Oh- but not the bathroom, someone else will be doing those.”
You find yourself nodding, the task seeming simple enough. You’d dusted plenty of times at home, this couldn’t be any different.
Wanda lets out another laugh, seemingly at your immediate obedience to follow through with your task. “Alright, princess,” she says, cracking her gum. She reaches in to the cupboard, picking up a cloth and a bottle of disinfect spray. “I’ll do upstairs, you do downstairs?”
There isn’t much room for objection even if you had any, Wanda already beginning to walk away with the cloth thrown over one of her shoulders. You reach down to grab similar materials, standing back up to watch her figure moving down the corridor. “Stop calling me that!” You call out, but the girl is gone before your sentence is even finished, the protest seemingly falling on deaf ears. A sigh escapes your lips as you close the cupboard door, determined to just ignore the other girl while you begin your designated chore.
You start with the class rooms, wiping each desk with the spray and then dusting the other surrounding surfaces. You quickly find nothing was too dirty, the uphold from the other members ensuring the work wasn’t too difficult. You move next to the dining hall, then the recreational spaces, your cloth picking up any small specks of dust that have come to rest on the furniture and surfaces. When you’ve wiped down each room, you return to the cupboard for the vacuum you’d spied earlier. It’s older than the one you have at home but easy enough to work, quickly making light work of vacuuming the entire bottom floor.
It’s probably half an hour later when you finish, at least that’s the guess you make without a watch. You tidy away the cleaning supplies back into the cupboard before doing a quick inspection of everything to make sure you haven’t missed anything. Satisfied everything is clean, you turn your attention to your missing task partner. You haven’t seen Wanda once, barely even heard her moving upstairs. So, devoid of what else to do, you decide to head up to check if she needed any help.
You check a few rooms before you find her, the closest spaces absent of her presence. It’s only when you open the door to the girls dormitory that you finally see her. Except, she’s not cleaning like you expected her to be, in fact the cloth is entirely disregarded on the bedside table. Instead, Wanda sits with her back against the headrest of her bed, legs crossed over the top of her floral sheets and a magazine sat across her lap.
The door almost slams behind you as you catch eye of her, shock and repel taking you over. “You’re supposed to be cleaning!”
Wanda’s eyes pick up as she hears you yell, meeting your stare across the room. A smirk appears on her face, her expression seeming very amused by your sudden entrance. “Believe me, what I’m doing is much more enjoyable.”
You scowl back, annoyed by the fact you’d just spent the last half hour cleaning the house while she had been sitting up here doing nothing for who knows how long. If you were more argumentative, you would think of something to say in retaliation, some quick quip to get back at her for being lazy. But you’d never been very good at arguing, never very good at holding your temper. So instead you simply hold your tongue as you walk further in the room, watching Wanda as she stared back at you. Suddenly, your eyes fall to the paper in her hand, reminded of how similar this situation felt to the first time you’d met her. Like then, the same curiosity comes over you as to what she might be looking at, particularly how it could be classified as contraband. With that in mind, the next words you utter are not with anger anymore, but instead interest. “What are you reading?”
“Oh this?” Wanda replies, closing the magazine and holding it up briefly. She smirks your way, the grin wide against her cheeks. “Playboy.”
The word was unfamiliar to your mind. “What?”
Wanda’s brow raise. “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of a playboy magazine.”
You notice in that moment she’d lost her gum from earlier. In fact, you wouldn’t be surprised if she’d stuck it under a piece of furniture somewhere. But still trying to focus on the conversation at hand, you simply shake your head in response.
Wanda looks surprised, her brows raising even further. You think she’s going to jest you further, make fun of you for not recognising the name of her treasured magazine, but instead she simply extends it out. “Look.”
You move slowly, slightly hesitant to approach. You know Natasha had confiscated something like this from Wanda before and you didn’t presume this new magazine was much different from that previously banned material. Still, your curiosity seems to be getting the better of you because you slowly sit down on Wanda’s bed, your legs hanging off the side whilst the brunette crosses hers. Against the covers of the bed, Wanda slides the magazine between the two of you, opening it to a random page. What is plastered over it causes your eyebrows to raise completely in shock.
Women. But not just any pictures of women. The magazine was covered in dozens of images of women in differing stages of nudity. Immediately when you saw it, you felt the need to pull your eyes away, knowing that these kind of images were most definitely not the kind you should be looking at. But at the same time, it was like you couldn’t stop. There are about four models across the two pages scattered with different images, sometimes wearing sets of black lacy lingerie, sometimes wearing nothing at all. Theres a strange sensation bubbling in your gut, an odd warmth spreading through your mind as you look down at the pictures. The pure immorality of it all is enough for you to shake your head viscously.
“This is-we’re not-you shouldn’t have that.” You stutter, the images imprinted in your brain making it harder to focus and find the right words. You’ve never seen anything like that before, never looked at a woman’s body so out in the open. Now you could see why Natasha had quickly confiscated Wanda’s magazine and hidden it away from your view. “How do you even have this?”
The brunette seems utterly unfazed by the material in front of you. More so, her face looks amused at your alarmed reaction. “I steal them out of my brother’s backpack when he comes to visit,” she replies casually, as if this is something she’s been doing for months. “He’s pretty oblivious so he never notices, always thinks he lost them. Besides, even if he did know, he couldn’t tell my parents. He’s not allowed them either.”
While Wanda explains, you have to fight against yourself to hold eye contact. In your peripheral, you can still see the open page of nude women, restraining yourself from your body’s seemingly natural instinct to look down. “This isn’t right,” you reply, shaking your head. “We shouldn’t be looking at that.”
Wanda scoffs, looking displeased at your disapproval. She reaches out for the magazine, pulling it back into her own lap as she glances down at the images. Then, she’s looking back up at you, face inquisitive. “You’ve really never seen one before?”
You’re not sure exactly where she thinks you were going to find such a thing, but you’re certain you’ve never seen anything of the sort before. “No,” you reply sternly, shaking your head once more.
Wanda laughs to herself, rolling her eyes. “You call yourself a lesbian and you don’t even know what a playboy is.”
Her words cause a deep frown to appear on your brow, your voice raising to almost a shout. “I’m not a lesbian.”
A perfect brow raises in your direction as Wanda looks at you. Her expression seems particularly amused. “No? How’d you end up here then?”
The question hits you hard, the same thing you’d been pondering to yourself over the last few weeks of your stay. “I’m not gay,” you reply harshly. “Everyone just thinks that I am.”
“And why do you think they think that?”
Wanda’s eyes meet your own as she speaks, the question another one familiar to your own mind. “I don’t know,” you shrug. “Stupid reasons.” You think back to the conversation you’d had with your parents, the first time any of this had even cropped up into your mind. “A few posters I had up in my room, a couple songs on my playlist. Oh, and I told my boyfriend I don’t like kissing him. Which is totally stupid. I’m pretty sure he’s just really bad at it.”
A chuckle emanates from Wanda’s throat. You’re not quite sure why, watching as she leans in closer to you. When she speaks again, her face is barely inches from your own. “Oh honey, you don’t like kissing him because you like kissing girls.”
“What?” you exclaim, taken aback by her accusation. That couldn’t possibly be right. “No! I don’t! I told you, I’m not a lesbian.”
Wanda smirks, her eyes trained on yours. “Okay, maybe not a lesbian but I bet you’ve thought about a girl while he’s kissing you.”
The idea was entirely preposterous. “No!” you yelled back. “I haven’t!”
But your anger is only met with amusement on Wanda’s side, her smirk only deepening as she leans back on the bed. “You’re cute when you lie.”
The words have you recoilling, the inclination behind them picked up on yet rejected by your brain. And yet, you could feel a warmth spreading to your cheeks, embarrassment flushing in.
“Have you ever kissed a girl?”
You snap on to Wanda as her question rings out, watching as she casually slides her magazine back behind her bedside table. “No,” you reply firmly. “Of course not.”
“Then how do you know you don’t like it?” The brunette sits up again, leaning in closer to you. Her eyes meet your own, a strange shadow seemingly passing over them. She watches you for a moment, in almost unreadable expression moving across her face. “Surely theres only one way to find out.”
Wanda’s voice is low, barely above a whisper. You find you’re too busy watching her lips to notice her leaning in even closer, face barely centimetres from your own. Suddenly, you pull back. “What are you doing?”
Wanda doesn’t miss a beat, continuing to lean in even as you pull away. One of her hands comes to rest on your thigh, fingers grazing the material of your pleated skirt. “It’s okay,” she says lowly. “I’m just trying to help you.”
Her advance doesn’t stop, face moving closer and close towards yours. It’s only when she’s almost touching you, you realise she’s trying to kiss you. “No,” you say quickly, pushing her back by the shoulders. “We can’t do that. It’s not right.”
Wanda sighs, relaxing her posture a little. She shifts in the bed, eyes still trained on you. For a moment she simply looks over your face before that smirk appears once more. “Maybe…” she says, angling her head. “But isn’t that the whole reason we’re here?” The question slightly throws you for a loop, your confusion allowing Wanda to move closer to you once more. “Don’t do you want to be a good girl and finish the program?”
The way her breath fans across your face sends an odd shiver down your neck, goosebumps appearing on your arms. Her choice of words seems to form an odd feeling in your stomach, but you try your best to brush it off, nodding your head in response to the question. You did want to finish the program. You wanted to be able to go back home to your family.
Wanda smiles at your answer, her head angling to the side as her voice takes a caring tone. “Well we both know what the first step is…You have to admit to yourself you like girls.” She leans in closer, her eyes briefly flashing down to your lips. “You can’t heal if you don’t admit you have a problem.”
Her words mirror those of Natasha’s, the same thing she’d been trying to get through to you for weeks. But you can’t help but fight the part of your brain that recalls everything you’ve been taught about attraction. “This isn’t right,” you say quietly. “You have to stop.” And yet you find yourself making no move to pull away from the girl whose face sits mere inches from your own.
“As I said, I’m just trying to help you.” Wanda’s voice is calm, understanding. “Once you realise you like girls, you can move on with the rest of the program.” Then the brunette shrugs a shoulder. “Or hey, you maybe hate it and realise you actually are straight.”
It makes some sense in your mind but you’re still hesitant, knowing that what Wanda was even suggesting was against everything you wanted to believe in. “I don’t think that we should-“
“Just don’t think.” Wanda cuts you off before you can finish, and before you can even process what’s happening, she closes the final gap between you. Her lips meet yours, soft and warm against your skin. It’s gentle but rough at the same time, your eyes fluttering closed. Then immediately, as the warmth leaves, they snap back open.
Wanda’s staring back at you, face smiling. “How’d that feel?” You notice that her eyes look a little blown out, pupils wide against the sea of green. “Feels good right?”
Suddenly you realise what’s just happened, every part of your upbringing screaming inside your head. “What? No!” you reply, flustering. “No, it didn’t feel good. It felt wrong.”
But some part of you creeps up in the back of your mind, a part you recognised and yet wanted to snuff out more than anything, a part that knew you were lying.
And apparently, Wanda can see right through to that part too. “I can see it on your face, honey,” she says, voice now teasing. Her eyes trace over your features and you wonder what exactly gave it away. There isn’t much time to think however, as before you know it, Wanda’s leaning in again. Her lips meet yours, a hand sliding to your thigh once more.
“Stop,” you reply, pulling away. “This isn’t right. We’re not supposed to-“
Wanda cuts you off again. “Don’t think about what we’re supposed to do. Think about what feels right.”
You notice again the wildness of her pupils, only for a moment, before she leans in again. Your eyes close on impact, her lips crashing into yours in another kiss. Only this time you instinctively lean into it, pursing your lips against hers. Wanda pushes back, her mouth opening just slightly to take in your lips and you find yourself leaning in. There’s a reminiscent taste of bubblegum, sweet on your tongue as her saliva begins to mix with your own. The hand on your thigh tightens, another placed on to the side of your face. For a second you don’t think about anything other than just how good this moment feels.
It’s seconds later Wanda pulls away, her touch lingering but her lips missing. You find your eyes opening, gazing back at the smirking brunette staring back at you. “It feels pretty good doesn’t it?”
You’re lost for words, sure of your answer to her question but so reluctant to admit it. Wanda smiles back at you, her grip on your leg slowly raising up, ever so slightly bunching the fabric of your skirt. Before you can formulate a response, she’s moving in towards you. Her face disappears into the crook of your neck, her warm breath fanning out across your skin before her lips attach. Without thinking, your head falls back, only giving the brunette more access to nip at the skin of your neck. Your eyes feel heavy, an odd sensation pooling deep in your body. “I can make you feel so good…”
The words reverberate across your skin, sending shivers down your neck and across your chest. A small whine exits your throat, unintended by any part of you but seemingly drawn out by the gentle touches of both Wanda’s lips and her fingers dancing across your skin. “Wanda…”
The brunette slowly pulls back, her face rising to meet with yours. Theres a look in her eye you can’t identify. “You’re already a sinner now, right?” she says, voice husky. “No harm in twisting the knife.”
There’s a moment where you want to turn away, to listen to the rational part of your brain that tells you this is all wrong. But right now there’s only one thing you can truly think of; just how good it felt with Wanda’s lips against your own.
Your hands grab at the brunettes shoulders as you pull her in, the pair of you colliding before you even recognise what you’re doing. The kiss comes fast, clashing together in your desperation for the girl to stop talking and just to feel her against you again. Wanda smirks against your lips, humming an amused noise before she’s all over you.
Her hands find purchase in your hair, entangling in the strands at the nape of your neck as she pulls you in closer to her body. Her kiss becomes fiercer, control quickly being regained as she presses her lips into yours. A small hum of your own escapes as she presses her tongue into your mouth, quickly taking over as you simply let her in without protest. And in that moment a thought crashes over your mind; gay or not, your boyfriend was definitely bad at kissing. Furthermore, Wanda was very, very good.
Your hands grips slightly at her shoulders as the brunette domineers the kiss, her lips almost possessive against your own as her hand clutches as your cheek, manipulating your position to give her full control. You feel her other hand begin to drift further up your legs, pushing your skirt up to your hips before climbing even higher. Delicate touches grace over your stomach, then softly against your chest. You release a small whine as Wanda nips at your lip with her teeth, at the same time, reaching to unbutton the top clasp of your shirt. Her fingers work faster than your mind can even process, too distracted by the touch of her lips to notice her quick work of opening your entire shirt. It’s only when she reaches to touch your chest, a gasp of realisation releases from your throat.
Wanda however, continues without missing a beat. As you gasp, she lets her lips leave your own, reappearing quickly on the side of your neck. Her hand tightens around the skin beneath it on your chest, fingers squeezing around your bra and grabbing hold of your breast beneath it. Her soft kisses continue to move lower as you whine softly, her touch against your chest sending shivers down your body.
Then, her mouth turns more aggressive, resting just at the curve of your breast she begins to suck on the flesh harder, nipping with her teeth before smoothing it over with her tongue. You whine softly, the new sensation novel to your body but so intrinsically intuned. For the first time your eyes open, looking down to where the brunette resides again your chest. You notice the way your necklace rests between the wisps of her hair, a silver cross that you’d worn every day for years. The image is enough to remind you of how wrong this is, how under no circumstances you should be letting a girl kiss you or touch your body like this. But before you can fully wrap your mind around the forbidden nature of the act, a new sensation is stripping a small gasp from your chest. Wanda’s fingers move back to your thighs, slipping up the exposed skin before coming to rest on your underwear underneath.
“Wanda…” you breathe heavily, worked up by her touch and yet knowing how wrong it all was. You shouldn’t be doing this, any of it, especially what Wanda was insinuating as she slipped her hand beneath your skirt.
“Shh, it’s okay.” The brunette replies with ease, her voice low and sensual. Her eyes raise back up to your face, meeting your gaze with a blown out expression. “Let me make you feel good, Y/N.”
And with that, her mouth is on yours again. Her kiss is enough to distract you from forming a response, eyes closing as the sweet taste of bubblegum coats your tongue once more. Then you feel her fingers again, pressing lightly against the material of your underwear, tracing the lines of your folds underneath. Small noises travel from your mouth to hers, receptive to her touch, but it’s when she presses her thumb to your clothed clit, a moan finally slips out.
The situation is entirely new to you, never having been touched by anyone this way before. You and your boyfriend had always said you’d wait till marriage, just like you knew you should. But here with Wanda, her lips against yours and her fingers tracing your most delicate areas, the endorphins flowing through your brain are enough to say to hell with it all.
You push harder into the kiss, grasping hold of Wanda’s shoulders as you try to gain the upper hand. But the brunette is much more experienced than you and doesn’t let up easily. Her hands move to your own shoulders and quickly begin to push the open shirt from them. Her lips remain on yours, strong and fierce, until the shirt has been slipped from your body. Then Wanda pulls away, her eyes drifting down over you for just a moment before she’s grabbing at you again. She spins you around, pulling you fully on to the bed as her hands press your shoulders down into the mattress. In a swift movement, she’s kicking off her shoes to the floor, then pulling yours off too. She comes to settle on top of you, knees placed either side of your legs as she looks down. Her hands are quick as she unbuttons her own shirt, tossing it to the side. Then, she’s moving to unclip her bra.
You feel your eyes widen slightly as Wanda’s bare chest is revealed to you. Before the magazine she’d shown you minutes before, it’s the first time you’ve looked at another woman so nude. And in that moment, despite what your brain is screaming out to you, you can’t help but think about how good she looks.
Wanda seems to notice your staring, her face pulling an entirely amused expression as she looks down at you. “I don’t see why you deprive yourself of this, Y/N,” she says, beginning to lean in. Her lips meet your neck, sucking gently as you feel her fingers slip behind your shoulder blades, seeking the clasp of your bra. “Can something truly be so wrong if it brings you so much pleasure?”
You try to reply to her question, brain racking all of the answers you know you should be saying. But then her lips are sucking at your neck and you’re arching into her touch, once again taken over entirely by the flush of pleasure underneath her control. Theres a release against your chest as Wanda unclips your bra, tossing it easily to the side along with her own. “So gorgeous,” the brunette murmurs, one hand coming to grab at your chest. Then her lips are on you again, kissing at the skin around your nipple. When she pulls it into her mouth, teeth grazing over the bud, a needy whine erupts in your throat. Wanda smirks against you, breathing out a laugh. “So sensitive.”
Her mouth continues to work around the skin of your chest, before you notice her fingers crawling over your stomach. They take hold of your skirt, pressing it up to bunch at your waist. Then Wanda is moving away, fingers quickly hooking themselves under the sides of your underwear as she begins to slide them down.
For a sudden moment, you’re acutely aware of what’s going on, of how you are quite literally in a dorm at a camp where this type of behaviour was attempted to be corrected. Not to mention the rule of any sort of fraternisation being entirely banned. “Wait,” you say, looking down at the brunette between your legs, suddenly afraid of what you were about to do. “I don’t think-“
“I told you to stop thinking,” Wanda replies, eyes snapping to yours. She continues to pull your underwear down, throwing them to the floor once they’ve passed your ankles. Before you can say anything more, her lips drown you in a kiss. The sweetness of it all is enough to wipe any of the doubt from your mind, so when Wanda’s hands dip between your legs, you don’t hesitate to let her. Deft fingers run between your folds, teasing you slightly as they brush gently across your clit. You sigh breathily between the breaks of your kiss, Wanda’s touch like electric to your skin.
“God, you’re so wet, Y/N,” the brunette whispers, pulling her face away to smirk down at you. “Is this all for me?”
She’s teasing you, making you think about how hesitant you’d been to this whole idea, and then about how receptive you were under her touch. But you don’t want to think about any of that, don’t want to remind yourself of how wrong this all was. All you want is for her to keep going. “Wanda…” you whine, squirming under her as her fingers teased your entrance. “Please.”
You don’t even truly know what you’re asking for her to do, all you know is you need her. Thankfully, the brunette is proficient in picking up your body’s signals. “Shh, it’s okay,” she whispers, breath fanning across your face. “I know what you need, princess. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”
It’s only seconds later you feel her middle finger plunge into you. You let out a loud gasp at the contact, feeling her finger begin to move inside of you like nobody’s had before. Her name drips off your tongue, laced with pleasure, as her head moves back to your chest, tongue playing with your hardened nipple. Theres a mark resting there, red and throbbing below the skin of your cross. In the heat of the moment, you hands reach out to grasp the back of her head, intertwining with her hair as you feel her add another finger inside you.
The pleasure rolls of you in waves, Wanda’s touch like a skilled professional highly attuned to draw sweet subtle moans from your mouth. Her thumb circles your clit as she continues to pump her fingers inside of you, curling them to reach that spot that sends shivers up your spine.
“Fuck, Wanda,” you murmur, nails lightly scratching at her bare back.
The brunette chuckles, raising her head from your chest. “Now that’s not a very holy word, is it Y/N?” She smirks, and for a moment her touch is gone. You whine, chasing her fingers as they leave your needy core. Theres a second she lifts her weight and you see her reaching to remove her own underwear, then she’s back on you, this time sitting against just on of your thighs. You can feel her wetness against your skin, a soft moan escaping as she makes contact. “I wanna cum with you, okay?” she says, eyes meeting yours. You nod eagerly but your reply is swallowed up by a low cry as her fingers suddenly sink back into you.
Her speed picks up as she begins to curl inside you once again, a soft stream of curses leaving your lips at the unexplainable pleasure of her touch. You can feel Wanda begin to grind on to your thigh as she works, soft gasps escaping from her lips each time her clit brushes beautifully against your skin. She showers your praises as you whimper noises of your own, breaths heavy and moans unrestrained as she brings you closer and closer to that edge.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous, princess,” Wanda husks over you. “Such a pretty girl for me.”
Her words only add to the building feeling in your lower stomach, that familiar coil building from the times you’d reached down to pleasure yourself after your parents had went to bed - not that you would tell anyone that.
“Please, Wanda,” you whimper, back arching into her. “I’m close-please…”
One hand continues to pump inside you, paced perfectly as her curled fingers reached that spot with each thrust. The other come up to play with a perked nipple, the bud rolling though Wanda’s fingers as helpless whines spill from your mouth. “Just a minute, princess,” Wanda replies, her breathing heavy. “I’m almost there.”
Surprisingly, her pace doesn’t falter as she too climbs closer to her orgasm. Her moans grow louder, her cunt grinding harder against your thigh as she continues to swirl your clit at the perfect speed. It’s when you finally tense the muscles in your leg, that she finally falls apart.
You feel her soak your thigh, gasping desperately as she cums. You watch mesmerised as her face screws up, her jaw hanging loose as she rides out her orgasm on your leg, drunk on pleasure. It only adds to the bundling arousal pooling in your lower stomach.
“Cum, pretty girl” Wanda whispers, still coming down from her high. “Cum for me.”
And you do. With her fingers curling just right inside you, you finally tip over the edge. Your orgasm comes hard, crashing over you in a tidal wave as Wanda slowly circles your clit, guiding you through it. A guttural moan elicits from your throat, Wanda’s name lacing your tongue. That pleasant buzz takes over your mind as you feel her fingers slow, riding out your high, drunk on her touch. You’re on the brink of overstimulation when she finally removes her hand entirely. Eventually your eyelids flutter open, heavy from exhaustion, and you spy the brunette with her fingers deep isnide her mouth, her tongue lapping up every last bit of your arousal.
“So sweet,” she murmurs above you, both of your minds still fuzzy from the resounding pleasure. Eventually, the brunette moves herself away from your thigh, whining slightly as her core is exposed to the cool air. Her body flops down next to yours, shoulders touching as you lay cramped in the single cot. Your heavy breaths are the only sound for a long while, loud in the silence of the dormitory. Then finally, when you’ve managed to right your body again, your face turns to look at the girl beside you. Wanda is already staring back, green eyes wide as a huge smirk settles across her lips. She looks you up and down, her grin only widening as she husks, “You still wanna believe you’re not into girls?”.
#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maximoff#wanda maximoff smut#wanda maximoff fanfiction#wanda maximoff fic#marvel
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eddie x shy!reader , she asks him on a date by giving him tickets to a concert and he thinks its a joke til she walks away feeling rejected & he realizes she’s like dead serious & goes up to her
thanks for your request! i sorta broke my own heart with this one — the one where eddie rejects you and immediately regrets it (shy!reader, hurt/comfort, 2.6k)
bug's summer fic fest ♡
Robin tells you that he’s nice. She says he won’t turn you down because he loves Mötley Crüe too much and he’s called you pretty too many times. Robin Buckley is many things — a dork, a polyglot, and your best friend, to name a few — but she’s never been a liar.
She wouldn’t lead you to the slaughter that way. She wouldn’t just let you get your heart broken. More than anything, though, she knows Eddie far better than you do — partly because she’s actually able to talk to him.
So despite your lingering worry, you swallow her words like a shot of vodka and maneuver helplessly through the bustling crowd of the Hawkins High lunchroom.
Eddie Munson sits alone at the Hellfire Club table — the smallest one in the very back corner by the large square window.
Instead of eating a real meal (even though the hamburgers might be horse meat instead of cow), the boy eats crumbled-up pretzels from a worn ziplock bag. He pinches them into his mouth blindly because his chocolate syrup gaze is trained on the well-loved book folded in his left hand.
J.R.R Tolkien’s, The Hobbit.
It makes you smile softly to yourself. You hope one day you’ll have the courage to tell him you’ve read that book so many times you could recite it in your sleep. You hope that day comes soon.
“Eddie?” you call softly to him when you reach his table. Your sweaty fingers fidget with the concert tickets you clutch between them.
He just thinks he hears his name at first. It’s barely audible over the sounds of muddled chatter in the cafeteria. He glances up from his book, not expecting anyone to be there, and gaping when he finds you standing in front of him.
His cinnamon eyes go wide. The boy blinks owlishly at you once, then flits his eyes behind you like he’s expecting to see someone there. When he doesn’t, he blinks at you again.
“Hi…” you waver with a trembling smile.
Eddie grins back, still obviously confused. “…Hi?”
“I, uh… I don’t know if you heard, but— well, obviously you heard, that’s… that’s stupid,” you laugh at yourself, shaking your head with your eyes squeezed shut. You’re already stumbling all over yourself, and you haven’t even managed a full sentence yet.
“Mötley Crüe is coming to Indianapolis in a few days, and a friend of mine was selling tickets, so I bought them. For us. Potentially. You know, if you wanted to… to go… With me.”
Your offer lingers and hangs in the air between the two of you.
A smile quirks at the right side of Eddie’s pink mouth. It isn’t a kind one, though. It looks more cynical than anything else.
His head juts back. He’s almost peering at you from the corner of his eye as though you were some suspicious thing he needed to analyze. A laugh sputters from his lips. “Did Buckley put you up to this? Is that what this is?”
Your faltering smile fades entirely. Your features crumble in disappointment.
This worse he could say is no, Robin had told you.
You hadn’t prepared yourself for this.
“…What?” you wonder, voice fragile like a wilting flower petal.
Eddie chuckles to himself. He sets the book down to give you his full attention, though you’re not sure you want it anymore. “You know, I knew she was upset about me trying to set her up with Vickie and all, but this is a… whole new low.”
“Vickie…?” you murmur through a tightening throat, brows pinched in confusion. “I don’t understand—”
“Look, sweetheart… Tell Robin that this was a real funny joke, but I’m not interested, alright?”
Your chest aches with an empty feeling. You think your heart might be breaking. “J—Joke?”
“—Actually, tell her that this was very not metal of her, and that I will get my vengeance,” Eddie says with a sardonic laugh deeply rooted in his chest. His smile looks almost like he pities you as he shakes his head, eyes twinkling with pessimism. “I’m sorry she sent you to do her dirty work, but… You should probably go now. This is, you know, the Hellfire Club table and everything, so…”
You swallow thickly, then nod.
Eddie doesn’t want you here. Eddie doesn’t want you at all.
“I’m— I’m sorry if I…” The words get caught in your throat. You clear it and blink back burning tears. “I was just… I thought that maybe—”
“Eddie!” a boyish voice calls from across the cafeteria, only halfway drowned out through all the noise. A group of guys in Hellfire shirts walk towards the table.
You take that as your cue to leave. You don’t want to burst into tears in front of your crush and all of his friends.
“I’m sorry,” is all you manage to choke out before turning on your heel and walking away.
He’d been smiling up until that point — like it was all a big joke to him — because it was.
The girl he’s been fawning over since junior year comes out of nowhere with tickets to see one of his favorite bands? That was the kind of shit he dreamt about — the kind of plan only someone as vicious as Robin Buckley could concoct to hurt his feelings. And after spending so many years being the brunt of bullies, Eddie was tired of being embarrassed.
And at first, he thought you were just a really good actor. You did look almost genuinely confused when he’d snuffed out the plan so quickly. But those wide, glassy eyes you looked at him with — he doesn’t know if a person can fake that sort of heartbreak. That looked real.
Eddie had been close to commending himself for not letting Robin win. He thought he was a genius for not allowing Buckley to use you against him. Now he knows he’s the same dumbass he's always been.
“Hey, man…” Gareth wavers as he sits at his designated seat adjacent to Eddie’s. The boy’s forlorn and faraway gaze doesn’t go unnoticed by the rest of the club. They all share looks of confusion, but the sandy-haired boy is the only one brave enough to speak up. “You okay?”
Eddie keeps his gaze trained on your figure as you maneuver through the crowd. Robin looks happy for you when you reach her, but the puppy-like excitement washes away when she notices how sad you are.
He feels like someone’s shoved a knife between his ribcage. He wonders if this is what a broken heart feels like.
“I think I screwed up,” he answers, laughing cynically at himself. “Like, big time.”
“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time, right?” Dustin jokes before popping a fry into his mouth. He laughs, but no one else joins him. “…Right?”
Eddie glares at the boy.
He cowers. “…Kidding. I was kidding.”
—————
He stews over it all day — your offer and what he said to you and how sad you looked after he said it.
He pictures your pinched brows and big, glassy eyes and his chest starts to burn a little. Everyone always thought he was some raging asshole just because he had crazy hair and a crazier taste in music. Now he feels like they were sort of right about him.
Whatever chance he had with you has surely turned to dust by now. It wouldn’t surprise him after he shrugged you off like he did. But after waging a nearly four-hour war in his mind between lunch and dismissal, he knows he has to make sure.
He has to know if he’s ruined things entirely or if there’s a glimmer of hope he can hang onto.
He comes to you at the end of the day, dripping in metaphorical blood from the mental carnage he’d endured. He stood across the hall from you for five whole minutes as he tried to come up with something to say. He walks to your locker empty-handed and just blurts, “I thought you were joking,” like a total idiot.
Through the muddled conversation in the bustling hallway, you hadn’t heard him coming. You didn’t know he was there at all until he was right next to you. Seeing someone so suddenly close to you makes you flinch — hard.
And it’s not totally Eddie’s fault. You’re jumpy and too easily frightened at times, but he can’t help but feel like he’s messing things up more than he already has.
“Oh…” you deflate with a sigh, eyes still wide and swimming with something he can’t quite place. You look like you’re almost relieved to see him. Almost.
“Sorry— shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to…” The boy stumbles over his words, then trails off when they don’t come out the way he wants. He shakes his head and finds it in himself to smile. It’s bitter, though, filled with self-abhorrence. “I wasn’t trying to scare you.”
With one hand still clutching the door of your locker, and the other gripping a stack of textbooks, you peer at him through your lashes. “I know. It’s okay. I just— I wasn’t expecting it…”
He grimaces. “Sorry…”
“’S okay,” you repeat.
“I, um, I only came in so hot ‘cause I wanted to apologize— you know, for earlier. In the lunch room,” he stammers and puts his fidgeting hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. He tries to laugh, but it comes out more as an insincere puff of air. “Honestly, I thought you were joking.”
Your brows pinch. “Joking? Why would I—”
“I sorta locked Robin and Vickie in the old chemistry room in the east wing a few days ago,” he confesses, bouncing his shoulders. “Just because I know they both like each other and everything, and I thought maybe they’d finally admit it if they were alone together.”
“Okay…?”
“Well, they didn’t. And Robin was pissed. So I thought she was using you to get back at me.”
“Using me?” you echo.
“Yeah. ‘Cause I’ve kinda been into you since junior year and everything,” he admits with a nonchalant shrug. The corner of his rosy mouth quirks into a half-smile. “It’s, like, the one card Robin could use against me that would actually hurt, you know? If she did try to get me back.”
Your heart swells so much it hurts, almost — the same kind of hurt you'd felt in the lunch room earlier. It feels fiery, like someone’s taken a match to your ribcage and lit your heart aglow. But it’s different now. This is a good hurt, a happy hurt.
“Really?” you squint at him, your voice high and light. Your lips twitch like you want to smile, but you don’t let yourself — lest this all turns out to be some kind of elaborate dream. Or a joke.
“Since we had Mr. Kaminsky’s together, yeah,” Eddie affirms with a slow, confident nod. His chocolate eyes flit up to the water-stained ceiling. “Let’s see… We were learning about reproduction, and Tommy Hagan made some stupid joke about using you as a real-life model instead of the pictures in the textbook—”
“I remember,” you nod, trying not to shudder at the memory that still haunts you.
“And I told him that he was making it real obvious that he’s never seen an actual vagina before and that the one in the textbook looked a lot like his mom’s,” the boy recalls with a soft laugh. “And you looked over at me, and you smiled, and I… have been a goner ever since.”
He looks down at you again, all sheepish like he isn’t gluing your broken heart back together again. His chocolate eyes twinkle in a way you’ve never seen before. They sparkle in their softness. You have to look away before it turns you into a puddle at his feet.
You smile widely into your locker, pursing it off to the side in attempts to conceal its brightness.
“No one’s ever stuck up for me like that before,” you confess quietly after a few moments, peeking at him from the corner of your eye. “I’m pretty sure I gushed to Robin about it for days.”
“Yeah?” Eddie hums. He can feel his hopes getting too high.
“Yeah. I told her all about the pretty boy in the back of the room that finally got Tommy H. to leave me alone.”
“Oh… You think he’s pretty, huh?” the boy teases despite his pink cheeks.
You nod — made much braver by his previous admission — though you still have a little trouble looking him in the eye. You drag a notebook from your locker as you tell him, “I think he’s very pretty.”
“Well, I have it on good authority that the boy you think is pretty is super sorry for being such an asshole to you earlier,” Eddie murmurs, his nose scrunched and head tilted. “And that he’d really love to go to that concert with you— if you haven’t found some other schmuck to go with you, that is.”
Your eyes light up like a Christmas tree as you beam at him. No one’s ever looked at him that way before now.
“I’d like that,” you nod, then shrug. “I don’t think I’d wanna go with anyone else, anyway…”
“So, it’s a date?” Eddie asks, just to make sure. His raised brows disappear behind his fluffy bangs. His chin tilts to his chest as he smiles hopefully down at you.
You nod, and repeat it more softly than the loudmouth boy. “It’s a date.”
Eddie can feel himself grinning like an idiot. His cheeks ache with how wide he’s beaming at you, but he's too lovesick to stop. Like squinting into the sun, smiling every time he looks at you is muscle memory by now.
And what did a freak like him ever do to deserve a date with the freakin’ sun?
#published by bug#eddie munson x reader#stranger things x reader#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x you#eddie munson#stranger things#stranger things imagine#stranger things fanfic#eddie munson fic#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson angst#st drabbles#eddie spaghetti drabble#bug's summer fic fest!
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Shameless (M)
pairing. step-son Jeno x step-mom reader
genre. stepcest, infidelity, Jeno hates his dad, young trophy wife step-mom
wc. 10k
warnings. dubcon, profanity, exercise/body talk, Jeno has a thing for sweat, smut warnings under cut. minors DNI.
now playing. Shameless//Camila Cabello
smut warnings. masturbation, mommy kink, coercion, a lot of breast focus, reader has large breasts, oral, improper use of a cucumber.., raw fucking, noncon filming, wet messy etc..
“She’s a little too young, even for you.”
Jeno’s tongue drags along the backs of his teeth peering over his father’s shoulder for the last 10 minutes as he idly scrolled through various photos and short video clips. Most innocent enough, cute selfies showing off your pretty fanned out eyelashes, a new lip gloss shade, or just an adorable smile.
The videos his dad took time to watch made Jeno’s breath hitch, looping the few seconds of you showing off a new bikini for summer, filming yourself in the mirror and turning to show off a scandalous yet feminine pattern right above the indentation of bikini bottom scrunched between your pert buttcheeks.
“I work very hard, son, believe I deserve a pretty young thing.” He snickers, having noticed the youngers reflection on his phone screen a few minutes ago. “Something about this one..”
“Where’d you find her? Another sugar baby app you had to pay to join?” Jeno crosses his arms, glaring daggers into the back of his father’s head. Pathetic, working hard for what? To blow your funds on women who probably gag over your shoulder while you fuck them and lose your stamina after two minutes?
His father chuckles, swiping the social media app shut to open his messages. “You’re going to hate this but she approached me first.” With a proud smile he turns to face his son, showing off back and forth messaging between the two of you. Majority of the context is similar to how two cute shy teens would chat, nothing racy despite knowing his father’s likely buying time to pounce and unleash an arsenal of embarrassing boomer dick pics.
“You’re lying.”
Standing up, his father sneers, a smile hidden somewhere behind his resentful expression. “Believe it or not, your old man’s still got it. Now, if you don’t mind— I have a date with your soon-to-be step-mom.” He winks, purposefully bumping roughly into his son’s shoulder on his way out of the living room; leaving Jeno standing there rubbing at the spot mindlessly, jaw tight as he recounts your username to conduct his own investigation.
His first summer home in years and this is what his asshole father wants to pull? Jeno grimaces, plopping down on the couch to commence his search and find your other social media platforms.
“Twenty-fucking-two? He’s out of his mind.” Muttering to himself, he quickly taps in and out of various videos. The fact that you follow dance trends is enough to make his eyes roll, concentrating harder than he should have to on your face and the quirky silly wide eyes you make at the camera instead of the obscene way your breasts bounce freely beneath a much too tight and thin crop top, braless. Of course.
Jeno bets you did approach his dad first, he can picture it now. A sweet little helpless thing miraculously bumping into him at Whole Foods or some other ridiculously overpriced grocery store, batting your big doe eyes irresistibly after calculating the worth of the ludicrous gold Rolex adorning his wrist. No doubt adding the sum of his Gucci loafers and Dior sunnies; undoubtedly pushed up into his salt and pepper hair as he read over the nutritional information of a new all-natural all-organic sugar free gluten free energy drink.
You probably struck up conversation from there, perched yourself on his dad’s arm striking up flirtatious charm about the product in his hands, just to lean in closer and smash your ample chest against his arm.
Jeno clicks his phone shut frustrated, balling his fist open and shut to watch the blood flow down and redden his skin.
It infuriates him how easily his father continues to win, after the divorce his view of the man he once admired could never be repaired. What he once respected and admired all came crumbling down as his mother broke down crying in his arms after years of pretending to act dumb and not notice late evenings at the office, extended company trips, or the stains of lipstick shades she’d never wear and remnants of musky oud that simply never complimented her skin.
Jeno rests his eyes, ignoring the itching ache in his chest. What could he do anyway? What did his dad have to lose that money couldn’t buy him a new and better version of.
A house? A car? More designer brands and jewelry to mark his status in the upper class?
It only took a month, one fucking month, and the answer became clear as his dad lifted you up by your trim waist hidden under ugly burly veiny paws. The smile across his face so arrogant and cocky, hoisting his young little play thing up in the pool just to watch your beautiful round chest bounce in his face beneath triangles of material hardly containing you.
Jeno can’t deny he gets something out of it too, something he stores away for later along with the cheerful sweet moaned giggles you let out after splashing his father’s face with water and demanding in the most helpless submissive tone to be put down. Bet his dad loves that, in fact, he knows he does. It didn’t even take a full two weeks before you moved in with a fat diamond rock on your ring finger. The sight of it nearly blinded him when it caught the glare of light.
Jeno knows he can’t keep up with his father’s wealth, not yet. Material things aren’t his strength either, but as he jerks off into his palm by his bedroom window facing the backyard where you’ve taken to performing your morning pilates, his eyes concentrate on your insane flexibility. The tip of your head near your feet keeping your taut ass up for him to salivate over, and now he knows one thing for sure.
He needs to fuck his step-mom.
Jeno’s usually a morning person, but leave it to his father to ruin that for him.
“Kiss kiss.”
Disgusting.
Heavily wrinkled lips pout in your face, his dad slithered around your waist from behind as you finished packing your new husband's lunch. Really, it’s repulsive to watch unfold every morning. The only perk being the smile you beam Jeno’s way with your much too chipper and excited ‘Good Morning!’ As you skip to the fridge to pour some of your lemon water into a glass, breasts all round and taunting from where he sits; nipples always hard, piercing through your collection of various nighties and tank tops.
“Anything for breakfast? I can whip up some pancakes real quick if you want.”
Jeno tries to hide his grin, as much as he wishes to act like a brat— he can’t. The thing is, you’re lovely in every sense of the word. Too lovely, doting, and appealing, never once causing him annoyance.
He wants to scoff, demand you whip up the most delicious fluffiest pancakes, take your top off and throw the batter down your bare chest before laughing in your face to clean it up; lifting up one breasts at a time with fat wads of tears in your eyes as you plead for him to stop— stop being mean, stop smearing more of the mess he’s caused you to make across your lips.
“Nothing for me.” Jeno motions to the protein shake resting in his grip. “I’m trying to lean out.”
“Lean out?” Your smiles too soft, lifting to one side with surprise. “I can’t imagine you have anything but muscle left, when's the last time you had your body fat measured?”
“Ah, you don’t know because you haven’t seen me shirtless, yet.” Jeno says, more as an invitation to get a rise out of you, having to swallow back a sigh at your lack of response; not even a hint of interest. “Need to slim down my waist a bit to really achieve the shape I want.”
“Well if you ask me..” Jeno waits, appreciating how lightly you float around the kitchen to gather your fruits and toppings to decorate your yogurt bowl with. “You look really fit, your waist is practically non-existent.”
“How much do you weigh?” He asks abruptly, evidently throwing you off by the way your gaze widens in shock and a stutter passes between your lips, quickly averting your attention back to the half chopped strawberry in front of you.
“Wha— uhm..”
“Sorry, that was rude.” Jeno smiles, awkwardly scratching his nape. “I was wondering if it’s less than what I can press.”
A dazed gleam coats your iris, staring back dumbfounded by the image of your step-son working his hips up with crossed eyebrows, using all the force and strength of his muscle mass to lift.
“How much can you do?” You ask, clearing your throat and refocusing on your breakfast. The question more to keep up with the conversation before you run off to hide in your bedroom.
Jeno lets out a breathy laugh. “I shouldn’t have asked, don’t know what I was thinking.” Pushing up from the kitchen island to stand, he pauses before making his way to exit; having taken to a grueling AM workout after downing his shakes. “I can definitely press double, if not more than what you weigh.”
He doesn’t miss the way your hands come to a halt, gripping around the knife in your hold, eyes silently falling shut with a deep breath.
“You should come join me some time, bet I can lift you easily.”
Jeno’s grateful at least that his father has no choice but to work morning to evening five days a week to earn the lavish lifestyle he’s achieved. He’s thankful because you love to perform your afternoon stretches in the backyard, the landscape his bedroom window coincidentally faces.
“So flexible.” He mumbles to himself, forehead resting against the window frame where he stands with his hand buried inside of his boxers, mindlessly thumbing at the slit of his cock for a hint of relief. Your mid-day sessions only last about over an hour, depending on how far you want to push yourself.
Sure, the splits always made his balls tighten up, having to slow down the pace and pull at his length, circling the base to quell the sudden urge to throw you up and down on his cock fully spread out.
But really, the extended puppy pose takes him over the edge every time.
Jerking off from his bedroom window has become unsatisfactory, the best part is really after when you walk in with your smile high off endorphins, gently patting the sweat that’s accumulated on your gorgeous décolleté.
“Oh Jeno, I thought you’d gone out.”
He hums, following your movements around the kitchen to replenish your hydration, noting the beads of sweat continuously rolling down between the dip in your back. His teeth bite down on the tip of his tongue, tempted to shove you up against the fridge and lick them all clean before falling to his knees to suck the dark patch between your thighs.
“Good workout?” Jeno never tries to hide that he’s checking you out, he makes it obvious everyday. “Looks like you really worked up a sweat.”
“Oh yeah, it’s so hot outside.” The lack of eye contact you’re able to maintain indicates discomfort, judging by the way you try to clean off your stomach and arms.
“My dad has a thing about sweat, right?” Jeno offhandedly mentions, not missing the awkward twitch in your cheek to hide a grimace. “That’s why you’re always so clean by the time he gets home? The water bill has to be through the roof with how often he has you doing laundry.. not that he cares.”
“I suppose his nose is a bit sensitive.”
“He always complained about how my mom smelled, her hair after a day of not washing, the smell of the dinner she cooked him on her hands still.” He continues, enjoying your lack of reply. “He’s picky about a lot of things, I’m sure you know what I mean.”
A fake smile shuts down the conversation, nodding toward the staircase. “It’s time for my shower.”
Jeno nods, shamelessly eyeing the stains of wetness under your large breasts, pushed together even tighter by the binding sports bra meant to keep you held in place through vigorous activity. “Wouldn’t want daddy to get mad now, would we?”
A wash of embarrassment has you scurrying away from your step-son quickly, leaving behind the small towel drenched in your sweat that immediately catches his attention.
Jeno definitely inherited the same sensitive sense of smell from his father, but unlike the old man he’d become more addicted to the different places his nose had led him to. A smirk lifts his lips, tucking the towel up above his mouth to deeply inhale. It’s mind-numbing how delectable you smell, he even sucks on the remnants of damp that hasn’t fully evaporated, quietly mewling within his chest.
The telltale sound of the upstairs shower from his father’s bedroom tears him from slipping into euphoric madness, cock already half-erect as he trudges up the stairs and finds himself tip-toeing into your bedroom, the bathroom door only softly creaking as he makes space to peer through. The daily routine of watching you scrub down every inch of skin, so smooth, hairless, meticulously shaving clean each short hint of stuble. His father must be real demanding of how his little stay at home house-wife should present herself, of course.
Bunching the nearly dried towel inside of his briefs, Jeno groans between clenched lips, rubbing the cotton fabric up and down his length, his heart rate pumping up to a high-speed when you lift a leg to reach deep between your thighs and leave the fleshy area hidden there completely bald.
That will change once he manages to infiltrate, he’ll make you change for him.
“You should go out son, I don’t want you hanging around the house.” Jeno’s dad doesn’t even bother to mask his disdain, shoving a wad of cash at his chest. “Scram.”
That would be too easy, it’s not as if his friends haven’t been blowing up his phone about some party tonight. He’ll plan to leave later and miss the sound of his father’s pig-like moaning squeals when he takes five minutes to fuck you. For now, his ass isn’t moving from one of the pool chairs, opting for the more shaded area under a large canopy to watch from.
Why would he want to miss out on the display you put on for his old man, stepping out in a tight little two piece bikini that does nothing to cover any of your curves. Jeno’s cock twitches as you slowly step out of your robe and his dad whistles making grabby hands at you to enter the pool. “Jump in, baby doll.”
Sick. God he hates hearing that old worn voice order your around. He hates how you giggle and enter from the steps, giving him a half-assed jump only for your breasts to lift up under your chin before the water immerses your perfect body, lifting back out pouring cascades of wet down your shoulders and arms before his dad snatches you up by the waist. “That’s my girl.”
Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five—
Jeno takes a deep breath through his nose, an irritating pinch forming between his eyebrows the more you indulge his father, dawning the smile only reserved for your husband: hugging him close between your mounds of breasts as he releases a deep moan and licks up your neck.
His stomach churns the longer he watches, shoving himself to stand and move to the jacuzzi where he can’t help but to still watch from, ignoring the daggers his father’s eyes shoot at him on his way in. He won’t dare enter the pool while the two of you canoodle in there, preferring to stay clueless as to what your lower halves could be up to, the sight of his dad’s thick ugly hands cupping your breasts from is behind already enough to make him gag.. maybe if not for the shocked moan you let out, wrapping around his wrists shyly. “Babe.. we’re not alone.”
You whisper, but Jeno traces the words from your lips, ducking lower into the jacuzzi until one of the jets rumbles against his stomach, chin grazing under the hot water.
“Ignore him.” His dad could give two fucks, squeezing under your chest with more firmness, pushing them together creating a long dip of cleavage.
Jeno can see the lack of comfort in your hidden gaze, keeping your eyelids lowered with a demure embarrassed smile, saving face only for your husband's pleasure. He knows if you couldn’t sense another pair of eyes on you, you’d be your usual bubbly coquettish self, flouncing around burying his dad’s face in your chest, giggling all loud and cute.
The thrill of watching your discomfort escalate makes his cock kick up, lowering down onto his knees for only his eyes to peer over the jacuzzi’s ledge, noticing the way your gaze skirts by quickly to not give him enough acknowledgment to feel seen, but to stay aware of just how much your step-son can see. It’s easy from the angle to remove his father’s existence behind you, especially when he shifts closer to the ledge and one of the jets blasts right against his groin.
A shiver runs up his chest, biting down on his bottom lip as he stays transfixed on your flimsily covered breasts abused and bounced around. He has to hold back a curse when he finally unties his swim trunks, tugging free his length right in front of the burst of bubbled water. The pressure pushing out of the jet breaks against his slit, choking down a groan when your gaze finally meets his, mouth tense and ashamed.
He can’t keep a smile off his face, tugging harder at himself as your forehead wrinkles together, breathily arched up by the force pushing your breasts up and down against the splash of blue chlorine water.
The water around him boils against his skin even hotter, short of breath under the heat, short of breath from the image of your lips parting open. Jeno imagines you can bend your neck forward and wrap around his girth passing between your tits, it wouldn't be hard to reach anyway. Jerking up, he pushes against the jet hole, cock instantly engulfed by an intense amount of pressure blowing out against him. The push and pull only causes his stomach to clench, sink in and hollow out his middle-section.
You were doing a better job at ignoring him before, unable to stop for seconds now to watch your step-son’s facial features contort together… he can’t, he wouldn’t..
Nostrils flare, shoulders hidden under the bubbly foam around him, jerking mindlessly into the jet. It’s like breaking a dam over and over again, the pressure of release spilling out against his thick size, the only thing missing being your convulsing slick warmth squeezing and fighting to push him free as he thrusts in harder, fucking you full beyond capacity you can handle.
Jeno could care less about the predicament he’s landed in here, stroking his cock without control like some wild animal, succumbing to his desires and needs to bend you into all kinds of positions. He knows he can too after weeks of watching you move your body bonelessly, get you twisted up like a pretzel, face down ass up, legs behind your head full-nelson you flat on your back with his dick full slotted inside, grinding down just to watch you fail to squirm away. He’d leave you with no room to move, let alone breathe, fat tits pushed up under your chin, jiggling up and down and up and down with each thrust.
“Fuck.” He’s close now, tongue lolling out at the gasp that hitches in your throat. Siren-like eyes glazed over from the constant manipulation your breasts have been put through. What a fucking pervert, watching you struggle to collect yourself and maintain your etiquette.
Does his dad even savor the way every inch of your body tastes? Does he suck on your tits until your nipples pebble up rock hard and dig into the roof of his mouth? Jeno never see’s a mark on you, no… daddy doesn’t play rough with his toys, does he.
Jeno would though, fuck he’d have you screaming to the high heavens. He can’t hide the bob of his head the closer he reaches, catching your fully widened eyes stuck on him, and your bikini top finally coming undone after minutes of tugging and kneading.
Hands too large to be yours come up just a second too late to cover over your exposed nipples allowing Jeno the chance to see how swollen and pert and big they’ve gotten, probably prodding at his dad’s hideous rough palms.
The wet bounce of fat under his control has him emptying out into the jet, most of his release blown away from the powerful stream mixing in with the rest of the ramped jacuzzi water.
He has to calm himself, overheated from the drop back down to reality, overheated from the sun burning down onto the already steamy hot tub of water. Taking his time, he’s lazy to exit, patting off his reddened chest and stinging skin to a somewhat dry finish. The heat hardly subsides with eyes on him, specifically yours..
“I said scram you damn brat.”
His father’s shrill tone gives him an excuse to glance over, most of your frame hidden by his wide back stretched around you to hug you against the pool wall for discretion to tie your top back up.
“Yeah yeah, don’t wait up for me.” Not that he would, Jeno didn’t really mean that for his father anyway. The lingering gaze grazing down his body taking in every crevice and dip of bare naked muscle though, part of him hopes that you will wait up. He means it though, even with one more glance your direction before heading inside, finding your eyes for only a millisecond.
Don’t wait up mommy, I’ll be too busy fucking any hole presented to me, maybe even multiple. Anything to curb the incessant growing need to get you alone, slam you down and fuck you until you’re ripping that ring off your finger.
Jeno has to admit, he’s impressed by how long you’ve held it together, managed to keep up your composure around him despite his best efforts to make you start to crack.
Soon. Real soon.
“You’re around the house way too much, either get a job or get out.” Jeno’s father barged into his bedroom after that little pool escapade. Throwing pamphlets for schools across the country at his face. “I put enough money in your bank account, it’s time for you to quit fucking around and make something of yourself.
Jeno knows deep down inside his father’s ulterior motivation came from an all too pretty adorable wife, evidently unhappy with the way his son has decided to forgo his gym membership in favor of walking around shirtless dripping in sweat after using the home equipment.
He couldn’t put up much of an argument with the old man. It’s not entirely your fault he found his ass on a train 7 hours away the next week, just in time for a new semester.
Sure, it’s not entirely your fault, he can’t put all of that insecure assholes blame on you.
But it is your fault, and that long silent train ride gave him all the time to ponder, reflect, plot, devise the next step. Work harder, fuck more, leave you with no choice but to wipe the drool from your chin at the mere sight of your step-son.
If only it could be that easy. He really can’t stand how reluctant you are to trip and fall, landing right into the palm of his hands breasts first. Can’t stand the way you still parade around town proudly introducing yourself as the Mrs. Lee. The side-eyes and whispers never affect you, too happy to give a damn with each guiltless swipe of your husband’s black American Express.
God, he can’t stand it. He can’t stand you.
Jeno really can’t stand his step-mom.
Not because you’re awful or even a bitch, no.. in fact, you’re perfect. Too perfect for his nasty cheater asshole father who could care less for his mother, now ex-wife.
“Ah Jeno, it’s so nice to have you home again.” Your sweet cheerful voice interrupts his fuming thoughts, the back of his head instantly relaxing in the mound of your breasts as you circle his neck and lean down to hug him. “You hungry? I stocked up on all of your favorites.”
Nuzzling back into your warm embrace, he sighs, eyes drifting shut to inhale the notes of peach and cucumber wafting from your freshly cleansed skin. Supple soft radiant skin he knows you spend meticulous hours of the day exfoliating, lotioning, massaging with oil only for your useless husband to rub his old disgusting rough hands upon.
“Missed cooking for me?” He mumbles, shifting to bury his nose in the column of your throat to fully immerse himself in your savory scent.
“Look how skinny you’ve come back, that school not feeding you properly or something?” You reprimand, patting over his flat stomach lightly. “I have to make sure to keep you full for the next couple of weeks before your break ends.”
Nudging the top of his head with your chin, you continue into the kitchen, still in your silky pajama set. Something short, hardly covering your abundant chest, dad wouldn’t have his young little trophy wife any other way, always ready for the taking.
Jeno can only imagine how many mornings his father has snuck up on you making breakfast, bending you over to fill you up before heading to work. Fucking bastard doesn’t deserve to even touch you, let alone any of those fake moans you must practice to please him.
“Are you worried about me?” Jeno’s chair scratches across the kitchen tile, slowly lifting up to get a better look at your buttcheeks squeezed by your panties, innocently bent over in search of a pan. “Maybe the school cafeteria doesn’t serve anything that satisfies my hunger.”
“I’ll fix that,” too distracted on your hunt for the right spices and oils, you fail to notice how close Jeno’s gotten, hovering behind you with a smirk as your robe slips from your shoulder. “You’re the one who wanted to go to school so far away. You could be eating my home cooking everyday if you’d just stayed local.”
“…is that so?” A grin teases at his lips, halting your hand from adjusting your robe to push it down left to fall at your feet.
A shiver runs up your spine sensing his breath fanning across your shoulder, palms smoothing down your waist to your hips. “Jeno?”
“I’m hungry, mommy.”
“Jeno? Wha—“ your hips stay locked in place, shoved against the kitchen counter by the stronger ones behind you knocking forward to trap you.
“I missed you too, mommy.” Shoving his hips forward, Jeno’s girth slots between your flimsily covered ass, rutting quickly to lodge between and create delicious friction against his cock. “You know what I really missed?”
“Je-Jeno.. what are you..”
“Last summer when you moved in, every different ridiculously tiny bikini you wore around the pool. Your fat tits barely contained, just how dad likes it huh? I guess we have that in common.” Keeping you held against the counter with his hips grinding in circles against your ass, hands find a way to your shoulders, swiftly dropping down the straps of your nightgown leaving your breast to bounce out freely. The morning crisp air circulating around the house breezes past your nipples, hardening the buds instantaneously.
“Sweetie, this.. this isn’t right, your dad—“
“Is an asshole.” Jeno bites, cupping your breasts that overflow in his hold, the fat squeezing between his digits pushing out a low groan from deep within his chest. “Fucking decrepit dickhead, bet he can’t even get hard from this alone? I’ve seen that erectile dysfunction prescription.. can’t even take care of you and fuck you right can he, mommy?”
To emphasize his point, Jeno’s hips swerve, fucking forward vigorously for the thick shape of his rod to slam between your panty covered behind, night gown bunched up over your hips from his incessant humping. “Can’t tell me a pretty young thing like you doesn’t miss it, hours and hours of getting the life fucked out of you.”
The kneading and massaging at your chest accompanied with your step-sons evidently large size has you panting, hands gripping the kitchen counter for some relief. Shaking your head, you try to ignore the way your hips rut back to find his, biting back a moan from escaping. “Jeno, please.. sweetie, d-don’t—your dad..”
A rough slap under your breast silences you, the fat rippling under Jeno’s strength as he delivers another slap, working in succession to bounce and smack each with his chin perched over your shoulder rambling on and on about how good you look like this. Perfectly pliant, needy, face full of ecstasy all thanks to your step-son.
“Dad has great taste, I’ll give the old fuck that.” Jeno snickers, teeth digging into the vein lining the side of your throat. “Had me hard as a rock fucking into my fist all summer, tried to get over you by filling up any hole.. couldn’t get your pretty body off my mind.”
“Jeno, baby.. w-we can’t. Your dad, he’ll.. he’ll kill you.”
Breath staggers against your neck at the term of endearment, hips fucking against you in earnest. “You think I fucking care about him? What about you? What about this mess you’ve made mommy? How can you do this to me? Tempt me all the time with these perfect fucking tits and expect me to leave you alone now?”
“I’m sorry, I’m s-sorry Jeno.. I didn’t—“
“Baby, I’m your baby.” Jeno pinches your nipples roughly, pulling and slapping forcing a loud echo of skin on skin to barrel across the kitchen. Jackhammering his hips faster against your ass. “Tell me to stop, don’t fucking tell me what dad wants. You tell me to stop.”
“B-baby… I-I…” a sad pathetic cry sounds, dropping forward loosely as your thighs tremble erratically, held up only the rough grip on your chest undoubtedly leaving behind marks of nails and bruising.
“Must be true.” Jeno grunts, shoving your underwear down. “Like father, like son.”
“Jeno, please, you can’t do this!” It’s harder now to fight him off, roughly taken by your chest, fondled like some little doll only there to pleasure him. “If—if he finds out—“
“Don’t worry about that senial bastard, he wouldn’t be able to read a sign even if it was spelled out for him.” Your step-son doesn’t relent, fucking against your panties roughly until the his stiffed up cock shoves the material between your ass. “You’re so wet for me, you feel that? Feel me?”
Jeno thrusts forward angling his size right between your poorly clenched thighs, ass bouncing back against his pelvic bone. “Think you can handle that? Too big for you mommy?” He reaches down to whip out his cock, expertly dragging his fully hard length out to slot against your soaked covered core. The contact makes his eyes roll up, long eyelashes fluttering rapidly impairing his vision for a minute as his size drags against the wet shape of your cunt.
“Oh fuck fuck.” Jeno refuses to cum like this, even if his stomach muscles contort and suck in viciously. He swallows down a hissed breath, jerking back to fuck against your drenched panties in earnest.
“J-Jeno.. please!”
“You want it, huh? Wanna get fucked by a big fat cock finally?” Jeno bites back a laugh, mostly a groan as the tip of his cock ruts against your clit. “Daddy can’t fuck you the way you need, can’t get you off. When’s the last time you had a real orgasm? Not that whiny shit you fake for him.”
Inner-turmoil loses to your arousal, forced to slide up and down what feels like a forearm between your thighs. Your good sense dissipates the more your cunt spreads around the girth pushing between your folds, aching to feel each pulsating vein lining your step-son’s length drag against your wet slick pussy.
“I’m… fuck Jeno..” between gasps and choked back moans, you weakly give him a thrusts back, faintly meeting his motion to rut against your clit and create a mind-numbing friction.
One of his palms lands against your ass like a crack of a whip, sending your chest to collide forward and press against the cool marble of the kitchen counter. “What did you call me?”
Gathering your underwear, Jeno pulls the material aside, sucking spit away that's gathered around his thirsty tongue upon seeing your cunt so ready to be wrecked and fucked. “Look at that tight hole, like a virgin. No way daddy’s fucking you right.”
You’re grateful that your brain hasn’t fully failed you yet, even with your step-son’s thick palms spreading your ass open continuing to spew nonsense out about the appearance of your perfect pussy. God knows you’d beg and confess how badly you need to cum— cum around your husband's son’s monster sized cock. “How am I going to fit in there mommy? I’m way too big for you.”
Jeno sounds sadistic, hawking out spit that lands and drips down to your entrance. “Should I be nice and prep you?” He laughs, a fake laugh, a mocking teasing laugh. “That would be too nice of me, wouldn’t it?”
He leans over your back, reaching for the basket of fruits and vegetables just past your head. “Should I be nice?”
Long fingers wrap around one of the cucumbers half hanging out of the basket, dragging the vegetable down to smack against your cheek. The solid food slaps your skin heavy and rough, making your step-son smile wide, highly pleased by the shame wrinkling your forehead together. “Mommy’s always so nice to me, always takes care of me so well.” Jeno taunts, leaning back and tapping the vegetable down your spine to run between your buttcheeks.
“I shouldn’t be too mean..” the thick tip of the cucumber meets your entrance, cold against your heated core making your hips shiver forward to get away.
“Baby..”
“Yeah, that’s right.” He presses in, cursing between gritted teeth as he watches you stretch open around the vegetable. It’s big, even then no competition for how wide the tip of his dick is alone. “Opening up so so pretty for me, mommy.”
He fucks the cucumber inside of you just half-way, sending your toes to arch up from the floor and scramble to grab at the kitchen counter; threatening to cut open your bottom lip with how hard you bite down to keep in a moan. The whole situation makes you feel dirty, disgusting, ashamed that you couldn’t stop him. That deep down inside you know you’d never stop him, you want it too much. Form the day you noticed your step-son watching you stretch from his bedroom window, to the time you caught a glimpse of him by the bathroom door as you scrubbed down and rinsed your naked body clean. You’ve always wanted him to make a move.
Maybe you’d been dreaming of this moment all along, adding your ingredients to the pot everyday until everything boiled over and spilled past the rim.
“So fucking nasty mommy.” Jeno keeps mumbling, thrusting the vegetable in and out of you, enthralled by the way it comes out stickier, coated with a thick layer of sheen. The wet dripping out past your cunt with each fill, spilling down your inner thighs to the kitchen floor like some whore that needs to be fucked and bred everyday. “Taking it so good, you’ll take me even better.”
His throbbing length slaps against your hip with each push and pull against your insides, hissing and groaning behind you the closer he reaches to stumbling over the edge. “You want that mommy? Want me to fuck you so good, make you forget about that huge rock weighing down your finger.”
Jeno doesn’t let you answer, not noticing the way you curl your hand into a fist to tuck away your wedding ring before discarding the cucumber as he rips you off the counter to shove you down to your knees.
“Fuck.” Gripping around his length he strokes quickly, reaching down to pull on one of your nipples and watch the fat perky mound jiggle under his ministrations.
“Gonna cum all over your perfect tits, push them together for me mommy.” Jeno slaps your breast impatiently, balls tight and tensed up between his thighs doing his best to stave off his orgasm from barreling out.
Eyes filled with big watery tears gaze up in a daze, cupping your substantial fat tits together making the perfect little pocket pussy for his cock to slide between. “Oh fuckkk.”
Jeno’s neck drops forward, slamming up between your squished breasts. Teeth grinding together to stop himself from screaming at the visual of your heavy perfect tits bouncing around his size, the tip of his length nearly hitting under your chin with each thrusts up against your chest. “So good mommy, so fucking good!”
Jeno reaches for your jaw, squeezing in roughly and smacking your cheek to pop open your lips. “Just like that, so fucking hot.” It’s everything he’s dreamt about. Nights stuck inside of his dorm room looking up milf porn, step-son breeding step-mom, juicy breasts bouncing on his computer screen that could never compare to how good this feels.
“Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” He cries out, thrusting against your chest harder, forcing the weight of your breasts up and back down into your palms, bouncing deliciously. Slapping your cheek again, digits dig into your cheeks and drop a wad of spit in. Pleased from his high up angle as you stay open and let him watch it glide down to the back of your throat. “Fuck fuck fuck!”
Jeno tugs away, cock slapping down on your parted lips before reaching for the tip to squeeze around and release into your mouth. “Swallow all of it.” He moans out, circling your throat with his other hand to feel himself slide down. “That’s it, so good for me mommy.”
The smug smile he gives you before hoisting you up to sit on the table you share meals with your husband at lets you know this is far from over. “Don’t be rude mommy.” Jeno pouts, pushing space for himself between your thighs. Soft palms stroke up and down almost like a warning. “Say thank you.”
He smirks, sinking down to bury between your thighs and proceed to use his tongue in ways your husband never has.
“Dinner looks great!” Your poor unsuspecting husband sits down right where his son had his meal with you mere hours ago(one that had your back split up in an arch and your eyes meeting the back of your skull), hands clasped together before the plate you serve him.
“Now now,” Jeno chimes in, moving to stand from the dinner table to grab a bowl from the fridge. “I see no greens on that plate, didn’t your doctor warn you about that high cholesterol?”
Your husband eyes his son suspiciously, too focused on the little brat to see the sheer panic running over your face behind his side. “I found this new cucumber salad recipe, I think you’ll really like it dad.”
He smiles, an endearing sweet genuine smile, a smile that could easily make you forget what type of evil menace you’re really dealing with here. “Here, try it out.”
To your absolute horror, Jeno sets down a bowl of seasoned, finely chopped, and wet cucumber before his father, nodding eagerly.
“You put poison in this or something?” He grumbles, stabbing at the slices before shoving a batch into his mouth and chomping with a pleased hum. “Not bad, not bad at all. What’s that flavor?”
His son grins wide, eyes large and full of mirth.
“I knew you’d like it, got a kick to it right?” He blinks up to meet your mortified gaze, biting down on your fingernails as your mind shouts frantically- he wouldn’t!.. he would!.. no, no, HE WOULDN’T.
As if he can read your thoughts, Jeno winks at you, clapping his father on the shoulder. “I guess we have the same taste, daddy.”
“Don’t dare bother to throw any parties while I’m gone.” Jeno’s father glares at him, pointer finger digging between his chest. “No funny business you hear me? You need to show your step-mom some respect.”
Jeno has a hard time hiding a smug smirk, having to bite down on the insides of his cheeks to contain himself. “Oh dad, trust me, I will show her nothing but the utmost respect. You have nothing to worry about.”
His father squints, skepticism crossing his wrinkled features as he takes in his son’s face once more before heading out to bid you a long goodbye filled with lingering wet kisses.
“Right. You know what? These vacation breaks from school really seem unnecessary. Why can’t you be normal and go on trips to different party cities like the rest of the guys your age?” He scoffs, waving him off flippantly, not even a hug? Jeno clutches his chest dramatically, following after to watch the two of you say your goodbyes from the top of the staircase.
“If he bothers you..” Thick calloused fingers hold your chin delicately, nothing like the nimble boney ones that dug into your face just a few days ago and forced your mouth open to spit past your tongue. Jeno doesn’t really care to tune in, more amused than anything by the little act you keep up. Such a cute young sweet house-wife, more dolled up than your usual for a morning session of pilates. The extra effort put into your appearance no doubt for his father’s benefit, a pretty vision for him to leave behind. It’s not as if the 2 minutes it took for him to fuck you this morning wasn’t enough for the old man.
Jeno hums to himself, catching your line of sight before you follow after his dad to say bye from the driveway as he enters his ride to the airport. Maybe that’s fear in your eye, but excitement builds up his chest nonetheless; you’ll have no arms to run to now. Nowhere to hide that he won’t be able to find you, no asshole of a father to whisk you away from him. At least not for the next foreseeable 24 hours.
That’s why he goes back to bed, his father rudely awoke him this morning with a loud cursed groan after climaxing out of breath and falling onto your bed with a loud thud. He’s surprised the old man hasn’t keeled over and died yet trying to get his rocks off with you. Jeno sighs thinking about the past few days as he lays back down and buries his face into his pillow, you really have been doing a great job of avoiding him.
That doesn’t mean he misses the silent glances and hesitant looks, or the stiffness in your spine whenever he so much as passes by. No, he notices everything you do, even how you’ve been locking your bedroom door when taking showers now. It’s cute really, a game more than anything now as he rests his eyes and hums, imagining you’ve come back inside and surveillanced the downstairs area for your big scary step-son, probably sighing in relief that he’s left you alone. For now.
He’ll let you get your lovely perfect morning routine on, build up a nice sweat that gets your heart racing, high off endorphins from stretching and straining your muscles with various exercises. He’d prefer it that way really, and judging from the time— soon, soon you’ll be on your way to the kitchen to refresh with a nice chill glass of electrolytes. What a pleasant easy life his father has granted you, all you have to grant him in return is your body. It’s no wonder you work daily to keep up appearances for the old man.
Jeno’s mother had never cared much to fulfill his father’s porngraphic ideals of how women should look and act, but you, ah he really struck gold with you. He can’t deny that if he had found you first, he would have ate you alive.
“Oh.”
Your step-son’s not surprised to see you exit the newly renovated makeshift room filled with gym equipment(that used to be for his gaming consoles), gently patting your sweat glistened skin off as the door opens and unveils him standing there across from you expectantly.
“Figured you wouldn’t want me to share such a small space with you.” Jeno says, making no effort to disguise his gaze, dragging down from your chest to your hips and stopping between your thighs to moisten his lips. “All sweaty, out of breath, making sounds that could read as inappropriate..”
Tight-lipped, you nod and ignore him before stepping out and motioning inside the gym room. “All yours.”
“Everything?”
Jeno’s arm launches forward before you can take another step, pausing you dead in your tracks against the hallway wall, a less than innocent grin stares back at you. He cocks an eyebrow, following the beads of sweat raining down your forehead at faster speed the closer he inches forward until you’re pressed up against the wall with little room to free yourself.
“You thought I’d make this easy, didn’t you?” He huffs through his nose, bending at his neck to perch his nostrils right above your throat and swallow down the fresh scent of your hard work. “Burned up a real good sweat for daddy?”
“Jeno, can we talk first at least?” You squirm, leaning back as much as you can with feet flat to the ground in an attempt to slither down the wall inconspicuously. “I don’t want your dad to suspect anything, what happened the other day..”
“When you came around my tongue and begged me to fuck you?” He interrupts, pressing his forehead forward to hold yours in place, voice gruff and deep. “Or when daddy enjoyed his meal? Were you scared mommy? Don’t worry, I won’t let him do anything to you.”
“That’s not it, I’m married to your father!” You smack his chest to push yourself free, digging your palms into his muscular pecs without much budge. The contact only riles him up more, releasing a growl and bumping his nose closer to yours. “Please! Jeno, I’m all sweaty and disgusting. Let me take a shower first at least.”
“Why would I let you do that? And ruin all of this for me?” This being the sweat Jeno proceeds to lick from the divet between your collarbone, slurping his way down to your ample breasts squeezed snuggly inside of a tight sports bra. “Fuck, you taste so fucking good.”
Hearing his praise only makes you squeamish, struggling more to shove him away and break free from his biceps bracketed around you. “Please, I smell! Don’t be gross!”
It’s laughable to even ask this of your step-son, especially after having to sit and watch your husband munch away on a phallic shaped vegetable that his son had just used to get you off with.
“I’m gonna need you to shut up mommy,” Jeno scoops the soaked fabric of your bra under your breasts, pushed up higher forming two round mounds perfect for sucking on. “Nothing gross about you, or this.” Teeth bury into the perky fat of your chests, sucking roughly, rough enough to hurt but not leave marks behind.
Jeno can’t stop his hips from rutting forward, grinding his aching thickening cock against your stomach. His basketball shorts don’t do much to conceal how hard he is already, having chubbed up in his room from the thought alone of what he planned to do to you today. He has enough respect for you to leave no signs of bruising behind on your chest, but that doesn’t mean he cares when you cry out to stop again and pull away with your weak nails scratching at the wall.
“You really want me to stop?” He asks, cock dragging up and down from between your pelvis to just above your navel. “Tell me the truth mommy, I know he can’t fuck you the way I can. Know you’re desperate for it, want your sweet little step-son to hang you off his fat 9 inch cock? Come on mommy.” Jeno’s drooling between each word, slathering your chest in spit between his muffled speech and consistently sucking. “Admit it, wanna get fucked so bad.”
“N-no.. please, baby, don’t—“
Jeno’s chest rumbles, groaning loudly as he reaches to pull your bra off, rolling the wet material up for your breasts to bounce out lewdly. The smack of your chest meeting the top of your ribcage and breasts clapping together makes you squeal, quickly shutting your eyes in shame.
“Fuck, so sexy mommy. Don’t hide from me, don’t hide any of this from me.” He squeezes your chest roughly, jutting your nipples out to form perfect taut pacifiers to suck on. Jeno’s tongue works feverishly, sucking and licking at your pert buds until they fully harden to a painful point under the vacuuming pull from his mouth.
Jeno leaves your chest swollen, blood rushed to the skin he’s sucked on viciously. He hums, examining how heavy they weigh down in his palms, gripping and kneading, shoving his face between your cleavage just to hear you squeal and struggle to inch away from him. So damn cute.
“That old assholes really manipulated you well,” he grumbles, licking up the trickles of sweat dripping down from your nape to your shoulders and chest. “Has you thinking this is gross? That you are gross? What the fuck is wrong with him, huh? I should kick his fucking ass.”
“Don’t talk about your dad like that..” you whimper, biting back a moan when he bites and tugs at one of your hard nipples, jiggling your other breast against his face. Even with your mind battling between lust and guilt, you can’t help but to feel bad.
“He doesn’t deserve you.” Jeno whispers, leaning in to plant a firm kiss on your lips to shut you up. “He doesn’t even appreciate you.”
His hand cups between your legs, making your thighs lock around his wrist as he cups your sweat soaked mound. Shorts still wet after your vigorous workout. “Baby, not there, please please.”
“Mommy, I’m not going to tell you to be fucking quiet again.” He grins, licking your lips before sliding down your body to his knees. Jeno peers up, eyes sparkling in a dreamy almost innocent way, like a kid in a candy store. “I’m nothing like him.”
To prove his point, his face drops forward between your legs. The fight you put up to keep him out is useless, overpowered by his much larger stronger size as his arms come to wrap around your thighs and pull you apart allowing for his nose to drag up and down your sweaty slick soaked workout shorts.
“Jeno!” Your neck drops back weakly, eyes rolling shut at the sensation of your step-son pulling the material of your shorts with the suction of his mouth alone. Tonguing and sucking on the fabric to absorb the remnants of sweat that poured down and collected between your thighs. Pulling on his hair serves you no advantage, completely under his control as he grinds your cunt against his face roughly.
The only resolution you find comes from covering your face to hide your moans of pleasure, whimpering into your hands the more he licks between your folds shaped by your thin shorts clinging to your center.
Jeno sounds like a rabid animal down there, devouring his way through the best meal he’s ever had. The first sound of a rip sends your spine to straighten out, reaching back down to pull on his hair. “What are you doing!”
He groans, more turned on by your hands digging into his scalp and pulling roughly. Scooping around your thighs for more leverage, Jeno pulls at your shorts and bites down the seam until they give, ripping enough of a hole for his digits to push through and expand. A growl vibrates against your center as he dives in, teething your thin underwear away to roll his tongue against your clit.
“Oh my Go—“ out of breath you arch against his mouth, head shaking side to side and banging into the wall behind you. “Jeno!”
His tongue hardens and swirls against your clit, stimulating each nerve until your feet kick against his back and your hips jerk forward enough to ride his face. He can hardly breathe between your thighs, unbothered by the lack of air reaching his brain as he strokes your clit in expert motion until your cunt spasms against his mouth. Shouting out with your palm hitting flat against the wall as you release down his chin, entrance rocking along the lower half of his face despite the sensitivity throbbing around your middle.
Jeno laps at his mouth like a thirsty dog, slapping your exposed core before moving to stand and wrap around your waist to ensure you can’t run. Not that you will.
“You ready for it.” Resting your hand on his groin, your step-son rushes you up the stairs, scooping under your thighs to reach your bedroom faster.
“In here?!?” You grimace, head shaking to begin pleading. “Not where we slee—“
“Hush.” Jeno doesn’t give you more of an opportunity to argue, immediately hooking into your shorts and underwear to pull them off, only throwing them aside after stuffing the wet fabric under his nose to get a deep inhale. “God damn.”
As much as he wants to let this moment wash over him, the reality of having his wildest fantasy come true, laid out flat in his prick of a father’s bed, legs spread open showing off the prettiest pussy he’s ever seen; Jeno can’t deny how badly he needs to fuck you before he cums in his pants. He’s never been this turned on before, slapping your thigh as he reaches to turn you over onto your stomach, cunt all shiny and raw from the back, squished between your legs making his head spin even more somehow. There’s no way in fucking hell his dad deserves you, not one bit.
Reaching to shove down his shorts, Jeno pats his pocket for his phone, swiping it out discreetly to hit record and perch the device against one of your pillows; making sure to keep it out of your sight before he adjusts between the backs of your thighs. “I’ll fuck your ass too.” He says with a stroke of his thumb between your buttcheeks. “Gonna need more cucumbers for that though.” He snickers, finding a photo from your honeymoon framed on your bedside table, the side you sleep on of course.
Flipping off his father’s cheesy grin, he reaches over to slam the photo down. This is his moment after all, no one else's.
He’d never let you know how raging hard his dick feels right now, lining up the tip to your waiting hole. Having to roll his tongue back to stop himself from blurting out the amount of times he’s busted a nut into his hand, on his stomach, fuck even the pool jacuzzi jets more than a few times by now. All thanks to his precious step-mom, so carelessly displaying every inch of skin, fueling his perverse brain more than you even realize
“Knew you’d take it so good for me,” it’s better than getting a taste of you, which he didn’t think was possible. The stretch of your cunt expanding around his wide girth, skin pulled over the head of his cock struggling to keep him out and somehow pull him in at the same time.
“Gonna fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before.” Jeno says in a more cocky tone, feeling more confident than ever now with half of his length inching inside of you. Pussy walls trembling around his size, sucking around the fat meat pulsing its way inside. No college slut, no amount of lotion to aid his palm, no graphic image available on a free adult website would ever come close to this.
Fully sheathed inside, he sounds out of breath, listening to your whimpers and moans you try to hide with your bedding tugged between your teeth. He glances at his phone quickly, positioning himself to pull out slowly and fall into a rapid pace, dropping his lower half to yours faster and faster until you’re screaming out. The way you scramble to grab onto something—arms flailing out to grab your bed for purchase only encourages him to fuck you faster. Slapping your ass with each powerful thrust.
“Best dick you’ve ever taken, don’t fucking lie to me.” Jeno demands, delivering another harsh slap to your ass before ramming forward balls deep. The collision of his palm cracks around your bedroom, knocking a loud cry from your chest. You nod rabidly in response, gasping deliriously with each pointed thrust. “Say it! Who fucks you this good!”
“You! You baby! Only you!” His phone’s camera stays angled filming your sides, albeit shaky and hard to capture the complete fucked out devestation that’s taken over your pretty face, it’s enough. Enough for him to get off to later, enough to get his way every single time if he needs to.
“That’s right,” Jeno angles his hips to fuck you full with each heavy land of his lower half, pushing your ass up with every clapping shout of skin on skin sounding out between your bodies. “Only me, only your baby.”
The camera tips over, screen gone black directed at the ceiling only recording the sounds of your moans and broken words between each other, Jeno’s gruff heavy panting breaths. The crash of your bodies rocking your headboard against your bedroom wall in a way he’s never once heard his father achieve.
“I’ll never stop fucking you now.” His bicep locks under your chin, forcing your waist to arch forward almost painfully; just enough to strain your lower back. “You’re mine.”
He follows with a growl, lips pressed up to your cheek, laving at whatever skin he’s able to reach. With another roll of his hips, he comes to a still, the thick muscle of his arm around your neck popping out in flex as his body tightens up and locks around your throat. Biting back a moan, Jeno’s release pours inside of you, hot and thick ropes of cum aimed deep inside of you before pulling out the rest of the way to spill between your ass and thighs. “Fuck!”
He sighs, kissing the top of your head to make sure your eyes have shut before reaching for his phone to record the beautiful mess left on your body. He wants to keep going on about how his dad will never fuck you to the point of nearly passing out, dragging his fingers through the mix of your releases before bringing them to his mouth to suck on.
One taste and Jeno knows he won’t stop fucking you until that ring slips off your finger for good.
“Hope he wasn’t too much to put up with while I was gone.” Your husband wraps around you from behind, chin resting on your shoulder. “Next break I’ll have him go stay with his mother.”
“It’s okay my love, he really doesn’t bother me..”
“Hmm, well he sure bothers me.” He sighs, burying his nose into your hair. “Trying a new shampoo?”
“No…” you hold back from making a face, not having had time to thoroughly clean yourself all squeaky clean thanks to your step-son fucking you through the night.
“Oh..” his nose scrunches, pulling away at the sensation of his phone vibrating against your hip. “God, what the hell can this kid want now?”
It has to be Jeno. As unsuspecting as you can, you shift to peer over your shoulder where your husband stands with his eyebrows twisted together. “Why did he send me a video.”
He presses play, immediately setting off your fight or flight response and mentally mumbling off a thank you for the kitchen counter keeping you steady on your feet. The sound of your moans blast from your husband’s phone accompanied by heavy deep grunts, skin clapping against skin and his phone screen covered by the image of your lower half rippling under the weight of your step-sons brutal unrelenting thrusts.
“What in the—“
“Oh my god!” You shriek, slapping a hand over your mouth to quiet your shock. Another text pops up at the top of the screen not even a minute later.
Jeno- ‘Sorry about that dad, meant to text that to my group chat. My mistake.’
“This fucking kid.” Your husband mutters, continuing to watch the video with squinted eyes. “The time stamp on this is from the other night?”
To your horror, he looks at you with an even more confused expression, swiping the video away before it comes to an end. “Did that little shit have someone over? After I made myself clear—“
“He went out!” You blurt out, nodding and catching yourself with a grip on the counter behind your back. “I didn’t think to mention it, but he went out that night. Don’t know when he came back.”
Your husband nods, glaring back at his phone. “I guess he got that insatiable sex drive from me.” He grins at that, humored by his own intrigue watching the girl his son was hooking up with. “Got my type too.” Leaving out the part about a tight little ass, he leans over to grab yours with a squeeze and plants a kiss on your cheek.
You offer a laugh, forcing it to sound less uncomfortable than you feel. “You should delete that text babe, I don’t like that you could be looking at other girls when I’m right here.”
“Is my sweet angel jealous?” He chuckles, slapping your butt and opening his phone to show you as he deletes the message. “My son could never land himself a woman that comes close to you, believe me. You have nothing to be worried about.” With a kiss to your lips he makes to exit and head to your bedroom to shower, leaving you alone to collapse against the counter and quell down the urge of panic trapped in your chest.
The buzz from your phone halts your breakdown, grasping over the kitchen island for it to see new messages from your step-son.
Jeno- ‘You think daddy may prefer these?’
Attached are different angles, showing off more of the bed you sleep in with your husband every night, catching peeks of your pleasured face. Jeno’s behind you in the thumbnails sharing an equal image of rolled up eyes and lips parted open. You don’t need to hit play to know how obscene each video must be.
Jeno- ‘You’ll be sure to keep your pretty mouth shut if you know what’s good for you, right? I know you’re a smart girl.’
An image of your legs parted open from behind sends next, backside covered in a mess of your step-son’s cum and wet arousal smeared around your thighs.
Jeno- ‘Be good for me mommy.’
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summary: you finally got hired to work as a teacher for your dream school, jujutsu high. everything was perfect until you ran into gojo satoru, your first love and heartbreak.
a/n: angst + fluff, female reader. this is the first time I've written a story more on the angsty side, so please let me know if you like it : ) I was feeling angsty after listening to eternal sunshine and bam this story suddenly came to me
tags: @kenqki @sad-darksoul
~
When you caught a glance at that familiar shade of blue, you froze. That specific hue was a color you avoided at all costs, the color of heartbreak and dreams you never followed.
He looked at you, and suddenly you were 18 again. It was simultaneously the best and worse year of your life; the year you fell in love with Satoru, and the year he left you.
Your heartbeat felt sickening in your own chest as he walked towards you, his eyes widened and jaw slacked as if he were in a trance. Like he hadn’t expected to see you again.
It’s not like you thought you’d see him again either. You had told yourself that even if you did, it wouldn’t hurt, because you’d moved on. It had been years since you gave up on him, so you should be feeling nothing as your first love came to a halt in front of you, gazing at you as if you were the only thing that mattered to him.
It didn’t feel like nothing, though. It felt a whole like despair, relief, and joy warring with each other, causing your fingertips to tremble as if your body couldn’t decide which emotion to settle on.
“Long time no see, Gojo,” you said, attempting to offer a warm smile. Though the tremulous note to your voice must have betrayed how you were truly feeling.
He frowned ever so slightly when you said his name, like he wasn’t used to you calling him by his last name. It was formal and cold - when things between you two used to be anything but.
“You’re here,” he said, though it sounded like he was saying it to himself rather than talking to you.
“Ah, Gojo. I see you’ve met our newest hire. She’ll be working with your students for the summer, I imagine you two will be working together closely,” the principal said. But Gojo wasn’t looking at him. You still felt the heavy weight of his gaze, like he was scared you’d disappear if he looked away.
“Why don’t you two grab lunch together? Gojo can catch you up on his students,” the principal said. So why did your body go rigid at his harmless suggestion?
“Sorry, I have to make a phone call during lunch! Gojo, feel free to email me any details I need to know,” you said quickly, smiling before you darted towards the courtyard.
You cursed yourself for running away, like a coward. What was there to be afraid of? He was someone you loved years ago, and time washed away any lingering feelings you had for him…right?
At least that’s what you’d always told yourself. But maybe deep down, you feared some of those feelings would never go away. And that they’d definitely resurface if you let yourself be near him, if you let yourself remember how much he used to mean to you. How badly he hurt you.
You shook your head, hoping the crisp morning air would wash some sense into you. This position was your dream job, and you weren’t gonna let your past demons take that away from you. You could be civil, you could work with him like the mature adult you were. It would be okay.
~
“I wonder if our new teach would tell me where she gets her lipgloss?” Nobara asked aloud, walking in step with Yuji and Megumi as they filed out of the classroom.
“She’s really pretty,” Yuji said, smiling cheesily. It was a buzz amongst all the students actually, how beautiful the newest teacher was. The students warmed up to her quickly, captivated by her knowledge and how easy she was to talk to.
“Gojo always looks like he’s in a trance whenever he sees her,” Megumi said, making his two companions snap their attention to him.
“Do you think they’re dating?!” Nobara nearly yelled, her eyes widening comically.
“Maybe not. They both look kinda sad when they look at each other and they think the other person isn’t looking,” Megumi noted, looking deep in thought.
“Woah, you’re so observant. Maybe they’re exes, I heard they knew each other when they were younger,” Yuji said.
“Eh? No way sensei could pull someone like her,” Nobara said.
~
Two weeks have passed since you began teaching, and you loved it. Plus, you’d managed to have as minimal contact with Gojo as possible. Things would be fine after all.
You stepped into the teacher’s lounge, eager to grab your bag and head back home now that the day was over. But your bag wasn’t on the hook where you usually hung it up. When you turned around however, Gojo was leaning against the doorframe, taking up nearly the entire frame.
“Can I help you with something, Gojo?” you asked politely, willing your heart to settle down at his proximity.
“Can we talk?” he asked, and there it was again. The inexplicable feeling that swarmed your senses whenever you heard the sound of his voice, no matter what he was saying. Your traitorous body responded to it no matter how much you told it not to.
“Um, tomorrow might be better during our free period! I’m actually looking for my…” you began, stopping your sentence as Gojo used two fingers to effortlessly lift your heavy bag.
“I’ll give this back to you when you agree to have dinner with me. Tonight,” he said, flashing a boyish smile at you that was oh so painfully familiar.
“You can’t be serious,” you said, crossing your arms as Gojo took another step towards you. He was so close, and much taller than you remembered. He seemed to take up the entirety of the room you were in, making it harder to breathe and think clearly.
“I thought you knew me better than that, tea. I absolutely am,” he drawled, and the butterflies in your stomach swarmed at the mention of his old nickname for you. Hearing it used to fill you with love and light, because he began calling you the endearment after learning how much you adored tea. He’d often show up at your door with your favorite drinks, happily indulging in your obsession.
You blinked the memory away, refocusing your gaze back to the man in front of you.
“This isn’t funny,” you said, reaching towards your bag. He lifted it up and out of your reach easily.
“What isn’t funny is how you’ve been avoiding me since you got here. Why can you barely look me in the eye?” he said, the slight hurt in his voice hitting your heart. Your eyes darted around the room in a panic before you answered.
“Can you really blame me? We don’t have the best history,” you said, your voice coming off harsher than you intended.
“That’s what I want to clear up. Just hear me out this once, please,” he said, his tone softening as he spoke. You hated it, how quickly you could feel yourself giving into him. After a beat of silence, you spoke.
“Just this once,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.
There it was. That familiar, triumphant upturn of his lips.
~
You second guessed your choice as you walked towards Gojo’s car - a sleek, navy luxury car you remember he’d gotten for his 18th birthday. But there was no way he didn’t have other cars by now, so you couldn’t help but wonder if he picked this car today on purpose.
He swiftly opened the door to the passenger seat, allowing you to slip in before he slid into the drivers seat.
There was something undeniably intimate about being alone in the car with him. Being in such close quarters meant you could smell the cologne clinging to his skin, the minty remnants of the mints he always carried with him. You felt bespelled watching his long fingers wrap around the wheel, blushing as he wrapped his arm around your headrest and leaned towards you to look behind him as he backed out of the spot.
A memory flooded towards you. Of a freshly 18-year old Gojo excitedly picking you up in his shiny new car, nearly getting you into a car crash as he carelessly spun the wheel in his excitement. You’d given him a firm talking to about him being careful, and he smiled at you sheepishly before he walked you to get ice cream.
The sound of buttons clicking pulled you from your reverie. You watched wordlessly as Gojo set the seat warmer to the lowest setting and turned the ac up to 71, the exact settings you used to switch them to whenever you were his passenger princess.
“Is that still how you like it?” he asked, casting you a quick sideways glance before returning his eyes to the road. You wondered if you imagined the hopeful note to his voice.
“Yes,” you answered quietly.
Oh , I definitely still like it, you thought, eyes roaming across Gojo’s figure as he drove. His seat was leaned back to make room for his long legs, and he kept one hand on the wheel as he drove with the elegant ease he must’ve developed in your time apart. It was stupid, how attracted you still were to him.
You didn’t miss the way Gojo glanced at you ogling him, the corner of his lip tipping up like it so pleased him.
~
You followed Gojo into a gorgeous restaurant that you were undoubtedly underdressed for. A smartly dressed man greeted the two of you immediately, leading you to a table right in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows. It offered you a gorgeous view of the skyline, the soft glow of the sunset making the silverware sparkle.
You couldn’t help but look around in confusion at the quietness of the restaurant - save for the nice host, you were the only ones there.
“I booked out the place for the night. So we could catch up in peace,” Gojo said easily, as if that were something normal to do. You couldn’t say you were too surprised though, as he had the same penchant for spending and the fortune to back it since he was younger.
“Of course you did,” you said, shaking your head as you smiled to yourself.
Gojo leaned forward in his seat, studying you like you just performed magic.
“I’ve missed that smile of yours,” he said softly. It wasn’t fair, the way the last bits of sunshine of the day lit up the gold flecks in his eyes. The way his hair nearly shone silver, making him look otherworldly as he told you he missed you.
“I don’t know what to say to you, Gojo,” you said, forcing neutrality into your tone. But as soon as you spoke the words, you could hear how sad they sounded.
“Do you hate me?” he asked, sounding like his younger self once more.
You met his eyes, releasing a deep breath as you did your best to offer a smile.
“I don’t think I could ever hate you,” you admitted, watching the way his shoulders eased ever so slightly.
“But you hurt me,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.
“I was ready to stick out long distance when you moved away. You stopped answering my calls, responding to my letters. I tried reaching you for months before I gave up, Gojo. There was no goodbye, no explanation. What was I supposed to think? How do you expect me to greet you with a smile now as if nothing happened?” you said, your voice cracking towards the end.
“I know we were 18 and stupid, but I…”
I loved you. You were everything to me. And no matter how much time had past, how much you dated around, no one ever compared to you.
You shook your head, unable to get the words out.
It would forever be fresh in your mind, the day you found out Gojo was being shipped off to a different country by his stupid family to train.
The devastation was overwhelming. You curled up in your room, crying into your pillow as Gojo sat silently on the edge of your bed.
“Do you really have to go?” you sniffed, though it didn’t sound like that, with your throat clogged with tears.
Gojo laid beside you, pulling your back to his chest as he held you and buried his face in your hair.
“I don’t have a choice, tea. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking off at the end. You turned around, wrapping your arms around him as he held you brusingly tight. You rubbed his back as you felt his tears hit your shoulder.
After the cry you both needed, you faced each other silently, as if you were committing each other to memory.
“I won’t give up on us. I’ll call you everyday to bug the hell out of you,” he said, giving you the first lopsided smile of the night.
“For how long, though?” you said sadly, feeling the hope leeching out of you with each word you said aloud.
“For as long as it takes for me to become the strongest. And for you to become the teacher you’ve always wanted to be. I’ll come back for you,” he promised, lacing his long fingers through yours. There was hope alight in those eyes of his, convincing your own hope to stay.
“You promise?” you asked, sounding so much more like a young child than you wished.
“I promise.” he said, and you kissed him then. There was something so magnetic about him, the type of person that made you want to believe anything was possible. But you hadn’t known that would be the last time you kissed.
You had no way of knowing that your boyfriend would keep up with his promise for a month, and then suddenly leave you with nothing. He stopped responding to your letters, stopped his calls, stopped reminding you how much he loved you. The only time you ever heard about him was when the news featured his growing talents.
The sound of Gojo’s voice ripped you away from the memory.
“You have every right to be upset with me,” he began, his cerulean eyes betraying his grief.
“Was there someone else?” you asked before you could think better, cursing yourself.
“No,” he said forcefully, wincing like it hurt him for you to think that.
“There was never anyone else. Never,” he said, and you couldn’t help the relief flooding your chest.
“They got in my head about you. Convinced me that I was holding you back, that you could never focus on school enough to become a teacher good enough to teach at Jujutsu High if you were in a long distance relationship with me. I thought I was doing what was best for you,” he said, his voice low and regretful as he spoke.
The man across from you blurred as tears filled your vision. You spent months agonizing over the possible reasons he would abandon your relationship, and your young, heartbroken self was convinced it had something to do with you. That he found someone, and suddenly you weren't his cup of tea anymore. Never did it cross your mind that he thought he was doing you a favor by ghosting you.
“God, Gojo. Why didn’t you just talk to me?” you cried, doing nothing to mask the grief in your voice.
“I knew you’d tell me that it was incredibly stupid of me. And I know it was now, but back then I thought it would be easier if I made the choice for you. You deserved to have your full focus on pursuing teaching,” he said solemnly, lifting a hand towards your face as if he were going to wipe your tears, but laying his hand back down like he thought against it.
“You’re right, that was incredibly stupid of you,” you said, heaving a deep breath as your swiped the last of your tears.
“But I get why you did it. I just wish you would’ve included me in that choice, because you know what I thought? I thought if you could discard me, discard us that easily, that I must’ve not meant as much to you as you meant to me. That you didn’t love me as much as I loved you,” you said shakily, a single traitorous tear falling down your cheek.
Your emotions overwhelmed you as you saw his eyes begin to shine with unshed tears - a sight that hurt you as much as it did when you were both 18.
“I never stopped loving you,” he said, his voice hushed as he made the confession.
It felt like you were no longer in your own body as emotions assaulted you all at once. Happiness, relief, confusion, devastation. They warred with each other, and you didn’t know if the burst of nerves you were feeling was panic or excitement.
“You don’t mean that. Maybe you still love who I was when I was 18, but things are different now. I’m different,” you said, watching as Gojo shook his head softly.
“You’re right. You have become even more beautiful than I remember,” he began, and you knew you had lost. This wasn’t a game, but somehow you still lost.
“I’ve seen the way you work with the kids. I’m in awe of how confident and capable you’ve become. But I’ve also seen what hasn’t changed,” he said, leaning towards you with the light back in his eyes.
“Your tenacity. Your kindness. Your intelligence. Your drive. The way your eyes light up when you teach, the way you see the best in people. That’s how I fell in love with you, and I know thats still there,” he said, looking at you with the kind of reverence you forgot existed.
You closed your eyes as you failed at calming your thunderous heart.
“I can’t do this, Gojo. I can’t put myself in a position to be hurt by you again,” you said, casting your eyes down in your lap. You couldn’t bear to see defeat in his eyes.
You jolted as you felt the soothing, painfully familiar touch of his hand over yours.
“Look at me,” he pleaded softly, coaxing your eyes back towards his. When you met them again, they were filled with warmth, and you believed it. That he still loved you.
“You don’t owe me anything. I’ll stay out of your way if that’s what you want. But I’m not taking back what I said. I’ve loved you since before you were mine. And I always will.” He finished you off by lifting your hand to his lips, a gesture you were still a used to be a sucker for.
~
In the days that followed, Gojo consumed your every thought. It didn’t help that you worked so closely, and it especially didn’t help to see how good he was with the students. He goofed around with them more than a normal teacher would, but he taught them earnestly. No matter how much they complained about his antics, you could tell your students loved him.
It also didn’t help when he began leaving your favorite milk tea on your desk before the start of every school day, earning you a “wow teach, you must really love that tea shop,” comment from Yuji.
It was slightly embarrassing, but you couldn’t deny how much it brightened your day to see that cup of tea sitting on your desk, knowing how much Gojo still thought of you. And it didn’t stop at tea.
Over the course of the next month, your favorite flowers began showing up with your tea. Sometimes, instead of flowers it was your favorite candy. Gojo never lingered around to hand them to you himself, just giving you sweet smiles and waves whenever you locked eyes. You knew it was his way of giving you space to choose, and no matter how cheesy it was, it was working.
~
It was about 3 months after that dinner that you found yourself sitting with the principal for your quarterly one-on-one. You were pleased to hear the praises of your work and the positive feedback he’d received from students regarding you, but something in particular he said had you shaken up.
“I knew you and Gojo would work well together. You both had very moving reasons for wanting to teach here,” he said casually.
“Moving reasons?” you pressed, feeling like you were on the verge of something.
“Oh, yes. I was highly impressed by your years of dedication and experience, you were an obvious choice. But Gojo didn’t have much teaching experience when I hired him, it was really his reason for teaching that sold me on him,” he answered. And you didn’t know why, but your pulse grew uncomfortably quick.
“He told me that teaching helped him feel close to someone he loved. And that person taught him how powerful a good teacher could be,” the principal said. There was a beat of silence, followed by the screeching sound your chair made and you sat up suddenly. You apologized and excused yourself, rushing towards a certain office door.
Your movements were too quick for your thoughts to catch up. You just knew you had to see him.
He wasn’t in his office. Not in his classroom, not in the teacher’s lounge. That sickening panic began invading your senses, reminding you that it wasn’t the first time you desperately searched for Gojo and couldn’t find him.
But you pushed past it and kept walking. You walked until you reached the outer edge of campus, spotting a flash of silver hair atop a hill that overlooked the school.
You ran towards it like your life depended on it, huffing and puffing until you finally locked gazes with the most beautiful eyes you have ever seen. Though the eyes that normally regarded you with warmth were unusually widened with concern as Gojo ran towards you.
“Hey, whats going on-”
“Why did you become a teacher?” you said, struggling to catch your breath. Gojo looked stunned for a second, staring at you silently as he waited for you to continue.
“Why did you decide to work for Jujutsu High, out of all the high schools in Japan?” you continued, watching as his expression turned pensive. But his eyes shone with all the words he’d yet to say.
“I didn’t intend on becoming a teacher. I just gave it a shot one day, because I knew how passionate you were about it. And I loved it,” he said, staring out wistfully towards the lecture halls.
“As for why I picked Jujutsu High,” he began, turning his body towards you again. He walked to you, stopping until there was barely a step of space between your bodies.
“I picked it because I knew this was your dream school to work at. I hoped I would see you again if I worked here,” he admitted, smiling sadly. You shook your head in disbelief.
“This was my dream school when I was 18. What if I changed my mind and worked somewhere else? What if I didn’t even become a teacher?” you said frantically, searching for a crack in his resolve.
Gojo reached out, cupping your cheek in his hand. You had no choice but to tilt your head up to meet his, feeling new emotions flooding you at the look in his eyes.
“Doesn’t matter. The thought of seeing you again is what has kept me going all these years. Even if I mean nothing to you now,” he breathed, removing his hand from your cheek. He stepped away from you, giving you the space you realized you no longer wanted.
You didn’t know if you wanted to laugh or cry at this new revelation. But you did know one thing; you wanted Gojo Satoru. You wanted another shot with him.
Before you could talk yourself out of it, you launched yourself at him, wrapping your arms around him tightly and burying your face into his chest. He smelled like mint and summer and everything good with the world as his arms immediately came up to hold you to him.
He released a shaky breath as he held you, like he couldn’t believe he’d get to do it again.
“Of course you still mean something to me,” you whispered through tears you didn’t realize you were shedding. Gojo gently pulled back from your hug, capturing both your face between his hands. He swiped his thumbs gently against your tears, that reverent, warm gaze back in those eyes of his.
“What should I make of that, tea?” he asked, tucking an errant strand of hair behind your ear. You realized how much you missed his touch, how you’ve longed to feel his smooth, porcelain skin against yours again.
“You’re gonna have to work reallyyyy hard if you want me to fall in love with you again,” you said, smiling as his eyes widened and his jaw slacked.
Liar. It wouldn’t take much at all.
“You’re giving me another chance?” he said incredulously. You nodded shyly, smiling as Gojo awarded you with the most brilliant, heart-stopping smile. The kind that crinkled his eyes at the corners, the kind that stretched his cheeks, the kind that you had no choice but to mirror.
The breath left your body as Gojo lifted you up by your hips, swinging you around in a circle like the last scene of a Disney movie where the prince and princess reunited.
It felt like a weight was released from your shoulders as he spun you around, the two of you laughing like teenagers again.
“Thank you,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.
~
“They have to be dating, there’s no way they’re not!” Nobara exclaimed, walking to get food with the other first years after class.
“Gojo sensei follows her around like a puppy. I could actually see hearts in his eyes when he looks at her! I swore I even heard her call him Toru,” Yuji said, him and Nobara nodding to each other intently.
“Maybe. Our new teacher has been looking really happy lately,” Megumi said.
#gojo fanfic#gojo fluff#gojo satoru#gojo x y/n#gojou satoru x reader#gojo x you#jjk x reader#female reader#gojo x reader#jjk fanfic#gojo angst#gojo imagine#gojo headcanons#jjk gojo#jujutsu gojo#jujustu kaisen#jjk angst#gojo drabbles#jjk imagines#jjk fluff#satoru gojo#gojo jjk#gojo satoru x you#angst
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Across the Street
Pt.3
Pt.1, Pt2.
synopsis: Miguel calls you in once more for babysitting. He has a day off from work and something inconvenient happens.
content: 18+ MDNI - babysitting, DILF miguel, fingering, m!receiving bj, praise and degrading, dirty talk, spiccyy overall.
A/N: thank you guys for the support!! Love u all 💞
extra: art is on Twitter by kimmy_arts0912
Miguel woke up to the sound of his phone burring on the bedstand, clicking the stop button.
9:04 a.m.
He slowly rose off the bed, rubbing his temples and heading to the bathroom. He took his time getting himself ready, it was never easy for him since he would regularly work for long hours but today was a day off.
He took a shower, shaving off his stubble beard with a mirror glued on the bathroom wall. He got out with a towel wrapped around his waist and a small one on his wet hair.
Soon as he finished changing, he went downstairs to drink some black coffee and eat some peppered eggs with bacon.
As he scrolled through his work emails on his laptop, he saw Gabriella at the corner of his eye. She stepped off the stairs, approaching Miguel and hugging his legs.
"Como dormiste, mi changa?" (How'd you sleep, my girl?) He let out a hearty laugh, ruffling her messy brown curls. His focus was now on Gabriella, carrying her with one arm while his other hand pinched her swollen cheeks.
"Bien, papi!" She said as she swinged on his arm. Miguel smiled and lifted her back on the floor, reaching for the chair for his daughter. He placed two plates, a small stack of pancakes with strawberries, butter and syrup while the other was a bowl of fruit.
"Make sure to eat all of it, mija. It's bad to let things go to waste." He spoke as he washed the prior dishes from last night, making him vividly relive the memory of his fingers in you. He couldn't shake the thought of you, he kept spacing out on your touch.
He snapped back to reality when he peered his eyes to his phone ringing, his wife. Well almost his ex-wife, the divorce was still in date for court but they went their separate ways months ago.
He wrapped a towel around his hands, drying them and answered the phone. "Hello?"
"I'm picking up Gabriella later today around 6."
Miguel's brows furrowed together. "What do you mean?!? This whole week is my time to spend with her. I have a day off today and tomorrow." He snapped back at her.
"What's the reason for the sudden change?! Im allowed to spend time with my daughter too." He was fired up but whispered into the phone so Gabriella wouldn't hear.
"She just got home a couple days ago, que te pasa en la mente?!" Miguel spoke. She scoffed into the phone. "You're more in love with your work than our own daughter."
"Well I planned a trip for the both of us and I already have everything packed for her. Relax, you'll get her back in a couple days, bye!" As Miguel was about to yell at her, she hung up on the phone.
"Pinche pendeja.." he muttered softly on his lips.
He was furious but had to remain calm to not raise Gabriella's suspicion of why her dad was breathing so heavily and palming his face with his hands.
After a couple minutes pass, he sat next to Gabi watching a cartoon show to ease himself down. He would then urge Gabi to go brush her teeth and change into something else rather than her unicorn pajamas.
Miguel decided to take Gabi to a new toy shop that just opened. He was still pissed about the call earlier but the thought ended up leaving his mind as his focus was now on his daughter's happiness.
5:04 p.m.
It'd been a day or two since what happened. Miguel hadn't sent you a message to babysit Gabi, until this afternoon.
"Hey, can you come over to babysit Gabriella? That is if you're not busy with anything."
"I'll be on my way in 5 minutes, Mr. O'Hara."
"Perfect..thank you. Again, Miguel is fine."
You felt so queasy about stepping in foot back to his house but so excited. You wore a summer dress due to the heat emitting from the sky. The afternoon would always be the hottest time of the day where you lived.
You face the mirror to fix the messy curls that sprung up due to the frizz. You apply some lip liner, finishing it off with a red tint gloss.
5:12 p.m.
You knock on the door, patiently waiting. You hear a click and the door finally opens, the sun shined on his caramelized skin. He look almost jaw dropping.. with a slicked back hair look. Loose black fit pants with a loose button up shirt. His eyes gave off a smile smile and invited you in.
You looked around to find Gabriella drawing at the table.
"Hi Gabi!" You squeal and wave at her as she rushes into a hug towards you. "Yay! You're back!" She was eager to see you. "What are you drawing? That looks great!" "I'm drawing a forest with fairies and unicorns!" Her high pitched voice rang in your ears.
You lean in closer to look at her drawing, acknowledging it. You give her a sweet smile, she returns it back.
You step back and walk to the cabinets to get a glass of juice. Your body jumped when you felt a hand rubbing in circles on your ass.
Miguel grazed his hands on your shoulder, whispering near your ear and dragging you further to the kitchen. Gabi's back facing the both of you two, you felt his hot breath fan you; shivers down your spine and to your core.
"How have you been, muñeca? Te ves muy...hermosa." He husked in a low tone. Your breathing slowed down, worried to even peep a sound. "I missed you..was worried you wouldn't come back." His rough hands rub the soft skin on your hips.
His tongue teased your neck, sucking and softly nibbling on it. "N-not here Miguel..your daughter.." You whispered, trying hard to restrain your small whimpers. He hummed in your ears, nibbling on it before detaching himself as soon as he heard a doorbell ring.
Luckily the kitchen had the blinds closed so whoever was outside, couldn't see.
He sighed and you quickly headed to open the door, facing a woman. She had on black sunglasses to block the sun in her eyes.
"You must be the new babysitter right?" She questioned as she placed her purse on the island countertop. "Yes! I was recently hired by Mr. O'Hara, Ms.." You waited for a response from her. "Mrs. O'Hara." She spoke, she reached to grab Gabriella by the waist; a suitcase near the table.
You had thought that he was divorced, you thought pretty quickly to it maybe they just haven't had gone to court yet to fix their situation.
"Mom? Where are we going?" Gabriella prods her head at Miguel and you. "We're going to Disneyland!!" She squeals as she hears the exciting news.
Miguel sighed and rolled his eyes, knowing that she never really gave attention to Gabriella, just spoiling and bribing her.
Gabriella was brought down back to her feet, hugging you and her dad by the leg, waving goodbyes.
You helped her out with packing some of her toys upstairs. When you both finished packing up some extra stuff, you head downstairs, slightly peering your head to see Miguel and his wife whisper about stuff. Miguel's chest heaved as his hands ran through his hair, frustrated.
Gabriella prods her head at what you're looking at and you quickly distract her by asking her something.
"Did you grab all of your toys, Gabi?" "I think so," she said as she rubbed her head and headed towards the door.
The lady drank some champagne from the glass, eyeing you up and down, questionable about you. You were never this nervous, but you worried if she had known.
She averted her gaze back to Gabi, holding her hand and the suitcase near Miguel. "Bye papi!" Gabi squeaked as the door behind her closed. Miguel waved non-stop til he couldn't see her anymore.
He laid his elbows on the countertop, tilting his head sideways back and forth. "Everything okay?" You walked up to him.
"Yeah.. um..it's just.." He hesitated to tell you. "Oh, don't worry! It's fine you don't have to tell me, Mr.-.. Miguel." He sighed angrily, "No no, it's just that..this week I was supposed to have Gabriella. She comes unannounced, not even a heads up that she would take Gabi with her."
As he vented more of his frustration, he felt relief by letting it all out. You were open eares with him, softly patting his shoulder blades to ease him.
"Wow..that's really messed up. Do you have custody of Gabriella, if you don't mind me asking." You spoke softly.
"Yeah, I do. We haven't had the court fully decide yet, it's coming up in a couple weeks. I just hate how she's nowhere fit for her to be actually caring for Gabriella." He sighed and took a big sip from the champagne bottle.
You hummed in return, heading to the snack closet for something to ease him up. "Want some snacks?" You asked. Miguel gets up and walks towards you.
You tip-toed to reach a cardboard box full of gummies, until you felt your body shivering to the touch of his hands around your waist later reaching your bra.
He wraps his arms around you, his touch becoming a bit more daring this time.
"You're very tempting. It's difficult to resist you right now..."
Miguel smiles at you and whispers his words. He then places his lips on yours again, his kiss passionate and eager. He wraps you as tight as he can, his hands roaming your hips.
"Oh, I would love something sweet. Don't you?" He murmured on your neck. His hands pushed your dress up, caressing your plush skin. "Mr. O'Hara-.."
You felt a sharp slap to your ass. "What did I say? Llámame Miguel.." (Call me Miguel)
He placed a hand on your chin to face him, kissing you softly. The second kiss seemed more like hunger.
"Get on your knees for me, cariño." He husked in a low tone, you obediently listen and laid your knees on the cold marble floor. He caressed your face once more, "Good girl.." The praises that came out his mouth made your cheeks heat up, your blood pumping to your pooling cunt.
Miguel's face lights up with pleasure, his eyes staring at you seductively as you kneel down in front of him. He watches your movement as you kneel, breathing slightly heavier. The way you look at Miguel also makes him feel good.
"Mm..."
Miguel's hand then reaches down and he grabs your head, making you look up at him.
"Open your mouth..."
Miguel moves his hand down to one of your shoulders, moving his thumb along your collarbone and then along your cleavage.
"Open wider, muñeca..."
Miguel's smile grows more and more as he sees you opening your mouth. You see his hand moving around your lips, just touching your face sensually here and there. Miguel's eyes never leave yours, and you find his stare to be both attractive and also exciting.
"Mm... Good.."
Miguel's eyes move down to your tongue and then back up to your face. He starts to whisper in your ear, his voice going slightly deeper.
"¿Como se siente esa boca, chiquilla?"
Miguel's breath slows, clearly aroused. He stuck in two fingers into your mouth and you hollowed your cheeks softly as you sucked on them for a bit. He went deeper, making you gag continuously, he took his fingers out licking them clean.
Your eyes landed on his bulge, palming it with your hands, rubbing it harder each time, pulling groans out of Miguel.
You begin to remove his pants by unzipping it and pulling down his boxers, his hard cock slapping his abdomen. The red brownish head was practically fuming for your touch.
You part your lips, laying your tongue out and licking the pre-cum streaming down on his tip. You try fitting all of his cock in your throat but you can't so you stroke the rest of him.
His eyes drop down to your face, his eyebrows furrowed together, savouring the delicious feeling of your tongue around his cock. You bobbed your head faster when your throat relaxed, being able to take in more of him. You clench your inner thighs together to feel some relief on your swollen clit.
His breathing becomes shallow the more he becomes impatient. When you looked up at him with small teary eyed..
He loses it.
He needs and wants to feel more of you, he slammed his cock deeper down your throat. The squelching sounds and low groans of his voice made you whine but it was muttered by his cock in your mouth.
You dig your nails into his thighs to keep yourself steady, you feel like you've ran out of oxygen. But you couldn't care less.
"Puta madre..." He whispers.
The feeling of him driving you absolutely mad, his grip on your scalp tightening with every thrust he took. The aggression shocked you, but you couldn't move since he took complete control of your mouth.
His cock pressed harder into your throat, making you gag on and on while tears streamed down your face. Your flushed out face drew him to his final straw.
His hips snapping against your cheeks, the slapping sounds echoing. The feeling of your fingernails digging deep into his skin, your muffled moans clenching harder around his cock whenever you hollowed your cheeks, made him lose his control.
"F-fuck...you're so good...such a pretty little slut aren't you? So fucking good f'me baby..." He scowled.
You kept muffling mhm's as he would praise your touch on him. His hips began stuttering, his thrusts slowly becoming slower as his cock became more and more sensitive with every warm touch of your tongue around him.
He held both sides of your face in a firm but gentle grip, abusing your throat to catch his orgasm. "I'm c-coming..mhmmf..mierda..." He whined.
His massive body shook with his imploding orgasm, he shoved his cock to the back of your throat and shuddered as his cum was hot and sticky on your tongue.
The moment he pulled out, he angled my face to his, towering over my frame. "Swallow it f'me." He spoke bluntly.
Miguel removed your mouth off his cock, his erection still hard and pulsing. All he wanted right now was to be inside you but he had different plans for you. He was going to return the favor back to you now.
You let out a few coughs to catch your breath and swallowed just like he asked. Bittersweet taste left on your tongue.
"Eres tan buena y hermosa, ma." (You're so good and beautiful, ma)
"Llevantate, amor." He panted on your neck.
He grabbed you by the shoulders and lifted you up, resting your quivering ankles on his broad shoulders. His fingers stroking and prodding at the wet stain on your underwear, his cold touch setting you on fire.
"Let me touch your pretty pussy, amor. Déjame ver ese bello coño.." (Let me see that pretty pussy) He tore your underwear off, the cold air washing your cunt makes you shiver. He lightly slapped your folds to see your face contort and furrow.
Suddenly, his hot tongue flicked your wet folds, and heat swirled in your stomach, your clit throbbing. Your skin burned to his touch as he reached for your perked nipples, rubbing it with his hands and whenever he would pinch your nipples, you would jerk forward; making his nose hit your clit.
"M-more Miguel.." You begged, your cunt clenching around nothing left you feeling empty and so needy. Your fingers wrapping around his brown curls, gripping onto them dearly as his tongue lapped on your clit.
"You're doing such a good job f'me, mi amor. Keep moaning my name like that. Fuck.." He groaned into your cunt. He slid into another finger and the feeling was too much for you to handle.
"M-miguel.." Your pants filled with wanton and lust. Your body jerks forward as he slid a finger inside you, your eyes impossibly rolling back to the back of your head as you choked on your moans, mumbling his name as he continued to eat you out like a starved man.
"Mirame, corazon. Keep your eyes on me, yeah?"
You felt too much and too little all at once, it wasn't enough for you but you felt like you were about to get thrown off the edge as his fingers started pounding you deep inside your velvet walls. You kept twitching and trembling, your back arching off the wall as your body hopelessly writhed for him.
Your nerves began stuttering, going numb along with a knot starting to untie. Miguel wouldn't stop sucking on your folds, his nose nudging your clit. His eyes never left your face, he loved seeing how you responded to his touch.
You started feeling a fire pooling low in your abdomen, your heartbeat pulsing faster than before.
You started losing composure whatsoever, when he slid in another finger inside. He didn't stop lapping on your sopping cunt, your pussy clenching around his fingers made his cock ache for your walls to tighten around him.
"It's t-too much.. m-miguel please mhmgf..fuck!" You sobbed and wailed. Your tears wouldn't stop, his fingers plunging in deeper inside your swollen cunt.
"You can handle it, doll.. I know you can." His ears relished the wet squelching sounds and your sweet little moans. You tugged harder into his hair as you felt a wave crashing down, the dam broke which released a leg-shaking orgasm. Fire sprinted throughout your body, the feeling of it taking over your mind with nothing but his fingers and tongue on your cunt.
Your orgasm came in flooding in and electrified every nerve in your body. Your vision fading to black. Your throat welled with moans and mewls, as you kept blubbering incoherently.
Miguel devoured you without mercy, savoring your juices as it ran down his chin. He kept you steady by holding you tight on your hips as you wiggled non-stop, shaking and writhed under him.
You loved drowning in helplessness of the pleasure as it surrounded you by the waist, leaving you breathless, shaky, and light headed.
You became almost feverishly whimpering since Miguel would still suck on your clit, tenderly. He finally removed himself from your folds, smirking at you while caressing your flushed out face. "Te ves bella así, muñeca. Eres mia..que no?" (You look beautiful like that, doll. You're mine, right?) You nodded as your orgasm finally came to a stop. He rested your ankles back to the floor, holding you up by the waist so you wouldn't succumb to the floor.
Just when he was about to tease you with his cock slowly on your folds, you both hear a ding from the door. Keys ring through your ears and the door creaked open. Heels clacking on the hard floor echoing around the spacious house, heading upstairs. The both of you quickly start to dress up quickly, you knew exactly who this was.
"Miguel!! ¿¿Dónde estás?? Do you know where the monster high dolls are?!?" A woman voice yelled upstairs. Miguel gave you a quick peck on the lips and a wink.
"What is it this time?" Miguel's voice responded back to her. "Gabi forgot her stupid toys..anyways just tell me where they are. She won't stop crying and I need her to shut up."
Miguel refused to give into his emotions and snap back at her so he gave off a small response to her.
"They're in the hidden basket under her bed, the lock is in the bedstand drawer." He answered, looking back at you tip toeing to the door.
You sent yourself off by going back home quietly and hurriedly.
Miguel was once again incredibly frustrated for the intrusion.
A/N: it's 12:31 am rn, gonna have the best sleep ever. I finally finished it! Leave any feedback, always room for improvement, thank you guys!! (Sorry for the ending once more 😭😓, I promise to make part 4 hella dirty and long)
Taglist: @thedevax @missussmorales @mxtokko @roronoaslover @livytofine @lolaiitip @luvstuffies @sweetirilly @avatricu @minnbinn @rqdior @migueloharasgirlfriend @t-sillay @brittney69 @honeycovered-bandaids @whatdudtheysay @tuskjohnny @spideys2cute @mushy-mushroom04 @yuki9912 @yumeeesss @noyasanify @ewan-tef @ilonasthing @lia-77 @migueloharaluhver @notsussybaka @woahnotmecryingoverafanfiction @usagijoestar @itzsab @gh0stcatss @ihateuguys @nyoxklo @xstormstriderx @bontensbabygirl @jroshtssn @realalpacorn @toecurlingstories @lunamoonbby @amberpanda99 @minihorizons @kathleenisdaraptor
#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel ohara#miguel o'hara smut#miguel x reader#spiderman 2099 spiderverse#smut#miguel o’hara smut#miguel o’hara x reader#spiderman 2099 smut#*ੈ✩‧₊˚ posts#miguel smut atsv#miguel atsv#miguel o'hara fanfiction#miguel o’hara imagine#miguel o’hara x y/n#miguel o’hara x you#atsv miguel#my husband#dilf miguel#smutty#miguel o’hara fanfiction#miguel o’hara one shot#miguel spiderverse
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oh sweetheart
pairing: boxer! ellie williams x f reader au
word count: 1.9k
rating: 18+
warnings: boxer!ellie, drinking, smoking, cursing, creepy guy but ellie comes to ur defense!! ellie has lots of tattoos, fighting, threats, idk if im missing anything (no character description or anything specific)
summary: you didn't expect to meet her on this night out.
authors notes: hi friends! this is my first time writing and posting on here hopefully you enjoy, please reblog, like or follow! lets be mutuals :) anyways feedback and constructive criticism is always welcome and appreciated! ellie williams has me on my hands and knees!!! i hope you enjoy! i like the idea of making this a series if it works out and ppl like it, so pls let m know!! thank you :)
PART 1 | part 2
series masterlist <3
from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸
READ: this account stands with palestine, and so— i require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. silence is complicity, do not scroll past this.
DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist. PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS.
loud. everything is loud. the smell of sweat and blood stains the air around you. the sounds of people cheering and shouting towards the center of the large room. the lights are buzzing above you as you are walking into the entrance of the shitty run down gym your brother, jesse, and his girlfriend, dina, ended up dragging you to tonight.
you didn't mind coming along with him but this wasn't what you expected to be doing tonight. after a long shitty week of unpacking your new apartment, you kinda just wanted to end up a hole in the wall bar and drink your stress away but he had other plans. which including watching grown men beat the shit of each other for their cut at the end of the night.
it was intimidating, walking through the crowds of people you didn't know until you finally make it to where his friends were waiting for you guys. they were sitting at a table with a clear shot of the fight which was surprising since the whole place seemed to have more people in it then it could fit. you make your way awkwardly to the empty seats saying a gentle "hello guys" to your brothers friends who you didn't knowl. you sat next to dina as jesse made his way to the bar with your drink orders.
after you graduated highschool, you moved to new york and spend 4 years there working in a small cafe you lived above but now at the start of the summer, still not sure what you should be doing with your life. now you're 22 and you've moved to the city of jackson to be closer to your older brother and his girlfriend. you were excited to start fresh in a place where no one knew you yet, you were ready to leave your old life and those toxic things in the past. but you wondered if it was even possible.
you spend the next hour talking with dina and catching up on the things that have happened since you moved, "have you started looking for jobs yet?" she asked as you both sipped on the second drink of the night that jesse went and brought back a bit ago. you've only met a couple times in person since they started dating about 2 years ago but you loved her, she was making this night a lot better. "not much luck yet, i don't know what to do, luckily i have some time to figure something out." you responded. she went to say something but then the loud speakers around the room started blaring music and the countdown to the match that was about to start.
jesse tapped dinas shoulder to go watch with the rest of them. dinas eyes met yours and asked, "are you coming up?" you started getting nervous as the people started getting louder and crowding towards the center ring and told her that you'll stay here and watch. they both nodded and said they'd be back when it was over.
you took this opportunity to finally go get some fresh air since the crowd isn't all over anymore and it was a straight shot to the door you came in, you walked over to the side of the building, definitely feeling the drinks you had, you let your back rest against the concrete wall, finally cooling you down on this hot summer night. there's people standing outside talking but they payed no attention to you. you stayed against the wall as you pull out the cigarette pack from the pocket of your thin dark green jacket and the lighter out of your back pocket in your jean shorts. you cursed yourself for not buying more but its a bad habit and you know it. you pulled one out and put it in your lips as you brought the lighter up and took a drag, finally letting the anxiety go as you stared off into the sky.
"excuse me miss, you shouldn't be out here alone, a beautiful girl like you," a man with a rough voice said but you didn't move to look, suddenly wishing you never left your apartment to begin with, "hello i'm talking to you, its not nice to ignore people, ya know," he slurred his words as he spoke. you turned your head as you went to tell him to leave you alone but instead, he was standing in front of you before you knew it you dropped your smoke and now he's practically cornered you.
he was so close you could smell the alcohol on his breathe as he spoke again, "now are you gonna talk to-" you leaned away from him as he was interrupted by the sound of a door opening a few feet away, he looked towards it but then turned back to you just as quick, almost touching you as he went to speak again but he was beat to it.
"get off her." you didn't even realize the door had opened until you heard her.
the man looked back towards the door to the figure in the light, he squinted and when he got a good look, he suddenly backed off and put his hands up. "hey hey i wasn't doing nothin- it was nothing!" he shouted back to whoever was next to the still open door, light shining into the alley.
the door slams and the light fades as the figure walks closer towards you and your eyes meet the deep green eyes of the person who just saved you as she turned to the man who was just cornering you against the wall.
"it doesn't look like nothing, i mean, really? you're fucking joking right?" she questioned him as she looked him right in the eyes.
"i said it was nothing- she was flirting with me and-" he was cut off as she laughed loudly. "yeah you're full of shit, get the fuck out of here and don't let me see you again or you'll regret it." she said as she stepped closer towards him, almost at the same height, he looked scared of her. "okay, okay- fuck 'm leaving!" he slurred one last time as he turned around and headed the opposite way of the run down gym.
you stood there as the interaction happened, not sure what to do or say yet, you were silent as he walked off, and those green eyes met yours again and you saw her lips moving as she was speaking but you caught nothing she said. "hey, you okay there?" she asked you as she went to stand in front of you, looking you up and down, checking if you're psychically okay while she gave you a second to process before she asked you again.
"hey sweetheart, you okay?" she asked and grabbed your arm, not in a way that the man would have but like she was actually making sure you were okay, and this time you finally heard her.
"h- yes im okay, just- fuck- yes thank you." you said finally getting a good look at her now that she's up close and touching you. her eyes were greener than you thought, her short auburn hair with some pulled back into a bun, the big moth tattoo wrapped around her right forearm that was still holding onto yours, other tattoos littered her arms and some poking out under her t-shirt she was wearing. she was so close to you and it sent butterflies through your body. now is not the time, you thought to yourself.
"are you sure- 'm sorry that happened, fuck him." she said roughly, not towards you but him.
"its okay, thank- thank you for helping me" you said gently to the girl who was still looking into your eyes. you had been so focused on hers that you didn't even see the tiny scars, small healing cuts and the bruises that were fading until you looked over her face again.
"yeah of course, are you here alone?" she asked you curiously still holding on to you, you weren't even phased by it. you told her you were here with your brother and she nodded her head towards the door, "lets get you back to him before anything else happens sweetheart" she said as she guided you to the door, hand on your back, as you swallowed and went first.
suddenly all the sounds that you had not realized you had been blocking begin again, smells of the sweaty bodies surround you again and you felt too hot, either because of her or the summer heat trapped in here. once you made it inside, she moved her hand off the small of your back and told her to go find your brother and to get home safe. when she walked away, you realized you didn't even know her name.
you saw dina, sitting along with a few of jesses friends and made your way over to her. the match must've ended while you were outside. you walked through the gym to sit back down, moving carefully to avoid touching anyone. once you made it to the table, dina wondered where you had ran off too. "oh just went out to get some fresh air," you said back to her smiling, not wanting her to worry. she told you jesse went to get more drinks and after the encounter outside, you needed it.
jesse came back a few moments later, holding a round of shots for you three. "here you ladies go," he spoke with a happy look on his face. you smiled slightly back and took the glass as dina laughed at him. you took the shot, trying to forget what happened outside with the man but not what happened with her. you wondered if you would see her again. is she here to watch? could she work at the bar? is she here with friends too? your thoughts were interrupted by an announcement over the speaks that the final match was gonna start soon.
dina and jesse were telling you, "its the last one tonight and the last ones are always the best so lets go!" you would rather sit and order another drink, but what if something else happened cause you were alone? so reluctantly you got up with them and got closer to the middle ring, you heard the loud speakers announcing the boxers as they entered the ring. you weren't even paying attention, nothing could stop your mind racing with thoughts about the girl outside.
you shake yourself out of the trance when dina reaches over to you to touch your hands that were shaking but you didn't even realize, you look to her and give her smile that she returns, then she looks back to the ring and you turn your head to follow her eyes to the center. and your breathe caught.
thats her.
thats the girl who saved you outside.
the girl with her hands wrapped in tape and the mouthguard in.
the girl who wondered if she'd ever see you again either, not that you knew that, but she hoped it wasn't the last time.
you wondered what she thought as you both stared back at each other. you heard the coach start the countdown. you just watched her.
...5
...4
...3
...2
as the buzzer started, she smiled directly at you then turned to throw the first punch.
#ellie williams smut#ellie williams fanfiction#ellie williams x reader#pedro pascal#ellie williams#the last of us#tlou2#tlog#ellie tlou#ellie the last of us#ellie x reader#ellie x fem reader#joel and ellie#ellie williams fic#ellie williams fluff#ellie williams series#joel tlou#thot4elleific
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all i want is you ❀ cl16
in which charles thinks he can stay just friends with you after a breakup (spoiler alert: he cant)
read part two here.
contains: social media au, ex!charles leclerc x fem!reader, angsty charles and yn living her best life, mentions of charles’s new girlfriend, charles is a confusing man
note: something small just to feed the kids yk, pls don’t read into the twt dates i was too lazy to change them
📍south of france
liked by charles_leclerc, pierregasly, lilymhe, and 100,675 others
yourusername this travel thing is kind of fun 🇫🇷
tagged kikagomes
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lilymhe my wifey is so pretty
alexalbon okay then just date atp
yourusername wdym? we already are
alexalbon why do i put up with this
lilymhe because you love us duh
pierregasly no photo credits or tag? i’m (deeply) hurt
yourusername oh please you complained the whole time and then made me and kika take photos of you
pierregasly that is not a crime
kikagomes my stylish icon 🤍
yourusername te amo te amo
carlossainz55 coming to spain next i hope?
yourusername who knows 🤭
landonorris actually she’s coming to the uk with me next
carlossainz55 😢😢 yn you betray me
yourusername you know you’re my favourite carlos
landonorris ouch
charles_leclerc very pretty
yourusername thank you charlie
luvleclrc it’s so sweet that he still comments on her photos
user i miss them real bad
4ouryn are we getting any more travel vlogs soon?
yourinstagram im working on it! it’ll be out around this friday :)
liked by yourusername, carlossainz55, landonorris, and 1,235,166 others
charles_leclerc good times at home
view all 7,455 comments
user charles leclerc the man that you are 😭😭
user seeing him with a baby is just what i needed on my tl
yourusername two cuties at sea!
charles_leclerc so you think i’m cute 🤔
yourusername only because of the baby in your hands
charles_leclerc you hurt my feelings y/n
user omg charles still flirting with yn is so crazy
user idk if it’s flirting per se, they’re just friends now
user they were so cute i still don’t get why they broke up
user charles broke up with her bc he wanted to focus on racing
carlossainz55 somebody wants to be a daddy
charles_leclerc don’t put words in my mouth mate 😅
user is this a joke ? 👀
pierregasly i see what he’s doing
charles_leclerc ??
landonorris he’s cooking
alexandrasaintmleux so handsome
liked by charles_leclerc
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📍 lake como, italy
liked by alexalbon, kikagomes, carlossainz55, and 97,333 others
yourusername loving italia 🇮🇹
carlossainz55 next stop madrid?
yourusername we’ll see, won’t we
landonorris i better be invited
carlossainz55 you know your way here mate
user omg the ferrari flag
yourusername deep down everyone is a ferrari fan :)
user should we read into that
yourusername no lmao
lilymhe travelling with you is the best
yourusername what would i do without you
alexalbon everyday i wake up
user no charles like or comment :( i guess he really is dating that girl
user justice for yn literally
user they still follow each other tho but i feel so bad for both girls
kikagomes i have no clue how anyone could break up with you, like seriously
yourusername me too, but life is too short to worry about things like that babe
user 👀 charles shade??
user i think we should stop tying y/n’s identity to charles in general
liked by yourusername
carlossainz55 updated their story 2 hours ago. landonorris updated their story 1 hour ago.
📍madrid, spain
liked by landonorris, carlossainz55, lilymhe, and 433,125 others
yourusername troublemakers in madrid
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landonorris who are those studs in the first photo
yourusername so humble !
alexalbon potential summer soft launch?
yourusername who knows
user ugh why is she always with those two, i swear she wants them so bad
yourusername ew no those two are my sons 🤱
pierregasly who’s the daddy 🤔
landonorris don’t say it like that yn 😭😭
carlossainz55 i’m older than you though, no?
yourusername no carlos it’s like, in spirit
user WHO IS THAT MAN???? is that carlos?? lando??
yourusername no! but he’s certainly someone 🤭
user that’s charles right?
user he’s in monaco right now, it couldn’t be him plus he’s got a gf
lilymhe okay mysterious girl
yourusername i love to keep people on their toes
lilymhe but seriously text me and tell me who that is
kikagomes girl me too
user shout out to yn for reuniting carlando!!
liked by yourusername
yourusername updated their story 5 mins ago
carlos’s phone 📞
charles
are you with y/n right now
i know you are
carlos
then why ask m8
yes i’m with her, why?
charles
is she mad at me
carlos
that’s a stupid question, but i don’t know man, she hasn’t brought you up
and lando and i aren’t going to
what’s the phrase?
poke the bear
actually, i shouldn’t compare her to that
but i would be mad if i were her
charles
who’s that man she posted the other day??
you’ve been with her during her entire spain trip yes? what does he look like, do you know him?
carlos
he is a good friend of mine yes
i somewhat set them up, things have been going good, they’re both here at our dinner
charles
aiii carlos! why would you set them up??
how could you do this to me??
carlos
did you forget that you broke with her? to focus on racing?
which would be fine if you didn’t get another girl just a month after?
i don’t even know how she could stay friends with you, but she asked me to find a guy for her
i am a good friend, so i found someone
if you’re jealous, you shouldn’t have broken up in the first place
charles
i’m not jealous at all carlos
carlos
then why are you stalking her account and asking me about a man she is seeing?
if you’re so concerned, text her yourself
charles
argh you’re no help
your phone 📞
charlie
hey
i miss you
a lot
#f1 x reader#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 smau#charles leclerc x reader#cl16 x reader#f1 x female reader#charles leclerc imagine#f1 x black!reader#f1 fic#f1 social media au
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Just Jason being the human version of a house cat.
Someone on here said that Jason is just a massive lap cat and I can’t help but agree because just imagine it; an absolute beast of a man finding solace in resting specifically on your plush lap, his strong, warm arms caging your waist as his face is burrowed pleasantly into your stomach in content, groans in displeasure whenever he feels you move even the slightest of inches.
How dare you move when Jason was just getting comfortable, apologise now for your transgressions.
Jason’s warmth would be advantageous to you during the colder months but an absolute nightmare during the summer, more so if you’re the type to get warm really easily and it ends up irritating you. But this is neither here nor there.
‘Jaybirdie?’ You ran your hand through his hair, scratching his scalp now and then.
Jason groans, showing that he was listening.
‘I’ve got to get going soon or else they’ll call and ask why I’m late.’ You tell him as you felt his arms tighten and you smile. ‘And I can’t exactly say that my 6’2 boyfriend is sprawled across my lap like a stubborn house cat that is refusing me to leave. Now can I?’ You finished, moving your hand away from his hair and focusing on rubbing his upper back, wishing you could see his muscles beneath the black t-shirt. You could only being to imagine the way his beautiful muscles would contract and relax from your touch as though they were like the waves you’d see at the beach, webbing and flowing; it was borderline enticing.
‘Then don’t go then. Simple as.’ His muffled voice said against your stomach.
‘I can’t, I promise to help out at work because someone called in sick…again.’ You muttered out the last part. You didn’t know why your co-worker wasn’t sacked for having so much time off but you knew you weren’t the only one that didn’t like them, and from what you’ve been told by older co-workers, this wasn’t the first time they’ve done this and even then you were surprised that they still even had a job to come back to. So because of them, you and your fellow co-workers were being worked to the bone to cover their hours on top of your own.
‘Again?’ Jason asked, lifting his head up from your lap, having been kept up to date on the goings on in your workplace. ‘How haven’t they gotten pulled in for that shit?’
You shrugged your shoulders, genuinely as baffled as he was about the whole thing. ‘Honestly have got the slightest clue Jay, but It’s all the more reason for me to go.’
Jason groans as he reluctantly lets you go but now you were the one upset at the sudden loss of his warmth and that must’ve been apparent on your face as Jason smirked mischievously as he reassumed his position on your lap, his strong arms went back to holding your waist tightly and his face burrows back into your stomach as he sighs in content once more.
‘See, now you don’t wanna go now because your Jaybirdie won’t be there to keep you warm.’ He teased as you tugged at his hair, causing him to groan.
‘That’s not-‘
‘Oh don’t play the coy card with me sweetheart, we’ve already been through that stage in our relationship.’ Jason cuts you off. ‘because if you wanted to leave that badly you wouldn’t be rubbing my back or running your hand through my hair like you are right now.’ Jason then looks up at you with a raised brow as if challenging you in daring to say otherwise when you both knew the truth.
‘It’s just- we don’t typically get enough time together.’ You began. ‘Crime in Gotham has been on an increase as of late, which is taking much of your time, and work has been asking everyone to pitch in and help cover until our co-worker decided to comes back at their own accord.’ You paused to stroke Jason’s cheek, internally melting when you felt him press his face further into your hand, gingerly kissing your palm. ‘It just doesn’t give us enough time for moments like these, the moments we crave most.’
‘The moments where we’re just together.’ Jason finishes for you and you muttered a small ‘yeah.’
A silence befalls you both as you tried to engrain this moment into your memory because neither of you knew when the next time you got to peacefully exist in tandem, whether that be doing your own thing or doing something together, just as long as you were with each other for longer then a fleeting five minutes.
‘So do you still want to go to work?’ Jason asked. ‘Or do you want to be selfish for once?’
You gave it some thought and soon after began to reach for your phone and punch in the work number as Jason squeezed a thigh in his large hand. ‘Selfish it is.’ He murmured with a smile as he gotten himself comfortable before feeling you run your fingers through his hair once more.
#jason todd imagine#jason todd fluff#jason todd x you#jason todd x reader#jason todd imagines#jason todd fanfic#jason todd fanfiction#jason todd fic#dc x y/n#dc x you#dc comics x reader#dc x reader#dc imagine#dc fic#dc fanfic#dc fanfiction
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please never fall in love again
pairing: steve harrington x reader
summary: dating steve harrington is hard, especially when girls keep hitting on him.
notes: i wrote this a while ago but eventually forgot about it in the midst of all my wips lol. title from the song please never fall in love again by ollie mn.
you stare at the back of your boyfriend's head with narrowed eyes and your chin resting on your hands, an anger you know you shouldn't be feeling boiling beneath the surface of your skin. he, of course is none the wiser, as he is to most things, just chatting with eddie completely carefree by the bar.
you love steve harrigton, you really do. you think you fell in love with him on your first date and never really fell out of it. you've already planned your whole life with him, from getting married and having kids to growing old with him and sitting side by side on a wrap around porch. he's sweet, kind, he's great with kids and it doesn't hurt that he's easy on the eyes and great in bed.
his biggest flaw, however, is not exactly his fault. the worst thing about dating steve harrigton is the amount of women who hit on him on a daily basis. whether it's old ladies at the grocery store telling him he looks like their dead husbands or bored soccer moms looking for a little thrill or, the worst of all, the girls your age who slip him their phone number in old receipts over the counter at family video. these women are always there, like blood sniffing sharks, somehow finding a way to make a suggestive comment or a flirty joke.
most of the time, it doesn't really bother you even when it does happen in front of you. steve's the kind of guy who'd never cheat on you, simply because of who he is and how obsessed with you he is. sometimes, however, they can get a little too close and personal and you can't help but wish steve was a little less attractive. just a little.
and it's not that you don't trust him either, he's always quick and firm to shut them down when it happens. it's that they're the ones you don't trust, the girls with big permed blonde hair and fake tans and bright pink lipstick who look at you disdainfully when they realize you're together because they can barely take their eyes off of him for long enough to notice you're standing right next to him.
you're out at a bar celebrating jonathan's birthday when it happens this time, steve and eddie having offered to get everyone another round, the two of them leaning against the bar talking while they wait when a girl from the booth in the corner approaches them. she's clearly a little bit more than tipsy and obviously focused on steve as she talks to them, avidly taking him in and resting her hand on his forearm. he doesn't even blink, just smoothly leans away from her and tells her something that makes her leave as fast as she arrived.
you can barely hear nancy as she complains about her male coworkers on her summer job, as you heatedly stare at his stupidly nice hair and broad shoulders as your boyfriend laughs at something eddie said, hand scratching his neck. you're still watching him with scrunched eyebrows and a sour expression when you feel robin poking your cheek, making you look at her and gently slap her hand away.
"why are you poking me?"
"why are you staring at steve like he kicked your puppy?" she asks, frowning, looking back and forth between the two of you like a tennis match.
"i'm not" she gives you a flat look with raised brows. "fine," you huff. "why do women always hit on him? we can't take him anywhere"
"no idea, you tell me"
"urgh" you groan, throwing your arms around her and resting your head on her shoulder. "god, i hate men"
"amen sister" you hang onto her for a second as she takes a noisy sip of her empty drink through her straw and taps your back sympathetically a few times before gently pushing you away as steve and eddie walk back to your table, drinks in hands and still chatting distractedly.
she softly claps her hands, enthusiastically and telling you a quiet "yay" as she turns back to nancy and jonathan, as the two argue wether or not their coworkers are sexist (they totally are).
you're still laughing at robin's drunken antics when steve comes to your side again and sets your new drink on the table in front of you, resting his hand on your lower back. you let him but when he leans over you to press a kiss to your hair, you promptly dodge away from him and out of his reach. from the corner of your eye, you can see how he frowns at that and silently watches you for a second as you pretend to listen to what nancy says.
his hand on your lower back climbs all the way up to the back of your neck so he turn your head his away, forcing you to look at his big brown eyes staring at you like you just kicked his puppy and you almost feel guilty. almost.
"what's wrong?" he asks.
you shrug, "nothing's wrong."
"are you mad at me or something?"
"no" you slowly shake your head in negative, shrugging.
"gimme a kiss then" he rests one of his hands on your face tilting your head his way while the other on your neck guides your face to his. you lean in and press a quick kiss to his cheek and look away, accidentally making eye contact with the girl who just hit on him. she's watching the two of you, quickly looking away when she notices she was caught staring.
"you saw that, huh" he tells you, hands settling on your waist instead so he can look at you.
"hard not to" you huff, picking invisible lint from your pants.
"then you know nothing happened"
"of course i know that, i trust you" you complain as you roll your eyes and gesticulate to show your frustration "but i-it just makes so insanely angry when they touch you like that, like they have any right to-" you stop your ranting mid sentence when you realize the look on his face. "what? why are you looking at me like that?"
"nothing" he clears his throat and looks down to uselessly smooth non existing wrinkles on your top. you watch him though narrowed eyes and gasp when it hits you, making him look at you again. "what?"
"you like it when i'm jealous" you accuse, lightly poking his chest.
"no, i don't"
"yes, you do. i can't believe i never noticed it before" you huff an incredulous laugh, remembering all the times girls hit on him in front of you and he said nothing but affirmations of how much he's in love with you and how he could never want somebody else, acting more attentive and affectionate than usual later, pressing you against his body and kissing kissing kissing you until he was the only thing on your mind.
"okay, it's not what you're thinking" he replies running a hand through his hair nervously.
"what am i thinking, harrington?" you ask, lifting one eyebrow as a smirk makes it's way to your lips.
"it's not an ego thing" you laugh softly at him, letting your fingers run soothingly through the hair at the nape of his neck, finally giving into the temptation to get your hands on him. "it's just- i like knowing how much you want me just for yourself, how much you care about me."
you stare at him for a moment, taking in his sincere brown eyes and his fluffy hair, feeling impossibly endeared by the boy in front of you. he fidgets under your stare, so you smooth your hands down his shoulders, feeling the muscles underneath his shirt.
"well, i do care... a lot" you tell him, pretending to be coy and batting your eyelashes at him. "but it's not like i blame her"
"what?" he looks at you blankly, confused.
"i mean, look at you" you pull him closer and then closer still, still smirking. "those nice brown eyes, the pretty hair, those shoulders... nevermind how much of a charmer you are. damn harrington, no wonder women keep throwing themselves at you."
"babe" he groans embarrassedly, "they're not throwing themselves-" he dramatically drops his forehead on your shoulder making you laugh at his discomfort, letting brown strands of hair slip through your fingers as you comfortingly pet his hair and he squeezes your waist in reprimand.
"it's true!"
he pulls you closer by the grip he has on your waist and burrows his face in the crook of your neck in lieu of an answer. you let him have it even though you would like to see his face and the way his blush is probably spreading from his cheek to his neck and rest your chin into his shoulder as you hug him.
"but one of these days i'll have to step in and defend your honor"
"please don't" he pulls away and cups your neck, thumbs brushing your cheek and staring at you disapprovingly, his eyelashes touching at the corners, the hint of a smile still on his face.
"i don't know, maybe i'll have to challenge them to a duel to the death" you disagree and look at him from under your eyelashes. he gives you an affectionate look that'd make you nauseous were it not directed at you and presses a long lingering kiss to your lips.
"shut up" he whispers against your lips. you gladly do, at least until eddie and robin start throwing balled up paper napkins at your head. it's worth it though.
#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington x you#stranger things fanfic#stranger things fic#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things#stranger things x reader#mine
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Soo
A charles leclerc x reader where the reader is the sister of a fellow driver (you pick) and no one knows. and when they do find out the brother loses his shit and then just accepts it
Thx a lot
instagram au🏎️ C.L
Gasly!reader x Charles leclerc
y/n’s older brother Pierre doesn’t know she’s dating his best friend…kind of a soft launch?
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y/ngasly
y/ngasly: feels like summer☀️👙
liked by pierregasly, yourfriendsuser, charles_leclerc and 21,347 others
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pierregasly:Qui est sur la 2e photo ?
y/ngasly: ça ne te regarde pas💗
pierregasly: oi
fransisca.cgomes: beau bébé😍💗
y/ngasly: love youuu💗
gaslyfann: their friendship is so cute >>🥹
pg10fann: we wish you was in the paddock more !!
Liked by y/ngasly
lechairfannn16: charles liking🤭
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y/ngasly’s story
caption: breakfast in bed🥐🍓🍉
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charles_leclerc
charles_leclerc: feels like summer ;)🤷🏻♂️🤷🏻♂️
Liked by y/ngasly, f1fanzz, arthur_leclerc and 251,467 others
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pierregasly: ☀️☀️☀️
fan57: either Pierre already knows y/n and charles are OBVIOUSLY dating or he’s really dumb 💀💀
user11: deffo dumb 😭😭
fan8: SECOND PHOTO HELLO?????
scuderiaferrari: ❤️❤️❤️
sainzgirly: HIM USING THE SAME CAPTION AS Y/N👹👹👹
user88: we lost him guys🥹🥲🥲
y/nandcha: Y/N AND CHARLES SOFT LAUNCHING !!!!!!!!!!!
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y/ngasly and charles_leclerc
y/ngasly and charles_leclerc: mon amour❤️❤️
Liked by lorenzotl, yourbff, scuderiaferrari and 645,291 others
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pierregasly: wtf seriously.
y/ngasly: please don’t be mad with me 🫤💗
charles_leclerc: we’re sorry for not telling you before!
pierregasly: fuck off charles
user257: THE GIRLS ARE FIGHTINGGGGG
arthur_leclerc: beautiful couple❤️
Liked by y/ngasly and Charles_leclerc
fan279: arthurs comment is so funny to me considering there’s a whole fight going on above it 😭😭😭
pierregaslyyyy: fr💀💀
ferarriboyz: *cries in happiness*
user192: they’re🥹so🥹freaking🥹cute😭😭😭😭
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y/ngasly
y/ngasly: even tho Pierre was a little pi**ed at first…they’re still besties!!🫶🏼🫶🏼
tagged: pierregasly and charles_leclerc
Liked by pierregasly, charles_leclerc, gazly10fan and 109,268 others
view all 383 comments
gazly10fan: nah that first pic is a violation 💀💀
charles_leclerc: y/n no!!! you promised you wouldn’t post that first one 🤦🏻♂️
y/ngasly: meh you love me anyway 💗
charles_leclerc: that’s true 😚❤️
pierregasly: this is actually vile stop.
y/ngasly: as if I don’t see you doing WAY worse in kikas comments💀💀
Liked by fransisca.cgomes
user19: this comment section is so funny😭😭
CL16_ffan: help the haircuts I can’t -
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authors note- hope you liked this ,felt a little motivated after my last post so here we go!! I’m so sorry that it took literal months to do this request but I hope this is what you wanted my love ! take care of yourselves ❤️❤️
#f1 instagram au#formula 1#instagram au#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#fiction#charles leclerc x reader#formula 1 imagine#lando norris#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc x female reader#charles lechair#charles leclerc x y/n#charles lecrelc#charles leclerc ferrari#charles leclerc 16
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Down the Hall
Frankie Morales x f!reader
Tags: Explicit, age gap because you know what I'm about (Frankie is your mom’s boyfriend, he is in his 40s, you are in your mid-20s)
A/N: Yea….so this is dedicated to @intheorangebedroom who inspired this entire idea and to @whatsnewalycat whose beautiful brain and writing inspired me as well. Thank you to @astroboots for cheering me on, to @bageldaddy for the super in depth beta and to @the-ginger-hedge-witch who soothed by "does this hit" worries — your minds are golden and I am so happy you support this utter filth. Ily ❤️
He thought that dating someone his own age would ground him, steady him. Not that he ever paid much attention to the age of the women he dated, but he thought with someone who had their own shit figured out, he might be inspired to do the same.
Unmoored and unattached since he joined the army in his twenties, he was pushing forty now and craved some kind of routine. Living alone gave him too much time for thinking, too many hours spent inside his own head. He knew that living like that for too long could lead to bad decisions and thought he might hold himself to a higher standard when he saw how they held themselves to one.
He met her at a bar – the most cliche of meeting places, but for good reason. She was out with friends after work and from the start, he was attracted to the way she smiled with her whole mouth. Everything about her seemed sensuous and fun, so inviting that he found himself drawn in and when he asked if he could take the seat next to her, he matched her smile with one of his own.
When she invited him home that night, he buried himself deep while feasting on that generous mouth.
He stayed that night, and then one night became twice a week, became three – and before he knew it, his lease was up on his apartment and he moved in. It was nice to come home to someone after work. To know that someone was there, wondering how his day went. To have a warm body curled up next to him in bed.
She was so independent, so driven. A corporate job that required her to dress in slippery blouses and pretty skirts with heels; the same he loved to strip from her when she came home all stressed out the way she did sometimes. And she had a kid – a daughter – already in college somewhere on the east coast, but that didn’t bother him. Dating in his forties meant people already had their own histories, and he was no exception.
Sometimes after she fell asleep and he had time alone to think, he still felt something that itched beneath his skin. Something that pulled at him from within, something that remained unsettled. He told himself that it was just an adjustment period after so many years of being unattached, and shoved those feelings deep down inside of him, determined to ignore them until he taught himself a new way to live.
Her breathing deep and steady beside him, he told himself that she was good for him.
That was what counted.
He was all for it when she told him her daughter was coming home to stay the summer between semesters. He liked the idea of having another person in the house – another distraction, another responsibility to take him out of his own head.
He worked odd hours, and during his off days, Frankie took up the task of preparing her daughter’s old room. Light pink walls, a creamy bedspread dotted with delicate flowers: his mind supplied an automatic image of the little girl that lined the hallway in frames. He knew she was older than that now, but the way her mom talked about her, he couldn’t help imagining a little kid.
Tasked with picking her up from the airport the day she arrived, he had just stepped out of the shower when he heard the doorbell. Frowning, he tugged a shirt over his damp curls, and opened the door.
Jesus Christ. Speechless, he stared at the prettiest woman he’d ever seen.
“Sorry I didn’t call,” you apologized, tugging a heavy bag higher up on your shoulder. “I got in early and thought an Uber would be faster.”
He stood there for a moment, just staring, his mouth slightly parted in confusion. And then he saw it: the shape of your eyes, the curve of your lush mouth. The resemblance stamped across your delicate features.
“I couldn’t find my key.” You stood there, looking uneasy on your own doorstep. “You must be Frankie. Or is it Francisco? My mom said you’d be here. It’s nice to meet you.”
At the rounded sound of his full name coming from your mouth, his gaze snapped back to meet your eyes while you hung there, clearly waiting for him to say something. His body was slow to catch up with his brain, the little girl his mind supplied was gone, replaced by the vision that stood in front of him. Still young and fresh-faced, but grown nonetheless and so, so fucking beautiful.
When you gestured towards the house behind him, he finally shook himself from the initial shock.
“Shit,” he apologized, stepping back out of your way. “Yea, it’s Frankie. Nice to meet you.” You gave him a half smile, and when you stepped inside, he reached for your bag. “Here, let me grab that.”
His hand dragging through his curls, he stood in the entryway and watched you make yourself at home: your shoes immediately kicked off on the doormat, your jacket hung neatly next to his own like it had always belonged there.
“Do you know when my mom gets home?”
He cleared his throat, trying not to stare at the length of your legs underneath the hem of your shorts. “Uh, she said probably around six? That’s when she usually gets home.”
You nodded, holding your hand out for your bag and for a split second, he wondered if he should bring it upstairs for you. It would be the polite thing to do, but the idea of entering your room now felt like overstepping. You weren’t a kid, you didn’t need him like that. The boundaries had suddenly blurred and shifted, and he whisked away the image of you settling into your bedroom just as fast as it popped into his head.
When you grabbed the bag from him, he felt relief.
It was easy to avoid you for the afternoon while you got settled. Instead, he mowed the lawn, prepared dinner, all the while with his ears attuned to the sound of you walking around above him. He felt on edge, anxious. The excitement he thought he would feel with someone else in the house had turned into unease.
He made himself an outsider, even more so when your mom came home. Not wanting to intrude on your time together, he stayed in the kitchen to cook dinner for the two of you and delivered it to the living room, placing your plates on the coffee table.
“Thank you, baby, that’s so nice.” Your mother scooted forward, tilting her chin up towards him in a silent request for a kiss.
Granting it to her, he felt her familiar hold slip around the back of his neck to keep him in place for a moment, keenly aware of the way you were right there. For a split second while his lips were still on hers, he glanced up at you and it was clear that he caught you watching by the way you hastily looked away the second he met your eyes.
He fucked her hard that night, his hand over her mouth so you wouldn’t hear.
She was gone in the morning when he made his way downstairs, and he was pleasantly surprised to find coffee already in the pot.
“I made extra,” you said, from your perch on the chair at the table. Sleep shorts high on your thighs, an oversized tee shirt covering your top half. The way it engulfed you made you look younger than you were.
He looked away, busying himself with pouring a cup.
“I drink a lot, so I made a lot,” you explained with shy self-deprecation.
“Sounds good to me,” he replied, sitting down at the table. “Got any plans for today? Or for the summer, I guess?”
Wading the tentative waters of getting to know someone, he watched your fingers play with the edge of the paper.
“Just relax for a bit, I think? Catch up with some old friends? No plan really. I just didn’t want to hang out on a deserted campus.”
He nodded. “Makes sense.”
And so began the morning routine you would both share for the next few weeks. Hesitant and quiet around each other in the beginning, sliding into something normal fairly fast. Your mother was early to rise and early to bed, but he had never been and neither were you.
He joined you in the late morning at the kitchen table, the curve of your soft cheek highlighted in the slant of light through the window. On the couch at night, a different kind of illumination from the light of the TV, yet hitting your cheek just the same. Your things scattered around the living room, your toothbrush next to his in the bathroom, your clothes mixed with his in the wash.
Your proximity was what he blamed for the constant thoughts he had about you.
Every morning he admired how rumpled you looked, how sleepy and soft and inviting. It was endearing, but soon other thoughts edged out the more innocent ones: thoughts about your legs wrapped around his waist, your slender fingers wrapped around something other than a coffee cup.
The want he felt for you pooled in various places inside him: his brain, his chest, between his thighs. It spilled down the shower drain and spilled hot across his stomach.
It flooded your mother’s mouth, and she was none the wiser.
Afterwards, she tucked her face into the meat of his shoulder, pressing a kiss against the skin there. Sated and content, she curled herself around him. “Let’s do something this weekend together. Actually make use of that pool we have for once.”
A barbecue. She’d been talking about having one for a while.
“We’ve been working so hard. I feel like I barely even see you, honey.”
Something akin to guilt tugged at him, thinking of the shifts he had been picking up in an effort to avoid you. Your eyes, your smile, your stupid sleep shorts.
He hummed his agreement and she kissed him in thanks, her breaths eventually evening out as she fell asleep.
Frankie lay awake, the image of your closed bedroom door stuck in his mind.
–
“Jesus Christ,” you murmured as you watched Frankie climb out of the pool.
Broad, bare shoulders, tanned swathes of skin, cute little dimples just above his ass. Water ran down over his tanned skin, the thin material of his swim shorts stuck to his ass and when he turned around to grab a towel off a nearby chair, you were glad for your sunglasses.
Fuck me.
The material of his shorts molded to every inch of his thick cock, the shape clearly outlined. Oblivious, he ran the towel over his curls, over his shoulders and arms, down his torso – and when his hand gingerly pulled the material away from his crotch, you memorized the swirl of dark hair that surrounded his navel and led down.
“Can you help me with the grill, honey?”
Your mom’s voice pulled your attention away from him.
Her boyfriend, you reminded yourself. Frankie was her boyfriend.
“Yea,” he called back, chucking his towel on the chair. “Be right there. Let me put a shirt on.”
The shirt he shrugged over his head was the same one you folded that morning. The material was threadbare and super soft, the muscles of his back shifting underneath the thin fabric as he sauntered over to the grill. You knew the way it felt in your hands, and at the thought of his body heat through the material, you pressed your thighs together.
The afternoon sun bathed you in warmth, but it was nothing compared to the heat that pooled inside your bottoms as you continued to watch him from your recline by the pool. His brown curls glinted in the sun, his throat bobbing with a swallow when your mother brought him a beer.
When his eyes flashed over to you, you finally looked away.
You saw those deep, doleful brown eyes in your sleep.
You felt them on you all the time: in the dark living room during family movie time, your mother curled up against his side. In the kitchen after dinner, when you loaded the dishwasher while he put away the food. In the mornings, when you pretended to read the paper while he snuck hooded peeks at you and drank you in.
Startled by his handsomeness from the very first time you laid eyes on him, your crush only grew with every passing day spent in his company. He was so thoughtful, so attentive and kind, but it was something else buried within his gaze that drew you in.
A barely restrained want that shone clear on his face every time he looked at you. A need simmering under the surface, you saw the way he fought it.
You thought about him constantly: imagined him crowding you against the counter in the kitchen, saw him pulling back the shower curtain to join you, pretended your fingers were his in your bed at night.
Born out of your own need, you pushed him. Played with the limits of his self control, desperate for him to make a move. No action overt enough to be blatant, the way he stared at you made you feel confident, bold. The want pouring off his skin when you hung around him was obvious and thick, filling the space between the two of you until he inevitably excused himself.
When it’s time to eat, you take a seat next to him on the bench, your thigh pressed hot against his. You waited for him to pull away, but he never did and the intimate sensation of the hair on his leg brushing against your own smoother skin made it hard to eat, though you missed it when he got up.
Your mother, one margarita too many and giggly and loose, pulled him into a dance under the stars that had just begun to come out. He humored her, wrapping his arms around her waist to hold her close, smiling at every murmured secret she slipped into his ear.
You watched the scene unfold right in front of you with a fond, humoring expression, and his eyes kept finding yours, flashing in the darkness.
You pretended nonchalance, but the entire time, you wanted.
He took her to bed while you cleaned up the kitchen.
You knew he fucked her – you heard it sometimes. They tried to be quiet for your sake but sometimes a whimper would slip down the hall, the deep reverberation of a groan in the dark.
Climbing into bed that night, your mind lingered on the image of his wet swim trunks. The dark swirl of hair, the heft in the outline.
You wondered what he fucked like with a cock like that.
–
“Something’s going on in the Arizona market,” your mom explained, tossing items into her suitcase. A silk blouse spilled over the side, and you tucked it back in with the rest. “I’ll be gone through Thursday, maybe Friday? Hopefully not the weekend, but I’ll let you know.”
“Do you need a ride to the airport?”
Smiling at you, she stepped forward and cupped your cheek with her hand for a moment. “That’s sweet, honey, but I’m good. Frankie’s got it.”
Apprehension swirled with anticipation, the joint feelings settled low in your gut. You’d been alone with him before, but never for this long. Never truly alone, for days on end.
The man himself poked his head around the corner of the doorway, the width of his shoulders filling out the frame. He glanced at you, and then his watch. “You about ready, baby?”
She bustled around the room, tossing things here and there onto the bed and he looked at you again, a slight frown pulling between his brows.
His expression gave something akin to frustration, and for a split second, you thought it was because of the time your mom was taking. When you felt his dark eyes drop down the length of your body involuntarily and then back up again, you turned away with a small smile, knowing it to be something else.
–
For the first couple days, he stayed away from the house as much as he could. Kept his distance until he ran out of errands, until he drove down the same stretch of road too many times. He didn’t trust himself to be alone with you, and he hated himself for it.
Self loathing creeped in every time he thought about the way his jeans tightened even thinking of you alone in the house. His girlfriend’s fucking daughter, half his age. The whole thing was fucked up.
And yet, he couldn’t stop.
He felt bad, thinking of you suddenly being all alone after spending so much time with people around, but he told himself that you probably loved having the space to yourself.
He came in the shower that morning to the thought of your mouth wrapped around the base of his cock, and he was unable to look you in the eye when he saw you in the kitchen afterward. Your hopeful expression lingered in his mind all day as he stretched out the hours.
The sky turned from light blue to dark, and he finally caved. He couldn’t stay away forever.
The house was quiet when he walked in, tossing his keys on the entryway table. He crept around, looking for any sign of your presence, until he heard the shower running upstairs. Light spilled down the staircase, and heading into the kitchen, he tried to push down the thoughts running rampant in his head.
He drank a glass of water, listening.
The shower turning off (your naked body, damp and warm), your footsteps padding down the hall (that smooth skin, hidden under your towel), your bedroom door shutting (the towel dropping onto your floor).
He stayed downstairs, turning the TV on to distract himself, the air in the house charged with a magnetic pull from your room. He waited until there had been nothing but silence for the better part of a half hour, then dared to venture upstairs.
He’d just say goodnight, that’s all. Just so you knew you weren’t alone.
His knuckles rapped against your door, and he pushed it open when he heard you say come in.
“Hey,” you greeted him, slight surprise on your face. Stretched out in bed, the inviting cloud of your comforter was plush underneath your body. You paused the movie you were watching, and sat up on your elbows. “Haven’t seen you in a couple days.”
“Yea,” he replied, leaning against the frame of your door. His eyes followed a slow path up your bare legs.
“Work been crazy or something?” you asked.
“Something like that, yea,” he answered. His hand stayed on the knob of your door, an anchor that kept him from crossing a line. “I actually just stopped by to say goodnight. I’m gonna turn in.”
“Already?” you teased. “It’s pretty early, isn’t it? Aren’t you gonna live it up while my mom is gone?”
He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “I’ve lived it up enough. I’m an old man, remember? We don’t do that kind of stuff.”
“Forty-five is hardly an old man,” you scolded with a smile. “You wanna watch a movie instead?”
You patted the bed next to you, and his face sobered. You didn’t see it, instead reaching for the lotion on your bedside table to work some into your hands and the image of you jerking his cock with that same lotion flashed across his mind. He frowned.
“In here?”
You shrugged, laying back down. “I mean, I’m already all set up in here…”
You left the offer hanging, and even though he knew - he fucking knew he shouldn’t - he found himself nodding.
You looked surprised at his answer for a split second, and then pleased.
“Let me go get changed.”
He walked down the hall towards his room, scolding himself the entire time. Don’t do this, don’t do this, don’t go back into that fucking room. Don’t think about how smooth her skin is and how much you want to kiss her. Don’t think about how her sheets smell like her, don’t think about how much you want to lick her cunt.
The thoughts ran on a loop as he peeled off his work clothes.
They echoed in his head as he pulled on his sweats.
They followed him out of his bedroom and all the way down the hall, stopping at your doorway.
You turned your head, looking at him expectantly, looking so fucking lush and innocent, so eager to have him join you.
He swallowed hard, mouth watering and left his guilt in the hallway, joining you in bed.
–
Pretending to ignore the heavy blanket of tension pulsing between your bodies, you kept your eyes fixed on the screen.
Stretched out next to you, he kept a respectable distance, but you felt the heat that poured off of his skin. He looked so large in your bed, so much like a man. His long limbs splayed out over your girlish comforter, his masculine scent filled the space and when he crossed his arms, you admired the way the hem of his sleeve stretched around his bicep.
Lightheaded and trembling with a heady want that ached between your thighs, you made it through the whole movie – until the room descended into darkness, until the credits rolled and the screen went black
Until it was just the two of you sitting side by side in the dark.
The sheets rustled when you rolled onto your side to face him.
“What did you think?” you asked quietly.
He looked down at you from his slouch on the bed, and your fingers twitched with the need to smooth away the crease that rested permanently between his brows. You would think he was mad if not for his eyes: those always look conflicted more than anything. Constant turmoil, roiling deep within the dark depths.
Not answering, he stared down at you for a long moment before shrugging.
“Okay, I guess. Well, have a good night.”
He then started to slide off the bed.
Disappointment flooded your chest, the tension that you’d been feeling for the last two hours releasing restlessly through your limbs. Already making plans to get your vibrator from your side table to use while burying your face into the sheets he was just sitting on, he stilled.
Your eyes fixed on his broad back, you could almost see the decision being made and he quickly turned before he could convince himself to stop.
Bending down, he kissed you.
It was consuming. The brush of his mustache, the taste of his mouth, the weight of his solid body as he pushed you into the bedding, draping it over yours. His tongue slipped into your mouth to slide against your own, and he swallowed the soft sound that caught in the back of your throat. Pushing himself into the cradle between your thighs, he forced them open wider as he deepened the kiss, and his dry, calloused hand slid underneath the hem of your shirt, wrapping around your hip.
You knew you should push him away, but your hands only dragged him closer, grabbing everything you could touch: the slip of his curls, the curve of his whiskered jaw, the rounds of his broad shoulders. You dug your fingertips into his sides as he ground his hips against yours and your knees hitched higher around his torso.
His hand wrapped around the top of your shin, pushing down to hold you in place.
“Jesus,” he breathed into your mouth between kisses, his fingers tightening in their hold before sliding down to touch everything he can: the meat of your hips, his big hand cupping your ass with a greedy squeeze. Need rolled off of him in waves, his touch betraying just how long he had thought about this and his mouth shifted down to devour the long line of your neck, tasting the sweet hollow of your throat.
Your pulse beat fast under his tongue, speeding up when he let out a groan against the sensitive skin.
“Take – take this off–” he sat back on his ankles, his hands fumbling with your shirt.
As soon as you pulled it over your head, his mouth latched onto your nipple. His tongue swirled around it, sliding over the peaked bud with a suck. His beard scraped across your sensitive skin, leaving a wet path that glistened over the plane of your chest as he dragged his mouth to your other breast and his heavy hand reached down to cup you wholly over your sleep shorts.
His fingers dug into the dip of your entrance and the heel of his hand ground hard against your clit.
“I can’t stop thinking about this pussy,” he confessed. His fingers rubbed harder, and he groaned hot against your skin. “I can already feel how soaked she is for me. How much she wants it.”
You nodded with a whimper, rolling your hips into his touch. “God yes. Please.”
He pulled back just enough to stare down at your face, his pitch black eyes sliding over your features to settle on your open mouth. “Tell me you want this. Tell me how much you want my cock.”
“Yes. Please, please,” you begged.
“It’s gonna be a lot, baby.” He wetted his bottom lip with his tongue, his hand working, working, working. “She’s gonna need to be wet to take what I need her to take.”
A fresh wave of arousal washed through you, and your sleep shorts clung to your center with every grind of his palm. His thick fingers nudged the fabric to the side, exploring.
“Oh fuck,” he groaned, releasing a heavy breath. “Fuck.”
His eyes fluttered shut with a frown as his touch slid through your soaked seam and kissing you again, he timed the slide of his tongue with the slick stretch of two fingers.
Your thighs opened wider around his waist, a whine crawling out of your throat when he pushed them deeper and when he started a smooth, audible stroke, you started to ride his hand.
You’d been watching his fingers for months: wrapped around the steering wheel in the car, loosely cradling the neck of a beer bottle, drumming against his thigh when he watched TV sometimes. You’d imagined them tucked inside you so many times, buried in your mouth or your cunt, and as he worked a third one in, you let out a filthy moan.
“I gotta work it open, baby,” he soothed, pulling your earlobe between his lips. “It’ll be okay. I know you can take it.”
His hips started to follow the rhythmic roll of his hand and when he seemed satisfied with how much you could take, he slid his fingers out, reaching to tear his shirt off over his head. When he pushed his fingers into his mouth for a moment, his lips wrapping around his knuckles as he sucked your taste off the thick digits, his hooded eyes took in the way you scrambled to take your sleep shorts off.
Following your lead, he dumped everything onto the floor beside your bed, and it felt like heaven when you felt his bare skin against the inside of your thighs. So broad, so firm and strong, his body pressed you into the mattress and you felt the hot, pulsing heft of his cock pushing against your cunt. You clenched at the teasing sensation of what was to come, and reached down to grasp him, but his hand caught yours and pushed it into the bedding above your head.
“Let me do it. I wanna watch your face when I put it in,” he confessed, resting his weight on top of you as he reached down with his other hand to guide himself in.
Sticky slick smeared between the both of you, and when the tip of his cock forced you to bloom around him, his eyes fixed on your face. Greedily, he devoured the sight of your mouth dropping open, a tiny tiny frown appearing between your brows and he thickened inside you, pushing forward.
“Fuck,” you moaned. “It’s so much.” So much more than you ever thought it would be, even with all the months spent imagining it.
He bottomed out and the air froze in your lungs, your cunt stuffed fuller than it’s ever been.
“Shhh,” he soothed, staying in place to let you adjust. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re so fucking tight, baby. So tight.”
Squirming underneath him, you hitched your knees higher around his torso and he rocked his hips to slide halfway out before grinding back in with a weighted push. He gave you a minute: a tense minute, a minute thick and full of wanting, a minute where all you could focus on was the stretch of his cock and the heated bulk of his body and the firmness of his chest pressed against yours.
He brushed his lips against yours, and gently rolled his hips.
“Do you know how much I’ve thought about this? About fucking you, in this bed?” His voice deep and breathless, it sounded overwhelmingly intimate breathed against your cheek.
You shook your head.
“I thought I was the only one,” you admitted. “I used to think – oh fuck – I used to think about you coming down the hallway in the night. Crawling into my bed and fucking me just like this. Just like I can hear you fuck her.”
“You listen to me fuck her?” His hips rocked forward a little faster, picking up pace.
“I can’t help it,” you whined. “The sounds – the sounds you make. I wanted to make you make them. I wanted to be the reason.”
His fingers pushed through the hold of your own, locking your hands together above your head and he dug his knees into the bed for leverage. Your breasts shifted underneath him, bouncing lightly as he fucked into you harder and his eyes dropped down to watch. “You are, baby. You are. I think about you all the time.”
Building steadily underneath him, your head pushed back into the bedding and his mouth found your throat, his teeth scraping against the tender skin. His hips never stopping their filling grind, you pushed your fingers through his curls and when he bit down with a suck, a slurred yes slipped out of your outstretched throat.
You imagined your mom seeing it, asking you if you went on a date with someone.
His strokes got harder, harsher, his hips snapping against yours and digging your fingers into the soft globes of his ass, you forced him deeper. When you clenched around his thick length, he looked down at you, wrecked and desperate.
“I wish I tasted you,” he groaned. “Next time, okay?”
You frantically nodded, unable to focus on anything but the bright, shining edge of your release.
He could see it, feel it in the squeeze of your soaked cunt and his vision blurred around the edges, his own want building at the base of his spine.
“You gonna come?”
You are. The sounds he’s making above you and the way he feels inside you and the scent and need rolling off his skin and those fucking pitch black eyes that have been in your dreams for months –
Slick dripped down the curve of your ass, your hips locking up underneath him and when you came with a silent cry, he groaned deep and loud, fucking you right through it.
“Tell me I can fucking come inside you. Say it,” he pleaded, fingers gripped on your chin to hold your gaze on his. His words punctuated by the snap of his hips, you nod your head.
“Do it,” you whined.
Your fingers threaded through his curls, it’s the tug that you give that does it. Coming harder than he had in his fucking life, he filled your tight cunt with thick ropes of his spend. Endless, smeared over the shaft of his thick cock as he continued to pump into you because he couldn’t stop, slipping out to drip onto the delicate sheets below.
“Christ,” he groaned, his jaw clenched as the veins in his neck strained above you, his hips stuttering. Slowing them into a languid roll against your own, his softening cock was still a thick, filling weight inside and when he looked down at you, you recognized the guilt that already flooded the brown depths.
You stared right back, holding him tight.
“Stay,” you murmured, holding him in place when he started to roll off of you.
You wanted to remember this. The hot press of his skin against yours, tacky and slick with sweat. The warm gust of his breath over your lips, the rapid beat of his pulse under his flushed neck. The wild curls that stuck damply along his hairline, the brush of his fingers as he tenderly thumbed at the curve of your jaw.
He swallowed and you could see the war in his eyes, something you recognized as being there from the start. His hand curled over the crown of your head, and you pressed a kiss to his throat.
“You can’t –” he started, eyes fluttering shut at the press of your mouth. “You can’t tell your mom about this, okay. We can’t say anything.”
We. You reveled in the sound of the word, your head nodding underneath him. A secret to share. Something for the two of you alone.
“I won’t,” you promised. “Just don’t leave, okay?”
You felt small and vulnerable asking, and when he looked down at you, a glimpse of the girl he imagined on that very first day tugged at his memory. Not the age he pictured of course, but the way you needed him.
The way he wanted you to need him all along.
His face nuzzled yours, his nose sliding across your cheek. A kiss pressed against the soft, youthful curve of your cheek that he had admired for months, he nodded with your sweet taste still lingering on his tongue.
“I won’t, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”
#frankie morales#frankie morales x you#frankie morales x reader#frankie morales/you#frankie morales/reader
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