#funny comment hidden in the tags | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pedrospatch · 1 year ago

Text

someone to be thankful for

DBF! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: It’s Thanksgiving—when dinner with your nightmare of a family goes south, you find comfort in the person you least expect it from: your father’s best friend, Joel Miller.

warnings/tags: 18+ only, MINORS DNI. (AU, NO OUTBREAK) non canon, DBF! Joel, AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s, i do not specify her age, but she’s a recent college grad so do with that what you will, not everyone graduates at the same specific age ya know? Joel is in his mid-ish 50’s). Reader’s a teacher, she is visiting her suburban childhood home from a big city. Reader’s parents are religious and practice traditional-ish gender norms (i.e father is head of the household kinda thing) reader’s family celebrates Thanksgiving (sorry) several mentions of food and alcohol, reader’s parents suck, she has two brothers who come with names, a lot of her relatives come with names, watch out for Aunt Ines she’s a bitch. (TW) body/weight shaming (twice) PLEASE BE MINDFUL if this could be triggering. mentions of and implications of childhood abuse (not graphic) reader’s dad gets in her face, implied infidelity (reader’s dad), implied toxic marriage (reader’s parents). soft, caring, protective Joel. Joel’s recently divorced, mention of Sarah, mentions of the ex-wife. SMUT. oral sex (female receiving) p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) reader states she’s on baby blockers (birth control), creampie, DADDY KINK (bc reader clearly has a few daddy issues), LOTS of pet names (darlin’, baby, pretty girl, sweetheart, honey), size kink (ish?), cockwarming. think i got it all?

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. if this isn’t your thing, that is fine but just keep on scrolling.

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, READER HAS NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION.

word count: 11.5k

a/n: yeah…idk. this was very delayed because it turned into a whole thing. if anyone actually reads all 11k of this, i will bake you muffins.

You take a deep breath and look in the mirror.

Skirt pressed, not a wrinkle in sight.

Hair brushed, not a single strand out of place.

Makeup done, not a blemish to be seen.

And somehow, someone will still find something.

Something to point out.

Something to comment on.

Something to criticize.

If not your appearance, it’ll be something else.

Because someone always had something to say.

“Should you be eating all of that?”

“Another year gone and still no boyfriend?”

“Don’t you want to get married?”

“When I was in my twenties, I had two children.”

Boundaries didn’t exist on Thanksgiving.

Actually, for your family, boundaries didn’t exist at all—somehow, they are still scratching their heads and wondering why you’d decided to up and leave the minute your high school principal handed over that diploma, your ticket to freedom.

“Sweetie!” Your mother’s shrill voice calls from the kitchen downstairs. “I need a hand! Our guests are going to start arriving soon and there is still plenty left for us to do before they get here!”

You groan outwardly.

There’s still plenty left to do?

How’s that even fucking possible?

You’ve been cooking and baking since sunrise.

“Don’t you think it’s too early?” you’d grumbled at five o’ clock in the morning when your mother had pulled you out of bed, declaring it was time for the big dinner preparations to begin—even though it’d be several hours before your family came over and gathered around the table to break bread. She had pulled the turkey out of the freezer a few days ago, a massive, thirty-pound whole bird that looked big enough to feed a small village. In addition, she had picked up a ham and a brisket. “Mom, why’s there so much food?” Rubbing the sleep from your eyes with the sleeve of your robe, you’d started making your way over to the Nespresso only to realize that the coffee machine was hidden behind paper bags full of groceries. “Are we cooking for all of Texas or something?”

“Very funny,” she had glared at you. “Of course we aren’t.” She started unwrapping the turkey. “We’re simply making sure we have enough food and that we have different options for everyone to enjoy, so knock it off with the wisecracks and get to peeling those carrots for me for the stuffing. There is not a single minute to waste today, you hear me, missy? We’re hosting a dozen people, so everything must be absolutely perfect. I won’t accept anything less than perfection today, do you understand me?”

Thirteen hours later, she’s still driving you insane.

You’re only home visiting until the end of the week and then it’s back to the Midwest. You can survive her for three more days, right?

You hear her calling your name and exhale a small, frustrated sigh. “I’m coming, mom!” you call back. It’s difficult to mask the annoyance in your tone of voice, but somehow you manage it. “One minute!”

Smoothing down your pleated plaid skirt, you take one last look in the mirror to make sure everything is in order—there is a loose thread on the sleeve of your brown, knitted sweater and you carefully snip it off with a pair of scissors before sliding your feet into the comfiest pair of ankle boots you’d packed and head downstairs, nose leading the way as you follow the warm, delicious scent of the made from scratch biscuits and rolls baking in the oven.

You find your mother standing at the center island counter garnishing a charcuterie board with sweet gherkins and sprigs of fresh herbs. She’s donning a festive apron embroidered with fall leaves over her designer dress, and her hair’s still up in rollers. “Finally, there you are,” she huffs out loudly the second she hears you walk into the kitchen. Down the hallway, your father and two younger brothers are shouting at some football game on the flat screen television in the living room—men don’t lift a single finger on this day, at least not in this household. “I need you to start setting the table for me. I have place cards in that bag over there. Make sure your dad’s at the head of the table. Oh and don’t forget to bring out the children’s table for all your little cousins—” She glances up, letting out a small gasp when she sees you. “What in the world are you wearing?”

Frowning, you look down at yourself. “Clothes?”

Her ruby red lips purse together in a tight thin line.

“Honey, that skirt is too short. It’s inappropriate.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at her. “It’s like an inch above the knee, how is that inappropriate? It’s not like it’s a miniskirt, mom.” As she eyes your skirt with disapproval, you decide you’re not in the mood to argue and say, “Okay, fine. I’ll go upstairs and change into something else then—”

“No, no, forget it,” she shakes her head. “We don’t have the time for that.” Your mother whirls around, picking up the bag of place holders—she’d special ordered little turkeys carved out of wood. She also takes a marker and a notepad, shoving everything into your hands. “Here. I wrote down all the names of everyone who’s coming for dinner. The children get place holders too but make sure the little ones are sitting beside someone older to help them. Oh! Did I already mention putting your dad at the head of the—”

Tuning her out, your eyes scan down the guest list and if there’s one thing to be thankful for today it’s the fact that your mother’s given you the power to seat everybody wherever you want. Halfway down the list, you see the names of several relatives that you don’t want anywhere near you at the table. An Aunt Miriam who smells like the inside of a casino; a cousin Jennifer who refuses to acknowledge her forty-eight month old is actually four years old; an uncle Richard who always has one too many beers and winds up spewing antigovernment conspiracy theories, ranting until he’s passed out somewhere, such as on the floor of the guest bathroom.

You get to the bottom of the list and can’t help but raise an eyebrow in surprise. “Joel Miller?”

She nods, returning to her board.

“You remember Mr. Miller, don’t you, sweetie? He and your father went to college together—he’s one of his oldest and dearest friends. Don’t tell me you forgot about him? You’ve met him plenty of ti—”

“Yeah, I remember who Joel is, mom,” you mutter, cutting her off. “Didn’t he and the family move out to Arizona like, four years ago? To Phoenix, right?” You’d been away for college then. Taking a second glance at the list, you notice she had forgotten the names of Joel’s wife and daughter. Surely, it’d just been a mistake on her part, though. “I had no idea they were in town visiting. Dad didn’t mention it to me at all.”

“They’re not.” She lowers her voice, as if someone else is standing in the room listening. “Joel moved back to Austin, he’s been back for a few days now. He and Connie, they um—” Pausing for a moment, she reaches up and clasps the cross hanging from her neck before whispering, “They got divorced.”

Taken aback, your mouth parts slightly. “What?”

“I know. Joel and Connie were the last people that I ever thought would get divorced. Such a shame,” your mother remarks, shaking her head. “I ran into Mrs. Adler at the super market and she was telling me all about it. Thinks they could have saved their marriage if only those two—”

“Would get right with Jesus,” you finish, biting the tiny smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “She says that about everything, mom.”

“Well, she isn’t wrong! The sacrament of marriage is a lifelong bond that shouldn’t be broken. It’s not right.” Dropping her hand away from her necklace, she crosses her arms over chest. “Anyway, Connie stayed in Phoenix. Sarah’s spending Thanksgiving with her. Your father didn’t want Joel spending the holiday alone and invited him over for dinner. That means I need you to be on your very best behavior tonight. I don’t want you embarrassing your father in front of his closest friend. Is that understood?”

You can’t help but scoff a little. “I’m not a child.”

She narrows her eyes at you and scoffs right back, planting her hands on her hips.

“No, you’re a smart aleck. Need I remind you what happened last Thanksgiving with Aunt Ines?”

Of course she didn’t have to remind you about last year’s fiasco with her insufferable bitch of a sister.

“That’s an awfully big piece of pumpkin pie,” she’d remarked loudly, eliciting snickers from everybody sitting at the table. “Don’t forget, dear—a moment on the lips, forever on the hips. And you have quite a few forevers on your hips already, darling.”

You had smiled sweetly at her, your fingers itching to fling your mother’s fine china at her. “I wouldn’t really worry about my pie, Aunt Ines,” you had said as soon as you realized that nobody, not even your parents, would be coming to your defense. “Much less when your husband’s stepping out and eating someone else’s pie when he’s away on all those so called business trips. Worry about that instead.”

That comment hadn’t gone over all too well. Three months later, Aunt Ines and Uncle Louis started to see a marriage counselor. Whoops.

“Well?”

“She deserved that,” you say, shrugging lightly.

“She’s family.”

“She’s a jerk.”

“You crossed a line.”

“She crossed it first.”

Before your mother can respond, the sound of the doorbell ringing echoes throughout the house.

“Jesus, we don’t have time for this!” Your mother’s eyes widen when she tries running a hand through her hair and realizes she still has her rollers in. “Oh no, people are arriving and I’m still not ready!” She makes a beeline for the hallway. “Get the door and greet our guests, I’ll be down in five minutes!”

She disappears upstairs into her bedroom and you hear the doorbell ring again. Your father shouts for someone to go answer it, someone other than him or your brothers because it is the end of the fourth quarter and they just can’t possibly miss that.

You make your way through the foyer and open up the front door expecting it to be one of your family members, but it’s not.

Your throat instantly goes dry at the sight of him.

He’s broader than you remeber, so much broader.

The fabric of his sage green dress shirt is nice and snug on his frame—stretched taut over the planes of his chest and his wide shoulders. He’s holding a box of store bought something or other but you’re much too preoccupied with the way the sleeves of his shirt are hugging his biceps to notice what it is although you assume it’s some kind of dessert. He looks far more delicious than whatever sweet treat could be in that white box he’s got in his hands.

After a minute, you realize you’ve been gawking at him and the heat rushes to your cheeks. “Hello Mr. Miller,” you greet him politely. “It’s very nice to see you again. Please, come on in.”

He smiles, his brown eyes warm and sweet behind his square, black-rimmed glasses. “You remember me,” he states and the syrupy richness of his voice sends a pleasant tingle up your spine. Stepping off to the side, you allow him inside—as he steps past you over the threshold, the tantalizing scent of his cologne almost brings you to your knees. Notes of a citrus accord like tart grapefruit, fresh bergamot mixed with the woodiness of vetiver and musk; it’s intoxicating, something you could easily get drunk off of if you’re not careful. “I’m surprised. S’been a real long time since you last saw me.”

“It hasn’t been all that long,” you reply, closing the door behind you. You speak to him in the steadiest voice you can muster, with nonchalance—as if you aren’t one missed heartbeat away from feeling like a silly little schoolgirl with her first crush. “Has it?”

He thinks about it. “‘Bout four and a half years.”

“That’s really not that long.”

“S’not,” Joel admits with a chuckle. “But with how much I’ve aged in that short amount of time, I just wasn’t sure if you’d recognize me, y’know? I look a lot different than I used to.” He pauses and laughs, shaking his head. “I must look like an old geezer to you now, don’t I?”

Grays lightly pepper his thick dark brown curls, his beard and his mustache. He’s got crows feet when he smiles, he has worry lines and creases between his eyebrows—he does look a lot older, but he’s so goddamn handsome, wrinkles, fine lines, and all.

You toss him a playful eye roll, prompting a grin. “I don’t think you look like an old geezer, Mr. Miller.”

“Well, you’re sure as hell makin’ me feel like an old geezer by callin’ me that, darlin’ girl.” He gives you a little wink and you’re not quite sure if it’s that, or if it was the way he’d used a pet name that knocks all the wind out of your lungs. “Please, just call me Joel.”

You nod and shyly agree to it. “Okay, then. Joel.”

“S’much better.” His grin widens and a prominent, deep dimple appears on the left side of his cheek.

There’s a silence that follows, but it’s not awkward or weird. It’s comfortable—being in his presence is comfortable. His sweet disposition makes you feel so calm, so at ease.

Joel’s always been a nice man of course, although your interactions with him had been limited—kind, quick hello’s in passing on Sundays whenever he’d come over to watch football with your dad, maybe a polite how are you here and there if you bumped into him at gatherings like a backyard barbecue or birthday party. But you’re older now, no longer the child who greeted her father’s best friend because it was bad manners if she didn’t. You don’t want to throw him that kind, quick hello or that polite how are you and then scurry off the way you used to as a little kid. You actually want to talk to Joel Miller.

But you suddenly remember he’s not here for you.

He’s here for your father.

Joel!” Your mother screeches, five-inch high heels clacking loudly as she descends the staircase. She had ditched the apron and hair rollers—and put on one too many layers of her heaviest perfume. With a delighted squeal, she rushes up to Joel and pulls him into a bone crushing hug, almost causing him to drop the box he’s still holding. “Oh, it is so good to see you! It’s been far too long!”

You force back a small, amused snort.

As if she hadn’t been judging the man for a failed marriage just minutes ago in the kitchen.

It’s performative, too over the top to be sincere.

“S’good to see you too.” He steps back and laughs as he adjusts his glasses with one of his hands. He holds out the box to her with the other. “Picked up a pecan pie on the way over here. I would’a tried to make it myself, but the kitchen’s still all packed up in boxes.” He pauses, laughing again. “Then again, I ain’t really much of a baker. Store bought was for the best I reckon,” he admits, sheepishly. When he shrugs his shoulders, his shirt strains a bit over his frame and even your mother can’t help but stare a little.

Lightly clearing her throat, she takes the box from him and reminds him, “Didn’t I tell you that all you had to bring tonight was a nice, healthy appetite?”

Joel lightly pats his stomach. “Brought that too. In fact, I didn’t eat a thing all day long. I’m absolutely starvin’ right now. Could eat a whole horse.”

“Good! Dinner’s going to be served soon. William’s in the living room with the boys, watching football game after football game. Come with me, I’m sure you’re eager to see him.” Your mother spins on her heel and hands you the dessert. “Sweetie, will you be a gem and go put this in the kitchen for me?” It isn’t a request, it’s an order masked as a request—it’s the kindest she’s been to you all day. She takes Joel’s arm and leads him down the hallway, calling out over her shoulder, “And please set the table!”

You do set the table, and when you do, you decide to sit yourself right next to Joel Miller.

Your mother lightly clinks her knife against the rim of her wine glass and clears her throat. “Everyone! It’s time to join hands and say grace before we dig into our meal,” she announces, her voice breaking through the loud, buzzing chatter at the table. She waits until there’s complete silence and then takes her seat, the chair adjacent to your father’s. You’re on his opposite side and Joel’s right beside you. “I think you should do the honor, William. You are the man of the house, after all.”

Nodding, your father begins the prayer.

“Heavenly Father, bless this food we are about—”

You’re not listening. You’re distracted by the jolt of electricity that zips through your entire body when you put your hand in Joel’s. His hand dwarfs yours and it’s rough and calloused, but somehow it’s the most gentle, soothing touch. Heat prickles at your face and neck when you feel him sweep his thumb across the back of your hand—you open your eyes and glance over at him, wondering if that had just been an accident. You’re convinced it was, until he does it again, running his finger over each knuckle one at a time. Slowly, like he’s savoring the touch.

Biting your lip, you give his hand a gentle squeeze.

His head is bowed and his eyes are still closed, but a faint smile tugs lightly at the corner of his mouth and he firmly squeezes your hand back. There’s an unmistakable desire that’s already burning deep in your lower belly, a flame you can’t extinguish even when the angel on your shoulder reminds you that not only is Joel Miller twice your fucking age, he is also your father’s best friend. His best friend.

“…through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

“Amen,” your relatives chime together in unison.

You force out the declaration. “Amen.”

“Amen,” Joel murmurs, opening his eyes. He turns to you and his gaze flits to your hand in his and for a moment, it almost seems like he doesn’t want to let it go. It feels like Joel doesn’t want to let it go—and he doesn’t. He doesn’t let it go until the sound of your father’s loud, booming voice announcing it is time for him to carve the bird startles the two of you apart. Clearing his throat lightly, Joel turns his attention forward and reaches for his cabernet. He gulps down half his glass in one easy swallow.

Dinner’s fairly uneventful.

You eat in complete silence, as does Joel.

Part of you wonders if it’s because you’re sitting in between him and your father, the only person that he’s most comfortable conversing with. Assuming this is the case, you’re just about to ask him if he’d like to trade places when he turns to you and says, “Your dad told me you went to school in Chicago.”

He’s just being friendly, you remind yourself when your heart starts to flutter wildly at the notion that he wants to talk to you. He’s friendly. That’s all. It doesn’t mean anything.

“Yeah. I did.” You pick up your glass of wine, taking a sip hoping it’ll ease the nerves. “I graduated over the summer and took a teaching job out there.”

“You became a teacher?”

“Yeah. I teach kindergarten.” You smile proudly.

“Can you believe that, Joel?” Your father lets out a scoff and shakes his head. “I spent thousands and thousands of dollars to send her to school. All that money and for what? For her to learn how to teach little ankle biters how to color inside the lines?” He rolls his eyes and gestures to your two brothers on the opposite side of the table. “Now my boys, they are smart. Chose good careers to pursue. Brandon starts applying to medical school in the spring. Oh and Matthew? He got early acceptance to Yale. He plans on studying law.” He shifts his attention over to you once more and shrugs. “Not too sure where I went wrong with this one.”

You stare at him in complete and utter disbelief.

“Dad.”

Chortling, he waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, come on, honey. I’m just kidding around. You know that I don’t mean it.” He then reaches out, pinching your cheek roughly. “Don’t be so sensitive,” he tells you before turning his attention back to his plate.

But he does mean it.

His comments hurt, and you hate that they hurt.

Joel nudges your arm with his. “Y’know somethin’, it takes someone real special to become a teacher, ‘specially to kids that age,” he states in a matter of fact tone. “Someone who’s real sweet and patient, someone real smart too. Someone just like you.”

Warmth radiates through your entire body. It’s not just his words, but it’s the sincerity behind them.

You shoot him a small, grateful smile.

The two of you wind up talking to one another.

Joel’s moving his contracting business, bringing it back to Austin from Phoenix to run it with Tommy, his younger brother who you vaguely remembered meeting a time or two in the past. He mentions his daughter here and there, but doesn’t bring Connie up once—perhaps it’s too painful for him? It’s hard to tell. He seems to be in good spirits and truth be told, it doesn’t appear he’s mourning his marriage; but it’s difficult to believe he’s not missing her, the woman he’d spent three decades of his life with. It shouldn’t even matter to you whether he’s missing his ex-wife or not, if there are residual feelings still lingering around. But it does matter and you don’t know why. Or maybe you do know why, but you’re too ashamed to admit it.

“Do you like Chicago?” Joel questions, curiously.

Shrugging, you respond, “Yeah. It’s a cool city.”

“You plan on stayin’ out there permanently?”

“I’m not too sure,” you admit. “It’s too expensive. I don’t want to live with a roommate forever. Unless teachers start getting paid more, I don’t think that I’ll ever be able to afford to live alone in Chicago.”

Joel seems hesitant about his next query. “Do you ever think ‘bout comin’ back to Austin at all?”

Suddenly, you’re not too sure about that either.

You’ve been itching to go back and get as far from Austin, Texas as possible, but now, it means being far from Joel Miller. There’s a deep, sinking feeling inside of your chest at the thought.

Realizing he’s still waiting for a response, you have no choice but to tell him the truth. “I don’t think I’ll ever come back here, to be honest. Not to stay.”

“Oh. I see.” He sounds disappointed. “Are you—do you plan on visitin’ home again for Christmas?”

“I do. I’ll be here for Christmas and New Year’s.”

He’s being friendly. He’s being friendly. He’s—

“It’d be real nice to see you again then.” Flushing a deep shade of red, subtle regret flashes across his features, as if he’d said it without thinking. Picking up his glass, he drains the rest of his wine and you can swear he’s nervous. About what he’d just said, and about whether or not your parents, who are in such close proximity, had overheard him. Because what business did he have in telling their daughter it would be nice to see her again?

They’re both much too preoccupied. Your father is attempting to be slick checking his text messages underneath the table and you can tell by the smirk on his face that it’s one of his secretaries. He’s got a penchant for perky blondes in tight pencil skirts. Your mother is well aware of this. She is also aware he’s on his phone, but she turns a blind eye just as she always does and distracts herself by being the perfect hostess.

Feeling foolishly courageous, you turn back to him and nod, heart pounding against your sternum. “It would. It’d be very nice, actually.”

Relieved, he nods and murmurs quietly, “We’ll talk ‘bout it later, then. That okay, darlin’?”

Not wanting to seem too eager, you nod again and turn away from him, teeth sinking into your lip in a futile attempt to hide the giddiness in your smile—but the soft chuckle Joel elicits under his breath is a clear indication that it’s useless.

He knows how he’s making you feel. He likes it.

Your mother returns from the kitchen carrying two baskets of fresh crescent rolls, one for each end of the table. She sets one of them down right in front of you and you reach out to take one when a voice, one that sounds as awful as nails scraping down a chalkboard, remarks loudly, “Should you be eating so much bread, dear?” Ines, who’s sitting a couple chairs down, next to your grandmother, looks over at you and raises an eyebrow. There’s a smug little smile on her face, almost as if she were daring you to run your mouth like you’d done last year.

For as much as it pains you, you make your choice and decide not to take the bait. You pull your hand out of the basket of rolls and pick up your glass of wine instead, chugging it down like it’s water.

Frowning, Joel picks up the basket and takes a roll that you assume is for himself, but it’s not. Putting it on your plate, he shoots her a frigid glare. “Don’t you listen to her.” He says it loud enough for her to hear him. “You just enjoy yourself, alright?”

Your aunt bats her eyes, innocently. “Well, I’m just saying. If my skirt was that tight on me, I would be thinking twice about what goes into my mouth.”

Hushed laughter sweeps across the entire table.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” You slam your empty glass down so hard onto the table that the entire dining room goes completely silent. The little ones at the children’s table stare with big and wide eyes, mouths full of food hung open because a grown up had just used a naughty word.

Your mother says your name warningly. “Don’t you start,” she hisses, shaking her head. “Be quiet.”

Angrily, you round on her. “Seriously? You’re going to let her say that to me? You don’t care that she’s making comments about my weight?” You almost laugh. Of course doesn’t care, she has never cared and she never will. “I’m your daughter! Would it kill you to defend me for once in your fucking life?”

“Shut your mouth!” Your father stands up, shoving a threatening finger into your face, so close the tip of it almost touches the tip of your nose. He hasn’t put his hands on you since you were nine, but he’s as drunk as he is angry, and you find yourself back in the shoes of the little girl who would curl up into a ball in the corner of her room as she begged and pleaded for him not to hurt her. “You hear me?”

Joel stands and walks around your chair. Placing a hand on your father’s chest, he mutters, “Hey now let’s take a step back from her, alright?” He guides him back down into his chair. “Ain’t gotta be in her face like that, Will.”

“I’m sick and tired of her ruining everything—can’t get through one dinner without her screwing it up! Always has to run that fucking mouth of hers! She still acts like a goddamn fucking child—”

You can’t bear to sit there and hear another insult.

Fighting back the hot tears that are threatening to spill over, you quickly stand up and rush out of the dining room. You make a beeline for the front door and step outside onto the porch. It’s about sixty or so degrees in Austin and the cold nips at your bare legs, but that’s the least of your worries. Without a place to go, you descend the porch steps and find yourself walking towards the swing that’s hanging from the old bur oak tree in the front yard. You had asked your father for a swing when you were three years old—it wasn’t until your brothers asked for a swing a couple years later that he’d hung one up.

You sit down, hands curling around the rope that’s so old and weathered it’s beginning to fray slightly but not so much so that you’re concerned about it snapping. You’re so busy trying to keep it together that you don’t notice the sound of crisp, autumnal leaves crunching under a pair of boots behind you. A hand gingerly touches your shoulder. You let out a startled gasp and glance over to see it’s Joel.

“Hey there, darlin’,” he says, gently.

You stare at him in surprise.

“What are you doing out here?”

“Needed to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” you grit the lie through your teeth.

Joel’s expression softens. “You ain’t gotta pretend with me, sweetheart.”

His concern is genuine. It’s real.

You don’t quite know how to handle it. Accept it.

“It got real ugly in there, ‘specially with your dad.”

Tears prickle at your eyes all over again. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Joel. I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry?” Baffled, Joel walks around the swing and a minor labored grunt escapes him as he squats in front of you. “There’s a few people who need to be apologizin’ for what happened, but darlin’ you sure as fuckin’ hell ain’t one of them.”

It’s odd. Feels foreign, even.

You’re not used to someone being on your side—it prompts more tears to spring forward and despite your best efforts to fight them off, it’s useless. You manage to whisper his name. It’s a feeble warning, one that’s telling him to go back inside before he’s caught in the torrential downpour of emotions you are mere seconds away from unleashing on him.

But he doesn’t budge. He waits. Joel knows you’re about to break and he’s ready to catch the pieces.

Finally, a tear slips and rolls down your cheek, only to be followed by another and then another. You’re holding onto the swing for dear life now, emotions that you’ve been holding in for your whole life now coming to the surface. The rope digs painfully into the palms of your hands. He reaches out and curls his fingers lightly around your wrists.

“S’okay to let go,” Joel encourages you and you’re certain he’s not just referring to the swing. “Listen to me, darlin’ girl. I ain’t gonna let you fall, alright? I’m right here to catch you. You can let go. I’ve got you, okay?”

You allow Joel to take your hands off the rope and he guides them around his shoulders as you begin to crumble. Leaning forward slightly off the swing, you wrap you arms around him and bury your face into his neck. “Joel,” you choke out his name as he wraps his own arms around your waist, pulling you closer into him.

He feels like stability.

He feels like security.

He feels like safety.

Your entire body shudders as you cry, cry, cry.

“S’alright, sweet girl. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

He repeats his reassurance over and over again.

He wants you to believe it.

And you do believe it.

Joel’s as patient as can be. It’s growing colder and his knees are begging for a change of positon, but couldn’t care less about the discomfort. He rubs a soothing circle into your back and waits until there is nothing left except little hiccups and sniffles.

“Shit,” you mumble when you pull back and notice you’d left behind a wet spot on his shirt along with light traces of mascara. You wipe at your eyes with the sleeve of your sweater. “I ruined your shirt.”

“S’okay. Nothin’ the dry cleaners can’t take care of for me.” Joel chuckles and lets go of you. “You feel a little better now, darlin’?”

“I do.” You glance over your shoulder at the house, then exhale a sigh and turn back to him, admitting quietly, “I don’t want to go back in there, though.”

He rises to his feet and pulls out a set of keys from the pocket of his black jeans. “Well, y’dont have to go back in there,” he states. “Is there somewhere I can take you? Friend’s house, maybe?”

“My best friend Megan went to Puerto Vallarta for Thanksgiving. Most of my other friends left Austin like I did,” you explain, sighing again. “Anyone who didn’t leave is spending their time with their family tonight and I don’t want to bother them.”

Joel hums, mulling it over in his mind. “Well, don’t know how comfortable you’ll be with the idea, but my place ain’t all too far from here. Ten minutes or so. Less if there’s no one out on the roads.”

“Joel, that’s so nice of you to offer, but I’ve already ruined your dinner tonight. The last thing I want to do is put you out even more,” you say, sheepishly.

“Sweetheart, you didn’t ruin a fuckin’ thing for me tonight. And you wouldn’t be puttin’ me out at all,” he promises. “S’gettin’ late and truth be told, I just wanna get you somewhere warm.” Holding out his free hand, he adds, “And comfortable.”

“But Joel—”

“I can be real stubborn too, y’know,” he teases you with a playful grin. “We’ll be out here all night long freezin’ our fuckin’ asses off.”

He isn’t going to take no for an answer.

“Okay,” you relent, accepting the offer.

You place your hand in his and he helps you off the swing. He doesn’t let it go as he leads the way to a sleek, black Dodge Ram that’s parked behind your grandfather’s silver Mercedes. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze before dropping it. “Sorry, sweet girl. It’s a bit of a trip up into the seat,” he remarks, chuckling as he opens the passenger side door for you. He gives you a boost into the truck; the scent of new leather is mixed with that of his cologne. It is all man and couldn’t be sexier. “Good up there?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

Joel closes the door and hurriedly walks around to the driver’s side of the pickup, climbing up into his seat with ease. “Seatbelt,” he tells you as he sticks the key into the ignition. The first thing he does as soon as the engine roars to life is turn on your seat warmer. He switches on the heater as well, waiting a minute before asking, “You warm enough?”

“I am. Thank you, Joel.”

“‘Course.” He nods and pulls away from the curb.

As Joel’s driving you further and further from your parents’ house, all you feel is sweet relief.

“M’sorry the place is such a mess.”

Joel leads you into his living room and touches his hand to the back of his neck, embarrassed.

Amused, you raise an eyebrow at him and say, “I’d hardly call cardboard boxes stacked neatly over on one side of the room a mess, Joel.” You take a look around his townhouse—most of his furniture’s still wrapped up in plastic, except for the black leather couch and the rustic, acacia wood coffee table. He has a flat screen mounted over the brick fireplace; he’s been sleeping on the couch, or at least, that’s what the pillow and Texas Longhorns fleece throw tells you. You turn to him. “If you want to see a real mess, you should see my apartment in Chicago.”

You watch him as he takes off his glasses and puts them down on the coffee table.

“S’it pretty bad?”

“My roommate’s a kindergarten teacher too. You’d be surprised at how many popsicle sticks two girls in their twenties can end up bringing home. Not to mention all the glitter.”

“If you’re tryin’ to make me feel better, it’s workin’ like a charm.” Joel picks up his blanket and drapes it over the armchair adjacent to the couch. “Go on and make yourself comfortable, darlin’. You thirsty at all? I’ve got water or I can make coffee. Also got a pack of beer in the fridge,” he adds, jokingly.

“What kind of beer?” you ask curiously as you sink down onto the couch.

He seems pleasantly surprised by your interest.

“Lone Star.”

“I’ll have one. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“‘Course it’s not too much trouble. Not at all.”

It’s hard not to stare as he walks away towards the kitchen. Your thighs clench together—his back, his shoulders, those unkempt salt and pepper curls of his that tuft at the nape of his neck right above his collar—this man is the epitome of utter perfection. Your mind wanders and you can’t help imagine the way your legs would look thrown over those broad shoulders. How his large hands would feel on your plush skin as they wrap around your thighs to hold them in place against his chest while he fucks y—

“Here you go, darlin’.”

Joel’s deep voice shatters your train of thought.

He’s standing beside you, holding out the bottle of beer, which he’d uncapped along with his own.

Blood rushes to your cheeks. “Thank you,” you say as you accept the beer from him, trying not to lose the sliver of composure that you’re holding onto—it wavers when your fingers accidentally brush his.

“S’it too cold in here for you?” he asks. “I normally keep the thermostat pretty low.”

“It’s a little cold,” you admit. “But it’s not a prob—”

It’s too late. Joel walks over to the fireplace and he manages to strike a match and light it with just his free hand. After tossing in a couple logs, he makes his way back over to the couch and he takes a seat beside you. “That a bit better, sweetheart?”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugs. “You said it was cold.”

He takes a long, generous swig of the golden lager before setting the bottle down on one of the green ceramic coasters on the coffee table. He sits back; an arm stretches out over the back of the couch in a casual manner and his legs spread open causing your thighs to clench together once more.

“You feelin’ alright?”

“Huh?” You then realize he is referring to what had happened at dinner. “Oh. Um. Yeah, I’m alright.”

Joel peers at you, his concern evident, clear in the depths of his dark brown eyes. “You sure?”

“No. Not really,” you confess, tracing the mouth of your bottle with your index finger. “But I’ll get over it. I don’t have a choice but to get over it.” Another lump starts forming in the back of your throat and you swallow it, quickly chasing it down with a gulp of beer.

“M’guessin’ your family’s got somethin’ to do with why you decided to leave Austin?”

“Bingo,” you deadpan. “I was so sick and tired of it all. How I was talked to, how I was treated. Like I’m such a fucking disappointment.”

He frowns. “You’re not a disappointment, though.”

“My parents think I’m a disappointment. My dad’s never told me he’s proud of me, Joel. Nothing I do, nothing I have ever done is good enough for either of them, but especially not for him.” There is a dull ache that settles in your heart and all you can do is silently will yourself not to breakdown again, not in front of him, at least. You sigh. “Do you know what it’s like, not feeling good enough for someone that is supposed to love you no matter what? Someone who’s supposed to love you unconditionally?”

Joel knows it’s a rhetorical question, he knows it’s not something you’re expecting him to answer.

But he does answer, because he does know.

“I do, actually. I know all too well what it feels like.”

He looks down at his left hand, which is resting on his thigh and you do too. Your eyes flicker over the fading tanline on his finger—where he once wore a wedding band. You don’t even think twice about it and reach over, sweeping your own finger over the patch of pale skin. Without missing a beat, you tell him, “You’re good enough, Joel.”

He can’t help but laugh a little. “She’d disagree.”

“She’s wrong.”

“You don’t know what happened.”

“I don’t have to know what happened.”

“That ain’t how it works, sweetheart.”

Stubbornly, you lift your chin. “I don’t care.”

Joel laughs. “Y’think you know me, darlin’? Y’think you know what kinda man I am? Hm?”

“I do know.” You place your hand on top of his and his jaw clenches. “You’re a good man, Joel Miller. I know that you’re a good man.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong ‘bout that.” There’s a brief pause and he hesitates before confessing, “A good man wouldn’t be sittin’ here just fuckin’ dyin’ to kiss his best friend’s daughter.”

You freeze and grip your bottle so tight, you would not be the slightest bit surprised if it shatters right in your hand. “You—you want to kiss me?”

“Since the moment you opened up that front door and said hello to me.” Joel shakes his head. “S’not right.” He’s riddled with guilt, with shame. He pulls his hand out from under yours. “I ain’t a good man at all. You’re half my fuckin’ age and I shouldn’t—”

You cut him off, softly uttering his name. “Joel?”

“Yeah?” His voice sounds hoarse. Strained.

“Can you—will you kiss me? Please?”

You need more than just his kiss, so much more.

You need him to unravel you in every way possible, but beggars can’t be choosers and if one kiss was all you’ll get tonight, then you’ll fucking take it.

Joel swallows dryly. “That really what you want?”

His eyes flicker down to your lips and then back to meet your sweet, innocent gaze.

“Yes,” you breathe in reply. “Please. Kiss me.”

He leans in, and there’s brief hesitation on his part and he stops mere centimeters from your face, his nose lightly brushing against yours. “We shouldn’t be doin’ this.” His warm breath fans over your lips; they’re parted, eager to meet his own. “I shouldn’t let this happen. I—I should take you back home to your family before I do somethin’ real stupid.”

Your heart sinks. “That really what you want?” you parrot his own question back to him and hold your breath, knowing there’s a chance his answer could be the answer that you don’t want to hear, the one that could end up crushing you.

Joel lifts his hand, cupping the side of your face in his palm. “‘Course it’s not what I want.” His thumb strokes your cheek, his dark eyes taking in each of your features. He’s studying, memorizing them, as if he’ll never get another chance to be this close to you again. With the line he’s about to cross, you’re both about to cross, that just might be the case.

The tension seeps through your skin and into your bones.

You exhale shakily. “Then just kiss me already.”

He moves his hand and gently curls it around your chin, holding you steady as he leans further in and closes the gap of space in between you. He moves slowly and he’s gentle—too gentle. You want to tell him you’re not made of porcelain, but you’re much too preoccupied with how Joel’s mouth feels, how perfectly it molds against yours. He delicately nips your bottom lip with his teeth. It’s a silent request.

He wants more, more, more. Your lips part for him, granting him the access he’s seeking. Joel doesn’t waste a single moment and he explores every inch of your mouth with his tongue, eliciting a whimper from you. Without breaking contact, he takes your beer and somehow he manages to lean over to set it down on the coffee table without dropping it. He then pushes you back into the couch and the next thing you know, you’re lying on your back and he’s settled in between your legs, using one of his arms to keep himself propped up, while the other wraps itself in your hair. Your own hands clutch at fistfuls of his shirt, fingers gripping the fabric so tight, the skin over your knuckles stretches painfully thin.

You whimper out again, the noise prompting a low growl to rumble through his chest—suddenly, he’s not being so gentle. He isn’t being rough. But he is hungry, he’s possessive, and he’s letting it show in the way he’s swelling your lips with his kisses, how his fingers are gripping the hair at the base of your neck as he firmly tilts your head backwards to give himself better access to your mouth.

Your mind is racing, and yet, you can’t think at all.

It’s not until his hips buck into you and you feel his bulge through his jeans against you that you break away from him. “Joel,” you gasp his out name. You grip his shirt even harder, chest heaving as you try to catch a much needed breath of air. You can feel the arousal pooling between your legs. The flames burning in the fireplace are nothing in comparison to the ones that are burning deep in your belly.

“Fuck,” he curses, pulling back. “M’sorry—”

The last thing you want is for him to be sorry.

“No! Please don’t be sorry,” you rasp, gazing up at him. Your eyes are glazed over with a lust you have never felt for another man before. “I want this, you know I want this—don’t you?”

Joel sighs, brushing a soft kiss to your temple. You wish he could take a peek into your mind, see how badly you want to be wrapped up in his arms—you want to get lost in his embrace, feel him all around you, inside you. You want him to write his name on your bare skin with his tongue, whisper his secrets into the spot where you’re aching for him most.

He sighs again and lightly shakes his head.

“Baby, y’need to think real hard ‘bout this—”

“I want this,” you repeat yourself. “I want you.”

Relaxing the death grip you have on his shirt, your hands release the fabric and move to the buttons. Your fingers tremble slightly as you undo each one of them; after an embarrassing fumble or two, you manage to get them all and push Joel’s shirt off of his shoulders. He sucks in a quick, sharp breath as your greedy hands begin roaming, exploring every inch of smooth, tan skin on his upper body.

Your touch erases all the uncertainty he’s feeling.

“Wanna feel you too, baby.” Joel takes the hem of your sweater and gestures for you to sit up slightly so he can pull it over your head. Carelessly tossing it somewhere behind him, he glances down, blood rushing to his cock as he takes in the sight of your supple curves clad in sweet, delicate white lace. “Christ, you look so fuckin’ soft.”

He doesn’t even realize he’s saying it out loud, not until he catches the flirtatious little grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. You sit up slightly once again and reach behind you to unhook the lingerie and take it off, adding it to the ever growing pile of clothes on the hardwood floor. Licking his lips, he meets your gaze for just a moment before dipping his head down, wrapping them around one of your hardened nipples. “Joel,” you mewl his name as he flicks the pebbled flesh with his tongue.

Joel releases it with a lewd, wet pop and he tosses you a smirk before he moves to the other to give it the same attention. He’s a biter, you find out as he takes it between his teeth, nipping over and over.

Your throbbing center clenches around nothing.

“Joel, please. I need you—I fucking need you.”

He tears away from your nipple. “Where, baby?”

You open your mouth to answer him, but your own gasp cuts you off as he starts trailing his lips down the length of your body until he comes to a stop at the waistband of your skirt. One of his hands finds the zipper on the side and he looks up at you, as if asking for permission. Desperate, you nod. Pulling the zipper down, he slides the skirt, along with the pair of lace white panties you’re wearing off of you and discards them, leaving you completely naked.

Your insecurities begin to trickle in, but Joel’s able to halt them right in their tracks.

“You’re too fuckin’ beautiful, sweetheart,” he says, his reassurance calming your nerves instantly. “So beautiful. So beautiful and so fuckin’ perfect.”

You watch as he makes himself comfortable—well as comfortable as he can—in between your legs. He shoots you a sheepish look.

“Knew I should’a put the damn bed together. But I been puttin’ it off and puttin’ it off all week long.”

You giggle breathlessly. “Who needs a bed?”

Chuckling, Joel feathers a kiss on your inner thigh.

Your smile is all but slapped right off of your face.

“Joel.”

Any traces of humor vanish. You’re both reminded of the next wall that’s about to be broken, the next line that’s about to be crossed.

He looks down and groans. “Such a pretty, perfect little pussy,” he remarks, his voice low, husky. “Bet she’s nice and wet for me, ain’t she baby?” He lifts his hand and drags the tip of his finger up your slit slowly, your slick coating his digit. He smirks up at you. “Oh, she’s fuckin’ soakin’, sweet girl. S’this all for me?”

Foreplay wasn’t in the vocabulary of guys your age and while part of you wishes Joel would hurry, you also find yourself enjoying the fact that he’s taking his time, teasing you—making you really want it to the point where you’re willing to fucking plead him for it. Joel Miller’s the only man you’d ever beg for.

He skims your other thigh with his nose and kisses it just like he’d done with the other. “Tell me darlin’ s’this where you need me? Right here?”

Frantically, you nod your head.

“Words, honey. Gotta use your words for me.”

“Yes!” you choke out. “That’s where I need you. So bad. Need you so fucking bad. Please Daddy—”

You freeze and momentarily, he does too. Truth be told, you wouldn’t really blame him if he just stood up, gathered your clothes and tossed them at you, demanding you put them back on and leave.

Joel raises an eyebrow. “Daddy, huh?”

Your face is on fire. “I—it slipped,” you stammer. “I didn’t mean to call you—I’m so sorry, Joel. I’m not even sure where that came from. I’ve never—”

You’re on the verge of panicking, then notice there is a certain glimmer in his eyes and realize he liked it when you’d called him that. You’re taken aback.

He fucking likes being called Daddy.

“Sweetheart, there ain’t nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout. I promise. You can call me that. But on a condition.”

You stare at him, no idea what the condition could possibly be.

“Ain’t allowed to call anyone else that. Ever.” There is a possessiveness in his tone and it nearly makes you come on the spot. “That understood?”

You nod obediently. “Yes.”

“Yes what?” he prompts.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good. That’s a real good girl, honey.”

For a split second, you can’t breathe.

This man will surely be the death of you.

Joel plants one final kiss, this one on your mound.

“Please,” you whimper, the heat in your lower belly growing and fizzling out to the rest of your body at the feeling of his breath over your aching core.

“Please what?” he murmurs into the sensitive skin as his arms curl around your legs. “Tell Daddy—tell Daddy what you need baby, so he can take care of you.”

“Your mouth,” you beg him, desperation mounting with each passing second. Your hips buck upward; his biceps flex as he tightens his arms around your thighs, pinning you down in place. “Your mouth—I need your mouth. Please.”

Joel moves his head to the junction of your thighs, his mouth hovering right over where you needed it the most. He looks up at you with hunger, like he’s a ravenous, starved man who hasn’t had a thing to eat in days. “What a good girl,” he praises, dipping his head even lower. His mouth waters at the sight of your glistening folds. “Bet you taste as delicious as you fuckin’ look, don’t you, pretty girl?”

He flattens his tongue and glides it up your slit, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as he gets his first taste. You gasp out when it grazes your swollen, aroused clit and your head falls back onto the couch. “Oh fuck,” you whine, reaching for his hair. You weave your hands through his graying locks and pull his face closer. Another swipe of his tongue causes your back to arch up off the leather and the edges of your vision to blur.

He pulls an arm from around your legs and drags a finger down your drenched entrance, lips securing themselves around your clit. His gaze stays locked on you as he pushes his long, thick digit into you—you feel him smirk as he curls it upwards, pressing the pad of his finger firmly against the soft spongy spot inside you, making you see stars. Joel slips in a second finger and curls it along with the other to double the pleasure. He begins thrusting his digits in and out of your warm cunt, eliciting what had to be the sweetest sounds that he��d ever heard in his entire life from you. He combines it with with slow, firm, and precise stokes of his tongue on your clit.

“Fuck, yes, just like that,” you encourage him, your loud, breathy moans bouncing off the bare, freshly painted walls of his house. “Yes Daddy, fuck—feels so fucking good, please don’t fucking stop—”

It’s not like you have to tell him what to do.

Joel knows exactly what he’s doing, and he knows it too. He listens to every single one of your moans and feels every single buck of your hips. He is sure to pay extra attention to when your hands pull and tug at his curls; he remembers what combinations of licking, sucking, and fucking make you squeeze your plush thighs tighter around his head; reminds himself of which technique brings your body off of the couch, what makes your toes curl. Joel’s quick to learn your body’s cues, each and every last one. He already knows when to give you more, when to give you less—when he needs speed up, when it is time to slow it all down.

You sing his name over and over again, pressure of an orgasm already building between your hips. His tongue swirls around your sensitive little bundle of nerves as his fingers pump in and out of your cunt and you glance down. You almost choke when you catch a tiny glimpse of the muscles in his forearm, the way they flex underneath his skin with each of his movements as he’s fucking you. Your gaze flits to his face. His own eyes are fixed intently on you.

You’re milliseconds away from release.

“Joel, I’m so fucking close. I’m gonna come—”

His arm squeezes your thigh in encouragement.

One last, broad stroke of Joel’s tongue on your clit sends an overwhelming wave of pleasure crashing over you. Strangled cries tear themselves from the back of your throat as your velvet walls flutter and convulse, squeezing his fingers. Joel, who’s face is still half buried in your pussy, takes it upon himself to help you ride through the high. He peppers soft, delicate kisses onto your swollen clit as his fingers continue to slide in and out of you slowly. He waits patiently until your loud cries dissolve into nothing but breathless little whimpers before he crawls up, positioning himself on top of you, a hand on either side of your head. His beard and mustache glisten with a mixture of saliva and slick—and somehow it it ignites another fire and you’re ready for more, so much more.

“Sweet girl,” Joel murmurs. Leaning down, his lips meet yours and you taste yourself on his tongue

You place a hand on his chest, right over his heart, which beats strong and steady against your palm.

You start dragging your hand down his chest, your fingernails raking over his skin. It travels lower and lower, gliding over the softness of his stomach. He tenses when you brush the waistband of his jeans.

Tearing away from you, he grits out, “Baby. No.”

You immediately snatch your hand away from him.

“You changed your mind?” you question, stomach sinking at the thought of it being over already.

You’re just so fucking greedy for this man.

He offers reassurance—and an explanation.

“No, that ain’t it at all. S’just—” Joel pauses briefly and flushes a shade of red. “S’just that, well, I ain’t got condoms on me, darlin’.”

Relieved, you assure him, “It’s okay. I’m clean.”

“Me too. But that ain’t what I’m worried about,” he admits, his face going from red to maroon.

You smile, finding his embarrassment endearing.

“I’m on birth control.”

Joel clenches his hands into fists. His cock strains against his zipper at the thought of it—taking your cunt bare. “Y’sure you want this?” He rasps out. “I need you to be a hundred percent sure ‘bout it.”

“I’m a thousand percent sure, Joel. I fucking need it. More than anything I’ve ever needed in my life.”

That’s all he needed to hear.

Joel stands up, his gaze never leaving your own as he kicks off his black leather boots. You sit up, and it takes every ounce of strength you have in you to remain composed as he unbuckles his belt, unzips his jeans and pushes them down his legs. You bite down on your bottom lip and try not to stare at his bulge like it’s your first time ever seeing a dick, but if he’s as big as he looks in his boxer briefs, maybe this would end up being a lot more than what your body could handle.

He hooks his thumbs underneath the elastic of his boxer briefs and slides them off, allowing his thick, hard cock to spring free from its confinement.

You swallow harshly. He’s fucking massive.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?” Joel chuckles at the expression on your face as he kicks aside all of his clothes. His length rests on his lower abdomen and precome smears the skin there. Wrapping one of his hands around it, he gives it a couple strokes, just a hint of relief until you come into play. “Hm?”

Licking your lips, you nod and stand up. You take a couple of wobbling step towards him—Joel’s cock hasn’t been anywhere near you and you’re already fucking walking side to side. “Come here,” you say to him, taking both his hands in your own. You pull him back to the couch and gently guide him down into a sitting position. Swinging your leg over both of his, you straddle his lap. You gingerly place your hands on his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh softly when you feel him brush against your pussy; the contact makes you both moan in unsion. “This okay?” you ask him, breathily. You can’t be sure as to why you’re suddenly feeling a bit shy, like you’re not planning to ride his fucking soul out of him.

“More than okay.” Joel brushes your hair over your shoulder and then drags his hand down the length of your body, committing to his memory every one of your curves. “Gonna be a real good girl and ride my cock, baby?”

You gift him with a cheeky grin. “Yes, Daddy.”

The shyness begins to dissipate and you dive your hand between your bodies, wrapping it around his cock, causing his breath to catch in his throat. You lift yourself slightly off his lap, teasingly gliding the head of his cock down your drenched slit, then up, letting it graze over your clit, which is still senstive to the touch thanks to his lips and tongue.

Joel’s hands find their way around you, running up the curve of your spine. “Wasn’t aware that my girl was such a little fuckin’ tease,” he remarks in a low tone. He slides his hands back down and his large, warm palms cup your ass, fingers kneading flesh.

“Your girl?” you repeat, your heart skipping a beat, stomach fluttering at the idea of being his. “Is that what I am to you, Joel? Your girl?”

“S’that what you want, honey?” Joel whispers, his eyes finding your own, two hopeful gazes meeting in the deepest, most intimate moment that you’ve shared all evening. “Y’wanna be my girl?”

Leaning forward, your reply is preceded by kiss, so soft and so sweet his heart swells inside his chest.

“I do,” you mumble against his lips. “I really do.”

Still gripping your ass, Joel eases you up and lines himself up at your entrance. He bucks his hips and slides the head of his cock past your folds and into your heat. “Breathe, baby,” he whispers, his hands moving to your hips, thumbs grazing your skin. He slowly guides you further down his shaft, grunting as you sink down, taking him inch by inch. “Christ, you’re so goddamn fuckin’ tight—”

The initial stretch is almost too much for you. Your nails sink deeper into his shoulders as he pulls you down further down onto him. “Joel,” you whimper, biting back a loud cry. You’re fully seated, his cock completely sheathed inside you, his head pressing against your cervix. You’re so full of him.

One of his hands abandons your hip and slips over your lower belly.

“This where you’re feelin’ me, pretty girl?” he coos gently. “This where you feel Daddy’s cock? In your belly?”

“Yes,” you sigh out contentedly. “Feels so good.”

You lift yourself off of him, then slide back down in a slow, languid motion.

Joel’s head falls back onto the couch. “Christ.” He mutters the word, his chest heaving. Staring up at the ceiling, he takes a moment to catch his breath and silently wills himself not to explode. Once he’s managed to somewhat compose himself, he looks at you again, pupils blown so wide you can’t find a single trace of brown. “Go on, then,” he rasps. “Go on, sweetheart.”

The living room fills with the sounds of low moans and panting breaths as you move, alternating your maneuvers between rocking and bouncing on him in a frenzied, fast paced rhythm. The friction of his pelvis each time you grind into it winds up the coil between your hips and suddenly you’re desperate, so pathetically desperate for another release.

“Yeah, that’s it baby,” Joel encourages, feeling the beginning of his own climax building quick—much too quick for his liking. “Jus’ like that, honey. What a good girl you are for me, so fuckin’ good for me. Just like I fuckin’ knew you would be.”

“Fuck,” you whine. “You feel so good, Daddy. Feel so fucking good inside me—”

Leaning back, you firmly plant both your hands on his thighs and arch your body, head falling back as you pick up the pace. The burning fire casts a soft, orange glow around you and his jaw falls slack. His eyes drink in every single fucking thing about you, watch you with an adoration that, for the first time in your whole life, makes you feel wanted. Actually wanted.

“Joel,” you whisper his name over and over. You’re both beginning to lose track of where you end and he begins. You can hardly hear the praises that are spilling from his plush lips over the squelching wet sounds of your cunt sliding up and down his cock. There’s no chance to warn him—your mouth parts in a silent scream as you come undone on him.

“M’so fuckin’ close,” Joel grunts. He feels his cock twitch as your pussy grips him like a vice. “Where? Where do you want it, pretty girl?”

“Inside me. Please, I need you to come inside me,” you plead him, the innocent tone of your voice the last thing to push him over the edge he’s teetering on. “Fill me up, Daddy—please, want every drop of you inside me—”

Joel reaches for your arms and yanks you forward, into him. Throwing them around his neck, his own arms wrap around you and roughly slam you down onto him, holding you firmly in place. He bucks his hips upwards, balls tightening, his cock pulsing as he comes. Strings of hissed curse words and deep gutteral groans muffle when he drops his face into your collarbone. Still holding you in place, he spills his load into you, his seed filling you to the brim.

He sags back against the couch and pulls you with him. Wrapping his arms tighter around you, he lets himself stay buried inside of you, the primal in him relishing the heavenly feeling of his come dripping messily out of your pussy and all over his thighs.

“You alright, sweetheart?” he asks after a minute.

“M’perfect,” you mumble against his chest. You’re not sure if it’s because you’re coming down from a high or if it’s because he’s tracing patterns on your shoulder blade with his finger, but you shiver in his arms.

“Let me get the blanket—”

Joel starts to move to get up, but you stop him.

“No, please don’t,” you say, pushing him back. You put all of your weight onto him, as if he can’t move you off to the side if he really wanted to. “I—I want you inside me for a little while longer. Please.”

“But baby, you’re cold—”

You don’t bother explaining to him that you’re not.

“Just hold me. Please.”

And that’s exactly what he does.

Snuggling into him, you close your eyes and Joel’s hand strokes at your hair. Between that, the thrum of his heartbeat against your cheek and the sound of the fireplace crackling behind you, you’re nearly soothed into sleep.

“Joel?”

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“I hate Thanksgiving,” you admit, smiling tiredly to yourself when you feel a laugh rumble in his chest.

“Do you, now?”

You nod. “I do. But I’m really thankful for you.”

Giving you a gentle squeeze, Joel kisses the top of your head and murmurs, “Well, m’thankful for you too, sweet girl.” He pauses momentarily. “I ain’t all too sure how I’m s’pposed to just let you go home. I know I have to but—”

Lifting your head off of his chest, you take the side of his face and cradle it in your palm. You meet his gaze, heart sinking when you see the sadness that has replaced the lust from earlier.

He doesn’t mean home to your parents’ house. He means Chicago.

You graze his beard with your thumb. “I’m coming back in a few weeks,” you remind him, gently. “I’ve only planned to spend a week out here just for the holidays, but I can visit sooner. As soon as the kids go on winter break, I can come back to Austin.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Of course I would, Joel. I’m not sure how it would work what with my parents and all, though. I don’t want them catching onto us.”

“C’mere.” Joel brushes your lips with his before he makes his promise. “I’ll figure it out, baby. Leave it all to me and I’ll figure it out.”

divider credit to @saradika-graphics 🤎

#asdfghjkl BYE #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x reader #dbf!joel #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel tlou #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller x y/n #joel miller au #dbf joel miller #dbf joel x reader #fic: someone to be thankful for

4K notes · View notes

onlyangel4 · 5 months ago

Text

party girl animal shelter. cl16. SMAU. part one.

charles leclerc x animal shelter owner! reader

after getting leo charles realises becomes more connected to the animal world. he stumbles across a tik tok of your shelter in las vegas and decides that he needs to visit.

warnings: cursing

author's note: this will likely be a two or three part mini series. as someone who volunteers at an animal shelter this is truly self-indulgent

faceclaim: olivia o'brien

part two

y/npartygirlshelter posted a slideshow on tik tok

y/npartygirlshelter

liked by y/bff, friend1, charlesleclerc and 3,402 others

tagged y/bff

y/npartygirlshelter: a trip to vegas to celebrate three years of party girl animal shelter. we really do live up to the name

view all 56 comments

y/bff: you taking a call about a puppy admission in the middle of the club was peak party girl animal shelter business

y/npartygirlshelter: the duality of woman

user1: i'm new here but i love your vibe ! i'm so glad you can be a party girl and still live your dream

y/npartygirlshelter: aw thank you angel, check you dms i sent you a few pictures from the shelter i thought you might like

leclercupdates posted a story

written: charles is officially the first driver to touch down in las vegas. we wonder what he is doing here so early.

y/bff posted a story tagging y/npartygirlshelter

written: omw to go meet my favourite f1 driver all because y/n is the best friend a girl could wish for

y/npartygirlshelter posted a story tagging charlesleclerc

written: safe to say rolo is already in love with today's visitor

charlesleclerc posted two stories tagging y/npartygirlshelter

charlesleclerc

liked by carlossainz, landonorris, danielricciardo and 1,201,101 others

tagged y/npartygirlshelter

charlesleclerc: today i got to visit a hidden gem in vegas. the party girl animal shelter is an animal shelter run by y/n t/ln a twenty three year old that lost her father three years ago. she used her inheritance to build this wonderful place. i am so grateful for all the animals that i got to meet, i exhibited great control by not getting leo a brother. thank you y/n for having me !

view all 14,501 comments

danielricciardo: so this is what you do. get to vegas early just to spend time with a pretty girl and some very cute animals. fair play charles. fair play.

charlesleclerc: don't hate the player hate the game

y/npartygirlshelter: when the fuck did you manage to get sunglasses on elvis?

charlesleclerc: when you were busy feeding the others

user2: bro she fine as hell

user6: i just did a deep dive on her tik tok, she is so hot and funny as fuck as well. charles you need to date her before i do.

landonorris: can i come next time you go

charlesleclerc: no. find your own hidden gem

user11: bro met her today and is already down bad

y/npartygirlanimalshelter

liked by charlesleclerc, y/bff, landonorris and 12,301 others

tagged charlesleclerc

y/npartygirlshelter: a massive thank you to today's guest of honour (pictured here with our lovely resident blue) who brought be a lego bouquet because it is too hot here in vegas for real flowers

view all 2011 comments

y/bff: thank you so much for letting me crash so i could meet him

charlesleclerc: it was lovely meeting you y/bff

y/npartygirlshelter: charles you are going to give my best friend a heart attack

charlesleclerc: thank you for teaching me all about your residents

y/npartygirlshelter: anytime charles

user21: not daniel being in likes! hope you can fight charles

user4: shit she is stunning oh my god

#f1 x reader #f1 #formula 1 #formula one #f1 smau #formula 1 smau #formula one smau #f1 fandom #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc smau #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #cl16 #cl16 x reader #cl16 x you

449 notes · View notes

sweetflanfiction · 24 days ago

Text

Asymetrical Symphony - Part 9

Universe: Arcane (LOL)

Pairing: Viktor x reader

Summary: You had been on the rooftop with Jayce and the Herald and somehow you were sent to a place where things can be different with your help

Disclaimers and Warnings: If you want me to tag you on the chapters let me know! Also leave a comment with your thoughts :D Not finished, not proofread. English isn't my 1st language. All I know about LOL is from google and all I know about Arcane is taken from the show, so inacuracies will be plenty. I have a sort of idea on how to I'm gonna go with magic and runes, so bear with me. The reader will be written as GN (going by they/them) to get everyone involved, but if you see any discrepancies let me know.

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 • Part 6 • Part 7 • Part 8

• ··········· • ············ •

You walked to the Academy's reception, grabbed a visitor’s badge, and made your way to the lab. The choice between waiting outside or unlocking the door and snooping around was easy to make.

It was silent in the school, still too early for the actual classes to begin. Only the birds and the staff could be heard from where you stood in front of a window, Piltover’s skyline starting to shine with the rising sun. Hate it or love it. Topside sure was beautiful in the morning.

You heard the door handle rattle and quickly moved somewhere you could watch whoever it was entering the lab. It was all fun and magic until you were arrested for trespassing... Again.

Viktor walked in, his eyes narrowing because of the light difference between the lab and the corridor. He was trying to balance a dusty old brown messenger bag on one shoulder, a stack of books and papers in the other, holding the cane, and opening the door. You spotted a square of what looked like a piece of bread embedded with jam in his mouth. Sweet tooth and with an actual appetite. What a difference a dimension makes…

You also noticed from your not-so-hidden hiding place that, although his breathing was labored, the endless cacophony of coughing he would be having after walking through the Academy with that amount of weight, in another universe, was absent.

It was endearing the way he slowly took off the bag first, making sure the strap didn’t dislodge his breakfast, smirking as he accomplished his little mission. Once the bag was secure on the coat hanger, he grabbed his walking aid and slowly made his way to the table, dropping the books carefully on it, toast still between his lips.

Inspecting his work, he finally took a bite of the toast and nodded, walking back to the door to close it.

“Hello.” You said brightly. “Blue balls of Hextech!!!” He jumped, grabbing both his chest and the edge of a table for support, his cane falling to the ground with a clank. “It’s funny because it’s true.” You made your way towards him and grabbed the cane from the floor, giving it back to him with a smile.

He grabbed it hesitantly, looking around the room puzzled, back at the door, and then at you.

“How did you get in here? I locked the door when I left.” His brows frowned slightly, and his eyes unfocused, trying to find something in his mind. You could see his gears turning.

“I opened up a teleportation portal in my room and just reappeared here…” His eyes widened, a mix of fear and enthusiasm. You snorted. “The door was unlocked.” “Oh…” The disappointment was palpable.

It was the truth, actually. You were going to unlock it through magical means, but when you touched the handle, the door just slid open. You had poked your head in and saw no one, so you made your way inside.

“I am certain that I locked it yesterday when I left.” “Sky maybe?” You shrugged. “No, no. Sky only works in the afternoons.”

Both your eyes locked onto each other. But you had a feeling his reasons were different than yours. Sky was alive. The hex-core hadn’t consumed her. You shifted your gaze to his leg, his cane, and his two very pale hands. Very pale and human hands. Was the corruption non-existent or just hidden?

“How do you know about Sky?” He asked, revealing the reason he had looked up to you. “I crossed paths with her at some point.” You half lied, having crossed paths with his assistance, just not in this dimension. “Maybe Jayce was here.” You leaned your hip against the table and shrugged.

Viktor walked around the lab, inspecting the tables and the tools. Making sure nothing was out of order. He walked to another large door that you knew was the storage and pulled at the handles. Locked.

That’s where the hex cores were kept.

You knew that the room you were standing in was just a workroom; everything here was, in a very roundabout way of putting it, junk. Expensive and very valuable junk, but not what the lab’s main bread and butter was. That was locked in another room that, if it was anything similar to your side, was a mess of failed projects, almost finished projects, and the case with hex cores inside.

“Yes…maybe…” He walked back towards the table and stood in front of you, on the opposite side. “Please don't enter the lab when no one is around.”

His tone dropped, showing his seriousness, and you nodded. Even if it hurt, given your previous experience, it made sense. You were a stranger to him, and although you both seemed to get along well enough, you were still an unknown to him. You were sure that if you asked, he would probably show you the room, but that didn’t mean he’d allow you to be there unsupervised.

“Sorry.”

‘I’m still getting used to not knowing you,’ you wanted to add but didn’t.

“No harm done. I’ll warn Jayce not to leave the door unlocked… again…

Viktor hooked the handle of his cane on the table and sat down with difficulty, a grimace on his face as he shifted his weight to the hand on the table and then almost plopped down on a stool.

“Your back?” You asked, sitting down in front of him at the table, and nodded. “Sometimes it gets worse, but… such is life… all pains and aches.” He gave you a crooked smile and bit his toast. “Should we start?” “Do you want me to show you the runes? The magic? What?”

He grabbed his brand-new notebook from the pile of books on the table and opened it. It was already filled a couple of pages in, his neat handwriting contrasting with the ivory pages. When he looked up at you, you could feel the enthusiasm coming in waves from his amber eyes—the eagerness to find something new.

“I thought we could start with a couple of questions…” He grabbed a discarded pen that was on the table and looked at you. “That way I can compare notes in the future, and we will get to know each other better.”

It was one thing knowing and acknowledging this; it was another thing when he spoke it out loud. But despite the little tear in your heart, you nodded.

“When did you find out you could do it?” He asked, eyes shifting to the page. “When I arrived at Piltover.” ‘The second time around that is…’ you added in your head. “When was that?” “A few weeks ago.” “Mm…Could you be more specific?” He looked up. “The night of the rocket attack.” “Ah…” He looked down. "How do you do it? The magic that is.” “Hmm, I write the rune. I set a purpose for it and push it forward.” “Fascinating.” He wrote it down.

You opened your mouth to say something, and he looked up immediately, probably hearing the small intake of air in the otherwise silent room.

“Yes?” “Hum…” You looked at your hands on the table. “I know that face." He placed the pen down and raised an eyebrow. "What face?" "I do feel the need to remind you..." He tapped the notebook with his finger. "You did agree to be truthful.” “They are becoming easier to use." You sighed, "Which I understand is normal because of usage, but now it doesn’t need a specific prompt; it just…knows…”

Viktor frowns, crossing his arms on the table and leaning into them.

“Example…” he asked, and you got up from your stool.

Without much thought, you walked to his bag, grabbed the keys to the lab that he kept in a little side pocket, and locked the lab. You looked at him and turned the handle, showing him the door was in fact locked. He narrowed his eyes for a moment but nodded. You moved back to the table, grabbed a white paper, and drew the rune.

“This is the unlocking rune…don’t judge the naming…I’ve been making them as I go.” “No judgment here…According to Jayce, I am, and I quote, ‘excruciatingly bad at naming anything', to the point he is scared of any child I might have in the future.”

That was adorable. Another difference between your Viktor and this one… the naming was usually left to Viktor, seeing as the only good name Jayce had ever come up with was ‘Hextech,’ and after that… everything had to have a Hex before it. Hexgate, hex-core, hex-hammer. At some point, the Atlas Gauntlets were to be named HexGauntlets. Branding he had said, eliciting an eye roll from Viktor and you and a threat to recall any funding from the Rainemours.

“I’ve seen it do two things: unlocking things and showing me other runes.”

You drew another rune. This was the most familiar.

“This one is the move rune.” You looked at him to see if he was in fact judging you, but he was gazing at the runes.

“Ah! We’ve seen this one in the hex core.” He said excitedly.

“That would make sense. It’s the starting point of a breeze or gust of air that moves things away from it.” You took a deep breath. It felt good to talk about this. “In the beginning, both had very...broad...results. This…” You pointed to the unlock rune. “Would open anything locked in my vicinity, and this... it would just work in a straight cone-like formation perpendicular to me.”

You opened and stretched your arms to make a small V shape with them in front of you, showing Viktor what you meant. He noted something in his notebook and rolled his pen to push you to continue.

“Now…” You touched the rune with your gloved hand, the paper’s corner shook, and in a second, the front door clicked. Viktor’s head snapped to it and then back to you. “And…”

You touched the other rune, and one of the pages of his notebook flipped over. His head snapped again from the door to the papers.

“They’re reading my mind or something. I don’t know…” a beat. “So?”

No response. “Viktor?” You called him softly.

He was staring, unblinking, at both used runes in front of him, his long fingers touching the papers.

“Vik?” You went to pull a strand of hair out of his forehead, a normal gesture between you and him, but before your hand could reach him, he looked up at you, and you stopped the movement.

If anyone asked you what wonder looked like, you’d describe Viktor’s expression right now. His eyes were bright, almost made of liquid gold, high cheekbones painted a soft, healthy pink, and his mouth curved crookedly upwards. His index finger taps on the papers.

“That was magic. Actual magic.” He told you, his voice cracking with excitement. “Hmm, yeah…” “No hextech needed.” His eyes shifted and his brows twitched, and now the gears were turning. “Magic…one person…with no hextech…” “Alright...You need to breathe, buddy...” you noticed when you saw his chest rising and falling erratically. His damaged lungs won’t enjoy this exercise. “It’s not the first time you saw magic.”

“It is the first time I see it from beginning to end... With hextech, you need to calculate fluctuation, get the frequency just right, and have a million tiny pieces work together… but this… this is… I’m dizzy.” “You’re hyperventilating…” You place a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Do you have your medicine with you?” “No…My inhaler is at home. It’s alright…” And took several deep breaths, placing a hand on his lower back. The movement of deep breathing clearly took a toll on his back.

Your Viktor at this point would have probably fainted, but this Viktor seemed overwhelmed, breathing with a little wheezing, but his eyes were bright and his expression painless. Ecstatic even.

“Alright.” You slid your hand to his forearm and squeezed.

“Alright…” he wheezed, calmer, grabbing his notebook. “I don’t think my body can handle any more excitement right now.”

Smiling, you nodded at him and sat down, scrunching the paper with the runes in your hand.

“Oh... and... they are not reading your mind. They are, simply put, you.” He grinned, like someone with a secret he was about to share, and you raised your eyebrows. “According to some, the runes are just another language in Runeterra. That means that you are basically learning to speak.”

“I thought they were external to me…like the world was making the magic go through me…or something. Like a prism. Light comes in and a rainbow comes out.”

He shook his head, rolled his chair towards the stack of books he had brought, and rolled back towards you, quickly searching the texts for something. A little ah escaped when he found the text.

“Magic comes from an individual's ability to speak the runes, and once spoken, they become intrinsically assimilated by the rune speaker.” He looked up from the book.

“Like playing an instrument.” You grinned. “Once you know which note to hit, you naturally know that every time you hit it, it’ll have the same result.” Viktor nodded enthusiastically.

“Yes! The more you play a note, the easier it becomes to strike the chord, and…the easier it is to put it in a melody…”

The morning was spent with him asking you questions and you simply answering without much trouble. It was nice to know that Viktor from this side was just as curious and perceptive as your own. It was obvious he knew about runes; he used them for hextech, but he was still flipping at the thought of having you there with the ability to… conjure them…

Nearing midday, someone opened the door, and both of you jumped as Jayce walked in. You stopped the sketch of the rune you couldn’t make work, and Viktor, who was fully leaning into the table and putting his weight on his elbows, snapped his head to the door.

“Jayce!” He squeaked, startled. “Viktor?” The Tallis man stood, hand on the door handle, looking at both of you. “Jayce.” You managed to say it with a more neutral tone.

He said your name with the same tone he used for Viktor. He closed the door, and Viktor took the second he had his back turned to snatch the rune sheet and shove it in the middle of the pages of his notebook.

“I wasn’t aware you would be stopping by today.” Viktor limped towards his friend, and you stood straight, hands behind your back, trying to hide the very obvious, very unnatural, and very illegal glowing blue hand.

“I wasn’t, but…ugh…we—we need to talk.” He turned to Viktor and then you. He had a very grave and urgent expression. “They found... would you mind? This is Hextech business.”

He turned to you, and you shook your head, clearing your thoughts and restarting your brain.

“Yes! Of course. Sorry.” You turned to Viktor, whose eyes had narrowed slightly. “I…I’ll tell Mother the commission is coming along just fine.”

“Yes, please do.” You blinked and looked back at you, nodding.

“It was great to see you, Jay-Councillor Tallis.” You started to make your way to the door when Viktor called out your name, and you turned. “Don’t forget this.” He slid his notebook towards you. “I’m sure your mother's notes will be safer with you.” “Ugh… Yes… Goodbye…”

You hurried back out, nodding back at Jayce. The grave look on his face was enough to get your brain thinking about what was so important he couldn't let you know. But then again, much like Viktor, he didn't know you.

• ············ • ············ •

@marshy-moo @victormydarling @blueesmiski @th3stup1dcat @22carolina08 @httpstes @that-one-shitty-blog @disa-pointment @sseleniaa @moons-lighttrail @aysluxe @fae-doodle @kitewa @local-mr-frog @bakusquadobsessed @cherry-cola-100 @optimistic-but-very-realistic @seeksrsnn @thecordelialetters @notsaelty @lansy-4 @ayupfrogg @sammypotato @wnbrw @lucycarlisleswife @noxturnalmoth

#arcane #viktor #arcane viktor #viktor x reader #arcane x reader #viktor arcane #viktor arcane x reader #slow burn #viktor x you #viktor x y/n #arcane viktor x reader #viktor league of legends #arcane season 2 #arcane x you #arcane characters #arcane reader

278 notes · View notes

pretzel-box · 5 months ago

Text

Tags: Comedy, Some Fluff, Streamer AU, GN!reader x Human! Sebastian

Words: 1,9k

"Pressured_Solace has started a stream. Click here to watch."

The blue notification button caught your eye as it popped up on your desktop, the usual alert signaling that your favorite streamer was live. A thumbnail of the game he was about to play accompanied the message, and without hesitation, you clicked to join the stream.

“Jellycatfished joined the stream!”

“Is that the real one??”

“Bet it's another faker looking for donations.”

A grin spread across your face as you slid your headphones over your ears, adjusting them for comfort as you leaned back in your gaming chair. Solace hadn’t noticed your arrival yet, too focused on setting up the stream and chatting casually with the early viewers. Hearing his deep, familiar voice through your headphones sent a pleasant shiver down your spine, filling you with a warm, giddy excitement. Pressured_Solace was your absolute favorite streamer—witty, thoughtful, and with a voice that could melt butter. Like you, he streamed without a face cam, leaving his appearance up to the imagination of his audience, which only added to his charm.

“I think… yeah, I’m all set. Everything’s good,” he mumbled into his microphone. You could hear the sounds of items shuffling around and the clatter of coffee mugs on a wooden desk in the background. Then he leaned closer to the mic, his voice dropping to a playful tone. “Test, test, 1-2, 1-2. Can everybody hear me?”

The chat lit up with eager replies—greetings, questions, and a flood of emotes scrolling by at high speed. The sound of his chuckle was like music to your ears as he tried to keep up with the barrage of messages. You could feel his excitement; it was the same rush of emotions and adrenaline that coursed through your body when you streamed.

“Alright, just a heads-up,” he continued, his tone teasing. “I got a new microphone, and I haven’t fine-tuned all the settings yet. So if you hear anything other than my voice… well, that’s just proof I’m not a robot.”

His joke made you laugh out loud, and without a second thought, you hit the like button to show your support. This was classic Solace, always with that sassy vibe and the funny comments right up his sleeve.

You moved your cursor again, hovering over the donation button as you carefully selected the amount, leaning forward with excitement as you typed a message to accompany it. Money wasn’t an issue for you—you had sponsorships, collaborations, and a well-paying side job as a secretary at a company called Urbanshade. So you took the liberty of spoiling yourself a little by supporting your beloved streamer.

“Jellycatfished has donated $1000. ‘You're telling me you are not an AI that will take over the world, Solace??’”

The automatic voice read out your donation, and Solace burst into laughter, probably shaking his head in amusement. “Welcome back, beloved Jelly. How many times do I have to tell you not to donate so much, silly?” His words were playful, but there was a certain softness in his tone, a hint of affection that made your heart flutter. Knowing that your favorite streamer had noticed you always brought a smile to your face. “But seriously, thank you, Jelly, for the donation,” he said warmly. “I appreciate your support—although I’m starting to think you’re secretly trying to buy my loyalty.”

You laughed, quickly typing back into the chat, “Maybe I am! How else would I get the attention of the coolest streamer online?” A quick moment of embarrassment filled you as you suddenly regretted your message, was it too cringe? Too much?

Solace chuckled again into the microphone, and you could almost hear the smile in his voice as he replied, “You don’t need to buy my attention, Jelly. You’ve always had it.”

The chat exploded with a flurry of reactions, hearts, and playful comments. You could feel a blush creeping up your cheeks, even though you knew he couldn’t see you. This was the magic of streaming—the hidden identities, the mystery, the fun banter. It was your little escape from reality, and you loved every second of it.

Just then, a notification popped up on the screen.

“Pressured_Solace has invited Jellycatfished to a private match!”

It was an invitation to a combat pvp game that grew popular in the past few days, blowing up on social media. It became one of your favorite things to stream, and Solace knew that.

Your heart skipped a beat as you glimpsed at the sudden invitation. A private match? With him? You quickly accepted the invitation, feeling a rush of adrenaline and excitement. As the game loaded, Solace spoke again, his voice filled with that familiar teasing tone. “Alright, Jelly, let’s see if you’re as good in-game as you are at throwing money around.”

You laughed, feeling a surge of competitive spirit. It wasn’t the first time you played with him and surely not the last. “Bring it on, Solace. I’ve been practicing.” This was the last message you typed before the loading screen disappeared.

The game started, and the playful banter between the two of you continued over the ingame voice chat, filled with laughter, friendly taunts, and unexpected plot twists. The chat was loving it, spamming comments like “OMG, this is the collab we didn’t know we needed!” and “Ship them already!”

As the game loaded into the next round of the PvP arena, the tension between you and Pressured_Solace crackled like electricity. The map was a sprawling labyrinth of narrow corridors and open spaces, perfect for ambushes and quick escapes. You took a deep breath, fingers flexing over the keyboard, ready to bring your A-game. The chat, that was open on your second screen, was buzzing with excitement, filled with a mixture of support and playful taunts.

"Let’s go, Jelly! Show Solace who's boss!"

“Team Jellycatfished for the win!"

“Pressured_Solace may be good, but Jelly's got that magic touch!”

You couldn’t help but smile at the encouragement flooding in. The support from your fans always gave you that extra boost of confidence, especially when it came to facing off against someone as skilled as Solace. You knew he was good—really good. But you weren’t about to let that intimidate you.

“Alright, Jelly,” Solace’s voice came through your headphones, smooth and teasing. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

“Oh, I plan to do more than keep up,” you shot back, your voice light and playful. “I’m coming for you, Solace. How about a bet?”

“A bet?” He chuckles. “Sure.”

You started to smirk as an idea came to your mind. “If I win, I get to wish something from you.” It took a moment for Solace to reply, he was definitely teasing you by pretending to think. “Fine, but if I win, you're the one that has to fulfill a wish.”

“Deal.”

The match began, and you immediately took off, sprinting down a side corridor to grab some resources. You knew the map well enough to anticipate the power-ups and health packs that would spawn in certain locations. If you could get to them first, you might stand a chance.

But Solace was a step ahead. As you rounded a corner, you were met with a hail of bullets, forcing you to duck behind a crate. You could hear Solace chuckling through the mic.

“Nice try, Jelly, but you’re gonna have to be faster than that,” he taunted, his confidence evident.

Your heart raced as you peeked out from behind the crate, firing off a few rounds in his direction. He dodged easily, taking cover behind a wall. The chat was going wild, cheering you on, urging you to give it your all.

“Come on, Jelly! You got this!”

“Don’t let him intimidate you!”

“Use the power of the Jellycatfished!”

You grinned, feeling the adrenaline pumping through your veins. You quickly reloaded and made a break for it, dashing toward the nearest cover. You had to stay on the move—staying in one place too long would make you an easy target. Solace’s aim was deadly accurate, and you needed to keep him guessing.

But every time you thought you had a plan, he was already two steps ahead. He moved through the map like he was born there, seamlessly transitioning from offense to defense. You managed to get a few hits in, but he was quick to recover, always staying just out of reach.

“Having fun yet, Jelly?” he asked, his tone light but focused.

“More fun than you can handle,” you retorted, launching a surprise attack from above, dropping down from a higher platform. Your ambush caught him off guard, and you managed to land a few solid hits before he rolled away, retaliating with a well-placed grenade that forced you back.

The chat erupted with excitement.

“YES! Go, Jelly, go!”

“That was epic!”

“Don’t let up, Jellycatfished!”

Despite the cheers, you could feel the pressure mounting. Solace was clearly better, his skill evident in every move he made. He was precise, calm, and knew exactly how to control the flow of the game. You, on the other hand, were running on adrenaline and instinct, trying to keep up with his calculated strategies.

And then he made his move. In a swift, decisive maneuver, he cornered you in a dead-end alley, cutting off your escape routes. You fired desperately, but his shots were faster, more accurate. Before you knew it, your health bar was dwindling down to nothing.

“Looks like this is the end, Jelly,” Solace said with a hint of amusement in his voice. “Any last words?”

You grinned, a surge of determination flooding through you. “Yeah… don’t underestimate me.”

With a final burst of energy, you lunged forward, launching one last, desperate attack. It was reckless, but you had nothing to lose. You managed to land a few more hits before Solace finished you off with a well-placed headshot.

“Defeated! Pressured_Solace wins the match!”

The screen flashed the results, and the chat exploded with a mix of cheers and playful groans.

“GG, Jelly! You put up a good fight!”

“Solace is just too good!”

“Rematch! Rematch!”

“That was intense!”

Breathless, you leaned back in your chair, a smile tugging at your lips. “Not bad, Solace. Not bad at all.”

“Not bad? I’d say that was a pretty solid victory,” he replied, his tone teasing. “But you did put up a good fight, Jelly. I’m impressed.”

You laughed, feeling a warm flush of pride despite the loss. “I’ll get you next time, Solace. Mark my words.”

“I’m counting on it,” he said with a grin you could practically hear through the screen. “I always enjoy a challenge from you.”

The chat continued to buzz with excitement, fans from both sides celebrating the epic showdown. Even though you didn’t win, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction. You may have lost the match, but you had fun, and more importantly, you had earned Solace’s respect. And that, in itself, felt like a win.

As the stream continued, you and Solace bantered back and forth, the playful rivalry only fueling the chat's excitement. It was moments like these that reminded you why you loved streaming so much—the thrill of the game, the support of the community, and the chance to connect with someone like Pressured_Solace, even if you didn’t know him outside of this virtual world.

But there was always tomorrow, and another game to be played. And who knows? Maybe next time, the outcome would be different.

A message plopped up at last, Solace texted you privately over the streaming platform.

“Alright Jellykitten.” He obviously joked by giving you such a silly nickname. “Time for my wish, prepare for your doom!”

“What is it, Solace?”

“Share your discord tag with me.”

#sebastian solace #sebastian solace x reader #sebastian solace x you #sebastian solace fanfic #roblox pressure #pressure #pressure x reader #Streamer AU

385 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 16 days ago

Text

Days of Yore

Warnings: some dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Summary: You show up uninvited but are welcomed nonetheless.

Character: Geralt of Rivia

Day Twenty-Five of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt -an unexpected guest at the holiday get together.

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

“Wow,” you gape up at the immaculate array of lights strung across the facade. “This place is amazing. Who’s house is this?”

“A friend of a friend’s, I don’t know,” Wendy shrugs.

“A friend... Oh? Are you sure it’s okay we’re here?” You wonder with a furrow between your brows. You now feel a bit foolish for getting all done up when you might not even have been invited.

“Open invite! Besides, no one will notice,” she assures you.

“Right,” you mutter doubtfully.

“Loosen up. What else do you got going on, huh?” She grabs your hand and pulls you through the open iron gates. They accentuate the medieval effect of the house. Now you don’t feel done up enough.

“Not much, I guess,” you admit. If anything, you’ll get a bit of free food then ditch. It's not the first time you’ve unintentionally party-crashed with your wayward friend.

“You know Sienna, it will be fine,” she tuts and comes up to the front doors.

Again, you’re awed by the aesthetic of it all. You notice that the lights aren’t coloured, but only white, and the decor doesn’t bear the typical Santa or candy cane theme. In fact, it all has a historic tint. Traditional in a strange way. Dried oranges hung on long strings and holly twisted into bunches. For a moment, you’re remind of that dusty history degree hidden in the back of your closet.

Wendy knocks with the heavy iron knocker. She waits and chatters as she wiggles her legs below her short skirt. She didn’t dress for the temperature. She searches the door frame and grumbles.

“You think someone who could afford this place would have a doorcam or something,” she chuffs out a cloud of steam.

The door opens and startles you both. You look over as Wendy as good as jumps inside. She seizes the woman who keeps a hand on the door.

“Kami! You look... nice,” she holds her and gives her an eye up and down, “is this velvet?” She drags her hands down the green fabric.

“Designer,” Kami pushes away her touch. “You brought a friend.”

“Yeah, Sienna said so--”

“Mm, sure, it’s just... whatever. No one will notice,” Kami rolls her eyes. “You have to come. Lucas has the funniest story! I was just dying.”

Your shoulders fall and you clasp your hands together. You trail after, unwelcome and unacknowledged. Uninvited. You frown and silently configure how you can excuse yourself and leave. If you wait long enough, Wendy will forget about you. It might be easier to sneak out.

You stop to hang your coat with all the rest and Kami makes a point of telling you to take your boots off. The floors are old wood, polished and well-kept. The entire house is immaculate. An antique on its own.

You follow them into a high-ceilinged room adorned in strings of threaded popcorn and dried clusters of flowers. The air is fragrant as mulled cider steams in a heated bowl on a table, copper cups waiting to be filled, and dishes of appetizers in a line. The smell makes your stomach churn hungrily.

“Who the hell owns this place?” Wendy asks the question nibbling on your ears.

“Oh, he’s a funny guy,” Kami chuckles. “A bit... eccentric. Sienna’s been trying to loosen him up a bit, I mean... look at this house. That’s a good bag.”

You try not to show your disapproval. You don’t have much luck with men but hearing the way some of your friends talk about them, you don’t know that you’re cut out for it all. It really doesn’t seem that anyone is out for a genuine connection, they just want a good set-up.

Can you really blame them? You’ve been handwashing your clothes since your building hiked up the machine prices. Turns out a couple quarters can really break the bank.

Your guilt compounds as you realise that you’ve cosigned this entire extortionate affair. This party seems to have been a ploy by a hopeful prize winner. You know Sienna and she’s always sure to show you her Fenti and point out the label, though she can never remember the name of the man who bought it.

“So what? He gave her full run to do all this? It's not really her... style. I expected more pink,” Wendy scoffs.

“Nope, he’s a tight ass apparently. They were up for nights making the decorations and the food.”

“What?” She squeals in surprises as your whispers from your mouth. That’s a lot of work.

“Very old-fashioned,” Kami remarks. “But he’s not just rich you know, he’s fucking hot.”

“Ah, jackpot,” Wendy giggles.

You keep behind them, as good as hiding behind them. You bob and clutch your purse as Lucas excitedly hugs Wendy and Sienna drunkenly echoes him. You know a few of the partygoers standing with them but none of them even look in your direction. It seems Wendy’s already forgotten you.

This is why you said no at first. This is how it always goes but she begged and begged, guilting you fro making her show up alone. What about you? Why is it okay to ditch you every time?

You glance around. There are just as many strangers and none of them seem eager to mingle past their trio or pairing. You wish Wendy mentioned the dress code. You don’t think your H&M clearance rack attire is very suiting.

As an elbow hits your arm, you back up. No apology. You’re a piece of decor to these people. You back up and turn. Well, no one else seems to want to indulge. What a weird party.

You go to the table and take a cup. It’s times like these that you enjoy being invisible. College was tough, you longed to be noticed, to be like the other girls. Since then, you’ve grown comfortable with just being there. It’s much safer.

You ladle the cider into a mug and the steam roils from the top. A slice of blood orange and a few cranberries float in the rich amber liquid. You blow over it and retreat. The warmth is a comfort. It makes you feel a little less out-of-place.

As you turn, you nearly collide with another. You bring your other hand up to steady the cup and barely keep from sloshing the cider all over. You squeak and step back on your heel, your eyes skimming up the large figure in front of you.

You haven’t seen eyes like those since...

“Geralt?” You utter dumbly.

He looks down at you. He looks different but not. He always had his own vibe. The white hair, the bright eyes, he wore his individuality without meaning too. Yet some things are his own doing.

When you were in Early Modern History or Medieval Weaponry and Warfare together, he always dressed as if the clocks were set back to the Victorian era. Stiff jackets, high collared shirts, even a pocket watch. He was a bit of a dweeb then but too big for anyone to say so. And he was the only person who wanted to talk about history outside the lectures.

Now he wears a tunic, silver trim on black, slightly less stuffy but just as dated. Half of his hair is twisted back behind his head, the tails of it spilling past his shoulders.

He says your name and tilts his head, “I didn’t invite you.”

It’s a statement that makes your heart sink. You peer down at your cup then around the room. “I’m sorry, my friend, she knows Sienna, she--”

“It’s good to see you,” he interrupts. “It’s been a very long time.”

You wince and dare to look at him again. “Yes, college was a while ago.” You slanted your lips and press your hands to the hot metal cup. “This is your house? It’s very nice.”

“It is. I don’t often entertain, so mind the cobwebs,” he intones. He still has that way of speaking; so matter-of-fact. “It wasn’t my idea.”

“Mm, right,” you nod.

“Is the cider good? I found the recipe in an old journal from 1764.”

“Of course you did,” you hold back a laugh.

“Of course...” he begins to repeat curiously.

“It’s all very you, is all,” you say.

“I suppose,” he agrees.

You smile shakily and swallow. You make yourself try the cider. It’s hot but not scalding. A very spiced. Not in a bad way, you just don’t expect that much.

“Mm, it’s... heady.”

“Mulled for days,” he explains. He shifts on his feet and smooths his tunic. “Can I show you something?”

“Um, sure,” you accept. “It’s not the door, is it?”

He lets out a small snort, “leave the cider.”

You peer around and he takes the cup from you. He puts it down on a leather coaster on a tall wooden table and beckons you after him. You peek back as you sense a hush and notice that Sienna and the rest of them are watching. Great, they already don’t care much for you.

Geralt stops and waits for you to catch up to him. The staircase is wide enough for both of you. Your ascent is quiet, almost torturously so.

“You did not bring a boyfriend?” He asks.

You nearly laugh at the abrupt question. You get to the top of the stairs and he gestures you left.

“Well, I’d bring my cat. He’s the only guy sleeping in my bed,” you kid.

He hums but doesn’t comment.

“So, how’d you meet Sienna?” You ask.

He shrugs and stops to open a door. He pushes it inward and reaches around the frame to turn on the lights. He waits for you to enter first. You do with a gasp at the interior.

The walls are hung with various weaponry and you can tell at a glance that it’s genuine. It’s like walking into a museum. You traipse forward as you stare and barely notice the door click shut.

“Wow, how—Geralt, how the heck—what do you do? I mean, how can you afford all this?”

“I make replicas for TV and stage productions,” he explains. “This is my personal collection.”

“It’s... wow,” you hug yourself, feeling even smaller than before.

He’s quiet again. That’s just how he’s always been. He never said more than he needed to. It made studying very easy.

“You asked about Sienna. She is persistent but we are older now. I don’t see her as viable,” he says. Again, just a fact, nothing emotional.

“Oh, uh, well, I heard otherwise. Maybe you should tell her that,” you chuckle nervously as you admire the executioner’s sword with its blunt tip.

“Perhaps,” he agrees as he slowly crosses the room to stand next to you. “I’m... pleased that you showed up. It is a coincidence, isn’t it?”

“Sure, must be,” you agree.

You keep your eyes on the groove in the blade as you feel his on you. You sidle along and turn your head away from him. The door is shut. He stays close.

“Here,” he steps around you, startling you.

You spin as he goes to a large wooden chest on a table. “The smaller things are in here. Thumb screws, some daggers...” he flips open the lid as you turn and follow, keeping your distance. He holds up a curved blade, possibly a jambiya. “Hm, come,” he waves you around as he reaches in again, “you’ll like this one.”

You sway before you move, hands clasped to each other. You slowly pace around to him and he moves so quickly you nearly stagger. In a moment, there’s a weight around your wrists. You cry out and raise your manacled arms.

“Geralt!” You exclaim.

He laughs. You don’t hear that often. You look at him and tug on the chain.

“Centuries old but they are strong still, yes?”

You frown, “please, it’s not funny. I don’t like it.”

“Aren’t they wonderful?”

“No, Geralt, please, take them off.”

“Hm, I’d have to find the key...”

“Don’t play,” you warn.

His laughter trickles off and his face returns to its stoic mask. He stares at you. Silence rises and roils around you as the chain clinks in the loops of the cuffs and you fidget. You wait for him to pull out the key and undo them.

Instead, he hooks a thick finger around the links and tugs until your arms are above you. He holds you like that, trapped and prone. You shudder as you stare up at him, terrified at the glint in his pale eyes.

“I’m not playing,” he intones. “I’ve been waiting to get you in those. Far too long.”

#geralt of rivia #dark geralt #dark!geralt #geralt x reader #the witcher #december daze #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #navy and roo's sleepover

194 notes · View notes

show-your-fangs · 1 year ago

Note

What about a teenage!Jack where his friends are over and keep commenting how his Mom (reader) is attractive and Aaron finds it funny but Jack is mortified?

this is fucking GOLD. enjoy another installment of moments au

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x f!Reader

Words: 665

CW: nothing, cursing mostly.

Tags/warnings: jack's friends being pervs, cursing, jack defending his mom and dad.

Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND OR TO USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI. FUCK AI.

Aaron honestly couldn’t blame them. He honestly found it funny, how their cheeks would flush every time you walked past, seconds away from catching them saying the most inappropriate things about you. He knew they didn’t know he could hear them from his office, the angle keeping him hidden as he tried to work while also allowing for their voices to carry down the hall.

Jack had brought his friends over for a pool day and he’d requested that the two of you leave them alone, that they could fend for themselves. But as much as he’d pleaded, you were still unable to stop yourself.

You’d made them snacks, prepared a homemade ice tea, would check in every so often to make sure they were doing okay. And every time, without fail, his friends would pretend to be utter gentlemen, thanking you profusely until you left them alone once more and they turned from the kids their parents through they were into the horny teenagers they really were.

It became clear to Aaron immediately why Jack didn’t want you around. It had nothing to do with his independence but rather the fact that his friends clearly didn’t know how to act around his mom. They’d made every inappropriate comment a teenage boy could come up with, and every time Jack would groan or roll his eyes or politely ask them to chill. But every time you showed your face the comments would start up again.

It was after lunch when shit hit the fan. You’d ordered a big family meal style delivery, had set up the large containers in the kitchen, with the boys’ help which they were eager to give, and had made a plate for yourself and Aaron. They thought you couldn’t hear them in the kitchen, thought they were being so slick, but they should’ve known better than to not wait for you to exit the room.

“I still don’t know how your dad bagged her,” Eric started, clearly teasing. “She’s just so—”

“So out of his league,” Dylan finished and the two of them snickered together.

“If I had a step mom like that…” Nick sighed and the other two chuckled, no words needed for the four of them to know what he wanted to say. Jack couldn’t help but cringe, the mere thought of his stupid friends thinking about you this way appalling.

“You boys need anything else?” you said loudly from the kitchen, a cue for them to stop talking as you pushed the door open with your hip.

“We’re okay, thanks mom,” Jack’s voice was chipper like it always was with you, always soft and kind. His friends’ immediately perked up at your requests, their eyes sparkling with what you could only imagine were requests that you definitely didn’t want to know about.

“Thank you, Mrs. Hotchner,” they practically sang in unison, their teasing only getting more pronounced as you walked down the hall, desperately trying not to give them anything else to talk about, but apparently that was completely useless.

“Check out her ass—”

“Shut the fuck up, dude,” you heard Jack groan, his patience finally running thin. His friends stilled in an instant, your instinct to fix it slowly creeping up from your heart to your brain. But Aaron was quick, his hand wrapped around your waist before you could move. “How would you like it if I talked about your mom like that?”

Silence.

“That’s what I thought,” he stated, confident. “So can you please just stop it?”

His words were followed by a string of mumbles and murmurs in agreement, ashamed apologies and admissions of guilt.

You couldn’t help but chuckle, Aaron quickly pulling you into his office so the two of you could erupt in a fit of giggles. It was cute, almost too adorable that the boy you’d met so long ago was now defending your honor to his friends, was standing up for his mom, for his dad, for his family.

okay i'm trying to get through some of the requests. i apologize for not being as active, you know how fanfiction authors' lives go off the rails sometimes.

i'm going to try and post a few of these before my "taking some time off" announcement. i've got a big week coming up but know i am trying.

tag list: @ssamorganhotchner, @canuck-eh, @cr1minalskies, @xladyxdreamer

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner blurb #jack hotchner being a cutie #show your fangs hotch blurbs #show your fangs moments au #show your fangs writes #moments on ao3 #show your fangs asks #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner

3K notes · View notes

luvclerc · 2 years ago

Text

almost 3 years — cl 16

synopsis: charles revealing his celebrity crush but is it just a crush??

faceclaim: ester expósito

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc and 4,782,193 others

youruser a night out ✨

yn_ily quieres ser mi novia? (do you want to be my gf)

itsferrari charles got her post notifications on

charles_leclerc no i don’t???

user1 BYE I CANT BELIEVE HE COMMENTED

leclercdata that’s one way to get noticed by your idol 😭

view all 47,392 comments

liked by lewishamilton, youruser and 4,284,103 others

charles_leclerc spent the weekend with some cool people

leclvrc this is exactly what the people want

user1 not this being the only post of his yn likes

landonorris not the thirst traps 🤨

danielricciardo shhh let him be (it’s giving george)

view all 45,392 comments

charles_leclerc added to their story

liked by pierregasly, charles_leclerc and 4,829,987 others

youruser somebody posted the behind the scenes

user1 THEY WERE TOGETHER

charles_leclerc guilty

pierregasly that’s what you get for turning your priv acc into a fanpage of your gf 😂

orangetractor pierre deleted that comment quick

charles_leclerc PIERRE????

youruser oH

carlossainz55 exposed 👀

view all 56,382 comments

liked by maxverstappen1, youruser and 7,982,097 others

charles_leclerc everybody meet my girlfriend y/n.

we thought it would be funny to reveal our relationship to the world when it was our 3 year anniversary. but we’re not quite there yet (pierre gasly is also to blame)

[tagged: youruser]

introlec uM THIS ENTIRE TIME CHARLES WAS ACTING LIKE HES NEVER MET HER SJSNSBSB

pierregasly leave me out of this

maxverstappen1 thank you for helping me win 10k

maxverstappen1 @/lewishamilton no cash please

youruser see i told you you wouldn’t be able to reach 3 years 🤭

view all 109,292 comments

liked by alex_albon, charles_leclerc and 8,201,999 others

youruser my little hidden secret for the past two years <3

[tagged: charles_leclerc]

youruser and the first photo was just an excuse for me to have shirtless charles on my feed 🏃🏻‍♀️

landonorris i told you guys i wouldn’t be the one to accidentally reveal your relationship

danielricciardo mate i believed in you

charles_leclerc it could have been 3 years 😭

view all 172,333 comments

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #smau #charles leclerc instagram au #charles leclerc one shot

2K notes · View notes

foreverisntenough · 2 months ago

Text

‘Movie Night’

Summary: If only life was like the movies. For years, you’d flirted with the idea of something more with Trent, your brother’s best friend. You'd always danced around the edges of something more with him, sharing flirty moments that felt like scenes straight from the cinema. You had been silently desperate for the main character of your life’s film to finally get the boy but you knew moments like that were saved for Hollywood. The lines were clear; you were always going to be his mate’s little sister. So what happens when you go off script? In a whirlwind of passion, secrets, and stolen moments, you're left wondering: will you and your brother's best friend get the happy ending you've been waiting for, or was it never meant to be more than a fantasy?

Index:

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, slight mention of dv, loss of a parent, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!

Chapter 8 - Caught in The Kitchen, Hidden in The Bathroom | ‘Movie Night'

word count - 11.3k

You and Trent were cuddled up on the couch, a blanket draped over both of you as the late afternoon sun streamed through the living room windows. The air was warm, filled with the soft murmurs of a documentary neither of you were paying much attention to. Instead, the two of you were locked in a lazy conversation, your head resting against his chest while his arm wrapped securely around your shoulders. You leaned into Trent’s chest, feeling the warmth radiating from him and enjoying the comfort of his steady heartbeat. Trent chuckled, recalling a memory that had resurfaced the other week. Recently you and him went to the park you’d gone to a lot growing up. A park where Jack and all his friends would play footie in and you’d tag along for a glimpse of your teenage crush. But this other week in that very park, your crush, Trent, had given you a daisy and confessed something that had long lingered on your mind. Did he even notice you back then? He was about to tell you.

“Baby, you know how we went to the park the other day?” He asked and you hummed confirming. You tilted your head up to look at him, your curiosity winning over the quiet comfort of the moment. “It’s just I was thinking – it’s funny because…” he began to speak, stumbling through words, his voice soft and nostalgic, “I honestly had the biggest crush on you, even then, when we were younger. I wish I was braver to have done something but instead… you know, I just used to try so hard during those pickup games with Jack and all the lads if I knew you were there watching.” He smiled, almost beginning to laugh at himself. You tilted your head up to look at him, narrowing your eyes playfully.

“Are you implying that you have a crush on me now?” You cheekily asked and he rolled his eyes. “Baby…” You pouted patronizingly at him with a tease. “But also, no. No, you didn’t,” you teased a little more, a smile spreading across your face. “You simply wanted to win those games. You’re the most competitive person I’ve ever met. I was not your concern!” He laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest.

“Fairs, that’s true that I wanted to win,” he admitted, Trent grinned, his dimples deepening as he recalled the memory, “but I swear… I mean I could even make pinpoint accurate passes then but I was purposefully mishitting the ball just so it’d end up rolling near where you were sitting. You were definitely a concern every time you showed.” He told you. “I mean, you know me always want to show off a little, especially for you.” He chuckled, but his eyes softened as he looked at you. You giggled a little smitten hearing his admission, covering your mouth with your hand at the revelation.

“You’re not serious…” you asked, smiling at the idea of him planning such an elaborate yet subtle way to get your attention - risking his performance in front of others just to get to you? You couldn’t believe it. He grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Yeah, I’m serious,” he replied. “I’d watch out of the corner of my eye, praying you’d look up or notice me. Even if you just rolled your eyes at us, it was worth it.” You couldn’t stop smiling, the memory taking you back to those carefree days.

“That’s so dumb,” you said, but your voice was warm and full of affection. “For a few reasons, first off you knew I was watching just for you, Jack was shit at footie so I wasn’t exactly coming to watch him.” You both laughed. And he pulled you in a little tighter listening intently for hopefully a less humorous secondary reason. “But also because I was just trying to get you to notice me. I’m impressed with myself that you thought I was just hanging out. I used to try to act all nonchalant, you know? Like I was beyond uninterested. I would say I didn’t want to go tag along with Jack to my dad again and again but an hour later – I was dressed….” You went to keep speaking but Trent cut you off.

“And you always looked beautiful by the way.” He told you. Butterflies filled your stomach for your current and younger self knowing the extra effort you put in to go to the park had Trent noticing. It wasn’t anything elaborate but your slicked back bun was done well, you’d have your jewelry on, a nice matching sweat set. Simple but evidently… very effective…eventually.

“You’re sweet. But it was a facade. I’d just sit on a bench purposefully making sure I was in view or if it was warmer, I’d be picking at the grass, always ‘annoyed’ and waiting for Jack to be done, but in my head… I was praying you’d come over and say something, anything really.” You giggled, almost embarrassed you were admitting you’d been trying so hard. Trent’s eyebrows shot up, a look of disbelief and amusement crossing his face.

“Nah,” he said, his hand moving to cradle the side of your face. “You were hoping for me to come over? Babbyy…” He drew out the word with a frown, not dramatically, not teasingly like yours before but just with a bit of a pout. You nodded sheepishly, your cheeks flushing with the shared embarrassment and sweetness of young, unspoken crushes.

“Yeah, well…” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Every single time. I’d always come for you. To watch you playing– I think I must’ve met some of the other boys ten times over before I even knew their names. All I wanted… I was just hoping you’d notice me.” You told him. Your words flaring with a smile and then fading out into almost a pang of sadness. Trent felt the switch. He shook his head, but kept a smile full of wonder and nostalgia on his lips.

“I noticed.” He reassured you, kissing your temple. “I noticed you probably the first time you showed. I had to play it cool though. It was long.” He laughed. “Kind of mad, we went from that to this, no?” he murmured letting you know he understood how crazy this relationship was and how long it had been building for. You looked into his eyes, the space between you shrinking as your faces drew closer.

“I guess it couldn’t stay under the surface forever. Was bound to bubble over,” you said, a laugh escaping your lips. Trent leaned in, brushing his lips softly against yours, the kiss sweet and unhurried, as if savoring the lost moments from your past.

“And bubble over it did. No matter how long it took… I’m glad I’ve got you now.” He pulled back just enough to whisper. His thumb traced your cheek as he looked at you, his gaze full of warmth and contentment. You nodded, resting your forehead against his. The whole room slipped into a euphoric still. But then you thought back to those long days at the park, where you’d sit off to the side, pretending not to care but secretly hoping for any attention. Your dad said it’d be good for you to be with Jack and his friends. Layla would even sometimes join you, but mostly because it was just so hard to sit at home at your old house that was filled with so many memories and so you went. You went as an escape and a part of that very escape was your developing feelings for Trent. You felt the lump in your throat form but you swallowed it down. You didn’t want to bring in all of those emotions and so instead you opted for another sweet joke.

“You know, whenever a ball came over… I just thought that was shit aim,” you teased, nudging him lightly. He feigned a hurt expression.

“Aye, aye, aye, relax. My accuracy has always been top tier. Was doing it on purpose.” His voice softened, but it flared with cheek and competitiveness just the way you liked it. “I just wanted any excuse to get near you.” He cooed. You giggled, a wave of nostalgia washing over you.

“I used to trot over to grab it but you used to look so uninterested in me, like you were too cool to care about any of it, about me,” he said, shaking his head recalling how rattled he felt but how determined he became. You smiled feeling like that wasn’t the case. You tried to play nonchalant but you were screaming inside. “I thought you were impossible to impress.” Trent laughed, his eyes lighting up at the image. “But then I started smiling at you, I’d shoot you a wink and then maybe just maybe sometimes I think I caught you watching just for me.” He smirked. You bit your lip, feeling a tinge of embarrassment that he noticed but also amusement.

“What was I meant to do!” You yelped. “I wanted you to think I was cool,” you admitted, “ but then I crumbled…. as you well know. You were always so loud and confident, it was hard to not look. Even back then, you knew you were good.” He pulled back slightly to look at you, his eyebrows raised.

“I tried to impress you. But to be fair, I knew I could,” he said smugly, the playful arrogance in his voice making you laugh. “But I think you’re underselling how good I really was. It was pick-up footie with schoolmates then I’d bounce off to the academy. You were watching because you knew I was the best one there.” He joked but also semi serious wanting to hear your confirmation he was the best. You rolled your eyes. You remembered once gushing to Layla about how good Trent was, that it was hot to see someone so talented at something. She teased you about having an easy way to become a wag. But that wasn’t it. He could’ve just been Jack's friend. The bouncing off to the academy after was the thing you cared about the least.

“Yeah, exactly that.” You sarcastically snapped back. “More like, I was just waiting for you to make a fool of yourself,” you joked, your grin widening. “Skying the ball over the bar because you had to take every free kick.” You teased and Trent’s eyes widened but you could feel him loving the banter. Loving it secretly even more than a compliment. “Honestly, I think I’d have been a better player than you if I had joined the games.” You told him with faux seriousness. Trent’s jaw dropped in mock offense.

“Excuse me? You think you could strike a better dead ball than me? ’Got a better right foot than me?” he asked, his voice incredulous but his eyes gleaming with excitement. You couldn’t resist the urge to tease him further, leaning in closer with a smug smile.

“Absolutely. I’d have shown you up, easy. Just didn’t want to embarrass you.” You quipped. He pulled away from you immediately, his face contorting into an exaggerated expression of shock that soon melted into a cheeky grin.

“Yeah? That so?” he questioned, his tone full of playful challenge. “Alright then, if you’re so confident, you’re gonna have to prove it.” Before you could respond, he suddenly stood up from the sofa and, in one swift motion, scooped you up and threw you over his shoulder. You let out a surprised squeal, half-laughing and half-protesting as he carried you toward the glass doors that led to the back garden.

“Where are we going?!” you shrieked, still laughing as he ignored your protests.

“To the back garden,” he declared, a competitive glint in his eye. “If you’re so good, you’ve got to show me right now.” You couldn’t stop laughing, your heart racing with the thrill of his sudden challenge.

“T! You’re being ridiculous!” you managed to say through your giggles, but deep down, you loved every second of it. Trent carried you effortlessly through the house, your squeals and laughter filling the living room as he made his way toward the glass doors that led to the back garden. You squirmed in his hold, trying to wriggle free, but he only tightened his grip around your waist, his laughter rumbling through his chest. “Trent!” you cried out, half laughing, half gasping. “Put me down! I’m not even dressed to go outside!” He grinned at your complaint, completely unbothered, and slid open the glass doors with one hand. The crisp air of early evening swept in, the sky had begun to turn shades of navy streaked with orange. He stepped out onto the grass, finally setting you down but keeping a firm grip on your shoulders to stop you from escaping.

“You think you’ve got a better right foot than me, yeah?” he challenged, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “Well… go on then. Show me what you’ve got.” He mocked you as you crossed your arms over your chest, trying to feign an air of confidence even though you knew this was ridiculous.

“I can’t play like this!” you protested, gesturing to your outfit—cozy lounge shorts and an oversized jumper of his but most of all slippers… hardly proper attire for any football.Trent raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a grin.

“Excuses already?” he teased. “And here I was, thinking you’d at least try to back up all that talk.” You stuck out your tongue at him, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

“Fine,” you conceded. “But don’t cry when you realize I’m actually better than you.” You were talking a good game but even with your decent athleticism aside… you were mildly nervous but you continued to joke about. “You’re not cute when you lose.” You teased him recalling all the times he’d simply lost a board game and how he’d pout. Annoyingly, it was actually cute but you’d tell him otherwise for the sake of banter and the moment. He laughed, and the sound was warm and bright in the fading sunlight.

“I’m not a sore loser!” He yelped and you raised your brow silently telling him to be realistic. He was a bad loser. “Nah, alright, if you embarrass me, I’ll retire from football right now,” he joked, stepping back to give you space. “But I won’t hold back.” You rolled your eyes, feeling the playful competitiveness radiate between the two of you. He jogged off to a shed tucked in the corner of the garden where he had a ball stored, The game about to start as a lighthearted test of skill, with both of you brimming with playful energy. Trent, competitive as ever, had made sure to set the stakes high, a teasing grin stretched across his face as he dropped the ball onto the grass and rolled it toward you. The moment the ball reached your feet your heart slowed. You weren’t sure how serious either of you were being. This was a joke, right? What if he thought you were shit? What if he thought you were trying too hard? Nevertheless, with an exaggerated flick of your hair, you picked your head toward him.

“Ready to lose?” you taunted. He feigned a look of horror but then smiled.

“Never, baby,” he said, already moving into a more defensive position. “I rarely do.” He reminded him. You squared your shoulders, and with a grin, you nudged the ball forward with your foot, feeling your heart race. You took a step forward with it. Trent was all playful resistance, putting on his most intimidating game face while still clearly holding back. You juked left dramatically as a joke as if you were actually going to try to go past him and both of you bursting out into giggles. But still you took one more little jab at the ball just to edge it past him amidst the laughter—though, admittedly, it was more because he was enjoying the moment than you actually outplaying him. He turned round and dragged the ball back with his feet. He was going to be offensive now. Trent tapped the ball lightly, his feet dancing around it with a series of quick step-overs and fancy tricks, every movement of his ridiculously smooth. At first you were momentarily mesmerized, seeing it all so close up for the first time. You were experiencing a, yes, exaggerated, humorous, and overzealous, performance of his, but still, close to what it was like to face someone like him on a pitch. You stuck your leg out attempting to poke the ball away or pull it back to you, trying to swipe the ball away from him. He sidestepped easily, a laugh bursting from his lips, not mockingly just teasingly, as he kept the ball just out of reach; enjoying this way too much.

“Okay, okay, you can stop showing off!” you complained, trying to keep up, but he only chuckled, now purposefully dribbling circles around you. You stopped trying minutes ago. You, frankly, never really gave any of this silly game much effort.

“I thought you said you were better, no?” he teased, his voice full of mischief. His eyes glinted with pure joy, and you couldn’t help but smile even through your feigned frustration. Trent loved being good at things and this… winning a challenge, playing football… he was good at. The cool air was biting at your skin, but the warmth of the moment made it hard to feel anything but happiness. “Come on, you’re not even trying!” he taunted, shifting the ball back and forth with smooth footwork. He wanted you to actually try but you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t embarrass yourself in front of him. Feigning annoyance you groaned, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Fine. If that’s how you want to play it…” You pretended like you were about to actually give it a go but you decided on a different tactic. With a devious smile, you waited until Trent had planted the ball under his foot, taking a moment to catch his breath while still managing to look smug. Then, without warning, you launched yourself at him, throwing your arms around his waist from behind and dragging your whole weight against him. Trent stumbled slightly, his laughter ringing out into the garden.

“Oi! Ref!” he shouted, his voice full of playful outrage. “That’s a foul! A yellow card for sure! Get her off the pitch!” You laughed, clinging to him tighter. He twisted around in your embrace, trying to keep the ball pinned under his foot, but he was losing the fight. His laughter made your heart swell, and you couldn’t help but grin as you pressed your cheek against his back, feeling the warmth radiate from him. Trent’s laughter began to subside, and he tried to turn his head to look at you, his eyes dancing with delight. “You’re a snake! You think you’re sneaky, huh?” he teased. “Trying to take me out by cheating?” You giggled, unrepentant, as you slid your hands from his waist up to drape them around his neck.

“What? Me? Never.” Leaning up, you began to plant soft, ticklish kisses along his jawline, moving up to his ear and whispering, “You know, if you’d just given me the ball, I wouldn’t have had to resort to these tactics.” Trent stumbled a bit more, his knees almost buckling as he tried to resist the effect you had on him. His hands moved to hold your arms, and you took the opportunity to pepper even more kisses along his neck. Finally, he twisted fully around, his smile bright and wide, but before he could say anything more, you leaned up and kissed him properly. His eyes widened for a second, but he melted into it, the laughter leaving his body as the energy shifted between you. The kiss started sweet, the two of you still grinning against each other’s lips, but then Trent’s hands slid up your back, pulling you closer. The kiss deepened, and you could feel his breath hitch as he gave in.

“That… that was definitely a red card.” He pulled back just a fraction, his lips barely brushing yours as he whispered. His voice had dropped, becoming huskier, and you shivered at the way he looked at you. The playful atmosphere morphed into something more electric, more intense, and you couldn’t help but feel the heat rising between you. You met his gaze, your heart pounding.

“Oh? A red card, really?” you murmured. He nodded slowly, his eyes darkening as his hands moved from your back to cup your face.

“Yeah. But we can play on. I’m not sure I mind your tactics,” he whispered. His fingers traced your jawline, and the way he looked at you made your knees weak. The playfulness had melted away, leaving only a shared desire, and you knew the game was long forgotten. A smile tugged at your lips, but you leaned in, capturing his mouth with yours again. The air was still cool, the night sky overhead, but all you could feel was Trent, his warmth, and the way he made the world fade away. You both stood there, catching your breath and grinning at each other, the garden bathed in the last light of the day. It felt like one of those perfect moments you’d remember forever—just the two of you, tangled in laughter and love.

One night, it was a friend of a friends birthday party you all had been invited to; Jack, all his mates, Trent, Layla, it was a massive event. Your house buzzed with the energy of pre-party excitement. Music played from every direction on surround sound speakers. A few of Jack’s mates had already shown up, their laughter echoing faintly from the living room. You had invited Layla over to get ready with you, knowing you both wanted to look your best for the party. The evening was promising to be memorable, with everyone gathering together for the night out. Although a part of you was really anxious, you worried about your feelings, alcohol, and Trent mixing in the same room but you pushed it down. You giggled upstairs with Layla trying on outfits in your wardrobe, but had taken extra precaution ahead of time to hide any remnants of Trent; a jumper, some boxers, condoms, an array of items that frankly wouldn't be damning evidence but you were nervous. In the middle of getting dressed, you realized you desperately needed water—both you and Layla did. You’d promised her a drink to aid in staving off the inevitable hangover you’d both likely have tomorrow, so you ran downstairs in your relaxed outfit: oversized sweats and a tiny tank top. Despite your hair and makeup being perfectly done, you felt comfortable and at ease at home as you snuck down quickly but all it padded with a sense of nerves. As you made your way into the kitchen, you noticed Trent. He’d already arrived to pregame, his presence instantly shifting the air in the room. He looked incredible, wearing just a white t-shirt that highlighted his tan skin, his hair freshly trimmed, and a gold chain peeking out from beneath the neckline. The look on his face that lit up when he saw you was sweet, and genuine. A moment to be alone together again suddenly appeared but you'd do your best to ignore it. Not here. Not now.

“Hey pretty girl,” he greeted, his voice low and teasing but quiet. The nickname wasn’t something other people hadn’t heard. He’d called you it for ages but what you hadn’t done for ages was what you were doing lately. Something was very different. You were sleeping together to say the least. You rolled your eyes at him pretending not to care as you normally would, walking around the kitchen island to get your drinks. You’d say something eventually but you had to play it cool. Jack and all their friends were in the other room, Layla upstairs. You filled a cup of water, moving to fill a second. But before you could do that, before you could say anything to him, he closed the distance between you, reaching out to tug on the waistband of your sweatpants and pulling you backward into him. You yelped, almost spilling the water you had just gotten.

“Babyyy,” you whined instinctually, playfully, glaring at him with mock exasperation, but your pout couldn’t hold as Trent wrapped his arms around your waist. It was too natural now. It was as if any fear dissipated when he stepped within a foot of you. Trent knew everyone was occupied in the other room with a game, he knew Layla was upstairs so he couldn’t resist stealing this moment. He wanted you to be back in his arms. He held you tight, his touch warm and familiar, his grip grounding you in a way that made your heart race. He chuckled, pressing his chin against your shoulder.

“Shhhh.” He hushed you calling him the pet name aloud although with a smile because he didn’t actually mind hearing it. “Can’t be doing that... but I just couldn’t resist you though,” he murmured, his voice full of affection. He thought you were alone, that this was a stolen moment between just the two of you. And so did you. You leaned back into him, pouting dramatically.

“You made me spill my water,” you said, your voice half a giggle, half a protest. Trent smirked, clearly amused but unfazed. He leaned in closer, his face hovering near yours, his intentions obvious. His gaze held that gentle intensity that always made you melt, and you prepared to let him steal a kiss—

“OH MY GOD!” Layla’s scream cut through the air, making you both jump apart. Your eyes widened in shock, and you turned to see her standing at the base of the stairs, eyes as wide as saucers, her mouth hanging open. “I fucking knew it!” she yelled, her voice rising in pitch with excitement. “I fucking knew there was something bigger going on between you two! Oh my fucking god, how long has this been happening?!” She yelled running into the kitchen. You stumbled out of Trent’s embrace, your face burning.

“Lay… oh fuck. It’s not… it’s just…” you tried to form a coherent sentence, stepping toward her in a flustered panic. “Just shhh.” You now hushed her. Trent scratched the back of his neck, clearly equally rattled but there was a fullness to his cheeks.

“Lays, we’re just…” he began, trying to calm her down. But she wasn’t having it. She looked between the two of you, her eyes lighting up with even more surprise and delight.

“This is serious! You two are so… so lovey-dovey! Oh my days. So it wasn’t a one time thing? Jack’s going to die when he finds out!” She babbled on too overtaken by her surprise to have any sort of decorum or consciousness, mindfulness regarding the delicacy of this all. You ran over to her, covering her mouth with your hand, your own heart pounding with anxiety.

“Please, Layla,” you begged, your voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t say anything yet. I promise I’ll tell you everything. Just… not now. You can’t tell anyone. Please.” You whispered harshly pleading just to her. You looked at her seriously. A look she knew well. It confirmed you and Trent were more than nothing. Trent came closer to you both, still looking uncomfortable but trying to add to the appeal.

“Yeah, we’re… just figuring things out,” he said cautiously, trying to convey the delicateness of your situation. “Just let it stay hush for now, yeah?” He told her. Layla pulled your hand off her mouth, her eyes wide and questioning.

“Figuring things out?” she echoed, confused by the vagueness turning towards you for clarity but you didn’t have any. She could sense that. Her gaze softened, and she nodded slowly, realizing the tension between the two of you. Both you and Trent felt a twinge of awkwardness at what you had both said. Even though it was honest, Trent belittled you and his relationship down to figuring things out. Where Trent thought you may have been wanting to hide things entirely, forever. It was all so confusing. You wondered if he was downplaying your relationship, and he worried that maybe you were keeping things too ambiguous. It stung a bit, this uncertainty of what you both really meant to each other. But for now, officially… someone else knew. Someone knew that you and Trent were no longer just friends. Layla had seen the reality of what you and Trent were, how real and raw this thing between you was. The secret was out, and the weight of it felt equal parts terrifying and exhilarating.

You left the room with a nod of certainty from Trent. You had no option other than to drag Layla upstairs immediately swearing her to secrecy. You couldn’t risk Jack overhearing this conversation downstairs any longer. You hated you hadn’t told her more since the first hook up but how could you? Trent shot Layla a wink and her jaw dropped as you pulled her to the staircase. As soon as the door to your bedroom shut, you and Layla burst into almost panicked laughter, the nerves of her catching you with Trent bubbling over. Her giggles were of disbelief, yours in fear. Layla immediately threw her arms around you, still bouncing with shock and delight.

“What the fuck! What the fuck! Why did you hide this from me!!?!” she squealed, her voice just barely above a whisper but it was strained as if the walls themselves might betray the secret.

“I’m so so so sorry... Seriously, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” you admitted, guilt mixed with an overwhelming need to finally let someone in on everything. You couldn’t hold back the truth anymore, not with Layla’s eyes wide and eager. She tugged you over to the bed, her curiosity palpable.

“Alright, secret's out. Spill it,” she demanded, crossing her legs and folding her arms, ready to listen. You took a deep breath, searching for the words to explain the whirlwind of the last few months.

“It’s been…” You couldn’t bite back the smile that Trent brought to your face.

“Oh my god!!!! So you’ve been properly hanging out, not just fucking?” Layla jumped the gun, completely shocked by the look the relationship brought to your face.

“Layla….” You steadied her. You’d tell her everything, if she’d just be patient enough to listen. She waved an apology telling you to go on. “It’s been so good. Honestly, I never expected it to actually happen, but he’s just…” Your voice softened, the warmth flooding your cheeks as you thought of him. “He’s been so sweet, Lays. Like, really sweet. Thoughtful, kind, funny. He has this way of making me feel like I’m the only one in the room, even when we’re hiding from the world.” You started to let the stories spill out, one by one: the little glances he’d give you across crowded rooms, how he’d brush his hand along yours in passing, those quiet moments spent tangled up in each other’s arms as morning light painted shadows on the sheets. “We’d just lay there, not needing to say anything,” you murmured. “He’s so different when it’s just the two of us. There’s this softness to him, this… I don’t know, it feels so real. But—” You stopped, that familiar ache settling in your chest. Layla’s brows furrowed slightly.

“But?” she prompted gently. She was biting back a million questions, comments, and concerns. She was trying just to listen, no opinions just yet.

“It’s like… every time we’re together, I feel like we’re on the verge of something real. But the second he leaves, I’m left wondering if I even exist in his life outside of those moments.” You let out a sigh, frustration mixing with the warmth of your memories. “It’s just—everything’s hidden. We’re hidden. And I’m terrified that I’m just some secret he’s keeping, like… like one of his other ‘girl of the season’ situations.” You explained sheepishly. You hated that this insecurity came with all the joy. You were almost embarrassed to let Layla into how complacent you’d been to it all.

“So, you’re afraid that he sees you like he’s seen other girls in the past? Just… temporary?” Layla looked at you thoughtfully. You nodded, looking down, feeling the weight of the confession.

“He says it’s different, and when I’m with him, I believe it. I want to believe it. But I can’t shake this feeling that I’m living this double life, like I’m only part of his world when it’s convenient. It’s one thing to keep it from Jack, but keeping it from you, from everyone else—it just makes me feel like… maybe he’s not serious about this. About us.” You muttered. Layla reached over, squeezing your hand, her face softening with understanding.

“I mean to be fair… I don’t think girl’s of the season have been given cars no strings attached.” She smirked teasingly knowing this relationship had been long brewing. “But that’s kind of the point… you could never be them. This situation is so sensitive. But, you know… it sounds like it’s real to you. I think what’s hard is that you are not just a secret in his world, you’re a big one. He winked at me when we left, like a confirmation I’d keep a tight lip. And I get that it’s complicated, but you deserve someone who isn’t afraid to let everyone know how he feels about you. Publicly… Openly.!” She told you the opinion you were waiting to hear. The one you knew had kept you from telling her to begin with. One you had a hard time stomaching because you knew it was correct. You bit your lip, her words hitting you harder than you expected.

“That’s the thing… when I’m with him, I don’t doubt it. I know he cares. But the minute he’s gone, it’s like I’m pulled back into reality, and I realize that in addition to his footballer lifestyle… layer on the fact that I’m still just—Jack’s little sister. And the thought that I might never be more than that to him—it terrifies me.” You earnestly admitted. Layla wrapped an arm around your shoulder, her expression soft but determined.

“Look, you deserve to be someone’s first choice, not a hidden chapter in their life. I know it’s scary,it probably is for him equally but maybe it’s time to be honest with him about what you need. All these little moments—they’re beautiful, yeah. But you deserve more than just stolen hours and hidden smiles. You deserve a real relationship. At the very least, I deserve a relationship you can at least tell me about.” She teased with a smile but it was tense. Her words lingered, settling somewhere deep within you. It was the honesty you’d been too afraid to face, the thing you’d been pushing aside every time you let yourself get lost in Trent’s arms. And as you sat there, talking it through with Layla, you felt the weight of your choices, your emotions sharpened into something you could finally name. You had a choice to make—keep clinging to the comfort of those stolen moments or take the leap and tell Trent that you wanted, needed, something real. “And… you can’t change the fact you are Jack’s sister.” She sheepishly reminded you hesitantly almost as if she could feel the knife twist inside of you from it. You and Layla sat quietly, the weight of her question heavy in the air between you. She looked at you expectantly, and when she asked when you’d tell Jack, the answer flew out of your mouth without hesitation.

“I can’t,” you said, the words sounding almost defensive, but as they hung there, something shifted inside you, a realization settling in your gut like a stone. Layla noticed it, too. Her face softened as you fell silent, the gravity of it finally hitting you both.

“If not now… when?” she asked gently. Her words were careful, but the question was razor-sharp, and you felt it cut right to the heart of everything you’d been holding back. You thought about it, really thought about it, for the first time. When would there ever be a right time? Layla seemed to read every doubt as it flickered across your face. She sighed, trying to keep the worry out of her voice but not quite succeeding. Your relationship with Trent unraveling before your eyes. It took all of two questions for the foundation to shake. “Babe,” she started, reaching for your hand, “If you really want him and he makes you happy… that’s all any of us want for you. Jack just wants you happy. It might take him a while, but he’d get over it.” She paused, giving you a small, uncertain smile. “But… I won’t lie, it might be a bit of a mess. Especially now that it’s been hidden so long.” She slyly reprimanded you for not even filling your best friend on this whole situation. She was right. Was she right? You nodded anyway, undecided but unable to look at her directly. You hadn’t just hidden this from Jack—you’d hidden it from her, from everyone. And the longer it had gone on, the more it had felt like the walls were closing in. You looked at her, the weight of the truth crashing over you like a wave, pulling you under.

“How did I let it get this far? How did I let it become… this?” The guilt twisted in your chest, and you almost couldn’t bear to see the hurt in Layla’s eyes. “How could I lie to you, to Jack, and for what? To be a secret hidden away in his mansion?” She squeezed your hand, trying to find the right words. What once felt exciting felt anything but.

“Hey, listen,” she said softly, “I know it’s more than that. It must be to him as well. He’s risking a lot. You wouldn’t have gotten this far if it wasn’t real, if there wasn’t something worth all this.” She gave a small, sad smile. “But… I get it. This isn’t you. Keeping secrets, hiding things—it’s not who you are. Never has been.” And as she said it, you felt it. The ache of it, how far you’d drifted from who you wanted to be. You’d always trusted Layla, trusted Jack, and now here you were, caught between fear and love, between loyalty and your own heart.

“I didn’t technically lie,” you whispered, almost to yourself. “I just… omitted the truth.” You sheepishly told her, reminding yourself that you also trusted Trent and your heart and that’s why you ended up here. Layla nodded, her face thoughtful but filled with understanding.

“But does it feel worth it?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. You were silent, unable to answer. Because the truth was you didn’t know if it was worth it—worth the risk, worth the lies, worth the tension pulling at you from every angle. And as you looked back at Layla, her eyes full of hope and worry, you wondered if you’d have the courage to find out.

Maybe you didn’t know exactly what you wanted out of the relationship but tonight, after a tequila shot that ignited a confidence you didn't realize was simmering, you and Layla both decided what you wanted, for at the very least tonight; was him. The night unfolded in a familiar dance between you and Trent, just as it always had. You stayed close, barely touching, your hand brushing his as you passed by, leaning into him when you laughed, your voice lingering just a bit too close. But then, you pushed it further. You caught his gaze and held it, a mischievous spark lighting up in your eyes. As the party pulsed around you, you slipped closer, cupping the shell of his ear, whispering something lighthearted into his ear while your teeth grazed his earlobe, feeling his whole body react. He turned, a cheeky, almost disbelieving smirk spreading across his face, clearly caught off guard but thrilled by the shift.

"Oh, so you want to play that way?" he teased, his tone low and daring. You two always tucked off at parties this wasn’t news but what you just whispered was. You nodded, flashing a smile, more certain than ever. He chuckled, narrowing his eyes in that competitive, confident way that both thrilled and terrified you. "I don't lose, baby," he reminded you, his voice a challenge as he leaned back, arms crossed, watching to see what you'd do next. The thrill of his words sent a shiver through you, your heartbeat matching the tempo of the music, and suddenly, it was all a game of daring glances and lingering touches, neither of you breaking the tension. So you continued to tease as you brushed your hand over his as you reached for a drink, let your fingers trail across his back as you slipped past him, laughing a little too sweetly in his ear. And Trent was no less relentless, stepping close enough that his breath tickled your cheek, his hand brushing your lower back just as he moved to let someone by, his gaze a quiet, playful reminder that he was more than ready to keep up. It became an unspoken competition, each of you pushing the limits just to see who would break first. Now that you had had a taste, knowing what was possible, every moment grew sharper, more electric, and even in the crowded room, it felt like it was only the two of you, locked in this game of desire and restraint, neither one willing to give in-yet. Until an idea popped into your head to get him to cave.

"Lay, can you see my nipples in this?" you asked, feigning nonchalance as you all stood in the kitchen. You turned solely to Layla, your eyes wide with playful innocence as you tugged at the hem of your shirt. The overhead recessed lighting illuminating you. You tilted your head slightly, looking down at the thin shimmery material, your fingers tracing the fabric, exposing just a little more of your skin. It was a bold question but Layla hummed not phased in the least. Playing her role. Yes, you wore this shirt because you could do just that very thing.

"Babe, I think that's the point of that top," she teased, her eyes sparkling as she looked you over. Her humor was unwavering in character, pretending this wasn’t a planned conversation. "But it's a party, you look stun! Your tit’s are perfect. Arguably, the best part of the fit." She told you. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Trent shift slightly, his jaw tightening as he took another sip of his drink. You knew he was trying to hold back, that this question was pushing him to his edge. So, you decided to take it even further, turning to him with a coy smile.

"What do you think, T?" you asked, tilting your head as if you were just seeking an honest opinion. His eyes flickered over you, his hand tightening around his glass, his expression a mix of amusement and restraint.

"Think you know what I think," he said, voice low, a hint of a challenge in his tone. He shot you a look, something intense behind his gaze, and you could see him fighting not to react as much as he wanted to.

“Well could you share with the class?" Layla interrupted, prompting Trent to actually have to articulate his feelings and smiling as she did it. You shrugged, tossing her a wink as if this was all in good fun, but you felt the charge in the air between you and Trent. You'd pushed him just far enough, and the look in his eyes told you he'd make you pay for it later. Trent's gaze dropped, his expression shifting, a mix of amusement and tension in his eyes as you dared to pull him further into this game. His grip tightened around his drink once over, clearly trying to hold himself back. He shot you a low, heated look that felt as much a warning as it did a challenge.

"You're pushing it," he murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear. But there was a hint of a smirk as he looked at you, a spark that showed he was just as invested in this as you were.

"Why?" You teased aloud, cocking your head with feigned innocence, fingers lightly tracing the edge of your top, letting his eyes follow the path. "Does it not look alright?” You asked. He exhaled, a slow, measured sound, his gaze moving from your shirt to your face.

"Don't ask questions you don't want answers to," he replied, fighting a grin, as his hand discreetly brushed your arm. His voice was soft, almost casual, but you could feel the tension behind it, each word carrying a weight he didn't want to admit out loud. He was a little annoyed that you now had Layla on your team to tease him. It was 2 v 1. You now had a man advantage.

“So you don’t like it?” Layla asked Trent, feigning offense for you. Trent rolled his eyes at her. She laughed, shaking her head. You just smiled, playing along, turning to Trent with a mischievous look.

"Wait, you don’t like it?" you pressed, pretending not to notice how close you'd pulled him into your orbit. Trent took another breath trying to think how to navigate this. All he wanted to do was drag you into any bedroom and tell you just how much he really liked the way you looked but he couldn’t. Layla already found out tonight, no one else could. His silence was telling but also deafening. "Do you like the way I look or not?" You asked with drunken confidence. He looked at you, eyes sharp, with a grin he couldn't contain.

"Enough. You know my answer. Drop it" His voice had that edge again, that quiet challenge that sent a thrill through you. There was a split-second pause, a moment charged with the unspoken, before you stepped back, keeping your own playful expression in place. But you knew it was a matter of time before one of you broke, before this playful game turned into something real.

As the night wore on, the crowd and music faded into a backdrop, leaving only the charged atmosphere between you and Trent. It was an unspoken battle of wills, a daring game that grew bolder with each passing second. You felt his eyes following you across the room, and the thrill of being wanted, truly wanted, filled you with a mix of confidence and something new, something closer to risk. The sheer top and conversation didn’t prove to be enough and you were starting to feel a bit… needy. The music pulsed as you approached him with a casual smile, keeping your expression neutral while letting your fingers brush along his arm as you passed. He barely reacted, save for a flicker in his gaze that told you he felt it. Moments later, he slipped past you in a crowded corner, his hand just grazing the small of your back as he leaned close, lips at your ear. "You're not going to win," he whispered, his voice both soft and daring. You shot him a challenging look, cocking your head just slightly.

"You think I'll back down that easily? For you?" You taunted. A knowing smirk played on his lips as he took a slow step closer, his arm stretching around you to reach for a drink. His body pressed just lightly against yours, lingering in a way that made your skin tingle.

"Not sure you know what you've started," he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours as he finally pulled away. A small gasp left your lips, covered by the music, as he gave you a smug look and turned his attention back to the party. It only made you more determined. The evening continued like this-every move, every touch, carefully calculated. You brushed his shoulder with your hand while walking by, your fingers trailing just enough to make him turn. He placed a hand on your arm, steadying you as you reached for your glass, his fingers pressing just enough to remind you of his presence. By the time the lights dimmed, your heart was racing. You were now getting antsy. He was too good at having restraint. You now were beyond needy.

"Not going to quit, are you?" You leaned in close, brushing your lips by his ear as you whispered. A chuckle escaped his lips, low and filled with confidence.

"Not a chance. I told you-l don't lose." He smirked. You took a bold step forward, letting your hand linger on his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath your palm as you looked up into his eyes. The tension was almost overwhelming, each of you daring the other to give in. But instead of backing down, you pulled him even closer, so close you could feel his breath on your neck, close enough to hear him exhale as his hand settled firmly on your waist. This wasn't the subtle game it had started as— it was unmistakable now, and neither of you conscious enough to know if anyone would noticed. No one had, too caught up in their own drunken escapades to noticed you’d fallen down a rabbit hole in yours. You slipped your hand around his back, pressing into him as the tension between you reached a breaking point. Trent looked at you, a mixture of heat and amusement in his eyes as he brought his lips close, stopping just shy of kissing you, letting the moment stretch out until it was nearly unbearable. "You want me to call it a draw?" he murmured, voice thick with that same mix of excitement and restraint. You smirked, shaking your head just a fraction. Your heart raced at the thought of being alone with him, away from prying eyes. You'd fantasized about this moment since your last and now you wanted it even more. The thrill of it almost being public but still hidden turning you on an embarrassing amount, pushing any clear thinking out the window.

"No, I thought you don’t lose." You reminded him. And he didn’t. You did when you tucked off to the bathroom. The party’s buzz felt distant as you stumbled down the hallway, your movements light but unsteady, fueled by a mix of alcohol and adrenaline. Your skin burned with the heat of Trent’s lingering touch, your head spinning from the intensity of his gaze, the press of his body against yours. You’d hit your limit, unable to take the teasing any longer, and now all you could think about was escaping to collect yourself Trent’s dark eyes followed your retreat, his lips curling into a knowing smirk. He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, as he watched you sway slightly in your steps. You didn’t turn back—you couldn’t. If you did, you’d be pulled right back into him, and you weren’t sure if you could hold yourself together. Trent chuckled to himself, shaking his head. He knew exactly why you were walking away, and the thought of you trying to resist him only made him more certain of his power over you.

When you reached the bathroom, you pushed the door closed with a soft thud, pressing your back against it for a moment as you let out a shaky breath. But you were determined and horny. Your fingers trembled as you peeled off the flimsy sheer top you’d teased Trent in the whole night, your skin cooling in the quiet sanctuary of the bathroom. The mirror caught your reflection, the flush on your cheeks, the messy allure of your hair, and the way the glow of the dim light seemed to highlight every curve. You bit your lip, tilting your head as you studied your reflection, feeling bold under the influence of tequila and Trent’s attention.You grabbed your phone, angling it just right as you snapped a few photos in the mirror, each one bolder than the last. Finally, satisfied, you selected the one that captured just the right mix of sultry and confident. The thrill of the moment rushed through you as you typed out a single message.

You hit send, your heart pounding as you imagined his reaction. Across the party, Trent felt the buzz of his phone in his pocket. A signal of victory. His smirk deepened as he pulled it out, casually unlocking the screen. When he saw the photo, his breath caught for a split second, his tongue running over his bottom lip as his eyes lingered on the image. You looked unreal. Without hesitation, he shoved the phone back into his pocket and straightened up, his casual demeanor hiding the urgency he felt. He didn’t bother replying; words wouldn’t cut it. He needed to see you, touch you, remind you exactly why you couldn’t stay away. As he weaved through the crowded party, his smirk stayed firmly in place. Trent Alexander-Arnold was a man on a mission, and he had every intention of making sure you regretted ever starting this game.

You waited for him, like you always had. The air in the bathroom felt thick, charged with anticipation. Your heart raced as you adjusted your stance, bracing yourself for what was to come. A soft knock broke the silence, cautious yet laced with the kind of confidence only Trent could muster. You bit your lip, smiling to yourself.

"It's me," he murmured through the door. You hummed softly in confirmation, and he didn't hesitate to slip inside. The door closed with a quiet click, and the lock turned with a finality that sent shivers down your spine. "Baby, baby, baby…," he taunted, his voice low and teasing as he leaned casually against the door. You couldn't hold back your smirk. His presence filled the small room, intoxicating and overwhelming all at once. "You going to be gracious in defeat?" he asked, his eyes dark and focused as he closed the space between you. You tilted your chin up defiantly, even as your pulse quickened.

"You never told me if you liked the top or not," you countered, your voice a soft challenge.Trent's smirk widened, predatory, as he stepped closer. His hands found your waist, pulling you against him with a force that made your breath hitch. The edge of the marble sink pressed into your back as he pinned you there, his body crowding yours.

"I think," he whispered, his lips brushing your ear, sending a delicious shiver down your neck, "I might like you better without it.” Before you could respond, his lips descended on your neck, warm and insistent, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make your knees weaken. You gasped, your hands instinctively finding his shoulders for support.

"T..." you started, but your words dissolved into a moan as his mouth trailed lower, sucking softly at the sensitive spot near your collarbone.

"You were being too obvious," he scolded lightly between kisses, his voice vibrating against your skin. You tried to protest, shaking your head.

"I wasn't..." you began, but the sentence fell apart as his teeth nipped at your neck, followed by the soothing sweep of his tongue.The sound that escaped your lips was involuntary, a mix of frustration and desire. "God, I fucking love how your lips feel on me," you breathed out, your head tilting back as he smirked against your skin, clearly pleased with himself. His hands gripped your waist tighter, pulling you impossibly closer as he continued his slow, deliberate assault. He wasn't just kissing you-he was claiming you, reminding you that no matter how hard you tried to play coy, he would always have the upper hand.

"Say it again," he murmured, his lips hovering just over your jawline. You barely had the breath to comply, your fingers curling into his shirt.

"I love it," you whispered. "I love the way you-" Trent silenced you with his lips on yours, cutting off the confession as his mouth moved with an intensity that left you dizzy. The room spun, and for a moment, the world outside that bathroom didn't exist. "We’ll be quick and you’ll be quiet, yeah?” he said, his voice dropping and getting huskier. You looked at him in a haze, your eyes taking in his muscular frame, accentuated by the soft glow of the lighting.

“I’ll be quiet but this won’t be quick," you whispered, reaching up to caress his face. Trent's eyes darkened with desire as he pulled you closer, his lips finding yours in another passionate kiss. His tongue danced with yours, tasting the remnants of the liquor you'd been drinking. You moaned into his mouth, your hands roaming over his broad shoulders, feeling the strength in his arms. Breaking the kiss, Trent trailed his lips down your neck again, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses. He nipped at your sensitive skin, causing you to arch into him, craving more.

"I think we’re getting a little reckless," he murmured against your skin almost tauntingly.

"Absolutely," you whispered, your voice breathy with anticipation. Trent's hands came to palm your bare cheat. Finally after all night, all that teasing, behind that flimsy material, your tits were all for him. He cupped them, his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples, eliciting a gasp from you.

"We should maybe stop" he whispered, his breath hot on your skin. He was mocking you. He wasn’t going to stop. Not in a million years and you both knew that. You leaned back against the marble counter, allowing him access to your body.

“Definitely.” You whined as his kisses to your jaw, over it, working down your neck towards your collarbone diligently. He sucked on a sensitive spot, bitting a little with his teeth pulling at your skin. You hissed at the pain and then melted into pleasure as he continued sucking over the spot soothing it with his tongue. He placed a few more harsh bites on you leaving behind marks as your eyes rolled back in pleasure feeling his perfect lips. Trent moved over your body in what felt like slow motion as he reached your tits. You could barely think straight as his lips closed around one nipple, sucking gently at first, then with increasing urgency. His tongue teased and flicked, sending waves of pleasure through your body. You threaded your fingers into his curls, holding him close, encouraging him to continue.

"You love this, don't you?" he asked, his voice hoarse with desire, muffled against your skin. "You wanted to get caught.” He told you partly out of curiosity and partly out of seduction.

"Yeah," you breathed, your head falling back as he switched to the other nipple, lavishing it with equal attention. "Don't stop, please." Trent's hands traveled down your body, his fingers deftly unzipping your skirt, sliding it down your legs until you were before him in just your panties and heels. He took a step back, his eyes raking over your naked form, a look of pure admiration on his face.

“You’re fucking unreal.” He cooed a bit in disbelief caught in a place of wanted control and loosing any sense of it around you. “We’re gonna get caught, you want that baby?” he said, his voice thick with mock. You stepped forward, closing the distance between you, and reached for his belt, eager to touch him. Your fingers fumbled with the buckle, but soon you had his trousers unfastened, revealing his boxers, tented with his obvious arousal.

“Please.” You whimpered as took over, quickly shedding his pants and underwear. His cock sprang free, thick and hard, standing proudly before you. You sank to your knees, taking him in your hands, stroking his length. Trent's breath hitched as you leaned forward, licking the tip, tasting the salty pre-cum that beaded there. You took him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the head, earning a groan of pleasure from him.

"Fuck, you're incredible," he muttered, his hands tangling in your hair, guiding your movements. You bobbed your head, taking him deeper, your throat opening to accommodate his girth. Trent's hips thrust gently, meeting your rhythm, as he savored the sensations you were providing.

“Do you like winning, baby?” You mumbled sloppy words, knowing they’d only turn him on more. You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his, as you sucked and teased, determined to give him the best blowjob of his life.

"I'm close, baby," he warned, his voice strained. "But you’re gonna let me come inside you, hmm?" He asked but really he was telling you. You stood, your body humming with desire. His hands pushed your hips towards the sink counter. The cold marble protruded into your back. You gasped but he swallowed it with a kiss. He lifted you up easily and placed you on the counter. The kiss was hot and heavy, his tongue immediately invading your mouth and toying with yours. He let his hand drift back down and slid one finger directly inside you eliciting another gasp from you. His sudden moments made the base of your spine tingle, but when his thumb began to draw precise circles on your clit, your body shook slightly as a deep moan got lost in his mouth. When he dipped another finger into your wet heat, he pulled another deep moan from you and in an attempt to push you closer to the edge, he curled his fingers even further against that one spot and pressed his thumb into your clit harder. It didn’t take long until you came around his fingers. Your slick dripping down his hand. He pulled his fingers out slowly covered in your juices, he stuck them in your mouth and you greedily sucked his fingers licking around them like you just did his cock while he began pumping his leaking hard on with his other hand. In swift movements, he was aligning his cock with your entrance. His hands gripped your hips, positioning himself at your entrance. With one smooth thrust, he filled you, eliciting a moan of pleasure from both of you. He dropped his forehead to your chest, trying to avoid cumming on the spot.

“T, baby.” You could only manage another whine, too focused on the slow drag of his cock, you could feel every hard vein and ridge of it slowly fucking into you.

"You feel so fucking good," he groaned, his voice raw. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, meeting his powerful thrusts with your own. The party boomed outside marrying sounds of the rhythmic slapping of skin on skin and your mutual moans of pleasure behind the closed door. Trent's hands roamed your body, squeezing your boobs, pinching your nipples, sending sparks of pleasure through you. He leaned down, his lips capturing one nipple, sucking and biting gently, as his hips continued their relentless pace.

"You're so good f’me baby," he panted between kisses. "Why’d you have to tease me all night. You knew I’d give you this cock tonight” He told you as you arched your back, pushing your tits into his mouth, craving more.

"I wanted it now though," you managed to say between gasps. “Wanted you to fuck me baby. You were playing with me." You tried to pout but your lips parted when Trent's pace quickened, his thrusts becoming more urgent as he neared his climax. He withdrew his length almost completely before slamming back into you, hitting your sweet spot with each stroke.

"Fuxk, you’re gonna make me cum again," you whispered, your nails digging into his back. His fingers dug into your skin and his head fell back. He tilted his head back up and looked directly into your eyes. Your heart skipped a bit at the attention.

“Be a good girl right now. Cum f’me. Cum on my cock while everyone is out there. Don't hold back." He told you through a grunt, his hips moving faster, his body slick with sweat. He smoothly slipped his fingers in your mouth again, stopping your words. You sucked on his fingers desperately dragging your tongue around them, split pooling in the corners of your mouth. He moaned at the sensation. He popped them out quickly though. His wet hand racked down the front of you dipping to come play with your clit. You gasped and let out a filthy moan as he started to draw tight circles around it. Your orgasm built, a wave of pleasure crashing over you, and you cried out, your body trembling as you came, your walls clenching around his throbbing cock. “Good girl. Doing so well, baby. Told you I don’t loose” Trent said with a smile pulling across his face having to bite his lip just from the sight of seeing you cum as his cock continued to pump in and out of you. You wanted to yell at him annoyed but you couldn’t, losing felt too good. His fingers stayed playing with your clit for a little as you trembled, starting to overstimulate you.

“Baby, please cum inside me. I need you.” You begged feeling the overstimulation turn into another bout of pleasure that was consuming all your thoughts, your brain turning to mush as he continued to fuck you. You needed him to fill you up. You loved Trent having control of you, letting him fuck you hidden away in this bathroom. Layla’s cautions evaporating.

“I got you, baby. Cum for me one more time. Cum with me, yeah?” He whispered in your ear. Your pussy dripped around him. You bit your lip, looking at him with desperate doe eyes. Trent could feel the veins running along his cock throbbing. He worked his hips faster, harsher. Both of your pleasure building higher and higher. “Fuck.” Trent finally filled you, his body tensing as he emptied himself inside you, his breath hot against your neck. As your heart rates slowed, he pulled your body into his tighter. Goosebumps arose on your skin, finally able to notice the cool of the sink counter contrasting to your hot skin. He wrapped his arms around you so tightly. Your sweaty skin sticking together. The temperature in the atmosphere of the room was so humid. Your eyes stayed closed for a little, you were completely saturated with bliss. You could barely breathe but you had never felt better in your life.

“You okay, baby?” He whispered into your neck. He rested his head down on your shoulder. You took another deep breath before smiling. “Yeah?” he whispered, his lips brushing your ear. You snuggled into his embrace, feeling his heart pounding against you.

"Shit sorry.” You apologized but Trent shook his head dismissing it. It was so reckless but he wanted this just as bad. “I hope no one heard," you confessed, tracing his jawline with your fingertips, starting to feel reality seep under the door and into the room but not being pungent enough to get your mind out of this blissful state of being in front of him. Trent's eyes sparkled with satisfaction, and he leaned in, capturing your lips in a tender kiss.

"Nah, we’re okay. We’ll be okay," he promised, his lips ghosting over yours. "I got you, baby.” He told you. The sincerity in his voice kept the goosebumps raised on your skin. You giggled almost delirious, your heart fluttering with both nerves and joy at what just happened. The world outside the room started to fade back in more and more but the anxiety that came from your conversation with Layla earlier in the night had melted away entirely by the heat of Trent’s proximity.

•

Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter or of what's to come!

Next part - Chapter 9 - Waiting xx

#trent alexander arnold #Trent Alexander Arnold x reader #alexander arnold #trent alexander arnold imagines #taa x reader #footballer x y/n #footballer x reader #fie fic #Movie Night Fic

102 notes · View notes

papaya-queen · 7 months ago

Text

That’s what family feels like – F1A/F2/F3/F4 Prema grid

Y/n joins Prema’s F1 Academy team and discover what found family feels like.

Yourusername

Yourusername media done ✅ it was amazing meeting all my new teammates! Love you all and see you at the start of the season!

Comments:

User so excited for the Prema media!!!

User she actually seems so nice

Racerbia it was lovely meeting you <3

User The best team ever

Olliebearman Had an amazing filming experience with you! Wishing you the best season!

User Prema is really just a cool camp for racing kid

Arvid.lindblad yeah exactly

Dinobeganovic_ THIS IS REAL

User they’re so funny 😭

Prema_team Welcome to the fam Y/N

F1academy & yourusername

F1academy Y/N Y/L/N wins the first race of the 2024 season!

Comments:

User SO FREAKING HAPPY FOR HER!!!

Prema_team Our girl on fire 🔥🔥

User Is that a hunger games reference?!

User I think they’re referencing her hair color

Kimi.antonelli 👏👏

User they’re so supportive of each other

User Y/N dominance could bore fans

User 4 freaking seconds ahead?! That girl is definitely the next Verstappen

Prema_team

Prema_team All red on the podium for the first weekend! With a win from Ollie in F2, Dino in F3 and both Doriane and Y/N in F1A, podiums for Kimi, Arvid, Paul and Bianca, all our drivers tasted the champagne in Sakhir

Comments:

Racerbia The fire team >>>

User Prema dominance in every category in wild

User Yeahh literally in F2, F3, F1Academy

User Don’t forget the FRECA, Italian F4 and Italian karting

User They’re everywhere I swear 😭

Dinobeganovic_ I could get used to that red on the podium

Kimi.antonelli don’t forget our beautiful Italian anthem

Yourusername yeah, we know Kimi

Kimi.antonelli DID I TELL YOU HOW IT’S THE BEST IN THE WORLD

Paularon_ I swear he’s more patriotic than Americans

User15 The Bear 🐻, The Dinosaur 🦖 and The Fox 🦊

User16 Prema: the racing zoo

Racerbia

Racerbia feeling the weekend

Tagged: Yourusername, Olliebearman, Kimi.antonelli, Paularon_ & 4 others

Comments:

Dorianepin best start of the season ever

User The Prema kids are partying 🔥🎉

User I mean why wouldn’t they when they’re dominating every championship

Olliebearman party like this next weekend?

Kimi.antonelli of course

Yourusername every weekend is even better

User come on, we want to see the wasted pictures

Paularon_ you’re NEVER getting those pictures

Dinobeganovic_ (he’s embarrassed by the things he did while drunk)

Prema_team WHAT DID WE SAY ABOUT THE ALCOLHOL??!

User oooh admin is pissed

Yourusername I swear to you that only the adults drunk

Arvid.lindblad admin she’s lying

Alexpowellracing can confirm

Racerbia thanks idiots, now they’re going to kill us because of you

Prema_team

Prema_team working with teens: a post

Comments:

Dinobeganovic_ we’re not THAT bad …

Prema_team you hacked admins speaker to play despacito during a meeting

Paularon_ don’t give him credits like that, it was me 😁

User no way they really did that

Alexpowellracing as a great would say “I HAVE IT, I HAVE IT PRINTED OUT”

User Alex referencing toto, amazing 😭😭🤣

Racerbia bahahaha Ollie and Y/N sleeping

Yourusername don’t laugh too much

Olliebearman just remember what we have hidden in our phones

User STOP TEASING US LIKE THAT

User I’m begging you admin release more behind the scenes pic

Prema_team I’m doing the best I can (they’re threatening me as I type)

Dion.gowda I won that game actually

Dorianepin of course Dion

Kimi.antonelli We believe you Dion

User they’re just too funny

Prema_team

Prema_team Kings and Queens of the season

F1A championship: Doriane Pin F1Academy champion, Biance P2, Y/N P3

F2 championship: Ollie F2 champion, Kimi P3

F3 championship: Paul F3 champion, Dino P2, Arvid P4

Comments:

User Having all your drivers in each championship top4 is really impressing

Ferraridriveracademy 👏👏

Mercedesamgf1 we have 2 champions and not you 😝

User not the academies fighting 😭

Yourusername don’t forget our amazing babies in F4 that dominated the top 5 of their championship

Dion.gowda stop calling us babies

Kean.nakamura.berta I’m literally a year younger than you

Yourusername don’t care 😙

Alexpowellracing I’ll take the compliment

User Prema dominance could never bore fans

F1 The best team award goes to Prema Racing winning constructor and driver championship in F2, F3, F1 Academy, FRECA and F4.

Comments:

Oscarpiastri Proud to say I was part of this team

Ferrari ♥️♥️

Maxverstappen1 Some bright future ahead for them

Yourusername THE max Verstappen knows my existence and complimented me ?! brb I need to faint

Arvid.lindblad she did faint

User Y/N being real as always

Charles_leclerc proud of my son 🐻

Olliebearman thanks papa :))

Mercedesamgf1 our kiddos are killing it 👏🖤

User I’m gonna tear up, all the teams are so supportive!

Mclaren does anyone likes papaya?

Racerbia 👀

User IS THAT AN ANNONCEMENT?!!

Landonorris you want to replace me admin? 🥺

User not lando getting jealous 😭😭

Landonorris I'm happy for you, muppet kid

yourusername don't make cry old man 😭

Lewishamilton I'm so amazed by my childrens

Dorianepin aww thanks dad

Kimi.antonelli grazie mille

Paularon_ I absolutly don't feel excluded because i don't have a grid dad

Dinobeganovic_ same

georgerusell63 well i'm always available

User When did this post became an adoption center ? 😭

Well, i really hope you liked it ! This was my biggest work ever, all those post were so much work 😭. Likes and reblog are always appreciated. Feel free to leave a comment or to correct any mistakes.

Bye Bye Babes !

278 notes · View notes

doumadono · 8 days ago

Text

Doumadono's 6k followers event

How more than 6,000 of you wonderful people enjoy this odd little corner of the internet is beyond me, but I’m so incredibly grateful! I’m absolutely floored by how my quirky little blog has grown over the past two years. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for following, liking, reblogging, and just being here! 🥺💖

To make this celebration extra special and funny, I need your help! I’ve come up with several ideas for the event, and I’ve decided to let you vote for your favorite. Based on the most votes, one or max two options (if I manage to find enough spare time) will be selected. You can find all the details about each option below the cut - read the descriptions and vote for your favorite! Don’t forget to reblog to help spread the word!

Feel free to send your prompts and ideas for the event through my inbox, DMs, or by commenting on this post. Please note that only prompts from the top two winning celebration ideas will be filled. However, I reserve the right to write additional pieces if a particular prompt inspires me!

The event will run from 13th January to 19th January, during which I’ll post works created specifically for this celebration. If needed, the event will have a separate masterlist, and all works will be tagged with #doumadono’s 6k celebration ♡

NOTE: this time, the event will be exclusively dedicated to My Hero Academia

Hero vs. Villain Alphabet Explore the fascinating contrasts between heroes and villains with this thematic alphabet series. Each letter represents a unique trait or scenario (e.g., A for Affection, B for Bravery), showcasing how heroes and villains approach the same concept in wildly different ways

NSFW Alphabet Ready for something sultry? Each letter of the alphabet will explore a smutty theme, tailored to the characters you love

Mission Gone Wrong What happens when things don’t go as planned? Whether it’s heroes on a botched rescue mission or villains navigating a difficult heist, this fics/drabbles will dive into thrilling, emotional, or even humorous scenarios

Villains’ Secret Files Ever wondered what your favorite villains are hiding? This event will uncover their secrets — fascinations, hidden fears, guilty pleasures, or even their most embarrassing moments. A mix of serious and lighthearted insights into the League of Villains and beyond ♡

Heroes’ Secret Files Heroes have secrets too! From their personal struggles to surprising traits they’d rather keep hidden, these scenarios offers a behind-the-scenes look at the pro heroes and students we all adore. Expect heartfelt, humorous, and inspiring revelations ♡

What If? Dive into little drabbles with scenarios where roles are reversed, quirks are swapped, or the world is entirely different. What if Dabi became a hero? What if Deku joined the League?

Blindfolded Requests (NSFW) You can submit completely blind prompts — just a single word or phrase. I'll choose the character and write a surprise drabble based on their vibe. Example requests could include words like tension, obsession, submission, etc.

Fairy Tales Reimagine classic fairy tales featuring My Hero Academia characters in exciting and heartwarming ways, f.e. Beauty and the Beast (with Shigaraki): a tale of finding humanity and vulnerability within someone feared.

#doumadono’s 6k celebration ♡#6k followers #6k milestone #thank you all #followers milestone #tumblr milestone #my hero academia #bnha smut #mha smut #mha fluff #anime fluff #league of villains #pro heroes #mha poll #anime poll #bnha poll #signal boost #dabi smut #shigaraki fluff

81 notes · View notes

kckt88 · 3 months ago

Text

Scorched Hearts II

Summary:

'We loved with a love that was more than love - Edgar Allen Poe'

Aemond and Valaena make time for one another before the petition for Driftmark.

Warning(s): Angst, Drama, Language, Secret Relationship, Uncle/Niece Incest, Kissing, Oral Sex, P in V,

AEMOND x O.C Niece

Word Count: 4232

A.N - Just and excuse for smut!! ;-)

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated, do not copy/post to other sights without my permission.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @darylandbethfanforever9 @killua2dot0 @msassenach @xcharlottemikaelsonx @moonnicole

Valaena sat on the edge of her bed, the soft glow of candlelight flickering across the chamber as she combed her long, dark hair.

The rhythmic strokes of the comb were soothing, the quiet of the room broken only by the gentle creak of shifting wood behind her.

"You know the maids that can help you with that," came Aemond’s familiar voice, low and teasing.

A smile played on Valaena's lips, but she didn’t turn around. "I know," she replied, her tone light, "-but you know that I prefer to attend to my own hair."

Aemond stepped closer, his hand extended toward her. "Come," he said softly, his violet eye gleaming in the dim light. "We shall take the secret passageways to my chambers."

Valaena set the comb aside and placed her hand in his, feeling the warmth of his touch as he pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

With a nod, she rose to her feet, and Aemond led her through the darkened passageways, hidden behind the walls of the Red Keep.

The stone corridors were narrow and dim, the silence between them punctuated only by the soft echo of their footsteps.

They paused at an alcove when two guards passed by, their conversation muffled.

Aemond held her hand tightly, and once the guards moved on, they continued, navigating the shadowy passages until they reached a hidden partition.

Aemond pushed against the wall, and a door swung open, revealing his private chambers.

He gestured for Valaena to enter first, and she stepped inside, the scent of parchment and leather filling her senses.

The room was distinctly his—dark wood, the soft flicker of firelight, and bookshelves filled with ancient tomes lined the walls. A weapons cabinet stood proudly in one corner, gleaming steel on display.

Valaena ran a finger over the smooth surface of a large desk, her gaze drifting to the tapestry above Aemond’s bed—a scene depicting Harrenhal, the ruined castle looming ominously in the woven fabric. A soft laugh escaped her lips.

Aemond, standing behind her, asked, “What’s funny?”

Valaena shook her head, her smile widening. “Nothing-just that this space is so you.” She walked over to a chair, where a discarded cloak was draped.

Lifting it, she pressed the material to her nose, inhaling his scent—the comforting mix of leather, smoke, and something uniquely him. She lowered the cloak, her gaze softening. "Everything in this room is you."

Aemond unbuckled his belt and placed it and the dagger on the desk. His eye never left hers as he moved toward her, taking the cloak from her hand and tossing it onto the back of a chair.

Valaena, a playful glint in her eyes, began backing away, a smile tugging at her lips.

Aemond followed, his movements slow and deliberate, his voice low as he said, "I've imagined this moment, hundreds of times, having you here, in my chambers."

Valaena's back met the cool stone wall behind her, and she looked up at him, her breath quickening. "And what did you imagine you would do with me in your chambers?"

Aemond came to a stop just in front of her, his tall frame blocking out the light behind him as he braced his hands on the wall, caging her in.

His lips curved into a sly smile as he leaned closer, his breath warm against her skin. "Would you like me to show you?" he murmured.

Valaena bit her lip, her heart pounding in her chest as she nodded.

Aemond didn’t hesitate. His lips found hers in a fierce, hungry kiss, his hands sliding down from the wall to her waist. Valaena melted into him, her arms wrapping around his shoulders as the kiss deepened.

With a soft growl, Aemond moved her away from the wall and began pulling at the ties of her nightgown.

“Don’t rip it-” urged Valaena as she took a step back and pulled open the cotton material and let it fall to the floor.

Aemond smirked as he gazed her naked body before he eagerly pulled off his own clothes, leaving them both bare.

Aemond circled Valaena slowly, his steps measured and deliberate, his eye tracing every curve of her body like a predator hungrily stalking its prey.

There was an intensity in the way he moved, his gaze devouring her from every angle as if he were committing every inch of her to memory.

With a commanding presence, he stepped back from Valaena, his voice low and authoritative as he spoke.

"Kneel" he ordered, his words cutting through the thick air of the room.

Without hesitation, Valaena obeyed. She sank gracefully to her knees, her eyes never leaving Aemond's as she positioned herself in front of him, her posture submissive yet confident, entirely at his mercy.

Slowly, Aemond reached down and caressed Valaena’s cheek, his touch gentle and reverent despite the raw desire simmering beneath the surface.

His thumb brushed over her soft skin, tracing the line of her jaw before he brought it to her plump lower lip, pressing against it with a possessive tenderness.

“Open your mouth,” he murmured, his tone commanding yet intimate, a whisper meant only for her.

Valaena, always eager to please him, parted her lips without hesitation, her breath warm against his thumb as she obeyed his command.

Aemond smirked and then spat into her mouth.

“Swallow” he ordered.

Valaena closed her mouth and smiled as she swallowed.

“Sȳz riña” muttered Aemond (Good girl).

“Ivestragī nyke kostilus ao ñuha zaldrīzes” whispered Valaena (Let me please you my dragon).

“Skorkydoso?” asked Aemond curiously (How?)

Valaena smiled and rose higher on her knees she placed her hands on Aemond, slowly moving them up his lean body, her fingers tracing the contours of his muscles with delicate but purposeful intent.

She felt the tremble in his body as her nails scraped lightly across his skin, and he groaned low in his throat, the sound primal, raw with desire.

Her touch held him captive, and as her hands continued their slow, torturous path, she whispered to him, her voice soft but commanding.

“Take off your eyepatch, I wish to gaze upon your beauty in its entirety”

Aemond hesitated for only a moment, his lips parting in a quiet whimper, the sound so rare for him, so vulnerable.

She knew what her words, her praise, did to him—how they disarmed him in ways no one else could.

His heart raced in his chest, and the possessiveness in him faltered for just a second, replaced by something deeper, more intimate.

Without a word, Aemond reached up and pulled the eyepatch from his face, the black leather slipping from his fingers to fall carelessly to the floor.

He stood before her, exposed in a way few had ever seen him, the sapphire a mark of his strength, his pain, and his triumph.

Valaena gazed up at him, a soft smile curving her lips as her eyes traced over his face.

The sapphire, so stark and striking, only added to the beauty that was uniquely his.

“Ñuha gevie zaldrīzes” whispered Valaena, her voice laced with adoration (My beautiful dragon).

Aemond’s breath hitched at her words, his body responding to the warmth of her gaze and the tenderness in her voice. She saw all of him—the scars, the vulnerabilities—and still, she called him beautiful.

It was a power she wielded over him that no one else could ever claim.

Valaena leaned forward and pressed a series of tender kisses to his bare stomach, her lips brushing against his pale skin.

Aemond closed his eye and let out a low groan as he felt her teeth grazing against him.

Each kiss sent a ripple of pleasure through Aemond, his body responding to her affection with a barely contained hunger.

Aemond’s hand instinctively moved to her hair, his fingers weaving through the dark strands as he tilted his head back, his chest rising and falling with laboured breaths.

His voice, deep and rough with need, cut through the silence like a blade.

“Kostilus” he rasped, his voice a low growl, urging her on (Please).

As Valaena continued her trail of kisses, Aemond’s grip on her hair tightened, his breath coming in shallow gasps. His eye was half-lidded, his focus entirely on the woman kneeling before him.

She grinned as she looked up at Aemond before taking one of his stones into her mouth, her tongue teasing the soft delicate flesh.

“FUCK” moaned Aemond.

“Does ñuha dārys like that?” asked Valaena (My King).

“Oh. Gods. Yes” whimpered Aemond.

“What was that?” asked Valaena as she moved to the other and caressed it with her tongue.

“Kostilus ñuha jorrāelagon” begged Aemond (Please my love).

“Ao līs umbagon ñuha zaldrīzes” replied Valaena (You must wait, my dragon).

Aemond stared down Valaena, his mouth hanging open as her warm, wet mouth wrapped around the head of his cock.

Her tongue gently moving around the tip – tracing the ridges and licking off that drops of pre-cum that had started to leak out.

“Fuck, Valaena” groaned Aemond as he threaded his fingers through her hair.

Valaena ran the flat of her tongue along Aemond’s length, tracing every hard inch of him. Her hand moving over the hard length of him.

“Your taking me so well. Such a good girl-” moaned Aemond as Valaena took his cock in her mouth.

Valaena slid her other hand around Aemond’s body and grasped the flesh of his arse, digging her nails into his skin.

“That’s it-FUCK-yes-don’t stop” groaned Aemond, his hips thrusting faster.

Valaena responded to his statement by relaxing the back of her throat, and swallowing as much of his cock as she could, her head moving back and forth.

“Shit-Valaena I’m going to spill. Oh, fuck, I’m going to-” shouted Aemond his head tipped back as he exploded.

Valaena took every last drop, swallowing his warm seed and licking him clean. When Aemond recovered, he saw her self-satisfied smile.

Aemond as he watched his softened cock slip from Valaena’s mouth and leave a trail of seed dribbling down her chin.

“Such a messy Prince-” muttered Valaena as she put a finger to her chin and wiped away the seed only to put the finger into her mouth.

“Fuck” muttered Aemond, his cock twitching.

“What is it you desire now my love?” asked Valaena.

Aemond offered her his hand and pulled her from the floor, he shuddered when the warmth of her body pressed against his, her hand released his and trailed up his arm, her nails scraping against his skin.

“I want-” whispered Aemond as Valaena coiled her fingers in his long hair and gently tugged at the silver strands.

“-What do you want?”

“I want you to ride my face until I’m ready again” gasped Aemond

“Are you sure” asked Valaena.

“Sit on my fucking face” ordered Aemond as he moved away from her and laid on the bed.

Valaena climbed onto the bed and hovered above Aemond’s face; her knees splayed on either side of his head.

“Such a pretty cunny-" breathed Aemond as he ran the flat of his tongue along Valaena’s soaked slit, from bottom to the top, tasting her.

“Oh, my god” moaned Valaena her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

“That’s it ñuha dōna. Let me hear you” (My sweet).

“YES. It feels so good. Don’t stop. Aemond. Please” begged Valaena.

“FUCK” growled Aemond.

“Ooooh A-Aemond” shrieked Valaena.

"Delicious" purred Aemond as he began lapping at Valaena, running his tongue along every fold.

"More" panted Valaena "Please. I need more”.

Aemond inserted two fingers, sliding them in and out of her slick wet folds.

“Oh" whimpered Valaena; her chest heaving as she began to gently roll her hips against him.

“That’s it baby, ride my fucking face” groaned Aemond as he pulled Valaena closer.

“N-No A-Aemond you’ll suffocate” exclaimed Valaena.

“When I said sit on my fucking face, I didn’t mean hover. I want your entire cunt on my face. Now do as you are told-” ordered Aemond as he wrapped his hands around her thighs and pulled her further onto his face, his nose rubbing on her pearl.

Valaena was now giving off a slew of whispered swear words, moans, and pleas as she moved her hips.

“Yes-yes, don’t stop” moaned Valaena.

Aemond then rolled her onto the bed, her back colliding with the soft mattress with a dull thud.

“Ohhh Aemond” whined Valaena at the sudden movement.

“I can’t wait to get my cock inside you. I don’t want to wait any longer, come for me baby,” moaned Aemond, his face pressed between her shaking thighs, his fingers curling inside her.

Finally, he felt Valaena’s inner walls start to flutter around his fingers, squeezing them. Valaena’s back arched taut as a bow and she screamed her release.

“Hmm” muttered Aemond as he pressed a series of kisses to her inner thighs, his teeth nipping at her skin.

“P-Please A-Aemond. Need you” begged Valaena.

Aemond rose to his knees, his chin shining with her slick, he smirked as he swiped his fingers over his chin and then placed them in his mouth savouring her delicious taste.

Aemond moved up Valaena’s body pausing to grasp hold of her left breast as he ran his tongue over the rosy nipple, his teeth grazing the stiffened peak.

“Oh-yes“ gasped Valaena, as he moved to the other breast and lavished it with the same attention.

“Issa jorrāelagon-Issa glaeson-ñuhon” growled Aemond as he seized his wife’s lips in a ferocious kiss, his hard cock throbbing against her thigh (My love-my life-mine).

Aemond wrapped a hand around his cock and slowly ran it over Valaena’s wet entrance, she began squirming impatiently against him as he continued to tease her.

“P-Please, I want you” exclaimed Valaena desperately.

“Hmm” rasped Aemond as he slid inside her with a singular thrust. His hips coming to a stop against hers.

Aemond started to thrust slowly, trying to prolong the feel of her squeezing his cock.

"Faster, Aemond" begged Valaena.

"Patience, ñuha dōna" chided Aemond as he ran his nose up her neck (My sweet).

“Yes, Aemond, just like that-" panted Valaena.

Her hands ran over his arms, over his shoulders. Her fingernails raking down his back.

“Mark me harder-“ growled Aemond.

Valaena dug her nails into his skin and clawed at his back deep enough to draw blood.

The fire between them was unmistakable, an unrestrained passion that filled the room with heat and tension so thick it was almost suffocating.

“Gods-" grunted Aemond, speeding up slightly, revelling in the pain.

"Fuck me, Aemond. Fuck me with that big, cock of yours. You feel so good inside me”.

Aemond groaned loudly, knew exactly what Valaena was doing, but he couldn’t help himself. She wanted faster, he was going much faster now.

His pace had increased with every filthy word that dropped from her luscious lips. Now he was quickly thrusting in and out, shaking the bed, the headboard banging loudly against the stone wall.

Aemond lifted Valaena’s legs onto his shoulders, and wrapped his arms around her thighs, squeezing them together as he thrust his cock into her soaking wet cunny.

“Aemond! I’m going to come. Oh, fuck!” screamed Valaena.

“That’s it baby-come for me” exclaimed Aemond as he felt her clenching on his cock.

Aemond could feel the tension building in his abdomen, but he didn’t want to spill his seed. Not yet.

Not even waiting for her orgasm to fully subside, Aemond moved Valaena’s legs off his shoulders and quickly manoeuvred her onto all fours, she whimpered as his cock slipped out, but he bent forward to press a series of kisses to her glorious arse, his large hands kneading the soft pale flesh, before he sunk his teeth into her.

“AEMOND” squealed Valaena.

“Hmmm”

“P-Please Aemond” whispered Valaena, her voice slightly muffled as she pressed her face into the mattress.

Aemond stuck his finger in his mouth before he ran it over her puckered hole.

“Is this alight?” breathed Aemond.

“Y-Yes. Put it inside me. I can take it” whimpered Valaena.

“Tell me-Tell me if it’s too much” replied Aemond as he slowly pressed his finger inside her.

“Ooh Aemond, yes. Please. More” babbled Valaena as he moved his finger in and out before adding a second.

“Your doing so well-my darling” moaned Aemond as he moved his fingers inside her, his other hand slowly stroking his cock.

“I want you-please Aemond”

Aemond moved into position and sheathed himself inside Valaena once again, his eye rolling into the back of his head.

“FUCK-” groaned Aemond,

“God. Yes. Aemond” moaned Valaena, his fingers in her arse and his cock deep in her cunt was so good.

Aemond began to thrust in and out of her in deep achingly slow thrusts, his fingers moving in rhythm with his cock.

“Harder-more-please ñuha raqiarzy” wailed Valaena (My beloved).

“Issa vaogenka hāedar” growled Aemond, his fingers moving faster (My dirty girl).

“Aemond-”

“That’s it-take it-take all of me” muttered Aemond as he removed his fingers, and grabbed hold of Valaena’s hips and increased the pace of his thrusts.

Valaena took one of Aemonds hands that was on her hip and brought it to the back of her head.

Knowing what she wanted, Aemond placed his hand on the back of her head and pushed her face into the mattress, her back arching.

His cock reaching deep inside her as he moved with such ferocity it could rival an animal, his long silver hair unbound and sticking to his sweaty back.

Aemond then grasped both of Valaena’s arms and held them behind her back as he pounded into her, the sound of his hips slapping against hers echoed around the room.

Valaena’s cries of pleasure were muffled by the mattress, her face buried in the soft fabric.

Her body arched in response to Aemond’s relentless rhythm, each cry escaping her lips in a series of desperate moans that reverberated through the room.

Aemond’s grip on Valaena was fierce, his movements relentless. He drove into her with a force that seemed almost brutal, but Valaena took every thrust with an almost frantic eagerness.

Her body trembled under him, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she surrendered completely to the intensity of their coupling.

“Fuck-that’s it-that’s it-” moaned Aemond.

He released Valaena’s arms and then took hold of her long hair, twisting his fingers into the tousled strands before he pulled her backwards, her sweaty back colliding with his chest.

Aemond held her tight too him as he fucked her, his cock reaching deep inside her.

One hand grasped her hip, his blunt fingers digging into her flesh. Whilst his other released her hair and moved to her throat, squeezing gently.

“Give it to me please” pleaded Valaena her head lolling back onto Aemond’s shoulder, her arm reaching behind her to tangle in his hair as their lips connected in a messy, passionate kiss.

Aemond could feel the tension building in his abdomen again, as he thrust his cock inside Valaena.

“I want you to come on my cock again, but not like this-” muttered Aemond as he once again withdrew from her wet heat and laid across the bed.

“-Aemond” exclaimed Valaena breathlessly.

“Ride me-” replied Aemond as he pulled her on top of him. His hand moving to his cock, rubbing it along her folds before she sunk down and completely engulfed him.

“Yes-” gasped Valaena as she rolled her hips against Aemonds.

“That’s it, take it. Take all of me”.

Aemond placed his hands on her hips and marvelled at Valaena as she rode him.

Valaena dug her nails into Aemond’s chest as she moved her hips against his, his cock hitting the sweet spot inside her perfectly.

“A-Aemond” moaned Valaena as he suddenly sat up, moving his hand to her breast again and taking her nipple into his mouth, his teeth biting down on the rosy bud.

“Let go baby, I can feel you clenching around me” exclaimed Aemond, as he moved to the other breast and lavished it with the same attention.

“AEMOND” screamed Valaena her vision going white as she came around his cock.

He pulled her closer and then rolled her back onto the bed his cock never leaving her warmth as he pounded into her with a series of deep penetrating thrusts, her legs wrapped around his waist, trapping his body against hers as he chased his own end.

Aemond’s grip on Valaena tightened as he neared his own climax, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more forceful.

The noises he made were almost otherworldly, a mix of loud guttural growls and breathless moans.

“I love you-I love you-I love you” groaned Aemond as he exploded.

Aemond’s body tensed against Valaena’s, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he rode out his orgasm. Then, as his pleasure subsided, he collapsed onto her, his chest heaving as he relaxed against her.

Valaena’s body shifted slightly beneath him, her own breath coming in soft, satisfied sighs as she remained still, embracing the weight of him.

She looked up at Aemond with a tender, loving gaze, her hands caressing his back as he rested against her, his breathing gradually slowing.

As Aemond and Valaena lay intertwined in the dim light of his chambers, listening to the wind and rain raging outside.

Aemond’s arm rested protectively around her, his head nestled against her shoulder. The crackling fire in the hearth cast flickering shadows over their bare skin.

Aemond tilted his head, his sapphire eye gleaming softly as he looked at her. "What are you thinking about?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Valaena smiled, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his arm. "Do you remember that time I fell and scraped my knee in the gardens?"

Aemond chuckled softly, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Yes," he said, the memory vivid. "You wouldn't let anyone assist you. I seem to recall you tried to bite a septa who dared take hold of you and force you to your feet." His smile widened as he added, "Hmm, what was it she called you? Ah, yes. A vicious little beast."

Valaena smiled sadly. "She deserved it, the crusty old bag."

Aemond turned, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at her. "I do remember you had a particular dislike for that septa," he said, his tone more serious now. "But why? You never really told me."

Valaena’s gaze dropped to the sheets, her fingers idly playing with the fabric. After a moment, she sighed. "She wasn't very kind to me. In public, she acted as though she respected me—bowing and addressing me as Princess. But in private-" Her voice trailed off.

Aemond’s brow furrowed in concern. "-What do you mean?" he asked, his tone soft yet insistent.

Valaena hesitated for a moment, then spoke quietly. "She used to tell me that my kind shouldn’t exist. That we were creatures born of sin and depravity." She swallowed hard, her voice wavering with the weight of old memories. "-She would whip me with a cane if I answered questions about the Faith of the Seven incorrectly. She never let me forget that my egg didn't hatch. Told me that I wasn’t a true Targaryen because of it-"

Aemond’s jaw tightened, his hold on her instinctively growing firmer as if he could shield her from those old wounds.

He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to the side of her head, his lips lingering there for a moment. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice thick with regret. "I had no idea you went through that."

Valaena smiled weakly, her hand slipping to rest on his chest. "It was a long time ago," she said softly. "But it hurt-to hear those words"

Aemond understood all too well what it meant to be a Targaryen without a dragon. He remembered the sting of feeling less than what others expected, the whispers and the doubts.

It was, in fact, what had drawn them together as children—the shared pain of being dragon less while the others revelled in their bonds.

Back then, the others had their dragons. And they had each other.

Aemond’s voice was a soothing murmur in the quiet. "Well, look at you now," he said, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on her skin. "The rider of Silverwing, the dragon who once belonged to Good Queen Alysanne."

Valaena smiled at that, a flicker of pride in her eyes. "Yes," she said, her voice carrying a hint of satisfaction. "Luckily, the septa has since passed on. Otherwise, not only would I spit in her smug ugly mug- I’d have Silverwing burn her alive."

Aemond chuckled, the sound low and affectionate as he nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck. "Hmm," he hummed against her skin, his lips brushing her collarbone. "My vicious little dragoness has her claws."

Valaena laughed softly, running her fingers through his silver hair. "You love it," she teased.

Aemond looked up at her, his eye gleaming with a quiet intensity. "I do," he admitted, his voice tender. "Very much." He snuggled closer to her, his face pressed gently against her breasts, his breaths slowing as he began to drift into sleep, content and safe in her arms, unaware of Valaena gently moving his hand to rest upon her stomach.

TBC

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #hotd fanfic #aemond fic #hotd fic #aemond one eye #aemond x oc #aemond #prince aemond #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut #prince aemond targaryen

71 notes · View notes

giveafike · 3 months ago

Note

omg ty that was sooo cute n well written 🥲 what about they’ve been dating for a little while n she’s got a great game but she gets stuck on her serve sometimes, so ben teaches her his technique and then she wins her next match - then i’ll leave u alone promise 😂

TLDR: Part 2 from Game, Set, Match (here if you haven't read the first part) Tennisplayer!fem reader x Ben Shelton LAUNCHING each other, triple date, overcoming insecurity and learning with each other <33.

EDIT: part 3 here!

Word count + info: 7.1k! SUPERRRR LONG!!! Dialogue, instagram comments etc.

Character Inspo: Once again, for tennisplayer!fem reader, I envisioned a bit of a bratty, sassy, cheeky, funny girl. In this, she gets vulnerable tho. Visually, I gravitated towards a mix of Tashi Duncan and Tyla. No specifications are mentioned (except a general "shorter" height than Ben).

Warnings + Content Ahead: SFW (suggestive themes - nothing explicit/ NSFW) - no warnings

Azzie Notes ✚: heheheehee I'll blush! ask as many times you want! trust me there’s nothing else I’d rather be doing than writing my little fake scenarios and daydreaming <3 In saying that, I’m begging for my desi women to request a desi imagine 😞 Please, please give me some inspo so I can get into my element.

The support and attention pt. 1 got was genuinely so heartwarming, seeing the couple of reblogs and tags and comments meant sm to me, massive thank you for your support <333 kisses to all of u!!

————————————————————————

Game, Set, Match (Part 2) - B.T.S

Time with Ben flew by in a blur of stolen moments after your first date, before you knew it, it had been close to a year since you first started dating. Between matches and games, you both rearranged photoshoots and postponed interviews just for the chance to spend even a few hours together, sneaking in time wherever possible. Naturally, speculation followed. Paparazzi snapped glimpses of you at gas stations, and fans posted short, blurry videos on TikTok and Twitter of your late-night drives. One clip even sparked rumours of lipstick stains on Ben’s face while driving, barely visible in the shadows. What they missed were the hickeys trailing down his neck, hidden beneath his crumpled t-shirt, evidence of the stolen moments just before. You both laughed at the videos and sometimes interacted, keeping everyone on the outside guessing.

Truthfully, you wanted to savour this feeling for yourself a little longer before it became the latest headline. You had travelled the world, met some of your heroes, performed in front of thousands but nothing felt as exhilarating as this.

You felt young, carefree, and most importantly, yourself. With Ben, there were no PR restrictions, no expectations, just the thrill of being together. Running through hotel halls at midnight, sneaking off for food at ungodly hours like two big backs, lying down in closed parks whispering sweet nothings under the stars; it all felt so raw, so pure. You were smitten with puppy love for each other. You’d take long, aimless drives, rapping and singing bar for bar, holding hands while the world outside blurred by. With Ben, life felt like one endless adventure. You had broken the news to your close circles of friends and family, but not anyone outside. The hardest part though was resisting PDA at public games and events. You almost slipped up during an interview, calling him your 'boyfriend' before catching yourself, covering with 'boy-best-friend' and a sweet smile. It wasn’t exactly a lie, but not quite the truth either. You knew sooner or later, you’d have to make it official and that idea was both exciting and terrifying.

After some plotting, you decided on a soft launch first, acclimatising your audience to it. You and your team were pros at staying active online, and it fit perfectly with your social media presence. For TikTok and Instagram Reels, you posted a 'Day in the Life' vlog - clips of your skincare routine, a fit-check featuring a white, sleeveless high-neck tennis dress with forest green accents that cinched your waist, and a casual lunch. But for those paying close attention, there were clues, Ben’s cologne on the bathroom counter, his duffel bag in the background, his laugh echoing faintly in the background during lunch. Of course, some people picked it up after some time.

Ben couldn’t resist teasing either, replying under a clip of your lunch, 'Who’s taking you on a lunch date?'

You shot back, 'A big-backed loser who ate his own food and then stole from my plate .'

One fan commented, 'Wait, is that Ben’s gym bag in the shot?!?!' to which you cheekily replied, 'Where? that ugly, uninspired black bag?' Ben couldn’t resist adding: "That bag has seen more wins than your TikTok views."

Another comment pointed out the Polo 67 cologne in the background: 'That’s definitely not your scent, Y/N. Whose cologne is that?' You replied, 'Some desperate fanboy left it here. Sweet guy tho ig."

The playful back-and-forth only fueled more speculation, with fans buzzing, 'Wait, is this a soft launch!!', 'I'm tellin' yall, it's Ben', "Am I reaching or is Y/N pulling smth here? collab?"

You both laughed, curled up in bed, scrolling through the comments like a pair of idiots. Two weeks later, it was time for the hard launch.

Ben stifled a laugh as he leaned back on the bed, the duvet lazily draped across his hips. "Y/N, stop overthinking it," he teased, leaning over to plant a kiss on your forehead. Meanwhile, you sat cross-legged, agonising over which photos to post, what caption to use, and whether or not the launch would feel and look perfect; not nonchalant but not too much either. He made it look easy, Ben had his post prepped and ready to go like the sappy man he was, while you were knee-deep in hundreds of photos, searching for the right one to tell your story.

You scrolled through the shots, a smile tugging at your lips as you relive the memories, silly videos, 0.5x candids, live photos of him in goofy poses. Then, one image stopped you. A simple photobooth strip from a date you’d gone on together: four black-and-white shots, each capturing a different moment. The first one had you both flipping the camera off with cheeky smiles, his arm over your shoulder. The next, Ben was kissing your cheek, while in the third, you kissed his, making him grin wide with his gummy smile, his eyes crinkling in joy. The last photo was pure gold. You kissed each other, his hands cupping your face gently, tucking your hair back as he held your jaw while your fingers curled around his shoulders as if you didn’t want to let go. Both of you smiled into the kiss, eyes closed, fully in the moment. It was perfect, effortless.

You sighed, knowing this was the photo. It said everything, no need for several pictures to make a statement. You thought for a moment before you typed out a simple caption that summed it up: "Turns out I'm not the only one with game, @benshelton"

Ben, sitting opposite you, smirked and was the first to comment followed by a few others.

benshelton: "I love you so very much"

yourfriendusername: " 'bout time y'all launched"

ayan.broomfield: "Oh you ate with the caption. Me and Frances are screaming rn"

"Nice caption, loser" he chuckled as he beckoned you over to him. You crawled over to Ben with a shy smile, curling up on his chest as his post was uploading.

Ben’s post was a blend of personal, fun, and a little bit cheeky, a video recorded by his sister, Emma of you two playing tug-of-war with his dog Halo at his house, giggling uncontrollably as the dog barked, tail wagging furiously. A candid photo of you leaning over into his side of the car, his smile half-hidden as he laughed from the driver seat, one hand on the wheel. Then a shot of you both in matching hoodies, his idea, of course, followed by a serene moment of you standing on a seaside cliff, both gazing out at the ocean during a quiet getaway. Lastly, a photo of you two kissing on a picnic blanket, your hand on his face, and his smile beaming into your kiss.

You looked up at him and kissed his cheek as the likes and comments came flooding in.

His caption read “Her biggest fan, my biggest distraction”.

taylorfritz: "So nice of Y/N to take pics with her fans. So humble"

↳ Y/N.Y/LN: "Always a pleasure, this one was a little weird tho"

↳ benshelton: "shut up"

francestiafoe: "Finally upgraded from being the 5th wheel to being in the driver’s seat."

↳ benshelton: "Been driving this whole time, you just didn’t notice"

_emmashelton: "Wow, Ben finally found someone to put up with his snoring???"

↳Y/N.Y/LN: "The snoring I can handle, but the random sleeptalking tennis commentary at 3 AM?"

↳benshelton: "💀 I’m deleting this post."

morganriddle: "No more babysitting you with Taylor now!"

atptour: "Ben’s doing better off the court than on lately 👀"

↳benshelton: "No distractions, just love. But thanks for the shade, ATP"

↳Y/N.Y/LN: "His best ATP title to date: my boyfriend <3"

As you typed your last reply, Ben set his phone aside and gently wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer until your body was flush against his. He kissed the top of your head before his lips began to trail softly down your temple. You tossed your phone to the other side of the bed, locking eyes with him. His curls were messier now, and the glint in his eyes told you exactly what he was thinking.

"Y’know..." Ben murmured, his voice dipping lower as he traced his fingers along the curve of your jaw, then down your neck, sending a shiver through you. His other hand slipped under your t-shirt, resting on your bare waist, his thumb making lazy circles on your skin. "We don’t have anything planned until later… and you look so damn good right now."

His lips grazed your neck, slow and deliberate, before pressing soft kisses there. You tilted your head to the side and swept your hair back, letting him have his way as your fingers tangled in his curls, a small gasp escaped your lips as he nipped lightly at your skin.

"Shouldn’t we… celebrate?" you whispered, your breath hitching as he found the spot that made you melt, his hands guiding your body closer to his. "I mean, we did make some big news."

Ben didn’t reply with words. Instead, he hummed softly against your neck before gently flipping you beneath him. His lips captured yours in a heated, intoxicating kiss, his hand sliding up your shirt, fingertips grazing your soft skin. Your bodies pressed together, the heat building as you giggled into the kiss, knowing exactly where this was headed.

The rest of the day went in a haze of cuddles, stolen kisses, and binge-watching your favourite shows and movies. By evening, it was time to get ready for your triple date with Taylor Fritz and Morgan Riddle, and Frances Tiafoe with Ayan Broomfield. While the guys had bonded at ATP events, you were still the "newbie" among the girls, though Ayan and Morgan had taken you under their wing almost immediately, forming a tight trio.

You slipped into something special for the evening, a stunning black satin dress that hugged your curves perfectly. The backless design draped elegantly, the slit at the thigh adding just the right amount of allure, and the low cut bringing even more drama to the fabric. The soft fabric shimmered slightly under the light which you paired with black stiletto heels and a slickback ponytail.

Ben couldn’t stop staring when you stepped out of the bathroom. He’d matched your elegance effortlessly, wearing a button-up, the top two buttons undone to reveal silver chains around his neck, and his silver Rolex twinkling in the light.

"Wow," he said softly, taking in the sight of you. His gaze lingered on the curve of your back, the way the dress dipped and shimmered. "You’re killing me, babe."

You smirked, stepping up to him and straightening his collar as you teased, "And you’re not looking too bad yourself"

Ben leaned down, placing a kiss on your bare shoulder, his lips warm against your skin. "I’d say we’re a pretty damn good match."

Arriving just a bit fashionably late (thanks to Ben’s lingering hands and his desperation) you entered the rooftop bar together. He had one hand securely around your waist, guiding you smoothly through the entrance, his hand holding yours as you walked up the stairs in your heels. The city lights twinkled around you, setting the perfect mood for the evening.

When you made it to the table, everyone was already waiting, Ayan and Morgan squealed in excitement the moment they saw you, rushing to hug you.

"You look amazing!" Ayan said, practically bouncing on her heels as she pulled you into a tight embrace.

Morgan stepped back to admire your outfit with a knowing smile. "How's Ben behaving?"

"Trust me, he's already a challenge," you replied feigning annoyance, earning a playful giggle from the two of them before they caught you up on recent gossip.

The boys, of course, couldn’t resist teasing Ben the moment he arrived. Taylor clapped him on the back while Frances laughed, giving him a knowing look.

"So... you finally made it official," Taylor teased, drawing out the word with a grin.

Frances grinned. "Big Ben’s had this all under control, right? Didn't need a little push from us? At all?" He threw a playful punch at Ben’s arm.

"Yeah, yeah," Ben said with an eye roll, but his smile betrayed him. "Now you guys can all stop making fun of me!"

Settling into your seats with Ben beside you, the night was filled with laughter and conversation, the six of you effortlessly clicking as a group. You could feel the warmth from Ayan and Morgan, who made you feel like you’d been part of their circle for ages. The easy, fun, teasing banter between everyone only made the night more fun, and as you sipped on cocktails and shared tapas, you couldn’t help but glance over at Ben every now and then, feeling the pull between you two all over again.

The table was lively as usual, laughter spilling over from one side to the next. Frances and Taylor had already made it a mission to tease Ben relentlessly.

“You know, I’m glad you’ve finally got a date,” Taylor said with a smirk, swirling his wine. “For a while, we were worried you were just gonna hang around like a lost puppy.”

Frances chimed in, throwing a playful arm around Ayan. “Yeah, man, it’s about time you stopped being the spare wheel. Now you’re in.”

Ben rolled his eyes but squeezed your hand. “You guys act like I was suffering. I’m pretty sure Y/N was worth the wait.”

Morgan chimed in. “Oh, don't worry Ben, we tease because we care. But seriously, you were giving big lone wolf, single energy for a while. It’s nice to see you two together. You’re like, the new ultimate power couple.”

Ayan nodded, glancing between you and Ben with a smile. “Seriously, though. We all knew it was only a matter of time. And I gotta say, Y/N, you bring out a whole new side of him.”

You laughed, raising a brow as you turned to Ben. “A new side? Should I be worried?”

Ben grinned, shaking his head. “Nothing you can’t handle, I promise.”

As the night continued, the conversation drifted between shared stories of travel, upcoming tournaments, and off-court gossip. Dinner had been fun, the usual banter between your friends, but that one offhanded comment had sucked the air right out of the room for you.

“So, Y/N,” Frances grinned, swirling his whiskey glass, “you ready for the Open? It’s gonna be tough seeing Navarro again after she got the best of you last time, huh?”

Your eyes went wide for a moment before you laughed it off, taking a small sip of your drink and brushing it aside as if it hadn’t landed as a smack with the weight of a brick. "It was just one match," you said, trying to sound nonchalant. But the words felt hollow in your mouth.

But inside, everything collapsed.

Navarro hadn’t just beaten you. She’d dismantled you. Something over the past few months felt like a mental block, like you were slowing down but this match? It didn't just slow you down, it blew you out of the water completely. Her aggressive baseline play came with heat, her ability to push you wide on every shot, forcing you to scramble and defend, and it all came rushing back. You could rewind the entire match all over again in your head, watching points fly from you. You had no answer to her consistency, her precision. And her serve, you could still feel the frustration of trying to return them, each one faster and sharper than the last. Your own serve had crumbled under the pressure, double fault after double fault.

What was worse was you remembered how the crowd had watched you, narrow-eyed, the press merciless afterwards, dissecting every moment of your failure. You’d walked onto the court that day full of confidence, only to be torn apart and exposed, your weaknesses on full display.

That match haunted you, but you hadn’t allowed yourself to dwell on it or process it. Instead, you buried it beneath a whirlwind of distractions; endless empty hours of practice, late nights out at clubs, and drinks flowing as you tried to drown the doubt. Social media posts curated to show your best self, brand deals, and sponsorships filling your time so you wouldn't have to confront the anxiety gnawing at the edges. You hid behind the glamour, the glitz, pretending the loss hadn’t rattled you completely to your core. But sitting here at the dinner table, with your friends blissfully unaware of the storm inside you, the weight of that memory clawed its way back up and sat in your throat heavy. Every buried doubt, every insecurity, came crashing down, no longer masked by the carefully crafted image.

You smiled through it all and nodded along with the conversation, but your mind was lost, rehashing every single moment.

The taxi ride back was quiet. Ben, ever observant, didn't take long to notice the shift in your mood. He reached for your hand, his thumb tracing soothing circles on the back of it. "Hey, you alright?" he asked softly, his voice gentle, concern etched on his face.

You gave him a half-hearted smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. "Yeah, I’m fine," you replied, but the quiver in your voice betrayed you. You bit the inside of your cheek as you turned away, facing the low hum of the city through the window.

Ben wasn’t buying it. He squeezed your hand a little tighter, his voice steady and tender, with a small smile. "Come on, baby. Talk to me. What's going on in that pretty head of yours?"

You hesitated, your thoughts swirling in a chaotic mess. But Ben’s gaze never wavered, his eyes searching yours, not for the athlete, not for the public persona, but for you.

And just like that, the dam broke out from your lips.

“Ben... I—” You swallowed hard, your voice cracking under the weight of everything you’d been carrying. “That silly, stupid comment Taylor made about my last game, it just... It hit me harder than I thought-"

"Do you want me to get an apology?” he asked, his thumb brushing your chin, his expression caught between worry and protective anger.

You shook your head and sighed, shutting your eyes. "N-no, Ben. It's true, you know? I don’t feel like myself anymore. Tennis has always been who I am. And after that match against Navarro, well even a bit before that, everything just... fell apart. I don't even know who I am off the court.”

Ben turned toward you, his full attention on you now, his hands never leaving yours. He didn’t say anything, didn’t interrupt, he just let you speak, let the words spill out.

“I’ve always been so sure, so confident," you continued, your voice trembling. "I’d walk onto the court knowing I could beat anyone, or at least put up a good fight. I used to own that space. But then when it came to Navarro... she broke me. That match wasn’t just a loss. It was...embarrassing, humiliating. Every serve, every swing, it all felt wrong like my own body was betraying me. I could feel everyone watching me crumble.”

Your hands trembled as you spoke, your throat tightening, but Ben’s thumb never stopped its soothing circles on your knuckles. He was quiet, and patient, like he understood this moment wasn’t about fixing anything, it was about you finally letting it out, letting you be vulnerable and freeing your mind to him.

“I used to brush off bad days, but now... now I’m terrified. Every time I pick up my racket, I think about that match, how she exposed me, how I couldn’t handle it. I’m supposed to face her again, and I... I don’t know if I can do it.”

Tears pricked at your eyes as you tilted your head back, trying not to lose it completely. "If I lose tennis, Ben... I think I'll lose myself. It’s not just a game for me. It’s everything. Without it, I don’t know who I am.” Your voice cracks into a soft whisper as your lip trembles.

Ben leaned in, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, and your nose, grounding you in the moment. His hand slipped around your waist, pulling you closer until your head rested against his chest.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his breath warm against your hair. “I love you, so, so, so much. And not because of what you’ve accomplished, or your ranking, not because of tennis, or your titles, not because of your brands or sponsors. I love you. The person who’s real and flawed and strong as hell, even when you don’t feel it. The girl that keeps me on my feet, leaves me wanting for more and makes me feel like I have the whole world in my hands. Because you are my whole world, you've become that for me. I’m grateful that you’re open and raw with me, but seeing you so hurt and scared breaks my heart. I just want to hold you and make everything right again. You don’t have to face this alone, baby. You have me, I’m here for you, always. No matter what”

He gently cupped your face, turning you toward him so your eyes met. “You are more than a match. So, so much more. Navarro didn’t break you. She might’ve shaken your confidence, but that’s all. You’ve built your entire life on your talent, skill and hard work, and one bad match doesn’t erase that. You’ve been through rough times before, and you always come out stronger, baby”

You shook your head slightly, doubt still tugging at you, your eyes wide and watery, as you pouted softly. “What if I’m not good enough anymore?”

Ben smiled softly, brushing away a tear from your cheek. “You are more than good enough. I see the way you light up when you talk about the game, but I also see you. The Y/N who wakes me up with kisses, who dances around the kitchen, the Y/N who’s so smart and who cares so much about the people around her. Tennis is a part of you, but it doesn’t define you. You define you. I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.”

His words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, his presence comforting in a way nothing else had been. The tension in your chest loosened ever so slightly as you exhaled a shaky breath, resting your head against his shoulder, and squeezing your eyes shut.

“And listen,” he continued, his voice soft but sure, “when you step back on that court, it’s not just about proving anything to Navarro or to anyone else. It’s about showing yourself what you’re capable of. You’ve always been a fighter, Y/N. And I know, no matter what happens, you’ll come through and rise up.”

In the quiet of the taxi, you felt the weight on your chest begin to lift, if only a little. You curled into Ben, his hand still tracing comforting patterns along your back. For the first time in a long while, you felt seen, not as the athlete, not as the image the world expected, but as you.

By the time you got back to the hotel, exhaustion and emotion hit hard. You kicked off your heels at the door, plopping onto the sofa as the weight of everything finally crashed down on you. You let your hair down from its ponytail, feeling it cascade over your shoulders as you sighed and placed your head in your hands. The tears came without warning, silent, but heavy. They rolled down your cheeks as you sat there, your shoulders slumped, the muffled rush of your own breathing the only sound as you tried to hold it together.

Ben sat beside you, his arms wrapping around you like a lifeline. He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to fix it, he just held you close, his presence a quiet comfort in the storm of emotions. After a few moments, he pressed a kiss to your temple, the warmth of it grounding you just enough.

“You don’t have to carry all of this on your own,” he murmured softly. “I know it’s hard, but you don’t have to face it yourself.”

You swallowed hard, another wave of emotion swelling in your chest. His words felt like a release valve, a safe place to let go. “I just... I don’t know how to shake this,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “It’s like I’m drowning, and I don’t know how to come up for air.”

Ben pulled you onto his lap with his arms still holding you, his thumb brushing gentle strokes along your skin. “I’ve seen you do incredible things, Y/N. You’re not lost, you’re just stuck. And tomorrow, we’ll get back on the court. Together. I’ll help you, okay? We’ll figure this out, step by step.”

You looked up at him, searching his face for any sign of frustration or obligation. But all you saw was softness, sincerity, his deep, brown eyes full of unwavering care for you. A shaky breath left you as the idea of getting back on the court with him settled in. “You sure?” you asked, the vulnerability in your voice raw. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

“Oh please, you’re never a burden,” he said, his lips brushing against your hair as he kissed the top of your head a few times. “We’ll work on your serve, your shots. Whatever you need.”

You nestled into Ben's chest, your body still trembling slightly from the release of emotions, but now, with him holding you, the weight seemed just a little lighter. You sighed, his warmth surrounding you like a cloud, which made you plant a soft, lingering kiss on his cheek as you studied his face. Ben chuckled, a low, comforting sound that vibrated through you as he hugged you even tighter.

“You keep looking at me like that with those big puppy eyes, and I’m gonna think you’re trying to butter me up,” he teased, mischief dancing in his eyes as he looked down at you.

You shook your head gently, but a small smile tugged at your lips. “Maybe I am,” you murmured. “Is it working?”

He grinned, tilting his head as if pretending to consider it. “Hmm, maybe,” he said, leaning down to pepper your face with kisses, your forehead, your nose, your cheeks, until you burst out laughing, squirming in his lap.

“Ben!” you giggled, trying to push his face away, but he just held you tighter, his laughter mingling with yours as he planted one last, exaggeratedly loud kiss on your cheek.

“There we go. That’s the smile I was waiting for,” he said softly, brushing away the remnants of your tears with his thumb. Then he added with a teasing grin, “God, you’re a pretty crier, you know that? Am I this whipped, or is your crying actually so beautiful to me?”

You laughed, feeling a blush creep to your cheeks despite the lingering sadness. “Really? You can’t give me a break from my beauty even when I’m a mess?”

His expression softened, and his voice dropped to a tender whisper. “You’re my beautiful mess, baby. You're stronger than you think. Tomorrow’s just another step, and I’ll be right there with you through all of it Y/N. But tonight... let’s take it easy, okay?”

You nodded, the vulnerability in your chest easing as you nuzzled into him, letting his reassurance sink in. “Okay. But only if you promise to keep the kisses coming. I don’t actually mind them that much.”

Ben raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk on his lips. “Oh, trust me, I have plenty more where those came from.”

You laughed again, feeling lighter as the weight of the day was lifted and shared. With a final few kisses, he shifted, pulling you closer into a cocoon of warmth, your head resting on his chest as his fingers gently played with your hair.

“Let’s order room service—some sweet little treat or whatever you call it. I know you’ve got a weakness for ice cream.”

You tucked your face into his neck, hiding a smile. “Alright, but only if you promise to share.”

“Deal,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head. “We’ll have some ice cream, watch the fuckin' dumbest movie we can find, and tomorrow, we’ll tackle the court together.”

You nestled deeper, his warmth surrounding you as the heaviness of the day slowly faded. He stroked your hair gently, his thumb tracing calming circles on your back.

“How do you always know exactly what to say and do?” you mumbled against him, your voice soft, exhaustion still lingering at the edges.

Ben chuckled, pressing another kiss to your forehead. “It’s a talent,” he teased. “But you’re easy to read. I’ve got my boyfriend role down to a T. Ice cream and kisses are my foolproof pick-me-up.”

You lifted your head to look at him, a smile on your tear-stained face, finding him unbelievably sweet. There was something timeless about his words as if twenty years down the line, he would still have you like this. You held his face and kissed him deeply, feeling his giggle in the kiss. Overwhelmed by his love, you wanted him to feel it too.

The two of you shared ice cream and silly banter, the tension of the day slowly dissolving into warmth, laughter, and love. As the night deepened and the movie ended, the ice cream tub empty, you drifted off into the most peaceful sleep you had in a long time, safe in the knowledge that whatever tomorrow brought, Ben would be right there beside you, helping you every step of the way.

The next morning, Ben stayed true to his word. You hit the courts just as the first light of dawn brushed the horizon, the air crisp and cool. Though you were still shaking off sleep, Ben seemed full of peppy energy, tossing you your racket with a grin. “Alright, superstar, let’s see what you’ve got!”

You lined up, feeling the familiar weight of the racket in your hand, but the first serve fell flat, hitting the net. You frowned.

The next few tries weren’t much better, either flying out of bounds or clipping the net. Frustration bubbled up, and you let out an exasperated sigh. “I can’t get it right.”

Ben walked over with a few more balls, calm as ever. “You’re tense,” he said softly, his hands finding your waist again. “You’ve been in your head too long, baby. You need to feel the court, not force it. Breathe, take it easy and try again.”

You rolled your shoulders, trying to loosen up, but your mind was still spinning. “It’s just not coming back,” you muttered, frustrated.

Ben didn’t respond right away, just came up behind you, his presence a steady comfort. “Let me help,” he said, his voice soft. His hands guided yours on the racket, adjusting your grip before sliding down to your hips. “It’s not all in the swing. It’s in how you use your whole body, how you shift and follow through. Let the court come to you.”

His hands lingered, his chest pressed against your back, steady and sure, as he tilted your hips slightly, helping you find your balance again.

“You know this court, star,” he whispered, his breath warm against your neck. “It’s yours. Remember how it feels under your feet.”

You nodded slowly, closing your eyes for a second, trying to push the frustration away. Ben’s voice, his touch, helped as both a guide and a distraction. When you opened your eyes again, you focused as tension had begun to ease. You served, this time letting the movement flow through you. The ball cut through the air cleanly, landing near the baseline. There was no power struggle, no overthinking, just instinct.

“That’s it, baby” Ben murmured smiling, watching you. “Feel that? You’re not forcing it. You’re moving with the court.”

You started again, focusing less on hitting a hard serve and more on control, allowing the court to guide you. Each serve felt more natural and precise. Ben stood right beside you, offering gentle corrections, praise, and soft, reassuring touches. His hand rested on your lower back, his fingers brushing against your arm, sending tingles through you. You’d be lying if you said coach Ben wasn’t just a little sexy in his element, the way he moved with confidence and authority, every glance filled with admiration and encouragement. He noticed the blush creeping up your cheeks, and a knowing smirk spread across his face, making your heart race even more.

As the session went on, you felt yourself loosening up bit by bit, your body remembering what it was capable of. The court started to feel familiar again, like an extension of yourself. The frustration melted away as you explored each corner, reclaiming your space, and rediscovering the rhythm of your game.

“You’re getting it back,” Ben said softly, stepping closer to brush a light kiss on your temple, his eyes filled with pride. “Little by little, you’re taking control. Good job, star.”

With each swing, you felt more confident. The serves landed deeper and accurately, and you were no longer second-guessing and stalling yourself. It was like the mental block that had blocked your game was lifting. You were in control, not just of the ball, but of the court and of yourself. The sensation was exhilarating, like finding something deeply familiar yet long forgotten.

Ben grinned, watching you get into the groove of it. “That’s my girl,” he nodded, walking over to plant another soft kiss on your forehead. His touch was gentle, his presence grounding. “See? You’ve had it in you all along, babe”

You smiled back, feeling the warmth of his encouragement seep into your skin. The court was yours again, bit by bit. Each serve became more fluid, more instinctive until you weren’t thinking at all, just playing.

By the time you finished, your muscles were tired, but your spirit was light. You collapsed onto the court bench, breathless but smiling wide. Ben sat next to you, tossing a towel over your head with a playful chuckle. “Not bad, star,” he teased, his arm slipping around your shoulders, pulling you close.

You pulled the towel off, laughing softly, leaning into him. “Not bad? I’m just getting started.”

Ben chuckled, pressing another kiss to your forehead, his voice low and full of pride. “You’re ready, babe. Navarro won’t know what hit her.”

You tilted your head up toward him, your heart swelling with the warmth of his support, his belief in you. “Thanks, Ben,” you whispered, feeling lighter than you had in weeks.

He smiled down at you, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Don't thank me, you're my star. You always had it in you, you just needed to be woken up. You’ve got this.”

As you settled into the comfortable silence, you couldn’t help but smile at him a little. “You know, you were kind of, well really, hot when you were coaching me back there.”

Ben raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “Oh really? Didn’t know you were into coaches,” he replied, leaning closer with a playful glint in his eye.

You felt heat flooding your face as you tried to maintain your composure. “What can I say? I guess I’m a little hot and bothered by a guy who knows what he’s doing.”

He chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Hmm, maybe you should forget more moves so I can show you how to do them, and some more,” he teased, winking.

Feeling a rush of flustered energy, you tossed the towel at him playfully. “Shut up, Ben!”

He caught the towel with a laugh, his eyes gleaming with amusement. Before you could react, he leaned in, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you closer. His lips brushed against yours in a teasing kiss, warm and lingering.

“Just so you know,” he murmured against your lips, a playful smile dancing on his face, “I won’t tease you... for now.”

You rolled your eyes, a smile breaking through as you quickly picked up your bag and darted away, glancing back at him with a cheeky grin. “Catch me if you can!”

Ben laughed, instantly springing into action, his competitive spirit kicking in as he chased after you. You could hear his footsteps pounding behind you, and the thrill of the moment sent your heart racing.

You knew what lay ahead, your work was cut out for you, but this playful exchange filled you with renewed energy. With only a matter of days left to tighten up your game, you were ready to tackle it head-on, and with Ben by your side, you felt unstoppable.

The roar of the crowd felt distant as you walked through the tunnel and set your bag down, it was like background noise as you stepped up to the baseline.

You bounced the ball a few times, steadying your breath, closing your eyes and remembering to feel the court. For the first time in a long time, the nerves weren’t overwhelming. The fog that had clouded your mind for so long had finally lifted. You could feel it, the control, the power, the pure joy of being here again.

You looked across the net at Emma Navarro. She was focused, her eyes sharp, but you weren’t intimidated. Not anymore.

You tossed the ball up, your body moving fluidly. The serve was powerful, and precise, landing just inside the line. Navarro barely managed to reach it, her return shaky, and you pounced on the ball with ease, sending a clean shot down the sideline. Point, yours.

As the game continued, you could feel yourself loosening up even more, the flow of the game taking over. You were back to being fluid. Each serve was strong, each shot deliberate. The crowd's cheers grew louder with each point you won, but your focus was laser-sharp. You were smiling, actually smiling, because, for the first time in a while, you were enjoying the game in full. Truly enjoying it.

Navarro, on the other hand, was starting to crack. Frustration etched itself onto her face as she missed returns, her shots hitting the net or flying wide. You could see it in her body language, the stiff movements, the clenched jaw. She screamed to herself after missing a particularly crucial point, her racket bouncing once on the ground in frustration. You remained composed, feeding off her energy but not letting it affect you.

You’d been there before, the frustration, the doubt, but today, you were on the other side of it. Calm. Confident.

The last point of the match came fast. Navarro’s serve was weak, and you returned it with a backhand that forced her wide. She scrambled, barely making it, sending a lob over the net. You didn’t hesitate. Stepping into position, you smashed the ball down with a powerful overhead. The crowd erupted, but you barely registered the sound. It was just you and the court, and that sweet feeling of victory settled over you like a warm glow.

Game, set, match—yours.

Navarro offered a tight, forced smile as you shook hands at the net. She was clearly upset, her frustration barely contained, but you didn’t linger on it. You had won. Not just the match, but the battle with yourself.

As you walked off the court, your body thrumming with the adrenaline of victory, the weight that had been hanging over you for months felt lighter. The pressure was still there, but now, you felt in control of it.

The tunnel to the locker room was quiet compared to the roaring arena. You rounded the corner, towel slung over your shoulder, your breath and heartbeat finally starting to steady. As you approached the locker room door, you stopped in your tracks.

There, sitting on the bench inside, was Ben.

He stood as soon as he saw you, a wide grin breaking across his face. He didn’t wait for you to say anything before he crossed the room and pulled you into his arms, holding you tight.

“You did it, baby,” he murmured into your hair, his voice warm with pride. “I knew you would.”

You buried your face in his chest, the exhaustion settling in, but there was also this overwhelming sense of relief and joy.

“I haven’t felt like that in so long,” you whispered, your voice muffled against him. “It felt... so right.”

Ben pulled back just enough to cup your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing your cheeks gently. His eyes were soft, filled with so much love that it made your chest tighten in the best way.

“That’s because it was right. You were incredible out there. I’ve never been prouder of you, my star.”

You smiled up at him, your heart swelling at the nickname.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” you said, your voice soft but full of truth.

He leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment before he pulled back.

“I’ll always be here to help you get on your feet,” he said quietly, his eyes locking onto yours with a sincerity that made your breath hitch. “No matter what. I’ll be right here, cheering you on, every step of the way.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, feeling the warmth of his promise settle deep within you. It wasn’t just about tennis anymore. It was about everything, the future, the ups and downs, the challenges and victories. And you knew, without a doubt, that Ben would be there through it all.

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Ben’s grin softened, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he pulled you close again, his lips brushing your temple. “I love you too, star. More than you know.”

For a few moments, the two of you just stood there, wrapped up in each other, the world outside fading into the background. It was just you and Ben, your hearts beating in time, the promise of something stronger, something deeper, wrapped around you like a blanket of safety.

With his arm draped around your shoulders, the two of you walked out of the locker room, your heart lighter, your spirit soaring. The future felt wide open, full of endless possibilities and with Ben by your side, you were ready for all of it.

And just like that, the world melted away again, leaving only the two of you in that tiny bubble of love and safety, where nothing else mattered.

#benshelton #ben shelton #ben shelton x reader

65 notes · View notes