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almostempty · 4 months ago

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Never made it as a wise man

(joel miller x f!reader)

Description: Joel solves your car troubles for free, and you try to return the favor with a homecooked meal. When you accidentally interrupt his jerkoff session, you take a chance and help him out.

Note: y’all are out here answering god’s toughest questions, like what if emotionally unavailable Joel was loved unconditionally? or what if Joel was the Mothman?, and I deeply appreciate that.

However, today, I am here to answer a question that nobody asked– What if Joel was a divorced dad rock kinda guy?

You know, like, listening to Nickelback on an old-school boombox in his garage, or unironically singing Creed on the way to work, or bonding with Ellie over Papa Roach? And also, (inspired by a genius) what if he was a little bit pathetic?

Anyway, I present to you: divorced dad rock dilf, Joel, ta-da! (my humble submission for @hellishjoel‘s hot dilf summer challenge) obvs dedicated to: @auteurdelabre

ao3: read here | masterlist: here | part 2 here | part 3 here

Tags/warnings: AU no outbreak divorced Joel x f!reader, Sarah is not mentioned, but Ellie is your adult coworker, reader is clueless about cars and so am I, gratuitous smut and horny thoughts, implied jorkin’ joel but no witnesses, hand job, fingering, premature ejaculation, touch starved kinda loserish but hot divorced dilf joel, he’s a real tiddy guy in this one and idk why it just happened, pwp, is it a crackfic? maybe, but i meant it wholeheartedly so idk

WC: 4.2k

You pull onto the long driveway, hoping to see Joel’s truck. You forgot to text first to see if he would be around, but he did tell you to come by if you ever needed anything. You mostly just hope he’ll be willing to accept your gift.

Last week, he’d helped you out by fixing your car. He told you what the issue was, but he might as well have been speaking another language when he described it. You had already brought coffee and a plate of cookies to your coworker Ellie to thank her for dragging you to Joel’s to ask for help. Being in a new town was hard enough, but you had no idea how you would handle the price for diagnostics, let alone whatever the repair would’ve cost. You tried to offer Joel the cash you had as a thanks, but he wouldn’t accept it. You tried to argue with him, but Ellie told you it wasn’t worth arguing with him. He wouldn’t budge. Instead, he had offered to change your oil for you, making you feel even more indebted to him.

At first, the most you got out of Ellie for intel on Joel was that he was the one responsible for you having to listen to “One Last Breath” and “Lips of an Angel” at ungodly early hours. Ellie claimed that her music taste was deeply influenced by Joel, and somehow, Ellie is always in charge of the music at work. When you rolled your eyes calling it divorced dad rock, she let it slip that you were right about that.

That explains a lot when you remember the brief time you spent in his house and shop. The house was clean inside but not tidy. Stray beer bottles and travel mugs dotted the counter and coffee table. But the shop had all the Divorced Dad Barbie accessories.

The project car and crates of assorted parts. The beer fridge and the plastic lawn chairs in the corner for bullshitting with whoever stopped by. The boombox on the workbench with the stack of CDs. And the fading calendar from another decade with the naked woman kneeling on the beach.

You hadn’t been able to stop your eyes from darting to her sultry expression and swimsuit model-perfect breasts when Joel had been explaining what he was going to do to your car. You wondered if the heat burning in your cheeks had given you away, but he didn’t notice then. Ellie sure did, though, and she had rolled her eyes at you, noting it had been up so long she even forgot it was there.

Luckily, Ellie didn’t notice your eyes lingering on Joel’s body. You weren’t trying to be a creep, but the way his arm flexed when he opened the hood of your car gave you some feral brand of intrusive thoughts. The ratty band t-shirt and the faded jeans were working for him, too, or at least they were doing something for you. Time slowed when your eyes trailed over his arms and down the muscles of his broad back. He just seemed so… solid. You finally understood what your friends back home meant when they said they wanted to climb a man like a tree. You had jumped a little when Ellie slammed the fridge behind you and shouted at Joel about how he can’t just live in the shop drinking shitty beer and eating beef jerky. She had grabbed your arm to drag you to the house for an iced tea while he worked.

Her comment sparked your idea. You figured Joel must be a utilitarian type. He probably lives on frozen pizzas–or even worse, those Hungry-Man frozen TV dinners–instead of making himself something fresh. Maybe he’s one of those guys who got really into smoking meats instead. Either way, you hope the lasagna you made from scratch and the other tray of cookies will be an acceptable thank you for his help. He can’t refuse it if you already made it, right?

You pull up next to a truck, assuming it’s his, and that he’s home. Before you grab the tray, you pause to check your reflection and adjust your breasts in your white tank top, making sure your cleavage pokes out as temptingly as possible.

You check yourself in the mirror with a look. Why does it matter what you look like? It’s not like you’re trying to fuck your only (almost) friend’s dad, right? Although she calls him by his first name, not Dad, so maybe there’s like a loophole or something if she’s adopted. You think about the calendar model and her perfect tits hanging on the wall over his tools. It can’t hurt to just do a little harmless flirting, right? Maybe you aren’t even his type anyway.

After knocking on the door a couple of times, you frown, wondering if he’s not home. On the way back to your car, with your head hung in defeat, your ears perk up at the sound of something clanging in the shop. Of course!

You skitter back to the front porch to leave your goods by the door and head for the shop to find that divorced DILF–Joel, you mean. It’s sweltering out, and sweat is beading on your chest after only a few minutes in the heat. The closer you get, the more easily you can make out the sound of his little CD player blasting another brooding, raspy ballad sung by a white man with a troubled love life.

The garage door is shut, so you knock on the door on the side of the building. You wait a minute before testing your luck and opening the door yourself. Assessing the shop, you don’t see your man, sorry, Joel, at first glance. The music blasts, and the calendar model gives you the same impish smirk through her false lashes and a layer of dust, but there’s no Joel. The evidence clearly dictates that he’s in here somewhere, as his tools are strung around his project, the lights are on, and a beer with a sweating label sits on the edge of the workbench.

You aren’t trying to be sneaky. You didn’t think to holler and announce your presence over the music. Plus, you didn’t fully get your bearings the last time you were here. Now, you can pick up a few more details as your eyes absorb everything they can about anything that gives you a hint about who this guy is.

The guy that’s been haunting your dreams for a week. Last week, when you walked back to the shop with Ellie to check on your car, you nearly tripped, watching Joel wipe the sweat off his face with the bottom of his shirt. You had just caught a glimpse of the trail of hair disappearing under his jeans, but it was enough to replay in your mind every night as you created your little scenarios to carry you off to sleep.

The scent memory was somehow worse. It was so easy to transport yourself back in time with the thought of the sweaty musk and the grease or oil smeared on his fingers. It shouldn’t turn you on, right?

You remember thinking he seemed so knowledgeable when describing the issue. You had no idea what he was talking about, but his low voice and patience were enough to tell you he could talk you through anything.

You notice a few other details as you enter his sacred space today. The woodworking projects, the band posters, and the pictures with Ellie and other family members tacked to the wall over another workbench.

Still, no Joel, however.

You circle the partially disassembled project truck and see a door to another room. It would be the office if the shop were a professional business. There’s a window along the wall, but instead of a boss watching an employee, it’s you hoping to see that brawny man and his dark curls.

As you step closer, you nearly squeal. There he is. Well, at least, you can see the broad shoulders and back you’ve been picturing above you in bed. You practically skip to the door. It’s already open a crack, and you give it a knock, calling his name as it swings open from the force of your rapping knuckles.

The next moment is a blur.

“Shit, fuck, hold on!” Joel shouts gruffly as he slams the door in your face. But you already heard it. The phony wailing noises that came from the busted speaker on his phone.

You still face the closed door, trying to process the interaction before he wrenches the door back open. He’s breathing rapidly, chest rising and falling, as he looks at you with wide eyes that quickly narrow.

“What are you doing here?” he barks.

Your hands fall to your sides, and you start to step back, ready to turn and run.

He catches your fear and tries to adjust, but you’re faster.

“Sorry,” you mumble as you turn and try to dash away. Joel’s quick, too, though, and he grabs your wrist.

“Hey, wait,” he loosens his grip when you spin back towards him, “I just didn’t hear you comin’. Wasn’t expecting you.”

“Sorry,” you repeat, stuttering as you continue, “I-I just, uh, just wanted to say thanks for your help last week.” You stare at the floor. Unsure why you’re embarrassed, you feel so small after he saw your face and practically shouted at you.

“All right,” he rumbles. You’re too busy staring at the crack in the concrete floor to notice how his eyes are glued to your exposed skin. Or to see the blotchy red flush that crawls up his neck and toward his face.

But your brain starts to catch up. Joel might’ve snapped at you, but you’re the one that caught him in the act. You don’t lift your head, but your eyes trail over his stained and faded jeans until you’re studying his crotch.

Bingo. It’s almost too easy. You can make out the outline of his erection tucked up in his waistband. Even more glaring evidence is the open fly. You wish you had caught what he was watching. How does he like it? What does he search for when he wants to jerk off in the back office on a hot Saturday afternoon?

He clears his throat, and you snap your attention to his face. “Was there somethin’ you needed?” He asks.

“Yes.” You tell him you’ve got a lasagna that should get into a fridge before it reheats in the sun. He follows you toward the front door and into the house, not missing how your hips sway as you lead.

Once the tray is shoved into the fridge, nestled between some takeout containers, he turns to thank you. “You didn’t need to do all that,” he gruffs over the cookies and homemade meal.

You step back to lean against the counter, littered with mail and more coffee cups, and let yourself check him out up close. His faded Creed t-shirt has holes around the neck. He’s got that same sweaty man musk going on, and you wish you knew why that stirred your arousal, but your pussy lacks logic.

“I know, I know,” you reply, “but you really saved my ass with the car, and I wanted to do something for you. You know, some way to pay you back?”

“All right, well, thanks,” he trails off. He doesn’t seem to know what else to say. Maybe you should be on your way already, but he’s not ushering you out the door.

This time, you do catch when his eyes drop to your chest. There’s no way you’re imagining the tension between you as you stand in his kitchen while he stares at your barely clothed tits, right? Fuck it. You’re gonna go for it.

You take a step towards him. “I wasn’t sure if it was really enough,” your voice is soft and tempting, and your sweet perfume wafts towards him like a lust potion. Joel swallows thickly as you approach.

He knows you must’ve put it together, but he tried to delude himself. Maybe you couldn’t hear the theatrical screams of the woman he was watching get railed before he slammed the door in your face. He hopes all you heard was Chad Kroeger’s voice screaming, “This time I'm mistaken

For handin' you a heart worth breakin'” from the stereo.. on the other side of the shop.

“You worked so hard,” you continued with one final step, and now you’re nearly toe-to-toe in front of him. “There has to be something else I could do.” You’re so close to him. He forgets to respond. It takes all his power to keep his eyes on your face.

You have a wild urge to taste the sweat on his neck, but you keep your tongue to yourself. He hasn’t made any move to encourage you, but he hasn’t stopped you yet either, so you figure it’s worth taking a risk.

“Maybe you’ve got a problem I could help you with.” You go for it, reaching your hand out to palm at the bulge in his jeans.

Again, too many things happen at once. Joel snaps out a “What?” in disbelief. His hand circles your wrist tightly. His hips jerk, involuntarily bucking into your palm. Your glossy lips part into an “o” shape at the size of his not-quite-hard cock. And now you’re both locked into this position like statues.

His fingers stay firmly wrapped around your wrist, but he doesn’t pull you away. Your fingers squeeze over his jeans, and your eyes flash wide as you can feel his cock twitch and stiffen at your touch. The touch that rapidly overrides your better judgment, drowning you in want. Your clit twitches itself in response, your nipples strain under your thin tank top, and your eyelids feel heavy immediately.

“What are you doing?” His voice crackles like he hadn’t just used it. You slide your hand to pop the button on his jeans, and he releases your wrist as you flip it to slip your fingers under the waistband of his boxers in search of his cock.

“Let me help,” you say in more of a whispered tone. The searing heat between Joel’s legs makes you salivate. Your fingers graze coarse curls before you acquire your target, wrapping your palm and fingers around his thick shaft. His size has your cunt throbbing in your shorts.

Joel’s eyes are squeezed shut. He looks nearly in pain. You pull your hand back out to let the pool of saliva on your tongue drip into your palm.

“Jesus,” he breathes out, watching your lewd maneuver. “You wanna help?” He repeats your plea in the form of a question, a little dumbfounded. He’s trying to figure out what’s happening right now.

“I do,” you answer in a honeyed voice as you dig your hand back into his pants. He’s unable to respond with words as you swirl your palm over the head of his cock, mixing saliva and precome, but his body eggs you on. He bucks into your fist, and you work quickly, pumping his throbbing length. The slick noises are muffled by the layers of clothing, but the grunts that catch in his throat shoot piping-hot desire straight into your core.

He looks a little desperate, eyes slammed shut again, jaw slack, arms hanging uselessly at his side. And for god knows why, the entire scene pulls a moan from your lips. The sweet sound snaps Joel back to attention. His hands shoot straight to your breasts, cupping them gently to feel them bounce against the motion of your arm wrestling with his jeans to keep stroking his cock.

They’re so close to spilling over your tank top on their own. Joel can’t resist tugging the thin material until they spill over the top. The sight alone nearly has him coming in his pants. But then you moan so loudly when he squeezes them both and pinches at your nipples, and he really can’t stop.

“Fuck, fuck, wait,” he spits out, but it’s too late. His hips jerk erratically, thrusting into your slick fist, and he’s coming. It coats your hand and wrist and makes an absolute mess. You relax your grip when his whole body seems to shudder and gently remove your hand. He tries to choke his groan of frustration before it surfaces, but he immediately pauses his shame spiral when he sees you suck your come-coated fingers one by one.

“God, that’s so fucking hot,” you tell him. At the same time, he’s muttering curses at the sight of you. You’re feeling a little giddy that all it took was your hand and showing your tits to have Joel losing control and spilling his load for you. It has your mouth curling into an impish grin.

He’s got the sight of you half topless in his kitchen, licking your fingers, looking awfully proud of yourself, etching into his memory. Before the blood can return to his brain, he grabs you tightly by the ribs and walks you backward towards the counter. He lifts you onto it and wrenches open your shorts, yanking at them as you lift your hips so he can slide them off of you and drop them onto the kitchen floor.

Yes! Yes! Yes! The horny little goblins in your brain shriek and chant, incited by the rough and impulsive way Joel gropes at you. It’s barbaric, and that delights you.

Sitting on the counter, you give him such perfect access to put his mouth on your breasts that he forgets what he was going to say. He mouths at each of them wetly, his beard tickling you as he’s busy sucking marks into your delicate skin. He sucks and bites at your strained nipples until your loud whines turn into a sharp gasp, and he pulls back.

The heavy-lidded look on your face has him diving back in for more, and you groan and arch into his touch. You rake your fingers into the curls at the back of his neck and tug at him. He grunts and moans into your skin, and it drives you wild. You need to feel him closer.

You grab the worn cotton on his shoulders until he lets you slip the shirt over his head and drop it onto the counter next to you. It gives you the briefest moment to take in the sight of his built chest and shoulders and softer midsection with that trail of hair you had memorized. You need to taste the salt on his skin.

Spreading your legs wider, he slots his hips against yours at the edge of the counter, and you run your tongue along his neck. You slide one of your hands down the smooth golden skin of his shoulder, and the other nestles back in his messy curls as his mouth finds yours.

He tastes like cheap coffee and the peppermint nicotine gum parked above his teeth along the left side of his mouth. You know it’s wrong that you can’t get enough. But you're helpless when he pulls your bottom lip between his teeth, and you mindlessly roll your hips, seeking any relief.

He’s grumbling in your ear about how it seems like you need help now, but you couldn’t care less about the words coming out of his mouth. His deep voice alone could get you off. You let out an uninhibited whine at the thought.

“Jesus Christ,” he pulls back. His head hangs, staring at the floor. He shakes it in what you assume is disbelief. You don’t want to wait for him to think any further. You grab his hand, pulling it between your legs.

“Really, fucking, hot.” You echo your earlier declaration. Doing your best to sound assertive. You figure at least your soaked panties will prove your point.

“Fuck,” he stifles a groan. You’re so wet it coats his fingertips through the thin material. He nudges his fingers into you, over your panties, and you whimper for him. The fabric sticks to you and makes an obscene sound as he toys with you for only seconds. “Oh, you do need my help. Hm?”

You nod, spreading your legs wider for Joel to have access. He scoffs at you, displayed eagerly atop his kitchen counter. “Just desperate for me, aren’t ya?”

You snap your legs back shut with a glare.

“No way,” you press, jabbing a finger into his chest, “you don’t get to laugh at me like I’m a slut for you when you just came in your pants for me.”

His nostrils flare, and blotchy red patches creep up his neck again. You aren’t sure what kind of bear you’ve just, quite literally, poked.

“But you are, aren’t you?” He challenges. “You came all this way in this excuse for a shirt, just for me.”

He wedges his hand back between your closed thighs, and you relax just enough to let him work his way back to your core. Your breathing gives you away when it hitches and stutters as he traces his fingers along the hem of the fabric between your legs. You let your legs fall a little wider apart, and he sinks a finger beneath the hem and right inside of you to the knuckle.

A whiny noise rolls in the back of your throat.

“Shh,” he sinks a second finger inside of you, and your muscles spasm and contract, “that’s better, hmm?” He slowly pulls his fingers almost all the way out and then plunges them back in. He repeats this, and your core tenses as you writhe for him.

“You need more?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah, you do.” He adds a third finger, and the slight stretch makes you hum.

“You just need to be filled up, hm?” He teases you. Awfully confident now for a guy you just caught watching porn on his phone in a grimy back office in the middle of the afternoon.

But your noises and impatient movements spur him on. His sticky cock is filling out his jeans again. He nearly drools at the thought of the wet walls of your cunt, currently wrapped around his fingers, sliding over his cock instead. He knows you want it, too.

“Don’t you?” He asks like you could read his mind.

“Hm?” You hum absently. Empty headed. You’re still taken by the entire pulpy, messy scene.

Reveling in the vulnerability of being spread open on his cluttered counter as you’re both half-dressed and panting in the other’s hot breath. Any semblance of the lightness of your mood is quickly replaced with a blinding need. His fingers work into you, making obscene sounds, and then you add your own fingers. Circling your swollen clit just as he lets you in on his vision.

“You wanna bounce on my lap. Fill this pussy with my cock.”

“Yes,” you hiss as you hover at the edge.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he watches your fingers working deftly over your swollen clit. The encouragement tips you over. Your body jolts erratically as you contract around his fingers, and bright sparks of pleasure course through you.

“Yeah, you’re gonna ride me like fuckin’ champ,” he decides. You pull at his wrist when you start to feel overwhelmed, and he slides his wet fingers over your soft inner thigh. He’s ready to grab you and carry you to the couch when both of your heads snap to attention at the sound of a door slamming in the driveway.

“Shit,” he grumbles, looking for the clock on the stove before he remembers it’s definitely not set to the right time. You move nimbly, shimmying into your shorts, snapping your straps back over your shoulder, and brushing your hair out of your face.

“Hey, wait,” he calls for you, but you’re on the move.

“Let me know when I can pick up the baking dish,” you call over your shoulder. Luckily, Joel’s next guest seemed to know him better. They were off to search the shop first, so you didn’t collide with anyone before you got to your car. Joel stayed locked in the kitchen, catching his breath while you started to pull away. He didn’t see that you stole his dirty Creed shirt off the counter before you skipped out the door.

When you grab it later to wear to bed, a naughty little smile tugs at the corners of your lips. When you pull the worn fabric to your nose to inhale deeply, you wonder if it’s one of those weird pheromone matches or something because you’re sure the sweaty man musk should be wrinkling your nose.

Instead, it makes you think of his big arms and chest filling out the shirt. And how his shoulder and back muscles ripple under his sun-bronzed skin. What they’d look like coated in a sheen of salty sweat as he railed you, bent over his workbench, under the watchful eye of the calendar model and her flirty smize.

The image has you interrupting your own scenarios-before-bed time. Maybe Joel needs a model from this decade. You giggle, bunching up the t-shirt to snap a tasteful shot of some underboob cleavage, with the faded Creed logo on full display.

You send it off with no context, figuring it’s self-explanatory. It’s less than a minute before your phone buzzes, and you feel the intoxicating rush rip through your body before you pick it up to see just the heading on your lockscreen:

Joel

Attachment 1 image

part 2 here | part 3 here

divider by @cyberangel-graphics

Please let me know if you enjoyed or hated this or a secret third thing (???) heheh

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #hotdilfsummerchallenge #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #fanfic #joel miller au #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction

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azzibuckets · 1 month ago

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you’re so good though [pazzi]

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

summary: pazzi in the bahamas. that’s it

Paige could care less about the Baha Mar MVP trophy weighing in her hands. As soon as Azzi accepted her All-Tournament trophy, she was launching herself at her best friend. “You’re gonna crush the hardware,” Azzi giggled, but she buried her chin in Paige’s shoulder anyways.

Paige squeezed a hand on the younger girl’s hip. “All-tournament team. Not too bad for your third game back.” In all honesty, not too bad didn’t even cut it. Azzi had shined on the court tonight, scoring a whopping 18 points to keep them in the game after a rocky third quarter. Seeing her jog down the court, confidence etched into her eyebrow as she sunk basket after basket had made Paige’s heart thump even more. She’d waited years for this, to play in the same court as Azzi, and the time was finally here.

Azzi rolled her eyes. Lifting her jersey to wipe sweat from her forehead, she glanced down at her trophy, happiness shining in her eyes as her dimple deepened. “Your ass almost didn’t get MVP tonight.”

“I don’t wanna hear nothing,” Paige grumbled, punching Azzi’s shoulder playfully. “Geno’s gonna give me hell about those turnovers later.”

Azzi laughed and drew Paige in as someone approached them for a picture. “Best player in the nation,” Paige crowed, throwing her arm around the dark haired girl’s shoulder.

As they walked to the press room, Azzi nudged her knuckles against Paige, their signature subtle reminder of each other’s presence. The blonde was still flushed from the game, her sweaty baby hairs sticking to the nape of her neck, but Azzi still thought her girlfriend looked as beautiful as ever. Paige looked up, her blue eyes bright beneath her lashes, and smiled one of her goofy smiles, allowing herself to intertwine her pinky with Azzi’s for a brief moment. She let go before anyone could see, but both of them looked away and blushed at the clandestine contact.

“You fools are so obvious,” Ice muttered as she walked past them. “Y’all better tone it down for the press conference or CD’s gonna be on y’all’s asses.” (Azzi did, in fact, not tone it down)

As the press conference started, Azzi yawned. Most of the questions were directed at Paige, and she didn’t even mind. She was ready to go to sleep after a long day. Azzi hadn’t even registered that the reporter had directed a question at either of them until Paige was turning to her with a smirk. “You got it.”

“Nope, you got it,” Azzi responded, knowing she had no idea what the reporter had just asked.

“Nah, I’ve been talking too much.” Paige shifted forward, placing her elbows on the table, as Azzi knocked her knee into hers under the table.

“Nope, you got it,” Azzi repeated. She lifted her hand and rested it on Paige’s back, trailing her fingers and smirking to herself as Paige shivered. “You’re so good, though, please continue,” she teased, her eyes running down Paige’s flexing bicep. She swallowed - Paige really had been in the gym over the summer.

“Nope. You haven’t done media in two years.” Paige said, jerking away from Azzi’s touch. The heat of the younger girl’s fingers sliding down her jersey and flirting with the skin at her waist was becoming too much.

“Seriously, come on,” Azzi argued, fighting to control her face. The daggers Paige sent her way meant that she’d be in for it later, but she didn’t care. Flustered Paige was her favorite Paige.

The older girl shook her head, her stare sharpening as she pressed her foot against Azzi’s ankle in warning.

Azzi sighed in relief as another reporter began talking, but Paige’s hand landing on her thigh before slowly sliding off her knee reminded her that she was still in deep shit.

Later that night, when they returned to the hotel to change before dinner, Paige’s hands were on Azzi before the door had even closed behind them. “You thought you were being cute and shit, huh,” Paige said gruffly, sliding her hands around the waistband of Azzi’s shorts.

“Nope.” Azzi popped the p, hands reaching up to slowly undo Paige’s hair from her ponytail. Running her hand through the blonde strands, she fluttered her lashes at her girlfriend. “Just being kind.”

Paige’s fingers danced across Azzi’s ribs, pushing up her jersey to feel the warmth of her bare skin. “18 points and the ego got to your head, hmm?”

“5 turnovers and your ego’s still big,” Azzi retorted, shifting her thigh between Paige’s legs and pressing up. The blonde’s breath hitched at the contact.

Paige’s eyes flared. “You brought a turtleneck?”

“We’re in the fucking Bahamas, dumbass. ‘Course I didn’t.”

Paige smiled smugly. “You’re gonna need to buy one after this.”

“Paige, we have dinner in ten minutes,” Azzi retorted, but nevertheless tilted her neck for Paige to skim her lips across.

“Ten minutes is all I need,” Paige murmured, teeth colliding with Azzi’s collarbone.

Azzi’s mouth parted slightly. The little pants escaping her lips were making Paige go feral, and her hips pushing up against the blonde’s didn’t help one bit. “We can’t.”

“Who says?”

“This is my family we’re making wait,” Azzi argued, tangling her hand in Paige’s hair.

“Are you tryna convince me or yourself?” Paige smirked, now peppering kisses across Azzi’s shoulder.

“Paige.”

“Alright, alright.” Paige let go of Azzi’s hips and stepped back, her lips shiny with spit and her pupils blown over with want.

Azzi giggled at the glazed over look in the blonde’s eyes. She pressed a kiss to Paige’s mouth. “Later, okay?” She bit at Paige’s earlobe before drawing back with a coy smile. “I’ll let you do whatever you want to me, MVP.”

“Fuck.”

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #pazzi #uconn wbb #wcbb #fluff #paige bueckers x azzi fudd #paige x azzi #fic #blurb

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bachibabe · 6 months ago

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📂 ‧ ₊ ˚ — Everything You

ren kaji x idol!reader

✰ ݁ ˖┊: wc: 1.8k

✰ ݁ ˖┊: content: obsessed!kaji, soft yandere!kaji, idol!reader, parasocial relationship, obsession, male masturbation, hand-job, dom!kaji, facial, cum eating, toxic behaviour, violence (not against reader), creepy behaviour, kaji scares you a little at the end :// but he means so well, he just wants to protect you <33 all chars are aged up

18+ → minors / blank blogs dni -> dark content

Kaji who’s just so so so obsessed with his favourite pretty little idol.

He didn’t mean for it to happen, no. But they never really do, do they? Just get caught up so caught up that they don’t even know the path their heart has led them down. Don’t know what to do when they’ve fallen so deep into the trap of dazzling cameras and flashing lights.

For Kaji, it all starts out rather simple– too simple, almost. A friend leaning over his shoulder, phone screen propped up in his hand. A picture of your face, your blinding smile on full display as his friend prattles on about you. Everything you, really.

In the moment, he has no amount of care for you in his bones. Right then he simply rolls his eyes at the other man, pulls his headphones back in place. Effectively shuts out the rest of the world just as he always does. He’s never cared about idols before– especially not popular ones like yourself. So why should he this time? Just ‘cause his friend finds you cute?

Whatever.

Yeah, in that moment he pretends to forget all about you. Cussing at his friend, effectively telling him to ‘fuck off with his useless shit’-- his words, of course. Yet, your name. That pretty little smile, the one that makes him feel almost electric continues to run through his brain.

Continues to rattle around behind his eyes, continues to force its way inside of his conscious with no remorse. No matter how loud he turns up his headphones, how hard he swings his fists, your name continues to irk him like a stupid fucking shadow.

For a week it goes on. For a whole week it feels like you’re haunting him like a shadow.

Never before had he noticed all of your posters. The ones in convenience stores advertising drinks, the motivational ones in cafe’s telling him to cheer up with that little pout on your lips. Your arm held up in a gentle flex. Never before had he noticed your advertisements on tv. Staff making you all dolled up to promote something stupid like a fried chicken chain.

Turns out the entire world is utterly engulfed by everything you.

He finally gives in after seeing one of your CDs at a record store. Finally gives in after a week of hell– your presence leaking into his soul to the point he simply could no longer avoid it. Could no longer hold back from googling your name, listening to your music, watching your performances, watching your interviews, reading your articles, following your accounts, finding out who your staff are–

He doesn’t sleep that night. Doesn't think he can with how his heart is racing, his head is pounding. He feels like he’s dying. Is this a heart attack? Is he going to pass on? What the fuck is he feeling? What is making him feel like he’s falling into insanity?

And thus is the birth of your biggest fan, Ren Kaji. <3

Not that he tells anyone, anyway. Why the fuck should he tell anyone? It’s not light they have the right to know. They don’t have the right to know anything about him– much less what his headphones are playing.

It’s always you, of course. All of your albums play on loop through his headphones. Over and over again. Never stopping for even a second. The classic rock he used to listen to all but forgotten in the face of everything you.

Your voice just as sweet as the candy he eats religiously, your face just as pretty as the sunset over the horizon. Your very existence comes as close to the importance of the very oxygen he breathes.

No one can really blame him for falling so easily, honestly. No one can blame him for falling for a piece of safety, a piece of calmness in the world he normally enjoys being so rough. For so easily siding with your charms. Especially whenever he attends your concerts. When it feels like you’re singing just to him.

When your face lights up whenever it crosses his in the audience, when you shoot him a wink that almost caused him to die from the all-consuming heat that surrounded his very being. His face is hot, red. The lollipop in his mouth breaking as he clenches his jaw, hard shards of glittery candy falling uselessly against his tongue.

You noticed him. You know him. Maybe you could come to like him too?

The moment was perfect. Maybe a start to some sort of cheesy romantic-comedy in his head. The start to getting to know you, being your friend. Protecting you.

But of course the fucking guy standing next to him had to ruin it all. Whining so excitedly that the wink was sent at him instead. That you, a practical goddess, would ever give attention to some fucking low life like him? Some fucking perverse creep who didn’t truly understand your beauty. Understand you.

Fucking disgusting.

Unfortunately, the night didn’t end like a romantic movie would. You did not invite him backstage, nor did he leave with your number scribbled across his palm. It left with him being escorted off the premises. The pervert’s blood on his fist.

He doesn’t regret taking the swing. What? Was he just supposed to let that shit slide? Of fucking course not. He’s not about to let anyone else get delusional about you. No, and that wink was definitely meant for him. Not that creep.

He’s sure of it.

He’s sure of a lot of things he probably shouldn’t be, to be honest.

Especially when he wraps his hand around his cock at night. When he imagines it’s your cute little hand wrapped around him instead of his own. When he buries his face into a towel he caught at one of your shows– the gentle scent of your perfume still lingering across the surface. The same towel he sleeps with under his pillow every night.

Someday it’ll be you laying next to him. At least that’s what he hopes. His dreams during the day spilling into something else during the night. Hopes that one day his admiration for you can turn into something more. Hopes that one day he’ll get to have you on his bed, your cute little frame kneeling between his legs as he rests against the headboard.

Hopes to see your flushed little face, eyes half-lidded, already fucked out and submissive just for him. Hopes to coach you through touching his cock with his own hands. Showing you how to wrap your fingers around the base– how your hand wouldn’t even be able to make it all the way around his girth.

Imagines the way you would whine quickly, his hand guiding you up and down his length. Squeezing it just the way he likes you to. Watches the way your thumb would flick cutely over the tip, rubbing his precum around the head. Teasing him just like a brat would.

Seeing your cute little expression as you move your head close to his cock, following his directions so well as you open your mouth, tongue falling out as you prepare to taste his cum. White hot streams of it shooting from his cock, coating your face. Your tongue, lips, cheeks– hell maybe even a glob of it could land on your eye. Shit. That would be a sight.

The cute little giggle that would leave your lips as your messy hand would come up, the little “Oopsies~” That would leave your lips as you wipe it off, bringing it to your lips. Licking your hand clean as he comes down from his high. How you’d smile to yourself, proud little waves of excitement radiating from your form.

The way he’d give sugar-coated insults, pulling you back up his body for a rough kiss. One that told you that you can’t get too big a head or else he might have to do something about it. The way the fresh smell of your shampoo would run through the very air he breathes. That same gentle smell that reminds him of forest flowers in a delicate bloom.

It’s only then that reality returns to him. A mess in his hands, your towel pressed against his nose as he remembers that he still has to make all of that a reality. So he can protect you from those guys like at the concert. Hell, so he can protect you from the rest of the world.

It’s those feelings that drive him to do something rash. Something just a tad bit extreme. Well, it really is too bad that the sane part of him is long gone. The need to protect you driving him to buy more copies of your newest album than he can count. The part of him that scowers each copy for a ticket to your handshake event. The part of him that buys up any extra tickets that he can online.

The part of him that makes him stand back until the rest of your fans finish their turns. Holding place at the back of the line– kind enough to still let everyone else have their turns. Let the rest of your fans greet you, say their thanks. They are important to your career, afterall, and he isn’t dumb enough to keep the normal ones away from you. Even if just a little part of him wants to.

But as the clock ticks on and the line wains down, he can’t help but feel restless. Can’t stop his heels from rocking to his toes, his fingers fiddling with loose threads inside of his hoodie pockets. Can’t help but feel annoyed as he is kept from you longer and longer.

Ah, you have no clue the relief he feels when it’s finally his turn. When he takes all of the handshake tickets out of his pocket, places them on the table in front of you with force before reaching his hand out to hold yours.

The shock evident on your face is something he’s never seen before. The way your eyes slowly lift to him, take in his full face for the first time. He’ll never forget it. He could never forget anything to do with you.

Hundreds of handshake tickets sit between your bodies. Each one lasting for a duration of 10 seconds.

You gulp quietly, a shaky smile spreading to your lips as you slowly clasp his hand into your own, shaking it slowly. Eyes darting to your manager and your security for only a second before returning back to him. Silence hanging heavy, your voice bleeding ever-so-softly through the headphones around his neck.

The lollipop rolling in his mouth, waiting for you. Surrounded by everything you.

“Th-Thank you for your support!”

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meelusinee · 1 month ago

Text

CHRISTMAS CUDDLES | S.B X READER

word count \ 1.3k | christmas fluff | slash / sirius black x reader

in which you convince sirius to take a break from practice author's note at the end!

FICMAS MASTERLIST

CHRISTMAS CUDDLES | S.B X READER

Sirius was resting on his broom, gloved hands gripping the handlebar tight. His biceps flexed and strained themselves as he practiced, eyes trained on the Golden Snitch like a dog eyeing a bone.

At least, that’s what you remembered.

You were currently in Hogsmeade during one of Sirius’ training sessions, the snow falling around your body as you shuffled between the people. His sweater was currently wrapped around your arms, the wool rubbing warmly against your skin.

He had been practicing hard for the Quidditch finals season for the past month. Sometimes he would practice so hard he became a hazard, bones and muscles going limp from hundreds of feet high. It’d gotten so bad that even James grew concerned, which was a cause for concern in it itself.

Which is what led you to where you were right now, shopping through Hogsmeade’s shops in order to find some gifts. Nothing too big or extravagant, but enough to initiate a small date so he could rest.

James and Remus both agreed that you were the only person who could calm Sirius down, and you noticed it a lot more once you started dating. It’d only been a few days, granted, along with a long conversation with James. But you already noticed the difference between you and others.

Whenever he was with Remus, James or Peter, he’d be loud to a fault. Energetic and charismatic to a concerning degree, with girls swooning around him like he was a Greek God of sorts. Though around you, he was much more subdued.

Much like a tired golden retriever who had just spent about five hours playing fetch, he would always find his way cuddled on your body somehow. Sometimes it was in bed, before you both fell asleep as he wrapped himself around you. Sometimes he’d transform into Padfoot and waddle his way over into your lap, both of you sitting by the fireplace. Other times he’d sneak into your classes to rest his head on your shoulder, looking up at you with an adorable pout whenever you didn’t give him any attention.

That was another thing you had been missing for this past month. He hadn’t given you many compliments or talked much, mostly just curling on your lap and falling asleep. Sure, you loved it. But it still wasn’t fun to not be able to talk.

Which is what led you here. Standing in front of the closest shop stocked to the brim with hot chocolate and small little snacks. They also had a little TV and some CDs, magically tampered with to teach it resilience to magical interactions. You decided to get that along with some drinks, making your way back to the dorms before James and Sirius did.

The set up was simple. Small Christmas lights hanging from the corners of his bed, blankets wrapped snugly around everywhere, and a lovely arrangement of pillows facing the TV you bought.

All you had to do now was wait.

“Are you coming or what?” James called out, huffing under his breath as he watched Remus trying to drag Sirius up the stairs.

In all fairness, it was rather hard to drag him. Despite the fact that he was short compared to Renus, he had been building a lot more muscle over the past month due to Quidditch practice. That, and the fact he was nearly dead weight in Remus’ arms, made it quite hard to carry him up the dormitory stairs.

“I’m trying.” Remus stated, grunting as he pulled Sirius up the stairs. “He’s not helping out much.”

“How on Earth will Y/N’s plan work if he’s knocked out?” James spat, rushing down to lift Sirius’ legs. At this point, carrying him like a dead body was better than him being dragged.

“The plan is to have him knocked out, James.” Remus reminded him, seeming to have a much easier time carrying him now that he didn’t have to worry about Sirius’ ankles against the stair edges.

“Right.” James mumbled.

Both of them eventually reached the boy’s dormitory, where you had set everything up. James was almost envious in a way, though he wasn’t sure if that envy came from the idea of being treated like that or the fact he hadn’t thought of the idea first. Either way, the feeling of his best friend’s body in his arms quickly dissolved that thought.

“Finally.” you sighed, smiling bittersweetly at the sight of Sirius limp in their arms. “Just, maybe set him down there. The right side, you know?”

“Okay.” Remus said, gripping Sirius by the waist and tossing him down on the bed.

“Remus!” you said, voice in a harsh whisper. You looked at him with a serious expression, throwing a small pillow in James’ direction as you heard him laughing. “Don’t throw him like some sort of cartoon character!”

“Couldn’t help it.” Remus shrugged innocently, a rare half smirk appearing on his face.

“You two have fun.” James said, sighing softly as he caught one last glimpse at Sirius. “Make sure he does actually get rest, will you?”

“Yeah, yeah.” you mumbled, already formulating a plan in your head. You hadn’t made any hot chocolate, making sure that the TV was off and blankets were pulled to the bottom of the bed just in case Sirius just wanted to sleep.

Which led to your brilliant plan.

“What’s that expression for?” Remus asked, looking at you curiously.

“I’m being mischievous.” you said, taking off your shoes and crawling into the bed before you pulled the blanket over you both.

“This is you being mischievous how, exactly?” James asked confusedly.

“He doesn’t want to take care of himself, but he loves to take care of me.” you said simply, pulling the blankets up snug and scooting closer to Sirius.

“I don’t get it.” James mumbled, looking at Remus.

“If he gets up and notices her sleeping, he’ll rest longer so he doesn’t disturb her.” Remus said calmly, patting James on the shoulder before walking out of the boy’s dorm. James nodded at that, waving goodbye before running off.

There was a roaring cheer running itself rampant through the crowds, the feeling of wind crashing on Sirius’ face as his broom picked up speed. Sweat was building on his forehead the faster he went, and he felt himself growing tired.

He had already caught the snitch, that he knew. But he didn’t know much else, vision blacking out almost as soon as he did.

Sirius’ eyes fluttered open confusedly as he woke up, eyes adjusting to the lighting and scenery change from earlier. It was much softer, both the lights and the feeling of the blankets around him. It was comforting, to say the least, but he still needed to practice for the final Quidditch matches.

His eyes darted down a bit as he felt you, your body plush against his skin. Like the softest teddy bear, one that was a very good cuddler when it was sleeping. Then again, teddy bears weren’t exactly the type of thing that needed sleep.

That’s when your body stirred, thighs rubbing against his body sleepily. “Sirius?”

“Hi baby,” he whispered, kissing your forehead lovingly. His eyes darted to the Christmas lights and hot chocolate again. “What’s all this decor for?”

“Decor?” you asked sleepily, before looking around the room again. “Oh, that was so you could rest.”

“Rest?” he asked.

“You’ve been working so hard.” you yawned sleepily, cuddling close to him. “Y’know, Quidditch and all. So I made this to convince you to sleep. I got you a little movie too.” you mumbled, turning the TV on and playing the movie.

Sirius looked at you like you were the best thing on Earth, an angel sent down just to visit him. “I love you so much.”

“I love you.” you mumbled, pushing him back on the bed. “Now watch Willy Wonka, I’m going back to bed.”

AUTHOR'S NOTE

thank u guys so much for readinggg, it took me forever to get back into writing once i had a little bit of a slump, so this probabblyyyy sucks. but were gonna get thru, we're gonna cope yes sir we will.

AS ALWAYS, please like comment and reblog, all that jazzy jazz stuff. i appreciate all of yawl who do, seriously, it means so much to me and i loaf all of u people yes i do, BUT ANYWAYS HAVE A GOOD DAY!!!

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