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bellarkeselection · 5 months

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Walter to the Rescue

Gif not mine it belongs to @alphinias

After a ride in the woods late at night you wind up getting lost and to the readers surprise Cole actually answers your call.

Tag list - @cognacdelights

Kicking my horse in the belly to go faster with the wind running through my hair that I left completely loose. This wasn’t the first time I had taken one of the Walter family's horses to clear my head from a day of high school. It all could be a lot especially when everyone in this town knows you have a close family relationship with the Walter kids. Because it only results in half the school thinking you're sleeping with some of them. “Woah boy. Easy now.”

My horse begins making some noise in protest hearing some thunder off in the distance. I knew that horses could get spooked easy but I wasn't too worried about it. Alex had taught me how to keep your cool on them. Looking around at the treeline the leaves have already begun changing colors making it really beautiful. “Ah!” I screamed suddenly when lighting hit the ground in front of me and that caused my horse to whine and throw me off its back.

“Ow! No wait…” I called out to my horse but he was already far off into the treeline. Running a hand through my hair I sighed seeing that the sky was getting darker meaning there was a storm coming. Digging inside my jacket pocket I drew out my phone dialing the house phone getting no answer. “Seriously a house full of that many people and nobody hears the phone!”

I guess I couldn't blame them for not answering. That house is always loud and crazy no matter what time of day. Plus now that Jackie from New York had moved in things got more complicated. Tapping my knees in thought I tried to decide who would answer my call. Alex was busy with Jackie, Parker was probably outside playing with Benny. Will was working tonight selling houses. Jordan, Nathan, Lee, Isaac and Danny didn't drive. So that left me in the hands of the most popular guy in town who was known for hooking up with multiple girls Cole. Lifting my head up to the sky I felt heavy rain coming down where I scrambled to my feet but collapsed when I felt a sharp pain in my left ankle. “Shit!...guess he's my only choice now.”

It wasn't that I hated the guy. I just hated the reputation he had made for himself. The rain came pouring down where I grunted, forcing myself to stand up. I hopped over to the treeline to get some coverage from the storm. The wind was picking up, shaking everything so I dialed his number. “Pick up, pick up.”

“What's going on, Y/n?” His voice came through the phone.

“Don't make fun of me but I'm lost.” I stated.

He chuckled at me. “How did little woodlen girl get lost?”

“Cole, I'm not in the mood for teasing right now.” I spat back.

The former star football player still was laughing on the other end. “I’m sorry I just can’t believe girl who hunts with her father managed to get lost on our property. I mean I never thought I’d see the day from someone like you.”

“Cole, I am currently stuck out in a storm and called you for help so can you take this seriously please!” I raised my voice pulling the hood of my jacket over my head shivering when the wind blew harshly against me.

Finally to my surprise he came to his senses responding back to me. “Alright I’ll come get you.” He hung up the call and I was forced to listen and watch the storm get worse for an hour or so.

Burying my face into my knees my body was shaking from the cold and the fact that my clothes were soaked head to toe. I heard a vehicle engine getting closer in my direction and it pulled to a stop showing me it was Cole’s truck he was usually working on in the barn. The drivers door flung opened and quickly shut where I saw someone running towards me with a jacket in their hands. “Cole?”

“One knight in shining armor, woodland girl.” He declared dropping down on a knee, draping the jacket over my shoulders.

I glared up into his green eyes seeing his blonde hair sticking to his forehead. “Can you please call me by my actual name for once?”

“Maybe someday. Come on let's get out of the cold before we both get frost bite.” He offered me his hands tugging me to stand.

“Argh!” I winced, dropping down on my other knee after my injured ankle.

Cole was quick on his reflectances sweeping me up bridal style into his muscular arms. “Looks like you needed a better horse riding teacher than Alex huh?”

“Let’s not talk about it right now.” I said feeling embarrassed enough as is. He helped me into the passenger seat and we drove home. He carried me upstairs and sat me down on the edge of his bed in his bedroom.

He searched around in the closet grabbing himself a change of clothes. Then he tossed me one of his blue tea shirts and some shorts. “Here I can help you if you need it.”

“Turn around first.” I instructed him, blushing since I haven't even kissed anyone before. He did as told giving me the chance to slip my wet shirt for his and shrugging off my jeans until I thought about getting the shorts on. I pulled them up as much as I could before getting his attention. “Cole, I can’t get them up without standing on my foot.”

He looks over his shoulder coming back to me moving his hands down to the left side telling me. “Lift your foot for me.” I lifted my foot and he shrugged it up then helping me sit back down on the bed so I could do the same to my right leg without his assistance.

“Thanks, Cole.” I whispered where he stands in front of me letting silence fill the room. I avoided his gaze, not sure of what to say until I shut my eyes to ask the question. “So did you have to skip a hookup with Erin to come rescue me?”

He tilted his head to the side. “Why would you care if I did. You have a crush on me or something, woodland girl?”

“Y/n, you know my name so use it.” I corrected him. “And even if I did, you don't have relationships. I wouldn't want to be another girl tricked by The Cole Effect.”

He raised a brow at my words. “Oh yeah. What makes you think you'd just be another girl I hook up with?”

“Like I said everyone at school knows you don't do real boyfriend girlfriend relationships. You do hook ups and my mother saw it before I did but I refuse to let my feelings for you lead me down that path since you can't possibly feel the same way about me as I do you.” I accidentally admitted without realizing it to him.

Cole stared blankly at me. “You don't think I feel the same?”

“If you did, you have a funny way of showing it.” Shrugging my shoulders I lowered my gaze down from his green orbs.

Cole simply replied then closed the gap between us. “Is this enough of an effort for ya.” He cupped my face in his hands, crashing his lips down onto mine.

I gasped in shock and awe that the famous Cole Walter was kissing me. He was kissing me, the girl that wasn’t popular like he was. The girl that was just a friend of the family but still no one special. “Cole…I’ve never….never done anything like this.” I mumbled tugging on his blonde locks deepening the kiss. He moaned gently pushing me down onto the mattress and he climbed over top of me never breaking the heated kiss until we needed air.

“I’m not doing this to just have a hook up with you, Y/n. I’m not good with commitment but I do actually care about you.” He breathed out holding himself up by his hands on either side of me, blonde hair falling in front of his eyes and his eyes were focused on me.

Raising one hand up I tangled my fingers into his hair asking the question that was eating away at me now. “So what does that make us now, Cole Walter?”

“We can take this slow and figure it out as we go along, Y/n Woodland Girl L/n.” He smiled leaning down kissing me gently this time. I giggled wrapping my arms around his neck bringing him closer to me enjoying the kisses we shared.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

#cole x reader #cole walter #cole walter x reader #noah lalonde #my life with the walter boys #mlwtwb #netflix #jackie howard #alex walter #friends to lovers #lost in the woods #horse ranch #colewalteredit #Spotify

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macfrog · 6 months

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2003: a dbf odyssey

a @chloeangelic x @macfrog fic

greetings greetings one and all. welcome to the fucking circus. chloe cupcake and i have a gift for you. we put our heads together, took turns writing a classic dbf fic, and here is the hellscape we created. please enjoy. [this is entirely satirical and just for funsies. no harm intended. no tw discourse required. love u]

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

summary: your dad's best friend, in your childhood bedroom, with his hard cock out. and that's all we have to say on that

warnings: unspecified age gap, tale set in 2003, female masturbation, creepy joel, praise kink, size kink, fingering, unprotected piv, degradation, angst!

word count: 4.6k

chloe's masterlist | max's masterlist

The sun shines through the window of your childhood bedroom. You’re still reeling from an argument you just had with your mom, over the degree you just spent four years and fifteen grand on. She doesn't understand your passion for fossils, she never has, and during every family function, only one person asks you how school is going.

Joel Miller, your dad's best friend.

He’s tall. Broad. He’s built like a Dorito. Flamin’ Hot Cool Ranch. He drives a truck and he listens to dad rock. One time you saw him in a Led Zeppelin t-shirt. You asked what that was, and he said it was a band from “before your time, darlin’”. You swooned at the pet name.

He’s quiet and unassuming. Lingers on the outskirts of every gathering your parents throw. He likes to talk about construction, and wood carving, and little else. At least, that’s what you thought, before you came back home after graduating.

Suddenly, he started glancing in your direction every time you came into the room wearing a tight little top with significant cleavage. He would clear his throat at dinner and wipe a bead of his sweat from his forehead at BBQs.

You always called him Mr Miller, and ever since graduation, that name made him blush. Last Thanksgiving, when his family was over for dinner at your parents’ house, you started asking him about old movies, and he grumbled, then told you about 2001: A Space Odyssey.

He said he couldn’t believe that a girl with a paleontology degree had never seen A Space Odyssey before. Promised he’d show you it sometime. ”Smart girl like you will love it,” he said.

You had opened your mouth to respond, to lend him the quirkiest retort you could think of, when your dad had bumbled into the room, shoving you out of the way. He brought up the latest Austin Ice Bats game, took Joel up in a conversation you couldn’t be a part of - you knew nothing about minor league ice hockey.

Your mom called you through to the kitchen and asked you to help her with dinner. When you came into the kitchen, she started asking you if you’d gone on any dates recently, if there were any cute guys in your college classes.

You rolled your eyes, “No, mom, none of them are my type.”

She huffed while handing you a pot of mashed potatoes, “What’s your type then?”

You didn’t want to tell her that your type was older men. Really old, in their fifties. Your type was Joel, but you couldn’t tell her that. Instead, you described what you thought Joel might’ve looked like when he was younger. “Brown hair, beards maybe,” you said, and turned on your heel before walking into the dining room and setting the pot on the table.

You glanced over the place settings. Your mom had already put down everyone’s drinks. Yours and Sarah’s - a glass of water each. She says water helps with clear skin. Her own - a white Russian cocktail. And your dad and Joel’s, side by side - two beers, dripping with condensation. You paced around the table, formulating a plan.

As your mom’s voice drew nearer down the hallway, you quickly switched Joel’s beer for Sarah’s water, sitting him next to you.

When he came into the dining room with your father, you noticed that Joel was looking at you with dark, sultry eyes. He gave you a tight lipped smile as he sat down in his chair, then turned to your mother, “Looks great.” You felt his knee knock into yours under the table, but he didn’t move away. Heat pooled in your stomach. Your chest tightened, threatening to burst from the confines of your tight t-shirt.

The same t-shirt you’re wearing right now - sat at the end of your bed. Remembering the way his denim jeans felt on your bare leg. You lie back on your sheets and stare at the ceiling, thinking of his swollen muscles under his flannel shirt. The tuft of chest hair sprouting from over the collar. The veins in his hands as he passed you the salt.

You were holding a pair of jeans in your hands, about to slide them over your legs when you looked down to see a wet spot in your panties, and now you can’t ignore the throbbing in your core at the thought of seeing him again.

You carefully trace your fingers over your panties, grazing the wet spot, feeling your cheeks burning from the awareness that it’s your dad’s best friend making you wet.

You lift the skirt of your barleycorn sundress and open your legs, knees wide on your springy mattress. You hope that it doesn’t make a sound as you push the fabric aside, dragging your fingers over your most sensitive spot.”Joel,” you whimper when your fingertip brushes your wet opening, but you’re startled when you hear the doorbell ringing.

You pull your hand out quickly and your eyes flare open, chest heaving. You sit up, throw your legs over the side and slip on your jeans, button them up and turn to look at yourself in the mirror before heading downstairs, feeling the low throb deep inside of you as you carefully walk out into the hallway and hear your father greeting Joel as he comes in the door.

“Howdy,” he says when he spots you descending the staircase.

You hold tight onto the handrail, afraid you might topple over from the sight of him and the fluttering between your legs. “Hi.”

Joel’s eyes travel from your face down your body, ending up on your legs. You suddenly feel self-conscious, but all the same, secretly thrilled that he’s staring at you in this way. You stare back, eyeing him up and down from his scruffy beard to his dusty lace-up boots. Your eyes meet again as you reach the bottom step.

Joel sniffs once. “The hell are you wearing a dress and jeans for?” he asks.

“It’s called fashion,” you sass, and he grunts in response. “Ready to watch the movie?”

“I’m readier than a fried egg on the San Antonio Boulevard sidewalk, darlin’.” There’s that pet name again. You bite your lip and walk into the living room, trying to regulate your breathing. Your dad is already on the couch, remote control in hand, saying he has rewinded the DVD and that the two of you are being slowpokes.

“The old man’s got jokes,” Joel grumbles, motioning for you to sit down in between him and your dad.

The three of you put your feet up on the coffee table in front of you. You angle your feet towards Joel’s, your pinkie toe nudging against the sole of his boot. He crosses his ankles and settles back into the couch, folding his arms and prodding your side with his elbow.

“It’s a classic,” he mutters, and you giggle.

Your dad’s head whips around to face you from your peripheral like he is watching a tennis match. “What’s so funny?” he bleats.

“Nothing,” you and Joel chime, focusing hard on the screen. You smile smugly at the fact that you have an inside joke with him, something just between the two of you.

You can’t focus on the movie when your dad turns it on, and you suspect that Joel can’t either by the way he shifts around in his seat. “Got ants in your butt, buddy?”, your dad snorts, and Joel waves dismissively while you stifle your laughter.

“Just feel like I’m sinkin’ into the couch here,” Joel says, “‘S too soft.”

Soft, you replay the way he says it, over and over in your mind. You wonder if he’ll think you’re soft if he touches you with his rough hands.

“This movie sucks,” you announce, halfway through. “I can’t believe I had never heard of it. I thought it only came out two years ago?”

Joel snorts. “It came out in 1968 and was directed by Stanley Kubrick, dingus. 2001 is just the title of the film.”

Your face flushes fifty shades of fuchsia. Your dad guffaws on your left side, clapping his hands together like an annoying seal. His laughter is so loud that he almost doesn’t hear his cell phone ringing until you point it out to him.

“Yellow,” he says as he answers, and chuckles at his own joke, then holds up his finger and turns to the side, mumbling something into his phone. “Be there in twenty,” he says, then hangs up, and turns to you and Joel, “Gotta go pick up your mom but I should only be about forty five minutes as long as she doesn’t drag me into a conversation with her girlfriends. Y’all gonna be okay here?”

You both nod and sit still as your dad groans and gets up from the couch, listening as he disappears into the hallway to put on his shoes and jacket, then the door shutting.

You go to grab the remote control to keep playing the movie, and accidentally spill some of the Coke from the can you’re holding. Joel is looking at the screen while you look at the dark stain on the couch cushion, and instead of getting up to get a paper towel to clean it with, you scoot a little closer to Joel.

He clears his throat and puts his hand on the back of the couch, right behind your shoulders, not saying a word. You could cut the tension in the room with a knife and you glance down at his crotch to see the bulge in his jeans, then look up at him.

He looks at you for a second, then furrows his brows, “What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?”

“Thinkin’ about bones.”

“Bones?”

“Specifically the one in your pants, Mr. Miller,” you say and bat your eyelashes, and then, “Just kidding.” You turn your head back to the TV but you can see that he’s still looking at you. “I was actually thinking about the Micropachycephalosaurus.”

“What did you say ‘bout my pants, darlin’? Could swear you said somethin’”

“Nothing, I promise,” you giggle and look away.

Then his hand comes to your thigh, long fingers splayed over your jeans, thumb tracing back and forth, igniting a flame inside of you.

“W-what are you doing, Mr. Miller?”, you ask nervously, feeling the heat pooling in your panties again, and this time, it’s not because of your imagination.

“Lookin’ real pretty tonight,” he says, and his other hand comes to your shoulder. You whimper at his touch. “Can just call me Joel, you know that,” he scolds with a wink.

“Th-thanks, Joel.”

You feel his hand come up under your chin with a featherlight touch, turning your face up to meet his eyes. He brushes his thumb over your cheek and your face feels hot, your heart beating fast.

He looks at you through big brown eyes. You blink softly back, trying to transmit a code to him to clue him in on the ache making your thighs clench. You wonder if he knows Morse.

Joel grips your jaw and leans in, his smoldering eyes flashing between yours and your lips. He purses his own and before you know it, his warm mouth is flush against yours, his tongue pushing inside. He licks along the rim of your teeth and you open your jaw, letting him explore your wet gums.

In an instant, you pull yourself on top of him and remove his flannel, ripping the buttons apart and scattering the cloth to the couch. Joel’s hands curve around your round tits, he rolls your pebbled nipples between his thumbs like fiddling with a console controller. You roll your hips forward with a moan.

He's so hard. You look at him with wide eyes and a pout, “You're so hard.”

“Are you wet f’me, pretty girl?”, he asks. You know it's wrong, your dad could be home any moment, but you frantically nod.

“Good girl,” he says, and traces his fingers along the edge of your jeans, barely making contact with your skin.

He stands from the couch in one fluid motion, and you squeal at the sudden way in which you’re lifted in the safe grasp of his arms. It’s astounding how strong he is. How able he is to sweep you into the air, carry you out of the living room. How his biceps bulge as his boots thud up the stairs one by one.

He reaches the landing and pauses, eyes scanning the four closed doors. He steps forward and kicks open the one closest to your bodies, before realizing it is the bathroom and reversing out again.

“Pardon me,” he mumbles an apology, and you giggle again.

“It’s the one on the right,” you instruct, and he shuffles down the hall carpet before bumping your door open. He pauses for a moment when he enters the room - your childhood bedroom.

“Haven't been in here in years,” he says, and you know he's referring to when he helped your dad take out the old closets and replace them with new ones. You still have the same closets. Maybe he's admiring his work. You look at the posters on the wall and your floral bedspread.

Then he lays you down on the bed and sighs. “These old knees,” he grumbles, “And my fuckin’ back.”

You giggle.

“Mind if I take this off, darlin’?”, he asks, gently tugging at the bottom of your barleycorn sundress. You nod again, feeling your face getting hot and your panties sticking to your pussy.

Your back arches as he slips the thin fabric from your body, your breasts spilling out of their polyester prison. Joel straightens up, admires the view and hums to himself.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” he muses, then bends again to press his body against yours. His fingers tussle with the waist of your jeans, the petite buttons only women's clothing seems to have, and you growl at the effort it takes for him to derobe you.

“I know,” he says, lips close to your ear, “‘S these big ol’ hands. They get in the way of everythin’, baby.”

You whimper pathetically, wanting nothing more than those big hands to get in the way of you. You shove your fists beneath the denim when he finally undoes the zipper, and help him drag them from your legs. As soon as the heavy fabric hits your floor, Joel’s removing his own jeans. Now, only your underwear and his separate you.

There's a wet spot on his boxers already and you whimper when you place your fingertip on it, biting your lip when he growls at the sensation. “M-Mr. Miller,” you whine, “Can I see your cock? It looks really big.”

“‘S real big, sweetie, are you sure you can handle it?”

“Y-yes, Joel, I'm a big girl.”

“‘F you say so,” he grumbles, then takes off his boxers, and you admire the sight of his manhood. You've never seen a big cock like that, a real thick and long one. You don't think it'll fit inside and you gasp, eyes flashing open while you start to creep backwards on the sheets.

“Keep the panties on,” Joel orders, following between your legs. His hairy knees push deep into the plush cushion of your mattress, his fist jerks slowly up and down his dick, which seems to only grow larger the closer he gets.

You nod obediently, biting your bottom lip. Your eyes stick on the dribble of precum he swipes with his thumb. You fall back, head sinking into your pillows, and Joel hovers over you, one hand by your head.

You peel your underwear to the side, now positively soaked. Joel’s hand leaves his member to cup you, feeling your dripping mess. “So wet f’me,” he whispers, and you moan, long and ragged.

Then he touches the tip of his finger to your opening and watches you squirm while he starts to push it in, entering you with one thick finger. You take all of it in stride, and you frown when he retracts it.

“So eager,” he says triumphantly, then adds another, and you feel the coil inside you start to tighten. You can't reach as deep as he does, nobody can except for him. Your dad's best friend, in your childhood bedroom, with his hard cock out. Tears start pricking your eyes as you get closer.

You whine, “I’m gonna come, Mr. Miller.”

He clicks his tongue, “Just Joel,” and then he picks up the pace of his fingers, pushing them inside you until you gush all over your sheets and his hand, feeling the tears sliding down your temples and your fists gripping the sheets tightly. He made you come, it's like a wet dream.

You gasp when you see the mess you made and he chuckles. “Sorry Just Joel - I mean,” you shake your head, clearing the hazy fog of sex your orgasm left behind, “Joel.” Your cheeks heat with embarrassment.

“No need to apologize, sweet girl,” he whispers, pinching your cheek with his soaked fingers. Your own cum stains your skin, somehow cooling against the stifling hot air in your room. The air filled with lust and sex.

He draws his hand back, wraps it back around his cock, rubs your gleaming slick up and down his thickness. He groans as you coat him, head tilting back to the ceiling. For a second, you wonder if he will actually fuck you, or if he’s just here to jerk off using your cum, kneeling over you.

Your query is answered when he returns his gaze to yours and leans over you again, running the tip between your folds. Your body jolts at the contact, overstimulated and spent already. But Joel doesn’t care. The man gives no fucks.

“Fuckin’ tight,” he groans as he makes space for himself inside you, pushing the head in and impaling you on his fat girth. You feel so full.

He bottoms out and moans. You watch a drop of sweat gliding from his hairline and down his temple, then crane your neck up to kiss it. His tip kisses your cervix on every thrust and you grip his broad shoulders, hanging onto him while he pounds you.

“Good girl, takin’ this big fat cock,” he praises, panting into the crook of your neck.

“Oh, fuck,” you feel the band inside of you tightening, about to snap, but then he pulls out of you and wraps his fingers around his cock again, stroking himself and snarling when he tells you to turn around.

You’re spent, limbs wrung out like a rag, but you force yourself up while you look at his cock dumbly, seeing his precum dripping out and onto your sheets. Suddenly, you hear him, “What’re you waitin’ for, sweetheart?”, and you immediately turn around and onto your hands and knees, seeing a photo of your parents on your window sill.

You screw your eyes shut so you don’t think about them, and try to focus on Joel penetrating you from behind in one motion, going full hog, filling you to the brim with cock. “F-feels so good, Joel,” you squirm and moan while he slips his large hands onto your hips, fingers splaying out over the curve of your asscheeks, pulling you back so he can fill you relentlessly.

His skin slaps against yours, the air in the room quickly filling with nothing but the sounds of his moans and yours, his wet and yours, his body and yours. Your eyes squeeze tight until you see stars, raining down over the darkness behind your eyelids. Your whole bed shakes vigorously with the rate Joel pounds into you, mattress knocking against your nightstand and sending the objects on it tumbling to the floor.

Joel notices as one in particular - your Satisfyer Pro 2 Gen 2 Air Pulse Stimulator, which you find good but really intense with its sucking power - rolls across the wooden floor. His grip tightens on your hips and he chuckles. “‘S a good girl like you doin’ with a thing like that in her room, huh?”

Your back curls. You moan in response. “Umm,” you mumble nervously, trying to think of a response when you see his lips curve into a smirk, “I- I was trying to come, last night.”

“Oh yeah? Thinkin’ bout what, young lady?”

Your cheeks burn with embarrassment. You were thinking about him. He can tell - he brushes his thumb over your cheek. “Were you thinkin’ about me, darlin’?”, he asks, and you don’t respond. You look at him with wide eyes. “‘S alright, I’ve been thinkin’ about this tight little pussy, blowin’ my load in the shower. I ain’t ashamed to admit it, you’re a real pretty girl.”

Your pussy gets wetter when you think about him touching himself and you wonder how it looks. Your dad would kill him if he knew, and you’re surprised Joel would tell you something like that, but it makes you so wet.

The image in your mind forces you to arch your back, your body curving before Joel into the mattress. He grunts each time his hips come into contact with the plushy meat of your ass, telling you good girl and squeezing you just right as his cock hits you so deep you feel him in your chest.

“I’m - gonna - cum - again,” you pant, words muffled by the floral pattern your lips are smushed into. “Joel - I’m -”

“I hear ya, baby,” he says, hips snapping. His voice is rough, hoarse. He sounds like he needs some NyQuil. You make a mental note to offer him a refreshing glass once you’re done. “Cum for me, go on. Know you need it.”

Your walls close around him as you do as he says, tightening around the intrusion in your pussy.

His cock begins to twitch deep inside you and he shoves you by the ass off of him. You tumble to the bed and roll over just in time to be drowned by his cum, thick white ropes spraying all over your tummy and tits. You worry with the ferocity of his release that it might reach the photo of your parents, but you’re too caught up in the pleasure of the moment, your own spend spilling out of your tight little hole.

“Fuck yeah,” he groans, “Take that cum.” Then, all of a sudden, his face drops and he freezes in place. He looks at you, covered in his semen, then runs his hand over his face and tucks himself back in his pants. He looks stressed as it dawns on him that he just came all over his best friend’s daughter.

“Joel,” you say carefully.

“Yes, darlin’”. He winces when the word leaves his mouth.

“W-what if my dad finds out?”

He runs his hand over his beard. “I don’t know,” he says, “I gotta go.”

“But w-wait, Joel!”

He’s already shuffling out of your room, hopping as he tugs his jeans back over his hips. “M’sorry, baby, I have to-”

“Wait!” you yelp, tearing your underwear from your body. You almost trip over the fabric as you hop down from your bed. “Take these!”

You throw the panties across your room and Joel catches them against his chest, scrunching them into a ball. You sit back on your heels, totally naked in front of him, smirking at the thought of him crossing paths with your dad in the hallway and knowing the secret he holds in his jeans pocket. Knowing that he just fucked his best friend’s daughter, in her childhood bedroom.

His cheeks heat with shock. Your panties are dripping wet. He nods and tucks them into his back pocket and adjusts the crotch of his pants over his still hard cock.

Suddenly, you hear the front door opening.

Your parents are home.

You gasp and fumble with your jeans, trying to put them on with shaky hands while you hear Joel step onto the first floor, just leaving the staircase as the door shuts behind your parents as they come in.

“Hey, buddy,” your dad calls, and you hover at the top of the stairs. “What- whatcha doin’ with your shirt off?”

Joel stammers, scratching the back of his neck. Your mom stares at him, eyes raking up and down his hairy torso. You feel a hot pang of jealousy at her wandering eyes on the man you just fucked.

“She, uh,” he motions up to you, now stepping slowly down the stairs, “She spilled her drink down my shirt.” He reaches for the crumpled flannel, whipping it in his hands and throwing it over his shoulders.

Your mom tsks. “So clumsy,” she says, shaking her head. “Did you get it cleaned alright?”

Joel nods, jumping a little when you arrive at the bottom of the stairs by his side. He’s still buttoning the shirt. “Yeah, all cleaned up. Thank you, ma’am.”

You feel a surge of excitement shoot through your veins, feeling your wet leaking out onto your jeans and knowing what lives in Joel’s pocket. You sway back and forth, hands clasped behind your back, smiling innocently.

“Sweetie,” your mom calls over, “Why don’t you go walk Joel to his truck?”

“Y-yes, mom,” you stutter, and motion for Joel to walk ahead of you.

“Have a good night,” he says and pats your dad on the back on his way out.

You watch every one of his heavy footsteps down the hall and out of the house, slipping on your Crocs before you follow him out, closing the door behind you.

The two of you linger outside of his truck for a moment. He looks over your shoulder, squinting in the Texas sun as he looks towards the house. You look at the gray in his beard, the curve of his nose and his salt and pepper hair.

Part of you hopes he’ll ask to see you again, but he’s your dad’s best friend, it could never work. He kicks a small rock with the toe of his boot, arms folded. He leans against the truck and looks up at the sky.

Your stomach flutters at the sight of him and the feeling of his sticky cum on your stomach, gradually absorbing into your skin.

“Guess I’ll see you ‘round,” he says and straightens up. He purses his lips while he looks away, then at you.

You giggle and tuck your hair behind your ear, “Um, yeah.”

“Then I’ll teach you a lesson ‘bout not payin’ attention while watchin’ a movie,” he says, and his voice is sultry and raspy. His fingers are around your chin, tilting your face up to him. “You’ve been a bad girl, lettin’ your dad’s buddy fuck you like a little slut.”

Your lips smush between his finger and thumb. “Yesh, Mr. Miller,” you push between your teeth.

“The hell’d I tell you? It’s Joel.”

You nod fervently. “Yesh, Jool.”

He releases you and opens the truck door, eyeing you constantly as he gets in.

You pick at your nails nervously as you watch him start the truck, and then drive away.

You lean against your parents’ Honda Civic and look up at the sky, closing your eyes and sighing. Your teeth come to bite your lower lip into your mouth, tasting him on your tongue. Your dad’s best friend.

He promised he would teach you a lesson. You wonder what the lesson is.

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel

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abrunettefangirlnerd · 9 months

Text

If You Love Her

Prompt: You are dating Rafe after JJ cheated on you... but you're still a member of the pogues. A party and the boneyard makes tensions rise between everyone.

Rafe POV

Her head rests against Rafe’s chest as they soak up the last bit of the sun lounging on the Druthers. It has been a rare peaceful day and Rafe is thanking whatever higher power there is that she has become his saving grace. He just hates the way that it happened.

(Y/N) is originally a pogue, but it never mattered to Rafe no matter how hard he tried to deny it. Rafe never picked on her, only her friends. She became close with Sarah after saving whatever the latest sea creature was at the time. So she had been over a few times before Sarah started dating John B. Though it was the moment she stopped hiding behind the boys and found her voice, that Rafe has never stopped listening. He has been in a trance ever since. Her fire is what drew him in, but it is (Y/N)’s heart that melted his core. The only problem, she was JJ Maybank’s girl. “Was” being the operative word.

Rafe will never forget her tear stricken face, red eyes, and piercing sob from that night. It took everything in him to not beat that punk to a pulp. Thinking about it even now gets Rafe all riled up. He hates that she is still around JJ, she never left the group. Rafe understands they are her friends, but he doesn’t like it.

“Come on,” (Y/N) stirs, still half asleep. “You promised we would go to the party.”

“Right, the boneyard party. With the pogues.”

“Hey, I’m a pogue.” (Y/N) angles her face to look up at his with a teasing smile.

“You’re my pogue.” Rafe smiles and leans down to place a kiss on her forehead.

Yeah she is his pogue and he wouldn’t want it any other way. Any other party he would be excited to go. He loves parties with his girl, dancing the night away and playing drinking games. Tonight will be exactly like that, except he will have to see Maybank. I wonder if him and Kie have made it official yet, Rafe wonders to himself.

Your POV

The music can be heard from a mile away in Rafe’s truck. My arm wraps around his as his hand gently squeezes my thigh. I know he doesn’t want to be here. He is doing it for me and I love that he is willing to entertain me for a few hours. I won’t make him stay long. I want him to see that my friends can be cool, and I hope one day they can put away their bad blood and get along.

Years of pent-up anger at both groups has been baking as long as I can remember. If it wasn’t for becoming secret friends with Sarah years before she joined the group, I may have the same outlook on Rafe as the others. Can he be a jerk and annoying as hell? Yes, but he can be sweet and at times my friends can be no better. Things between the kooks and the pogues have been quiet lately, but I know Rafe has it for JJ. I can’t blame him, I did too before I accepted that JJ deciding to cheat had nothing to do with me and everything to do with him. If I could have wished for anything that if JJ had to cheat, I would have chosen for him to cheat with anyone else but Kie. It makes the tension in the group that much thicker.

“Relax,” I giggle. “We’ll make an appearance. Stay an hour, two tops. Then we can go off on our own.”

Rafe doesn’t say anything but I can see a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips. His thumb lightly brushes against my skin and I sense him starting to relax a bit. I just hope that tonight ends up being drama free.

The truck is parked and Rafe is on my side opening the door. I learned early on that I am not allowed out of the truck unless he opens my door for me. Made that mistake and he wouldn’t move from his spot till I got back in so he could do it properly. I thought it was annoying and egotistical, but now I find it sweet. JJ never did that for me when we were dating.

There are a lot of things that Rafe does that JJ never did. Aside from the whole cheating part, JJ was a fairly good boyfriend. He looked after me, was a good cuddler, made sure I had a good time. Being with Rafe though is so different. Sure he does look after me, kind of always has. We have the best time when together and I feel so safe in his arms. I’m not worried about a pretty blonde catching his eye. He is a complete gentleman making sure I am okay, respecting boundaries, going slow, being open. Something I did not expect is for him to communicate as well as he does. I guess once he knew I wasn’t going anywhere and that his feelings don’t scare me, he trusts me enough to talk about all the crap with his dad and if he is feeling insecure. He never freaks or overreacts when I have an issue with something.

“Hey boys!” I greet John B and Pope at the keg. I notice a small release of air leave Rafe’s chest at the realization JJ isn’t around yet.

“(Y/N) what up! I miss you at the chateau.” John B goes in for a hug and Rafe lets go of my waist to accommodate. The two shake hands after John B releases me. It is a simple gesture to an outsider, but with these two it means everything. John B is practically my brother and with him dating Sarah, and Rafe dating me, they both are trying to put in an effort.

“Here you two go.” Pope hands me and Rafe cups of beer that we gladly take.

A few drinks later, we depart for a dance near the fire. The music pulsates through my veins mixed with the alcohol and a nice buzz fills my senses. Rafe loops his arms around my waist and I pair mine around his neck. We sway to our own beat, not minding the people jumping around us. We are lost in our own world and we are the only two people who exist.

Rafe’s eyes peer into mine as we rest our foreheads against each other. His lids close and I do the same, focusing on his hold on me. Warmth swarms over my body originating from his touch. I can’t wrap it around my head that I am with Rafe Cameron and that he can make me feel like I’m on top of the world. I only hope I can make him feel the same, that is often one of my insecurities. One that Rafe knows about and tries to assure me that I am more than enough for him.

“You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me.” Rafe whispers in my ear and places a kiss on the tip of my nose. I swear he can read my mind.

Before I can say anything Rafe’s touch disappears from my body. I immediately open my eyes and find the back of a blonde standing between me and my boyfriend, JJ. The alcohol has me stumbling against the sand as I land against Rafe’s arm and he steadies me before putting my frame behind his. Always my protector.

Rafe makes his stand but waits to see what JJ plans to do first. He knows that if he threw the first punch I would be mad. All I want is peace. Except I would not ask him to hold back if JJ started it first. He promised me, and so far he has kept his promise.

“You got the money, the job, and now the girl.” JJ’s words spread through the dry air, and people are beginning to take notice of a potential scuffle. Tears sting my eyes. Why is he making it sound like it is my fault I left him?

“Well Rafe if you plan on dating (Y/N) I want to fill you in on a few things.” JJ takes a step forward and I can feel Rafe’s muscles tense beneath my hands. JJ begins to speak but his gaze falls to me. “She always has trouble falling asleep, and she likes to cuddle while under the sheets.” JJ sends a wink my way and whistles from the accumulating audience fill the air. “She loves pop songs and dancing, and bad trash TV. There’s still a few other thin-“

“She loves love notes and babies,” Rafe interrupts. “And likes giving gifts. She has a hard time accepting a good complement. She loves her whole family and all of her friends… not that they deserve it.”

I didn’t think it was possible for the air to get thicker than it has just now. JJ’s drunk eyes danced over me until Rafe unexpectedly interrupted. Both of our eyes cling to Rafe as he spoke but for two different reasons. My heart skips as Rafe reaches to grab my hand and gives it a light squeeze. I had no clue JJ was going to do something like this, but I am even more surprised at the fact Rafe has been paying attention this well. He continues to amaze me and all I want to do is kiss him.

“When she gives me her heart completely, I won’t break it like you did. (Y/N) is safe with me. I’ll stand by her side instead of sneaking off behind her back.” Rafe stares JJ down a few moments more before turning towards me.

His hands cup my cheeks and looks into my eyes silently asking if I’m okay. I nod to answer him and bring my hands up to rest against his wrists. Rafe places a soft but protective kiss against my forehead and whispers for us to go. Wrapping an arm around my shoulder, he pulls me in close and nods his head toward a stunned John B.

The walk to the car is silent. Rafe opens my door for me and waits for me to climb in before closing it. He quickly joins me in the driver’s seat but doesn’t start the car. Instead he turns towards me, he eyes furrowed as he contemplates what he is going to say.

“I’m sorry if I over stepped.” Rafe’s voice is a whisper. “I know you can handle yourself, but I couldn’t let him do that. Act like he still has claim over you, that he is the only one who can know you.”

“Hey, hey it’s okay. You did everything right.” I lean over and let my hand cup his cheek, bringing his gaze back to mine.

“I meant everything I said.” His beautiful orbs pierce mine. “I want you to know that. I’m in it for the long game. I love you (Y/N).”

His voice cracks and I can tell how scared he is to say that last part. We’ve only been dating a month but we have known each other for years. Staying the night with Sarah has usually ended up with late night talks with Rafe after she fell asleep. We are the unlikely duo but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I trust you.” I say and my face heats up with my smile. “I love you, Rafe.”

It takes a moment for the words to register in Rafe’s ears but once they do pure shock and adoration quickly take over his features. He leans in and gifts me with a soft but passionate kiss. All his love and vulnerability is wrapped in every movement he makes with me and I can already tell this is forever.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron fanfiction #drew stareky x y/n #obx fanfiction #outerbanks fanfiction #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x y/n #jj maybank #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader

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seungkwansphd · 10 months

Text

bean me up, scotty

pairing: coffee roaster!seungcheol x cafe manager!YN word count: 2K synopsis: you see seungcheol often enough at work. helpful daytime seungcheol, you can handle. but nighttime, arms fully out seungcheol? that's a problem. themes: fluff, SFW, work crush/work acquaintances vibes. beefy seungcheol. SCOUPS RIZZ at the end, implied smut.

a/n: @wavelikewhat came up with this concept and we both had different ideas about how to approach it, so it was super fun to write and then read both versions! def check hers out here.

“Hey boss, Mr. Choi is here!” the voice of one of your baristas pulled your mind out of inventory suddenly.

“Hey I told you not to to call me mister, kid,” Seungcheol’s voice followed. You can practically hear the pout in his tone, which drew a smile to your lips.

“I’ll be right out,” you called back and tucked your pencil behind your ear.

You stepped out of the back room to greet Choi Seungcheol, head roaster at Brandywine Coffee Roasters.

“Hey Cheol,” you greeted him with a smile, “You can leave the delivery in the usual spot. I’ll put it up later.”

“You sure? I have time today, you’re my last delivery,” he raised an eyebrow at you, an offer to help.

“Well, I won’t say no, if you have the time. I’ll caffeinate you,” you shrugged. This was your typical offer and as usual he took you up on it.

“Okay,” he nodded and rolled his dolly into the back room.

Brandywine was the core coffee roaster that you used at your cafe. Seungcheol had been your point of contact for almost a year now, so he knew his way around without any direction. He set to work on replenishing your two pound bags of espresso blend and let you handle the retail, one pound single-origins.

“Oh? You found it?” your eyes widened as you read the label of the bag in your hands. “Restricted oxygen?”

You had mentioned this specific type of processing to Seungcheol a few months ago. The low oxygen processing conditions selected for a unique proportion of microorganisms, yielding an unusual flavor profile once roasted. It seemed quite niche, so you were surprised to be holding a bag in your own hands. You set one bag aside for your personal tasting needs before shelving the rest of the bags.

“Got time to try this with me?” you asked as you both left the back room. “I can set us up a French press.”

“Yeah,” Seungcheol nodded. “Let me just put this back in the truck.”

“Sure,” you smiled at him, setting about prepping. You were giddy with excitement as you ground the beans. The aroma was already quite striking.

“Are we doing a tasting?” your youngest barista, Chan, asked curiously.

“Yes,” you nodded surely.

“Oh yay! Seungcheol whips up the coolest stuff. What is it today?”

“It’s a restricted oxygen process Ethiopia,” Seungcheol answered, appearing behind Dino. “Experimental processing, but cool. I’ll be interested to hear what you think, YN.”

“Whoa, that’s cool! Like leaning towards anaerobic, huh?”

“Yes, exactly that,” you grinned.

As the timer counted down, Chan helped a customer. Seungcheol stood with his arms crossed, watching you watch the timer.

“Missed you at the roaster showcase,” you commented as you depressed the French press plunger and poured the brew into cortado glasses.

“Eh, you know I don’t like that stuff. Sam is way better at those events. I heard it went well though, thanks again for letting us use the space.”

“Of course,” you chuckled, handing the glass to Seungcheol. It was hard to ignore the jolt you felt when his hands brushed over yours, but you liked to think you did your best. “Chan!” you beckoned during a lull in customers.

“Oh interesting!” Chan’s eyebrows raised with surprise, “It tastes almost like…peachy gummy rings? Fascinating!”

“Hmm,” you hummed thoughtfully as you tasted the liquid in your mouth. “I don’t know that I get peach gummy, but I see what you’re saying. There’s like fruit and sweetness, but it’s not very high, if that makes sense.”

“Yeah, I agree,” Seungcheol nodded before taking another aerated sip. “Really neat, thanks for the suggestion, YN,” he nudged you gently.

You smiled sheepishly at him and ignored Chan’s pointed look. You could already tell that once Seungcheol left, you were going to get yet another earful about how you and the roaster were dancing around each other and denying mutual chemistry. You were overcome by an unreasonable desire to keep Seungcheol here longer so that you could avoid that.

“Something for the road?” you asked instead, shaking that thought out of your mind. “I have a seasonal cherry syrup and we’re doing a cherry cola espresso tonic that’s kind of fun for the summer.”

“Huh. Caffeine and caffeine?” Seungcheol considered the drink with amusement. “Sure, I’ll try it.”

“I’m assuming you’ll want YN to make it, as usual?” Chan teased, stepping back from the bar.

The roaster placed his hands into his packers and shrugged with a soft smile, but didn’t deny it. You laughed and set about crafting his featured beverage.

“I really think you two like each other!” Chan started practically before the door had swung shut behind Seungcheol.

“I do like Seungcheol. And his coffee.”

“I mean in a non-professional way. Please note I didn’t say unprofessional, because I don’t think it would be unprofessional. I just think you think he’s hot and he thinks you’re hot. He’s always taking your coffee suggestions and he looks at you a lot when you’re not looking.”

“Chan,” you planted your hands on your hips.

You didn’t want to talk about this with him anymore. He didn’t need to know that the reason was fear of it pushing your delulu brain further than it already was with this workplace crush. You liked Seungcheol, but you also only saw him at work, so it didn’t need to go further than that.

Outside, Seungcheol was grateful that he worked alone. If he’d had a Chan, they most certainly would’ve called him on the inordinately pleased look that had crossed his face when he’d caught the start of your conversation as he left. While it was a guess on Chan’s part, it at least reassured Seungcheol that he wasn’t the only person who had picked up on a potential something between you. Not that he felt ready to do anything about it yet, but he could at least be comforted that it wasn’t totally fabricated on his end.

…

“Eee, staff outing, I’m so excited!” Naomi and Chan squealed excitedly as they skipped towards the bar.

You smiled, thoroughly entertained, as you watched them. You hadn’t had a chance to do much prying yet, but you had a sneaking suspicion that they had started dating recently.

“The answer is yes,” Seungkwan, one of your higher seniority staff, clicked his tongue judgmentally at the pair.

“Huh?” your head whipped around to look at him more directly.

“They are dating. Just last week.”

You had to burst out laughing. For someone who’s life occasionally got quite messy, he could be quite judgemental, but he was also incredibly reliable and responsible in ways that made you grateful he’d continued to work with you for so long.

“Thank you for the updates as usual,” you smiled before grabbing his arm to pull him into the bar.

You spotted Naomi and Chan whispering to each other at the end of the bar and you made your way towards them.

“Okay, let’s thank Father Chip for bankrolling our annual staff outing. Please drink wisely,” you smiled at him. It was a sorry excuse for a grand speech, but it would do well enough to kick the night off.

You looked over the menu as Chan and Naomi waited to catch the eye of a bartender. You heard some commentary about a ‘beefcake’ as you wondered just what exactly Cynar was made out of.

“Oh, he’s coming, he’s coming!” Naomi bounced on her heels excitedly, which meant you had to decide what you wanted and quickly.

“Hey folks, what can I get-,” the bartender greeted you. You were just in the middle of recognizing his voice when he recognized you first. “Oh hey Chan, Naomi, Seungkwan! Is YN out with you?”

“Seungcheol?” you lifted your head, slightly bewildered, to meet eyes with Brandywine’s own head roaster.

“Hey,” he nodded at you. It was a normal greeting, but something about the way his eyes flicked over you afterwards made you impossibly nervous.

“Do you work here?” Seungkwan asked on your behalf.

“Not usually,” Seungcheol brought his arm up to scratch the back of his neck, “Sammy owns this place too and occasionally he needs a hand.”

Sammy was Seungcheol’s business partner at Brandywine, so this made some sense, but your brain and eyes were busy processing Seungcheol’s arm. Daytime Seungcheol was typically clad in a flannel or a solid Carhartt t-shirt, effectively hiding his build. Nighttime Seungcheol, however, was wearing a cut off t-shirt which favored you with a gratuitous view of his muscles. This was a problem for you.

“So what are we drinking?” Seungcheol asked, “Happy to make recommendations too.”

He held your gaze for a moment.

“I’ll do the Coco Bop,” Seungkwan ordered. Dino and Naomi quickly followed suit and before you knew it, Seungcheol stood before you, arms fully out, waiting for your order.

“What does Cynar taste like?”

“Oh, I don’t know actually. You want to try?” he asked before turning to grab the bottle. He poured out a partial shot and took a sip before handing it to you. When you set down the glass, you were both making mirrored grimacing faces at each other.

“That is foul,” you inhaled sharply, face warm from the overwhelming taste of the liquor. “Thank you though. I will have a glass of white wine, please.”

“Oh we have a skin fermented wine, I think you’ll like that. It’s got a little bit of that funk, like the low oxygen process. How’s that sound?”

“I’m sure it’ll be good!” you nodded, self conscious at the crowd that had built up behind you, eagerly awaiting their turn to order.

“This one’s on me,” he smiled when he returned with the glass.

“Oh no-, I-.”

“You comp me all the time. Let me get this one for you.”

“Okay,” you nodded before seeking out the rest of your staff. You just knew you were going to be teased about this interaction too.

Despite your best efforts, you and Seungcheol continued to cross paths and meet eyes the rest of the evening. Whether you were returning glassware, barreling into him as you left the bathroom, or feeling his gaze on you as you watched the others dance, it all seemed to affect you. Unfortunately for your brain, you liked this version of Seungcheol too and it made you curious for more.

Seungcheol watched you try to avoid his gaze and he glanced at the clock impatiently. He’d only agreed to take on the opening shift, so he had a handful of minutes left. He hoped that you’d stick around until then.

“You can leave now,” Sammy appeared at his side.

“Huh?”

“I’m worried your eyes are going to fall out of your head if you look any harder at YN,” Sammy rolled his eyes. He’d had a sneaking suspicion about you since Seungcheol had brought up the idea of participating in the coffee roaster showcase at your cafe.

“Wish me luck,” Seungcheol chuckled before heading towards you.

“And then she said-,” Seungkwan’s words trailed off as his eyes widened at you.

“What did she say?!” you demanded. You were surprised and confused when all three of them shook their heads and pointed at something behind you. Someone, rather.

“Hey,” Seungcheol was standing behind you with his hands in his pockets. “Are you hungry? I just finished up.”

“...I could eat,” you answered, heat zipping up your spine again.

“Did you drive?”

“No.”

“I’ll give you a ride then,” he smiled. He waved at Chan, Naomi, and Seungkwan before leading you out the staff entrance to his car.

“Should I plan to drop you off at home tonight or tomorrow?” he asked as he backed out of his parking spot.

If you’d been holding something, you most certainly would have dropped it. You bit your lip and still failed to hold in your gobsmacked grin at this line.

“...tomorrow.”

Seungcheol glanced over, eyes flicking over you again, before he smiled smugly and drove out of the parking lot.

#scoups fanfic #scoups fluff #seungcheol fanfic #seungcheol fluff #svthub #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fluff #scoups x reader #scoups scenario #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol imagines #seungkwansphd:writes

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capuletoo · 6 months

Text

Blushing Fruit -Max Verstappen

-note: Omg, my first fic for f1!! Please bare with me

-summary: A series of events teasing Max

-TW: sex, fingering, smut without plot | Max Verstappen x fem!reader

-words: 1.9k

The sun is hung low, casting a golden light that projects two shadows walking in the vineyard. Max walked in front of you, leading the way. The air smell of ripe grapes and the vineyard rows stretched infront.

Glass of red wine in your hand, its velvet color symbolized the intensity of the sun in your eyes. The sun shining into the crimson liquid, swirling, your fingers wrapped around the base, caught the eyes of Max as he glanced over his shoulder. The clinking sound of crystal to crystal was soft along the rustling leaves.

Max was entrance by the way you were holding the glass, as if it were to break. The way you took a sip, lips parting and caressing your tongue, it stirred something inside of him. Your eyes met his, but the sun was too bright you had to squint your eyes.

The sun caressed your exposed skin, a warm sensation left behind, that drew Max´s attention to the subtle sheen of sweat in your collarbone and also looking at your neck while you took small sips of wine.

You took a hand up to your forehead to shield you from the sun as you moved your head towards a tree with enough shadow for the both of you.

Your back leaned into the truck of the tree, a strap of your sundress falling down, the moving shadows caused by the leaves painting your hair. Max was holding a whole bottle of wine, which you motioned him to exchange your glass with the bottle which you uncorked, making a pop sound.

You filled Max´s glass and yours while he was holding them, as you poured a drop of wine spilled into your finger. Max´s gaze fixated on the crimson droplet, his fingers twitched, he wanted to catch it, to feel the cool liquid against your skin.

You put down the bottle and grabbed your glass, your eyes following him until it reached the wine droplet. With a smile you held out your wine-stained finger to him, offering the taste of the wine and something more. "Care for a taste?" you asked, your voice soft and inviting.

Max leaned in, capturing your finger in his mouth, savoring both the rich wine and the essence of you. The world around them seemed to fade into the background as this shared moment of desire intensified.

A few seconds went by in silence, your heartbeat in your ears.

“Ew, I was joking you freak”

[...]

The way your lips were faintly wet thanks to the watermelon was just so addicting to Max. He couldn't help but be drawn to the unique, smoky allure that had settled on your skin.

The smell of soap coming from your skin made him crave your touch. He wanted to run his fingers across your body moles.

You decided to cut open a watermelon while sitting down comfortably in a beach lounge chair, which was a bad idea after some juice dripped into your thighs and your arms. You were too busy laughing to notice the heat that spread across Max's cheeks. The watermelon juice dripping from your fingers makes his eyes wander.

“Want some?” Your voice is raspy.

He could only nod, no words coming out of his mouth. Your fingers brushed his as you passed him a slice, which he took a bite out of. The sweet and refreshing taste combined with the saltiness of your skin was intoxicating.

You took a last large bite of the slice you had and got up running towards the ocean.

Max watched your back as it disappeared into the ocean waves, juicy droplets falling into the sand underneath his chair.

After a while you came out of the water and stood infront of him. He was wearing his sunglasses.

He looked at a water droplet that fell from your hair into your stomach, his gaze followed it down, passing besides your belly button all the way down to the waistband of your bottoms. Before his eyes wandered lower he returned to your eyes. He was thankful for putting on his sunglasses.

Youre biting a slice of watermelon youve mustve grabbed when he was distracted and smiling. “What? I didn't want to have watermelon juice in my legs”

[...]

One night during the summer vacation, Lando decided to host a dinner for the drivers. The warm breeze and the sound of the waves breaking against the shore set the perfect ambiance.

As you all gathered around the table, laughter and conversation filled the air. The table was decorated with glasses of your favourite champagne that Daniel had bought. He presented it to you with a smile, and you were surprised he even remembered, after months of telling him. The bubbles in your glass reflected in your eyes.

Max sat across from you, and throughout the dinner, he seemed to be accidentally kicking your feet under the table. At first, you thought it was a simple accident, but as the dinner continued, it was obviously not. His foot brushed against yours, and each time it happened, your heart skipped a beat. The burning sensation was driving you insane and the fact that he would do it while he was in the middle of a conversation, not even glancing at you, is if nothing was happening, it made you crave him. With every caress, you felt a deeper pull, a longing that threatened to consume you. The way Max's leg occasionally rested against yours, the heat of his skin warming yours, was intoxicating.

As dessert was served, Max's foot found its way to yours once again, but this time it was less accidental. His touch was more deliberate, more possessive, and it sent a shiver down your spine. The intensity of the connection was undeniable, and you couldn't resist playing along.

His gaze finally met yours, and you decided to be bold. You grabbed your champagne and didnt break eye contact while some of your drink dripped down your chin.

“what are you doing?” Lando looked at you, laughing. Your cheeks turned red as you cleaned the champagne with your hand.

“I got in a trance” You tried to give an explanation, but saying it out loud, made you feel more embarrassed.

“Jesus” His laughter resonated through the table.

[...]

After embarrassing yourself at Landos you found yourself in your hotel room. The room was dimly lit with the soft glow of a small lamp. You couldn't help but feel a little self-conscious about dinner, the way you completely forgot that other people could watch, but the memory of the subtle touches shared with Max, kept your heart racing.

Two knocks in the door breaked the silence. You opened it slowly, revealing Max standing there, his eyes filled with an intensity that you havent seen. Without a word, he stepped inside, the door closing softly behind him. The dim, intimate light of the room cast enticing shadows on his face, making his features appear all the more alluring. Max took a step closer, his presence filling the room.

You could still feel his breath, when he made his way to your couch.

“Whatever you thought of at dinner, you can do it, you know.” He finally sits down. You could only walk up to him, after not finding an answer for him. He extended a hand to you, inviting you to sit down next to him.

As you sat down, the silky fabric of your dress rustled, drawing his attention to the way it caressed your curves. The low neckline hinted at what lay underneath and he found himself yearning to explore.

The fragrance of your perfume was like a whisper that hung in the air, and it intoxicated Max. The softest sigh of pleasure escaped his lips as he leaned in to breathe in your scent, and his fingers longed to trace the delicate contours of your neck and collarbone.

As Max's hand brushed yours, he felt the warmth and softness of your skin.

“All these glances, all these touches…” His lips were just centimiters away. “I dont think i can hold back”

With a knowing smile, Max reached out to cup your cheek, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. His lips met yours in a longing kiss, full with desperation.

His hands roam through the cold fabric of your thighs as he bringed your leg to his hip, making you straddle him. He holds you close by your neck and doesnt let go of your lips. You could still taste the champagne from earlier in his lips. You put your hands in his blonde locks and bring him even closer. After all this teasing, both of you were craving this.

“I want more” You say between breaths. You feel him between your thighs, the warmth of his hands in your hips. You couldnt stop with just his lips, you wanted to have all of him. You wanted him to caress the parts that ached to be touched.

He reached for the hem of your dress until you were just in underwear. His hands roam at your back, your stomach, your legs and you reach over to his pants. He unclasps your bra and his fingers wander around the lace of your panties. He faintly touches your clothed pussy making you dig your nails into his shoulders. He finally gets rid of them.

Both of you are naked when he slides his thumb over your folds “So wet” He moves it up and down, you lean into his shoulder wanting more friction. “You have no idea how much I wanted to feel you” He curls his fingers into your pussy. You whimper and search for his lips once again.

You moan into his ear, and he holds you down with his other hand. “I went through hell with all these months of teasing” He grabs you by the jaw, making you look at him with glossy eyes as he increases the speed of his fingers.

“God” He takes hold of your cheek. “Look at you, all pretty moaning for me” your hand travelled down to his cock and gave it a few strokes, before he stopped fingering you.

“You want this?” He grabs his cock and slides it through your folds. You nod and he slowly slides into you, grabbing you by the hips. He moans in unison with you as he streeches you out.

He speeds up and has you moaning. “You like this? hmm? You stretch so good around me” You clench around him, your response for his question. He slows the pace. “Say it” You let out a cry.

“Yes” You said without breath, as you grind up and down him wanting to pick up the pace. He holds you still at the hips.

“Yes what?” He moves his hips in circles around his cock at a slow pace.

“Yes, I love the way you stretch me out!” You cry out and he picks up the pace, building up your orgasm.

You twitch around him and feel the way his shoulders tense up. He releases into you and you finally release, leaning into his lips.

As both of you try to catch your breath he removes the strands of hair stuck at your forehead, and looks at you with his lips swollen and cheeks flushed.

Your hands rest on his sweaty chest, as you lean again for a quick kiss.

“I still can't believe you spilled champagne all over yourself infront of everyone, '' he said with a small laugh. Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment once more, and you started to stand up, but were stopped by his hand on your neck pulling you down to his lips.

“It worked, no?” You replied.

#f1 #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #max verstappen #max verstappen smut #formula 1 #formula one #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you

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dazedvivenne · 2 months

Note

Can u write about smut w rafe/drew where reader is jealous of him spending too much time w a different girl/boy ?

RAFE CAMERON - EROTIC MOUTH

Short summary; You go to Barry’s house since Rafe hasn’t talked to you for days.

Trigger warnings: Throat fucking, face fucking, DUB-CON, degrading words, Barry watches, DARK! RAFE CAMERON.

A couple days has passed since you had last seen Rafe, you knew he was spending a lot of time at his dealers house. You didn’t know why though, which raised suspicions that he could be cheating on you.

Rafe usually spent his days with you, at least one hour a day. A couple days without Rafe felt strange and lonely, like a weight you needed was lifted off your shoulders.

You decided you would show up at Barry’s house without a warning, hoping to catch him in the act, but at the same time hoping to catch nothing at all.

You got onto your bike and started peddling to Barry’s house, you knew where it was cause Rafe brought you there once. Just to show you off to Barry.

Rafe’s truck was parked on Barry’s driveway. You peddled through the grass of Barry’s front lawn, a couple of chairs on the lawn. The grass was overall, you hoped off of the bike. Letting it fall to the ground as you creepily walked onto the porch of the house, tiptoeing your way to the front door.

You stood in front of the door, grabbing onto the doorknob, not prepared to see anything.

You took a deep breath before swinging the door open and stepping in the house, you saw Rafe sitting on the couch smoking. Barry was sat on his recliner.

“The fuck are you doing here?” Rafe immediately stood up, approaching you and grabbing your wrist to look you in the eyes. “You think you can just barge into my friends house?” Rafe asked angrily.

Your eyes watered, “Rafe I wanted to see you.” You admitted, pulling your wrist away from Rafe’s deadly grip.

Rafe rolled his eyes, “You could have called or texted, not just walk into this fucking house. You’re lucky Barry didn’t shoot your ass. Apologize.” Rafe demanded aggressively, clearly he was mad at you for this.

You look at Barry, “I’m sorry for walking into your house without knocking or announcing.” You spoke softly, keeping your cool.

Barry chuckled, his gold tooth shining into your eyes. “It’s alright princess.” Barry smiled, picking up his beer and taking a sip of it. The nickname he called you made Rafe’s blood boil.

Rafe towered over you, his eyes piercing through your body. “You know-“ Rafe hummed for a moment. “I think you should get on your knees.” Rafe offered with a smirk, not caring that Barry was right there.

You glance at Barry then back at Rafe, “Right now? Here?” You stumbled on your words, you didn’t want to give Rafe a blowjob in front of Barry.

Rafe nodded his head, leaning closer down to your ear. “Get on your fucking knees.” Rafe whispered in your ear, his voice husky and deep.

You obliged, dropping down into your knees. Rafe pushed some of your hair out of your face, your hands unbuttoned his shorts, pulling them down to his ankles.

Barry’s eyebrows raised, he wasn’t expecting Rafe to do this in front of him. But he didn’t mind. Barry leaned back in his chair, watching as you pulled Rafe’s underwear down to Rafe’s mid thigh.

Rafe’s left hand bundled all of your hair into a fist of his. You slowly put Rafe’s tip into your mouth, sucking on the tip, swiping your tongue over his slit. A low groan coming out of Rafe’s mouth.

Your hands stroked Rafe’s shaft, you thought you were going at a good pace until Rafe’s grip on your hair pulled you away from him.

“Sit still, alright?” Rafe requested, knowing it wasn’t a request and more of a demand you stayed still on your knees.

Rafe slaps his cock onto your cheek, Barry chuckles a bit as Rafe does this. You felt slightly humiliated, being used in front of an almost stranger.

Rafe rubbed his tip onto your lips, “Open.” Rafe commanded, his hand gently cupping your jaw, your mouth was now fully open. Rafe slid his cock into your wet mouth.

Rafe’s hips started bucking into your mouth, his hands started to grip onto the back of your head, he was fucking your face roughly.

Your hands grabbed onto his thighs, trying to push him away from you so you could at least get some air. Rafe’s hands pushed your head even further into his pelvis, your nose against his happy trail.

You breathed rapidly through your nose but it felt impossible when Rafe’s stomach was against it. You started to gag a bit on Rafe, it made him moan. Feeling the vibration of your throat onto his dick.

“You’re such a slut on letting me fuck your face in front of Barry.” Rafe grumbled, his hips bucking into your face at an even faster pace.

Barry licked his lips, enjoying the view of tears running down your face as you choked on Rafe’s dick. Barry’s hand went down to his clothed cock, his hand rubbing it for some friction to get rid of his boner.

You felt your throat burning as Rafe’s cock slammed into it, hot tears pouring down your face as gag and gasps for air escaped your mouth.

Your fingernails started to dig into the flesh of Rafe’s thighs, Rafe continued to do this, enjoying the view of you on your knees. Rafe hoped this would prove you were his little bitch to Barry.

Finally Rafe’s hips stopped bucking into your throat, his cock resting in your mouth as he came into your mouth.

You felt his cock twitch inside of your mouth then squirt of liquid hit the back of your throat, after a few moments of Rafe grunting, he pulled his cock out of your mouth, a string of salvia leaving your mouth.

“Swallow it.” Rafe grunted, watching as your swallowed all of Rafe’s cum. “Good girl.”

You panted heavily, Rafe’s hands went under your arm pit and picked you up. “Let’s go home, yeah?” Rafe asked with a smirk.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, wrapping your arms over his shoulders as he wiped away your tears.

“Bye, Barry.” Rafe said smugly, walking out of Barry’s house with the slam of the door.

#rafe cameron angst #smut #drew starkey #drew starkey smut #rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #dark rafe cameron #Rafe Cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you

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factual-fantasy · 4 months

Note

I am now curious about the ocean that's never been posted before, what's his deal?

(Post in question)

AAAA I'M SO GLAD YOU'RE INTERESTED!! :DD His name is Casey! He's an old madness combat OC that I made, along with 5 others! (Although I only drew references for 4-)

Now I made these guys without really knowing anything about Madness combat.. I just made some OCs with the little scraps of knowledge I had because all my friends had Madness OCs and I wanted to be cool like them.. 🥺

Now his story if I can remember is..

Its along the lines of he was this guy that lived in the Nevada wasteland. And he traveled around in this huge dump truck turned killing machine with two of his friends. At some point they were in a building trying to get diesel..? And there was a fire..? The truck was stolen by this gang and his two friends died in the fire.. Casey had just lost everything, he was of course devastated.. for a few years after he just wandered the wastelands.. just barely surviving.

Eventually, he found the gang that stole his truck. So in a blind rage he went into their camp and murdered everyone. But his truck was no where to be found.. Instead he found this kid tied to a tree waiting to be executed. "Stefany". He ends up cutting her lose and suddenly he has adoption papers in his hands. Weird-

They travel around together and eventually they meet this scientist guy that got separated from his group. I think I did a thing where the people that live in the wasteland hate scientists or something..?? And Eric was like "Please don't kill me I just want to go back to my group!" And Casey said somethin like- "Ok I'll take you back only if you give us this lab thingy when we get there." And Eric agreed.

So they go on this whole found family adventure and by the time they get to the lab Eric had really bonded with these people. He wasn't intending to actually keep his promise but because he really likes Casey and Stef, he kept his word. He steals the lab thingy but gets caught. Casey and Stef save him and peridot style he becomes a wastelander-

Now after a while of traveling around, naturally, Casey gets hurt somehow. He's messed up pretty bad so he's just camping out somewhere while Stef and Eric go look for food. While Stef is out looking for food, unbelievably.. she spots Casey's truck. She's never seen it before but Casey talked about what it looked like and how to break into it.

So she goes after the truck, uses the secret hijack method and kicks the two thieves out of the cab. She hightails it back to their camp to show Casey. But those two thieves follow her. When she gets back there's a stand off between Casey's group and the thieves. When suddenly,

"..Casey? Is that you?"

Turns out his two friends didn't die in the fire. And they had found the gang before Casey did and stole the truck back. Which is why it wasn't at the gangs camp. They talked about the fire.. Casey thought his friends had died, and his friends thought Casey had died. T'was but a silly misunderstanding.

So in the end all of them become a team and start traveling around in the big dump truck together.

I haven't brought the story beyond that, and a lot of it doesn't fit with actual madness combat lore.. 😅 But its all I've got!

#my response #madness combat #my ocs #I also drew bunch of text post memes with these guys #I should totally post them sometime

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rzyraffek · 8 months

Note

Could you please do headcanons Slashers (like Michael, Brahms, Billy, The Sinclair brothers) as caregivers for their S/O who is an age regressor

Or headcanons for those Slashers when they find out their s/o is an age regressor?

Okay I acually went and educated myself on this topic for you my dear anon🥰🌼

if your uncomfortable with topic of age regression pls dont read that😭

So basically as far as I understand age regression means that somone acts like child due to some traumatic event??? And like they act childlike and participate in child typical activies (such as drawing with crayons, speaking like a toddler, drinking from bottles ect) if i make headcanon that don't make any sense im sorry! I have no experience with this topic! ALSO this is pure platonic! Age regression isn't a kink or a fetish!!

Slashers with age regressor y/n

Brahms Heelshire

Tbh y/n acting childish kinda woke up his inner child, CUZ HE LITTERALY GOT LOCKED IN WALLS IN AGE OF LIKE 10 so he kinda missed out on some fun stuff

100% plays hide and seek! Or tag! My man loves some good round of hide and seek, this place is huge! *insert british accent* "oh you little scallop... if I find you I will tickle you so hard..."

Question: age regression is like temporary or like forever thing? Like regressor acts like that when they are in bad metal state or just always? Bcs if always then it might be hard with Brahms, see he kinda.... has mommy's issues has huge need to be taken care of, probably similar to y/n's, he kinda wants a person who will just pamper him and make him feel like he's the single child yknow? All the attention on him? Yknow what i mean??

If y/n draws him something nice, dude will put it on a fridge with a magnet and be proud

If thats like temporary thing, he acaully will ask a lot of questions: how should he act? Do you remember anything? How does it work? Can he get some cuddles? Do you still love him while regressing? (Ofc you do, but he doest understand)

Billy Lenz

You guys vibe

Dude won't see any difrence😭

Yay one more reason to watch cartoons together! (His favorite ponny is rarity and fluttershy)

If y/n babytalks and uses toddler-like vocabulary... dude will mimic it😭 he just thinks that will help with communication😭 its not like you guys struggle with it or anything, Billy is just build like that

Yall draw together, his artstyle already looks like toddler drew it (not in cute way)

Plays dolls with y/n (but he acually makes it interesting! Like he makes it all dramatic and the tea is just jawdropping)

Also don't bother explaining what is age regression, just say "sometimes I act like kid to cope"😭

Micheal Myers

Judges

But kinda likes it, not in weird way! He enjoys taking care of y/n, but he has his own ways of doing so

He won't play with them or let them cuddle him too much

But he accepts little drawings and stickers that y/n gives him

He is still stalking them, making sure noone tries to bully them or anything

He is very protective, for example if y/n cuts their finger while making food, dude is all over them: Oh no no dont cry! Uhhh.... uhhh oh! See a pretty bandage? With puppies! Pls dont cry...

On rare days he is acually around (phicially i mean, cuz hes always around just not interacting with y/n) and it happens for him to be in good mood too, he will let y/n nap on him or put some stickers on his outfit- he never takes them of btw, the only reason that stickers wash of is the field he 'works' in? Yknow a lot of mud blood and water. He also holds y/n hand if they are spooked

And he fucking loves fluttershy and applejack

Steals some cute shirts and socks for them!

Sinclair Bros

Bo is the least understanding, tbh he will lisen to y/n only if they have very good relationship

Vince is just 👍

And Lester is acually very open to the idea

Drawing and playing dolls with Vincent

Going on cool drives with Lester

And napping with Bo

Whole fridge is covered in drawings and cute magnets

All Vincent's notebooks and Lester truck covered in stickers

Even Bo gun didnt escape the sticker apocalypse

Vince made special wax figurines for y/n

Lester calls them "kiddo" 😭😭

Bo puts his hand on their head and rubs it till their hair goes all puffy

They all act like older brothers who have to take care of younger siblings while perents are away😭😭

Vince acually vents to regressing y/n and they are just like: "man I just wanna pet the dog"

Bonus round! Added few more!!

Bubba Sawyer

Bestie vibes

Yall just spend time playing with dolls and drawing together

Absolutely lets y/n nap on him

He totally combs their hair and puts them in nice bun (or if y/n has short hair he will just brush it)

He kinda sees age regression as lil break from reality? Like you two can just vibe and act they way you want to😊 he enjoys, cuz tbh he do be acting like child(not in bad way!) And his happy that you both can do all those child-like activities without being judged by other person

Bit y/n once

Asa Emory

Ew a child

I mean

Idk he gives me "the dad that never has time for u cuz he has too much work"

Like yep he will read y/n a bed time story and he will tell them all about bugs and nature. But hes busy most of time

OMG ABOUT BED TIME STORIES Asa will read you one but he is so exhausted that he acually falls asleep first

He trusts them and knows that even whilr regressing they wont do anything dumb, but he still bans them from his 'workroom' theres... well some photos and drawings of victims and i doubt y/n wants to see it

Lets them sit on his lap while he reads newspaper like middle-aged man he is

Gives lil head kisses before sleep

Bug themed plushies and figures

Makes y/n watch animal planet and bbc nature with him

When he's out for longer periods of time he will buy them McDonald's as an apology

Welp

Done. I hope it makes sense! I never witnessed anyone age regress so idk how relatable it is!! I used x reader tags only to reach bigger audience

#slasher x reader #slasher headcanons #billy lenz #billy lenz x reader #brahms heelsire #brahms x reader #micheal myers #micheal myers x reader #asa emory x reader #the collector x reader #bubba saywer x reader #bubba sawyer #age regression #sfw agere #request open #asa x reader

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ilikesillythings · 2 months

Note

I could ask, Yandere Vox x Moth reader, where the reader runs away from Vox, and ends up staying in the hazbin hotel

" Only you, darling " Oh. my. STARS YES YES YOU CAN ASK THIS FUCK PLEASE TYSM I LOVE THE MOTH DEMONS AS I HAVE MY ON HH OC LIKE THAT

Vox x reader Tws; yandere themes (per usual), Idk how to tag this one tbh.. Requested also by ; @zinnia1506

Living with Vox.. wasn't the easiest. Let alone loving him. Something about him drew you in -- maybe it was his hypnotic gaze, or how he was a blue light screen, always emitting that special kind of light that captivited your little moth brain. Whatever it was used to have a tight hold around you, no matter how much you screamed at him, or him you.

He drilled it into your mind that you were to, 'trust him', and how you were his alone. Perhaps at one time, you found comfort in these words, but, it was an empty sort of comfort. Like hiding under a blanket. Sure, it's warm, soft, but soon becomes unbearable, and suffocating.

For a while you assumed there was no escape. He had his room set to a very cold tempature, not only to cool his own circuits, and the computer screens around, but to keep you from leaving. Moths didn't do well in the cold, so all you could do was wrap yourself up in a blanket or two, and your wings, feverishly rubbing your six hands together

Until the power went out. You soon realized that because the AC had turned off, the room was beginning to warm. Hastily, you stood from your rather comfrtable bed, allowing the duvet to slip off of your shoulders. Head whirrling to the side, causing your antenna to sway with the quick movments, you made your way hastily to the elevator, barefoot, in only a par of shorts, and loose t-shirt,

Frantically, you pressed the 'up' button, no longer caring if Vox were to see you leaving. He'd eventually notice, and find you - he had cameras everywhere, "Fuck-!" You cured, finger aggressively pressing the button

After what seemed like far too long, the elevator began moving up, your wings jolting out slightly at the sudden movement.

Perhaps an eternity passed before the elevator halted, allowing you to cautiously walk out, each step took carefully, as if the floor would collapse at any moment. Maybe it was silly how paranoid you were, mind racing with worries.

Vox had eyes everywhere. He could spy on people through any tech made by his company, cameras -- most things tech related. Which made getting away from his prying gaze even harder. As quick as the thoughts ran through your mind, you began running, out of the building, ignoring the stares from employees - who thankfully gave you nothing more than a glance with a raised eyebrow.

The cool of the air outside hit you like a truck. How long had it been since you'd been outside anyways? Months? Maybe a year or two? You couldn't remember. It was bright. Oh so bright. It all made your head spin, in a good and bad way.

Although you knew it was too soon to be relieved, and feel safe, but how could you not? Finally out of that little pocket of Hell. "Think, {Y/N}!" You internally screamed at yourself, desperately trying to think of a place Vox didn't have cameras.

That was when it hit you. The Hazbin Hotel. You were sure since the Radio demon was there you'd be at least safe from Vox. With this in your mind you ran out the door, past the mass amounts of screens owned by VoxTek. It seemed like hours before you saw the hotel coming closer, and you broke into a faster sprint, despite everything aching badly

Loudly, you rapped your knuckles against the door, with a desperate speed. The door flung open, revealing Alastor himsef. "Well isn't this interesting? Aren't you Vox's little pet?"

#x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #vox #hazbin #this was a request #This took so long #i had sm fun at the start.. then writers block hit me #this is so bad help #vox x readrer #yandere

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tropes-and-tales · 7 months

Text

If You Weren't You, Part Two

Day 1: Hate sex (Benny Magalon x F!Reader)

(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!)

CW: Light angst, kinda; smut (PiV, unprotected); 18+ only.

Word Count: 5618

AN: This is a sequel to this, and it was requested for Kinktober by @thesandbeneathmytoes!)

The weekend passes uncomfortably for Benny Magalon.

He has the usual bullshit chores to catch up on. He gets groceries, does his laundry. He calls home, gets the updates on his family from his mom. He goes through the pile of mail that accumulated on his table during the week.

Every idle moment, his mind drifts to you. That moment with you, specifically. The moment of insanity.

Nighttime is the worst. He doesn’t fall asleep easily anyway, but Saturday night, Sunday night…it takes longer than usual to drift off. He keeps replaying that moment. In the darkness of his room, he swears he can exactly remember the weirdly tender way you touched him—your hand in his hair, the gentle way you kissed him.

The way he made you laugh—really laugh—when he jokingly accused you of getting turned on by being mean to him.

The curiously hurt look on your face afterwards when he implied that fucking you was some bottom-of-the-barrel situation for him. It was inexplicable, the hurt in your expression, because Benny hadn’t thought you were capable of feeling hurt. You were too cool, too dispassionate…or so he thought.

Sunday night stretches out long and uncomfortable. The minutes tick by slow, and he’s no closer to falling asleep. In only a few hours he’ll have to get up, get dressed, and face you.

“Goddammit,” he mutters in the darkness of his room, and he rolls over, punches his pillow into shape, and tries to push you out of his head.

-----

He doesn’t have to face you Monday morning. Lobbin’ Bob is the one leading the morning debrief, and you are nowhere to be found.

Benny finds out later that you are with the LAPD, plying your charm to get some case files they have on the suspect on a separate case. Right now, though, he’s just relieved to not have to see you.

He and Big Nick go outside after the debrief to head back to Major Crimes. His boss looks awful—he hits those Friday parties hard and never seems to have enough time to recover. Nick gestures to Benny to wait a moment, and he leans against his truck, slides a pack of smokes out of his coat pocket. He lights a cigarette with a grumble, then tosses the pack and lighter to Benny.

They smoke together in silence for a beat. God only knows what Big Nick is thinking.

Benny? He’s thinking he’s dodged a bullet, but that he’ll have to face you soon enough.

Big Nick takes a deep drag of his cigarette. “Sorry about Friday night,” he says. “You drew the short straw.”

Benny flicks the ash off of his own cigarette. “S’ fine.”

“You missed a good party.” A beat. “So how was she? Lobbin’ Bob’s pet ice queen?”

He shrugs. He refuses to tell his boss about that moment of madness in the backseat of your SUV, the weirdly tender moment that turned sour as soon as you both put your pants back on.

“Same as always,” he replies.

Big Nick chuckles, shakes his head. “You know, I’m all for women in law enforcement. Equal rights and all that shit. But I hate it when they get too high on themselves. The way she marches around, acting like she’s better than everyone…there’s no room for ego in this game.”

Benny bites his tongue, doesn’t point out that Big Nick has the biggest ego of anyone. How he insists on being the center of attention, the center of any moment. The Sheriff’s department resident bad boy who get results at the cost of….well, everything. At the cost of good procedures and policies, at the cost of his family, at the cost of his detectives’ personal lives…

“She needs taken down a notch or two,” Big Nick says. “Think we should be the ones to do it.”

Benny has witnessed plenty of his boss’s pranks and mean-spirited jokes. Big Nick plays rough.

He remembers the feeling of your fingers combing through his hair, the soft way you pulled him to you to kiss him. The startling sound of your laughter.

“Nah, leave it,” he tells Big Nick, but he should know better—Nick does what Nick wants, and tough shit to anyone who doesn’t like it.

*****

You learned how to compartmentalize things when you were just a kid, and the knack for it serves you well in adulthood—in your personal life, but especially in your job.

When you make the terrible decision to fuck Detective Magalon, that decision straddles both your personal and professional life, which makes it harder to shove away in a box and forget it…but you’re a pro at sealing off unhappy moments, sliding them into some cobwebbed corner of your mind, so that’s exactly what you do.

You seal off that moment with Magalon, you push it away, you start to forget it.

Monday: you spend the better part of the day with LAPD, sifting through evidence tangentially related to your case.

Tuesday: you testify in an unrelated case, drive up to Sacramento and walk a judge and jury through your investigation from months ago.

Wednesday: you return to the office and the case at hand. The LAPD sent over all of their casework while you were in the state capitol, boxes of evidence, so you sigh and settle in for a day of combing through it all. It’s a proverbial needle in a haystack, but you aren’t alone for long.

An hour into it, you’ve only just ordered the boxes and cracked open the first one. There’s a knock at the door of your office, and Bob peeks his head in.

“Hey, the Sheriff’s Department sent over one of their detectives to help you sort through the evidence,” he said. He shook his head, chuckled. “I tried to tell O’Brien that we didn’t need any help, but he’s afraid of getting iced out.”

You roll your eyes and hope the gesture covers the way your stomach cramps and twists. You know it’s going to be Magalon. That shoved-away, boxed-up memory resurfaces—the gentle way he had cradled the top of your head in your SUV, the way he had smiled down at you…then how he had insulted you right after, and how hard that stung.

“It’s fine,” you lie to Bob.

“Good.” He raps his fist against the doorjamb. “He’s on his way up. Play nice, but if you need me, just call.”

“Will do,” you reply, and you have only a handful of minutes to compose yourself: to pull on a neutral face, to take some steadying breaths, and then Detective Magalon—Mr. Tall, Dark, and Stupid—is in your doorway with an inscrutable expression on his face.

*****

You’re quiet all day. Through the morning, through lunch and into the afternoon—you say so little. The sum total of your conversation is you asking him what he wants for lunch, then you calling out to an assistant to place the order.

You eat in silence. You work in silence. Benny goes outside to smoke a cigarette, and he finds his hands tremble to light it. He lingers outside as long as he thinks he can, and he returns to your office slowly, drags his feet.

Your silence is unnerving. It holds weight and takes up space, like a third entity in the room with the two of you. Benny’s not used to women being so quiet when they’re pissed at him—and you must be pissed at him. Women he’s done wrong, they usually yell at him, scream at him, come at him like wildcats.

You just sit there and page through wire-tap records, witness interviews, phone records. You don’t avoid eye contact with him but you don’t stare him down. You’re perfectly neutral, exactly down the middle of the line.

His weird guilt and unease shifts back to a more familiar feeling: irritation. Lobbin’ Bob’s goddamned pet ice princess. Fussily perfect, completely boring. You drink water all day to stay hydrated. You brush and floss your teeth after lunch. When you get a headache, you pull open a desk drawer—neatly organized—and shake out a single tablet of ibuprofen that you toss back with a practiced flick of the wrist.

You’re a goddamned robot, not even a real person, and Benny hates that you took up so much space in his head over the weekend. He hates that he felt a burgeoning guilt over what he had said after your hookup; he hates that he felt nervous to see you again. He hates that he lost a single moment of sleep over you.

The sun reaches its apex and starts its slide into the west. The quiet murmur of office noise dies off on the other side of your door. Benny’s concentration wanes too; the numbers on the phone logs he’s combing start to blur together. His thoughts drift off to other things. He starts to fiddle with his phone, restlessly scrolling through his email, his texts, the handful of bare-bones social media he has.

You glance up at him from your pile of paperwork when his phone chimes—a text from Big Nick—and Benny feels your eyes on him. When he looks up from replying to Nick, he catches your studious look, your arched brow.

But you say nothing, so when you bend your head back to the task at hand, he goes ahead and breaks the onerous silence with a terse, “we gonna be much longer?”

“Big Nick got a line on some coke and hookers?”

There it is. Finally. He pushes a hard exhale through his nose and shakes his head. “That wasn’t Big Nick.” He doesn’t add more to the lie; he’s curious if you’ll think it’s a woman. He’s curious if any glimmer of jealousy will cross your features.

He’s disappointed a beat later. Instead of feeling jealous, you seem to see through his ruse but you play along. Your lips twitch into a ghost of a smile.

“Oh, a hot date, then?” The smile widens, and you lift a hand towards your closed door. “If you leave now, you won’t lose your deposit on her.”

Another huffed out breath, and his irritation rachets up a degree. He hates your implications around him paying for women, but he hates even more how close to the mark you’ve hit. He hasn’t paid for it, not in a long while…but there was a time when he had, back when he was freshly-divorced and smarting from it, licking his wounds at their big seedy parties each weekend.

“Jealous?” he asks, and he hates how lame it sounds as a comeback, but he pairs it with a stony expression.

You nod, and a fake frown replaces your smile, a pouting moue that would be charming on anyone else but you.

“I’m devastated,” you reply, dead-pan, but then you sigh and look back down at your paperwork. “No, go ahead and go.”

He would leave if you’d leave, but you seem like you’re staying. The sun is almost set now, and your office is darker, but you make no move to box up the remaining evidence. You seem like you’re hunkering down until the job is done, and that needles at Benny even more. You’ve always obliquely—and not so obliquely—implied that you are the better cop. That he and the Major Crimes assholes are reckless tramplers of the law, and that you and Lobbin’ Bob are upstanding examples of law enforcement.

“You coming?” he asks. He stands up but doesn’t move towards the door.

“No.”

“It’s late.”

You tilt your head but don’t look up at him. “I’ve worked later than this.”

The implication, Benny hears, is that he’s never worked late before, and he bristles at your tone. “There’s probably nothing here,” he replies, and he gestures at the boxes of evidence from the LAPD case. “Leave it.”

You snort, and you finally lift your head. You stare at him dead-on, no blinking. “That’s excellent police work, Detective. ‘There’s probably nothing here.’” You repeat his words back to him in a startingly good impression of him, his lazy California accent and soft voice, and he bristles even more.

“This stuff was always a long shot,” he argues.

“Long shots pay off all the time. Some cases are built on long shots.”

“So you’re gonna stay here and finish?” He glanced over at the boxes you haven’t gotten to yet. There’s three of them. You’ll be here all night. He feels that familiar sting of guilt, and then he feels pissed, like you’re manipulating him into staying longer, even though you’ve been beating him with your silence all day—

“Yup. I am.”

“Well, I’m leaving.” He takes a step towards your door but goes no further because that fucking guilt keeps him rooted in place. The thought of you spending a lonely night with boxes of evidence, and he’s supposed to be your partner in this—

“C’mon, let’s just go,” he adds. “We can hit it tomorrow fresh.”

“Tomorrow I have to hit something else,” you reply. There’s tension in your voice, a tightness to your words. You’re getting irritated with him now. “And the next day there’s something else. I have to get through this now or it won’t get done.”

“Shit, there’s nothing—”

“Christ, Magalon!” You snap, sudden, and it makes him jolt where he stands. You toss your pen aside and bring your fist down on your desktop like a hammer, and the display of anger makes him take a half step away from you. You stand up, round around your desk, and you go to your door and yank it open.

“Go.” You stand in the doorway and point out of it, and you actually fucking snap your fingers as you point, like he’s a recalcitrant dog caught chewing on the furniture.

“Jesus, calm down—”

The words slip out despite knowing that telling any woman to calm down always elicits the opposite reaction: you actually stamp your foot on the floor, and it’d be cute as shit, how feisty you’re getting out of nowhere, but you’re you, and he’s been ready to leave for hours, exhausted by the boring work and the frustration to be paired with you again.

“Get out,” you tell him. “I’ll finish it up myself.”

“I only—”

“I don’t need any excuses. Seriously, Magalon. Go home. Go find O’Brien or your band of merry assholes.”

He should leave. He wants to. You’re back to being a bitch, a living cold front that leaves him chilled by your silence and your judgement. He’s completely free to stalk away; he has no obligation to stay and suffer more. Except…

…except you’ve been calling him by his name all day. Calling him by his title. Magalon. Detective. You’ve dropped the pretense of calling him the wrong name, the pretense of conflating him with his Major Crimes teammates—the message that they’re all the same, interchangeable, identical in their awfulness.

Does it mean you see him as himself now? Did he lay you well enough to distinguish himself from the pack and earn that scant bit of respect—razor-thin, admittedly—that you use his last name now?

“Calm down,” he repeats, and this time it’s intentional. He’s rewarded by more outrage: you stamp your foot again (it is cute, he decides now, because you’re usually so collected). You actually go so apoplectic that when you open your mouth to respond, nothing comes out. You glare at him gape-mouthed, and nothing comes out, so he adds, “shit, you need laid again? You already missing it after a few days?”

Your eyes go wider, and you huff out a breath so heavily that your nostrils flare at the effort. “Shut up.”

It’s not a no. Benny smirks at you, and your eyes narrow into slits at his expression.

“Just go,” you seethe, like you’re pushing the words out between your clenched jaw. “Seriously, don’t leave whoever waiting. Your date. O’Brien. Whoever.”

“I can spare you five minutes.”

You snort, roll your eyes. “What’s that come to, four minutes of foreplay and a minute of action?”

This is cute too, he decides. You talking shit about his game when you know better. You acting like you don’t know how he is, like you don’t have the first-hand experience of him pretty effortlessly coaxing an orgasm from you—

“Aw, sweetheart.” His smirk widens, and he reaches out to trace a fingertip down the curve of your face. “You know that isn’t true.”

You swat away his hand and make a dismissive tsch sort of noise, but you don’t reply. He lifts his hand again, traces his forefinger across the neckline of your blouse. He doesn’t touch you, but he’s close, and when you go to swat him away again, he catches your hand in his. Pulls you towards him, takes you off your balance until you sway closer to him.

“C’mon,” he says. “Five minutes, then we leave, and hit those few boxes fresh in the morning.”

He sees that you’re tempted. He sees the way your expression wavers, and he isn’t sure if you’re more tempted by him or the prospect of not spending the night in your office…but either way, he’s snaking his way around the wall you have up, and you’re wavering—

“C’mon.” He drops his voice to a low rumble right by your ear, and he catches the way your breathing picks up, the rise and fall of your chest quickening. “I know you’re already wet, sweetheart. You’ve been mean to me all day. You must be.”

It makes you laugh, and just like that night in your SUV, it startles him. It’s such a rare sound, he guesses. It’s throaty and low but loud, punched-out. Just like before, he feels a thrill of pride to draw it out of you. He bets it’s a rarer thing to make you laugh than to make you come, and he’s done both.

“I haven’t been mean to you at all,” you point out. “I’ve barely talked.”

“Silent treatment can hurt.”

Another eye-roll. “You complained the other day that I talk too much. Now it’s not enough.”

A fair point: he did snap at you that night, right before he kissed you. He doesn’t want to rehash it at the moment. His own arousal is awake, powering up, so he lifts his eyebrows at you and says, hopeful, “so?”

“So what?”

“Five minutes, then we go?”

“Fuck off.” You move past him, out of the doorway and back into your office. “You just want more ammo for your asshole buddies. Tell ‘em all about hooking up with the ice princess or whatever.”

Benny shuts the door to your office, but he’s on the wrong side of it. He takes the few steps to follow you and says, “I didn’t tell them.”

Another one of your bitter tsch sounds. “Because it’s embarrassing. Yeah, I know. You already—”

“It isn’t their business.” He cuts you off, and if he’s been teasing you before, he’s deadly serious now. It isn’t their business. Not Henderson, not Z, not Connors. Certainly not Big Nick. He chafes under their closeness sometimes, hates that they work and party together so much that it feels like he has no privacy. But this thing—a one-time hook-up that maybe is burgeoning into more—belongs to the two of you. You and Benny. No one else. He tells you so, in far fewer words.

You don’t believe him. You finally turn and watch him, and the expression in your eyes is pure wariness. Underneath it, though, he swears he sees a glint of something else, something not easily defined—

“Come on,” he says. He sounds whiny but he doesn’t care. “You keep scrapping with me, and we could already be fucking.”

It makes you smile. It blossoms across your face like you can’t help it, and in the moment Benny just thinks got you, sweetheart, but afterwards he’ll think about how your smile, rare as it is, holds no artifice, not a single ounce of guile. He’ll think, later on, how your smile transforms your entire face from one of a brittle sort of prettiness to something extraordinarily beautiful.

“Fine,” you answer him, and if you weren’t you, it’d be adorable how you act like you’re put out, like you’re doing him a favor. “Lock the door then, Magalon.”

-----

The interlude in your SUV wasn’t romantic by any stretch, but you try to make this moment even less so. At least that first time, it started with him kissing you, you kissing him back. Now, you’re all business, and he stares for a beat as he watches you kick off your shoes, as you start to unbutton your pants.

“Damn, slow down,” he says.

“You have five minutes.” You push your pants down, give a little shimmy to get them over your hips, over your ass. You get them off but you shake them out and hang them over your chair, fussy as ever.

Benny closes the gap between you, and he manages to reach down and still your hands before you can get your panties off. He clasps them and draws them up, presses them to his chest.

“Slow down,” he repeats. He says it softer, almost a whisper, and it makes you lift your gaze to find him.

The corner of your mouth quirks into a near-smile. “Well, now you have four—”

He doesn’t let you finish. He bends his head and cuts off your smart-ass mouth with a kiss, steals the words from you. Your lips are just as soft as that night, and when he groans at the feel of them, he feels them curve into a smile. A beat later, he feels the sharp line of your teeth nipping at him, not very hard, and then the tip of your tongue tracing along his lower lip.

Benny releases your hands. He wraps one around the back of your neck to hold you to him. He places the other on your waist, and he pushes his fingers under the hem of your shirt to revel in the feel of your skin—soft, and so warm that you feel almost feverish.

You? You don’t romance it beyond kissing him, but you’re eager. He can feel it shimmering off of you like heat on pavement on a summer’s day. Your hands reach down on him; one fumbles at his belt and the button and fly of his jeans while the other cups him through the denim. He inhales sharply at your touch, even through the layers of clothing. He breaks the kiss a moment later when you snake your hand under his jeans and his boxers—the sudden feeling of your warm palm on his cock, coaxing him from half-hard to fully erect.

“Eager. Knew you missed me,” he gloats. He tries to catch your eye but you avoid him, shake your head.

“Shut up,” you mumble, and it’s defensive, and it could lead to you stopping this whole encounter and putting that wall up around you again, so he leaves it be and kisses you again.

Benny wonders what it would be like to take his time with you. This is paltry; it’s a meager mouthful, barely enough to sate any appetite. When he hoists you onto the edge of your desk and pushes into you—you’re already wet, just as he had guessed, so you must get turned on by scrapping with him—it feels just as amazing as before. Your pussy is molten, velvety, gripping him like a fist until he grits his teeth so he doesn’t embarrass himself and come too soon…

…yet he wonders how much better it would be to take his time. To have the luxury of time and space and privacy, to strip you completely naked and see what you really look like. He’d love to edge you, he thinks. He’d love to see you stretched out on a bed, back arching away from the mattress as he pushes you to the precipice of your orgasm only to deny you at the last moment. He’d love to strip away every bit of ego you have, every bit of smugness that sets you higher than him in your own opinion. He’d love to frustrate you completely in bed, would love to see your eyes leaking tears, that mean mouth of yours begging him so sweetly…

…because even like this, once he gets his cock in you, you turn so nice. It gentles you, rounds off the sharp bits and edges of you. Your face goes soft with wonder. Your eyes go soft when you meet his gaze. As he fucks you—sharp thrusts, steady pace—you tilt your face up to him, and you look so unlike yourself that he kisses you again. You sigh into it, hold him tighter where your arms are wrapped around his shoulders to help hold yourself steady at the awkward angle.

Neither of you say much else. He wraps an arm around your waist as he drives into you, and you mumble when you’re close but he already knows: as inscrutable as you are, as placid as your face can be when you’re masking yourself around him, your body is an open book. He feels like he’s tuned in perfectly to whatever wavelength you’re operating on. He hears the way your breathing picks up, feels how your kisses get sloppier as you sink into the sensation of your approaching orgasm. He feels how your cunt grips him tighter, how your arousal coats him and makes it easier to bottom out in you.

He tells you he’s close too, and that’s about the sum of your conversation for the rest of the night: you come a beat later, with a keening whine that sets him off and gives him barely enough time to pull out before he’s painting your belly with his cum.

You’re both quiet afterwards. He resists the urge to kiss your forehead before he parts from you. You might be resisting a similar urge, because you pat him awkwardly on his shoulder in a “way to go, sport” sort of way. But neither of you say much as you clean up, dress, reassemble yourselves. You’re both silent as you leave together, likely remembering how quickly shit turned mean the last time you fucked.

“Hit the rest of the evidence tomorrow morning?” he asks, and you meet his gaze and then nod.

You turn towards where your SUV is parked, but you turn back a beat later, tell him to drive safely.

*****

The case progresses slowly.

You and Benny continue…well, whatever it is, you continue it.

It gives you whiplash. The mean sniping with each other, the insults and barbs you trade. He still follows the ice princess routine, the prissy, bland, clean-living routine. He makes wild assumptions about your life—accuses you of loving beige, of being boring, of decorating your home in “live, laugh, love” décor. His speculations about your sex life—as it exists outside of your hookups with him, that is—make you sound repressed and tedious. You fuck white-collar men, he claims. With the lights off. Missionary. Through a hole in the sheet.

All of that contrasted against how he’s kinda, sorta nice when you hook up. He kisses you nicely, helps you clean up afterwards. You tend to fuck in inconvenient places that test your flexibility, and Magalon is nice about it, considerate to take as much of the discomfort as he can rather than let you twist or strain to make it work.

Tall, Dark, and Stupid. He is capable of being nice, you guess. Who would have thought?

Only capable of it, though. It’s not an innate character trait, you assume. He’s still a mean asshole, snarky, and sometimes his words hit their target dead on and other times they only glance off of you. You’re never sure when they’re going to hurt and when they’re going to make you laugh.

Once, you hook up in your office again, quiet because it’s the lunch hour and there’s twenty fellow FBI agents on the other side of your locked office door. Magalon makes a crude joke afterwards about how you need to take a day off to meet up with your waxer, and your anger at the double standard—this dude who rolls around Los Angeles in a flannel with scruffy facial hair, judging you—washes through you immediately. You open your mouth to argue because his judgement still stings, still makes you feel small and unworthy, but you catch him holding back a smile. His stupid dimple gives him away, and he reaches down and smacks your ass lightly before he goes to leave.

“Save that feistiness for next time,” he tells you, and he drops you a wink, and you hate that he knows you will hold onto his comment, that you will likely visit your salon before you see him again. You hate that he’ll see the results and smirk knowingly.

You hate that he’ll know he is capable of getting to you.

Another time, he hurries you along. It’s early evening, and he’s watched the clock all afternoon. It’s distracting and keeps your orgasm frustratingly out of reach, like you can brush your fingertips against it but not get a firm grip. You do what you always do, then: you gasp beside his ear, you bear down. You fake it.

You think he probably knows, because he peers at you through narrowed eyes right before he comes, and you hate that he’s savvy enough about your body to know the difference between the real thing and faking.

“Got somewhere to be,” he tells you as you clean up. You hear the rustle of his jeans, the clink of his belt buckle.

“Well, don’t let me hold you up.”

“Got a date,” he adds, and you catch the sidelong glance he gives you. No dimples though. You wonder if it’s true or if he’s riling you up.

“Lucky girl.” You perch on the edge of your desk and pull your shoes back on.

“You sound jealous.”

“I’m not.” You aren’t. You’re relieved to find the thought of Magalon going on a date with someone else doesn’t spark any emotion at all. You’ve done a lot of dumb things lately—chiefly the detective standing in your office, zipping up his pants—but at least catching feelings for said detective isn’t one of them.

“You sure?” He peers at you again, and his face is back to its usual stoic stoniness. Not a hint of smile, and you can’t read whatever is going on behind his dark eyes.

“Be sure to hold the door open for her,” you advise him. “Women love basic politeness.”

“If you’re jealous…”

“I’m not. Go. Have fun.” You shoo him away. You sit down at your desk, not wanting to leave with him and go through this jealous-or-not-jealous routine in the parking lot too. You see him out of the corner of your eye while he lingers in your doorway, and then he’s gone.

You don’t catch the faint hurt, the disappointment on his face when he leaves, like he was hoping you’d be jealous of the thought of him out with another woman, wining and dining her properly instead of just hate-fucking her.

And he, of course, isn’t there later to see when the jealousy finally does hit you. It’s just a small feeling; there’s no wild tears or tight chest. You’re already home and walking your dog when it hits. You imagine him out with a nameless woman, and you fill in all the features based on where you find yourself lacking: this nameless woman has smaller, perkier tits, a better ass, a perfectly landscaped pussy. She oozes warmth and openness. No one has ever accused her of being an ice princess. She has a complete, happy family: parents who are still married and still very much in love, an older sister, a younger brother. By the time you’re done walking the dog, you have written an entire history for this nameless woman, and the sting of jealousy needles deeper.

“It’s just fucking,” you remind yourself in bed that night, chiding yourself for getting so worked up over nothing. “It’s just hate sex.”

Still, maybe this is the moment you need to end it. It’s just a bad idea all around. Magalon says he’s never told his buddies, but you can’t be sure and you certainly don’t trust him. Hooking up isn’t against the rules, per se, but you’d hate the judgment that would spring up around the office. It also distracts you when your attention should be elsewhere; the thought of prior hook-ups, the promise of more. And now that you know he’s seeing other people outside of this thing you have, you’d have to make him wear a condom anyway. No sense in putting yourself at risk.

“Easier to just end it,” you mumble as you roll over, tuck your hands under your pillow and try to make yourself comfortable.

Yes, that’s what you’ll do. You’ll just end it. Cold-turkey. No need to make a scene about it. The next time he reaches for you, you’ll just gently and firmly decline. You’re not really the sort of woman to go for hate-fucking anyway, so breaking off your thing with Magalon is just you getting back to who you really are.

A temporary break from sanity, but now you’re returning to who you are.

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