#ok that took a while. goddamn | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

talaok · 8 months ago

Text

Giving up

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Coaxing your neighbor into having sex with you although he's unsure since he's much, much older than you

Warnings: big ass unspecified age-gap, Jackson!Joel is a softie Smut| unprotected piv, crempie, insicure!joel, sub!joel, also my man has trouble lasting cause he's not done this in a very long time.

a/n:i needed to write some cheesy romantic stuff, and maybe it doesn't really make all that sense in this story and maybe i cried while writing this cause no one is ever gonna love me like this but so what bitch leave me alone (i also am i lil tipsy as i proofread this, so ignore any mistakes pls)

Part 1

"did you do something to your hair?"

Tommy was standing on Joel's doorstep, looking at him as if he were an alien.

"I washed 'em" he grumbled, "what do you want?"

His brother couldn't help but huff out a laugh

"someone's in a good mood today"

"I've gotta be somewhere, just tell me what you want"

Tommy's interest was only piqued more.

there stood his brother, his clothes perfectly clean- maybe even ironed- his hair... styled, his beard trimmed...

something was definitely going on.

"Where are you going?"

Joel rolled his eyes now, shooting his little brother a death glare

"none of your business"

Oh he knew what was going on...

"Who is she?"

"Tommy-"

"Is it Jessica? I bet 's Jessica, she's always flirting with you you ol' dog-"

Joel swore he was gonna punch him- he was already running late because of how long he took to pick his clothes- finding a flannel that wasn't completely worn out turned out to be real fucking hard.

He felt stupid for how much effort he'd put into getting ready, he felt stupid for how anxious he was, but most of all... he wanted his brother to go away.

"There ain't no one, Tommy- now, if there ain't anything you need, please go-"

But just then- just when he was finally going to get rid of him, your sweet, soft voice made its way to his ears.

"Hi Joel! Hi Tommy!" You smiled from your porch, waving your hand at him and his brother "You didn't forget about today, did you Joel?"

What in the actual fuck?

Tommy did a double-check, looking between you and his brother, and when he finally confirmed that it was actually him you were talking to, you whom he'd gotten all dolled up for, he couldn't do anything but let out a slow, long breath.

"No I didn't- I'll be there in a minute, darlin'!" Joel was answering you as his brother regained his ability to speak

"well... Fuck. Me" he was in awe, his voice barely a murmur

"it ain't like that" Joel was quick to intervene "'m just fix-"

"'m sure it ain't" Tommy let out a chuckle, his hand going to pat his brother's back "You fucking lucky bastard"

"Tommy I know she's young bu-"

"shut up man" he laughed "Just go have fun, you asshole"

__ __

"Sorry 'm late, Tommy was just-"

You smiled at his words, shaking your head

"It's ok, Joel" you cooed as you let him in,

He gave you a soft little smile, and you felt like the luckiest girl in the world.

Joel Miller didn't smile just at anyone.

"water?" you asked, leading him to the kitchen.

"Uhm- sure"

His heart was damn near beating out of his chest already- for no fucking reason at all.

Well except the obvious one... you'd sucked his dick and he'd eaten you out three days ago- and you'd made it clear you wanted more.

Jesus Christ, he felt like a fourteen-year-old with his first crush.

You watched him as he sipped on the glass.

"So?" a soft smirk was caged between your teeth "Did you think about it?"

He damn near choked.

Which didn't make any sense, he was expecting this, he already knew you'd ask.

He cleared his throat, diverting his eyes from you "I-I have"

"And?"

You'd gotten closer, your expectant eyes studying every inch of his face

pleasepleasepleaseplease say yes

"Did- didn't you have something that needed fixing?"

Oh for fuck's sake

"joel" you called for him in what almost sounded like a plead.

"darlin' just... lemme fix your cabinet first"

This man was gonna be the goddamn death of you.

"ok"

__ __ __

As it turns out, in many different ways.

Who knew watching him fix something would turn out to be so fucking hot?

He'd rolled his shirt up so that his strong forearms and a glimpse of his beautiful bite-worthy biceps were showing, his hands moved so very expertly that they couldn't help but bring back memories of what those same fingers had done to you just a few days ago, and his face... he looked so hot when he was all in his head, concentrated only on the task before him-

or so you thought.

"You're gonna stare at me the whole time?"

A soft laugh escaped your lips

"don't mind me- just enjoying the view"

He huffed out a laugh as he went back to work, but you couldn't help but notice the fact he pushed his sleeves ever further up his arms, giving you more of a view of his delectable skin.

What a tease

__ __ __

"there we go" he said after some time, opening and closing the cabinet one final time to make sure "all done"

For the record, this time you hadn't even done it on purpose, the cabinet had actually broken. It was like fate was sending you a message.

You awakened from your daydreams as he stood up to his full height, and hopped off the stool you were sitting on to walk closer to him, noticing some dampness in your panties while doing so...

It wasn't your fault... he was the one looking way too hot doing such a simple task.

"thank you" You smiled up at him, your hands going to his chest,

He held his breath for a moment

"'s nothing babygirl"

"yeah? then... you think you could check my bedroom too?" you were biting your lip in a way that made your question take on a whole different meaning "to make sure nothing needs fixing y'know?"

"In your... bedroom?"

"yes, Joel- please" you added, with your best innocent doe eyes.

Which of course made him fold in a matter of seconds.

You'd taken on a different tactic. It was obvious at this point that the man was too shy and too unsure to give you an answer (or the one you wanted to hear anyway), which is why you needed to present him with the actual possibility right in front of him.

And yeah maybe it was manipulative, but fuck it if you didn't wanna feel the man inside of you.

The flashbacks of what he did to you on that bed filled his mind the moment he stepped into the room.

He needed to get a grip or he wouldn't be able to hide his growing bulge in a minute.

"Everything seems right"

"yeah? 'm not sure about the bed" you hummed, desperately hoping he would just go along with it "it makes a weird sound when I get on it"

He turned to you then, his eyes locking with yours for an infinite second.

"try" you said finally, nodding to the bed.

He watched you for a moment longer before, surprising you, he did it- he sat on the bed.

The mattress creaked underneath his weight, and you made quick work of strolling closer to him as he pressed his palms on the bed, checking for the inexistent "weird sound"

"it don't look like there's anythin' wron-" he looked up the moment your hands found his shoulders "Whatcha doin'? sweethear-"

You were sat on his lap before he could even finish the sentence.

"Joel" you spoke his name softly, as if it were a caress, your hands slowly moving up and down from his shoulders to his pecs, as you finally scooted closer to him so your core was right against the hardness in his jeans-

He inhaled sharply, his fingers curling on the bed.

"would you like to have sex with me or not?"

You accentuated your words with a slow roll of your hips, grinding onto him and making a soft groan build inside his throat

"this- this ain't really fair sugar"

A smirk pulled at your lips as you lowered your head to whisper in his ear "I never said I didn't play dirty, Mr. Miller"

Your right hand trailed lower, moving down his belly so slowly that Joel thought he might just lose his mind.

"You're y-young baby-"

Your hand had found his crotch, the outline of his dick fitting in your hand oh so perfectly.

"we've gone over this already Joel, I'm old enough" you purred, your lips leaving a peck just below his ear "old enough to do many many things"

He cursed under his breath

"I just... I don't understand"

A breathy laugh escaped you

"there's not much to understand really" you murmured "You're hot, and I like you, and I wanna get in your pants"

That earned you a chuckle

"and you're sure you won't regret this?" he asked, "you sure this is what you really want- that- that you don't want to give a boy your age a chance instead of me?"

You smiled as you looked up at him,

you'd never met a man so sweet

"Joel, I promise you I'm sure" you whispered "I promise you this is what I want, you are what I want"

Fucking damn it

How could he ever say no after that?

With those gentle eyes of yours looking at him, with your hand right over his cock...

"So?"

He was gonna think about the consequences tomorrow. Now- now there was only you.

"yes"

That single word sounded better than any song you'd ever heard.

yes

Your lips were on his before he could even think of changing his mind- and god did they feel like a dream.

His soft stubble grazed against your cheeks and upper lip, as you deepened the kiss, as he opened up to you, closing his eyes only after he'd taken you in, only after he could admire all that was happening to him for some godforsaken reason.

A growl rumbled from his chest when your core found his dick again, grinding onto it in a way, that combined with the way your tongue was tasting every inch of him, was making him see stars.

He didn't think he'd kissed like this in 30 years,

making out seemed like such a distant thing from him, he was much too old to do something like this, and yet... everything about you made him feel like a teenager all over again, so perhaps it was fitting-

and god he had forgotten how amazing it felt.

You started undoing his flannen, not even dreaming of breaking the kiss, and once you opened his shirt up, once his big strong chest was right there before you, you just had to look at it.

You leaned away, his lips chasing yours making you smile as your gaze lowered.

Jesus, he was the hottest man you'd ever seen.

Some hair and freckles adorned his pecs, his little belly was ever so cutely fighting against his jeans- his skin was soft beneath your palms as they explored every inch they could reach.

He was looking at you, watching your blow-out eyes, wondering what potion you'd drank to be this mesmerized by what he had to offer.

You smiled once you caught him, leaning closer to leave a quick kiss on his lips.

"take off your clothes"

You got off of him, and once he saw you get rid of your shirt, your boobs pushed together by a simple black bra that somehow, at the moment, seemed like the sexiest thing in the world, he rushed to follow suit, nearly tripping getting off his pants.

The moment he looked at you again, the world- the universe, it all went quiet.

You stood naked before him, a soft, perfect little thing, looking like a damn dream.

"babygirl" he could only breathe as you reached him again.

"What?" you laughed

"I-I don't even know"

You shook your head, grinning from ear to ear as he pressed his mouth on yours again.

He was already addicted.

In a haze, you found yourself on the bed, your body caged beneath his, his tongue fighting with yours, his hands all over- You almost had the urge to laugh at how desperate he seemed, how frantically he was touching every inch of you, exploring every piece of skin-

His hands were on your tits, fingers gently playing with your nipples, then on your belly, your waist, your ass, your thighs, until finally, he found your core, but before he had the time to fully reach it you'd switched up with him, straddling his lap as he laid flat on his back... only he couldn't keep away for even a second and he immediately sat up, grabbing your waist.

He couldn't even begin to complain that you'd already grabbed his cock, positioning it at your entrance.

You couldn't wait anymore- you needed him now.

"Wait-" he murmured, his breathing labored already "you sure you're... y'know ready?"

Oh my god, you swore you were gonna fall for him if he kept this shit up.

"Joel" you smiled, looking into his big brown eyes "I've been wet since you fixed the cabinet"

"I-" he blushed "You-you sure?"

You didn't answer him, you simply took one of his hands in yours and guided him to feel just how much you were telling the truth.

"Fuck"

"yeah" you smirked "that's just what you do to me, Mr. Miller"

Jesus fuck

Joel didn't think his cock had ever been so hard.

You didn't give him time to do or say anything- he'd gathered that's how you did things by now- as you slowly, oh so very slowly, started sinking onto him.

He was big, the kind of big you'd be feeling tomorrow morning. The stretch hurt just right, so overwhelmed by the unadulterated pleasure that it was barely there.

Soft little moaned gasps spilled from your lips with every inch added, your eyes were closed, only focusing on the extraordinary feeling as your nails clawed at Joel's chest.

Until, finally- you'd done it. You were fully sat on his cock, and while your eyelids fluttered open, you regained your ability to hear- to hear the curses leaving Joel's mouth between ragged breaths

"Jesus Christ- Jesus fucking Christ- Goddamnit"

His grip on your waist was so tight you were sure it was gonna leave a bruise... not that you were complaining.

"you ok?"

His eyes were shut close and creases of effort filled his forehead, while his chest went up and down as he desperately tried to breathe.

"Joel?"

He swallowed tightly, now breathing in through his nose before exhaling from his mouth.

"d-don't move"

You smiled as you promised "I won't"

God this was fucking embarrassing.

He'd spent three days training.

And yes he wasn't sure he would have said yes, but still, better safe than sorry- except for the fact it clearly hadn't worked.

He had spent three days fucking his own fist and trying to last as much as possible and he did do progress... but this... this was fucking nothing like what he'd felt in the last twenty years.

He was so fucked

"I-I'm sorry" he gritted out, sounding almost defeated "I- I haven't done this in a long time darlin'"

"And you... you feel so fuckin' good- fuck"

Your walls had inadvertently squeezed around him at his words, making a groan rumble in his chest.

"You have nothing to apologize for Joel"

he would have told you that your voice was making everything worse if he weren't so preoccupied with trying to calm his dick down.

"take all the time you need"

And so he did, his eyes remained closed as he breathed through the initial shock, until finally, after what felt like an eternity, he was back.

He had to stifle a moan once he opened his eyes back up.

There you were, your beautiful eyes trained on his with such gentleness and care that it made where his gaze fell to feel even more sinful.

Your boobs were barely touching his chest, and yet they could have been in his face for the effect they had on him- his hands were on your waist, holding onto your soft flesh, your thighs were straddling his lap, giving him no choice but to finally look between your bodies, where you two connected.

"Darlin'" he murmured, hypnotized

You smiled, watching him admiring you in silence

"You look..."

Every word that came to mind wasn't enough, you were otherwordly, you were perfection... so he just settled on the simplest, and perhaps truest of them all.

"you're beautiful"

Your cheeks burned with heat as his gaze came back to yours.

"so are you, Joel"

And that was that.

His lips found yours again, and you couldn't stop your hips as they started moving, rocking back and forth and bringing little waves of ecstasy to your core.

A desperate moan spilled from yours to Joel's mouth as he grabbed the back of your head, forcing you into an even deeper kiss as he started following your movements.

Your hands went to the back of his neck, grabbing at the hair at the nape of it as you finally started bouncing on his dick, and god- god it was even better than you could have ever imagined

The loudest growl sounded from his throat as you worked yourself up and down on his shaft.

He was in another universe, his actions were only reflexes as the hand not tangled in your hair found your tits and then your ass, grabbing at it with tenderness and need.

"Oh Joel" you cried, his dick filling you up better than anything ever before.

You could quite literally feel him in your stomach, every little vein and ridge of skin creating a permanent dent inside of you that only he was ever gonna be able to fill.

"sweetheart- fuck" he groaned on his own, your breaths mixing as you ghosted each other's mouths, his eyes raking over your body and face, while yours couldn't help but roll to the back of your head as his manhood hit a particularly good spot.

"You feel so- good Joel" you whimpered mindlessly, now quickening your pace, desperation taking over you completely.

the sound of him entering your drenched core mixed with the bed creaking underneath you as you drove yourself closer and closer to heaven.

The sound of his name falling from your lips was something that filled Joel's chest with an indescribable feeling, he felt on top of the word, and at the same time... at the same time he wished it had never left your mouth because it was now forever imprinted in his brain, and he knew nothing was ever gonna compare to it.

Oh and also- also it was making his little lasting problem real fucking hard to control.

But he was nothing if not a gentleman,

You were gonna come, he wasn't gonna have it any other way.

His hand lowered down your belly as you kept chasing your release, looking like a damn glimpse of paradise, until his thumb found your clit.

"Oh fuck" you moaned, your eyes snapping open to look at him- a dark glaze of lust shading your iris.

Joel realized too late that he hadn't taken into account how fucking tight you'd get, and was now really paying the consequences.

Plus when you looked at him like that... maybe just this one time he could not be a gentleman- I mean it's not like he had much choice, he was trying his hardest but- shit

"darlin'" he mumbled, his thumb circling your bud "w-where do ya- where do ya want it?"

You moaned louder just at the thought of him coming

"Inside"

It wasn't even a question

"N-no sweetheart I-I shouldn-"

"Joel" you interrupted him, your lips grazing his as you talked, your grip on his hair tightening "I want you to fill me up until I can feel you leaking out of me for days"

Good Christ and heaven

"Fuck me" he cursed, all his strength going on not coming right there and then "Darlin' please- tell me you're close"

You were already seeing stars as he spoke

"I'm close, baby- oh fuck" you cried "Joel!"

A tsunami of lust-filled pleasure coursed through your veins as your orgasm hit like a damn truck.

You couldn't even remember your name as you screamed his own into the thick air, as you moaned and cried and spasmed around him, feeling him do exactly what you'd asked- filling you up to the very brim.

He'd started coming the moment you did- he couldn't do anything about it, it was just unadulterated perfection-

His head fell between your neck and shoulders as groaned like a man possessed,

until finally, after a good three minutes, you were both back to the land of the living.

He looked twenty years younger when he looked at you again, and you- you looked like the most beautiful woman on earth.

A soft smile pulled at your lips, and you couldn't help but ask "How long before we can do it again?"

And fuck him, but his age didn't matter, with those eyes of yours, it might very well be minutes.

@kluvspedro @bluebiyou @casssiopeia @bean-is-reading @millerispunk @i-cant-stfu

4K notes · View notes

azzibueckers5 · 11 days ago

Text

take another drag (turn me to ashes) (pt. 2)

synopsis: part 2 of my messy fwb pazzi! i would call this fluff and smut. your cws are alcohol and sex as always. uhh idk what elese ngl. azzi and paige are idiots but it works-- capiche?

wc: 10k (ao3 link) (part 1 link) (my masterlist)

a/n: welcome back to my attempt at a porn without plot oneshot that is now 17k and 2 parts <3 enjoy <3 sorry this took longer than expected i got scared of all the people who were waiting on it lmfao </3 hope it lived up to the hype if not don’t lmk please <3 um i tried to make azzi’s inner monologue a bit nonsensical because she’s drunkyyyy so if it got difficult to follow i apologize <3 this is extremely unedited btw i'll go back and fix stuff later but my eyes are closing and i want to sleep <3 ok bye

when azzi trudges back into the kitchen, she finds that the environment in the apartment has mellowed considerably since she slipped away, and it makes her even more aware of how long she must’ve been in the bathroom.

she eyes the handle that has miraculously been transported from the floor in between a circle of teammates to the kitchen counter, and how the line of liquid has mysteriously dropped even further. typical.

and lucky, considering this means the likelihood someone noticed her extended absence, and more alarmingly, paige’s absence in addition to hers, was slim.

she surveys the room further, and tries to keep herself from immediately looking for a mop of blonde hair, but nonetheless frowns a little to herself when she fails to lay eyes on paige, a little disappointed she left without saying goodbye. even though she’s mad at her. whatever.

there are a few others missing, too, most noticeably, azzi’s roommates nika and olivia, and she groans to herself in annoyance that she’ll have to walk back alone.

caroline notices her then, standing on the edge of the kitchen, and motions for her to come join her on the couch, pulling away from her conversation with amari to pat the cushion next to her. azzi debates finding an excuse to duck out– she really would rather be in her room right now to wallow in sexual frustration– but she hasn’t spent any time with caroline tonight and owes her a quick chat.

she immediately regrets this choice.

because as soon as she sits down on the ugly brown suede of the couch, caroline is dragging her eyes over azzi’s flushed face and most likely swollen lips and saying “when are you two gonna get your shit together?”

azzi blinks. “i have no idea what you’re talking about.”

she panics a little– annoyed that caroline would allude to paige in such a populated environment, but when she looks around she sees nothing but teammates who are extremely drunk and paying no attention to their conversation. which is good, but also doesn't give her the out of not wanting others to listen in on this conversation.

caroline tilts her head and looks at azzi. “really? so paige was in the bathroom helping you- what, pee? giving you emotional support while you took a shit?”

azzi glares, tipping her chin up in defiance. “how do you know even paige was in the bathroom with me–” she pauses for a second, realizing that sounds almost like a confession, and adds “-i mean. why would you think that. that’s ridiculous.”

caroline raises her eyebrows. “okay, azzi. totally believe you right now.”

“good,” azzi huffs. “you should.”

goddamn caroline and her penchant for staying mostly sober and preying on young, innocent, emotionally vulnerable people like azzi. nika and her should start a club.

the girl in front of her sighs, and nudges their legs together, in what is probably an attempt at comfort. “i just don’t want you to get hurt, az. or paige.”

and that. makes azzi pause for a second, not because she thinks it's truly a possibility, but because she’s surprised at the genuine worry in caroline’s tone.

she knows that messing around with your best friend on mostly undefined terms doesn’t exactly have the highest success rate in the world, but, well. it was paige and azzi. and even though she was aware that she sounded a little naive in believing that they’d be fine no matter what, she knew that neither of them would intentionally hurt the other.

paige would probably rather lose every basketball game she ever played again than hurt azzi on purpose, and though azzi was loath to admit it, she felt the same. it might be strange to say that she wasn’t worried for their future, knew that they would always be alright, but azzi felt it in her bones. and not even in a drunk way either.

caroline might not get it, but as long as her and paige did, they’d be okay.

“carol, we won’t, i swear” she states plainly.

caroline eyes her, disbelieving, but azzi knows this isn’t something she’ll be able to explain, certainly not in tonight's brain state, and decides that this conversation is over. she pats her leg, before standing up shakily and stumbling around the room to say her goodbyes.

it’s at least a little bit nice knowing that everyone she’s leaving behind is definitely more drunk than she is, and she doesn't even have to convince evina that she needs someone to walk her home beyond rolling her eyes and saying “it’s literally one building- i’ll be fine.”

the trudge upstairs is quiet, and azzi lets her conversation with caroline wash over her. a year ago, she’d probably have freaked out at the reminder that her and paige meant as much to each other as they did, and that they weren’t anything more than best friends.

but now, even with her anger still simmering towards paige, the thought is vaguely comforting. they’re not dating– won’t be for a while azzi’s sure– but it worked for them, in a twisted, irrational way.

she smiles to herself, and then immediately frowns at how ridiculous she is, stumbling down a dark hallway by herself and grinning about the girl who’d just left her wet and aching with no remorse. the annoyance at paige comes back in full force.

she’d always been a touch emotionally unstable when drunk.

she climbs the final set of stairs thinking about how supremely excited for the solitude of her room she is, as the nights events have tested her sanity, her libido, her liver, and many more things that she can’t be bothered to name, but her plans to march straight into her bedroom and dive under the covers to take the edge of the night off are derailed when she opens the door to their suite and her eyes immediately catch upon nika and paige splayed out across the couch, game controllers in hand.

because of course. of course paige was in her home, just to torment her.

they both look up at the sound of the door, and paige’s face lights up before schooling it into a more reasonable expression, and azzi hates herself for flushing.

“what are you doing here,” she accuses, beginning to toe off her shoes.

“oh i’m sorry, i didn’t realize i wasn’t allowed to hang out at nika’s place,” paige tosses, so visibly relishing in getting under azzi’s skin that it made her want to throw something.

“nika’s place is also my place. and olivias.” she retorts, regaining her balance from a brief stumble caused by her mistake of trying to balance on one foot to untie her stubborn right sneaker.

“you and olivia aren’t the only ones who live here,” paige says loftily, controller slack in her grip, even through nika’s nudges to get her back in the game.

“yeah well me and olivia don’t need to hear you guys playing video games all night.” azzi shoots back, beelining towards the kitchen to get herself a much needed glass of water.

nika puts her controller down in defeat, accepting the derailment of her plans to continue playing their game.

paige doesn’t even seem to notice, eyes following azzi as she walks across the room, the open floorplan making it too easy for her to watch. “olivia’s not here. she went to her boyfriend’s ages ago- said she wasn’t coming home.”

and. “oh.”

that’s why paige was so blatantly trying to piss azzi off. nika says something about how it’s probably because liv got horny at the questions she was asking, but azzi’s focus is on the fact that paige had probably known that azzi’s suite would be free from people who were unaware of their dynamic, had probably planned to come back here before she’d even followed azzi to the bathroom. it meant she’d always had plans to finish the job, just with a little teasing to prove her point.

she refuses to let that thought soften her annoyance but her subconscious– who looks and sounds a lot like the whiny blonde in front of her– puts up a valiant fight. now is not the time to focus on that. because she has angry appearances to uphold.

she also does not mentally acknowledge how obsessed with her paige is when she stands up off the couch and comes to plant herself across from azzi, leaned up against the counter and arms crossed.

she watches azzi fill up a glass with sink water, and azzi hates that she can feel her eyes like a physical sensation. she swallows down the cool water gratefully, hoping it will cool her down.

“so you didn’t miss me?” is the tactic paige decides to go with when azzi finally looks in her direction, expectant and glaring.

honestly.

“no,” she bites out, icily. “i miss the peace and quiet of not being around you.”

paige’s smile only grows. “you’re bein’ mean, baby. you mad at me or somethin?’”

and dear god why is she pulling out pet names right now. except. azzi knows why: it’s always impossible for her to be annoyed with paige when she’s calling her baby. which is manipulation. she contemplates dumping her water over paige’s head.

“yeah, i’m fucking mad at you- take a wild guess as to why.”

paige smirks. “prolly cause i called you out on your lie.”

“no, because you’re a fucking tease,” azzi spits.

somehow this is the wrong answer, because paige cocks her head. “aw, is she cryin’ for me? bet she is. should've just admitted i’m you best, and i woulda take care of you, hmm?” she pouts, as if she isn’t spewing pure filth in the light of azzi’s kitchen with nika still sort of in earshot.

sometimes, it was hard to reconcile this paige– confident and cocky and so sure of herself– with the paige that had once bashfully admitted to practicing how to drive with only her left hand in the off chance azzi would let her hold her right; the paige whose hands had shaken so badly the first time they’d kissed that she’d knocked her phone off the ledge of the pool they’d been sitting on.

azzi loved every version of paige, always, and knew that at least almost every version of paige belonged to her in some capacity, but the way she was acting right now, so much like the lothario version of paige that so many people thought of her as, was fucking with her head.

she was aware that it was a direct reaction to her own declaration that charlie had been her very best, and that paige was putting on this show just for azzi, because she was jealous, but the nagging idea that she’d picked up this persona from sleeping with other girls had azzi fucking pissed, even if it was irrational.

and also, paige like this was really, really hot. which made azzi angrier. and meaner. and, well. wetter.

“i can take care of myself,” she glowers, and she doesn’t mean for it to come off as suggestive as it does– doesn’t mean for paige to know that she has every intention of getting herself off– but the thought slips out before she can catch it and paige’s eyes darken. god damnit.

azzi can see her hands clench around her upper arms, like she’s trying to stop herself from reaching out.

“yeah? you don’t want my help?”

“no,” azzi grits out, even though she kind of does.

paige goes to respond, leaning forward off the counter, but nika beats her to it, a touch of exasperation and disgust in her tone. “get out of our kitchen and go have this fight in your room, i don’t want to hear it.”

azzi scowls at her, knowing that’s exactly what paige wants, and sure enough, the blonde smiles, sharp and pleased, and spins on her heel with an overdramatic flip of her hair, sighing exaggeratedly. “if we must.”

“no, paige it’s not your room,” she calls, but it’s no use.

paige flips her off without looking back and smacks a loud, messy kiss to the side of nika’s arm. “nighty night twin, sleep with a pillow over your head, yeah?”

azzi might actually jump her. and not in the fun way.

“paige,” she shrieks, vowing to refuse any and all attempt by paige tonight to get in her pants.

nika groans at the same time and hits paige across the shoulder. “i’m going to kill myself.” her grumbles fade as she disappears down the hallway, and azzi is left to follow paige’s retreating figure into her bedroom, slightly dazed and extremely pissed, as any normal person in her position would likely be.

she stops short when she gets to the doorway, however, because paige has somehow deemed it necessary to strip down to her sports bra and boxers. because of course she has.

such a presumptuous idiot.

azzi stops and stares for a split second, before trying to get her fuzzy brain to ignore the miles of skin now exposed, including but not limited to: the pale meat of her thighs, her biceps from where she’s tucked her hands behind her head, the ridges of her abs, the muscle on her– azzi needs a gun.

so she can kill herself.

actually. scratch that, kill paige, and then kill herself. in like. a romantic, shakespearean way.

paige’s eyes flick to where azzi is sure her cheeks are flushed and grins, self satisfied and stupid, and then she interrupts azzi’s mental designation of herself as romeo (much more romantic) and paige as juliette (long luscious locks)(she knows paige will disagree with these role assignments and she makes a mental note to bring it up later so they can argue about it) with a lazy “s’hot in here, hope you don’t mind,” and azzi is reminded of why she’s thinking about shakespeare plays in the first place.

murder. she wants to murder paige. lounging on azzi’s bed, like she hadn’t left her high and dry without a single apology only twenty minutes prior.

what a fucking asshole. azzi hates her.

she huffs, spins around to shut the door, perhaps with a little more force than usual, and then stalks to the edge of the bed. she’s too drunk to be dealing with this. it’s hard enough to stay mad at paige sober, but drunk, with a half naked paige on her bed? she’s fighting an uphill battle with 50 pound weights on each shoulder.

“put your clothes back on, dickhead. i already told you, we’re not-” she cuts off her response, squinting. “is that my bra?”

paige blanches.

“no,” she blurts, voice in that high pitched tone she uses whenever she’s lying, “it's not.” her face is crimson. liar.

paige is absolutely wearing her sports bra, the white, faded garment doing terrible, terrible things to azzi insides as it emphasizes the lingering tan of paige’s skin from summer. the added knowledge that paige had chosen one of azzi’s to throw on does nothing to help the heat in her stomach.

“paige,” she scolds, trying not to let affection of all things at the act of thievery well up inside of her. “that’s totally mine. it has the stain from when you spilled wine all over me last summer.”

that had been a delightful accident.

paige had tripped, knocked azzi’s cup all over her, and then had had a perfect excuse to drag her inside and away from prying eyes to change.

twenty minutes later, they’d rejoined the bueckers’ family barbecue with flushed cheeks and giddy eyes, because paige had deemed a make out in the laundry room an extremely necessary addition to her apology.

paige appears to be relishing in that exact same memory, and she grins, cocking her head to the side. azzi was hoping she’d show at least some remorse. she should’ve known better.

“want me give it back?” she taunts, arms coming down from where they’d been behind her head to start tugging the flimsy fabric up. “can do it right now, if you want.”

“no,” azzi all but shrieks, lunging forward onto the bed and halting paige’s hands.

which is. extremely stupid for two reasons. one, the fact that it actually probably does serve her best interests if paige takes off her bra, and two, she’s somehow landed astride paige’s hips, knees on the mattress on either side of her torso, and hands gripping paige’s wrists.

their eye contact is heavy, and paige’s hips shift beneath azzi, searching for friction even when she knows she hasn’t earned it.

“kinda seems like you want me to take it off, hmm?”

azzi tries to stop herself from grinding down on paige’s torso, but is woefully unsuccessful.

“i don’t,” she moans. how she got here– when five seconds ago she swore she was standing on business– was beyond her. reason and logic never applied when it came to paige.

in a flash, paige frees her wrists from azzi’s hands– that have gone slack from her focus elsewhere– and flips them, pinning azzi’s hips to the bed, and then just looking down at her for a second, wild and turned on.

“i think you��re lying,” she breathes, gaze focussed on azzi’s lips.

azzi’s too distracted by paige’s eyes above her to process the words for a split second, but by the time they register, paige’s mouth is already crashing down on her own, swiping a tongue in almost immediately like she’s been dying without it in the last thirty minutes.

and azzi- azzi lets her deepen the kiss, lets her press azzi back into the bed, even lets paige tug off her t-shirt and suck a hickie into the sensitive skin below her chest as she arches into it, because she has a plan forming.

paige mouths down azzi’s stomach, smug and stupid but still so, so good at ready azzi’s body, knowing exactly what she needs, and when paige hooks a finger in the waistband of her shorts and boxers, azzi nods approvingly, lifting her hips to let paige tug them off.

humiliation burns a little at how wet her boxers are, how slick is already glistening on the inside of her thighs, but paige’s gaze is hungry, intentional, and azzi smiles to herself.

just as paige ducks down to lave a kiss on the skin of azzi pelvis, azzi wiggles out from under her, the process made easier at paige’s surprise.

she settles a few inches away on the mattress– still on her back and legs spread wide, exposing her dripping hole– and paige’s tongue darts out to wet her lips, like she’s trying to taste the brief glimpse she got of azzi’s skin under her mouth.

in a trance, paige crawls over trying to resume their previous positioning and reaches out to touch, almost mindless, like she can’t help it. azzi bats her hand away.

she’s aware that this might against her self interest– paige above her and inside her and all around her was eons better than her own hand– but she knows there’s no better way to make paige suffer than to show her exactly what she wants and not let her have it, and the desire to make paige feel as desperate as azzi had felt in the bathroom wins out over her own desire to get off fast.

“you don’t get to touch now. you had your chance earlier,” she rasps, eye contact steady even as her breath hitches at the neediness in the dark blue of her gaze.

paige makes a wrecked, disbelieving sound in the back of her throat, but her hands still on the sheets, not making another attempt at touching, and azzi tuts approvingly before slowly gliding her own hands down her abdomen, tracing at the mark paige’s mouth had only just made underneath the swell of her breast before dragging down to ghost over her cunt.

“azzi” she moans, eyes fixated on the movement of her fingers, gathering the abundance of slick on two digits before dragging them back up to nudge at her clit.

azzi’s back arches at the feeling, and at the piercing intensity of paige’s gaze, pleasure curling in the base of her spine at how good it is, and she feels herself clench around nothing.

if it were paige’s hands, azzi knows she would drag it out, would wait to press inside and only give her light touches until she were incoherent, but it's her own hands on herself, so she simply dip her fingers down again, but this time, instead of tracing the edge of her hole, she slips one in and relish in the pleasure that curls hot and wet.

they both gasp at the act of it– paige’s more of a longing whimper– and azzi needs more.

one is not nearly enough– not when paige is moaning next to her like she’s the one being fingered and azzi is already worked up from their bathroom encounter earlier– and azzi immediately slips a second in with the first, choking back another moan at the pleasure that pools in her stomach again, and trying to angle her hand so she can thumb at her clit in the process.

it’s all wrong though– the angle’s a little off, and azzi can’t get the right stimulation on her clit and inside at the same time– and this is all heightened by the fact that paige is watching beside her, jaw slack and eyes hooded, and.

and azzi wants to cave so badly, let paige replace the heat of her gaze with the heat of her mouth, but she hangs on a little longer, determined to make paige suffer.

but then. then paige starts talking, slurring about how good azzi looks, how good paige could make her feel if only she were allowed to touch, how badly she needs a taste, and azzi feels her remaining control start to slide away, despite herself.

“you’re so wet- just havin’ me watch you finger your pretty little pussy, hmm?” paige chokes out, hands twitching at her sides and eyes wild, gaze tumbling over the pink of azzi’s cunt in between her thighs and dragging upwards across the rest of her body.

azzi’s too turned on by the filthy words to disagree, whining out an affirmative instead, and her head falls back against the pillows when she increases the pace of her fingers, trying to curl them into that spot that paige always seemed to find on the first go.

paige must be encouraged by her reaction, must know azzi is close to relenting, because she doubles down. “look so pretty for me, wanna touch azzi.”

azzi stutters out a moan, and twists her fingers harder. it feels good, great even, but the knowledge that it could be paige’s fingers is making her frustrated at her self, and it turns out being frustrated makes it hard to focus on pleasure, even with paige’s voice in her ear.

“you’re not doin’ it right, baby, know i could do it better, please let me do it better,” paige breathes, and azzi can see her hands lift in the corner of her eye before falling back down onto the mattress in defeat.

and paige is right, she’s not doing it right, too fast paced, she can’t get the angle quite right, her mind is scattered, and she huffs a sigh. paige being right– being able to read her body so well just by looking, watching, makes azzi angrier, and she doubles down in her resolve, even if that means not coming for the next twenty minutes.

but then. but then paige starts begging, “please azzi, need to touch- can i please touch,” and azzi is undone at the desperation in her voice.

before she can process her agreement, she’s moaning out “yes, yes, paige,” and in a heartbeat, the blonde is on top of her, licking into her mouth for an open mouthed kiss, hands knocking away azzi’s to take their rightful spot between her legs.

immediately, she nudges her own two fingers inside azzi, and she swallows her moan at how much better it feels, how much fuller she is, how much better paige is at curling just right, and she nearly cries with relief.

she’s close from her own fingers and paige’s words, and she’s sort of expecting paige to finish the job in under a minute, seeing as she’s extremely capable and also has a point to prove. which is why she’s surprised when paige’s ministrations are just shy of enough, not quite their usual finesse.

she whines in frustration, kissing paige harder, trying to coax her into giving azzi what she wants, but paige pulls back above her and smirks. “you can come when you admit i’m the best you ever had.”

and oh my god. why was she still on that.

defiance wells in azzi, sharp and bratty, and she glares at the cruel vision above her. “you’re not-” her voice cuts off when paige curls her fingers exactly right, and paige laughs– laughs– above her.

“you sure, baby? sound so needy for me, just gotta say it, then you can come.”

azzi chokes on a moan, before gasping out “don’t need you to come.”

paige drags her fingers out and circles, punishing her for that sentence. “you sure? cause two minutes ago you were begging me to come finish it, couldn’t do it without me, huh baby”

jesus fuck, her words were messing with azzi’s head, and she only has the ability to whine in protest, beyond words. she was letting paige edge her twice in one night. god help her.

“know i could make you come so good, baby, you just gotta tell me,” paige continues, breathing all of this into azzi’s ear, sending her shuddering. “just say it, say paige, you’re the best i’ve ever had, baby, and i swear i’ll get you right- just gotta remind you who you belong to.”

and it’s almost embarrassing how fast azzi folds. but paige had paired that last sentence with a grind of her palms against azzi’s clit, relentless, and. azzi never really stood a chance.

“okay, paige, paige, feels so good, best i ever had i swear, please make me come,” she babbles, hands digging into paige’s back and tears forming at the corners of her eyes from how desperate she feels.

paige shushes her, soothing, and quickens the drag of her fingers, finally in that rhythm that always has azzi gasping for breath. it’s immediately so good, and azzi really doesn’t stand a chance when she drags her thumb up to rub at azzi’s clit in time with the thursts of her fingers, whispering “good girl, you just had to say it baby,” into the skin of her shoulder.

“you can come, az- want you to, just for me,” paige breathes, mouthing at azzi’s neck, and that’s what does it, snapping the band in her stomach.

she comes with a drawn out moan, thighs clamping together and hands clawing at paige’s back, and she’s too far gone to be embarrassed by the tears she releases in pleasure.

but then, instead of coaxing azzi through her climax like she normally would, paige’s face is suddenly gone from above her. azzi’s head is too delirious with pleasure to catch up to where she’s going, and she misses paige all around her immediately, but then she feels her presence in between her thighs, licking azzi through it, and she genuinely might die here, in this dorm bed in fucking storrs connecticut.

and jesus christ it’s too much, pleasure and pain warring for attention in azzi’s mind and making her already fuzzy head even more so, and it’s so much and she feels like she’ll explode, and.

“paige i cant, i cant–”

but she gets cut off by paige’s “you can,” her fingers wrapping around azzi’s thighs to hold her still and diving in, drinking up the remnants of azzi’s orgasm and then continuing on, as if her first one was simply the appetizer.

“s’to make up for the one i didn’t give you earlier,” she rasps, hands still keeping azzi’s body steady as she ducks back down for another taste.

azzi doesn’t have words anymore, and resigns herself to the pleasure-pain, twisting her fingers into paige’s hair in a way that is sure to be painful, and will also probably get paige even wetter, the freak.

and there’s. a reason paige is the best she’s ever had, and she seems determined to prove that all over again, relentless with her tongue as she sucks azzi clit into her mouth.

her back arches, drawn taught from overstimulation, and she’s sure she’s making all kinds of pathetic noises but all she can focus on is how she’s already at least half way to coming again, heat curling tight and thighs trembling.

paige looks up at her from between her legs, looking reverent even in her determination to remind azzi of how wholly paige’s she is, and smiles sharply. “‘member what christyn asked me earlier?”

and. what. azzi’s brain is a lot fuzzy and entirely confused on why paige is bringing anyone else up right now, let alone one of their teammates.

she whines in confusion, trying to drag paige’s head back down where she wants her, hands grabbing at her hair, but paige holds steady, letting her chin rest on the soft skin of azzi’s pelvis, moisture glistening on her mouth.

“in the game. she asked me what my favorite sex position was.”

azzi has some vague recollection of this, but she’s not exactly focused on anything except for paige’s mouth right now, and she’s rather insulted that paige is so coherent.

her head dips back again, against the pillow and she gasps out “uh huh,” wiggling her hips to trying and speed this intermission up, remind paige of what’s right in front of her, but instead of reattaching her mouth, paige smacks at her hip, just enough to sting, and grunts “be good, baby, focus.”

fucking hell.

azzi is trying to focus– focus on the feeling of her impending orgasm– but she chokes out a gasp at the pain and makes eye contact again, shuddering at the desire on paige’s face. somehow the hit to her hip made it even harder to not writhe under her gaze, but she lets paige’s words wash over her and tries to focus.

“s’always gonna be this, baby,” paige slurs once she has azzi’s attention, “always wan’ my mouth on you, best place in the whole world, best pussy in the whole world and it’s mine to taste.”

azzi somehow, impossibly feels herself get even wetter, her ability to think of anything but paige melting entirely, slipping through her veins and leaking out from her cunt, surely dripping onto the sheets by now with nothing to lap up the slick.

distantly, azzi remembers that she was right– that the first thing her brain had gone to at the question had been how much paige loved eating her out– but she can’t even relish in that small victory, too busy trying to be still and good for paige and not spontaneously combust.

“tastes so good- azzi- would die here, swear,” paige continues, voice husky, and even though she’s not physically touching azzi– not where she needs her at least– azzi can still feel her words winding the coil in her belly tighter, pushing her closer to the edge.

“paige, please, need it, need it so bad,” she cries, and she actually feels like she might die if paige doesn’t touch her.

and then, finally, finally, paige is dipping her head back down to azzi’s neglected cunt, teasing the edge before slipping inside, and azzi has to fist a hand over her mouth to muffle the strangled cry.

if paige was ruthless before, it’s nothing compared to the pace she sets now, switching between laving her tongue across azzi’s clit and diving into her hole, and azzi is back on the edge in seconds, trying not to thrash her legs at the overwhelming pleasure.

she can hear herself babbling– a jumble of paige and please and fuck– but her ears are ringing and all she can focus on is the growing spark in the base of her spine.

and then paige pauses for a second, one hand moving from azzi’s hip to rub at her clit, and she gasps “wanna see you come again baby, come for me,” before dipping her head back down, and azzi shatters completely, hands tugging at paige's hair and thighs tightening around her head.

her first orgasm had been loud, crashing down around her, but this one washes over her more gently, like she’s surrendered entirely to the feeling.

she shoves paige’s head away when she can feel her arms again, and tries to get her breathing under control, reeling from how hard she came.

immediately, paige is crawling up her body to kiss her.

azzi’s limbs are buzzing, pleasure curling in every nerve of her body, and she lets herself be moved onto paige’s chest, her mind in that blissed out, malleable place and her gasps muffled into the bare skin of paige’s shoulder.

she stays like that, floating, for an undetermined amount of time, and then she leans back to press their mouths together in a gentle thanks, smiling against paige’s lips.

they kiss for a bit, slow and lazy and perfect as azzi comes down from her high, and she’s warm, and still a little drunk, and so perfectly sated that she could absolutely fall asleep like this, trading kisses with paige's hands stroking down her back until her eyes fall shut.

but then paige, wonderful, lovely paige who’s just taken azzi apart piece by piece and then put her back together again, makes a soft, needy noise when azzi’s hands move gently across her stomach and she’s reminded that the other girl has yet to come.

which is, like, surely a crime, and one that azzi has the power to rectify.

she rolls on top of paige and deepens the kiss, sliding a knee between the blonde’s and bracketing her face with her arms. paige exhales sharply at the change in position, hands moving with azzi to stay fixed to the dip in her spine, and when azzi moves down to press an open-mouthed kiss to her throat, paige’s hips shift up involuntarily.

her head dips back against the pillow, blonde hair splayed out across the pale blue of the sheets, and azzi wishes, desperately, that she could suck a mark into the alluringly pale skin of her neck that’s revealed with the motion without having to deal with the consequences.

instead, she moves down to paige’s collarbone, encouraged by the stutter in her breathing and the flex of her fingers against azzi’s back, and finds a spot she hopes will be hidden under the collar of her shirt come morning to leave a mark, sucking at the skin and relishing in the arch of her body beneath her and the bruise she knows is already forming.

her only coherent thought when she leans back to look at the mark on her breastbone is mine.

which. paige isn’t hers, not technically, not in the ways you could label definitively, but she also definitely, assuredly is, in the same way azzi belongs to paige, in the unspoken but not unacknowledged way that many things with them are.

she looks back up at paige’s face for a moment, and is struck, yet again, by how achingly beautiful she is like this, soft and needy and entirely azzi’s. it makes her heart crack open in her chest at the thought, and she presses their mouths together again in hopes of distracting herself.

she blames the earnestness of her thoughts on the vodka still sliding through her veins, even if that simmer has started to fade away and she thinks these thoughts multiple times a day.

azzi deepens the kiss, as if she can press her sentiments of care and impossible fondness and mine into paige’s lips, and she responds twofold, like she can hear azzi’s thoughts of you mean so much to me in the way she drags their tongues together and reciprocates them right back to her, nipping at azzi’s lip gently, a you mean so much to me too.

eventually, they’ll have to start using the actual words, but for now, with the upcoming season and the team dynamics looming above them, this will have to be enough. azzi will force it to be enough.

she drags one of the hands next to paige’s head down, skimming over the fabric of her sports bra to brush at her nipples through the material and then moving lower, nails scratching lightly over paige’s abdomen in the way she knows drives her a little crazy.

sure enough, paige whines in her mouth, but when azzi’s hand dances under the waistband of her boxers, she pulls back for a second, breathing hard.

“you don’t gotta- like- i know you’re tired,” paige says, pupil blown wide and lips slick. her eyes are dazed but steady, and azzi knows the buzz of vodka has started slipping away from her too, taking the desperation with it and leaving only tenderness.

she smiles, half at paige’s expression, and half at her unflinching selflessness. “just wanna make you feel good, that’s all.”

paige tilts her head back, eyes flicking around the room so she doesn’t have to make eye-contact. “you don’t have to, like- swear we can just sleep.”

her cheeks are red, and azzi’s smile grows at her shyness.

honestly. she just had azzi spread out before her, begging and incoherent, mumbling the filthiest things in her ear, and a simple wanna make you feel good has her blushing and squirmy. affection blooms in her chest, pooling sticky and sweet, and she presses a kiss to paige’s cheekbone.

paige has never been one to shy away from reciprocation, so azzi’s a bit confused, but she’s still joking when she teases, “what’s wrong, baby, worried you’ll come too quick?”

paige’s guilty hesitation is an unexpected confirmation, but delightful all the same.

“no- that’s not- m’not-” her voice cuts off in a whine when azzi cups her over her boxers, and azzi smirks, tries not to be affected by the feeling of how soaked paige is even through the fabric.

“really?”

paige’s hips twitch against her palm, fingers scrabbling against her back.

“azzi,” she moans, and that’s all it takes to have the younger girl slipping her fingers underneath the waistband and pressing at her clit.

“i know baby, need it so bad, hmm?” she coos, mentally reeling at how wet paige is– all from working azzi up again and again– and the fact that she would’ve gone to sleep anyways without release had azzi wanted that.

god.

paige whines in affirmative, and normally azzi would try and draw it out, try and build paige up slowly to prolong her pleasure and selfishly prolong her view of paige falling apart, but tonight, paige is already too keyed up, and she rubs immediately at her clit in firm circles, the way she knows works her up quickly.

she’s rewarded with another moan, and paige’s hands move from the base of her spine to her face, tugging azzi in for a messy kiss as she begins to grind against her hand.

her fingers dip down to paige’s entrance, and she groans into her mouth when azzi slips two fingers inside, the glide almost too easy with how wet she is. she pumps paige slowly, curling her fingers into the spot she knows like the back of her hand, and paige breaks the kiss to let out a broken sound, eyes squeezing shut in pleasure.

“doing so good for me, baby” she breathes, cataloging the way her praise cause paige’s eyes to flutter; her hands to grasp azzi’s shoulders; her cunt to clench down on her fingers.

she loves paige like this, loves even more how they can go from rough and messy to soft and reverent in a matter of minutes, and she tries to savor every sound that rolls off of paige’s tongue, every twitch of her hips.

her fingers continue their slow, unyielding rhythm, with paige a mess below her, and when she can feel her start to get close, making all sorts of delicious sounds high in her throat, azzi pauses her ministrations.

not to be mean and drag it out like paige had done earlier, not tonight, but to rid her of the boxers that she’s being constrained by and tug off her sports bra so as to see all of paige spread out before her to touch, to admire.

and god is it a sight. paige is too gone to make fun of how beyond love sick azzi probably looks, thank god, so azzi hovers above her and just takes it in, scouring over every inch of paige: the jut of her hip bones; the blush of her nipples; the taut muscle of her thighs.

she must take too long simply observing, because paige whines, hands pulling azzi back down so their skin is flush together, and the older girl moans into her mouth when azzi dips down to kiss her again, one of her hands coming up to hold at the base of her neck, claiming.

azzi can feel the flutter of her pulse beneath her palm, and it’s more erotic than she was expecting.

she breaks the kiss, suddenly hit with the greedy urge to taste paige everywhere, to feel her tip over the edge on her tongue, but when she goes to crawl down paige body, she’s stopped by paige’s hands on her back and a whine in protest.

she pulls back in confusion, just as paige whispers, high a needy, “can you- want you to stay up here, need you close.”

god. if azzi malfunctions a little bit, no one can blame her.

she doesn’t have a verbal response right away, just surges into to kiss paige again, wet and needy, and when she pulls back, paige’s pupils are blown so wide her eyes are nearly black, cheeks flushed, and azzi wonders if its possible for her heart to physically leap out of her chest.

“‘course, baby. whatever you want,” she chokes, and she wonders if paige knows how true that statement is, how azzi would give her anything in the world if she only asked. if her voice is rougher than it usually would be, paige is too desperate to point it out.

she shifts them on their sides, so she has both hands free, and uses one to pull paige back into a kiss by the back of her head, trailing her other hand down to her previous position in between the blonde’s thighs, rubbing circles on her clit and swallowing her gasp, before dipping back down to her hole and slipping two fingers in.

if paige was worked up before, it’s nothing compared to how wet she is now, and azzi fights to keep her composure and not melt into her own puddle of slick at the tangible feeling of paige’s desire.

she curls her fingers, working up to an unforgiving rhythm inside of paige, pressing as deep as she can and curling her fingers. paige arches into her with a cry, babbling out a string of incoherent words and azzi’s name, and though she’s not usually this vocal, something about the sacredness of the moment must have opened the floodgates, because paige seemingly can’t stop the words from spilling out of her mouth.

“god, azzi, please, fuck-, please don’t stop-”

azzi would never dream of it. a different time, perhaps, she might remind paige of that, make a teasing comment about how she’s never not gotten paige off before, but something about how delicate the blonde looks beneath her stops that thought before it materializes.

“i know, baby, i’ve got you, doing so good for me,” she breathes instead, and is rewarded with a choked off moan, paige’s hands gripping azzi’s shoulders like they’re the only things grounding her to earth.

azzi tilts her head down to rest on paige’s shoulder, watching her fingers move in and out, and continues curling her fingers repeatedly, making sure to grind her palm against her clit in the process, and relishing in the desperation she can feel radiating off of paige.

she knows paige is close, can feel it in the tremor of her thighs, the pulse of her walls around her fingers, and she leans up to rasp “come just for me, paige, all for me,” into her ear, pairing it with the addition of a third finger.

it does exactly what she expected, and paige writhes against her hand, mumbling “just for you azzi, only for you,” before breaking off into a high pitched gasp and tensing, coming all over azzi’s fingers.

azzi kisses her to try and swallow the rest of her cries, and pumps her fingers slowly, working her through it, before pulling away when paige mumbles “too much” into her hair, breathing labored and hands tugging at azzi’s back.

paige’s thighs are shaking. azzi resists the urge to make a smug comment, but only barely.

she licks her fingers clean, chasing the taste of paige dripping down her hand, and paige makes a soft, wrecked sound in the back of her throat, pulling azzi even closer.

she then kisses paige on her temple, sweaty hairline be damned, and presses as close as she possibly can, relishing in how needy paige is right now.

they lie there, curled together for a couple minutes in contented silence, basking in this version of each other that they only get occasionally now, before azzi decides she’d really rather not wake up hungover and sticky, and gets up to grab a washcloth.

they should probably shower. that is one hundred percent not happening tonight. a washcloth will have to do.

paige grumbles sleepily at the separation, but lets azzi go with a kiss to her temple and a swat of her ass, and azzi pretends to be scandalized when she bends down to grab a shirt off the ground so as to not walk in the hallway naked and paige whistles behind her at the view.

she doesn’t bother with pants, and as she shuffles to the bathroom across the hall– noting gratefully that there’s no light coming from under nika’s door– she feels the beginning of an ache in her thighs and she grins to herself as satisfaction wells in her stomach. she hopes she feels it for days to come– hopes rather possessively that paige does too.

the lights of the bathroom are brighter than she was ready for, and she squints in annoyance as she wets a cloth and wipes carelessly at the mess between her legs, before dropping the cloth on the edge of the sink to wash her hands.

absentmindedly, she thinks to herself, a little ridiculously and definitely still a little drunkenly, that she misses paige. it’s been maybe a minute max. she has got to get a grip.

but then, as she’s reaching to turn off the water, she feels two arms snake around her waist and the familiar weight of paige curling into her back, tucking her head into the crevice between azzi’s neck and shoulder and pressing a kiss, as if summoned by her needy thoughts.

sometimes she thinks their brains are synced up on, like, a telepathic plane.

“your legs stopped shakin’ then?” she says as a greeting, and paige folds herself further into azzi, almost bashful. azzi fucking loves when she gets like this, in that possessive, greedy way that comes with the knowledge that she’s the only one who’s ever gotten to see this version of paige.

“shut up, bro.”

azzi just giggles.

paige is also in only a large t-shirt– no doubt stolen from azzi’s drawer– and it’s inside out, the tag sticking up against the collar and the faint, backwards outline of st. john’s basketball is just barely visible through the material. it hangs loose and oversized, hitting mid thigh in a way that should not be as sinful as it is, and she looks rumpled and soft and azzi thinks she might possibly drown in affection.

she spins them around, leaning paige up against the sink, and moves to wipe the washcloth gently between paige’s thighs, mourning the unblemished skin and the missed opportunity to leave her mark and return the favor that paige had given her earlier.

next time. (not that- not that there’s going to be a next time. or anything.)

paige must feel the heat behind her gaze, because she shoves at azzi shoulder and rolls her eyes. “you’re insatiable.”

azzi simply hums in agreement and spins them back around, curling into paige’s side to face the mirror and grabbing her tooth brush.

she brushes as efficiently as possible, rolling her eyes at the faces paige makes at her in the mirror, and then forces paige to use her toothbrush too.

paige protests this until azzi says she’ll withhold morning kisses, and paige almost knocks the toothbrush out of azzi’s hands in her haste to use it.

azzi ignores the urge to say something entirely stupid like we should do this always and then you could have your own toothbrush here. from paige’s lopsided grin around in the mirror, foam lingering on the corner of her mouth, azzi thinks she probably understands the unsaid words anyway.

they pad back to azzi’s room with their fingers intertwined, trying to step on each other’s toes to be as annoying as possible, and paige’s hand smacks over her mouth when she laughs too loudly in the silence of the hallway at a near stumble when they trip over each other's feet.

paige flops onto the bed unceremoniously when they return, denying azzi’s offer of boxers while the brunette throws on a faded pair of her own, and she only moves from her face down position when azzi worms up next to her, nudging paige over until they can curl up under the bedsheets chest to chest, azzi tucked up under her chin.

it warms her heart to an impossible level that it wasn’t even a question if paige would sleep over. she prays that when they wake up, they can stay in their bubble for a little while longer, and then decides to voice that thought aloud.

sort of.

“if you’re annoying about this in the morning i swear to god-”

“-oh if i’m annoying– were you not the one who made me sneak out at the ass crack of dawn last time?”

that had absolutely happened. but in azzi’s defense, both nika and olivia had been home, and had interrogated her when they got up about who she’d brought back from the bar, because they’d heard that she’d had someone over. she’d nearly killed herself of embarrassment.

instead of admitting to this, she wriggles closer and says, pettily, “must’ve been one of your other bitches.” she’s joking. definitely.

paige huffs, annoyed. her hands move further down azzi’s back, gripping her waist, and azzi stays firmly tucked into her shoulder, hiding from her face, but she just knows paige is rolling her eyes aggressively.

“bruh you’re not serious.”

azzi is dead serious. she, again, doesn’t really have the right to be possessive, but they’re breaking every other rule tonight– paige put on quite the jealous performance– she might as well indulge too.

distantly, she’s aware that eventually, when they’re not being stupid and ignoring this whole sleeping-together-and-not-talking-about-it thing, they’ll need to discuss the fact that they’re definitely in love. and she knows that the responsibility of bringing it up will eventually fall on her, that paige will follow her lead, would probably do anything azzi asked of her, but whatever.

that’s tomorrow, sober azzi’s problem to freak out about and then subsequently ignore. right now, she stays stubbornly quiet, and paige sighs, exaggeratedly loud, making azzi’s whole body move with paige’s chest when she inhales.

with as much conviction as a girl who’s had seven shots in the last four hours can muster, paige uses the hand not currently on azzi’s waist to tilt her head back so they can make eye contact, and says “azzi, bro, you gotta know i don’t have other girls.”

her eyes are a little unfocussed, from the sleepiness or the fading drunkenness azzi doesn’t know, but she does know that paige is telling the truth anyways, with that kind of quiet earnestness that only she has ever been able to exhibit.

she’d known, on some level, that paige wasn’t messing around with anyone else, but there’s a difference between hearing paige mumble confessions in the middle of an orgasm and hearing her assuredness in the after.

she also knows that exclusiveness probably goes beyond the normal realm of best friends with benefits, but that's neither here nor there, and satisfaction settles in her gut anyways and she smiles, probably disgustingly wide.

she tucks her head back into paige chest, lest she give away how happy that confirmation makes her and give the other girl an unneeded ego boost.

“me neither. y’know. if you care.”

paige definitely already knew this, but operating under assumptions and hopeful thinking is very different from a verbal acknowledgement. this isn’t really in the realm of casual. azzi can’t bring herself to care.

paige hums, and azzi doesn’t know how, but the simple, minute sound exudes smugness. she should’ve kept her mouth shut.

“yeah, i know. prolly cause i’m the best you ever had,” paige singsongs.

azzi bites her shoulder. “i never said that. you’re making assumptions.”

“you literally said that, like, thirty minutes ago.” indignation laces her words, and then she pitches her voice up in a terrible impression of azzi, drawing her words out breathily because she’s a pest, and mocking, “ohhhhh paige, feels so good, best i ever-”

azzi elbows her in the gut to shut her up, and she makes a funny, cut off sound in surprise and (hopefully) pain. good.

“please just go to sleep.”

“i’m just pointing out the fact that you literally just said i was the best-”

“paige, i swear to god if you don’t shut up-”

“you’ll what,” paige dares. she probably thinks this is foreplay, and it would be, too, if azzi wasn’t already exhausted and sated.

“or i’ll call charlie.” it’s an empty threat and they both know it, but paige gets huffy anyways, and azzi smiles into her chest.

“azzi do not play with me right now,” she grunts around azzi’s giggles, hands tightening on her waist, before adding “it is not funny.”

“it kinda is.”

“it’s not.” she grumbles. a beat, and then “never want to hear his name ever again bro, swear.”

azzi just laughs.

paige is quiet for a second, but azzi knows better than to think this means she’s going to leave it, and sure enough, five seconds later, “s’okay, y’know, that i’m the best you’ve ever had cause, like, you’re the best i ever had too. so like- it works.”

satisfaction spreads deliciously through her body and azzi resists the urge to say i know into paige’s shoulder, grinning instead, as the other girl continues on loftily with her speech.

“but like i’m the best you ever had even more than you’re the best i-”

“-paige,” she cuts off.

“what.”

“shut up,” azzi grumbles, bringing her hand up to try and find paige’s mouth and cover it blindly in the dark. “sleep time.”

it’s a cop out and she knows it, but also it’s probably nearing two am and she’s trying to limit how bad her hangover tomorrow will be, and if paige keeps talking like that they’re gonna, like, end up having sex again and not sleeping. or something.

paige nips the finger that azzi’s placed haphazardly over her mouth and finally quiets, blessedly taking a command for once in her life.

they settle more comfortably into the sheets, twisting around so paige is pressed up against azzi’s back, legs tangled and hearts beating in sync, and azzi feels her whole body relax into a state of peacefulness that only comes with being wrapped up in paige, cozy and quiet and safe.

it’s silent for at least a whole minute, so azzi mistakenly thinks paige is done yapping for the day and starts drifting off. but then paige– azzi really needs to get her checked for adhd– whispers “hey azzi” into her hair.

she debates whether she wants to respond.

the combination of alcohol, post sex-haze, and paige’s arms wrapped around her is making her entire body feel warm and fuzzy, and she was kind of already halfway to sleep, but her unflinching, rather self-sabotaging tendency to humor paige no matter the circumstance wins out.

“mm,” she mumbles, and tries to make her voice sound as sleepy as possible so paige will make this quick.

the other girl is silent for a second, and azzi wonders if she’s going to say anything at all, and then her fingers twitch against azzi’s stomach where they’ve wormed under her t-shirt and she whispers “if we wake up drunk can we fuck in the shower?”

under normal (see: sober; awake) circumstances, this sentence would cause azzi to shriek, and probably pinch paige somewhere she knows would leave a mark. instead, she hums, considering, pretending like she hasn’t already decided the answer is yes, and slides one of her legs further between paige’s.

they won’t wake up drunk; are barely riding tipsy right now. they both are fully aware of this. it’s an unspoken request that they continue their little bubble of paigeandazzi with no rules until later tomorrow– that when they wake up they can mutually pretend the alcohol hasn’t left their system and extend the breach in their precariously constructed facade of a platonic relationship.

“maybe.”

this means yes and they both know it, and she can hear the smile in paige’s voice when she says “bet.”

azzi laces their fingers together against her stomach, and grins into the dark. “‘night, p, love you,” she whispers. she chooses to ignore how decidedly not casual that is.

paige squeezes their fingers. “love you too, az,” and she can feel the grin on paige’s face pressing into her shoulder.

her last coherent thought before she drifts off is that their new rules are supremely stupid, but if it takes becoming an alcoholic to break the rules every night, she’d consider it.

(they do, in fact, pretend to still be drunk when they wake up, and paige doesn’t stop using her comically exaggerated, extremely annoying pretend drunk voice until azzi makes her shut up. they absolutely fuck in the shower. and also in the kitchen. which is where nika finds them, rumpled and glowing, arguing over who would be romeo and who would be juliet. she doesn’t even bother saying i told you so.)

(they last barely ten days before it happens again.)

a/n: badda bing badda boom! sorry for being a whore <3 and sorry for leaving this off without writing them getting together for real…but i think this is a happy ending while still making it feel appropriate for the pace of this story and the trajectory of their relationship :)) pls don’t kill me we all know they’re in love including them!!! as always comments and anons and stuff fuel me like nothing else and i die a miniature death every time someone tells me they liked my work so <3 love you <3

#paige x azzi #paige bueckers x azzi fudd #pazzi fics #pazzi smut #pazzi #this has an awful lot of dialogue for someone who hates writing it #so be proud of me <3 #i'm scared no one will see this bc its so late #oh well <3

646 notes · View notes

no-144444 · 10 months ago

Text

family fights- o.piastri

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

summary: you and oscar were never meant to be together, lando made that clear. one night changes everything, then another changes it again.

pairing: oscar piastr x fem! norris! reader

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

He’d done it again. Another win. Oscar Piastri was a two-time GP winner.

And no one could ever take this one away from him.

Over the past few weekends, he’d been pretty down about everything. Hungary, the whole ‘papaya rules’ bullshit, and how everyone had something to say about Monza. He’s a fucking racecar driver, and he wasn’t a second driver. It’s in his goddamn contract, thanks to Mark. And anyways, why would he pull over and let Lando take points from him, when he’s so close to P3 in the Driver’s standings? Charles is slowly but surely trying to build a gap, and Oscar is not planning on making it easy for him. It’s his second fucking season of F1, and he’s matching his teammate. Is that not something to be proud of?

Apparently not in Lando’s fan girls’ eyes. It’s pathetic really, the memes were funny a while ago, and now it’s all getting to be too much.

And then there’s you. Lando’s sweet little sister who loved Oscar more than life itself. You’d gotten him through the lows of the past few weeks, with just a smile his way.

But Lando wouldn't let you two be together. It was a ‘betrayal’, in his mind.

It was bullshit. Lando liked having something over him, and you were the ‘thing’ in this scenario. You’d liked Oscar for ages, and you started in secret, too scared to tell Lando. You continued like that for a whole year, somehow hiding it seamlessly. It was the best relationship either of you had ever been in. You matched each other perfectly, and you got to see him everyday, since Lando had brought you on as his physio. Stolen kisses behind closed doors was a-ok with you two, until Lando had to walk into something he wasn’t supposed to. It was your anniversary night and yes, maybe you should’ve checked that the door was properly locked, but when he was kissing you like that? Who would be able to find it in themselves to care? For some reason, Lando walked into your apartment, ready to tell you off for not locking your door, and he found you and Oscar asleep in your bed, 1 year anniversary cards on the counter, and a bottle of wine beside the sink. On the drying rack there were 2 clean plates, two sets of cutlery, two glasses, one bowl, and two spoons. He was so angry. He just stormed in and started screaming at the two of you, telling you that you’d betrayed him for a whole year, making accusations left and right, and generally just ruining your perfect night.

Then he gave the both of you an ultimatum. Date and lose him as a brother and a friend, or break up and he’d never speak about it again. You two could be friends, but always at a healthy distance.

It took you both a week to make the decision. You were both crying when you called him to tell him you’d broken up. His response? Good.

He barely talked to either of you for a month, and you truly feared the worst for your relationship with him. But, in true Lando fashion, one day he just started to be normal again, and everything was ok.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

Oscar still remembered the way you looked when he'd made the choice to go behind Lando's back. You were wearing your favourite dress, you hair styled perfectly, your nails done, your makeup done, everything. It was for some boring gala that Oscar didn't want to sit through, and neither did you. Though nevertheless you went as the dutiful sister you were and made polite conversation with the gross old dudes who wouldn't leave you alone, and Oscar (he hoped he wasn't grouped in with them).

"Do you want to get some air?" he offered as you finished up a conversation with Christian Horner.

"I'd love to," you nodded, somehow keeping the soft smile on your face.

You burst out of the hall laughing, having run away from Lando. You got on well with Oscar. He was lovely, honestly. "He's going to kill us," you laughed, grabbing ahold of his shoulder to steady yourself.

"Worth it," he smirked.

You two spent some time outside, eventually ending up outside in the cold French air. You two somehow ended up intertwined on a bench outside the venue.

"I really enjoyed sneaking off with you," you beamed at him.

"I really enjoyed it too," he blushed. "We should do it again some time."

You laughed. "I think Lando will kill us if we pull that again-"

You stopped talking because he'd started kissing you, and you didn't want him to stop.

"I like you," he pulled back. "A lot."

It was so juvenile you almost laughed. Yet, you found yourself answering with; "I like you too."

And thus began your year-long love.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

To be honest, Oscar hated clubs. He hated the sweaty air, the suffocating closeness of everyone, and the heavy drinking. Oscar didn’t drink much, mainly a glass of wine with dinner every now and then, or a celebration drink when there was something to celebrate. He wasn’t a huge fan of feeling out of control.

Despite all of that, he’d somehow been convinced by Lando to go ‘out on the town’. He didn’t want to go out on the town. He wanted to stay home, or bump into you in the cinema near your shared apartment building. You two had been doing that a lot lately, bumping into each other there. You’d sit together, or a few chairs apart, but it’d feel a bit like before you’d broken up. It felt good.

You missed him dearly, as he did you. He knew you were going to see a special midnight showing of Psycho, yet he couldn’t even go because Lando dragged him out.

“Mate!” Lando shouted from the other side of the VIP booth.

“What?” Oscar asked, walking up to him.

“I have someone I want you to meet,” Lando, being the prick he is, signalled to a girl in the middle of the dance floor that looked nothing like you. “Look, she’s nothing like Y/n! It’s perfect!”

Oscar felt his blood boil, and finally spill over. “Fuck off Lando. That’s not fair-”

“What’s not fair was the fact that you dated my little sister behind my back!” He shot back.

Oscar grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him out of the club, into the humid Monaco air. This back alley was usually used for a smoke break, but tonight it would be used as a fucking ring.

“I’m not expecting you to understand anything I'm going to say, but fuck you Lando. I loved Y/n- I love Y/n, and you took that all away from me because of what?! You felt betrayed? You felt bad? It was overwhelming? We’ve proven that we’re not awkward if we break up, we’re actually ridiculously civil, all for your sake! You’re the one being unfair here. Yes, maybe we should’ve told you earlier. Yes, maybe it was wrong to keep it from you, but for fuck’s sake man! She’s your little sister, I’m your friend, it’s not like you don’t know us! I’d never do anything to hurt her, and she’d never use me, or whatever bullshit excuse you gave me. Now, I know you don’t fucking understand this, but I love her. More than anything in the entire fucking world. More than racing, more than anything. She’s what gets me through the shitty days and even shittier races. Knowing that, once I get out of the car, she’ll be standing there with a smile, or a hug on the occasions where you don’t watch us like a fucking hawk, makes it all fucking worth it for me. You took that away from me, and you took it away from her. It ate at her the entire year we were together that she couldn’t tell you, because well, of course it would! You are her older brother, her best friend. She should’ve been able to tell you about her boyfriend. She questioned herself after every day we spent together, every date we went on, about whether or not what we were doing was right. She felt so guilty. I felt so guilty. But at the end of the day when I saw her waiting for me in my driver’s room, or my apartment, or at the foot of the podium, I knew that what I felt was right. And it wasn’t just me feeling it Lan, she loved me back,” he sniffled, trying to hold back tears. “So no, I don’t want to meet someone at a club, I want Y/n. My Y/n. And I don’t give a fuck if you’re upset by that, because I’ve given you every reason to trust me Lando, and I promise you, I’ll never try to hurt her. I’ll keep her safe, and above all, I’ll love her.”

Lando was taken aback. He was a lot more sober now. He’d never seen Oscar show so much emotion. He’d never seen Oscar show much emotion, point blank. Yet here he was, standing in front of him, crying over his little sister. “Mate, what do you mean?”

“I means you’re a fucking asshole Lando, and I don’t give a shit if you don’t want me to date Y/n. It means I’m going to ask her out again, and if she says yes I won’t stop just because you’re a dickhead who can’t stomach the fact that she loves me, and I love her.”

Lando was again, taken aback. He’d never really had a reason as to why he didn’t like you and Oscar dating, it just felt… weird to him. Then, with about a moment's worth of self-reflection, he realised. He didn’t want to be second to Oscar. All his life, you’d been his biggest supporter, you two were always together, always there for each other, always his little sister. From cradle, to karting, coffin, he thought he’d be the only driver you supported and cared about. Then, in came Oscar, being everything he wanted to be; cool, calm, collected, talented, unprideful, gracious, and kind. Everything he worked to be. It had taken Lando 6 years to get a win, Oscar did it in his first year. It took Lando 2 years to get a podium, Oscar did it in his debut season. “Well it’s just not right,” Lando shot back. “She’s my little sister, and I’m not being second to you with her! That’s not fair. She doesn’t get to choose you over me!”

“She chose you! She broke up with me because you asked her to! I don’t know what the fuck you think is going to happen if we start dating again, but it’s not like we’ll just abandon you Lando! She’s your sister, and she loves you more than life itself! For fuck’s sake, if this was all about being scared that she’d pick me over you, we could’ve sorted this out weeks ago!”

“I have to be second place to a fucking rookie! Do you know how that feels? Bad, Oscar, it feels bad. And now you want to come here and tell me that I’m second place to that same rookie, in my sister’s opinion? Y’know how that feels? Worse!” Lando was crying now, unable to control it. “I’ve been second to someone my whole fucking life, and Y/n was the one person who understood me! And now you want to take her away!”

“I’m not taking her away, Lando! We’re both still going to be here for you!” Oscar took a deep breath. “You shouldn’t take your frustrations on the track out on her, she’s the one suffering for it. You’re suffering for it too, and so am I. Lando, she loves you no matter what, you know that.” “I’m scared alright?” He groaned. “I’m scared that one day I’ll turn around after an interview and see her celebrating you winning over me! I’m scared that she’ll see I’m not as good as you! I’m scared.”

“You can be scared all you want, but she isn’t like that, Lando. Talk to her about this, she’ll reassure you-”

“And how the fuck would you know? You barely know her-”

“I know her a lot better than you do if this is what you think of her,” Oscar’s words cut through the tension in the warm air. Lando flinched like he’d been hit. “Now, if you’ll excuse me from this shitty night out, I’m going to go find your sister and tell her how I feel. Goodbye Lando.”

Oscar didn’t even bother going back inside to grab his coat, he just started walking. Jimmy’s was a 30 minute walk from your regular cinema, and if his calculations were correct, you’d be getting out of the screening just then.

As he walked he thought about everything Lando had said. It was pathetic, honestly, why couldn’t Lando have just told you how he felt instead of ruining the incredible thing you and Oscar had going with his own insecurities. Maybe he didn’t understand it, maybe Lando just hadn’t experienced what you two had.

“Oscar?” you walked up to him, smiling.

“Hi,” he answered, stopping in his tracks.

“How are you?” you asked, awkward tension filling the air.

“I’m… I’m alright. I wanted to talk to you,” he explained.

“Talk away,” you smiled.

“Well… Lando and I had this big blow up argument, and I made a choice. I don’t care what he wants anymore, and if he has a problem with me loving you, then it’s his problem, not ours. I want you back Y/n, more than anything. I miss you every fucking day. And if the only reason we’re not together is because of him, then I’m forgetting how he feels. I want you back if you’ll have me.”

You stood there, shocked. It had been 4 months since you and Oscar had broken up. You loved him, but you loved your brother too. You couldn’t put your relationship with your brother at risk for Oscar, could you? Lando had been for you throughout your childhood, a constant. You wouldn’t be able to handle him not being there, would you? “Oscar, when did you two argue-?” “30 minutes ago?” he shrugged, a soft smile on his lips.

“I-oh wow. Osc, you know I love you, but Lando’s my brother and… I can’t betray him, can I?”

“Is it betrayal?” Oscar questioned.

You’d been trying to figure out for the past 4 months why it was betrayal, yet you came up blank every time. Lando had dated friends of yours, and broken their hearts, why shouldn’t you return the favour? “But he said it was. He’s my brother Osc… I can’t just… ruin our relationship-”

“He ruined ours!” he sighed, exasperated. “All because he’s a insecure prick, no offence-” “None taken-” “And he was scared you’d stop picking him over me, which I understand but like, for fuck’s sake, he could’ve just spoken to you about it!”

You thought for a moment. What did you want? Oscar. Always. You woke up thinking about him, fell asleep thinking about him, dreamt of him. He was everything you’d ever wanted. “Are we really going to do this Osc?” you whispered into the darkness of the night.

His lips turned into a smile, and then they were on yours. He’d gotten the girl, he’d gotten the win, and he didn’t care what anyone else said.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula one imagine #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x you #formula one x reader #formula 1 #formula one #mclaren #oscar piastri x fem!reader #f1 fluff #lando x reader #lando norris x publicist reader #lando norris x reader angst #lando norris x you #lando norris x reader #lando norris

1K notes · View notes

uss-butterscotch · 2 months ago

Text

Part 4 is here!!!

I’m glad so many people are enjoying this :) I’ll probably have to come up with a real name for it now, huh

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Thoroughly chastised, Eddie laid off on his investigation into the mystery behind Harrington and his unlikely friends for a few days. That’s not to say he wasn’t thinking about it. He had simply paused any needling of all involved parties until he had more information about how to continue without pissing everyone off. Something he wouldn’t really be worried about, if it didn’t mean he would never get to the bottom of things, which would eat at him until the end of time if never resolved.

The next time he found himself directly involved in Harrington affairs was in a place he never would have expected: his own driveway. Well, the driveway directly across from his, which in the trailer park, may as well have been his own driveway. Eddie had been minding his business, working on the lyrics for a new song, when the voices he could hear growing steadily louder outside finally caught his attention; shifting his focus from his notebook to the ongoing.. argument?

“Why do you even care?” A girl’s voice rang out.

Yeah, definitely an argument, though it wasn’t a voice he recognized as one of the frequent offenders of loud trailer park discussions. Using his incredible deduction skills from years of puzzle-based games, he guessed it was the red headed girl from the family that had just moved in across the driveway. Before he had time to think too much about that, a voice he did recognize answered her.

“Why do I-“ Harrington cut himself off with a scoff. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“You’re not my goddamn brother!” The girl, Eddie thought her name started with an M, Marie… Mandy..? shouted in response.

“Thank god for that.” Harrington shot back.

That must have had some sort of effect on the girl because it was silent for a beat. Eddie took the opportunity to move so he could peek out the window to watch them. Harrington and the girl stood next to his car, which was parked in front of the trailer Eddie knew to be where she lived. Harrington had his hands on his hips while the girl had her arms crossed and was glaring daggers at him.

“Max, I-” Right! That was her name.

Harrington sighed, a tired, defeated thing. “Things have been rough since… since Starcourt. For everyone. I want to make sure you’re ok. You shouldn’t… y’know, feel alone in this.”

“How could you possibly know how I fucking feel?” She spat back at him.

Harrington remained unintimidated, an impressive feat, if you asked Eddie, since Max was looking at him like she was trying to blow him up with her mind.

In response, he threw his hands up in the air, exasperated. “I guess I wouldn’t! Because you won’t talk to me! You won’t talk to Sinclair! You won’t talk to anyone!”

“None of you would understand! None of you-“

“What?” Harrington pushed, crossing his own arms. “You think you’re the only one who’s lost people? The only one who feels guilty about things that were out of our control?”

“I don’t feel guilty.” She nearly growled.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

This whole scene was really reminding Eddie of the bitchy figure of Steve Harrington that he remembered from school. Never knowing when to back off. Poking the sore spots. Eddie would almost be worried about Max, if Harrington wasn’t planted firmly in the same spot through the whole thing, and if she wasn’t giving as good as she took, looking more exasperated than anything.

When Max failed to reply, Harrington continued. “Look. I know how tempting it is to try to shut it all out and move on. That’s what Nancy and I tried to do the first time, and look where that got us.”

Eddie couldn’t really make out Harrington’s expression from this distance, but he almost sounded pleading. “I don’t wanna see you make the same mistakes I did. I don’t want you to ruin your friendships, or what you have with Lucas, because you’re too afraid to talk about it. I’ve been there, and it sucks. Hard.”

That seemed to be the final straw for Max. Eddie watched her turn abruptly around and storm into the trailer, whose lights were suspiciously dark for the time of evening it was.

“Hey!” Harrington called after her, making an aborted movement to follow her. “Mayfield!”

Harrington opened the door to the backseat of his car and pulled out what looked like a pizza box. He jogged up to the front door of the trailer and knocked. After a few moments of silence, he called into the house, “At least take the pizza!”

Eddie couldn’t hear what Max said in response but he watched Harrington shake his head and put the pizza down on the doorstep. Then, watched him all the way back to his car where he got in, looked back once more at Max’s trailer, then drove off.

A few minutes later Eddie saw one of the lights in the trailer turn on. He waited a few minutes to see if she would take the pizza now that Harrington was gone, but she never did.

Now, Eddie knew this was none of his business. He knew this was something he absolutely should not poke his sticky little fingers in. But there was something about the anger in Max’s eyes, her determination to be misunderstood, that struck Eddie. Reminded him of how he had been when he’d first been dropped off in this trailer park with his uncle after his whole life had been upended.

And maybe a part of him was also hungry for more crumbs of the Harrington conundrum, but maybe, he thought, if Max was going through something none of her friends could understand, maybe he might offer a different perspective.

He slipped out of his own trailer and made his way across the driveway to Max’s. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door. Almost immediately, Max’s voice returned.

“I thought I told you to fuck off, Steve!”

“Then, it has never been more convenient for me to not be Steve Harrington.” Eddie quipped.

He heard footsteps behind the door before it swung open harshly. Max eyed him up and down like she was trying ro figure out the best way to destroy him.

“You’re that guy that runs Lucas’ stupid club.” She eventually said.

Guess he had been right about her goal being to destroy him. He instinctively recoiled, gasping. “Hellfire is not stupid-“

“You sit in a dark room with a bunch of freshmen and pretend to kill monsters and save the world.” She interrupted before he could start his spiel.

Eddie narrowed his eyes at her, questioning why he even came over here in the first place. He decided to shelve this particular argument for a later date, and forged ahead.

“Whatever, I’m not here to discuss the merits of role playing games.” He waved a dismissive hand.

“Good. Because if you were, I would be telling you to fuck off.”

“Such harsh language.” Eddie mock-chastised.

Max rolled her eyes. “Why are you here, weirdo?”

Eddie shrugged. “Just overheard your little spat with Harrington, was wondering if I should be concerned about the safety of my new neighbor.”

Max scoffed. “Steve? Hurt me? He’d sonner wander into traffic.”

Of course Eddie didn’t really think Harrington would be the type to terrorize girls barely out of middle school. At least not now that he was a high school graduate.

Eddie put his hands up in surrender. “Just checking, you never know what bad actors might be lurking around this town.”

Max didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, you mean like the creepy super senior who waited until I was home alone to come talk to me.”

Eddie was really getting sick of her attitude, but also, had to respect her commitment to it. “You know you shouldn’t tell random people that you’re home alone. Stranger danger and all that.”

Max rolled her eyes yet again. “Did you actually want something other than to rag on Steve and piss me off?”

“I was actually wondering if you were gonna eat that?” He pointed to the pizza box.

For a split second Max looked like she wanted to say no and let him take it. Throw it in his face even. But then something else flashed behind her eyes. Something all too familiar to Eddie: Spite.

“I am, actually.” Quicker than Eddie could process her words, she flung a foot out and kicked the pizza box into the trailer and slammed the door.

“Do I need to say it, or do you get the idea?” She yelled through the door.

Eddie hummed theatrically, not willing to show he could be dissuaded so easily.

“Mmmm, I think I need to hear it one more time.”

He imagined her slightly shocked expression behind the door for the beat she took before yelling, “FUCK. OFF.”

Eddie saluted lazily, despite Max’s inability to see him. “Message received, Red.”

And with that, he hopped the steps down the porch of the Mayfield trailer and made his way back to his own, somehow with even more questions regarding his most recent fixation than before.

Part 5

#wow you guys really blew this up :)#welcome to the max interlude i hope you enjoy #steve harrington #eddie munson #max mayfield #stranger things

465 notes · View notes

justagalwhowrites · 1 year ago

Text

Just to be Sure

Your husband Joel is desperate to get you pregnant again.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

CW: Breeding kink smut. Joel really really REALLY wants to knock you up. Lots of pregnancy talk. Reader has given birth before and is at the age where she can give birth again so choose your own adventure for age gap but I picture them about the same age with Joel late 30s. Husband!Joel. No outbreak AU. Creampie. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI, 18+ only

Length: 1k

A/N: Forgive me for this. I am completely baked and couldn’t shake the thought of Joel having an insane breeding kink. I think if there was no outbreak and Joel found a woman, he’d be DESPERATE to knock her up over and over. He is all about his family, wants so many kids to look after, he’s always begging her for just one more. This is that Joel. He’s filthy. I love him. Also I wrote this in an hour and a half while on an edible and barely proofread it fuck if we ball also sorry I wrote it half on my phone in bed OK BYE LOVE YOU!

“Fuck, Joel…”

Your voice trailed off, weak and breathless, your hands grasping uselessly at the sheets around you.

You weren’t sure how long he’d had you here like this, sweating and fucked out as your husband slowly worked his cock in and out of you. You just knew you had to be quiet, that your one year old was asleep just a room away, a feat that was damn near impossible as Joel pulled yet another orgasm out of you.

“What, baby?” He panted over you, one hand gripping the headboard as he buried himself inside you yet again.

“You…” You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to focus. “You don’t have to get me pregnant to..to…tonight, you know…”

“Oh I know,” he said, his voice heavy with need and scratchy with exertion. “Wouldn’t mind tryin’ with you for a few months, fucking this pretty pussy full of me every damn night, comin’ so deep in you that you’ve got part of me in you all day every day.”

“Joel,” you whimpered, you couldn’t help it, your pussy drawing tight and hot around him.

“But, see, I’m not sure I can wait that long,” he said, pressing somehow deeper into you and holding himself there for a moment, making your cunt clench around him, your legs scrambling for purchase as your next orgasm built higher and higher. “Need to put another baby in you now, need to see your belly grow, need to fuck you until you’ve got part of me in you for damn near a year.”

“Oh fuck!”

You moaned it louder than you should have, Joel’s large hand going from propping him up to clamped over your mouth as your orgasm took you, the heat of it shooting out from your core and through your entire being, your heart racing, channel throbbing.

“Oh goddamn,” he groaned, fucking into you even harder now. “That’s right little mama, pull another baby out me, that’s it…”

“Joel, Joel, Joel,” you panted over and over again into his hand, mind reduced to nothing but your husband and how damn full he made you feel, especially with his bare cock buried deep inside of you.

It had been a year almost to the day that you’d last fucked without a condom. You’d been right at the end of your pregnancy, desperate for Joel and desperate for something - anything - to kick start your labor. The last time you hadn’t needed a condom, your contractions started 20 minutes after it ended.

Ever since, you’d been taking precautions. Not because you didn’t want another baby - you definitely did - but because you hadn’t gotten the OK from your doctor yet.

Today, that had changed. You’d gone to your check up and your doctor gave you a clean bill of health, including the OK to start trying to get pregnant again.

You’d figured Joel would want to get started trying that night. You just hadn’t counted on him pulling endless orgasms as a part of trying.

“Think you got one more in you, baby?” He asked, freeing your mouth to run his hand over your hair. You just whimpered. “M’close, wanna come with you. Come on, you can give me one more, know you can.”

You couldn’t find the words as he moved to suck your neck, so you just moaned and nodded and clawed his body closer and tighter to yours.

You could feel him smile against you then, the pace of his pounding cock picking up, the tip of him hitting the spot inside you he’d long ago claimed as his own perfectly with each stroke.

“Come on little mama,” he panted. “Takes better if you come with me, need you to fucking come baby, need to feel you fucking come when I make you pregnant.”

You weren’t sure Joel was fully aware of what he was saying but then, you felt like you were moving of your own accord, too, your hips rolling up against his, frantically pawing at him in a desperate attempt to pull him so close that it was like his whole being was inside you.

This orgasm claimed you quickly, going from starting to build to taking over you in a matter of seconds. You barely had a chance to warn Joel before it hit you.

"I'm gonna come," you managed just half a second before your channel started to fluffer around him. "Fuck, I'm coming! I'm coming!"

"Fuck, that's it," he said fucking into you with two more deep, devastating strokes before you could feel his cock throbbing heavily inside, the warm spread of his spend in your most intimate place drawing your orgasm out. "That's it, fuck, come while I put my baby in you."

His cock gave one final, heavy pulse before he collapsed on you, panting for breath as you went limp below him. Even as he lay there, damn near exhausted, he still managed to fuck his cock into you a few more times, driving his come even deeper.

When he was satisfied, he sat up from you and watched between your legs as he slowly, gently pulled his softening length from your aching, swollen sex.

“So damn pretty like this,” he said almost reverently. You felt the comforting warmth of his come drip out of you and then Joel’s finger was there, scooping it up and gently pushing it back inside your spent hole as it struggled to close after being opened by his thick cock for so long. “Gotta keep me deep inside her baby, s’where I belong.”

You just whimpered a little, still not positive you could form words as Joel lay beside you, his hand skimming slowly over your stomach down to the place that had grown your first daughter with Joel.

“Think our baby’s in there?” He asked softly, thumb brushing your skin in a gentle rhythm.

“I hope so,” you smiled at him.

“Don’t sound like you’re sure,” he smirked a little back. “Might just need to leave more of me in you, just to be sure.”

Your smile grew as his hand slipped lower.

“Just to be sure.”

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc #smut fic #breeding kink fic #husband!joel miller

2K notes · View notes

zerocoded · 23 days ago

Text

summary: soobin and yours love language is teasing each other.

author's note: enjoy this little drabble TOTALLY INSPIRED by that clip of soobin holding the door close with one hand and beomgyu fighting for his life at the other side. like man, hold ME down pls. (jokes, jokes). banner creds: katyakopter on pinterest, thank you my love!

warnings and tags: sfw content • a tiny teenie bit suggestive? idk, it's soobin man, dude says unhinged things all the time • strength kink? DON'T CALL ME CRAZY OK • new!relationship • txt members mentioned.

word count: 0.7k.

my kpop masterlist: here.

you’re being annoying.

his words, not yours — but to be fair, you’re also definitely doing it on purpose.

you don’t even remember how it started. something stupid, probably. the wrong ramen flavor. a teasing comment about his laugh. maybe the fact that he took your charger again and claimed it was his. it doesn’t matter. what matters is that you’re on the offense now — sulking dramatically, pacing around the dorm like a cat with its tail in the air, tossing petty little jabs over your shoulder just to see if you can make soobin crack.

he doesn’t.

he’s sitting at the kitchen table, one elbow resting lazily on the wood, his long legs spread too far apart and one brow raised like he’s watching a mildly entertaining drama. the other boys are around too — beomgyu on the couch watching with a bag of popcorn like you’re the newest episode of TXT’s to-do, yeonjun passing behind you once with a muttered “oh, it’s one of those nights,” and taehyun shaking his head from the armchair like he wants to be surprised but simply isn’t.

you and soobin. five weeks into your very new relationship and already obnoxiously comfortable with each other. you bicker, you flirt, you get on each other’s nerves in a way that somehow just makes the boys trust you more.

they’re over it. they love you, but they’re over it.

especially when you declare — very loudly — “i am going home,” and march straight toward the hallway with your hoodie half-on and your dignity half-gone.

“you’re not going anywhere,” soobin says.

“watch me,” you shoot back.

you grab the doorknob. twist. pull.

it doesn’t open.

you frown. tug harder. nothing.

then, a slow creak as the door swings halfway back inward — just enough to reveal soobin’s tall frame standing directly behind it, one hand pressed flat against the wood. his expression doesn’t change. he doesn’t even look winded.

“you’re not leaving until you apologize,” he says, voice low, measured, like it’s the easiest thing in the world to hold you hostage with one goddamn hand.

you blink at him.

“soobin—”

“use your words.”

“i am using my words—”

you throw your whole body into it now, pushing against the door with everything you’ve got. and he just stands there. one hand. one hand. he might as well be leaning on a counter, the way his weight doesn’t shift an inch. the smirk playing at the corner of his mouth is barely there — but it is there.

somewhere behind you, beomgyu mutters, “this again?”

“last week she locked herself in the bathroom,” yeonjun adds. “he carried her out like a bag of rice.”

taehyun doesn’t even look up. “bet he’s using his left hand too.”

but you don’t hear them. you’re too busy panting, pushing harder, because this is now a matter of pride. the audacity of him. the ease. the way your feet skid back on the floor while he just… watches you.

then, without warning, the resistance drops.

you stumble forward as the door swings open freely — and before you can crash to the ground, soobin catches you. two hands this time. one at your waist, the other at your wrist. steady. warm. still way too calm for someone who just flexed every muscle in his upper body like he wasn’t born to do it.

you glare up at him. “you let go on purpose.”

“you’re welcome.”

“you’re a jerk.”

“you’re cute.”

you blink. then stare harder. “you can’t just— compliment me after— that’s manipulation.”

he leans in. very close now. his hands haven’t left your waist.

“would it work?”

you hate how fast you go quiet. hate the way your heart trips in your chest. you hate him. you want to kiss him so bad your brain shuts down for a full second.

then, from the living room, kai calls out, “can you two kiss already so i can finish this game in peace?”

you nearly jump.

soobin doesn’t even flinch. he just steps back, finally — smug, victorious, insufferable — and offers you a soft little shrug like what can you do?

you stomp past him into the hallway. but you don’t leave.

and later — after you’ve cooled down and shared your stolen hoodie with him on the couch, pressed into his side while the movie plays — beomgyu throws a pillow at your head.

“you’re lucky we like you,” he mutters.

you grin, unapologetic. “i know.”

soobin just pulls you closer.

and maybe — just maybe — next time, you’ll test him again. just to see if you still can.

check out more works like this here @onedreamnet !

author's note: i deserve a trophy for only writing canon soobin bc TELL ME THIS MAN WOULDN'T REACT LIKE THIS IRL. (this is very much a joke, i don't actually know him, thank you). anyways, enjoy me being crazy for this man!!! send me a request • my masterpost

306 notes · View notes

irb-pascalito-99 · 1 month ago

Text

You Make Loving Fun

Pairing: dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader (No outbreak AU)

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 11.1k

Summary: Part three of Father Figure. Boundaries get blurry as you and Joel continue to talk in secret.

Content warnings: dbf!Joel, smut, phone sex, dirty talk, use of pet names, mentions of abandonment, fighting with a parent, parent!Joel, soft!Joel, teasing, mutual masturbation, come play

A/N: Sorry this one took so long to post. Summer is a really busy time for me so I might be a bit slower releasing content. I’ve decided to turn this into a series so this part is quite a bit longer in order to add more context. Let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list!

P1 | P2

Read on A03

Dividers thanks to @saradika-graphics

It’s become a new routine of yours in the month that passed since your first phone call. Before bed every night you slip off your clothes, pose yourself in your underwear, and send Joel a picture.

Joel: You can’t keep sending me pictures in your pretty little underwear sweetheart.

You grin at the text. This is how the conversation always starts. He always starts with something along those lines. A reminder that what is happening between the two of you is wrong, even if neither of you can stop it.

You: You want me to leave you alone?

You bite your lip in anticipation of his next text. The little bubble with the dots appears and disappears several times as he contemplates what to send before a picture appears on your screen.

In the picture Joel’s large hand clutches his bulge over his black boxers. Below the picture is another text.

Joel: What do you think?

And this is where the conversation always goes. It’s inevitable by now, an undeniable draw between the two of you. Around the third time Joel stopped pretending it wouldn’t happen again, no longer ending his phone calls with ‘this is the last time’, because you both know it won’t be.

He seems to be fine as long as it stays on the phone. He won’t acknowledge anything about your dirty conversations in person, but on the phone he lets it all out. You tell yourself that can be enough, for now at least.

You slip your fingers underneath the band of your lacy panties and take another picture for him. There are only a couple of seconds after you hit send before he calls you.

“You really are trouble darlin’,” Joel’s voice rasps the moment you answer the phone.

“You like it though,” you chuckle in response.

Joel makes a quiet sound of agreement before he starts ordering you around again. This is also always a part of it. He likes to be in control, and you are more than willing to let him.

“Take them off.” He growls. You scramble to pull the last pieces of clothing from your body and then bring the phone back up to your ear.

“Ok, I’m ready.” You plant into the phone. Already your thighs are sticky with arousal.

Joel chuckles at your eagerness, and then you hear the sound of his belt jangling on the other end of the line as he takes off his own pants. There’s more shifting on his end as he gets comfortable. You squirm while you wait for his instruction.

“Joel,” you whine, desperate to touch yourself but not willing to do so without his permission. Joel chuckles again.

“Okay sweetheart, okay.” He says in that low gravelly voice that makes your skin tingle. “Start with your breasts baby. Run your hands against them gently.”

You close your eyes and run your hands up to your breasts. You whimper as your fingers gently brush against your hardened nipples.

“That’s it, good girl. Now pinch your nipples for me.”

You whine again as you follow his instructions.

Normally you wouldn’t take this much time with yourself. You tend to get it over with quickly, vibrator between your legs and eyes squeezed shut as you lose yourself in your fantasies. More often than not these days they feature Joel.

“God you make me so fucking hard girl.” Joel groans. He must be touching himself right now. At least you hope he is. “Those goddamn noises you make. So fucking sweet baby. Got me thinking about them all the fucking time.”

“Joel,”

“Go on baby,” Joel grunts, the slick sounds of his hand around his cock in the background. “Bring a hand down and touch yourself, slowly. I want you to feel your body on the way down the way I would if I was there.”

You leave a hand on one of your breasts while you move the other down your torso. You feel the soft curves of your body on the way until your fingers dip between your thighs.

A pool of wetness causes your legs to glide against each other. Your fingers slip easily through your folds. You can’t help but gasp as you feel how wet you are.

“Feel good sugar?” Joel asks.

“So good Joel. I’m so fucking wet.” You glide your fingers up and down your folds again.

“Fuuuck,” Joel groans. “Fucking touch your clit. I wanna hear those beautiful sounds again darlin’.”

You begin to circle your clit, your hips pressing up against your hand in search of more pressure. At this point you’re fighting every urge to scream out in pleasure.

Your dad’s room is just down the hall from yours. If you make too much noise he’s certain to wake up, but God it feels good. Every sensation is heightened knowing Joel is listening to it all, telling you what to do.

You focus on the sounds he’s making. Every grunt and panting breath accompanied by the increasing speed of his cock thrusting into his hand causes your pussy to pulse. You’re doing this to him. Despite his better judgement. Despite his attempts to end it, he can’t get enough. Truth be told, neither can you.

“I need more,” you whine, desperate to fill your aching hole.

“What was that sugar?” You can tell he’s getting a lot of enjoyment listening to you struggle like this.

“I need more, fuck Joel I need-” your fingers rub your clit furiously, but it isn’t enough. “I need-”

“What do you need, baby?” He goads. “Use your words. Tell me what you need.”

”Fuck, inside. I need to put my fingers inside.” You pant.

“Ask nicely sweet girl.” Tears of frustration are forming in the corners of your eyes.

“Please Joel. Please let me put my fingers inside.” You beg. He chuckles at your desperation.

“Good girl, go ahead. You can put your fingers inside.”

You let out a soft moan as your middle and ring fingers sink into your throbbing cunt. You match your pace to the speed of Joel’s thrusts without him asking. The ache between your legs is quickly replaced by a growing tension in your stomach.

The world around you melts away a bit. It’s just you and Joel. Your sounds mingling over the phone line. Your desperation frantic, as you both chase the pleasure just out of your reach.

You’re close to the edge, peering right over that cliff. You can’t hold it back much longer. Orgasm always teaches you quickly with Joel, a miracle considering half the time you had sex with your college boyfriend you didn’t come at all.

“Joel I’m gonna-” You start. Judging from Joel’s groans he must be close as well. You wish he’d let you watch this part. You want to know what he looks like when he releases. You want to see the bliss on his face where there’s usually so much tension.

“Don’t-” Joel growls. “Not yet, want you to come with me baby.”

You whimper, certain that what Joel is asking you to do is impossible. How could you feasibly hold off on release with his grunts in your ear?

“You can do it darlin’. I know you can.” Joel says, noting your apprehension.

“O-okay,” you say between shaky breaths. “I’ll try.”

“Fuck baby that’s it, such a good girl.” Joel groans. You can barely register what he’s saying.

Your body aches for release. You hear him start to fuck his fist harder. Lewd squelching sounds from your fingers struggle to match his thrusts.

“Joel, God. Fuck, I-” You struggle to string your thoughts into anything resembling speech. It’s too much. It’s all too much. Your legs tremble beneath you as you struggle to keep yourself from tipping over the edge. “I don’t think- I can’t-”

“I know, sweet girl.” Joel mumbles sweetly. “I know it’s a lot. You’re doing so good for me, fuck, just gotta hold on a little longer. Almost there.

It’s so good it hurts. You don’t think you’ve ever felt anything this intense before. Everything in your body is aching for release, screaming for the bliss you’re denying yourself.

You can hear skin slapping against skin as Joel yanks his cock even harder than before. Just the thought makes your mouth water. You continue thrusting your fingers in and out. In and out.

“I’m gonna, fuck I’m gonna-” Joel grunts. With your eyes closed you can picture what he looks like right now. The veins in his neck protruding. The sweat breathing on his forehead. His teeth clenched tightly together. “Okay babygirl. Come with me. Fucking come.”

Your orgasm explodes, his command being the last thing you needed. Your entire body feels like it’s on fire. You welcome the burn, let it consume you. As you’re losing mind over every heightened sensation in your body Joel moans loudly in your ear, finding his own release.

Moments later, when your fingers have left your legs, your body is still twitching against your mattress. The room is still spinning around you, but slower. You can finally hear Joel’s panting breaths over the sound of blood rushing through your ears.

“You still alive over there?” Joel teases between breaths.

“Barely,” you joke. Joel chuckles on his end of the line.

This is always the part where the loneliness sets in. The build up is great, phenomenal even. It’s so easy to forget where you are and the circumstances between the two of you in the heat of the moment. It’s the wind down when you really ache for him. If only you could curl your body against his, feel the warmth of him against your skin. If only you could see his chest rise and fall.

“I wish I could see you right now.” You find yourself murmuring into the phone before you can stop the words from coming out.

Stupid. The arrangement you have is so precarious right now. Why would you say that? Why risk what he’s already been so reluctant to give? You hold your breath while you wait for his response. He’s been silent long enough, maybe he didn’t hear it.

“Me too.” He mutters back, so quietly you’re convinced you made it up. There’s a long pause before Joel speaks again. “You should get some rest.”

“M’not tired.” You mumble despite how heavy your eyes have gotten. You hate hanging up every time. It’s nice to have Joel to yourself. The version of him nobody else gets to see is only ever reserved for these late night calls.

“Sure you’re not,” Joel chides. “Get some rest, we’ll talk tomorrow.”

You think your heart skips a beat.

“You promise?” You ask.

“I promise,” he responds. “Now go to bed.”

A stupid grin spreads across your face.

“Fine, good night.” You can’t be certain, but you think you hear him murmur something along the lines of ‘Sweet dreams, sugar’ as he hangs up the phone.

—

Your father drops a stack of papers on the table in front of you as you eat your eggs the next morning.

“Wha-” you start, reaching for the stack with bleary eyes. You’ve only just started drinking your morning coffee, so you’re still very much half asleep.

“Job openings in the area.” Your father sits down across from you with his own mug.

Your eyes shoot up from the papers in your hands to glare at him.

“You can’t be serious.” You say through clenched teeth while maintaining eye contact. He’s like a dog with a bone, your father. This fight gets dragged back to the surface every couple of days. It’s becoming as routine as clockwork.

He says he’s just looking out for you, but the pressure feels enormous. You have a hard time explaining the anxiety that builds within you every time you think of where you want your life to lead. Yet your father remains persistent in his attempts to push you forward. The printouts of actual jobs in the area are an interesting development.

“We’ve talked about this.” Your father’s voice adopts that tone he always gets when he’s laying down the law. There’s a seriousness in it he doesn’t typically have, but something condescending as well. Almost as though you’re still that small child who nearly lit the house on fire when attempting to cook macaroni and cheese on the stove— an anecdote your father still loves to share with anyone and everyone.

“Yeah, we did,” You talk slowly, pushing the papers to the side. “I told you I’d look for something myself.”

“And I’m just trying to help your research.” He responds innocently.

“I don’t need your help.” You say, the exhaustion evident in your voice. “I’m perfectly capable of finding a job myself.”

“I never said you weren’t capable. I just think you could use a little push.” Your stomach clenches as he continues. “I got you an interview for this afternoon. It’s a financial manager position. It makes really good money.”

“Da-”

“Just go to the interview okay? You don’t have to take the job, but at least check it out.” He stands from the table. “I have to get to work, but I’ll be home for dinner tonight. I’ll text you the details for your interview.”

You stew in silent anger as he presses a kiss to the top of your head before heading out the door.

A couple of hours later you find yourself sitting in a chair at the reception desk of a random business awkwardly fidgeting with your fingers. Your clothes feel stiff against your skin. Each movement you make as you wait serves as another reminder that you don’t belong here. You’re about ready to leave when a man in a tailored suit walks up to you and extends his hand.

You stand and shake his hand, which feels cold and clammy as it grips yours firmly. He says his name— John? George? Michael?— but it goes in one ear and out the other as he escorts you through the corporate maze of cubicles.

He rattles off information about the company while you walk. You should pay attention. You should pretend to care, but you can’t help feeling miserable at even the thought of working here. They’ve done what they can to liven the place up. There’s art on the walls, big windows to let the sun in, a fake waterfall between reception and the rest of the office. Still the monotonous walls of the cubicles and fluorescent lights feel like a weight dragging you down the further you enter.

John, George, Michael opens the door to a glass walled conference room where a two of other men in suits are seated at a table. They stand upon your entry and each day their names and positions, none more memorable than the first man you met. You smile at them and shake each man’s hand before taking your seat opposite them.

Things start off well enough. They look over your resume your father must have sent them as they ask you about your degree and past work experience, though you don’t know how relative your experience at Old Navy would be in a place like this.

“And it says here you did data entry in high school?” Man number two asks. You nod, your hands folded on the table.

“Yes, at my father’s company for a couple of summers.” You reply. “He runs an automotive repair shop in town.”

Your father has started out as a mechanic. When you were little he barely made enough to put food on the table, but as you got older more opportunities came up until eventually he became the owner of his own shop. When it came time for you to get a job he offered to pay you to help out with the office work. Most of it was inputting invoices and making a list of parts needed to do repairs.

When you went up to school your father started paying someone else to do the work. Over the last couple of years he’s been able to expand the business quite a bit. He doesn’t often work on cars himself anymore, spending a lot more time behind a desk keeping the company running.

He offered you a new job at his company when you first moved back, but you declined. It didn’t seem right to go back to working for your dad, like you were taking the easy way out. You want to find something on your own, something you can be proud of at the end of the day. You’re definitely not going to get that here.

The interviewers ask you a couple of more questions about time management and organization which you answer with ease. You know you’re a hard worker. You would probably do well wherever you went. You have no problem showing them how confident you are in that, until they ask their next question.

“Why do you want this job?” It’s a simple enough question. You could probably easily find a lie to tell them if you tried. Instead you stare blankly at the wall behind them.

“I don’t.” The words tumble out of your mouth. The interviewers stare back at you, as though uncertain they heard you correctly. “I don’t want this job.”

You stand up from the table and cross the room. They remain seated as you move to the door, opening it before turning back in their direction. “Sorry for wasting your time.”

—

You make dinner and have it ready at the table by the time your father gets home. You’ve thought a lot about what you will say tonight when he inevitably asks about your job search. With how the interview went— and the fact that you didn’t search for any other jobs this afternoon— you’re certain the meal will end in a fight.

You decide to keep him distracted for as long as possible. You ask him about his day and pretend to be interested in what he has to say while eating quickly. It doesn’t last nearly as long as you hoped.

“How’d your interview go?” Your father asks before you’ve even finished half your plate. Maybe if you keep it brief he’ll be satisfied.

“Fine.” You say, staring at the table as you chew. Your father waits for more details. When you don’t offer any he lets out a long sigh.

“What happened?” He asks in a way that says he already knows you messed it up.

“I just wasn’t right for the job.” Your father raises his eyebrows willing you to go on. “I didn’t know anything about the business. I didn’t even really know what I had supposedly applied for.”

“I told you it was a financial manager job.” He starts to yell. “I sent you the address. Why didn’t you do the research before you left? I know you know better than that. Why are you so insistent on ruining your future?”

“I’m not.” You say through gritted teeth.

“You’re not?” He scoffs. “Then what do you call this? I mean I did everything for you, you just had to show up and try and you couldn’t even do that.”

He cannot seriously be getting mad at you for not having the initiative to look into a job he was forcing you to interview for. How exactly did he think that was going to work out? Your anger only builds the life he gets. That interview was humiliating, and here he is trying to blame you for the way it went. You’re over it. You’re over all of it. You’re actually glad you walked out. If anything you wish you made more of a scene.

“You know what dad, fine. I sabotaged your precious interview. I walked in, unprepared, realized I was out of my depth, and told them I wasn’t interested.” Even with your father seething in front of you a rush goes through your body as you continue to rant. “I never wanted that stupid job. I never askedYou to apply to jobs for me in the first place. In fact I told you I wasn’t ready.”

Why can’t he just let you figure things out on your own for once? He’s always been this way, helpful to a fault. Controlling is the way you would actually describe it. He picked where you went to school. He picked what you studied. He picked the dorms you stayed in and rented the apartment you lived in after that. Every aspect of your life feels like it’s been chosen for you.

“I’m trying to look out for you. I want the best for you, you know that. I’m happy you’re in love— and your boyfriend seems like a good guy— but you need a life of your own.”

You drop your fork on your plate and push away from the table despite only having eaten half your dinner. You’re not hungry anymore. You can hear your father following behind you into the kitchen.

“This isn’t about a guy, dad.” You attempt to explain yet again. “We’re not even together anymore. I just need-”

“See, that’s exactly why I’ve been pushing this so hard.” Your father interrupts. “You can’t trust your future to someone else. If your mother leaving taught me anything it’s that you gotta take matters into your own hands.”

You throw the dishes in the sink hard enough that they make a loud clattering sound, but not so hard they break. Tears are forming in the edges of your eyes. You clench your jaw and fists in an attempt to stop yourself from shaking.

Of course he would bring this conversation back to your mother. It’s where he always goes when he wants to win an argument. Everything somehow relates back to her, to him being left raising you on his own. The guilt of being his burden and the fear of becoming your mother are all bundled up in a neat little package he can drop at your feet whenever he needs to.

“I’m going to bed.” You say in his direction, then head upstairs to your bedroom before you can say anything you might regret.

He moves around downstairs for hours. Around 9pm you hear him walk up the staircase and down the hallway. His shadow blocks the light at the bottom of the doorframe. He moves, maybe thinking of knocking, but eventually retreats back to his room.

Once your father goes to bed you push the fight out of your head, preoccupied with impatiently waiting by the phone for Joel to call. He promised he would, and though you haven’t heard from him all day you know Joel to be a man of his word.

While you wait you change into a pair of sexy underwear just in case he wants some pictures. After putting it on you twist in the mirror to admire the way the soft pink lace embellishes your curves.

Another hour passes by and you still haven’t heard from him. Not even a text to check in. You lie sprawled out on the bed staring at your bedroom ceiling. The glow in the dark stars from when you were a child are still sprawled across it.

Your father spent hours standing on top of a chair placing them carefully along every inch of ceiling he could reach. A smile tugs on the edge of your lips when you think of the way you laid side beside on the floor after, admiring his handiwork.

Despite his flaws he isn’t a bad father, you know that, but sometimes you wonder if it would almost be easier if he was. Maybe then you wouldn’t carry so much guilt with you all the time.

Your mind is just beginning to spiral again when you feel your phone buzz against your chest. Immediately you answer and bring it up to your ear.

“Took you long enough.” You smirk as you sit up in the bed. “I was starting to think you were going to flake on me. Was just about to cut my losses and take care of myself.”

“I’m sorry dear. I guess I forgot we had plans.” A familiar voice says on the other end of the line, only it isn’t Joel.

The singsong voice belongs to none other than your best friend Sophie from college. When you returned home after graduating at the end of winter semester she remained at school with the rest of your friends to finish her degree. Several of them, including Sophie, were set to graduate in the spring.

“Sorry, I thought you were someone else.” You mutter and sink back into your bed. You feel the exhaustion from your day settling into your bones and you’re struggling to keep your eyes open.

“And who would that be?” She teases. “You got a hot date or something?”

“It’s nothing.” You flush from embarrassment even if she can’t see you and tug the sheets over your body.

“Doesn’t sound like nothing.” She says, trying to pull more information out of you.

Why is she calling you right now? Even though you’ve only been gone for a couple of months there’s a distance forming there already. They have their lives, and unfortunately now that you live over three hours away you aren’t really a part of it. You haven’t heard from any of your college friends aside from random texts and Snapchats in the last couple of months you’ve been home.

Sophie waits a moment longer for you to say more before she moves on to the real reason she called.

“So, Lucy told me you and Zack broke up.” She says with a soft voice. You sigh and roll over in bed.

You knew this would come eventually. It’s only been a couple of weeks since your boyfriend Zack took the trip from Houston to end things between the two of you, but gossip spreads quickly. It spreads especially quickly when your now ex-boyfriend can’t keep his mouth shut.

By now the whole campus has probably heard all of the devastating details of your breakup. If only you could bring yourself to care as much as they will.

“Yeah, yeah we did.” You state. Sophie gasps at the confirmation.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me! Are you okay?”

“I didn’t want you to worry. It’s really not that big of a deal.” In all honesty the more space you get from it all the more you realize the relationship you had with Zack hadn’t really been built on love at all. Being with him felt like an obligation, something you were meant to do, but there was never much passion there.

He was fine, on all accounts the kind of guy you would want to be with. Maybe he wasn’t the best in bed, but he came from a great family. He was nice, handsome, but you never really had to worry about him cheating. Even your dad seemed to like him at first, but it was comfortable and easy to get complacent.

You liked not having the pressure of having to be perfect, or having a plan for everything. Life with Zack was simple, an unvaried routine you could fall into without much thought. He had a plan for his life. You just had to fit yourself into it. Passion and love were an afterthought.

“It kind of is though.” Sophie responds. “You guys were together for a couple of years. I was sure you two were going to get married.”

“Well, life moves on. I’ll be okay, really. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“I just wish you had told me. I want to be there for you.” She says, sounding dejected.

You can’t help but think even if you were struggling with the breakup you probably wouldn’t tell her about it anyway. It isn’t like you’ve told her anything about your dad’s ongoing job search.

It’s not that you don’t care about Sophie. There was a time where you would tell her every detail of your life. However, lately you can’t help feeling a little hurt at the radio silence.

When you moved back you knew things would be different. Sophie is in the last semester of her undergraduate pre-med degree. Obviously she’s busy. Still you find yourself feeling like an idiot when you keep looking at your phone for a response to your texts only to see her and your other friends posting pictures on Instagram of their various adventures around the city.

Being back home really is like being back on your own little island. The only bright spot in any of it has been your escapades with Joel, but you can’t tell anyone about that.

“I mean I don’t even know what’s going on in your life right now.” Sophie continues in your ear. “I miss you girl, spill. What have you been up to?”

You look out your bedroom window into Joel’s, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. The curtains are open, but his bedroom is dark.

“I miss you too,” You say, pulling your focus back to the conversation with Sophie. “Really there’s nothing going on with me though.”

“Did you find a job yet? An apartment?”

“No, not yet but I’m looking.” It feels even more pathetic to admit your total lack of direction out loud.

Here you are living in your childhood bedroom with no clue what you want to do. Meanwhile Sophie has the next ten years of her life mapped out meticulously. After graduating her undergrad she’s going to med school in Georgia. From there she’ll apply for a residency to train in pediatric medicine. She has a drive, a passion, a purpose.

“I’m sure you’ll find something.” She reassures you. You feel an intensifying sense of unease having the conversation directed at your life, so you turn it around to avoid having to explain anything else about your current life choices.

“So what’s going on with you? How’s Houston?” The question unlocks a plethora of information giving you the perfect opportunity to withdraw from the conversation.

Sophie fills you in on all of the happenings around campus since you left. You do your best to listen, but by the end of it you’re only muttering words now and again to male he think you’re paying attention. She stays on the phone for about an hour before she hangs up to join your other friends at a bar downtown.

After the call drops you look across the yard again to Joel’s bedroom window. The curtain is drawn now, but otherwise things look the same as before. He still hasn’t called or ever texted. You throw your body back on the bed with a sigh. Eventually your eyes become heavy.

You end up nodding off for a bit, only noticing when you’re suddenly awoken by your phone buzzing on the pillow beside you.

“Hello,” you huff, the sleep evident in your voice despite your attempt to hide it.

“Hey,” Joel responds. “Sorry, were you asleep?”

“No.” You lie. You rub the sleep from your eyes and glance at the clock on your bedside table which reads 12:34.

“Oh, okay.” He definitely doesn’t believe you. “I can let you go if you need to get some sleep.”

“I said I wasn’t sleeping.” You snap. “I’m awake. I’ve been awake.”

“Okay, sorry.” From the sound of his voice you can tell he’s taken aback by your mood tonight.

Clearly he was expecting the sexy persona you typically greet him with on these calls. That’s what he would have gotten if he had called earlier in the night, but by now the stress of the day has worn you down to a point where you no longer care about putting on an act for Joel.

“Is everything okay?” He asks apprehensively. You sigh and turn over in bed with your phone pressed against your ear.

“I’m fine.” You state, though the rough edge to your voice remains.

“You sure?” He asks, which only makes you angrier.

“I said I’m fine.” You snap back.

“Alright, sorry,” Joel says softly, like someone trying to talk to a wounded animal. “I just got a little worried when I didn’t get a text from you tonight.”

“You told me last night you were gonna call. You promised, remember.” Did he really forget?

“I know. I just thought you were gonna text me to let me know when you were free.” Joel says. “Didn’t want to call you and have your dad overhear.”

A twinge of guilt twists in your stomach. He had a point. You might’ve been a little hasty with your judgement, but a portion of your rational mind is already gone for the day. It doesn’t help that you can’t stop ruminating on the feelings that came to the surface during your conversation with Sophie.

Hearing about her life was just a painful reminder of how separated you’ve become. Everyone you know has goals and a direction in life. Even Joel has Sarah, the contracting business. You’re more aimless than you’ve ever been before, and your father is more than happy to remind you of that fact. That sinking feeling of loneliness only grew in the time you waited for Joel to call.

“Sorry, that makes sense.” Without the anger behind it your voice just sounds depleted of any energy at all.

“No it’s okay,” Joel says calmly. There’s something soothing about his voice. “We should’ve been more clear on the plan.”

A static sound fills the air as both of you remain silent. You tug at your bottom lip with your teeth. You can feel it already. Joel’s going to hang up. You ruined the mood and now he’s going to hang up. You’ll be alone again. You’re so sick of being alone.

“We don’t have to do this if you’re not feeling up for it.” Your stomach drops. There it is, his segway into ending the call.

“Could you stay?” You find yourself blurting out before he can continue.

You know you should let him go. It’s late. He probably had things to do tomorrow. You know what the arrangement is between the two of you. He doesn’t owe you any emotional support, but you’re desperate to hear his choice just for a little bit longer.

“Of course.” He jumps in without missing a beat. “Of course I’ll stay.”

The line goes quiet again. It’s clear neither of you know what you’re doing. You didn’t expect him to actually stay, so you definitely don’t know what to say now that he has. You both speak at the same time, your words jumbling together into some morphed question.

“Sorry, you go darlin’,” Joel chuckles.

“I was just asking how your day was?” You ask.

“Oh, same old same old. Been pretty busy at work and then everything with Sarah.” You hear the rustling of bed sheets over the phone as Joel settles into bed. “What about you sweetheart? How was your day?”

“Fine.” You lie. You tell yourself that just because he stayed doesn’t mean he wants your whole story.

“I have a hard time believin’ that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I think there’s more goin’ on than a late phone call.” You tug your lip between your teeth again. “If you don’t want to talk about it you don’t have to, but I’m here if you need me.”

“I just,” The more you think about your problems as you try to find a way to explain them to Joel, the more childish they feel. You want him to take you seriously. How is he supposed to do that when you’re whining to him about your father being mad at you and your friends not talking to you as much as they usually do? “I’m just, I’m still adjusting to being back home.”

“That’s understandable,” Joel speaks softly. “You changed while you were gone. It’s not gonna be the same when you come back. You gotta figure out where you fit in now. That takes time. Nobody expects you to have it all figured out already.”

An emotion you can’t quite name tugs at your chest, but you recognize it from the night he pulled the gravel out of your knees. Joel Miller is hot— he makes you feel things you never dreamed without even touching you— but the thing that really stands out about him is his soft side.

He makes you feel special. He listens. He’s protective of you in a way that makes your stomach twist. He sees the vulnerability you try so desperately to hide away. It makes everything between the two of you so much more confusing.

“It doesn’t always feel like that’s true.” You mutter, not to yourself than to Joel.

You think about your father, the weight of his expectations for you. All your life you’ve been ahead of everyone. You took advanced classes. You got good grades. You had your pick of colleges. Even when you arrived at college, while others were struggling being on their own for the first time in their lives you flourished.

It wasn’t until that last semester of school that you really started struggling. The weight of what was ahead of you sat in your chest like a giant stone holding you down. You barely managed to pass your classes. Now you’re here. This is the part where your life is supposed to be ramping up, and instead you’re on a detour nobody expected. So much for potential.

“Okay, even if there are people judging fuck them.” Joel says. “You’re a smart girl. You’ll figure it out. Don’t waste your time worrying about what everyone else thinks while you do.”

“Yeah, fuck them,” you chuckle. He makes it sound so simple. You wish you had someone like him in your corner all of the time. “You know, Sarah’s pretty lucky to have you as a dad.”

Joel’s silent for a moment. You begin to think maybe you pushed it too far. Why would he want to talk about his daughter with you? Your mind races for ways to cover up your blunder.

“Yeah well, I make plenty of my own mistakes.” He says finally. “Everyone does. At the end of the day the most you can hope for is just doing a little bit better than your parents did for you.”

There’s an underlying pain in his voice at the words. It makes you wonder what he’s thinking about. What were his parents like?

“Well, I haven’t gotten pregnant and abandoned my kid so I guess I’m off to a good start.” You joke. Joel doesn’t laugh. That probably hits a little close to home as well. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“It’s fine,” Joel says quickly. “I’m not… It's alright.”

Your heartbeat races in your chest. It feels like each thing you say is the wrong thing, even if Joel seems to be okay with it. What are you doing? This isn’t a relationship. He does not need to know you like this.

“Do you think about her a lot?” Joel asks after a moment.

“Not a lot, but sometimes.” It feels strange talking about her to someone other than your father. To everyone else you typically just say you don’t have a mom. Nobody really wants to ask questions after that. “I don’t really know much about her other than she got pregnant young and then ditched once I was born, so there’s not really much to think about. I guess most of the time I think about what it would be like to have a mom at all.”

Growing up without one you had always been a little jealous of the kids with moms. When you’re little there’s so many reminders about what you’re missing. Mother’s Day crafts at school. Parent events your father couldn’t be at because of work. It gets easier as you age, but you still feel that dull ache from time to time. The ‘what if’ comes back up whenever you least expect it.

“Sometimes I worry about Sarah.” Joel says. “I do what I can, but there’s just some things I can’t fix. I mean, she’s a teenager now. She’s about to experience a whole new set of problems I can’t even begin to understand. Girls at school. Boy drama.”

“Periods.” You jump in.

“God, I’m not ready for that one.” He says. You giggle thinking about Joel struggling through the feminine hygiene section of the drug store, looking for the right kind of pads for his daughter.

“You’re a good dad, Joel. There are some things you won’t be able to change for her. Just listen to her. Show her you’re there. You’ll figure the rest out.”

“Yeah,” Joel says. “I hope so.”

Your heart pounds in your chest. This is an entirely new side of Joel. He’s not one to typically be vulnerable himself. You’ve seen the protective side of Joel. The loving dad. The caring friend. The lusty neighbor, but never this man. How much does he carry alone? You wonder how often he lets anyone in.

“I like this,” You find yourself saying. “Talking with you, like this. It’s nice. I mean I like the dirty stuff too, but it’s nice to get to know you like this.”

Joel laughs.

“Yeah I suppose it is.” He says.

“I want to know more.”

“What?”

“About you.” You continue. “I want to know more about you. Your life, the things you like. I want to know.”

You think you hear Joel adjust in the bed before he responds.

“Alright, ask away.” Joel says.

You feel the stupid grin spread across your face. You tuck your phone between your cheek and your pillow to get more comfortable, wrapping your arms around the pillow and tugging your blanket over your body.

“When you were a kid, what did you want to be as an adult?”

“A singer.” You hadn’t expected that.

“Do you play any instruments?”

“Guitar, but I haven’t played in a while now.”

You make sure to save that fact for later. He continues answering your questions, sharing stories from his life, until eventually you fall asleep.

—

You wake the next morning with your phone still pressed against your face. It must be late in the morning because the sun is shining brightly through your window.

You throw an oversized shirt and a pair of sleep shorts over the lingerie you had worn for your phone call with Joel the night before and head downstairs to make yourself a cup of coffee. As you slowly make your way down the steps you stretch out your limbs and wipe the sleep from your eyes. It isn’t until you reach the bottom of the steps that you hear your father talking to someone in the kitchen. By the time you process the presence of someone else in your house Joel is staring right at you.

His eyes scan over your body at first, taking in your bare legs before quickly flitting up to your face. Your cheeks flush and you look down at your feet. The edge of your shirt is long enough that it brushes the top of your thighs, just beneath the hem of your shorts, giving the illusion that you aren’t wearing any pants at all.

Obviously Joel has seen much more of your body before, but never in person. Over text you had complete control over what you looked like. You sent him the best angles to accentuate the parts of your body you love, and hide the parts that make you self conscious. Now he is seeing you in your most vulnerable state— in your house, having just woken up, your hair a mess, your eyes puffy, in front of your clueless father— you feel an overwhelming urge to run and hide.

You seriously debated turning around and heading back up the steps until your father notes Joel’s silence and turns around to look at you as well.

“Well good morning.” He teases. Apparently he’s decided to pretend the events of last night didn’t happen. “Thought you were never going to get up. It’s nearly noon already. Are you still in your pajamas?”

You look up from the floor, your eyes flitting to Joel and then back to your father.

”Yeah, I was just coming down to get some coffee before getting ready for the day.” You say quietly.

“Alright,” Your father says. “Well sorry I forgot to tell you that Joel was coming over today. I nearly forgot myself.”

“It’s alright.” Joel has stopped looking at you at all, opting instead to stare at the beer in his hands.

He didn’t mention anything last night about having plans with your dad. Although it does seem somewhat weird to talk about him during your calls, even if last night had been relatively tame.

It’s sort of an unspoken rule that neither of you talk about your father. Joel seems to have a hard enough time reconciling with what the two of you are doing. It’s best to ignore the additional implications of doing those things with his best friend’s daughter.

Your dad turns back to Joel to finish his conversation, moving over a bit so you can walk between the two of them to start a pot of coffee. Every nerve in your body buzzes the closer you get to Joel. You take a deep breath, noting his scent in the air and run your fingers haphazardly through your hair as the pot begins to brew.

“What’s that on your cheek?” Your dad asks as you move your hair out of your face.

“What?” You reach up and feel the rectangular indent of your phone pressed into your cheek where you had fallen asleep on it last night. Despite the space between you, you’re certain you can feel Joel tense beside you. “Oh, I was talking to Sophie on the phone last night and I must have fallen asleep on it.”

Your father nods and doesn’t press you any further on the matter which seems to calm Joel a bit, though he still remains silent beside you.

“Well, Joel and I are going to be watching the NASCAR race if you want to join us.”

Normally watching NASCAR with your dad is the last thing you’d want to do, but if it means spending more time with Joel…

“Sounds good.” You say sweetly, shooting your father a smile before he leaves the room to get the TV set up.

Joel is still standing beside you in the kitchen. He sips his beer as he lingers there. Despite not looking in his direction you can feel his eyes moving back to the skin of your bare legs now that your father is gone.

“Where’s Sarah?” You ask with your eyes trained on the counter.

“At home. She wasn’t really interested in coming over to watch the race.” You nod in response before you feel Joel step closer to you.

His chest brushes against your shoulder which causes your heart to skip a beat. You don’t dare look at him, even when he delicately brings a hand up to press his fingers to the fading imprint on your cheek.

“You doing okay?” He asks quietly once the noise of the TV comes on. “After last night?”

You’re shocked he’s actually acknowledging last night in person, with your dad only feet away. You turn toward him, resting your back against the kitchen counter. There’s a softness to his eyes that twists your stomach into knots. He really is genuinely checking in on you.

“Yeah, much better today.” You say with a smile. “Thank you for staying up and talking to me. I’m sorry if I fell asleep on you.”

Joel shrugs and lowers his hand. He takes one step away, still remaining close to you but providing you enough space to pour yourself some coffee along with cream and sugar.

“It was actually really nice to talk to you for a bit.” A grin tugs at the edges of his lips. “Although you do snore.”

“I do not!”

“Yes, you do.” He chuckles. “Not real loud, but you definitely do.”

Your eyes widen and you can feel face reddening. You cover your face with your hands. Maybe the floor will swallow you up so you never have to face Joel again.

“That’s mortifying.” You mumble through your hands.

“It was actually kind of sweet,” Joel says. You lower your hands again to see him better. “I almost didn’t want to hang up, but I started nodding off, myself.”

How long did he stay on the phone after you fell asleep? Was he just listening to you snore? Why would he do that? You want to ask him more questions, but your father calls out to Joel from the living room.

Joel looks in the direction of his friend briefly and then back at you. He doesn’t seem to want to leave the conversation any more than you do, but it would seem suspicious if he stayed.

“I should probably go get dressed.” You murmur. He nods.

You purposefully brush past him as you take your cup of coffee with you to the stairs. He quietly calls out your name just before you step up onto the first stair. You turn your head in his direction.

“Please put on some pants.” He practically groans in that deep voice that only comes out when he’s talking dirty to you. You never did get to the dirty part of your phone call last night.

“Where’s the fun in that?” You tease as you head up the stairs.

You take your time getting ready. You brush out your hair and put on makeup, the redness in your cheek finally starting to fade by the time you do. Despite Joel’s request for pants you opt to wear a short yellow sundress with tiny floral print instead, admiring the way it cascades over your boobs and butt. If you’re going to be stuck watching a NASCAR race you figure you might as well have some fun of your own.

Joel chokes on his beer when you appear in the living room. He quickly looks down and attempts to cover his coughing fit. Your father, sitting in his recliner, is so sucked into the race he doesn’t seem to notice your arrival or his friend’s reaction.

You pretend not to notice the way Joel stares at your thighs when the hem of your dress rides up even further as you sit down on the couch beside him, much closer than you need to given it’s just the two of you on the couch. You keep your eyes on the screen, attempting to keep your expression neutral as you shift a bit on the couch.

“Gonna get another beer, you want one?” He asks your father, tearing his eyes away from you.

“No I’m good,” your father responds and lifts the beer in his hand up a bit.

“I’ll take one!” You smile up at him. He nods, but looks away.

When he comes back from the kitchen he plops down on the couch beside you and reaches out a can. You make sure to place your fingers so that they’ll graze his as you grab it from him. For a split second you think you might be able to see a shiver run through his body before he yanks his hand away. His eyes stay on you.

You keep eye contact with him as you open the can and take a sip. After swallowing the cold beverage you run your tongue delicately along your top lip. Joel’s eyes immediately dart back to the screen.

You continue to sip your beer as you watch Joel throughout the race. You can tell he’s trying to keep it together. His body is unusually stiff Despite grabbing a new beer he barely drinks any of it. Still, his eyes continuously wander back to your bare thighs.

After a while you decide to mess with him some more. You can feel the effect his proximity has on you. You want him. Besides, you’re interested to see just how far you can push him.

You wait until Joel’s eyes wander back to your thighs again, and then you run your free hand up your thigh. You do so slowly, as though you were doing it absentmindedly, although it is very much intentional. When your hand reaches the hem of your dress you grab it between your fingers and move it a little further up your leg until Joel can see the very edge of your lacy red panties.

His gaze shoots back up to your face as you do so. You smile back at him innocently which he returns with a firm stare. You glance back at the TV when he pulls out his phone. Your own buzzes just a few seconds later.

Joel: What the hell do you think you’re doing?

You tug your bottom lip with your teeth as you respond.

You: Nothing, just enjoying the race ;)

Joel reads your text, glances back at you, then toes his response.

Joel: Knock it off.

You: And what will you do if I don’t?

He doesn’t text back. You feel him move closer to the arm of the couch in order to put more space between the two of you. Apparently he’s serious about trying to be on good behavior.

You try to watch the race, but you start to get bored again after another thirty minutes or so. Joel is doing a great job keeping his eyes on the screen after your last stunt, although his grip on the couch arm tells you it’s taking everything in him to do so.

Just one more little push. You move on the couch so you can grab the blanket folded across the back of it. Joel leans forward to let you pull it out without a second thought. You unfold it, dish it across your lap, and then reach over to throw it over Joel’s as well.

He watches you with a furrowed brow, clear that this is another ploy. With the blanket across your lap you become bolder with your actions. You start out with running your foot along his shin. Joel’s body starts tense beside you, but he doesn’t make any effort to stop you either.

You shift closer to him slightly and then move your hand to his knee, slowly moving it up his leg to his inner thigh. You see Joel gulp out of the corner of your eye and grin. You really do have an effect on him. You turn your head to watch him closely when you move your hand up again, your fingertips grazing the bulge in his jeans.

Joel quickly springs to his feet. The blanket that had been across your lap falls to the floor as he does so.

“Gonna use the bathroom,” Joel chokes out. Your father waves him off without looking. He’s only gone for a couple of seconds before he sends you another text.

Joel: Get up here, now.

Yes! You throw the blanket back on the couch cushions, not even bothering to give your father an excuse when you leave the room. When you reach the top of the stairs you’re immediately cornered into a wall by strong hands on your hips.

“I need you.” Joel groans. He pushes his hips against yours so you can feel how hard he is. You whimper and move your hips slightly to feel the friction. “Not here. Not in the hallway.”

“Fine,” You grin back at him then push him back so you can direct him down the hallway toward your bedroom. He grabs your wrist and stumbles behind you along the way.

“Gotta make this quick sweetheart, we don’t have much time before he comes lookin’ for us.” Joel mutters after you shut the door.

You grin back at him, slowly backing away while he stays standing by the door. You can’t help but note how out of place he looks in your childhood room among the pink walls littered with drawings you hung up in high school. Something about it turns you on even more.

He watches with dark eyes as you slide your panties down your legs slowly. You can already feel your juices dripping down your thighs in anticipation.

“Let him find us.” You respond. You step out of your underwear, dangling them on your finger for Joel who moves toward you quickly and snatches them away.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” He growls.

His face is inches from yours. It would be so easy to close the distance between the two of you. So easy to press your lips to his. Joel reaches a hand up to your shoulder, delicately playing with the ends of your hair with his free hand. Your breath shudders.

The tension in the room is palpable, yet the gentle way he touches you now is so soft you could almost melt. You almost forget what you’re doing altogether, that this is nothing more than a lust filled haze. He won’t even get you off himself. He won’t even touch you where you’re most desperate to feel him, but somehow it doesn’t matter. Somehow the tender brush of his fingers and soft look in his eyes is more intimate than you’ve ever felt with a man before.

His eyes roam over every inch of you, exposed and not, as though he’s trying to commit it all to memory. The crease forms between his eyebrows again when his eyes land on your thighs. You watch his pupils darken at the sight of the mess between your legs.

Suddenly the hand on your shoulder shoves you backward. Your back lands on the mattress behind you. Joel crosses the room again, your soaked panties clutched tightly in his fist.

“Show me darlin’.” He says while he leans back against your dresser. “Show me how wet you got teasin’ me with your day in the room.”

You scoot back on the bed until your head rests against the pillows so you can still see him clearly. Then you shove your dress up your body, leaving it just under your breasts. You watch his reaction as you bend your knees and spread your legs. Joel groans softly.

“Like what you see?” You ask in feigned innocence. You bat your eyelashes at him playfully.

“Enough of that.” Joel growls. “We don’t have time. Touch yourself sweetheart.”

“I want to see you first.” You pout.

Joel’s free hand scrambles for his belt while he keeps his eyes on you, your expression as he pulls his hardening cock out of his jeans and boxers. You had felt the size of him against your body that night in the kitchen. You saw the pictures he had sent you over text. Those were nothing compared to seeing it with your own eyes in person.

Joel is big. The kind of big that makes you think twice about whether or not you can handle something like that, but it’s Joel. There’s nothing you want more right now than Joel’s cock. If he’d let you do it, you would get on your knees for him right here right now, but you know if you did he would stop it again.

You spread your legs more, determined to give him a show, and slowly bring your fingers to your folds. You run the tips of your fingers up your center softly.

Joel watches intently, breathing so hard you can see his chest rise and fall from across the room. The hand with your underwear tightens firm enough to turn his knuckles white. His other hand squeezes the base of his cock. He slowly starts to stroke himself when you begin to draw circles on your clit with your fingers.

Quiet sounds of your mingled moans fill the room. Both of you are panting, but careful not to make too much noise. Your father is still downstairs, only the sound of the TV covering exactly what his best friend and daughter are up to just above his head. Something about the danger of it makes the whole thing all the more exciting.

Your fingers move faster. You keep your eyes locked on Joel. Your body arches into your touch, and you find yourself thinking about his hands on you. What would it feel like if they were his fingers instead?

“Good girl,” Joel grunts. The slick sound of his hand moving up and down his massive dick spur you on. “Put a finger in now. I wanna see how she opens up for me.”

He doesn’t need to tell you twice. You continue circling your clit with your thumb while you move your other finger down to your entrance. It slides in with ease given how wet you are. The sheets beneath you are practically drenched already.

“How’s that feel, sweet girl?” Joel asks. “Feel good?”

It does. You feel so good, but it’s not enough. You’re not sure any of it will be enough. What you really need is Joel.

“More,” You whine. You know he won’t give you what you want, but you can’t stop yourself from pleading with him. “I need, I need more. Please.”

There’s a flicker of something in Joel’s eyes. Perhaps a recognition of what you’re really asking him for. Perhaps it’s his own lust fighting whatever logic he’s so clinging to in that head of his. Whatever it is, it’s gone as quickly as it came.

“Okay babygirl, okay.“ Joel says. He shoves your panties in his pocket before moving closer to the bed so he is now standing at the edge of it. “Give yourself some more. Put another in.”

You push another finger inside your aching walls. You speed the movement of your fingers up and watch as Joel does the same. He matches his pace with yours. A knot forms in your stomach. You feel your climax quickly rise, your body teetering on the edge already while you watch the beads of sweat form on Joel’s forehead.

“Fuck,” You pant. “I’m so- Fuck- I’m”

It would seem you’re incapable of even forming sentences right now, but Joel seems to understand what you mean.

“Go on baby.” You’re confused at first when the mattress dips beneath you, but then you feel his legs between yours. “Come for me. Lemme see.”

It’s the weight of his body on the mattress that sends you over the edge. His figure towers over you. He’s still fucking his hand. His eyes haven’t left your body, but his jeans rub against your knees as your legs instinctively attempt to close in the throes of your orgasm.

You can’t help the moan that escapes your mouth when you finally feel your release. Joel leans over your body, places an arm beside your head to balance himself, and presses his hand against your mouth to silence you.

“That’s it sugar, fuck.” He whispers in your ear. He’s thrusting into his hand so hard you can feel the slippery tip of his cock nudge the bare skin of your stomach. “Fuck darlin’ you’re gonna make me…”

His hips stutter. His words are cut off by a groan. You move your hands away from your body, one grasping his hair and the other resting across his shoulders. As the first string of come spurts your stomach his mouth moves down to your collarbone. The pain of his teeth clenching down on your skin in an attempt to silence his moans only causes your pussy to clench again.

The arm supporting his upper body shakes beside your head until the last bit of his release paints your skin. He removes his teeth, gently pressing a kiss to your collarbone before rolling over to collapse on the bed beside you.

You take a couple of breaths and listen to him do the same. When you look down at the mess the two of you made you can’t help but smile. This was so much better than dirty texts and late night phone calls.

You reach your hand down your body again, but this time use your finger to collect his release from your stomach. You feel his head turn to watch you as you scoop up what you can. You make sure to make direct eye contact with him when you bring your fingers up to your mouth and lick up the remnants of him.

“Fucking filthy,” Joel says, with a hint of a grin playing on his lips. You smirk back at him.

“Want a taste?” You ask.

Your hand is already making its way back down your body, this time dipping between your legs. You collect your release then bring your fingers to his lips. You half expect him to turn away. You have already pushed your luck farther than you should have today.

You’re pleasantly surprised when instead of his hand pushing you away, you feel his lips close around your fingers. His tongue swirls around each digit until there’s nothing left on your fingers for him to taste, his eyes refusing to leave yours until he finally releases your fingers again.

Your hand trails back, but not far. The tips of your fingers brush the soft skin of his bottom lip. You feel him lean into the touch. You glide your fingers down his lips, across his chin and jaw. You rest your hand at the base of his neck and lean closer until his breath and yours are one in the same. Part of you is convinced he will pull away, but he remains steady beside you even when your lips are close enough to feel his brush against them at the slightest movement. You’re just about to kiss him when the sound of your father yelling at the TV jolts both of you back to where you are.

Immediately Joel is on his feet again. You watch the muscles in his back go rigid again. He stays turned away from you while he tucks himself back in his jeans.

“Joel,” you start. You lean up on your elbows, struggling for words.

“I gotta go sweetheart,” Joel says. He turns to face you again, but you can already see that wall forming between you again.

You can’t help but feel that tug of sadness return, a sadness rooted in the vulnerability of being alone after what just happened. Even in person he’s pulling away. Why does that sting?

He reaches forward, one knee leaning into the end of the mattress so he can reach your face. The tips of his fingers tuck a piece of hair gingerly behind your ear. Then they move down to hold your jaw, holding you there so you’re forced to look into his warm brown eyes.

“I’ll call you tonight, okay?” You nod. He gives your jaw a soft squeeze before heading back downstairs to join your father.

@munsonsquinn @ashleyfilm @izzy698 @akah565 @pascal-mynightlyobsession

#pedro pascal #smut #fanfic #joel miller #joel miller smut #a03 fanfic #tlou hbo #joel smut #joel tlou #tlou fanfiction #tlou smut #tlou2 #tlou #joel the last of us #joel miller x reader #dbf!joel #sweet joel #pedro pascal smut #pedrostories

163 notes · View notes

notyourhetloki · 11 months ago

Note

Can I request Wade and Logan/reader breeding kink? 👉👈 both of them too excited about it and competitive? (Can you make reader gender neutral (he/him or they/them or trans ftm (he/him), you can use any terms for genitals and stuff it's ok)

into it (Logan x Reader x Wade)

Reader: he/him (ftm)

/NSFW Logan x Reader x Wade/

A/N: Fuuck I had so much fun writing this, anon! It's a bit short but it's pure porn so I hope you still end up satisfied lol (also sorry about the random gif, I couldn't find a more suiting one lmao). Anyway, hope you like it! xoxo

Tags: ftm reader (reader has a vagina), breeding kink, creampie, they both fuck you, Wade being a fucking joke, Logan is not having it, piv sex (unprotected), porn without plot.

Word Count: 908

—

As soon as you walked through the front door, they were all up in your personal space. Wade and Logan promptly started to take your clothes off, not exactly caring about being gentle.

"Boys! Calm down, there's plenty of me for the both of you!" You tried appeasing, but to no avail.

"And yet is nearly not enough." Groaned Logan, ripping your underwear off with his bare hands. You gasped as his fingers immediately found your sex, rubbing your clit while Wade kissed your neck.

"Sorry about that, doll. We'll buy you another one." Wade whispered into your ear, taking you by the hand and convincing Logan to continue things in the bedroom.

You were basically thrown onto the bed, naked and vulnerable and super turned on. You could already see their hard bulges before they started to take their own clothes off.

"On all fours for us." Ordered Logan, and you gladly obliged. "Attaboy..."

After all their clothes were out, Logan started positioning himself behind you until you heard Wade complain.

"Wait a minute, mutton chops! Why do you think you get to go first?" Wade pointed out.

"Because I can and I will." Logan retorted impatiently, giving your ass a light squeeze.

"Nuh-uh! That ain't fair! I propose a rock-paper-scissors to sort things out, nothing fairer than that." Said Wade holding a closed fist out.

"Fucking hell, fine!" Logan agreed and quickly started the game. They finished the round and Logan played scissors, while Wade played paper.

"Best out of three?" Begged Wade, but the other man didn't care for it.

"Fuck off." Logan pushed Wade aside and started positioning himself again, putting the tip of his cock at your entrance.

You were really wet, so it didn't hurt when he slammed into you. You were full, stuffed to the brim, and you thought it couldn't get any better than that... until Logan began thrusting into you, hitting a sweet spot inside that made you cry out in pleasure.

"Let us hear those sweet sounds you make, boy." Logan said while fucking you. He breathed loudly, grunting and grabbing you at the hips with enough force to bruise. The sounds you made together were obscene, and that turned Wade on even more.

"Gosh... fuck him silly, Wolvie." Wade was jacking himself off, looking closely at Logan's dick in and out of you. "Cum inside him..."

Logan groaned again, more urgent than before. A sudden thought took over him, and he needed to let it out. "I'm gonna breed you, (y/n). I'm gonna fill you up so good... fuck, fill you up with my seed."

"Goddamn!" Said a surprised Wade, not expecting the other man to be so earnest. "That's so fucking dirty... I love it."

"Ah, yes! Please..." You moaned, feeling energy and heat through your whole body. You were being used by him, your body only an object... it turned you on so damn much.

Logan's thrusts began to get even more rough, he was fucking you hard and the sounds he made were animalistic. Soon he turned erratic, his hips faltering in the rhythm he had set. You knew he was close.

He came with a loud grunt, holding you for dear life. Breathing deeply through his gritted teeth, Logan recovered and slowly took his member out of you. A bit of cum dripped from your entrance, and Wade observed everything with a delighted expression.

"I bet I can cum even more in his pussy..." He whispered mostly to himself, but you both heard him.

"You wanna bet, bub?" Said Logan with a satisfied smile on his face. What doesn't a good fuck does to one man's humor?

"Hell yeah, peanut." Wade soon replaced the other man's position and unlike Logan, asked for your approval. "You alright, gorgeous?"

"Y-Yeah... please, give it to me." You moaned as you felt his cock entering you, stuffing you up again.

Wade was a bit gentler with his hands, grabbing you thoughtfully at the places you weren't bruised. But his rhythm... he was still a beast.

"Fuuuck, you feel so good, pretty boy." He moaned, not stopping for a second.

"Hmm, Wade... Logan... ah!" You couldn't stop making noises and calling out for them, dumb with the feeling of being full.

"Good job, sugar... you're being so good for us." Said Logan while standing beside you, watching as Wade pounded into you with great enthusiasm.

"Shit, I'm close... I'll cum inside your pretty cunt, (y/n)." Wade gripped you even harder and finally slammed his hips into you, his climax followed by a deep moan.

He took a few breaths and slowly came back to earth, removing himself from you with a pop. Even more cum oozed from inside you, a beautiful and sexy sight for the both of them.

"As my partner here mentioned earlier... consider yourself 'bred'." Wade taunted, giving a final slap on your ass and retreating himself to put an arm over Logan's shoulder. "Sooo... about that bet, what is my prize?"

You laughed as you laid on your back to watch them both, exhausted but completely satisfied.

Logan suddenly grabbed Wade by his balls, looking him in the eyes. "You get to keep all of your blood inside your body today, sounds good?"

Wade responded in a higher octave, nodding his head and still holding Logan's shoulders. "Ouchie! So rough!" Logan let him go, but Wade only got closer. "You're lucky I'm into it."

—

761 notes · View notes

ecemf · 7 months ago

Text

And the Award Goes To... // A Carmen Berzatto Fanfic

18+!! MDNI!!

A/N: When this year started I definitely did not foresee myself writing not only one but two depraved fanfics both about hooking up in award ceremony bathrooms... but here we are.

This one actually took so long and I don't even really know if I like it but I hope y'all enjoy it. Big cheating vibes so if you're not into that don't read. Ok thanks bye!

Summary: As a writer for Vogue, you've been assigned to cover The James Beard Awards this year. This would be great, as your boyfriend is a nominee, if it weren't for the fact that your toxic ex was also nominated for the same goddamn award...

Warnings: cheating, smut, unprotected piv (wrap it before you tap it guys), choking, dom/sub dynamics, bit of degradation, porn with lots of plot, asshole boyfriend, asshole carmy, no usage of y/n

WC: ~5.8k

Enjoy!!

Nerves. That’s all you’ve been feeling this entire week.

When your boss had told you in October that you were assigned to cover the James Beard Awards you were elated. Partially because, you know, it was the goddamn James Beard Awards, but mostly because it would be your first major story at Vogue. You had been a writer for their Food column for a few months at that point, and while it wasn’t exactly as you had imagined it while writing it over and over in your manifestation journal, it wasn’t bad, and you were sure you could work your way up. This story was a chance for you to do so, so why would you pass it up?

What you didn’t know when you accepted the assignment weeks before the nominations came out, was that your new boyfriend, Alex Moore, would be nominated for Best Chef in the Midwest. This wouldn’t have been a problem- in fact quite the opposite -if it weren’t for the fact that your toxic ex who you hadn’t seen in ages was nominated for The Same. Damn. Award.

Now it’s May, and the dreaded day has arrived. You finish applying your vampy lipstick with a shaky hand as you hear Alex yell for you from downstairs. You two have been together for about 10 months now, and it’s been great. Alex is good; he’s stable. Sure he’s a bit egotistical and barely has any free time, but he’s a chef, aren’t they all that way? Alex talks about the future with you, he always calls when he’s tied up at the restaurant, he tells you he loves you.

He’s nothing like your ex, which is a good thing. You think. You love him. You think.

You rush down the stairs with your red Louboutins click-clacking on each wooden step. The shoes had been a six-month anniversary gift from Alex, who apparently didn’t know that anniversary means year. Your boyfriend came from old money which he loved to throw around, especially when it came to spoiling you. He had also purchased the dress you were wearing that night. It wasn’t something you would pick out, but it was nice. Simple and sexy without showing much skin.

“Finally,” he sighs, seeing you make it to the bottom of the stairs, “You look great in that dress. Shoes are a nice touch.”

“Thanks baby,” you say, approaching him where he stands by the counter, “You look hot,”

You go to give him a kiss but he puts his hand up before your lips can reach him, “Hey! Watch it!” He scolds, “I don’t want red lipstick marks all over me when I accept my award tonight, so you’re gonna have to keep it in your pants, nympho,”

You roll your eyes at the nickname, one that he gave you a few weeks into living together. Alex thinks it’s crazy that you want to have sex once (if not maybe two or three times) a day. He’s nothing like your ex.

—

When you arrive at the awards ceremony, your heart is racing. You had been squeezing Alex’s hand like a lifeline the entire ride there; he chalked it up to you being nervous about the work aspect of tonight.

You weave through people hand-in-hand with your boyfriend, saying hello to those you recognized, being introduced to those you didn’t. Currently, you were becoming acquainted with the sommelier from some new fusion place. Alex knew him from college. Or from when he did his training in Belgium? You aren't sure, you weren’t really listening. The only thing you’re focused on tonight is avoiding a very specific nominee. You hope you don’t seem too distracted in this (very boring) conversation.

“I’m gonna go find our seats,” you say to Alex, excusing yourself from the hellish small-talk, “It was great to meet you,” you say to- actually, you never caught her name.

As you saunter through the rows of tables, scanning each place card for you and your lover’s names, you try to calm yourself down. “No sign of him yet,” you think, “Maybe he won’t even come. That would be just like him, not showing up.”

Finally, you find the place card reading “Alex Moore”, but when you look at the table setting next to it, it’s empty. You glance around the table- maybe it blew off the plate? As you scan the surrounding area, you grow a bit concerned. Did they forget to put your name out? Were you even supposed to be there? You had no trouble getting in at the door, but-

“Looking for this?”

You freeze. Of fucking course he found your seat before you could.

You turn on your stiletto to see no one other than your ex-boyfriend, Carmen Berzatto, Executive Chef of The Bear. He stares back at you with your place card between his two fingers like a cigarette. Fitting.

“Please give that back,” you say, doing your best to seem unfazed by his presence.

“Wow,” he responds in mock-offense, “That’s the hello I get after all this time? C’mon, Jig,”

You wince at the nickname. You and Carmen had met while you were bartending in college. He was a regular at your bar, and you were a bright-eyed bushy-tailed 21-year-old hoping to make it as a food writer in the big city. You two bonded over your love of food, and would trade recommendations back and forth for different spots around town. You were the only bartender out of the whole staff who used a jigger (was no one else worried about their ratios??), so before he knew your name he would just call you Jigger, which then got shortened to Jig. Even after he finally asked for your name (and number), and even throughout your 3-year relationship (if you could even call it that), he still called you Jig more than your actual name.

“Hello Carmen,” you reply with a tight smile, extending your hand, “May I please have my place card for my seat?” You ask again.

As he opens his mouth to respond, you hear Alex calling out for you, “Babe!” He quickly walks over to where you and Carmen stand, “Hey, you found our seats?” He turns to look at Carmen, “Hey man, good to see you!” He embraces the chef, and takes a step back, looking at the place card in his hand, “Why do you have my girlfriend’s name in your hand?”

You panic. “Ummm… Carmen here found it on the ground, and he was kind enough to pick it up and come find me with it,” You (not so kindly) snatch the white paper out from between his fingers, “thank you again,” You hope your tone makes it clear that you want him to walk away.

“Find you…” Alex looks between the two of you, obviously confused, “Sorry, do you two know each other?” Shit.

Carmen looks at you, amused. You didn’t tell your boyfriend about him.

“Yeah!” You say, a little too enthusiastically, “Um yeah! I erm, I interviewed Carmen about The Bear for that article a few months back, remember honey?”

Alex looks back at you and thinks for a second. “Oh right, I remember that article,”

You never wrote an article about The Bear.

“And how could I forget such a face,” Carmen chimes in. You try to give him a warning with your eyes, and he seems to receive it when he says, “Well, it’s good to see you both, I should go find my place card this time. Good luck out there tonight, Alex,” He pats your boyfriend on the bicep.

“Hey, you too, man,” Alex responds, grinning. As Carmen walks away, he leans down to you and whispers not-so-discreetly, “He’ll need it,”

You try to ignore the comment as the two of you sit down. Your boyfriend was a good chef, a great chef even, but Carmen was better. When you read through the nominations all those months ago, you knew he would win tonight. As someone who had watched the man in his element, there was no doubt in your mind: Carmen would take home the award.

As people continue to mingle and find their seats, you take a glance around the room. The reception hall was huge, there had to be at least a thousand people in the building. Which is why it’s so painfully ironic that Carmen’s seat is in direct eye-line with yours. As you continue to survey your surroundings, his icy blue eyes meet yours. He was staring at you with a familiar look in his eye, and you try to ignore the knots it was tying your stomach into. You quickly look away, turning your attention back to Alex. He turns to look at you, and you go to give him a quick peck, forgetting your conversation from earlier. He once again stops you, rearing his head back to avoid your lips (or your lipstick, rather, so he claims).

“Sorry, I forgot,” you say dejectedly to your boyfriend, who looks at you like you just tried to stab him, “I’m gonna run to the bathroom really quickly before they get started,” you tell him, touching his arm.

“Okay, my speech won’t be until later in the ceremony, so no rush babe,” your ever so confident man responds.

You grab your purse as you head out of the large room, searching for the bathroom. You wish you could find an usher…

“Looking for the restroom?” Asks a young man in a suit. You nod. “It’s-“

“I can show her,” you hear from behind you as someone takes your arm, and before you know it, Carmen is leading you down the hall.

You quickly pull back from him, “Would you leave me alone?” You say quietly, hoping no one is watching or hearing this, “I am trying to work and enjoy my night, okay? You should do the same,” you start down the hallway again, alone this time.

“Alright…” Carmen says behind you, “the bathroom isn’t that way, just so you know.”

You stop, and turn to face him again, “So then where the fuck were you taking me?” You ask, exasperated.

“Well, if you would let me show you…” Carmen looks at you expectantly.

You stare back at him silently, and finally allow yourself to actually look at him. He looks good. Like, really good. Carmen never dresses up, but when he does, good lord he’s a sight for sore eyes. You indulge, ogling at the way his black dress shirt sits taught against his strong chest. Even under the thick suit he has on, you can see his strong arms. Those arms that used to hold you, throw you around, flip you over, help you bounce up and down on-

“My eyes are up here, y’know,” Carmen says sarcastically, obviously noticing what you were doing.

You ignore his comment and his noticing, “if I follow you to this mystery place will you leave me alone tonight?”

“Is that really what you want?” Carmen responds with a certain edge to his voice. An edge you recognize. An edge you miss.

You gulp. “Yes,” you say quietly.

“You were always a bad liar,” Carmen mutters, walking past you down the hall, “c’mon, Jig,” he says for the second time tonight.

—

After a few more hallways and a flight of stairs, you and Carmen arrive on the roof of the building. As soon as you’re outside, the blonde pulls out a pack of cigarettes, silently offering you one as his hangs out of his mouth.

“No thanks, I quit,” you say, putting your hand up.

“Well look at you, changed woman,” He jokes as he lights his cigarette, “Old Money Moore wasn’t into it?”

You roll your eyes at the jab at your boyfriend, “For your information, I quit before me and Alex even met,” you look down at your shoes and shiver a bit in the evening air, “why are we up here, Carmen?”

“Will you stop calling me that?”

“Stop calling you your name?”

“Yeah, it’s weird. You never used to call me that,” he takes another drag of his cigarette, “I mean, unless we were fighting,”

“So most of the time, actually,” You respond, humorlessly.

“Did we spend most of our time fighting?” The man looks you up and down as he continues to smoke, “As I recall we spent most of our time fucking,” he exhales.

You bring your fingers to your temples, “Oh my God, get to the point,” you glance down at your phone, “the ceremony’s going to start soon, and I really don’t want to miss anything,” you say. And you mean it - you have a goddamn article to write!

“Is he gay?” Carmen smirks at you.

“W- what? Is who gay? What are you talking about?”

“Your ‘boyfriend’,” he makes air-quotes around the word, “Alex, is he gay?”

You have half a mind to just turn around and head back to the ceremony, but you don’t. You’re not sure why. Yes you are.

“Firstly, he is my boyfriend. No need for the air quotes, asshole,” You start, annoyed that you’re even having this stupid conversation, “secondly, no, he is not gay. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m a woman, and we’re in a relationship, so,”

“Oh I’ve noticed,” Carmen says, raking his eyes up and down your body, “I was just asking because I watched him refuse to kiss you earlier,” he throws his cigarette on the concrete ground, stubbing it out with his foot, “and any man who refuses to kiss a woman who looks like you, well, I just have to assume he probably isn’t into women,”

Your face goes hot. Half from the embarrassment, half from arousal. Boy was he laying it on thick. You clear your throat and meet his eyes, which you had been avoiding doing since the two of you got alone.

“Not that it’s really any of your business,” you start, narrowing your eyes at Carmen, “but he asked me not to kiss him so that I wouldn’t get lipstick on him for when he-“ you cut yourself off, realizing how ridiculous it sounds out loud.

Carmen chuckles, staring into your soul. You avert your eyes.

“When he what, baby?” He asks, coyly.

“Don’t call me that,” you say sternly. Or at least try to.

Carmen starts walking towards you, slowly. He backs you up against the wall behind you until there’s only a few inches of space between the two of you. You still avoid meeting his eyes.

“Jig, look at me,” he says quietly, and you obey, finally locking eyes with him. He moves even closer to you and puts his hand on the wall above you, caging you in, “he doesn’t want your lipstick on him for when he does what?” Your faces are so close he’s almost whispering. God, you wish he would leave you alone. No you don’t.

“For when he wins the award tonight…” you say, barely loud enough for Carmen to hear. But he obviously does, as he hangs his head and laughs. The tops of his curls nearly touch your nose. You stare up at the sky again, half from embarrassment, half from arousal. He was so goddamn close. You could smell him.

He lifts his head, still chuckling a bit, “that dumbass thinks he’s going to win the award tonight?” He asks you in disbelief, “like seriously?”

You knew Carmen would win the award, there was no doubt about it, but he was being a major asshole. A sexy asshole, but it was a bit much.

“Carmy-” You go to tell him it wouldn’t be impossible for Alex to win, but you freeze when the nickname slips out of your mouth. He smiles devilishly at you.

“There it is,” he says with that shit-eating grin on his face, “say it again,” he whispers, getting his mouth dangerously close to yours.

“Stop it,” you whisper back. His nose nudges yours and you turn your head to the side.

“What’s my name baby?” Carmy murmurs as he ghosts his lips up and down your neck, “Say it again, sweet girl,” he pulls the neckline of your dress to the side and bites down.

“Carmy,” You whine. You grip his shirt, trying to find something to ground you as your ex-boyfriend sucks a mark into your collarbone, “please, I can’t,”

“But you want to,” he smirks as he continues kissing your neck, your insides becoming molten lava, “Alex doesn’t need to worry about your lipstick on his face, baby. You know why?” He pulls back and looks you in your eyes, already glazed-over and needy, “because I’m gonna win that goddamn award,” he grips your waist as he pulls you tightly to him and whispers in your ear, “and then I’m gonna fuck his girlfriend while I wear it.”

You try to catch your breath as he releases you and your back hits the wall. Carmen takes his thumb and runs it over your bottom lip. You think he’s going to put it in your mouth, but he just wipes a bit of the lipstick off of it. You watch in lustful amazement as he then takes the red pigment and rubs it on his neck underneath his collar. He pushes off the wall and without a word leaves you standing up on the roof, alone, soaking through your underwear.

—

“Jeez, did you fall in?” Alex says quietly as you shimmy into your seat. You had missed the beginning of the ceremony. “Are you feeling okay? You look a bit flushed,” he rests a hand on your thigh and you give him a small smile.

“Yeah, sorry, you know women’s bathroom lines…” you say through tight lips, hoping he doesn’t ask any more questions.

Your prayers are answered when your boyfriend simply nods and turns back to the presenters. You turn to see Carmy staring holes through you, with that stupid goddamn smirk on his face. You take a deep breath and try to return your attention to the stage.

—

You sit through a handful of awards and speeches, and finally it comes to the “Best Chef” section of the night. Up first: Midwest. AKA: Your Boyfriend vs. Your Ex. Your heart races as you watch the presenter give a speech about the award and the nominees. He reads off all of the names of the nominees, and your palms sweat as you rest a hand on Alex’s shoulder.

The room is quiet as the announcer says, “And the James Beard Award goes to…”

You inhale.

“…Carmen Berzatto of The Bear!”

You exhale.

Alex curses under his breath and clenches his fists. You try to rub his back but for the third time tonight, he pushes you away. You sit quietly with your hands in your lap as Carmen takes the stage. God, why does he look so good even in stage lighting?

Carmen walks up to the microphone after having the medal placed on him by the presenter.

“Wow. Um, I’d like to thank my team first and foremost, I wouldn’t be able to achieve anything without them. I’d erm, I’d like to specifically thank Sydney Adamu, my sous chef and partner. She really should be the one up here, but I guess I’ll take it,” The crowd laughs along with him, “I’m really grateful for this award and anyone who’s ever eaten at The Bear. Thank you.” He looks dead into your eyes and grabs the medal as he ends his speech, “I can’t wait to wear this thing!”

Everyone laughs except for you, whose face goes beet red. Luckily the lights are dim enough for it not to be an issue, but you can hear the blood pumping in your ears. You turn your attention back to Alex, whose ears had apparently had steam coming out of them for the past two minutes.

“I can’t fucking believe this,” he mutters, “that was supposed to be my award. After all the fucking money my parents donated to this foundation? What a joke.”

You pretend you don’t hear your boyfriend whining like a spoiled brat, “Are you okay?” You ask sweetly, “It’s just an award baby, it doesn’t really mean anything,” you try to replace your hand on his shoulder but he swats it away. Hard.

“Jesus can you not touch me for like five fucking seconds?” He says, pretty loudly, considering they’re in the middle of presenting the Best Chef Northeast award. You look up to see if anyone heard and see Carmy coming down the steps of the stage, clenching his jaw as he watches the interaction. You hold your stinging hand and excuse yourself to the restroom before your tears of anger can spill over.

As you stand in the mirror, dabbing your eyes before any more tears can fall, you hear the bathroom door creak open and the deadbolt turn. Behind you in the mirror appears who else but Carmen fucking Berzatto, wearing that stupid fucking James Beard Award. You stare at him through the mirror, silently.

“Well, aren’t you gonna congratulate me?” He says, walking towards you. You turn around to face him, “C’mon, Jig, nothing?”

You stare at Carmen. You watch the way he stares back. All of today’s events race through your head. All the times your boyfriend rejected you, dismissed you, ignored you. Those moments on the roof, the adrenaline you felt, Carmy’s words ringing through your mind.

“and then I’m gonna fuck his girlfriend while I wear it.”

You reach out and grab the medal on his chest and use it to pull him into you. It’s intense off the bat, a mix of teeth tongue and lips, hands frantically grasping at each other. Carmy grips your neck and your waist as you lace your fingers through his curls and give a tug that earns you a soft moan. You begin kissing down his neck, leaving dark red lipstick marks all over. You push his sport coat off his shoulders and begin undoing the buttons at the top of his shirt.

“Eager, are we?” Carmen teases, helping you in removing his shirt.

“Just shut up and fuck me, Bear,” you respond, bringing his mouth back to yours.

“Mmm,” Carmen pulls away, “what happened to my good girl who used to beg so politely?”

“She only gets fucked once every two weeks so she’s kind of impatient right now,” you say as you continue to place kisses all over Carmy’s upper body and palm at his erection.

“Hold the fuck-“ Carmy pushes you off of him and looks at you with shock on his face, “that asshole only fucks you twice a month??”

You look back at him in all of his glory. His curls messy from your hands, his sculpted form covered in your lipstick marks, his pupils blown, his dick, well, huge. Why did you ever give this up?

“He just doesn’t have a high sex drive he says,” you shrug, putting your hands back onto him, “I don’t really wanna talk right now, Carmy,”

“Does he at least eat you out first?” He looks genuinely perplexed and frightened by this information. How could someone have this masterpiece of a woman under their roof and not be ravaging her at least once a day?

“I asked you to fuck me, not make me laugh, Berzatto,” you deadpan back at the man, “seriously, now you know how much I need this, so please,”

“Oh you need it bad, baby,” Carmen says as he turns you around to face the mirror. He begins unzipping your dress ever so slowly, leaving kisses across every inch of your back. You step out of your dress, left only in your matching bra and underwear along with your red Louboutins. “Turn around,” Carmy orders.

You do so. You look at Carmy through your lashes, feeling equally exposed and terrifyingly aroused. The man growls underneath his breath, just staring at you.

“What a fucking idiot,” he says, before picking you up and placing you on the countertop, “doesn’t fucking realize what he has, rich fucking asshole,” Carmy mutters more nasty things about your boyfriend as he pulls your panties down your legs. He smells the soaked fabric before putting them in the pocket of his trousers. He pulls your legs open and groans loudly. “Jesus, baby, is all this for me?” He runs a finger through your soaked folds, collecting some of your arousal which had been building since you first saw him hours ago.

You squirm atop the counter as Carmy just toys with you. He stares at your vagina with amazement, like it’s a piece of art. Finally, he dives in, licking a flat stripe from your entrance to your clit. You gasp loudly. One of your hands flies to grip onto the counter top while the other finds purchase in the golden curls currently perched between your thighs.

It’s just as good as you remember it. That’s the problem, always has been. The sex is so goddamn good. It’s what kept you crawling back every time Carmen would hurt you for 3 long years. You hated your past self for always giving in, but right now, you understood her completely.

Carmy swirled his tongue around your clit as he inserted two thick fingers into your entrance, curling them just right. The stretch was like nothing else. You let out a beautiful noise, causing him to groan into your pussy, the vibrations adding to the delicious stimulation. You clenched around his fingers as he continued his ministrations, feeling that familiar knot tightening in your lower stomach.

“You gonna give me one?” Carmy says, looking up at you with a soaked face and hungry eyes, “You gonna come all over my fingers, baby?”

“Yes, Carmy, yes, oh my god,” you babble, feeling so close, “please don’t stop baby,”

Carmen raises to his feet while continuing to finger you. He pulls you closer to him, leaning into your ear. “Does that feel good, princess?”

As you moan uncontrollably as you muster a “yes feels good,” but you know the questioning won’t end there.

“Yeah baby?” Carmen adds a third finger and you squeal, “how good does it feel?”

“God it feels so good please don’t stop,”

“Who’s making you feel this good, sweet girl?” He continues to whisper into your ear.

“You Carmy, it’s always you,” you respond breathily, the coil in your stomach moments from snapping.

“Say it again,” Carmen growls.

“Carmy oh my god-“ and with that your vision blanks. Your legs shake as you come harder than you have since… well since the last time you fucked Carmy. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as he continues his movements, prolonging your orgasm.

You grip onto his strong shoulders as you come down, resting your forehead against his as he removes his fingers from you.

“Jesus Christ,” you say, as you watch him stick all three fingers into his mouth and suck off your residue. You watch familiarly as he gathers spit in his mouth and grabs your jaw. Knowing the routine, you gladly open your mouth, as he spits in the mixture of the two of you. You moan as you taste yourself mixed with Carmen.

“Swallow,” he demands, holding your throat. And you do. “There’s my good girl,” he says, undoing his belt with one hand, “thought I lost you there, baby,”

You hum contentedly as he continues to hold you by your throat while he pulls his cock out of his pants and boxers. You moan at the sight of the state of it. Veins bulging, tip bright red and leaking, and, well, huge.

Carmen pumps himself a few times before saying, “take your bra off,” letting go of your throat to opt for one of your newly free breasts, “love these fucking tits, god.”

You squeeze your legs together as he strokes himself while playing with your nipples. It’s hot, but you need more. Now.

“Carmy, please,” you said, making your sweetest eyes at him, “I need you so bad,”

“You gonna beg me baby?” He responds with that stupid grin on his face.

“I’ll do anything,” you say, disregarding your pride (and your boyfriend).

“Is that right, angel?” He asks, caressing your face as you nod, lowering his voice, “you’ll do anything for this dick?” He continues stroking it as he looks into your eyes, “you need to get fucked so badly that you’re in here begging me for my cock while your boyfriend’s in the other room. Didn’t realize you were such a slut, baby,”

Your pussy throbs as Carmen continues to taunt you, “yes, I’ll do anything please,” you’re truly so desperate at this point, “please just give me your cock Carmy,”

“Say it,”

“Say what?” You ask, genuinely confused.

“Say you’re my slut,”

You gulp. “I- I’m your slut,”

“And why are you a slut?”

“B-because I’m in here begging for your cock when my boyfriend’s right outside…”

“And why are you begging me for my cock when you have a boyfriend?”

Okay this interrogation was getting old.

“Because it’s so much better, Carmy, please just give me your dick haven’t I been good?”

“You’ve been so good, baby,” Carmy says as he pries open your thighs and buries himself inside of you.

You yelp at the intrusion, not expecting himself to push himself in to the hilt on the first stroke.

Carmen lifts up your right leg and puts it over his shoulder. Then the left. He watches as your tits bounce while you half-lay on the countertop. You watch as his medal bounces on his chest with each thrust. He notices.

“You like that baby?” He asks, snaking a hand down to rub circles on your clit, “you like getting fucked by the best chef in the midwest?”

“Yes Carmy, fuck, just like that,” you moan out, “best dick in the midwest,” you say, somewhat jokingly.

Carmen half-laughs half-growls at the comment, “that’s fucking right, baby, best dick you’ll ever have. That’s why you keep coming back, right? That’s why you’re in here cheating on your stupid fucking boyfriend? Yeah?” With that last comment, he delivers a slap to your clit, causing you to scream and your pussy to clamp down around him.

“Fuck always so tight, princess, always so good for me,” Carmy babbles, getting lost inside of you, “this is my pussy. No one else’s. Say it.”

“It’s- fuck!” You yell as Carmen adjusts his angle, now hitting your G-spot over and over, “It’s your pussy Carmy, fuck! It belongs to you, I belong to you, oh my God don’t stop, please!”

It seems like Carmy misheard you as he stops fucking you and pulls you down off the counter top and kisses you ferociously. He grabs at your ass and you whine at the loss of him inside of you.

“Hold on baby, I’ve got you,” he says against your lips, “just need to do something,” he says, as he lifts off his medal and places it around your neck. You look up at him, confused. “Turn around,” he says, darkly.

You turn around to look at yourself in the mirror. There’s a red mark around your neck from where Carmen was gripping you, your updo from earlier is now mostly down, your chest is littered with small hickies, and between your tits lies a motherfucking James Beard Award.

Carmen pushes on your upper back so that you’re leaning over the counter and re-enters you at a punishing pace. The bathroom is filled with lewd noises of skin slapping skin and moaning. You look up to see Carmen staring at you through the mirror. Except, he’s not looking at your face, he’s staring at your tits. Wait. No. He’s staring at the medal bouncing with your tits.

Carmen looks into your eyes through the mirror, “yeah look at you,” he growls, somehow pushing into you even faster now, “my girl wearing my fucking award. Jesus Christ look at that,” he watches intently as the piece of silver bounces off of your chest with each thrust he delivers, “fuck, who’s the best baby?”

“It’s you, Carmy, you’re the best,” you moan out in response, “you’re the best,”

Carmen reaches around you and grabs the medal, but keeps the ribbon around your neck. He pulls on it just enough that your back arches and your head falls onto his shoulder. The new angle this creates is mind-blowing, and you once again moan all too loudly. Carmen litters kisses and bites along the shell of your ear.

“I’m so close baby,” he strains into your ear, “want you to come with me,”

With that he takes his free hand and resumes his work on your clit. The combination of the dragging of his thick cock over your G-spot over and over again with the tight circles he’s rubbing into you has you barreling towards your second orgasm. Knowing your body the way he does, Carmy can tell, and he tries his best to time his release with yours.

With one final stroke, you’re coming undone on Carmy’s dick, throat still held tight by the ribbon of his award. Carmen stutters as he comes inside of you with a groan, holding your hips in a way that will bruise as he paints your insides, the warmth adding to your intense pleasure. You both come down from your highs with a collection of sighs and moans, and finally, Carmy pulls out of you. You whimper at the loss of contact and the feeling of him leaking out of you.

Wordlessly, you begin to dress yourself again. You don’t even bother asking Carmen for your panties back, that’s an argument you’ve lost to him enough times already. You zip your dress back up, Carmen silently helping you get it to the top as he too works on making himself decent again. You attempt to fix your hair looking in the mirror, getting it back to a somewhat similar state to when you arrived earlier this evening. You smooth out your dress, and go to walk out of the bathroom when Carmen clears his throat.

“You, um,” he looks at the floor before making that piercing eye contact he’s so good at, “you deserve better, you know, than that asshole,”

You stare back at the man you loved for so many years. The man you still love today. He was right, you did deserve better. Better than Alex, but better than him, too. You nod back at him with tears in your eyes.

“Congratulations on your award, Carmen,” you say quietly. You walk out of the bathroom, back to the ceremony.

348 notes · View notes

starmocha · 6 months ago

Note

ok, imagine you have a nightmare about caleb exactly two months before his death. he happens to be staying with you, a day off just to say hi that turned into a sleepover. you find him at 3am, crawl into his bed, his lap, he's trying to soothe you, asking what happened but you're sobbing, playing a shaking hand over his chest just to feel his heart beating. he manages to calm you down, holding you close, letting you cry it out until he thought you were sleeping/ end part 1

ANON. EATING THIS UP. EATING THIS UP!!!!! nooo pls don’t ever apologize for that. I was so delighted to see the Caleb spam. They’re always welcome in my inbox :)))) Here. I wrote a little something, because I see Caleb and I’m weakened instantly 🥹 And if you haven’t already, pls check out my beloved @rose-tinted-kalopsia’s fic, baby, kiss it better. She wrote about Caleb comforting you after your nightmare. Literally in my top 5 fave LADS fics overall 💖💖💖💖💖

but stay with me

It was the most horrible sound you had ever heard. So godawful, it woke you up from that nightmare.

Still shaken, your fragile heart was racing, pumping erratically against your chest, your own breathing was just as irregular. The heavy panting was mixed with the choked back sobs, your emotions in complete turmoil as you tried to convinced yourself that everything you had just witnessed was not real. It was just a nightmare.

It took you a few extra minutes before it finally clicked in your head that your face was wet with tears. You wiped at your eyes furiously with the side of your arm, but it seemed to have only encouraged more tears to fall, your chest tightening with each painful breath taken.

It was a nightmare. Just a nightmare.

You repeated the mantra, a vain, pitiful attempt to calm yourself.

It was not real. It was just a nightmare.

Except, it wasn’t the boogeyman that scared you. It wasn’t the social anxiety of standing before a large crowd giving a speech while naked. It wasn’t even something like your dolls coming to life to murder you.

Those were all irrational figments of your imagination, concepts so exaggerated they had no place in reality.

But this.

It could very well happen. The world was scary enough to allow this to happen.

You closed your eyes.

You watched him turned his back on you, his hand on the door handle. He opened the door, entering without you, the door closing in your face. Just as you reached for the very same handle he had touched, there was an explosion that knocked you back, leaving you crumbled on the floor staring in confused abject horror as your grandmother’s house went up in flames, destroyed within a blink of an eye for seemingly no goddamn reason.

In just a few seconds, he was ripped out of your life.

In just a few seconds, he was stolen from you.

In just a few seconds, the boy who had promised to always be by your side was gone.

Caleb…Caleb…!

“Caleb!” you screamed out his name, no longer sure whether you were still within that nightmare or if you were awake, suffering from the lingering horrors you had witnessed, the cruel image now ingrained deeply in your mind like a stubborn weed you couldn’t kill, its roots strong and hardy going far deeper into the soil than you could ever reach.

Get out of your head, you scolded yourself firmly. Caleb is alive. He’s asleep in the living room.

It was such a nice day. Caleb had arrived in Linkon for a surprise visit from Skyhaven, managing to find time to slip away from the Deepspace Aviation Administration to see his favorite person in the world and celebrate her recent achievements at the Hunters Association. You both spent the day catching up, reminiscing as you both bumbled your way throughout the city, going from store to store, taking countless pictures to preserve the memory of the day, and laughed until your sides hurt and your cheeks sore from all of the smiles exchanged.

When you came home, Caleb made all of his signature dishes, spoiling you even when he was a guest in your home. It was just a habit he couldn’t break, one that he also showed no particular interest in rectifying. Like a summer breeze, Caleb brought warmth into your home, into your life. When Caleb was here, the world seemed just a bit gentler, a little safer, and you found your guard lowering, letting yourself drown in his familiar warmth.

Caleb was the very feeling of home, and he would always be home to you, encompassing all of the warm memories borne from the innocent years of growing up together.

You tried to steady your breathing once more. There was a hollowness in your eyes, your mind settling but still restless.

You wondered how such a perfect day gave way to the most horrific dream of your life.

Like a zombie, you left your bed, moving sluggishly down the halls to the living room with no clear thought in your head. You approached the couch, peering down at the figure asleep, curled up on that small sofa that could barely contain his large stature.

You stood next to the couch, staring down, breathing a little shaky again now that you are looking at him. He was there, asleep, where he should be.

You could see him clearly with your own eyes, but there was still a seed of doubt planted in your mind, a nagging voice trying to manipulate you, spreading lies in your head that he was just a figment of your imagination, that you were just in another layer of a dream.

You reached out, the pads of your fingers skimmed over his cheek, barely making contact, but perhaps there was still just enough of an electrifying touch to rouse Caleb from his deep slumber.

He stirred.

You quickly pulled your hand back, your breathing worsening. Before you could turn and retreat, Caleb called out to you in the darkness, his voice raspier than normal, still caught somewhere between dreaming and consciousness.

“Pipsqueak? What’s the matt—”

The words died at his lips, his perfect vision noticing instantly even in the darkness your puffy, red eyes. He immediately shoved the cover to the side, rushing to his feet as he gripped your arms, bent down to your height to thoroughly examine you.

“What’s wrong? What happened? Are you hurt somewhere? Do you feel unwell?”

You sniffled, unable to answer the barrage of questions being hurled at you. When you try to speak, the fragments of your nightmare resurfaced, forming that awful image in your mind again. Unable to say anything, you threw your arms around his waist, the suddenness surprised Caleb into losing his balance and you both fell back onto the couch with you on top of him. Instinctively, Caleb’s arms wrapped around you, the familiar warmth of him was already easing your anxiety, but it still didn’t feel like it was enough. You wanted more, needed more.

Needed him. Just so.

Your face pressed into his chest, his heart beating softly and you started to breathe easier again. His body heat spread to you, his gentle voice calling out once more.

“What’s wrong?” His fingers were under your chin, slowly lifting your head up so your eyes could meet. He sighed, disheartened, upon seeing just how red and swollen your eyes were. “What could have made the fearless Miss Hunter here so terrified that she cried until her eyes were so red and puffy?”

You recognized the faint teasing lilt in his voice, the same one he had used since childhood as a way to console you, to brighten your mood, and coax out whatever secrets you were keeping from him. It always worked, and you would confess to him about your fears, reveal the bullies who were tormenting you, or any worries that filled your little head, and Caleb would always come to the rescue and make the world right again.

This time, though, you did not want to tell him.

You quietly lowered your eyes, missing the instant hurt on Caleb’s face when you refused to speak to him.

An awkward silence started to creep into the room, but neither one of you spoke. You continued to withhold this nightmare from him, afraid that if you voice it out loud, something would get set in motion and what was once just a horrific dream would become an irreversible reality.

Caleb himself felt a little lost and suddenly helpless, a role he was unfamiliar with. He was always your protector, your confidant, and your companion, so to see you so terrified to the point that you couldn’t even speak to him made him question his own worth. He closed his eyes briefly, and exhaled, deciding that this silence had gone on long enough.

Easily, he scooped you into his arms, ignoring your surprised cries as he stood up and carried you back to your bed.

“Ca-Caleb?”

“It’s late,” he murmured, not looking down at you, “Let’s get you back into bed.”

You huffed and lightly beat at his chest with one small fist. “Caleb, I’m not a kid anymore,” you said, muttering softly, “You shouldn’t speak to me like that.”

You were lowered down into the soft mattress, and before Caleb could straighten, you grabbed at the front of his shirt, yanking him down until he fell on top of you in surprise.

“Pipsq—”

Your lips pressed to his, and Caleb was stunned into silence, his eyes widened in surprise. A million thoughts seemed to race through Caleb’s mind, and not one of them made sense or even tried to rationalize what was happening in this instance.

Your lips felt so warm and soft against his, and perhaps in a moment of weakness, he closed his eyes, returning the kiss, deepening it further, realizing that this was everything he had wanted for years. The line he had always wished to cross but hesitated was now gone. You were the first to cross to him, so how could he just refuse this moment? Refuse you?

Neither of you know how much time had passed, breaking apart only when you needed to breathe. Caleb’s hands were pressed into the mattress on either side of your head, his eyes locked with yours, both your cheeks flushed and your breathing labored.

“Caleb…you’re leaving soon…”

He looked confused, unsure of what was going through your head. You were behaving so abnormally tonight, so emotional and distressed, he was starting to go mad with worry, wanting to do anything to chase away the anxiety that was grappling you.

“Not for another three days,” he answered as calmly as he could, “I’m all yours until then, pipsqueak.”

“Will you be mine tonight?”

He stilled, his breathing stopping the moment he heard those words, wondering if maybe his hearing might have deceived him. It was a few seconds before he managed to find his voice, though as he spoke, it wasn’t even registering in his head that he was speaking to you, “What…did you say, pipsqueak?”

You looked up, blinking away the tears that still remained. You stared into his violet eyes, wishing to look into them forever. “I want you, Caleb…please…”

“You’re not thinking clearly,” he said, his voice wavering enough that he wondered who he was trying to convince: you…or him?

You shook your head vehemently. “No…I am. I am, I am, I am, I am…!”

Your hands cupped his face, your voice steadied and assured. “This is the most lucid I’ve ever been.” As you stared into his questioning eyes, your heart dropped suddenly. There was an acute shift in your expression, reflecting your sudden mood change, and to others, it was subtle enough that no one would notice, but with Caleb, he was always aware of everything about you. He saw the shift, that flicker of fear in your eyes before you had blinked them away. Quietly, you asked, afraid of his answer, afraid of whatever truth awaited you in the next few seconds, “Or…do you not want me?”

Caleb’s eyes widened in shock, his heart stirring at hearing the anxiousness in your feeble voice. One large hand slipped under your head and you were pressed forward closer to him, his lips crashing against yours in a heated kiss, the depths of his feelings like a tidal wave sweeping away everything in its path.

“Fuck no,” he groaned, the rasp in his voice more prevalent than normal. “I…I’ve always wanted you. I’ll always want you.”

“Re…really?”

“Really.”

“Really, really?”

“Really, really.”

His breathing stuttered, his eyes flickering from your own, a mix of fear and yearning in your gaze, to your lips, trembling and waiting. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, before he leaned down closer, the warmth of his breath caressed against your lips as he spoke, “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” you answered.

“One last chanc—”

You kissed him, swallowing that last word. He instantly submitted to you, his kisses ravenous as if a dam had just been broken, and now there was nothing holding back his own feelings. As you kissed him, gasping in between, your hands fumbled against his clothes, tugging at his t-shirt. He let you guide him, the shirt slipping off and revealing his toned torso.

You didn’t have long to appreciate them before you realized his own hands were on the waistband of your shorts, giving an experimental tug down. He shifted his gaze to you, waiting, and you nodded. He smirked and made quick work of discarding your bottoms, his breathing growing heavier now that the only thing left were the light pink cotton panties you wore.

“Caleb…” your lips found his again, pulling him back to you. As you two kissed, his lips trailing all over, marking you up in ways you had never dreamed about before. You gasped, arching up into him when you felt his bulge brushing over your core, the thin fabric of his pajama bottoms not enough of a barrier between the two of you.

The way he was breathing so heavily, his pants making you more aroused than you could have ever realized. One large hand slipped under your shirt, easily covering your entire breast. You whined when that same callous hand circled your breast, his fingers finding your nipple to pinch and play with until it firmed under his touch. You fidgeted against him, whining softly at his teasing treatment.

“Are you always this sensitive?” he asked, gazing down in amusement at your flushed cheeks. He laughed softly when you lightly glared at him. His voice lowered, his mouth so close to your right ear that when he spoke, you could feel butterflies fluttering in your belly. “Or is it…only for me?”

He kissed your neck soundly, the warmth of his lips still lingered even when he pulled back, his smoldering violet eyes gazing down at you with such desires, you quickly forgotten your frustration with him. His hands skimmed down your body, resting on your hips, his thumbs rubbing against the waistband of your panties. There was still some hesitancy left in him, as if he was afraid that once he crossed this line with you, things would never be like before.

You guided his fingers, letting more of the fabric slip lower and lower, his breathing the only sound heard in the stillness of your bedroom. Once he had slipped the garment off, it seemed like everything moved much faster, the restraints that held both of you back gone in that instance as you both succumbed to the once dormant desires within both of you.

“Ah…Caleb…!” You gasped as he grabbed your thighs, spreading you more. His hardened member pressed against your slick folds, the tip slipping in and you moaned as you took him in slowly. Your thoughts raced as you realized that not only was this happening, but Caleb was much bigger than you could have anticipated. Your belly tightened, body tensing as more of his large length filled you.

He kept you spread, his body leaning forward, the barely-contained groans filling your ears. “So fucking tight,” he rasped, “Fuck, you feel so…so good…better than I could…could have…imagined…”

Your chest heaved, the feverish expression you wore betrayed your feelings, showing him that his words barely registered in your head as all you could do was focus on the feel of him filling you so gloriously. He hummed happily as he leaned down and kissed your lips, giving one final thrust to fill you, your startled gasp swallowed by him as he continued to ravage your lips as he let you get used to the feel of him buried deep inside you.

“Ah…Ca…Caleb…” you whimpered his name in between kisses, your hips rolling against his.

Understanding your need, Caleb slowly pulled out before he thrusted back in, your moans more heavenly than he could have ever thought, and now that he had a taste of the once forbidden fruit, he knew he could never give you up even if he wanted to. Once he was sure you were enjoying yourself, he found a pace that was pleasurable for the both of you, letting go of all the previous hesitancy and yielding completely to this moment of passion.

With every movement, every burning touch, you moaned his name, begging and pleading with him for more, to take you harder, make you his completely. You had said his name so many times before, in so many different tones and with so many moods accompanying them, but he had never heard his name uttered in such a sweet, lascivious way as this with that pretty voice of yours spilling such perverted words. He could get addicted to this, wanting to greedily covet all of these sweet sounds for himself.

His length reached deeply inside you, hitting that sweet spot that had you arching into him, clenching around him. He groaned into your neck, his voice hoarse with desires. “Whatever you want,” he murmured, his voice so soft and lazy, it was almost like you were getting intoxicated by him, “I will give you.”

“Ca…Caleb…”

“Hmm…” He kissed you again, long and slow, savoring your lips and this moment for as long as he could. “I will never stop spoiling you,” he whispered, nipping your bottom lip. His forehead pressed to yours, and another roll of his hips had you arching into him, arms wrapped around his neck as you buried your face into his shoulder, crying softly. He gripped your legs on either side of him, pulling you closer to him as he shushed you gently. “You’re so close, baby,” he continued in that same leisure tone, his own groans of pleasure mixed in between his words, “Are you going to cum for me soon?”

“Ye…yes…”

“Yes what?” He was teasing you again, wanting to rile you up. He kissed along your neck once more, his sinfully sweet voice coaxing you closer to the edge. “Tell me. Say it with that pretty voice of yours.”

“Cale…Caleb…”

He hummed again, waiting. He pressed a kiss along your shoulder, his movements quickening to meet your needs.

“Oh god, Caleb!” You gripped him tighter, feeling every deep, hard thrust. You whimpered as he gripped your chin, keep your face close to his.

“Eyes on me,” he commanded, a lecherous smirk on his handsome face. “I want to see what you look like cumming on my cock.”

Oh, fuck.

At those perverted words, the long building climax came crashing, your body pulsing with pleasure as you cried out his name with such ecstasy. The sight of you beneath him, shaking in pleasure, lost in a blissful state of euphoria stole his breath away as he chased after his own climax, driving into you over and over again with reckless abandon.

You whimpered, his forearms suddenly resting on either side of you, keeping you completely trapped beneath him as he continued to penetrate you so deeply with quickened movements. His intense kisses assaulted your lips before his hips stuttered and suddenly, he was emptying into you, filling you with ropes of his seed.

“F-fuck…” he panted, his weight heavy on you. For what seemed like several minutes, you both stayed like this, feeling the aftershocks of your climaxes still coursing through your spent bodies. You could feel Caleb’s lazy kisses trailing along your neck, his lips finding your temple. He spoke first, voice soft and gentle, “Are you alright?”

You nodded tiredly, and he smiled.

He pulled out of you, breathing shuddering as his eyes took in the erotic sight of his cum dripping lewdly from your cunt. He didn’t say anything, but this was having more of an arousing effect on him than he could have realized. He swallowed and quickly looked up, meeting your satiated gaze. His expression softened, pleased to see you were in a calmer state now compared to earlier.

He settled down in bed, pulling you into his embrace. You arm draped over his chest as you both basked in the afterglow. The silence that followed was more comfortable this time as both your breathing slowed in time together.

Your eyes drifted close while Caleb ran his fingers through your hair, a troubled expression passed his features suddenly, almost as if he was unsure whether or not he should ruin this mood with the question lingering in his mind.

He didn’t want things to just get swept away, to be forgotten just like that, especially not when he knew you were in such pain before, and he doubted you were completely fine now. Whether this was a good decision or not, Caleb needed to at least try and break through this new barrier you had put up tonight. So, he asked: “Do you want to tell me about your nightmare?”

You stayed completely still in his arms, not moving or reacting in any way. You could sense Caleb’s intense stare, but he was patient as he waited for you to answer his sudden question.

You could still hear the explosion, the crackling of flames left in its wake. The heat was so unbearable, scorching like the fires of Hell itself.

You burrowed into Caleb’s embrace, shaking your head silently as you held him just a bit tighter, the squeeze a gentle reminder that he was still here, still in your arms.

He was safe.

He was safe in your arms.

And he was warm and real and here and yours.

“Alright,” Caleb whispered, his lips pressed to the top of your head. “I’ll be here if you ever want to tell me.”

Your voice sounded so small and helpless, as if you were a child again chasing after him. “You’ll be here?”

He smiled. “Even if I am away, I will always find my way home to you,” he said, his resolve strong. “From Skyhaven or wherever else, I will always return to you no matter the distance.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” he answered, not missing a beat. Still seeing the worried creases on your face, Caleb rubbed your cheek affectionately, asking with a tinge of teasing in his voice, “Have I ever broken a promise to you?”

And you smiled for the first time that night, because no, he never had.

And he never will.

#x — 💌#anonymous #love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #love and deepspace x reader #caleb x reader #love and deepspace fanfiction #lnds fanfics #lads scenarios #caleb smut #i said a little something but why is it 3.7k words 😔#i’m sorry i’m so pathetic for him 🥹#this will continue 🥹#i will get worse 🥹#title is lowkey monsta x's kiss or death #for no other reason than i heard shownu singing this verse as i was writing lol #also quickly edited 'cause i finished this at midnight while heavily caffeinated lol

382 notes · View notes