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notjustjavierpena · 7 months

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Swelter

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A/N: This happened because the SAG Awards made me horny. I have no other explanation for my behavior, no other defence. Maybe that I was listening to ur dad by VIAL. Obviously also a huge thanks to @strang3lov3 for being the cutest love bug I know, and for putting up with my brainstorming sessions.

Summary: You have a crush on Sarah’s father. It is summer, it is hot, and you just want a cold drink.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, best friend’s dad, significant age gap (reader is 19-22, Joel is in his mid-40s), SEXUAL TENSION, bee stings, groping, voyeur to some degree, f masturbation, dirty talk, an endless amount of pet names, sexy play with a soda can, praise kink, car sex, daddy kink, fingering, unprotected piv sex, joel’s cock is huge in this, creampie, premature ejaculation, pussy eating, come eating, squirting

Word count: 6.8k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54233479

Swelter

A warm Texas breeze blows through the open window of Sarah’s childhood room, making the see-through pink curtains move elegantly from side to side. It hits your back right underneath your halter neck as you lay on Sarah’s bed, caressing your bare skin and making you think of him. You wonder if his hands would have the same effect on you because you find yourself shivering but not from feeling cold. He is somewhere here, and his daughter doesn’t even know that her best friend obsesses about that fact.

Sarah hasn’t changed her room since she was a teenager. She told you this the first time she brought you here, which is almost a year ago today. You were here last summer too, thrilled to be invited to spend a few weeks of your summer with a friend from college and you and her have been inseparable ever since, even if you are so different from each other.

You have your face in a woman’s magazine, propped up on your elbows so you can suck on a popsicle stick whilst turning the pages. There’s a page with the recipe for ‘The Best Fudgy Chocolate Cake Ever!’ next to a page on how to lose weight, and it makes you snort.

“What?” Sarah turns on her chair, pausing the video on her computer.

“What kinda woman are you? You can choose one, but only one. Don’t get greedy now!” You make a scratchy voice but then pop your ice pop in your mouth to hold up the magazine for her to see.

“Seriously? We can’t win,” she groans dramatically, “Chocolate cake always. I just want to be happy, and that looks like a serotonin boost.”

Suddenly, the door opens without any warning. It’s him. Mr. Miller. You quickly remove the popsicle from your mouth, not about to show him how your lips are stretched around the sugary snack. The open door causes a draft to blow the smell of his cologne your way, and it is intoxicating beyond your imagination because you relish in it in secret.

“Dad,” Sarah says with exasperation, “I thought being an adult earned you the privilege of more privacy.”

“It’s gettin’ colder outside now,” he states and ignores her comment, hand resting on the doorknob, “The Adlers need Mercy to be walked, and the pavement’s coolin’ down.”

“I walked him when I was fourteen,” she furrows her brow and you suppress a snicker, “I’m twenty.”

“Just ‘cause you’re grown, don’t mean you can’t do right by ‘em,” he states matter-of-factly.

“Hi, Mr. Miller,” you say from your spot on the bed as Sarah fumes quietly, absentmindedly reaching to pull the short skirt of your dress down. He can probably see the start of your ass from how it has been riding up as you lay down on the sheets.

“Hiya darlin’,” he replies and you swear you can hear a restrained sound in his voice. He turns to Sarah again, “Get your butt off that chair.”

“Fine,” she follows through on her orders but still wants to argue, probably embarrassed at being ordered around by her father in front of her friend. She gestures to you, “And what about my guest?”

“She’s grown too, which means she can probably entertain herself the half hour you’ll be gone,” he dares wink at you, and blood courses through your veins.

“I’ll just get that assignment done while you’re out,” you reassure and try not to seem like your core is shaking.

“See?” Joel looks triumphant.

“You’d make a hell of a lawyer,” she deadpans at her father and walks past him.

When he closes the door and leaves you alone in the bedroom, you can feel your popsicle having melted, its syrupy water running down your fingers. You switch hands and suck the sticky fingers into your mouth. The action makes Mr. Miller’s image flash in your mind and you press your thighs together before getting up and finding your laptop.

You find that it’s near impossible to concentrate on proofreading your assignment in the tiny bedroom after just five minutes of being alone. It’s not that you can’t concentrate in the Summer heat but no matter what you do, your mind keeps circling back to Joel’s voice as he called you darling. It heats you more than the sun ever could, and with every tap on your keyboard, your mouth gets more and more dry.

Eventually, you push yourself to stand from your seat at the desk and make a decision to go fetch something to drink, and it is definitely not with the intention of accidentally bumping into Sarah’s father. Not even when you do not find Joel in the kitchen and decide to bypass it altogether to continue into the garage in hopes of being successful in your search for a drink (obviously).

This infatuation started last year. It took you about ten seconds - from walking into the kitchen and shaking Joel’s hand - to realize that Sarah was cursed with having him as a father. Firstly, he was outrageously handsome; always wearing washed-out t-shirts that clung to his shoulders, always smiling with teeth, sporting salt-and-pepper curls, and sometimes even shocking you by entering the kitchen with working gloves on. However, when he opened his mouth and spoke, a southern drawl dripped from his lips and made your whole body tense up. He was charming, respectful, and laughed at the right moments. Most importantly, he laughed at every damn attempt that you made at being funny, and while it was probably an attempt to be nice and make you feel at home, it spurred you on terribly to win him over at every opportunity.

Despite all that, those opportunities weren’t many. He was also cool enough to know that his daughter didn’t want him hanging around all the time, and so he spent many days either in the garden to mow the lawn in competition with the rest of the fathers down the street, in the garage to fix up some old truck, or with his brother, Tommy, and Tommy’s wife who always had some DIY-project going on.

Thus, the summer became one of tanning sessions in the garden, movies in Sarah’s room, stolen glances at Joel Miller whenever he came inside to quench his thirst after hard labor, and secret longing whenever he had kept away for too long.

One particular day last year, Sarah had failed to mention that her father would be home most of the last days you were in their house, and because he was always out, you were getting more and more comfortable with walking around in your towels post-showers or leaving the door unlocked when changing.

The particular event had happened in the morning when the house had been silent except for the kitchen where Sarah was preparing breakfast, using a large box of pancake mix and the whole fruit section of the local grocery store for topping. You had just showered, standing with your head in your suitcase to search for the last few pieces of clothing you had that were clean when there was a rap on the door and a pull of the handle not even a second later.

“Sarah, I need—“

You whipped around at the sound of a new voice entering the room. Your heart nearly burst out of your chest, feeling as though it was fighting its way out between your ribs as embarrassment began to flood your system. Even so, you stood too frozen to reach for something to cover yourself up.

Joel was in the doorway and dead silent, looking as if struck by lightning. Like earlier today, his hand had been resting on the doorknob and in the painfully short moment that the both of you were processing the situation, you saw that his grip tightened enough to whiten his knuckles.

And then it happened, the thing that had soaked you in forbidden desire and delicious excitement; his gaze had flickered down your body and taken you in for the briefest of seconds. His gaze had traveled from the hard peaks of your nipples to the shape of your hips and the softness of your young cunt.

“Fuck,” you heard him utter as he remembered himself and his self-awareness made you finally grab the top you were going to be wearing that day to cover up your quivering body. He slammed the door shut and spoke through it, “Christ, ’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“It’s okay, Mr. Miller,” you promised but he was already gone. You immediately locked the door afterward to come so hard with two fingers on your clit that you had to hold onto the chair by the desk.

God, you want him to look at you like that again, want to tell him it is all for him. Now, as wrong as you know it is, you find yourself searching for an excuse to get him to ogle you and the chances are higher if he actually spends time with you.

“Hi, Mr. Miller,” you announce yourself as you enter the garage through the door in the kitchen. Joel has his head inside the hood of his truck, leaning over to inspect something that you wouldn’t understand anything about anyway. He grips the front side of the engine room to push himself to stand, closes the top of the hood of his truck, and turns around to face you.

“Hey kiddo,” he returns with a smile, “How many times do I gotta say to ya that it’s just Joel?”

“Alright, Mr. Miller,” you tease, “—I mean, Just Joel.”

You hear him laugh softly but you don’t dare look at him, afraid that you’ll spontaneously combust. He goes to the utility sink to wash his hands, saying nothing more and making you feel insane for coming apart in the silence.

“I’m just getting something to drink,” you explain when it becomes too much, “Sarah’s room is boiling hot.”

“That’s fine, take what you’d like,” he replies, and there’s a kind teasing in his voice. “But don’t touch the orange sodas. Those are mine.”

The concrete floor of the garage is cold on your bare feet as you pad across the floor where an old bottom-freezer refrigerator stands in the corner, humming in the otherwise quiet room. It has seen better days, and it seems like Sarah has tried to cheer up its weathered appearance by covering it in stickers and ugly magnets.

“Now I have to get one of those,” you giggle and pull the door open, scanning the contents and noticing that the sodas are on the bottom shelf. You hesitate for just a second, and then you choose to bend over instead of crouching down. Behind you, Joel Miller is completely silent.

In the beginning, it hadn’t been your intention to let the crush fester in your brain and turn it into something more but last week, during dinner out on the terrace, you had accidentally sat down on a bee and gotten stung on the back of your thigh. The cry you had let out had nearly made Joel tip over the table to get to you, his chair falling backward as he got up from his seat.

“Fuck! Ow ow ow!” You cried and hobbled around on the grass. The pain was unbearable but the shock only seemed to make it worse.

“Sarah, please get some ice and some antihistamines. There should be a bottle on my nightstand,” Joel ordered quickly and she rushed inside. He walked toward you, grabbing at your shoulders to ground you but his touch only heightened all other sensations. He dug his thumbs into you and your head swam, “Sweetheart, ‘tis just a bee, shh, calm down. I need to remove the stinger. Lemme see ya.”

“It really fucking hurts, Mr. Miller,” you said with a whine as he guided you to one of the loungers that Sarah and you had dragged out from the shed earlier that week.

“I know,” he finally let go of you so you could think just a bit more clearly, “Lemme take a look. Lie down on your front.”

You followed orders with the realization of how much you trusted his judgment, that he would treat you right, moving carefully because the flex of your thigh muscle was making the pain worse. The wooden lounger burned slightly against the front of your thighs, and you pressed your cheek into its slats while screwing your eyes shut.

The wood creaked behind you as he knelt on it with one knee and suddenly, his broad hand was perched on the top of your thigh in an attempt to keep your skin taut. You sucked in a breath but he only mistook it for more pain.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. I can see it,” his breath was slightly quicker but you didn’t want to jump to conclusions, “He really got ya right on your inner thigh. Hold on.”

Your eyes shot open when his thumb ran towards the innermost part of the back of your thigh, a sort of panicked arousal spiking from your chest and thighs. He paused for a second then murmured something, a swear word that you tried to take as frustration. There was a beat but then he cleared his throat, “Can you bend your leg a little? I wanna make sure that I get it on the first try.”

“How?” You asked stupidly. The image of how he would be looming over your backside made your heartbeat go down between your legs, “My dress’ll ride up.”

“Just bend the knee a little, pull it towards your chest,” he explained and cleared his throat once more, “On my life, I won’t look.”

So you did as he told you, and sure enough, your dress betrayed you by crawling slowly up to sit around your hip instead of the middle part of your thigh. You looked back at him when he started picking at the stinger with his nails, and you hoped that he would not notice your gawking at his concentrated expression.

A flash of the day he had barged in on you naked flashed in your mind because his eyes were so focused on not staring at you that you nearly whimpered when you saw his eyes flicker to the spot of dampness between your legs for no more than a second.

You had worn white cotton panties that day so they would not be seen through your dress. They were straining against your pussy in this position and all he had to do was reach out, and he’d find your clit poking against the fabric from how excited you were feeling.

He had had the perfect outline of your cunt, and it’s the same now as you bend over to get to the very bottom of the fridge, reaching for a cold drink that just happens to be his favorite. You know that he can see everything, and the worst is that you know he already has. Twice. The mere thought is so dirty that your heart starts pounding in your chest and sends heat through your already hot body, so you hurry to stretch to your full height again.

With a cocky grin that is mostly put on to hide your anxious excitement about what you have just done, you turn to face Joel and walk to stand in front of him and his car. His cologne fills your nostrils again, and the scent seems once again to have a direct line to your cunt because you have never felt more empty. In front of you, Joel’s jaw is clenched but other than that, he seems a lot more calm and composed than you.

That is until you jump onto the hood of the car and scoot back, letting your bare feet dangle out over the edge. You crack open the soda in your hand and take a sip that is a little longer than intended. The satisfying burn of the fizz grounds you in the warm climate, but it is even more heavenly as you tuck the skirt of your dress between your thighs so you can place the cold can there.

Joel shakes his head with a sigh but you know he is playing a game as much as you because he cannot help but crack a smile back at you, “You’re trouble, I knew it the second Sarah brought ya into my house.”

“Oh, whatever will I do?” You ask dramatically and lean back against the windshield.

“Go morally bankrupt?” He raises a brow. If only he knew what is going through your mind. You catch him looking at you in the fashion that you have craved when you sigh deeply and cause your chest to push out.

“Only that?” You take another sip and some of the contents spill down your chin in a thick, sticky trail due to the angle you’re sitting in. You reach up to wipe it away with your index finger and then dare to suck your finger clean with the intention of mimicking the way that you had licked it clean earlier when it had been coated in melted popsicle.

“Give it here,” he says. You lock eyes with him. However, your eyes widen slightly when he nods at the can and takes it from between your thighs. There’s electricity shooting through your nerves the second his fingers touch the fabric of your dress but they intensify to a dizzying degree when he takes a sip of the soda too.

Like a reflex, the sight of him drinking from the can that’s been nestled between your thighs makes your legs fall out to the sides. You’re worse than an obedient dog in your horniness, reacting the same way to the way he moves as it would to the sound of a bell ringing.

Your dress rides up slowly along your thighs, revealing your sweaty skin that feels sticky by now and Joel clears his throat after briefly looking down. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and when you realize the effect it has on the poor man, you grab the hem and pull upwards, “It’s so hot outside today. Don’t think I’ll ever get used to the heat here in Texas.”

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he says and his face has got a pinker tint, pulse visible on the side of his neck. With his free hand, he grabs one of your knees and starts nudging your legs together again. He yanks your skirt down, “I know I’m always teasin’ ya but you can’t be doing this.”

“Jesus Christ, Joel,” you say with exasperation and move your legs out again, “It’s just very hot… and it’s not like you haven’t had a peek.”

“Hey now,” he leans forward to place the can of soda on the roof of the truck, “That ain’t a fair accusation.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” you reply, chewing on your bottom lip, “But you’re not denying it.”

“Don’t tryna make me look like the pervert here,” he scolds, taking a step towards you and causing your stomach to do somersaults, “I noticed the way you went real quiet when my hands were on you.”

“What do you mean?” You furrow your brows in confusion, “Your hands were never on m–”

“Did that bee sting really hurt that much?” He clarifies. Oh, you think whilst he smirks with triumph. Something has switched in the air surrounding you, the atmosphere has become more daring, “Yeah, I saw her; your pussy wet f’me.”

It’s true. If you think about it too much, you can still feel your heartbeat in the places where he touched you, and the pulse is rapid and overwhelming. You can’t imagine what it'll be like if he touches you underneath your dress, even if it’s simply on the outside of your panties. The thought has your underwear starting to dampen, the fabric starting to stick to you, and make you painfully aware of the wetness between your legs.

“Did ya touch yourself after?” His eyes have darkened slightly. His pupils are dilating with desire for your answer, and you nod hesitantly, overwhelmed by the need to tell him everything.

“During my shower that you told me to take,” you confess and hear him make a sound low in his throat at the mental image, “I couldn’t stop myself— I wanted you so badly. The thought of you inside me...”

This is a crossroad, you realize, you’ve said your deepest secret of depravity. On one hand, you can bolt out the door or you can make a move to show him what you really came down here for. The latter is risky but Joel is so goddamn decent that you know that if he doesn’t want this - which you doubt is the case at this point - he’ll gently reject you and never mention it again if it means that his daughter will continue having a best friend.

However, as your mind races with scenarios of what could or could not happen in this moment, Joel pulls you back into reality as his hand, cold from gripping the can, rests on your knee again but this time, it doesn’t try to make you decent like before. Instead, it slides up under your skirt in such a slow motion that you find yourself holding your breath.

“Is this what’ll quiet down that mind of yours?” He asks in a low voice, eyes flickering from your face to down between your legs and back again, “If I take a peek more to get it outta our system?”

“What are you doing?” You ask as if you do not know. It’s your turn to be scandalized by bluntness, and you find yourself gripping his arm but not hard enough to signal that you do not want him to continue. You hope that he realizes that this is not you rejecting his advances.

“I ain’t doing nothin’ that you haven’t already silently begged me to do. Perhaps sometimes - and God help me, I will probably regret it - you just needa follow your instincts when a pretty girl like you has been sendin’ me heart eyes all week,” he almost sounds annoyed with you, and to stop yourself from being scolded, your hand loosens its grip on him until you remove it altogether. He smiles, “Good girl.”

“You shouldn’t—“ you feel a rush of blood to your head, adrenaline kicking in as your thoughts circle around the repercussions that this can bring. In all honesty, you had only walked in here to have Joel’s eyes on you but now, you are getting more than you bargained for and it is making you so turned on that your mind is clear and foggy at the same time. Boldly, you sit up on the car’s hood so you can reach for the buckle of Joel’s belt, “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“You’re damn right we shouldn’t be doin’ this,” he agrees immediately but doesn’t stop. His warm and rough palms skim further up your thighs until they settle by your hips, his thumbs teasing the elastic band of your panties. He starts to drag them down, the fabric nearly snapping in two when you barely register that you have to lift your ass to help him.

His fingers unintentionally caress your calves as he slides the underwear down to eventually pull them off your ankles and feet. The sensation makes your body wake up even more, a gush of wetness smearing your inner thighs and you know that you have to pull your dress up soon if you don’t want it stained.

In front of you, Joel reads your mind. He shoves the hem of your dress up as far as he can without a word with desperation in his trembling hands, and you move to let him bunch it up around your waist so he has a full view of what waits - and for long has waited - for him.

When your cunt is revealed to him, he groans like he is in pain at the sight of the slick shining on your soft youthful skin. You can see how hard he is in his jeans, cock straining against the zipper at the front of them.

He looks like he wants to touch but hesitates. The first sign of his inner conflict. You remember that he did say just a peek as if there’s an unspoken agreement that he is not to cross the line of touching what he shouldn’t want to have. It would definitely be a nuclear decision if he chooses to do it anyway. It makes you want it even more, and another gush spills from your glistening slit when you clench from excitement.

Joel swears under his breath, something that sounds like fuck it and it sets it in stone; he is going to ruin you for eternity right here on his car. He steps closer until your spread knees bump into his sides, and without saying anything you move to yank his jeans and briefs down, settling them around his hips with a soft gasp as you take in the sight of his fully hard cock. He is huge. So huge that your mouth starts salivating like you’ve already been fucked stupid and your walls try to clamp down on nothing. It’ll hurt. You want it to if it means that you won’t doubt if it ever happened tomorrow.

“Tell me you want this too,” he seeks your reassurance.

“So fucking badly, Mr. Miller— Joel,” you say without any hint of second-guessing in your voice. You scoot further forward on the car and lean back so he has better access, trying your best to be elegant in your messy state, “Please, want you in me.”

“Jeez, honey,” his breath shakes, “Already so eager. I haven’t even felt if she’s ready f’me.”

With one hand gripping your left thigh, he uses two fingers on his right hand to slide through your wet folds and you don’t think you have ever been this turned on for anyone; when he flips his palm upwards and shoves two fingers inside of you, you feel more arousal drip from your cunt and pool in his hand. The longing you have felt since you saw him for the first time finds somewhere to empty all its desire and desperation into, and you whine like you’re in a state of agony.

“Shhh…” he soothes and curls his digits inside of you until you think you might start crying, squelching cunt trying to pull him further into you as he fingers you lazily. Your gaze drops to how his cock twitches whilst standing in the air, “You’re grippin’ me so good, doll, can’t wait to fuck this pussy. Don’t cry like that. Be patient.”

“Please, I’m so—“ your palms are flat on the hood of the car, your mouth hangs open in ecstasy and you stare down at where his ring- and middle finger disappears repeatedly into you, “It’s yours, please.”

“I know it’s mine, don’t gotta say it, I know,” he coos at each of your whimpers, gets you worked up until you are just on the brink of coming, and then he moves quickly. He pulls his fingers out of you, smears his cock with what you’ve soaked his whole palm with, and leans over your gasping frame to nudge at your quivering hole.

When he finally enters you, the both of you gasp in unison. He struggles with it for a moment, rubbing the skin just below your belly button to make you relax because he is so much bigger than you had first anticipated, and such a tight fit that you think he might split you in two.

“Goddamn, you are tight,” he says through gritted teeth, “Feels fuckin’ amazin’.”

“Ah,” you feel like letting yourself turn into a drooling mess already, pulsating around him from the way your body struggles to take him, “Joel, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can, honey,” he encourages, showing no signs of pulling out of you to free you from the burn of his girth. He growls low in his throat as you struggle with it, and you know it’s because your walls are clenching around him as you involuntarily move, “Stay still, let her get used to it.”

“It hurts,” you whine, sliding slightly on the metal underneath your ass. He presses his hips forward even further and causes you to whimper but in doing so, he holds you firmly in place by using his strong frame.

“I know but ya just gotta relax,” he goes on. He places one hand flat on the hood of the car and then places the other right on your hip, thumb going inwards to find your clit. It pulses under his finger, trying to find out whether to find the pain delicious or not.

When his thumb starts going in circles on you, your thigh muscles start to twitch and flex from burning desire instead of uncomfortable pain. He presses down a little to stroke your sensitive nub with even more determination and smiles at his success when a moan slips from your mouth, “That’s it, honey. Just enjoy this until you’re creamin’ on me, and then I can fuck her real good.”

Your walls start to flutter a few seconds after the first new round of pleasurable sounds leave you, and the more his finger moves on you, the easier it gets to take him because the pain turns into nothing more than a dull ache in the background of ecstasy. He has you breathing faster and faster, and in return, he starts moving his thumb up and down to make his touches more direct.

God, your clit is hardening underneath his torment. He stares at what he is doing, an occasional grunt leaving him from how you involuntarily squeeze his length, and you know that he can sense it, suddenly smirking to himself as you near your climax. He admires the sight of you, eyes glued to the way the hood of your clit has drawn back, “Babydoll, look at that. Such a pretty pussy, clit peekin’ out and all. Does she wanna come on my cock?”

“Please, yes, oh please,” you nod repeatedly, mouth hanging open in an o-shape and breaths coming out in small puffs. Your climax is within reach, and Joel looks concentrated as he more than willingly hands it over to you whilst buried deep inside of you. The concentration on his face is probably from keeping himself from spilling inside of you too soon, but God, he looks gorgeous as he determinedly strokes your cunt.

“Yes, yes, yesyesyes— oh God, I’m… fuck, I’m coming!” You shake with pleasure as he causes your pussy to spasm, your hands barely able to find out what to do and making you grab at both the metal underneath you with one hand and his wrist with the other. Your eyes are squeezed shut but you do not doubt that he is staring at you in awe as you come so hard that reality fades.

“Good girl,” he rasps, voice unsteady and hand hitting the hood of the car as the feeling becomes overwhelming, “Oh sweetheart, you’re choking my dick so g—“

He swears quietly and then loudly, and suddenly, his cool demeanor crumbles because he is spilling his load inside of you with a pathetic and strained grunt. His hips stutter slightly and warmth spreads slowly inside of you, mixing with your own arousal.

You look down to where the two of you are connected, feeling fucked out despite not even having had the chance to feel him move inside of you. His come has started to spill from you already, dripping obscenely from your cunt.

“Fuck,” you hear Joel say above you. He slips out of you and leaves you gaping and mewling for a second, starting to take a step back. You catch him with your legs before he is too far away, and he reluctantly steps close to you again. He looks embarrassed but gives you a smile to hide it, “Felt too good, honey. This pussy’s makin’ me all sweet on you.”

“I’m that irresistible?” You grin in your post-orgasmic haze, not really giving a crap about the lack of a proper fuck from how much dopamine is coursing through your veins.

Joel takes hold of your thighs as they are wrapped around your body and lifts them off of himself, “You’re makin’ an old bastard like me weak in the knees, so maybe. Hah! Comin’ too soon like a goddamn teenager.”

“I liked it,” you admit without hesitation, still basking in the sweet afterglow, “Made me feel sexy and powerful.”

He scoffs but can’t fight the smile on his face, “Now now, don’t get cocky on me. Crawl back a little, spread ya legs f’me.”

You giggle and do as you are told, presenting yourself to him on the hood of his car. You plant your bare feet on the metal, lay back against the windshield, and smile.

“Now look at that,” he tuts as he admires his work; white ropes of come dripping down from your slit and onto the surface beneath you. He lays both hands flat on the car and leans forward, and before you know it, his mouth is covering your whole cunt and he eats from you like he’s paid to do it.

“Jesus,” you groan, throwing your head back and grabbing onto the roof of the car with one hand whilst the other finds Joel’s hair. You tug and he moans against you, sending vibrations through your whole lower body and beginning the first stirrings of another high. You don’t think that you can take it, squirming just like you had done moments earlier.

Joel makes a sound of disapproval. He scoops his arms under your thighs until he can lay his hands on top of them, holding you tightly against his mouth and causing you to cry towards the ceiling when he makes your second orgasm approach so quickly that nothing in your brain makes sense except what he is doing between your legs.

The hand on the roof of his car goes to his head too. You slide your fingers on both hands through his hair until they lay at the back of his neck, and then you yank once more at the curls there. His tongue works at your clit, swiping back and forth over it until you think that you might see God.

However, it doesn’t stay there. Instead, it is replaced by his nose so that he can eat his own spill straight from you by dipping his tongue hungrily inside of you.

“Joel— holy fuck, you’re incredible,” you close your eyes to concentrate on your pleasure. Who knew that the man could fuck with his tongue? He is warm and wet inside of you, slurping pornographically until you are clean of any remains of his come.

You are just about to finish a second time when he halts whatever he is doing. He pulls back only a few inches so you can still feel his uneven breaths against your cunt.

“No! Please,” your eyes fly open, you cry desperately, and throw your head forward dramatically. You want to thrash but he still has your legs locked in his arms, so you decide to pull out the big guns and hope for the best, “Please, Daddy! Pleasepleaseplea—“

“What the fuck did you just say t’me?” He looks up at you but you are too busy screwing your eyes shut in agony whilst whining for more. He growls and releases one of your legs, “I was already gonna make you a happy young lady but now, I’m gonna make you come so hard your little brain goes dumb. See how it feels. Impatient girl.”

His hand goes between your legs. He turns his palm upwards and then shoves two thick fingers inside of your pussy like earlier, curling them slightly and then pumping them so quickly that blood starts speeding through your system a second after and your heart rate goes so fast that you know that you are just about to come.

“Joel, oh my— fuck!” You whimper.

“Wrong word,” he replies.

You correct yourself immediately because there’s no way he is stopping again to chastise you once more, “Daddy, oh I— mhmm, I’m gonna come for you. Don’t stop, please, please Daddy, pleasepleaseplea—!”

He responds just how you had liked: He closes his mouth around your swollen clit and sucks hard, finally severing all connection to your brain and you come so hard that you actually squeal. Joel groans against you, feeling you squeeze the digits he has buried deep inside you. He draws back his fingers, pressing upwards the whole way.

Clear liquid squirts from you the second he pulls them out. The gushes that follow are so intense that the leg he isn’t holding anymore shakes so violently that the metal rattles under you, the car staining with your come. He repeats the move again and again, over and over, and watches the steady trickle down the hood and onto the concrete floor that turns a dark gray.

Euphoria courses through your being as you come in a way that you have never felt before. Your limbs tingle as warmth spreads out from beneath your belly button, your cunt pulses with eager pleasure, and you sob through the waves that crash over you without giving you time to recover from the last. The whole room feels brighter and its colors more vibrant.

“Shh, baby, let it happen, feels so good, don’t it? That’s it,” Joel coos at you the whole way through, guides you through it when you barely know how to use your words. He has straightened to his full height again but you don’t know when, and he has slowed his fingers down to tease out a few aftershocks. You whimper feebly at each one, and when Joel seems satisfied with what he has drawn out of you, he covers your whole mound with his palm to soothe the feeling of overstimulation that settles.

“Soundproof,” he mutters, once again reading your mind when you come to your senses again and start thinking about your noise levels with furrowed brows and eyes flitting from him to the garage door. Your heartbeat has started to slow again, and the relief of knowing no one has been able to hear you makes you slump against the windshield and breathe deeply.

The remnants of your orgasm have made you smile, your body slipping into a deep state of satisfaction when the anxieties have been dispelled. Joel moves his hand up your lower body until it settles between your breasts, still covered by your dress. He caresses your heaving chest, looking at you boyishly for the first time, “You good? Didn’t cause any brain damage, did I?”

“You think this truck has ever seen action like that before?” You joke breathlessly.

“Probably ain’t the first time I disappointed a gorgeous lady in its presence,” he says with an apologetic smile, “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Disappointed? You’re insane,” you stretch your arms above your head to get some of the last bits of euphoria out of your body, trying to ignore the way he has just called you a gorgeous lady. He probably means nothing by it. As your stretch peaks, you moan gently, “I came two times. Hard. I’m not complaining.”

“Just saying that I woulda liked to do it… properly, I guess,” he talks as he stuffs himself back into his underwear and pants, most likely trying to feel the least uncomfortable about mentioning his overexcitement. Automatically, he steps back when you jump off the car to adjust your dress.

“This doesn’t have to be a one-time thing,” you try to act casual as you say it but there’s no way you are accepting the best sex of your life to be a thing you will never have again, reducing it to a movie merely playing behind your eyelids as a cruel reminder of what is unattainable.

“And when would we have time for that?” He asks, zipping up his jeans. He wipes his hands on them, “We can’t, honey.”

“We just did,” you mumble, picking up your underwear from the floor. You turn the panties in your hands, just about to bend down to put them on before deciding against it. Boldly, you stand in front of him and stuff your sticky underwear into his front pocket; closest to his crotch. There are extra pairs in your bag in Sarah’s room. He can have these.

He looks down briefly and then finds your eyes. His jaw clenches as he weighs his words, “When?”

“Aren’t you driving me to the airport on Sunday?” You smile and kiss his cheek, and then you leave him, your soda in hand and a mess on the floor.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

#pedro pascal characters #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #the last of us #my writing #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal smut #joel tlou #joel the last of us #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel miller the last of us

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stiingrayyyy · 6 months

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Dating Headcanons F.H

What it’s Like to Date Five Hargreeves

Pairings — Five Hargreeves x Reader (pronouns not specified)

Summary — My headcanons for if you were Five’s lover.

Warnings — opinions, no plot, it’s all over the place, last one is semi-NSFW.

A/N — i try to avoid nsfw with five because yk.. in the show, he’s physically thirteen but this one was too funny not to add. let’s all just pretend there was a happy ending okay 😭😭. i wrote this before season four came out so let’s pretend it ended happily.

— if you want another version where it’s just headcanons of you and five in the apocalypse i’m down for that.

— I see headcanons where Five is straight up mean, manipulative, and where he’s just using you.

— To me, that’s not Five being in love with you. Have you seen how he treats Delores? HE’S SO SWEET TO HER.

— So if you’re his lover, he will give you princess treatment like no other, holy shit.

—He’ll prepare breakfast so it’s ready to be eaten when you wake up.

— He thinks breakfast in bed is a recipe for disaster so he never does that.

— If you take a while to wake up he’ll wake you up.

— “My love, breakfast is ready.” He’ll whisper into your ear before pressing a kiss onto your temple, then one on your forehead, then your nose… then finally a chaste kiss on your lips.

— He’ll tuck you in bed at night and make sure you’re all snug before leaving. If you can’t sleep he’ll read to you.

— With him around, you genuinely never have to open a door. In addition to paying for every meal, he always walks on the outside of the sidewalk. He also pulls the chair out for you when you sit and showers you with praise.

— Sometimes the praise is simple whispers in your ear because he isn’t much into PDA.

— There was never an official wedding, he stole two matching rings and gave one to you.

— He’d like to have an official wedding.

— If he has to worry about the apocalypse he’ll probably neglect you only because he thinks the fate of the world is in his hands.

— He loves going on simple dates, whether it’s at Griddy’s Doughnuts, a simple stroll in the park, or a little painting place.

— He’s fancy but he doesn’t see the point in expensive restaurants. He likes the little things.

— He loves to make and paint pottery with you, it’s his favourite thing to do.

— When he can’t sleep he’ll come over to your place and sit on the roof with you.

— If you fall asleep he’ll Blink into your room and tuck you in, and he’ll even leave a note for you to read when you wake up.

— It usually goes along the lines of..

“You fell asleep, don’t worry I made sure you got back in your room and I picked up all your stuffies from the floor and put them on the bed with you.”

— He struggles with insomnia.

— He’ll write you love letters even though it’s more convenient to send a text. He loves you and he’s willing to put effort in love notes.

— His primary love languages are quality time and acts of service.

— He doesn’t show much affection in public.

— He doesn’t mind holding your hand though.

— Five won’t be afraid to hold your hand, wrap an arm around your shoulders or waist while he’s with his siblings.

— Kisses and hugs are private though.

— Despite being private, he doesn’t hide the fact he’s dating you.

— If anyone tries anything on you, Five will glare daggers. If that’s not enough, he’ll threaten them, and if they keep pushing he’ll make them bleed (but not too severe 🥰)

— He’s hella protective.

— You make midnight munchies together.

— He’ll refuse to dance with you in the kitchen at 2am but he’ll reluctantly say yes and end up actually enjoying it.

— Same goes for dancing in the rain. He pretends to hate it but he loves it and you know he does.

— You always make pasta or noodles for midnight munchies.

— One time you made cookies and accidentally woke up Klaus who ate the cookie dough before you got to put it in the oven.

— When you guys had sex for the first time Klaus congratulated you and Five with a cake that said ‘virgin’ in the middle of a 🚫 and woke you up the next day with confetti.

— sorry, i know i said i’d have a part three to my ben hargreeves fic but i wrote it and didn’t edit it.. and it didn’t seem entertaining enough to post, i’m sorry.

— if you want headcanons with the apocalypse involved, let me know <3

#five hargreeves #five hargreeves x reader #tua #umbrella academy #the umbrella academy #five x reader #five hargreeves dating headcanons #five hargreeves headcanons #five hargreeves fluff #hargreeves #ben hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #five hargreeves imagine #five x y/n #five #the umbrella academy imagines #the umbrella academy imagine #umbrella academy fluff #umbrella academy scenarios

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aturinfortheworse · 2 years

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I read a fair number of recipes on the ten thousand interchangeable recipe blogs that exist, and often they say something like "This recipe is a family favourite!" or "This a crowd-pleaser" etc. and I roll my eyes a little bit every time because of course they are, it goes without saying! People like food! Nearly any special-occasion home-cooked meal is going to be popular.

But there is one recipe, one cake, that has recontextualised all those comments for me and now actually I think those bloggers might be wrong about what a family favourite is. It sure as hell isn't Interchangeable Chocolate Cake No. 7.

I'm telling you this because I need you to know the seriousness of the power I am going to bestow on you. And hey, maybe your friends and family have different preferences than mine do. Maybe you need to find another recipe to fill this role. But you must know that there's a recipe out there, and not even a particularly alluring one or a particularly difficult one, which people will bring up in unrelated conversations to you four years later.

If I so much as say the word cake, my family all turn to face me like a pack of hungry wolves. Even the ones that don't like food!! Health nuts and people who simply don't enjoy eating and people with no appetite and people I have no goddamn memory of ever having cooked for, all of them come up and say to me "Hey remember that cake-" I asked my brother and his girlfriend what foods they're looking forward to, when they return home after three years in Japan, and they say "You know that cake?"

It doesn't sound particularly appetizing. I only made it the first time because it was gluten free and I had a bunch of lemons. Please don't let the name inform your opinion here. This is a fairly fast and simple cake that requires no special equipment and people will literally never stop asking you for it.

It's not even my favourite cake! I'd rather have basque burnt cheesecake, which is harder and more expensive to make and consists almost entirely of fat and sugar but still manages to be a little savoury... But people want the weird corn one.

To be fair, this is the only cake that'll make me dip my fingers into boiling sugar without regret.

#ruin rambles #one of my friends brought me the ingredients for this unrequested #i haven't made this cake in four or five years #recipe #100

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droopycoquette · 3 months

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Ridin' or Nothin' || Benny Cross x Reader

Summary: A little exchange of services

Warnings: hella fluff, angst, suggestive content

Word count: 5.1k

|*|

You had been watching him, that much you could admit. Your eyes always caught him on the road, riding around with the wind in his hair. Sometimes you’d even see him walking around with a cigarette tucked between his slightly chapped lips, he was rarely without one. He exuded a sense of danger that both intrigued and scared you. But there was something about the way he moved, rough yet graceful, that made your heart skip a beat whenever he passed by. However, you never dared to approach him, always hiding in the background observing.

You didn’t mind, it was comfortable.

The town was small so it was easy to watch him. Easy to find him even because he was always in the same places. Bar, road, gas station, and occasionally grocery store. That last one was rare though. When you saw him across the aisle looking at bread, you thought you were hallucinating.

It was a rather strange sight; he looked so out of place. A tall, blonde biker in a grocery store with mothers and children, casually looking at bread. You would have giggled if you weren’t so nervous. Your lips slightly parted as you lost motor control of your body, the bag of rolls you held falling out of your hands.

“Shoot,” you muttered as you quickly bent down to pick them, trying to prevent the weird looks from staying on you.

You chuckled nervously as you rose up, giving timid looks to the grandmas and moms looking at you.

“Hello dear,” a high-pitched voice greeted cheerfully, forcing you to shift focus.

Turning around, you came face to face with Mrs. Leonard, a regular at your family’s bakery. She was an older lady having several grandkids that she loved to gush about. But, despite being older, she still had strength that astounded you greatly. You weren’t surprised to see her here, just bummed that she was here now, the only time you had seen biker boy here.

“Hello, Mrs. Leonard,” you smiled. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Oh, likewise,” she smiled back sweetly. “What are you doing looking at rolls, sweety? I couldn’t imagine buying rolls here when I could have yours to eat for free.”

You smile at her compliment, your ears warming.

“I was simply looking. I’m actually looking for ingredients. I’m trying a new recipe for a raspberry curd cake. How’s your son? I heard he’s back in town.”

“That sounds mighty tasty. And oh, he is just wonderful. It’s so nice to see my grandkids. Ya know, ever since they moved to California-”

And she was off. You liked Mrs. Leonard, truly you did, but you could never get used to her never-ending monologues about who-knows-what. She was a cute old lady, though.

As she spoke, you moved to put the rolls back on the shelf, and when you turned to look back at the biker, he was gone. A small crease in between your eyebrows developed as your bottom lip found its way between your teeth. You nibbled on it as you felt disappointment wash over you. However, you quickly masked it with a well-practised smile.

As you wandered the store next to the old lady, your mind wandered back to the handsome biker who had been standing right across the aisle. You perked up slightly as you realised that that was the closest you had ever been to him. You could practically smell the gasoline and cologne that wafted off of him. You had even seen the small freckles on his face and took note of his faint sun-kissed cheeks, just the slightest bit of pink.

This was also the first time you’d seen him without a cigarette.

You felt a tug at the corner of your lips that only stopped when you rubbed it away.

“Dear? Hello? Bun!”

Your eyes snapped to Mrs. Leonard, hearing the nickname given to you by your family.

“Are you alright, bun,” she asked, placing a hand over yours. “You’re awfully quiet.”

“Oh. Yes ma’am. I’m quite alright, just a bit tired is all. No need to worry. What was that you were saying?”

“Oh, yes! Monti, the dreadful boy has been tearing at-”

Her story continued on until you had finished checking out and had to part ways. And when your back hit the seat of your car you let out the biggest sigh of the week. What was supposed to have been a ten-minute grocery run for fresh raspberries and lemon juice had turned into a 45-minute gossiping session. The energy that was supposed to be used to bake that new raspberry curd cake had been exerted to try to keep up with Mrs. Leonard. Now, you’d have to pull from nothing.

Your head slammed into the steering wheel with a groan that was quickly replaced with a yelp when your car horn went off. People entering and exiting the store turned to look at your car in confusion and slight offence.

“Sorry,” you chuckled timidly.

|*|

The next day rolled around, and you were excited to put out your new Raspberry Delight, which is what you had decided to call your new cake. You had been experimenting with this cake for the past two weeks, figuring out what to layer, and how sweet the raspberry curd should be. Should they have a raspberry jam? Was that too much? Perhaps, a layer of crumble? But, last night, you had perfected everything and had gotten the green light from both your mother and your father to sell.

You had decided to sell it in these cute mason jars and had personally tied the little maroon bows on it. You were setting out the last of the baked goods into the little window by the register when the doorbell rang, letting you know that someone had entered the store.

“Good morning,” you greeted cheerfully, from below the register, setting the dirty trays there.

“Good morning,” a gruff voice spoke.

You stood abruptly.

He was here.

Tall, dark, and handsome was here…right in front of you.

You, who probably has flour all over her and who is sweating from the ovens.

“What can I get for you today,” you say softly, looking down and wiping your hands on your apron.

“I couldn’t help but overhear you yesterday, about the raspberry…something cake. It sounded mighty good and I thought I would come by and get it before it sold out.”

“You were listening,” you let out, surprised.

“I sure was missy. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of something so tasty,” he admits with a sly smile.

You couldn’t help but giggle at his statement.

“Okay, one Raspberry Delight, anything else?”

“Is there anything else you would recommend?”

As you let yourself think, the man let himself look at you. You didn’t notice, but the biker’s eyes never left you and one thing he noticed was that your eyes never met his. He didn’t like that. He wanted to look at him. He needed you to look at him.

He saw your eyes light up as you thought of something, making the man smile. And just as you were about to speak, a sharp voice interrupted

“Excuse me.”

The sharpness in your mother’s tone made you bite at the inside of your cheek.

“Good morning, ma’am,” the man smiled politely, despite her cold demeanour.

“We don’t serve customers like you,” your mother bit.

You knew your mother’s opinion on the growing biker gang in town. Your father and your mother both thought that the group of men were a bunch of bums who had no right to be causing such a fuss. They hated The Vandals, almost as much as satan. You recalled nights at the dinner table where your father's anger had boiled over, making him claim to do awful things to the biker gang. What’s worse, your mother had egged him on.

The man’s smile faltered at your mother’s words, but he recovered quickly.

“I just wanted to buy a cake,” he said calmly.

You could see the tension in his posture, the way his eyes flickered between your mother and you.

“Mom,” you said softly. “You always say business is business.”

“Well, this is MY business,” she snapped. “And I reserve the right to refuse service. Get out of my store.”

You felt a mix of emotions swirling inside you - frustration at your mother’s closed-mindedness, and sympathy for the man standing in front of you.

Your eyes met his, and you hoped that he could understand the apology. He nodded towards you, and you watched his jaw feather in annoyance. You felt your heart drop at the realisation that he might blame you.

“I’ll take my leave then,” he said, walking away as he took a cigarette out of the box.

“Yeah, you go on now,” your mother sneered, causing you to flinch.

He didn’t respond as the doorbell dinged.

You watched as the man walked away, his back straight and his steps purposeful. You couldn't shake off the feeling of guilt weighing heavily on your shoulders.

You swallowed in disappointment in yourself and your lack of ability to stand up to your mother and in your mother for her lack of empathy and kindness.

“Don’t you ever talk to them folks again? Ya hear?”

“But-”

“I don’t want to hear it,” she cut you off. “You so much as go near them, and I’ll make sure you don’t leave the house again. You understand me, girl.”

You just looked down, and your mother took that as a yes. She went back to the kitchen, muttering obscenities under her breath, and you went back to setting up for the day, now with a heavy heart.

As the day went on, you found it difficult to concentrate on the daily operations of the bakery. Your hands moved mechanically as you went through the motions of baking, but your heart was heavy with a mix of curiosity and guilt. Each served customer was a reminder of the one you couldn’t serve, the very one you wanted to the most.

“Hey,” your dad said softly. “What’s going on in your head bun?”

“Oh, nothing,” you smiled sweetly, perfectly masking your growing frustration with your parents, the town, and life in general. “Just a little tired is all. I stayed up late trying to come up with a new thing to work on and now that the raspberry cake is done I need something new. I’m going to go make a new batch of the Raspberry Delights.”

You tightened the scarf around your head as you walked back to the kitchen to grab the fresh tray of cookies that needed icing.

“Okay,” your dad called. “But focus! We don’t need you burning yourself again because you were off in Neverland.”

You knew he was joking, but it did nothing but jab the knife a little deeper.

As you began making the base for the cake, you found yourself wondering why you bothered to stay. It was your baked goods in the window, and yet, it was their name on the sign, getting the money, and it was them making fun of you.

Every time you brought up the fact that you wanted a portion of the profits because they were selling your ideas, they had a fit and said, “Your baking isn’t even that good. Since you now have a couple of things in the window, you think you can call the shots, huh? Is that what it is? Well, maybe we’ll just take them out.”

It was empty threats, and you knew it was, your items were some of the best sellers, but it never stopped the fear that entered your system. However, the thought that you might never leave and be stuck here with parents who don’t respect you or your creations scared you more.

A newfound determination lit up in your gut as you baked.

That evening, after closing up, you told your parents you wanted to work on a new pastry that you’d been thinking about and that you’d meet them at home. They had been hesitant but let you stay in the end, telling you to be careful on your way back. You waited a good 20 minutes to make sure they weren’t coming back before gathering up your things and the two freshly made Raspberry Delight jars and locking up the store.

The cool night air brushed against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine, your heartbeat quickening. You hopped on your bike and threw your bag in the basket, careful not to break the glass before you took off down the road. Even a couple of blocks down, you could hear the rumble of engines and the faint sound of laughter from the home of the town’s biker gang.

As you approached the bar, you hesitated, hopping off your bike that suddenly felt childish next to the rows of motorcycles. You could hear the whooping and hollering of the men inside and jumped when you heard the sound of shattering glass followed by laughter.

Your breath left you in small huffs as the chilly night air nipped at your cheeks. The two jars in your bag hit each other softly, causing a ‘clink’ to echo through the empty space. It also caused a surge of resolve. You jogged up to the doors before the newfound confidence disappeared and opened them gently. You entered the bar without making a sound and closed the doors even softer than you had opened them.

The dimly lit bar was crowded with rowdy bikers, their denim jackets adorned with patches and studs that allowed the light to glint off of them. The air is thick with the scent of smoke, sweat, and alcohol. As you stood there, taking it all in, you could also smell the distinct scent of leather and engine oil.

As you make your way through the crowd, you try to avoid making eye contact, feeling small and out of place.

Don’t draw attention. Don’t draw attention. Don’t draw attention. Don’t draw attention.

That mantra in your head continued as you hugged your bag close and made yourself small. Navigating the crowded bar proved to be rather difficult, especially when you were trying not to hit anyone. A plethora of ‘sorry’ and ‘excuse me’ left your lips before you reached an empty table in the back. You sit your bag down and allowed yourself to breathe as best you could anyway, the taste of smoke filled your mouth, making it dry and slightly bitter. You try to swallow, but the air feels too thick and heavy to allow it.

The dim, hazy lighting of the bar, combined with the smoke from cigarettes and the bodies, made it difficult to see clearly. People pressed close together, their limbs hitting one another.

You stuck out like a sore thumb. You had worn a corduroy skirt that day and, if that wasn’t bad enough, a pastel blue halter accompanied it. If ‘Look at Me’ had a mascot, it’d be you.

The tips of your ears burned as your eyes scanned the crowd of bikers. Normally, you could find tall and blonde easily but, in this crowd, it was like trying to find a needle in a needle stack.

However, after about 10 minutes of searching, you found him near the pool table. His eyes fixed on the green felt with an intensity that you could feel from all the way across the room.

You allowed yourself to just stare, taking in his rugged appearance that finally seemed to fit into his surroundings. His arms were on full display, and the light caught the ridges of his muscles in a sinfully perfect way. His hair was tousled and swooped up as if the wind had permanently swept it there. The thought made you giggle. You took in his tattoos, his rings, and the grease stains his shirt housed. The stains alone sent you to a whole daydream.

Visions of him fixing a motorcycle, his muscles moving seamlessly as he worked. His focus fixed on the machinery, understanding the beauty and power of the bike, and knowing exactly what it needed. A playful smile on his lips as he caressed the engine. The sunlight catching the sweat glistening on his skin, highlighting every curve and ridge of his body. His strong hands, covered in grease, as he worked with precision and finesse. The occasional grunt or sigh as he exerts force in just the right places. Every now and then, he let out a satisfied chuckle as he successfully fixes a part.

Before you knew it, you had replaced the motorcycle.

You let out a squeak at your own imagination. Causing heads to turn towards you. For once, you didn’t notice because you were too busy mentally beating yourself.

You had to give him these cakes before you embarrassed yourself even more.

You took a deep breath to steady your nerves before making your way over to him, each step feeling heavier with the weight of uncertainty.

As you approached, he finally tore his gaze away from the pool table and locked eyes with you. There was a flicker of surprise in his expression, quickly masked by a guarded demeanour. You could sense the tension in his posture as you stood before him, unsure of how he would react to your presence.

He walked toward you, cue stick in hand. His piercing blue eyes bore into yours as he got closer.

“Can I help you with something, sweetheart,” he asked, his gruff voice filling your senses. He leaned against the cue stick, bringing him closer to you. Even hunched over he looked down at you, you had never felt so small.

"I... I brought you these," you stammered out, holding out the two jars of Raspberry Delights towards him. "What happened at the bakery earlier wasn't right and I’m ashamed that I just stood by and let it happen. Please accept them as an apology."

He studied you for a moment, his face contorting slightly as a myriad of emotions flickered. Finally, he reached out and took the jars from your shaky hands.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his gaze softening.

You nodded with a smile, clasping your hands together and letting out a breath of relief. You rocked back and forth on your feet as you realised that you hadn’t planned out a conversation in your head. You had no clue what to say to the man standing in front of you.

As you struggled to find the right words, only two came out:

“Okay bye.”

You were moving before you could register, bolting out of the crowded bar and into the crisp air of the night. You allowed yourself to breathe in deeply, filling your lungs fully for the first time since you entered the bar. It was also easier to breathe without him being near.

You swallowed as you stood straight up and shuffled towards your bike. Your lip found its place between your teeth while you replayed the interaction in your head. You shrunk into yourself at how you acted. You had dreamed of an interaction with tall and blond for months, given him numerous names that never seemed to fit. You had thought about wowing him with a quick tongue and a perfected sense of humour. But, when it came down to it, you chickened out. You literally ran away.

You reached your bike, which now seemed extra childish coming out of the bar. Now that you think about it, you’ve never been so close to a motorcycle before, only looking from afar. The need to inspect the bike tugged at your heart. It didn’t take much for you to give in.

You reached out and let your fingertips graze the frame of the bike, collecting the dirt that had found a home on the metal. Your eyes trailed the winding metal of the interior, wondering what each thing did. You could smell the gasoline and faintly taste metal on the tip of your tongue, and you smiled at its slight sweetness.

“You like bikes?”

Your hands flinched back as if the bike itself had spoken and your eyes went to the voice.

“Um,” you stuttered as you were met with tall and blond. “I, uh, I don’t have an opinion on them. They’re pretty though.”

“Pretty?” he chuckled, flicking the butt of the cigarette to the ground.

“Mmhmm. I’ve never seen one up close before. I apologise for touching them, it won’t happen again.”

“Calm down,” he smiled. “You look like I’m about to cut your hand off.”

You swallowed thickly and dusted off the dirt your fingertips had collected.

“Come here.”

His tone was friendly and inviting yet commanding, so you followed him over to a particular motorcycle that he leaned against.

“This one’s yours?” you asked/stated.

He just smiled a crooked smile and nodded.

“You can inspect to your heart's content, little miss.”

You feel a familiar tug at your lips as you let yourself circle the bike. It was a lot nicer than the last one, in your opinion. The black colour of the fenders matched tall and blonde, and the framework looked well-loved. You allowed your fingers to touch the bike, letting them trail down the seat until they reached the end of the bike and fell off.

“Hey, listen,” his voice making you snap your eyes to him. “How ‘bout as payment for the cakes, I take you on a ride?”

Your heart jumped into your throat, “Oh, I could never. I’m happy to watch from a distance.”

“Oh,” he feigned a pout as you walked back to where he was leaning. “Well then miss, I hate to say this but I can’t accept these.”

He pulled out a jar from each of his pockets and presented them to you.

“What?” you looked at the cakes and then back at him, offence displaying itself on your features.

“You heard me,” he smirked. “It wouldn’t be right. You put an awful lotta work into these cakes, you can’t just be given ‘em away.”

You bit your lip at the predicament in frustration and furrowed your eyebrows. The tall man raised an eyebrow and fought a smile that told you he was enjoying this.

“So, you’re saying if I let you give me a ride…you’ll take the cakes?”

“Yes I am, miss,” he confirms. “It would be my pleasure.”

An internal battle raged in you, but all you had to do was glance at the look on his face. The thrill of the unknown mingled with the warmth of his smile was enough to make your heart race. His eyes housed a genuine want, a need, and far be it from you to deny him. The “battle” was over before it even started.

“Fine, yeah, okay,” you relented.

His grin widened as he got on and gestured for you to hop on behind him. You couldn’t contain the flutter of excitement as you settled onto the motorcycle. The engine roared to life beneath you, vibrating with power and promise, mirroring your heartbeat.

“Hold on to me,” he instructed.

You swallowed before wrapping your arms around him gingerly, really your arms formed a ring around him, not touching him at all.

“You’ll need to hold on a little tighter, miss,” he chuckled.

Slowly, your arms tightened around him, a little too slow for him apparently because he kicked off suddenly causing you to grip him harshly.

“You jerk,” you shouted, as the wind nipped against your skin.

You couldn’t hear it but could feel the laugh the man in front of you let out, his strong back convulsing in a familiar rhythm. Your cheek was pressed against the denim of his jacket, and you could feel the warmth radiating from him. Lights and corn fields passed by in a blurry mix, and soon the stars were the only thing you could see clearly.

His rythmatic breathing brought a smile to your lips, and you could picture the look of pure serenity on his face. His cologne mixed with cigarettes and gasoline became one you already missed as you breathed in deeply, savouring every moment.

You understood now, the feeling The Vandals sought out, it was peace. It was forgetting everything and giving it all to the road ahead of them. The thrill of speed coursed through your veins, exhilarating and freeing. You held on to the man in front of you, feeling the powerful rumble of the motorcycle beneath you as it devoured the distance.

Every now and again he would look back to check on you, and every time you’d give him the same reassuring nod that let him know you were doing okay.

As you rode deeper into the night, a sense of liberation washed over you. The worries and insecurities that had plagued your mind earlier faded into the background, replaced by a sense of adventure and possibility. The road stretched out before you like an endless ribbon, beckoning you to explore its twists and turns.

However, it was over too soon. Before long, you had found your way back to the biker gang’s bar.

He finally came to a stop in a small open space, the engine purring to a halt. You untangled yourself from him, stepping off the bike with shaky legs.

You turned to face him, his silhouette illuminated by the soft glow of the moon. His eyes bore into yours, a mix of mystery and need.

“Thank you,” you beamed. “That was wonderful.”

“My pleasure miss,” he grins back, a hint of sadness flashing across his face as he got off the bike.

“I’m jealous,” you admitted, watching as took off his gloves. “You get to do that every day.”

“You could too,” he says before he could catch himself, leaning against it. “If you wanted to.”

“That would be amazing,” you say, rocking back and forth on your toes in thought.

The man smiled at your frame, admiring the way you could disappear into your head at the drop of a hat.

“Oh,” you snapped out of your reverie, shocking the man before you. “Now you have to eat the cake.”

“What,” he deadpanned.

“You have to eat the cake,” you repeated. “I kept my end of the deal now you keep yours.”

“I don’t have a-”

“Here,” you say, pulling a spoon from your bag.

“I don’t know where that spoon had been,” he smirks.

“Can you just try it,” you mumbled. “I want to see if you like it.”

He couldn’t say no to you even if he wanted to.

Putting the spoon in his mouth, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out one of the jars of Raspberry Delights. As he twists it open he swears he sees your eyes widen, and he has to stop himself from blushing at your eagerness.

You're practically bouncing while you watch him dip the spoon into the cake and put it to his lips. You hold your breath as he takes it in.

His brows furrow before he breaks out into a smile.

“That’s fucking delicious,” he lets out. “It's not too sweet, which I like.”

He watches as you glow brighter at the compliments.

“I’m glad you like it,” you sigh, looking at the ground in shyness.

“I love it, little miss,” he corrects, as he takes another spoonful of the raspberry cake into his mouth. “Now, I’m jealous. You get to eat these all the time.”

“I can fix that,” you giggle, and before you can think you're cleaning the corner of his mouth with your thumb lovingly.

As you begin to retract your hand, he grabs hold of it, keeping your hand on his face. His eyes watched you intently. There was a raw intensity in them, a fire that burned bright against the darkness. His rough fingers smoothed out yours so that you were caressing his face, his hand still covering yours.

You were so shocked and entranced by the touch that you didn’t notice his tongue darting out to clean your thumb.

A yelp echoed through the night as he sucked on the leftover raspberry cream, your skin prickling with a sudden heat. His eyes remained trained on yours, a twinge of playfulness circling his irises. He observed your gaze fall to where his tongue connected with your finger. He watched as your lips parted in concentration and curiosity.

He loved that look, the eagerness in your eyes to see what would happen next. He also loved the power you gave him in the moment, the trust you gave him to guide you.

He wanted more. He craved more. He craved you.

Your eyes flickered to his as he released your hand and reached out to caress your face. The rough calluses of his hand actually felt nice against your soft cheeks and, unconsciously, you leaned into it. The gesture brought a loving smile to his face.

He set the jar of raspberry cake on the back of his bike and let his hand fall to the small of your waist, pulling you closer. The gasp you let out only fueled his growing need for you. Your chest rose and fell against him and you felt the tips of your ears beginning to burn. The focus in his gaze made you feel like the only girl in the world, and that terrified you. At that moment, the only thing you wanted to do at that moment was look down or away from him, but the hand on your cheek didn’t allow it.

“Can I kiss you miss?” he breathed out, already bringing you closer.

“Please,” you let out, surprising yourself.

He didn't waste another second and closed the gap between you, his lips meeting yours in a fervent, intoxicating kiss. The world around you seemed to fade away as you melted into each other, a whirlwind of passion and desire consuming every inch of your being.

His kiss was like nothing you had ever experienced before, a mixture of roughness and tenderness that sent shivers down your spine. You found yourself lost in the moment, your hands instinctively clinging onto his jacket as he deepened the kiss, his demeanour shifting from playful to intense.

As the kiss lingered, time seemed to stand still. It was just the two of you, wrapped up in each other's arms beneath the moonlit sky. The night air crackled with electricity, and you could feel the heat radiating between you as if it were its own entity.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were left breathless and flushed, your chests rising and falling in sync. His eyes bore into yours, lips falling into a smile.

“I’m, uh, I’m Benny,” he stuttered, his cheeks becoming a slight pink.

“Hello Benny,” you giggle at his sudden show of shyness. “Everyone calls me Bun.”

|*|

A/n: first time writing for Austin!! Feedback is welcomed. Hope you enjoyed!!

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #benny cross #benny cross x reader #the bikeriders #the bikeriders x reader

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merakidoll · 6 months

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𝐉𝐔𝐉𝐔𝐓𝐒𝐔 𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐍 𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐒

in which Gojo, Nanami, and Toji love the intimacy dates bring.

warnings : black chubby reader. semi public sex? dom nanami. toji’s women is a baker ( yall already know what’s about to go down ) pet names : baby, princess, love, nana, ! reader calls toji a good boy! overstimulation. SMUT! 17+ thank yew <3

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

gojo loved two things. eating, and seeing you dress up in the clothes that he got you. so of course dinner dates where his favorite. he always picked the best restaurants, with the lowest lighting. one, so no one could hear you, and two, so no one could see what the vibration of the panties were doing to you. “what do you want to get love?” his skimmed the expensive menu nodding to himself at all the options. looking up at you, a smirk grew on his lips. your head laying on your arms hmm’s falling from your lips, the vibrating noise tuning everyone out.

“i said what do you want to eat baby?” rising up, your low eyes stared daggers into him, while you shook your head no. gojo took that as a sign and cranked the vibration higher making you gasp loudly, clamping your legs shut even tighter. he rose his eye brow sending a que for you to answer him. “p-pastaaa!” you cried as you came.

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎

dates with nanami are always very small and intimate. it’s usually done in the walls of your home, you both basking in the touches of one another. for todays date it was a reading marathon - well only for the blond haired man. “oh princess, he was the killer!” he sound surprised, his glasses resting on his nose that he was too busy to fix, intrigued with the ending. you on the other hand humped your cunt again his slack covered thighs making a mess on not only him, but the leather reading chair.

you craved his attention, your skin hot for him to pay attention to you and not the stupid book. “n-nana” you whimpered on his shoulder, soft voice causing him to hmm still not paying you any mind. “m-me. p-pay attention to me!” you cried taking your shaky hands and gripping the book throwing it across his office. “that’s not nice” he said sternly. making you raise up as he caressed your cheek. “you wanted my attention? you got it” he grabbed your waist pushing you harder into his thigh. “you’re gonna keep cumming until i tell you to stop”

𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎

as baker you loved your job. so a lot of you and toji’s dates revolved around new recipes that you could put in the bakery. this idea for date night came to you in a dream, it was on your mind so heavily that you had to do it. “good boy” a big bowl of chocolate cake batter sat on the counter while toji stood in front of it. his hard length out, small droplets of pre cum getting into your home made recipe but you wanted more.

your squeezed him, slowing pumping all of the cum out. “need more toji” your pouted looking up at him making him make a moany sigh. “o-okay princess” he bit his lip as your jerks got faster. hand becoming cramped, but your kept going already tasting the sweet treat in your mouth that was be just for you. you got in the zone with adding the special ingredient that one load didn’t seem enough- you needed more. toji was slowly losing his mind, overstimulation by the constant cumming and dirtiness of it all. how you were so eager to have your cum cake.

“t-that’s enough princess, i-i need a break”

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kingkatsuki · 8 months

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Bakugou being so in love with you but he won’t ever admit it, my beloved.

Can you imagine Bakugou, who’s been in love with you since the moment he met you, catching you one evening trying to bake cupcakes in the kitchen. And he can see how angry and frustrated you are instantly, even without the evidence of many many failed attempts strewn all over the countertop.

Uneven batter, burnt edges, no rise— each time seems to get worse, even though you’re following the recipe to a T. But it’s late, you’re exhausted, and the only pleasure you have now is eating the leftover cake mix off your wooden spoon as you sit on the counter overlooking the mess you know you’ll have to clean up.

“You’ll get sick eating raw cake batter, dumbass.” Bakugou rolls his eyes as he looks at the mess of burnt cupcake failures strewn across the kitchen, “Why don’t you just buy yourself a cake?”

“Because I wanted to make the cupcakes,” You pout pathetically, dumping the spoon into the sink as you prepare to start the tedious cleanup.

“But you can’t bake for shit.” Bakugou scoffs.

“I know,” You heave a sigh, “But it’s Valentines tomorrow, and I thought—”

You trailed off, not knowing how to explain to Bakugou that the cupcakes were supposed to be for him.

But of course Bakugou doesn’t realise that, however perceptive he thinks he is he can’t see the big, fat crush you’ve had on him for just as long. Trying to ignore the ache in his chest at the thought of you gifting these cupcakes to someone else as he shoulders you out of the way with your dirty bowl, sticking it beneath the warm stream of water as he begins to clean it up.

“You don’t need to do that, Bakugou. I made the mess, I can—”

“Shut up, shitty woman,” He rolls his eyes, trying to mask the pained rasp in his throat, “We’re gonna bake the best fuckin’ cupcakes you’ve ever had.”

And he’s right. The cupcakes that now sit cooling on the counter look perfect, all of them the same shape and consistency as you watch Bakugou hover over them with the piping bag as he swirls the orange mixture onto each one with precision.

He doesn’t say a word when you’re finished, only a gruff grunt as he excuses himself from the kitchen. Cheeks flushed pink from the praise you’d given him, the sweetest words from you.

“Have you got a valentine, Bakugou?”

“Nah, it’s a stupid fuckin’ holiday.” He despised the glow of hurt that flashed through your eyes at that, despised that he was the one to make you feel shitty about trying to do something nice.

When the truth is, he loved that you were trying to bake cupcakes for someone, it showed just how sweet, kind and perfect you really were— he just wished you were baking those stupid cupcakes for him.

If only he knew that you’d wanted them to be perfect because they were for him.

And now you weren’t going to gift them to him because he thought it was a stupid holiday, and it was a stupid idea to think he might actually want them.

#LIKE IMAGINE HIM ASKING THE NEXT DAY IF THE GUY LIKED THEM?!?!?!#and you have to be like he didn’t no :(( he’s not interested #and Bakugou is just like fuck him and has NO CLUE that it’s him #I was gonna make this two weeks notice but idk I didn’t wanna write it in full #but that misunderstanding #sighhhhh #soft bakugou #Bakugou x reader

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starsainzjr · 8 months

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Baker's Dozen

Pairing: Toto Wolff x baker!reader Faceclaim: None Requested: yes no

✷✷✷✷✷

mercedesamgf1 Silverstone

Liked by yourusername, lewishamilton, georgerussell63 and 509,074 others

mercedesamgf1 Always a pleasant day when the real boss comes to visit! Thank you for the sweet treats, @/yourusername and @/brackleybakery!

View all 13,927 comments

yourusername My favorite clients! Thank you for letting me be the good luck charm!

lewishamilton I have never, nor will ever, have a better vegan cake than yours

yourusername It's only that good because you were my taste tester georgerussell63 It was vegan????? yourusername You're lucky you're good at driving carmenmundt And pretty georgerussell63 Is all I'm good for my looks? carmenmundt 🤷‍♀️

wolffie YN is the true queen of Mercedes-AMG PETRONAS F1 Team

forzaformula YN is the queen of the grid, let's be real without ourselves here

l.h.eight She makes them accommodating for Lewis I can't do this that's adorable

totos92 I am going to miss YN and Lewis content so bad

yourusername Silverstone

Liked by lewishamilton, mercedesamgf1, georgerussell63 and 30,846 others

yourusername It's rare that I get out of the kitchen but when I do it's to celebrate with my favorite people. And annoy my husband while he's trying to work

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mercedesamgf1 If we could hire you as our onsite baker we would

yourusername I do not doubt it for a single second

georgerussell63 What, I don't get a spot in the post?

yourusername You hid every time I had my phone out carmenmundt It's true I watched you dive behind a pile of tyres yourusername See? I have witnesses georgerussell63 Fine

lewishamilton I didn't even see you take that

yourusername I'm sneaky

l.h.eight He looks so happy 😭

totos92 Queen YN strikes again this weekend

wolffie YN and Toto are actually goals I cannot be convinced otherwise

brackleybakery Brackley, England

Liked by yourusername, carmenmundt, georgerussell63 and 2,792 others

brackleybakery We are pleased to announce that Brackley Bakery will be opening a second location in London!

Doors will open on 15th October 2024. We look forward to seeing everyone on opening day!

yourusername Brackley Bakery

Liked by carmenmundt, georgerussell63, mercedesamgf1 and 30,927 others

yourusername Trying out some new recipes for the second location! Featuring Toto's reaction when ten boxes of cookies showed up at his office captured by @/georgerussell63 thank you for my new blackmail picture

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georgerussell63 Anything for the Queen 🫡

yourusername 🫡 carmenmundt As if you didn't benefit greatly from it

mercedesamgf1 We will be your taste testers any time you need us

lewishamilton Thank you for the vegan box

yourusername I hope you got those ones to yourself lewishamilton @/georgerussell63 tried to steal a few georgerussell63 I did not! I realized they were vegan and promptly put them back down

l.h.eight What I wouldn't give to have ten boxes of cookies made by YN

wolffie Party at Brackley Bakery to get some of these cookies who's in

mercedesamgf1 London, England

Liked by georgerussell63, lewishamilton, yourusername and 687,055 others

mercedesamgf1 The boys are on the way to support YN Wolff and the opening of the new @/brackleybakery location! So proud of our Queen on this special day!

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yourusername So beyond grateful for the support today! Thank you boys, thank you team!

lewishamilton Particularly excited for the vegan section

georgerussell63 Tell our physios not to look

carmenmundt You better be bringing me back some treats I swear to God georgerussell63 I will bring you back one of everything

l.h.eight I cannot believe we only have like two months left of this content

wolffie No literally it causes me physical pain that we'll be seeing Lewis in red next year. It doesn't feel right

totos92 Crying for the YN and Toto content we're going to get today

yourusername Brackley Bakery

Liked by carmenmundt, georgerussell63, lewishamilton and 44,873 others

yourusername This has truly been one of the best days of my life. Thank you to everyone who has helped me in opening this second location of @/brackleybakery. Including @/mercedesamgf1 and both @/lewishamilton and @/georgerussell63. And last but not least, my wonderful loving husband. I give him a lot of shit on here, but he truly is my favorite person on the planet and I could not have done any of this without him. I love you, Schat.

Comments on this post have been limited

mercedesamgf1 Mercedes family has expanded! So so proud of you!

lewishamilton You deserve all the success that has come to you!

georgerussell63 Best croissants in the city tbh

yourusername High praise, high praise. Only higher if it were coming from Pierre pierregasly No no, he's right. They are

carmenmundt You are the best! So so many good things coming your way!

✷✷✷✷✷

All photos from Pinterest, Instagram, or Google Images

#f1 fanfic #f1 social media au #f1 x reader #f1 x you #social media au #toto wolff social media au #toto wolff x reader #toto wolff x you #toto wolff fanfic #toto wolff

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anyroads · 2 years

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OK you know what, if we're gonna talk about Bake Off then fuck it, let's do this.

It used to be this wholesome, lovely show! We used to watch it for the bakers! And the learning! And the light banter and occasional bit of coy innuendo! What happened?

Channel 4 happened. When they bought the show they made a number of changes, most of them Not Good™️. Not just in the sense of them resulting in a lot of 😬 and 🫠 moments, but in the sense of how they changed the show's purpose, atmosphere, and brand.

Look, I know most people are just like, "whatever, it's just a baking show," and yeah, sure. But it's one of the UK's most successful TV exports, and where it once shifted the tone of reality competition to being wholesome and supportive of contestants, it's since moved towards creating tension at the contestants' cost. So aside from the fact that most people watching it signed up to watch a nice show, it has also shifted the goalposts of what that even means. And that, lovelies and gentlefolk, is some bullshit.

I decided to break my rant analysis into four main parts: theme weeks, the hosts, the judges, and the bakers. Let's get to it!

Theme Weeks:

If you watch Bake Off, you know the show's always had a specific theme for each week. The staples that come up in most seasons are:

cake

biscuit

bread

pudding/dessert

pastry

patisserie

Less common but consistent are things like caramel and chocolate week.

Then there are the fun episodes! When GBBO was on the BBC, this started out with things tea week, tarts, pies, tray bakes, basically little tangents still focused on emphasizing specific baking skills. In Series 6 (still on the BBC) they had their first nation-focused theme week with French week -- fairly innocuous given that a lot of patisserie is French, France and England share much more culture than either cares to admit [Norman Flag dot gif], and it was a nice change from watching Paul make the bakers do recipes that involved boiling things while talking about how wonderful boiled doughs are (are they, Paul? Are they?).

The show kept mixing it up with innocuous themes like advanced dough and alternative ingredients weeks, European cakes, Victorian week, batter week, and botanical week. And while it was frustrating to watch Paul Hollywood mispronounce things like the Hungarian Dobos Torta and lecture bakers on babka when he clearly knew nothing about it (or about Jewish baking in general, go off Past Me), the show's general attitude was that the judges had their own opinions, which were separate from the immutable facts around the chemistry of baking (more on this later) and shouldn't affect how bakers are judged.

After the show moved to Channel 4, the number of themed weeks increased and more of them focused on specific countries. In 6 seasons on the BBC, there were only two country-focused theme weeks, and in 5 seasons on Channel 4 there have been five. And while they've also had themes like vegan baking, roaring 20s, the 1980s, spice week, etc. the show has really started to go hard on exoticizing other cultures in outright disrespectful and racist ways. There's been Italian and Danish week, German, Japanese (it wasn't, it was East Asian week), and now Mexican week (which doesn't touch on interspersed Jewish bakes that didn't get a theme week, like versions of bagels and babka set as technical challenges that were borderline hate crimes and mansplained by a guy who has no idea how to make either and once wrote in a cookbook that challah was traditionally eaten during Passover). Each time the hosts played up the theme with racist bits and jokes that can be used as evidence in court if your case is "why should shows with scripted content have a professional writing staff."

Which touches on other issues the show has now...

The Hosts:

When GBBO was on the BBC, the show was hosted by ✨Mel Giedroyc✨ and ✨Sue Perkins✨. They encouraged the bakers! They'd hold stuff for them sometimes! They were interested in them! If a baker had a breakdown, they would start singing copyrighted material to render the footage unusable! When the show moved to Channel 4, they left, though I'm not unconvinced that Channel 4 offered them impossible to accept contracts to force them out so they could rebrand the show. They replaced them with Sandy Toksvig and Noel Fielding. Sandy was a lovely host in the vein of Mel and Sue, and she and Noel had a relatively sweet rapport, but she left a few seasons ago and was replaced by Matt Lucas.

Noel Fielding is mostly known for his quirky brand of comedy, a sort of British Zooey Deschanel who's goth from the neck up, an upperclass British gay divorcee from the neck down, and basically an early 60s Beatle re: trousers. Matt Lucas has almost definitely never watched a single episode of GBBO and his most redeeming quality is his thinly veiled contempt for Paul Hollywood.

The two treat the baking tent as their personal playground. Far from the supportive attitude of Mel and Sue, they tend to get in the bakers' way during the most stressful moments, especially when they try to do hilarious "comedy" bits (I can't not put that in quotes) like Noel's talking wooden spoon thing, or Matt talking over Noel to do time calls. During theme weeks like Japanese and Mexican week, they do culture-specific bits that are both racist ("just Juan joke" and "is Mexico a real place?") and unsurprising, given that both Matt and Noel did blackface on their respective sketch shows and absolutely could and should have known better because it was already the current fucking century.

All this to say, there's now a separation between the bakers and the hosts, as if they're on different shows. The hosts are doing their own thing and the bakers are doing GBBO. The show has gotten meaner to the bakers, and the hosts aren't there to support them anymore, they're just there to be comic relief. Because when you refocus your show on stressing the bakers the fuck out, you need a forced laugh I guess ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

The Judges:

First of all, a sincere congratulations to Paul Hollywood who managed to squeeze I jUsT cAmE bAcK fRoM mExIcO aNd YeT sTiLL pRoNoUnCe PiCo De GaLLo As 'PiKa De KaLLa' and I aM aN eXpErT oN s'MoReS wHiCh aRe MaDe WiTh DiGeStiVe BiScUiTs AcCoRdiNg tO mE, aN eXpErT oN s'MoReS, just two in a giant pile of astoundingly wrong hot takes, into a short enough time span that they all aired within Liz Truss's term as Prime Minister. A true man of accomplishments.

In the interest of fairness, I need to preface this with a disclaimer that, due to the fact that I've been watching Bake Off for most of its run, I'm biased. Specifically, I can't stand Paul Hollywood's smarmy, classist, egomaniac ass because he's proven time and again he's more interested in looking smart than actually knowing what he's talking about. Since the show moved to Channel 4, they've changed the occasional handshake Paul would give bakers to the HoLlYwOoD hAnDsHaKe™️. It's gone from being an emphasis of someone's skill to a goal, a reward, and one that emphasizes the judges' place above the bakers.

The judges used to function as teachers, imparting their skills and insights to the bakers. When the show was on the BBC, the voiceover leading to a judging would focus on the bakers' work being finished, saying how it will now be evaluated based on their skill and how well they met the brief. The voiceovers now, on Channel 4, focus on the judging (literally saying something along the lines of, "the bakers will now be judged by Prue and Paul"). There is a clear distinction Channel 4's producers have made, to mark that the show is now about whether or not the judges approve, not whether the brief was understood and executed well. On the BBC, it was irrelevant whether the judges liked a particular flavor, as long as the bake was well-made. Now, the bakers are expected to know the judges tastes and cater to them, which is frankly bullshit. A judge doesn't have to like a flavor to know whether or not it was executed well, ie. is it carrying a bake and was it meant to etc.

The judges have been turned into a brand. Cynically, Channel 4 knows that by building them up and focusing the show more on them, they can exploit their image more for profit. In the process, they've become much more biased and their own biases have come out as well. Most recently in the flaming dumpster fire that was Mexican Week, Paul Hollywood tried to intimidate a baker by telling them he had just gotten back from Mexico (which must have been a fruitful learning trip if he couldn't even learn how to pronounce pico de gallo correctly). Where do I even start with this? Here's an amateur baker from England (the show specifically casts middle and lower middle class bakers for the most part??) who likely can't afford trips to Mexico, who lives in a country with incredibly limited access to Mexican cuisine, who is expected not only to understand the cooking and baking traditions of a completely different culture but to do so well enough to play with it and do something creative with it. On top of which, one of the judges is now using his privilege of traveling halfway around the world as some kind of leverage, as if this were a bar that any amateur British baker could clear.

Prue, meanwhile, has openly asserted her biases against cultural flavors and textures, prioritizing her own personal preferences over them, as if they were in any way relevant to the skills and knowledge necessary to execute the tasks she sets to the bakers. She has also been consistently elitist, criticizing bakers for choices they made that were clearly informed by their experiences within income brackets that are too low and foreign for Prue to comprehend. She once had a go at a baker on a Christmas special because his Christmas dinner themed bake didn't have a turkey, even though it was clear from the stories he shared of his own Christmases that his family likely couldn't afford one. "It's not really Christmas dinner without a turkey," Prue said into the camera angrily while sitting on a chair made of live orphans and telling the ghost of Christmas Future to come back when he had another museum gift shop necklace for her to round out her collection.

The show is no longer about which baker has the best skills. It's become about which mortal can appease the gods of Mount Olympus, ie. the judges.

The Bakers:

Remember when the show was about them? Channel 4 doesn't! Because this is a reality competition show, the bakers are chosen both based on their skills, as well as cast-ability. They're cast as characters, distinct from each other, from different areas, age groups, ethnicities. All of them are amateurs. All of them are middle or lower middle class. They've ranged from college students to supermarket cashiers to prison wardens to scientists.

Something I noticed when the show moved to Channel 4 is that the baker who goes home in the first week is always wildly behind the rest in skills. I have no proof of this other than my eyeballs and deductive reasoning skills, but I think that Channel 4 deliberately casts a ringer each season who they think will be an easy send-off in the first week, just to get the audience's feet wet.

Anyway, like I said, this show used to be about the bakers - about them building skills and learning, and having walked into the tent with a self-taught foundation and understanding of the processes and chemical reactions involved in baking. When the show was on the BBC, the end of each round had some (often brief) moments of tension - will they finish in time? Will they get their bakes on the plate before time is up? Did they forget to add sugar to their batter and only remember at the last minute? In the end, they usually managed to finish and we'd all breathe a sigh of relief and think, yeah! You go, Bakers Who I'm Rooting For!

Now, on Channel 4, the end of round drama has been stretched to be so much longer that they've composed extra music for it. The bakers often seem out of their depth, whether because the instructions for the technical challenge are too vague (bake a lemon meringue pie??? As if anyone in the UK under the age of 60 has had one in the last decade???), or because they were expected to bake something that required a more than a basic foundation they weren't told of. Often it seems like they just aren't given enough time, a tactic used by reality competition shows to manipulate contestants into giving the cameras more dramatic content. On top of all this, the hosts get in their way, instead of helping them plate their bakes. As has been pointed out before, when everyone fails the challenge, the real failure lies with whoever set it.

In conclusion:

The show no longer exists to teach the bakers - and the audience - skills or knowledge. It now manipulates contestants for dramatic effect and prioritizes showing conflict over wholesome content. Channel 4 sees the bakers as social media content they can churn out season after season, and don't care about them because in a few months there'll be a new batch to exploit. Meanwhile, the judges are also out of their depth, co-opting recipes from other cultures and butchering them horrendously, while the camera gives them nothing but status as they hold bakers to the expectation that they learn how to make things very much the wrong way. If you saw any of the tweets about Mexican or Japanese week, or read my post on how Paul Hollywood isn't allowed to go near babka ever again, you'll understand.

So what would fix all this? Scrap the current judges and the hosts altogether. Bring back Mel and Sue, and replace the judges with expert bakers who have a love of their craft and want to share it with others. The draw of GBBO used to be its warmth and comfort - if Channel 4 isn't going to start its own version of Master Chef For Bakers, then it needs to stop trying to find a balance of how it can insert that vibe into GBBO. It can't. That's not a thing. Stop trying.

#GBBO #paul hollywood #prue leith #the great british bake off

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