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badbtssmut · 1 year ago

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Magic Stick

Jungkook is kinda sad because he has never been with a girl who could take him balls deep because of his size, reader doesn't believe him and she wants to see, but he tells her that he can't atm bc he's not hard. She is wearing this kinda halter top style with no bra so she looses the top and shows her tits to him and let's him touch them. After he's hard he shows her his dick and she says she's willing to try to take it all and she rides him into the sunset

Admin note: idea by anon

Contains: Big dick JK, handjob, some boobplay, missionary, riding, reader expresses that she is uncertain if it will fit, it takes some time getting it fully in ;), reader whimpers a bit, JK’s ex cheated on him, jk cums a lot

—

“What’s wrong with you?” You glanced over to your best friend, he has been in a horrible mood for a week and no one knew why. Not even your mutual friends knew what was up with Jungkook.

”It’s nothing.” He mumbled in response.

“Come on, I can tell something is bothering you.” You pushed.

"Fine. My girlfriend broke up with me.” He finally cracked.

"Wait, what?” You stood from the dining table, and inched closer to Jungkook who was sitting on the sofa. “Why’d she do that?" You question, shocked by the sudden news. "You two seemed so happy. What happened?"

"She… she was cheating on me.” He confessed.

"Are you fucking kidding me? What a bitch." You really couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

“Don’t blame her, I guess.” Jungkook said and shrugged his shoulders.

"Don't be silly. You’re too forgiving." You sighed.

"It's not that. The sex, my size— it just never worked out in bed. It was never a good fit." Jungkook confessed, a tinge of sadness in his voice.

"So, you're saying, she dumped you ‘cause of your dick size? The fuck? That's just shallow. Why would she do that?" You sat next to him.

"Yeah, it didn’t fit, literally. I’d hurt her, it wasn’t going to work out from the start. We tried a few times, but the whole experience was just awful. I guess she couldn't stand it anymore." He said, defeated.

“That doesn't make any sense, surely you aren’t that big? Are you sure she’s not just making excuses?” You couldn’t believe his ex would end things with him over his size.

"No, I am that big." Jungkook replied.

"Really?" You were skeptical.

"I've always had a big dick." He added.

"Show me."

"What?"

"Show me." You repeated. “I just want to know if you’re bullshitting or not.”

"No." He declined, looking at you as if you said the most ridiculous thing ever, clearly embarrassed by your request.

"Oh, come oooon, we are best friends. It’s not like I’ve never seen a dick before in my life." You rolled your eyes. "I'm not going to judge you, I promise. Just let me see."

"Fine." Jungkook sighed. "But… I’m not hard now.” He muttered.

“Will my boobs make you hard?“

“Hell yeah. You got great tits." He said, a bit too enthusiastic, as if he had been dreaming of the day you’d offer your tits in return to see his cock. You stood right in front of him, loosening the straps of your halter top. His mouth was slightly open, as he looked at you, completely mesmerized. You removed the straps from your shoulders and let the shirt fall to your tummy, revealing your breasts.

"Like what you see?" You teased.

"Yeah. Very much." He was nearly drooling at the sight.

"Want to touch them?"

"Fuck, yeah." He nodded, eager. You stepped closer and his hands were instantly on you. Squeezing your breasts, rubbing his thumbs on your nipples, taking it all in. When he was done caressing your tits with his hands, he started to suck and lick on them, at which you moaned softly, and the sound of it made him rock hard. He was definitely huge, you could see the tent forming on his pants.

"Are you sure you want to see it? It's… quite big." He was almost apologetic, as if his huge dick was some sort of inconvenience for others.

“I do, show me already.” You chuckled, not sure what he was being shy for.

"Okay." He nodded, unbuckling his belt, and lowering his jeans, together with his boxers.

Holy shit.

How was a dick that big even possible? You didn't even think that dicks like that actually existed. And it wasn't just long, but also thick. No wonder his ex broke up with him. You were pretty sure that dick wouldn't fit anywhere.

"Wow." You couldn't believe your eyes.

"Told you. It's big. You wouldn’t believe me." He shrugged.

"Can I touch it?" You asked, still unable to avert your eyes.

"If you want." He agreed, a little surprised but not put off by the idea.

You grabbed his dick and slowly moved your hand up and down his length, marveling at how big and heavy it was, how thick. His cock was truly impressive, and it seemed to get even bigger as you stroked him. You wondered what it would be like to take him.

“Wow. This is amazing. How can you fit this inside a girl?" You were truly impressed, and couldn't help but keep stroking his cock.

"I can't." He admitted, his breathing starting to quicken. “No girl can take it, they always start out confident but when it’s actually in… they can't take it. Not even halfway through. I have never met a girl that can take me all the way, even the ones that brag about having experience are not able to." He sounded dejected.

"I bet I can." You challenged him.

"No. You can't. There's no way." He scoffed. All of the girls said the exact same thing, and it never worked out, ever.

“Want to bet? If I can’t take it, I’ll give you 200 bucks.” You said, not convinced by his pessimism.

"200 dollars? That's a lot of money." He said, surprised by your proposal, but he shrugged. “But alright, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

—

"Are you sure about this?" He asked, for what seemed to be the hundredth time.

“If you ask me one more time… I will leave." You said, annoyed.

"Sorry. Just don’t want to hurt you." He apologized with a defeated sigh. It made you feel bad for getting annoyed, but Jungkook really had nothing to worry about.

You got this.

Jungkook held onto his cock as he pushed the head of it against your slick pussy lips. Your body tensed a bit, but he took his time, working on you slowly. You breathed deeply and relaxed, spreading your legs further as his shaft dragged against your sensitive skin. His cock was so hard and thick that it rubbed against every single inch of your folds.

Jungkook continued to move his hips back and forth, his errection dragging against your clit with each thrust. The sensation was amazing, and your body was trembling in pleasure, and he wasn’t even in yet.

The tip poked against your lower belly as he continued to rub the shaft against your pussy, his hips moving slow and steady.

“Want it.” You whined.

“Yeah?” He whispered.

"Yeah."

He lined himself up with your entrance, pressing the head against it. You tilted your head back, fuck, that was only the head, how could you feel this full already?

Jungkook began to slide his cock into your wet, aching pussy. His cock was stretching you out so wide, it felt incredible. He stopped when the head was all the way in, giving you a moment to adjust. Jungkook slowly pushed his cock deeper inside you, inch by inch. You could feel his cock filling up every inch of you, the stretch and pressure so intense, it was almost too much.

"Shit, you’re stretching me so good…” You moaned, as his cock kept going deeper.

"How are you taking it so well? I can't believe you can take it this far, pussy takes big cock so good, baby." He pushed in more, eager to fill you with every inch.

You couldn't speak, the sensations were overwhelming. It felt like your pussy was being stretched to its limits, and there was a pressure deep inside you that made your mind go blank.

Jungkook's cock was buried all the way inside you now. You were filled up completely, and it was the most amazing feeling you'd ever experienced.

"Don’t move,” It felt as if he would rip you in two if he pulled out even a little bit. "Not yet. Give me a minute." You whimpered, as you adjusted to his length and girth.

Jungkook nodded, kissing your neck, his hands cupping your breasts.

“This is how pussy feels, huh? Fuck, this is amazing. So tight, warm, perfect." He whispered against your ear, as he kept his dick deep inside. “It’s like my cock is being choked and squeezed, so good.”

“Told you… I could take it.” You said in a shaky breath, sitting up only to peek at where your bodies were joined, impressed to see how your body managed to take that monster cock in.

“You can move now." You gave him permission.

Jungkook started to move his hips back and forth.

The pressure from his dick was too intense, it felt like you were being split open, and you thought you were going to pass out from how good it felt. You held in your breath, unable to moan as you tilted your head back and closed your eyes, enjoying the feeling of his cock stretching you wide.

Whereas you were silent, Jungkook was grunting, groaning, panting, moaning, he couldn’t contain his pleasure. Jungkook was overwhelmed by the feeling of being buried deep inside you. His thrusts were slow and deep, his cock pushing against your inner walls, massaging them.

You opened your eyes and glanced at his face, he looked like he was in ecstasy, his mouth was open and he was moaning with every thrust.

His cock felt incredible, so big, so deep.

You had never felt anything like it before.

"I can't believe I'm fucking a pussy that can take my whole cock. Shit, it feels amazing. Pussy is so tight and wet. So fucking good. Never felt anything like it. Fuck!” Jungkook licked his bottom lip, picking up the pace.

Jungkook was pounding you now, his cock thrusting in and out of your dripping pussy, hitting all the right spots. Fuck, you were seeing stars, your whole body was on fire.

You couldn't stop yourself from screaming in pleasure. You spread your legs as far as you possible could, allowing him to thrust even deeper into you. Jungkook continued his relentless rhythm, his thrusts were hard and fast, the sounds of his cock slamming into your pussy filled the room.

The feeling of his dick filling you up was indescribable, it was pure bliss.

“Want to ride you, want to sit on that cock." You needed to feel in control, and you wanted him to watch you as you sat on his massive dick.

Jungkook pulled out and laid down on the bed, his dick standing straight up, and you couldn’t wait to take it all again.

You straddled his hips, hovering above his erection and you slowly lowered yourself down onto his cock, gasping as it slid into you, the pressure and friction sending waves of pleasure through your body.

Jungkook's hands were on your ass, helping you move up and down on his cock. He was thrusting his hips upward, matching your rhythm, driving his dick even deeper into you.

"God, you look so hot riding my cock. Never would’ve thought to see this.” He bit his lip, his eyes roaming over your body.

"So big…” All you could think of was how his cock felt inside of you, how shallow it might sound… you couldn’t even think of the person attached to it.

Jungkook was now holding onto your hips, pulling you down harder onto his dick. His thrusts were strong, and fast, and it felt so fucking good.

"Fuck, I can't last any longer. Gonna cum soon." His thrusts became erratic and he was moaning loudly, his whole body shaking. You rested your hands on his chest, grinding against him, trying to match his rhythm.

"Y/N… like that, love it just like that." He moaned, his breathing unsteady, his fingers now gripping into your thighs.

“Yes, yes…” You whispered, riding his cock, feeling your own orgasm build up inside of you.

“Ah!” Jungkook beat you to it, his body stiffened as his cum spurted inside of you, filling you up. He was gasping for air, his face was flushed, and his grip on your hips loosened, he ran his fingers through his hair as he squirted his cum deep inside of you. It was as if he had a never ending supply of cum, shooting spurt after spurt, his cock throbbing as it emptied its load inside you.

“Keep going, y/n, you didn’t come yet, I’ll stay hard, take what you need, keep going." He encouraged, his breathing still shaky, his dick was still hard, and it was pulsating inside you.

"Yeah." You whispered, continuing to bounce on his dick, the feeling of his cum inside of you and the sight of him beneath you, sweaty, breathing hard, his hair sticking to his forehead, was so incredibly sexy. The sound of your drenched in cum pussy sucking him back in was loud, his cock coated in your juices and the cum that was spilling out of you was bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

You leaned back, resting your hands on his thighs as you moved up and down, faster, deeper, until you were finally climaxing, your orgasm taking over your body. Your body shook and your eyes fluttered open and shut as the warmth spread through your whole body, you had never felt anything like it before. You could feel the hot cum leaking out of you, and it just kept coming.

Your hips slowed as you rode out your orgasm, and when it was over, you collapsed onto the bed, panting.

“Jungkook?”

“Yeah?”

“You owe me 200 bucks.”

#bts smut #bts x reader #bts requests #bts smut requests #jungkook smut #jungkook x female reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook x yn #bts smut story #bts smut reactions

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prettygirl-gabi · 1 month ago

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I Am a Spoiled Princess

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd x Reader

Fandom: WNBA-Dallas Wings/ UConn Women’s Basketball

Summary: it’s clear who really did all the planning… and who just showed up like the spoiled princess she is.

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @cowboybueckers , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @elswhore , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin , @issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog , @sayurireidotcom , @let-zizi-yap , @latenighttalkinqwp , @fairyblossomsav , @liloandstitchstan , @kaliblazin

If there was one thing I excelled at in our relationship, it was being loved… aggressively and unapologetically. Especially when it came to vacations.

Like this one.

We were currently on a boat off the coast of some turquoise-water island—one I definitely couldn’t pronounce��sun kissing my skin, drink in hand, while my girlfriends made sure I didn’t lift a finger the entire time.

And no, I didn’t plan a single thing.

Well, not entirely true.

I did bring up the idea of a vacation.

That had to count for something.

“Okay, baby,” I grinned, adjusting my bikini strap as I sat on the lounge chair, phone in hand. “Let’s do that trend. The one with the ‘I’m so-and-so and I…’ thing.”

Paige looked up from where she was flipping through the resort’s room service menu. “That trend where couples flex on each other?”

“Yup,” I nodded, turning to Azzi. She was standing by the edge of the boat in a cute cover-up, hair up in a pineapple puff, sunglasses resting on her head. “We’re doing it.”

Azzi smirked. “Don’t tell me you’re about to do it just to brag about how you didn’t do anything.”

“I would never,” I said, grinning and opening the TikTok app.

“Liar,” Paige muttered under her breath with a teasing smile, sipping her drink.

“Okay, so we’ll film clips, and I’ll edit it later. Just trust me, the internet is gonna eat this up.”

Cut to the TikTok:

🎥 “I’m Y/N, and I—”

CUT

🎥 “I’m Paige, and I paid for the flights, got our passports renewed, and coordinated all the hotel transfers so Y/N didn’t have to even look at an itinerary.”

🎥 “I’m Azzi, and I planned this whole vacation down to the restaurants, private boat, and massage appointments. I even found the gelato spot Y/N said she ‘randomly dreamed about.’”

🎥 “I’m Paige, and I packed Y/N’s suitcase because she was ‘too tired’ the night before and fell asleep face down on her clothes.”

🎥 “I’m Azzi, and I bought all her outfits—including three bikinis I had to guess the sizing for because she ‘couldn’t decide’.”

🎥 “I’m Paige, and I ordered her go-to snacks and feminine products for the hotel room without her asking because her period came the day before we flew out.”

🎥 “I’m Azzi, and I coordinated our TikToks, brought the tripod, and made a shared album just for the vacation memories because I know how much she loves archiving things.”

🎥 “I’m Paige, and I gave her my sweatshirt on the plane because the cabin air was too ‘disrespectful’ for her shoulders.”

🎥 “I’m Azzi, and I spent three hours rescheduling the snorkeling excursion because Y/N ‘felt a vibe’ it was gonna rain on the original date.”

🎥 “I’m Y/N…”

CUT AGAIN

🎥 “I’m Paige, and I carried her through the airport in Turks because her ankles got swollen and she didn’t want to wear shoes.”

🎥 “I’m Paige, and I bribed hotel staff with WNBA tickets to let us check in early ‘cause she didn’t sleep well on the plane.”

🎥 “I’m Azzi , and I washed the sand out of her hair after the beach day because she didn’t like how the salt made it ‘crunchy’.”

🎥 “I’m Azzi, and I dealt with customer service for three hours because her floatie didn’t arrive in time.”

🎥 “I’m Paige, and I posted her IG photo dump for her because she couldn’t decide on a caption.”

🎥 “I’m Y/N… and I am a spoiled princess. And I brought up the vacation idea in the group chat, so technically, you’re welcome.”

“I’m just saying,” I said from my throne of towels, fruit slices, and adoration, “none of this would’ve happened if I didn’t casually mention needing a ‘tropical reset’ in our group chat.”

“You said that while crying into your Panera soup after a scrimmage,” Paige pointed out.

Azzi added with a chuckle, “And you sent it at two a.m. with the message: ‘do we even live life if we’re not in bikinis sipping something fruity at least twice a year?’”

“EXACTLY,” I pointed dramatically. “Vision. Leadership. Initiative.”

Paige came over and kissed the top of my head. “Delusion.”

Azzi sat beside me, offering a piece of watermelon to my lips. “But make it pretty.”

I took the fruit and smiled. “See? That’s why I keep y’all around.”

The comments were blowing up.

“NOT THE HARSH CUT AFTER Y/N SAYS ‘I’m Y/N and I—’ 😭😭😭”

“No but Y/N living every soft girl’s dream???”

“This is what it means to be the favorite child and the wife.”

“Azzi and Paige are taking turns raising this one like she’s the royal baby.”

“Y’all sure she didn’t marry into royalty??”

I showed the phone to Azzi and Paige, who were cuddled up with me on the hammock outside our villa.

“Look! The fans get it,” I said proudly. “I am a spoiled princess.”

Azzi rolled her eyes fondly. “Glad they know.”

Paige smirked. “Glad you know.”

I leaned against them, sighing happily as the night breeze swept through.

“Next vacation,” I mumbled. “Let’s go skiing.”

Azzi groaned. “Babe, no. You hate the cold.”

“Exactly. That’s why you’ll carry me down the slopes.”

Spoiled Princess Privilege™ was alive and thriving.

And I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!💚💙

-prettygirl-gabi✨️💗

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javiscigarette · 2 years ago

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Teacher's Pet

Joel Miller x virgin f!reader

Summary: 25 years old, anxiety-ridden, and still a virgin, you ask your friend Joel for advice on your upcoming date. But you're more of a...hands-on learner. And he's more than happy to help.

Warnings: PWP, unbalanced power dynamics, virgin!reader, neighbor/bff/more experienced! Joel, age gap, first kiss, virginity loss, fingering, oral (f receiving), frequent check-ins, soo much banter and Joel is a menace also so soft and sweet :')....(ends on a cliffhanger but there will be a part two I swear).

w/c: 7.7k idk what happened

a/n: I am resurfacing for your monthly reminder that I do in fact still write!! Inspiration for this came out of literally nowhere but I took it and RAN with it and I think I like it?? As always, thank you to my baby love @undrthelights for helping me with this and always listening to my rambling and for being my biggest enabler Ilysm

Part Two

my masterlist

"Fine! What if, hypothetically speaking of course, you were to, hypothetically, give me a, um, hypothetical, lesson or whatever." Your heart is pounding so hard you can feel your pulse throb in your neck pound in your ears. You slowly drag your hands away from your face and look at him. He stares right back at you, brows furrowed. "A what?" "Forget it. forget I said anything,” you mutter, shaking your head. "No no wait, hang on, what do you mean? A lesson? Like a…a sex lesson?”

"Seriously, Joel. Fuck off" you snap but with no bite or heat behind it. You bring the sweating bottle of beer to your lips and finish the rest of the now lukewarm liquid off in one gulp.

"What? I just find it hard to believe that you've never even had a kiss. Didn't you go to high school? Didn't you ever get invited to a party? Didn't you go to college? College kids do the do like all the time”

"Clearly not all the time" you mutter, a tad bitterly.

Joel raises his hands defensively and takes a sip of his own beer. "Just seems crazy is all. There's gotta be some chick or dude out there willing to take pity on you and pop your cherry."

You audibly gag at his choice of words. "I don't need a pity fuck, thanks." You stand from the couch and head over to the fridge. The bottles of cold alcohol inside are calling your name and you want something that will help soothe your nerves. You're not a big drinker, but when Joel is prying into your love life like he is now, you wish you were.

"Okay,” he starts from the living room. “Maybe I worded that wrong. What I meant to say was, there's gotta be someone out there who would be more than willing to show you a good time."

You groan and let your forehead fall against the fridge door. "That's the whole point! I came here to get advice for my date, someone who might actually be interested in me, and all you've done is make fun of me for not having fucked anyone yet. So thanks, Joel. You're a real pal."

You push away from the fridge and slam the door shut, a second beer in hand.

"Alright, alright, calm down." He says, hands in the air as if you were holding him at gunpoint as you head back to the couch. "Look, if this guy really likes you then he's not gonna care. Probably won't even be able to tell if you are or aren't."

"You think so?" You ask hopefully.

"Well, I mean, unless you're like... super bad."

Your heart drops into your stomach and you glare at him, "Joel."

"Oh come on, I'm kidding. You're not gonna be bad, okay? Just, go into it with an open mind and just relax. If he tries something you're not comfortable with or makes you feel weird, tell him. And if he gets pissy, dump his ass."

"That simple, huh?" You scoff.

"Well, yeah. You're the one who made it complicated by thinking it was a big deal."

"It is a big deal, Joel! I know nothing!

"Nothing? You ain’t ever watched porn? Jesus, I had no idea you were such a prude."

You can't stop yourself from rolling your eyes and slapping the back of your hand against his arm. He yelps and laughs, rubbing his arm.

"I've watched porn before" you retort.

"What kind?" he asks with a wiggle of his brows.

"None of your fucking business" you respond, feeling your face heat up.

Joel's lips quirk into a shit-eating grin and you're quick to smack him again.

"Okay okay, sorry!" he says through his laughter. "So what exactly are you afraid of?"

You're not really sure how to answer. It's a combination of so many things, most of which are irrational fears and insecurities. Sure you've seen it all done before, but you're well aware that none of it is realistic. At least, not completely. And just the fact that you're freshly 25 years old without a single notch in your bedpost makes you dizzy with anxiety. It's not like you're saving yourself or anything, it's just that hook up culture has never agreed with you and there's never been an opportunity that made you feel like it was the right one. That is until now, with your cute coworker who you thought was miles out of your league asking you out on a third date. And now, the prospect of being in bed with him is looming over you like a dark cloud and the last thing you want to do is mess it up.

"I guess, I'm just afraid that he's gonna be disappointed, or I'm gonna weird him out, or I'm gonna do something wrong and embarrass myself.” Joel nods along and listens. "And if it is bad then we still have to work with each other and then what if it's awkward and everyone knows about it and then he hates me and--"

"Okay, whoa slow down there, buddy" Joel says, putting a hand on your shoulder. "One, you're overthinking this. You're literally thinking like, five steps ahead of what's actually going on. It's a date. And even if it does end up in the bedroom, you don't have to do anything you don't want to. No one's forcing you, okay? He can't. No one can."

"I know, but I want to," you reply quietly.

"Alright. Then do."

"I don't know howwww!! " you whine, flopping backwards into the couch.

Joel groans and sits up a little straighter, scrubbing a hand down his face.

"Well, there's no magic trick, I don't have a secret sex manual I'm holding out on ya."

You sigh, shoulders sagging as you look over at him. The idea comes out of nowhere, well, not exactly from nowhere, but it pops in your head so fast that you then have to bite your tongue before the words bubbling up from your throat come tumbling out.

It's not a bad idea, not necessarily.

You've been good friends with Joel ever since you moved in next door last year. An unlikely pairing, a 40 year old contractor and an almost 25 year old office worker. But after offering him a six pack as part of introducing yourself to the neighbors, you'd gotten along fabulously. He fixes things around your house and you send him home with hot dinners and warm, gooey cookies and you watch movies together almost every Friday night.

It's an easy friendship, open and honest and supportive, and Joel has never given you reason not to trust him. He's a good guy, if not a little brash, but you know deep down he means well. And it doesn't hurt that he's objectively attractive, with his tall and sturdy frame, strong, calloused hands, dark messy curls....It's not a bad idea.

It's an absolutely insane idea.

You continue to stare at him, clenching your teeth together to hold back the question sitting on the tip of your tongue.

"What?" he says, looking back at you.

"Nothing" you mutter, eyes flicking away.

"You've got that face you make when you're about to say something really stupid, so just get it out."

You glare at him again, not enjoying the way he can read you so well.

"I wasn't gonna say anything."

"Well now you're lying."

"I'm not."

"You're doing it again!"

"Doing what?!"

"That face!"

"I'm not making a face!"

"Yes you are! Just spit it out!"

You groan and hide your face in your hands. You blame it on the one beer even though you know you’re not anywhere close to being drunk because how else would you justify what you’re about to say? You wait a moment, thinking about the weight of it but your mouth opens before you can stop yourself.

"Fine! What if, hypothetically speaking of course, you were to, hypothetically, give me a, um, hypothetical, lesson or whatever."

Your heart is pounding so hard you can feel your pulse throb in your neck and hear it in your ears. You slowly drag your hands away from your face and look at him. He stares right back at you, brows furrowed.

"A what?"

"Forget it. forget I said anything,” you mutter, shaking your head.

"No no wait, hang on, what do you mean? A lesson? Like a…a sex lesson?”

His eyes are wide, and he looks incredulous. You can't blame him, because the more time that passes between your suggestion and now, the more ridiculous the idea seems.

"I’m sorry, that was…It was stupid. Pretend I didn't say anything. Let's just watch a movie." You move to grab the remote, but Joel's hand covers yours, stopping you.

"Is that what you want?"

You look at him, searching his expression for any sign of disgust or apprehension. But all you can see is the same Joel you've known for months, patient, warm, and understanding.

"I know. I know it's stupid. But I can't get this date out of my head, Joel. It's all I can think about and the more I do, the more worried I get and I just don't want to fuck it up. And I know we're friends and this is weird and gross, but I just thought that... maybe, I could have some practice, so to speak."

He doesn't say anything. Just keeps looking at you, the panic rising in your chest the longer the silence stretches. You start to fidget, wringing your hands together in your lap.

"I'm sorry, that was way out of line" you say, moving to stand up, your skin sweaty and hot with embarrassment and your feet ready to run out the door and never come back.

But Joel catches your wrist, gently pulling you back down to sit next to him.

"Joel" you whine, not wanting him to humiliate you any further.

"It's okay, come here."

His voice is softer than before, and his eyes are kind. You let him pull you closer, the two of you sitting knee to knee. You can't bring yourself to look him in the eyes, not with your cheeks and the tips of your ears burning like they are, but Joel doesn't push. He simply moves his hand from your wrist, sliding it into yours. His palms are rough and warm, and the simple touch alone is comforting.

"You really wanna do this?” he asks softly. You can feel his eyes boring into you. “I mean, I'm not exactly a prize winning catch. And it's not like there's a shortage of willing men out there."

You shrug and chew the inside of your lip.

"Yeah, but you're my friend and I...I trust you."

There's another pause, and you wish that you could just disappear into the couch and erase this moment from your memory.

"How drunk are you?" he asks, glancing at the beer bottle on the coffee table.

"You saw me finish one bottle. And half of another. I’m barely tipsy."

"Not drunk?”

"Nope."

"You're gonna remember this tomorrow."

"Uh huh."

"And you still want to?"

You groan for the millionth time and squeeze his hand.

"Yes I want to! Look, if you don't want to then that's fine. It was just a dumb suggestion and we can just forget this ever happened."

He hums, considering your words. His hand slips out of yours, and you think that's it, you've scared him off and washed the friendship down the drain. That you'll have to hide from him from now on, that you'll have to pack your things up and move because the mortification would be too much, and that he'll hate you, and—

His two fingers sliding under chin surprise you, and he tilts your head up. He's looking down at you with that same even expression, eyes big, soft, and warm as he slides his hand over to cup your jaw in his palm.

"If you want to stop at any point, just say so, okay? I won't be upset and we can go back to the way things were before. Got it?"

You nod, your throat suddenly too tight to speak. His thumb sweeps over your cheekbone, the tender touch is enough to make your heart skip a beat. There’s no way this is actually happening. That your first kiss is going to be with your 40 year old menace of a neighbor. That you’re going to, how did you put it, get a sex lesson from him. His gaze flicks down to your lips and back up to your eyes and you’re positive you’re no longer able to breathe.

"Can I kiss you?" he asks softly. You nod.

You're sure he can hear the thumping of your heart in his own ears as he leans down. His other hand comes to rest on your hip and when his lips touch yours, a soft, tentative pressure, you're not prepared for the electricity that shoots through you.

He's barely done anything and already you feel like you're floating. Your own hands reach out to clutch his shirt, keeping him close, afraid he'll pull away and leave you cold and wanting if you don't. But he stays put, pressing himself against you, his lips working gently against yours. You follow his lead, kissing him back while trying not to overthink it.

It's nothing like the kisses in the movies or the books, where fireworks explode behind your eyelids or where your foot pops up in the air. It's far more subdued, more quiet and subtle. But the warmth that pools low in your belly and the goosebumps that erupt on your skin when his tongue slides against the seam of your lips, light and quick, makes you absolutely melt.

He pulls back before you can really react, and you're left with a dizzying rush of both blistering desire and excruciating anxiety. You want to pull him back in and never let him go. But your heart is beating so fast you can hardly breathe, your nerves are buzzing, and the urge to run and hide is nearly paralyzing.

"Was it bad?" you ask tentatively, cheeks heated.

"No" he replies, giving your hip a squeeze as a smirk plays on his lips. "It was fucking awful. Worst kiss of my life"

"Shut up!" you hiss, pushing him away with a hand on his chest. He laughs, the sound easing some of the tension in your body.

"I'm just teasing" he says, voice dropping lower. "C'mere, we can work on it."

His lips find yours again, and you try not to smile into the kiss but it's hard when you can feel the way his lips are quirked up as well. It doesn’t take much else to get you to relax and let yourself fall into the moment, into the gentle press of his mouth and the warm hands on your hip and your cheek. He swipes his tongue against your lips again, his fingers pressing lightly into the hinge of your jaw to tilt your head back and coax your lips apart.

You let him, sighing as his tongue glides across yours, hot and smooth and sweet. Your hands slide up his chest, finding purchase around his shoulders, and when you move forward, pushing yourself against him, he grunts softly but lets you. He kisses you until the both of you are gasping for air, and when he pulls back, his lips are wet and red and you're certain yours must be as well.

"Better?" you ask, a bit breathless.

"Getting there" he answers with, his breath warm where it fans across your cheek.

"You're such a liar" you say with a goofy smile.

"Yeah, I know. Now try again, practice makes perfect.”

You roll your eyes but lean back in nonetheless. It's a bit more heated this time, the feeling of his teeth nibbling on your bottom lip making you squirm. His hand rounds over your hip, palm smoothing to the small of your back to pull you closer, the heat of his body radiating through your clothes and warming your skin. Your hands move on their own accord, no thought behind the action as they slide up to his shoulders and then his neck, your fingers finding home in the curls at the base of his skull. When you give them a slight tug, you're rewarded with a muffled grunt from Joel. Emboldened, you pull back, lips swollen and tingling.

"You’re a good kisser,” you pant. "Is that something people usually say?"

"When it’s true" he says, grinning at you. "And since I know you're gonna ask, I'd say that was a C+, maybe a B-."

You scoff but blush furiously at the smile he flashes, his eyes crinkling in the corners.

"Well then, tell me what to do next. What do I need to know?"

Joel hums as he thinks for a moment.

"What do you want to do?"

You stare at him for a second, blinking.

"I don't know, that's why I'm asking you" you say, shaking your head a bit.

"Well, how far do you want to take this?"

You swallow hard, suddenly feeling very shy. You can’t deny that when the idea popped in your head it was accompanied by the mental image of you naked, spread out on his bed, but the actual act of asking him, or better yet, actually doing it is... intimidating to say the least. Are you really about to let him go all the way, to see you bare and vulnerable, let him pop your cherry as he would disgustingly put it? All just to “prepare” for a date with a guy who might not even like you that way?

Yeah, probably.

"All the way" you answer. “I want to go all the way”

He doesn’t pounce on you like you expected, doesn’t press his lips against yours in a frenzied kiss that you had half hoped for. Instead, he simply looks at you, his brown eyes boring into yours, searching.

"Are you sure? You can always say no and you're not gonna lose me as a friend if this isn’t what you actually want. I don’t want you thinking that."

You can't help the laugh that bubbles up and slips out, because of course Joel, your kind, thoughtful Joel, would say that. He's a good man. A great one, even.

"Yes, I'm sure. But if you don't want to, I get it, I can just leave and-"

Joel laughs, the sound traveling up from deep in his chest, the rumble vibrating against you.

"Sweetheart, I wouldn't be doin’ this if I didn't want to. Just makin’ sure this is what you really want."

"I want it.”

He squeezes your hip and swipes a thumb over your cheekbone once again.

“Alright then.” He nods, firm and resolute, and then looks around the room. “ We’re not doing it here, though. If you're getting the full Joel Miller experience, we're gonna do it right.”

Your eyes roll reflexively, but your heart picks up its pace regardless.

"I’m not gonna do anything if you call it that ever again."

"Fine, fine,” he relents. “Let me show you what a good, thorough fucking feels like. Better?"

Your jaw drops, and he's laughing at you, his body shaking with amusement.

"Fuck you" you grumble, shoving him away while trying to hide your coy smile.

"Yeah, that's what I'm hoping for," he says with a wide, self-assured grin.

"I'm leaving" you declare with a false sense of offense as you rise to your feet. Joel is quick to do the same and before you can take a single step away, he slips a finger through the belt loop of your jeans and tugs you back into him, wrapping an arm around your waist.

"I’ll stop, I’ll stop. I'm sorry" he says, not sounding it one bit.

You huff, but let him pull you closer until you’re pressed against his chest and you have to tilt your head back to look at him.

"I’ll be good. I promise."

"Liar"

"Well, yeah. But I can promise that I'll make you feel good."

You can't help the giggle that spills out and he kisses it away, his lips warm and plush and sweet against yours. The hand not resting on your lower back comes up, curling around the nape of your neck and keeping you close. You sink into him, and the fog creeps in again, dulling the rest of the world, making it seem fuzzy and distant, like the memory of a dream. All you can focus on is him, the warm solid weight of him against you, the strong arms holding you, the way his mouth moves against yours. And then he’s pulling back all too soon and you have to stifle a whine.

"Come on" he says, tugging at your hand.

His bedroom is dim, the little lamp on his nightstand and the faint glow of the moon through the curtains providing the only light. You swallow and take a deep breath as you step inside, your bare toes digging into the plush carpet, his hand warm and large where it grips yours.

He holds onto you as he sits on the edge of the bed. You step forward, letting him pull you between his knees. His hands settle on your hips, and you can feel their heat through the fabric of your shirt.

He doesn’t ask if you're sure again and you’re grateful because you’re not sure if you could form any kind of response right now. Instead, he slides his hands up and under your shirt, fingers dancing across your skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps. Your breath hitches as his hands smooth over your ribs and around to your back, the tips of his fingers mapping out the curve of your spine, skimming over each notch and bump. They climb higher, the fabric of your shirt bunching around his wrists.

“Can I take this off, baby?”

Your heart jumps to your throat but you nod anyway. He grabs the hem and tugs your shirt up and and you lift your arms so he can slip it off over your head. He tosses it aside, the fabric falling to the floor beside the bed. You’re left exposed, vulnerable and bare, save for the worn out bra you wear, a few too many washes and a few years past its prime.

Your hands itch where they hang by your side with the instinct to cover yourself, hide the imperfections that you know so well, the stretch marks, the softness of your stomach, the way the cups of your bra are just a bit too small and spill over the tops.

But then he’s pressing his lips to the space just above your navel, his scruff tickling your skin and making the muscles in your abdomen jump and twitch. His hands find your waist again, and when his lips continue their path upwards, his palms follow, skimming up your sides, thumbs tracing the outline of your ribs before stopping at the band of your bra.

"This too?" he asks, voice quiet and husky.

"Yeah" you answer with a squeak, and he grins like a kid in a candy store.

His fingers undo the clasp deftness that makes your knees go weak, the straps slipping from your shoulders and the whole thing sliding down your arms, landing somewhere near your shirt.

"God, baby, look at you" he murmurs, his hands cupping the underside of your breasts, his thumbs sweeping over the tops and then down the slope and around your nipple. Your breath hitches, the gentle touch sending a shiver up your spine. "You're fucking perfect."

The praise is unexpected and it sends a jolt of heat through your core. You whimper quietly and his hands are on you again, the calloused palms rough on the soft skin of your breasts. He kneads the flesh, squeezing gently before rolling your nipples between his fingers, pulling and pinching and teasing.

He pulls you closer and ducks his head, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. He looks up at you through his lashes, eyes dark and hooded, and his pupils blown wide with desire.

"Can I?" he asks.

"Please."

He leans in and wraps his lips around a peaked nipple, his tongue swirling around the sensitive nub, the gentle heat of his mouth on your skin making your knees weak.

His mouth works on one breast, tongue flicking and teasing while his free hand continues its work on the other. Pleasure builds and coils deep inside, the sensation unfamiliar but certainly not unwelcome. You whimper and he pulls away, releasing your nipple with a wet pop before giving it a sweet parting kiss.

He turns his attention to the other, his teeth grazing over the stiff peak and drawing a whine from your lips. He sighs when your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling at the strands until he groans softly against you. He sucks your other nipple into his mouth, the flat of his tongue pressing against it and dragging up and around, swirling and flicking. You’re already breathless, panting, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on your forehead.

"Feels good, Joel," you whisper shyly.

"I know, honey" he says, a soft smile pulling at his lips when he pulls away. "Feel good anywhere else?"

He doesn't wait for a response, simply slips a hand between your thighs, cupping you through the denim, the simple action making you squeak.

"Here, huh?" he says, the heel of his palm pressing against you.

You gasp softly and nod, biting your lip, too shy to say anything.

"Get on the bed, baby."

You comply, crawling onto the mattress and scooting backwards towards the pillows, sitting at the head of the bed as you watch him. His eyes never leave you as he pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it onto the floor. Your heart thumps as you stare at his bare chest, his tanned skin dotted with a light dusting of salt and pepper hair. He's broad, his shoulders thick and chest solid. Your fingers burn with the urge to reach out and touch him, so you do, extending a tentative, slightly shaky hand.

He watches you closely, eyes flitting down to the palm pressed against his chest before meeting yours again, his mouth curling into a smile.

"You can touch" he says, reaching down to curl a hand around your wrist and bringing it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to the center of your palm before guiding your hand back down to his chest. "I think most people would enjoy that."

"You're having entirely too much fun with this,” you mumble while your fingers spread out across his pec.

"It is fun" he counters, his own hand sliding up the inside of your thigh, thumb pressing against the seam of your jeans and rubbing up and down. "But it'll be more fun once these come off"

Your lips part, a puff of air rushing out.

"You gonna take them off?" you ask, the words slipping out, bold and unbidden.

He grins, his brow quirking up.

"Look at you, being all bossy"

"You like it" you say, finally feeling some of the anxiety slipping away, the familiar and comfortable banter between the two of you slipping into place in a new, unfamiliar situation.

His smile takes up nearly his whole face as moves closer.

“I sure do.”

He looms over you, bracing himself on an elbow next to your head before ducking down to kiss you, his tongue easily slipping into your mouth, warm and insistent. You sigh into it, your hands finding the warm, bare skin of his back, muscles gliding beneath your palms as you slide them up and around, fingertips digging into his shoulders. He's so warm and solid and you can't help the little noise that slips out, a soft, needy moan. You're about to break the kiss and beg him to touch you, give you something, anything, but he pulls back before you can.

"Impatient. I like that too" he says, voice barely above a whisper.

He kisses the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then down your neck, his beard scraping against your skin. He continues his path, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses across your collarbones and down the valley between your breasts, his beard tickling your sternum.

His palm presses into the top of your thigh, and you instinctively open your legs for him, his hand immediately moving to cup you through the denim, thick fingers pressing against the seam and the bundle of nerves just below. Your hips rock up, seeking more pressure and he grins, entirely too pleased with himself right now.

You huff, and he laughs, the sound rumbling in his chest, but he relents, undoing the button and zipper of your jeans and tugging the fabric down, revealing the pair of pink panties underneath.

Joel sits up, pulling your jeans down your legs and letting them drop off the side of the bed, the sound of the denim hitting the floor indicating that you've officially crossed a line that neither of you can come back from. But if the hungry, desperate look on his face and the way you're practically vibrating underneath him are any indication, neither of you want to.

"I'll start with just my fingers, yeah?" he says, his hands running up the insides of your thighs, touch light and teasing, the tips of his fingers brushing the edge of your panties. You nod dumbly, at a complete loss for words right now.

He ducks his head, his lips landing on the smooth skin stretched over your hip bone. You squirm, ticklish, and he grins. His mouth is a great distraction from his hand, which has found its way back in between your legs, his fingers now pressing against damp fabric.

"Shit" he curses, his touch firm. "Fuckin' soaked already. Am I just that good?" he quips with a smirk.

"Jesus do you ever shut up" you gripe, but the effect is ruined by the whimper that escapes you when his thumb sweeps up, pressing hard against your clit.

"Oh, that's a pretty sound" he murmurs, repeating the motion to pull out another one, your hips bucking against his hand.

"Now," he starts, his tone shifting to the same one he uses when he's about to impart some life lesson. "This guy you're gonna see, or any man for that matter, should always take care of you before himself. That's just common fuckin' sense. And if he doesn't, you send him on his way" he continues. "Because a man that don't wanna see a woman get off is no fuckin' man at all"

You're about to interrupt, tell him he's an idiot and ask him to please, please, get on with it, but his fingers sliding under the elastic of your panties, swiftly pulling them down your legs steals the breath from your lungs. Your pulse sky rockets and you shift underneath him, crossing your thighs in instinctual effort to hide yourself from him.

"M'sorry I didn't shave or anything" you blurt out, your throat tight with anxiety and embarrassment once again

Joel just shakes his head as he pries your legs apart.

"Baby, I could not give less of a shit about that."

"But-"

"No" he says, the word firm, an edge of command to his tone. "You’re not apologizin’ for that. And if a man gives a shit, he's a fuckin' child who doesn't deserve the honor of bein' between these thighs" he says, pushing your knees further apart.

You nod and bite your lip, the words that are just so very Joel, settling in your chest and easing the tension in your body. You let out a long, slow breath and relax, trying to ease the nervousness.

"There ya go" he says, his fingers dancing along your slit, gathering the slick pooling there. You shudder at the gentle touch, your hips rolling up just a bit before you force them back down into the mattress, trying to keep yourself still.

"Nuh-uh. None of that" he says, immediately noticing the movement. He slides his free hand under you, his palm pushing into the small of your back and encouraging you to move again, to lean into your pleasure. "You take what you want, baby. Show me how good it feels. That's all I wanna see."

You squirm and whimper, the simple, almost lazy touch driving you insane. You've touched yourself before, brought yourself over the edge while imagining what it would be like to have the things you read about and watch in videos happen to you. But you've never managed to make yourself feel this good, never felt pleasure so intense, never felt a burning pressure in your abdomen so demanding that it radiates all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes.

And he's barely touched you.

"How's that feel?"

You can't even form the words, so you just nod and hum, the sound a mix of a whimper and a moan, your hips rolling up against his palm. He chuckles, and then the pressure increases, the friction building, his fingers slipping down, collecting more of your wetness to ease the drag against your skin.

He moves his fingers down, down, down, the tip of one circling your entrance, gathering the wetness pooling there. You whine loudly, any shame and modesty you once had replaced entirely with desperate need and pure desire.

"Please, Joel" you whisper, voice shaky.

"I gotcha" he says, dipping his fingertip in, just barely, and pulling a moan from deep in your chest. "Gonna give you what you need"

You groan, a long, low sound as he slowly sinks his finger into you. It's nothing like your own, so perfectly thick and long/ And you found the spot before, the spot that he curls his finger up into, but never at this angle, never with the perfect amount of pressure that he's applying right now.

"Mmm, look at that" he coos as you clench tightly around his finger.

"Joel, god, feels so good" you whimper pathetically.

"I know, honey, I know."

You clench again, the cockiness and self-assured attitude that usually gets under your skin now ignites your whole body in an entirely different way. He keeps his eyes on your face, watching as your eyes squeeze shut and your mouth drops open, your head tipping back as the pleasure builds.

"Another" you beg, the fullness not nearly enough.

"Greedy girl" he chides, but he pulls his finger out, and slides two back in. You swear that you could come from this alone, but he doesn't let you, the hand that was supporting your lower back disappearing, only to reappear between your thighs, his thumb circling your clit with firm, steady strokes.

White hot pleasure wraps around the base of your spine, the dual sensations of his fingers and his thumb sending you spiraling. The sounds falling from your lips are unrecognizable, high and desperate as your mind goes blissfully blank, your entire focus on the heat coiling in your abdomen. Your eyebrows pinch together and you bury your face in the pillow next to your head, trying to hide the ridiculous expression you're surely making, but you inhale the traces of his shampoo and cologne that cling to the fabric, the scent pushing you even closer to the edge.

You try to hold back. Surely you're not supposed to come this quickly, not just from two fingers and a thumb. Surely that's a sign that you're an easy lay, or too inexperienced, or-

"Just let it happen, baby. I can feel it, Just let go" Joel says, his voice cutting through the thoughts racing through your mind, his fingers crooking inside you and dragging across the spot that makes your hips stutter and a cry fall from your lips.

You can't hold back any longer, the pleasure cresting and crashing down around you. You squeeze his fingers, your back arching, the heels of your feet digging into the mattress as you roll your hips up into his touch, seeking more and more and more. And he gives and gives and gives, working you through it and drawing it out for as long as he can before you melt into the mattress, bones and muscles liquid and warm and satisfied.

He pulls his fingers out, and the sudden emptiness draws a disappointed whine from you, his answering chuckle making you smile.

"That was- fuck" you sigh, not quite capable of coherent thought.

"Absolutely mind-blowing? Yeah I know" he teases. You roll your eyes but don't say anything because it's true, and his cocky grin fades into a soft smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he watches you return to Earth.

"Can I- can I return the favor?" you ask, your gaze flicking down to the noticeable bulge in his jeans.

He grunts and shakes his head.

"Not yet. Got somethin' else in mind."

You frown and push yourself up onto your elbows, watching as he shifts from his position. You're about to ask what he's going to do until he's settling himself on his stomach between your thighs. You suck in a sharp breath as you realize exactly what he's got planned and your heart jumps, anxiety clouding your mind once again.

He rests his cheek on your thigh, his eyes meeting yours.

"Alright?"

You swallow and nod, licking your lips.

"Yeah. Just... no one's ever-"

"Yeah, I got that much, that's why we're here" he says, smiling smugly when you glare at him.

"But what if it's not good? Or I don't taste good? Or-"

"Stop" he says, the single word halting your runaway train of thought. "You need lessons in relaxing, not sex. You're so fucking tense all the time"

"Sorry" you say, immediately cringing.

He sighs, his breath ghosting over the skin of your inner thigh, making you shiver. "What did I say about apologizin'?" he says, his tone slightly sharp.

"I know. Sorry- shit, sorry! Fuck!"

He barks out a laugh and you huff, bringing up both hands to scrub over your face.

"See what I mean?"

"Yes, yes, you're very smart and know everything"

He hums and nips at your thigh.

"Damn right I do."

You want to snark back, but his mouth is moving, his lips trailing down the inside of your thigh and towards where you're aching for him, slick and wet and throbbing. He takes his time, laying kisses on your thighs, hips, and stomach, his scruff scraping the sensitive skin, huffing out a laugh when you start to squirm, your patience wearing thin.

His hands smooth over the soft flesh of your inner thighs, urging you to spread them wider before spreading you open with his thumbs, exposing you completely. You feel exposed, vulnerable, and the urge to close your legs and hide yourself from his gaze is overwhelming, the embarrassment making your skin burn. But before you can even think about closing them, his tongue is on you, sliding up the length of you and circling your clit. The moan that escapes you is embarrassingly loud and high pitched, but the mortification is easily swallowed up by the pleasure.

He hums against you, the sound and the feeling sending a shudder through your body. Your hands grip the pillow behind your head and you try not to buck up into his mouth, but your attempts are futile. He doesn't seem to mind though, in fact you think it spurs him on, his tongue flattening against you and lapping at you messily, the wetness he's coaxed from you smearing across his mouth and chin.

The sound is lewd and obscene, the sloppy, slick noises and the soft grunts and groans that rumble in his chest as he works you up. He pulls back, his breath coming out in pants, his chest heaving as he looks up at you, his eyes dark and hooded.

"Don't know what you were worried about" he says, his voice low and raspy. "You taste fuckin' divine"

His beard is shiny and damp, his lips glistening, hair messy from where your fingers were tangled in it. The sight of him looking so completely disheveled and filthy has you clenching around nothing, the ache almost too much to bear.

He doesn't say anything else, just ducks his head and gets back to work, his mouth moving with a renewed urgency, his hands gripping your thighs and pushing them further apart, allowing him better access.

Your eyes roll back and your mouth falls open, a constant stream of moans and whines and babbling pleas and praises falling from your lips, but you're not really sure what you're saying, not really sure of anything except the intoxicating pleasure coursing through your veins.

You hear him moan, can feel the vibration against your skin, and you glance down at him, and that's a mistake. The sight of him, his eyes closed and brows drawn together in concentration, his cheeks hollowed out as he sucks and nips and laps at you and– is he fucking grinding his hips into the mattress?

You're fucked.

A throaty moan tumbles past your lips as your hips start to rock, a rhythm forming as you chase your orgasm. His hands leave your thighs and he slides one arm up, the weight of it resting against your abdomen to keep you still while his other hand snakes down, fingers dipping inside again, finding the spot that makes you see stars.

"Fuck, Joel, please, oh my god, I'm so- please"

He groans in response, the hand on your stomach pressing down harder to meet the two fingers curling and stroking inside of you. You cry out at the increased pressure right as he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking and swirling his tongue around the bud, his fingers moving faster and faster. Flames lick up your spine and spread throughout your body, threatening to burn you alive.

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, knocking the wind out of you and turning your limbs to jello. Wave after wave of blinding euphoria crashes over you and all you can do is cling to the pillow and arch your back, your toes curling as he continues to work his fingers and tongue, happily letting you ride his face and grind into his mouth.

He doesn't let up, not until you're a whimpering, trembling mess, physically pushing his head away when it becomes too much. He pulls back reluctantly, a wicked grin plastered to his face, his chin and mouth absolutely soaked. You're panting, struggling to catch your breath as the aftershocks make you shiver despite the content warmth spreading throughout your entire body.You feel sated and sleepy, a bone deep satisfaction making you feel boneless.

But as you come down from your high, rational thoughts start to filter in and you suddenly remember the reason this all started in the first place.

You're here to learn, he should be teaching you how to please a man.

How to please him.

You watch as he gets off the bed and wipes his chin with the back of his hand. Your eyes shamelessly rake over him, the dusty pink flush that decorates his neck and chest, the curve of his belly down to the impressive bulge in his jeans.

You push yourself up, ignoring the way your arms tremble with the effort. He looks at you, his eyes scanning your face no doubt looking for signs of distress.

"You ok?" he asks, eyebrows pinched together in his typical concerned Joel fashion.

"Yeah" you say, a little breathlessly. "But I still want to..."

Your voice trails off and you glance down at his crotch, hoping he gets the message.

"That's alright, baby. It's a lot, we don't-"

"No" you interrupt, a hint of desperation in your voice. "You said you would teach me. Please, Joel. I-I wanna learn" You hope it's a good enough cover to the fact that you really just want him, your original goal forgotten. "I just don't want to embarrass myself" you add, pouting slightly for good measure, praying to god that he can’t detect the underlying want for him and him only.

He watches you for a moment, seemingly contemplating his decision. And then his eyes narrow, because of course he knows. There's never been an instance where you succeeded in lying to this man. He always, always knows when something is off.

"Alright" he says, a slow smile spreading across his face, something mischievous sparkling in his eyes. "Dick sucking class is now in session"

You groan, your face twisting with visible disgust.

"Oh my god, that was terrible."

"What? It's true" he says with a shrug.

"That is- no, no way. Never say those words ever again. Ever." you say, pointing a finger at him accusingly.

"Or what?" he challenges, taking a step towards the bed.

You gulp and lick your lips.

"Or..."

He waits expectantly for a response. You have none, so you just shake your head and look away.

"Yeah, that's what I thought"

You glare at him and then sigh.

"You're a bully"

"Am I?” He asks, taking a step back to give you more room. “ 'Cause you're the one that asked me to teach ya. On your knees, kid. Let's see whatcha got."

You chew on the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress a grin. You don't know how he does it, but his ability to make a joke or a quip out of anything always has a smile tugging at the corner of your lips, even when the jokes are awful and the puns are terrible. Even when the joke is about you getting ready to suck his dick.

"You're a bully and a pervert" you say, sliding off the bed and sliding to your knees, the plush carpet doing a decent job at protecting your joints.

"And proud of it.”

"Pride is a sin."

"So is premarital sex, so I'll see you in hell, honey"

You snort and look up at him from your place on the floor, grinning widely.

"You're ridiculous"

"You love it"

And that's the thing, isn't it?

Because you do. You love his innate ability to make you laugh, to make you smile even when he's about to take your fucking virginity. He knows how to comfort you, how to put you at ease, when to push you with his teasing and when to pull back and let you take control. You've never met a person who has so effortlessly made their way into your heart.

And here you are, on your knees for him under the false pretense of practicing for a man who's name you can't even remember right now.

You shake your head, the motion clearing the thoughts and the emotions that were swirling in your head, the ones that make you want to stand up and kiss him, kiss him until your lips are numb and you're left gasping for air.

"Joel?" you say his name softly.

"Yeah, baby?"

"Teach me."

Part 2 is already in the works I promise hehehe thank you for reading I hope u all enjoy!!

#joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller one shot #joel miller fic #the last of us #tlou fic #joel miller #pedro pascal characters

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antimony-medusa · 3 months ago

Text

Okay so, Phil has blocked Dadza in his chat. He is responding to people calling him dad by saying that he's not people's dad. That's where we're at. And I have seen people on Twitter and in chat starting to panic about this. "Is papa okay," "Can we still call you Crowfather," "is fic okay", "can we still call mumza mumza", "what about peepaw," "Is art okay", "but you're my online father". It's kind of a mess there. So. Just to ponder this publicly, I want to go over a few things I see people starting to spiral about—

"Is Papa okay": I am inferring a little bit based on my age (I'm Phil's age) and my experience of having people just start mom-assigning me because of my age, and things like how Phil has reacted to people calling him dad, but I would say probably that things like papa and grandza and dad and pai and father might be something to be avoided in his chat/tts. He's blocked the term dadza, because you can block that specific term and not catch people talking about their family, but in terms of calling him other words for father, like, I will be honest here: people you don't know calling you their parent is not a socially neutral act. It's kind of a lot. He was going along with it during the pandemic, because people were desperate and hurting, but we are not in a place of social crisis any more. He doesn't want to be a father figure, he's just a guy. Just call him Phil, or Mr Minecraft, or Mr Za, Mr Kristin'sHusband if you have to have a title. Calling people some form of parent if you don't know them is very familiar and intimate, and if you don't know that person, it can come off as a lot. If it's happening over and over again, it's easy to get sick of it. Now you know.

"Can we still call mumza mumza" Okay so with this, she has a perfectly good name right there, but also she still has Mumza in her bio. People are not donoing her three times a week to ask her to be proud of them or to trauma dump. She's said it's okay. Consider just using her name if you're talking in chat, but you are not going to get timed out for mumza right now.

"We need to tell everyone in the tag," Okay so like sure, tell your friends what words not to use in chat, but Kristin was also in chat yesterday telling people that it's going to take a while for people to get used to this, so don't bully people. Streamers have said multiple times that they don't want their fans to get in fights or discourse or drama or bullying in their name. Just like— okay, now you know, now you can tell your friend what words to not use to avoid being timed out, now you know what not to do at a meet and greet— and then you can live your life. You do not need to police other people— the streamer has mods and blocked terms and can enforce this in his chat.

"Is fic still okay" Like okay. This is one that I am begging people not to ask the streamer personally. Do not make streamer weigh in on family dynamic fics— he doesn't read them, he's not interested, he's never read them. They have never been for the streamer (or for Kristin), they are for other fans who want to read about how cute it would be if SBI was babies and Phil was a good dad. Or how fucked up it would be if Tommy was kidnapped and menaced by Phil. Or how sad it would be if Technoblade was abused by Phil hashtag bad ending. Or how comforting it would be if Reader is abused and gets adopted by Phil and finally has a home and gets a hug. None of that has EVER been for the streamer to look at— he's not gonna like it! He's probably gonna find it weird, because it's people using his persona to do all kinds of things, half of which are literal crimes, often to his adult friends, but this character's got his name on him. There are all kind of fics that are just written because someone's got a fun/cute/sad idea, and nothing bad is intended about the actual streamer, cause the writer was thinking about the fic character that has his name, not the streamer in the north of england, but it's still going to be kind of weird for the streamer to hear about it.

That's why we don't bring up fic or certain types of art in chat ANYWAYS. Phil is not going to want to hear about the character with his name being mind broken so much worse by the ender king isn't it angsty. And that's not because there's anything off-colour about mind breaking his character via the ender king (I rub my hands together anticipatorily), that's because that's for other fans to go spam weeping emojis in the comments about, that's not for the streamer. Streamer is busy playing block game and watching space youtube and reading manga and being married to his lovely wife. He's not reading fic. Don't show him fic. Keep that over here with the people who actually want to read it. Fic is fine, you're just bashing dolls together, but don't show it to the streamer.

So, is fic still okay? It's okay, it's always been okay, just don't show it to streamer. You now know that he doesn't want to see dad stuff. That does not mean that you are doing something wrong if you write dad stuff off in your corner of tumblr, where he is not. Tag your stuff, don't put it in his chat or discord, and show it to people who are going to find it fun, not streamer. Make it so that he never has to think about that. Let him live his life. Don't put dad stuff in his chat or discord or mentions, let him be just a guy playing block game, and you're good.

#philza #i don't know if this post is anything I just saw so much spiralling yesterday and on twitter

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foldingfittedsheets · 11 months ago

Text

I am a little creature largely made up of anxieties. There have been times in my life when it was worse. It’s currently significantly better. This story takes place at a time when it was pretty bad.

Food was a prison for me. I moved out early with very little idea of how to feed or care for myself. Every meal was a question mark. For three years I had Brendan doing most of the cooking but when things ended between us I moved in with some other friends. I suddenly had no way to feed myself again.

I was working at the sex shop and living with all my coworkers; a premise that would make sitcom writers weep. In that house, at the age of 24, I learned how to fry an egg. It was the only thing I knew how to do but by god, I mastered egg frying. I was so proud. I could now have one stress free meal a day of an egg on toast.

The problem was my roommates. Living with three other people is already tough but messes pile up alarmingly fast, especially in the kitchen. No one sees the whole mess as their responsibility but the one person who’s responsibility it absolutely wasn’t was mine, as I only ever cooked eggs. Glaciers moved quicker than the dishes got done, mountains of greasy unwashed dish ware were fixtures across the counters.

My friends occasionally cooked for me and each time I happily cleaned all the resulting dishes. This seemed fair.

But on my own I only used three implements for my egg. When I finished with my spatula, pan, and plate, I carefully washed them and set them to dry. Every time I came back to the kitchen there was nothing clean.

Crusted on ketchup, dried food, and unsavory residues plagued everything I needed to touch. So I ended up doing all the dishes twice, once to use my three implements and again once I was done.

I started to realize I’d come home, see the filthy pile of dishes, then go to bed without eating because I didn’t have the energy to wash it all. So I finally addressed my roommates about it. Please, I beseeched them, can these three things always be clean. I cannot function like this, and eating is already hard for me.

The answer returned: no. My request was deemed unreasonable and a counteroffer was made to turn off the small space heater I ran in my room in exchange for them magnanimously cleaning up after themselves. I declined, as my bones ached with cold everywhere except my room since no one else wanted the heat on. The impasse continued. I went to be hungry.

I noodled on it. I schemed. I plotted. And on my day off I went to a thrift shop and acquired a nice little pan and spatula. I squirreled them away into my closet. The plan was just to wash and dry it after meals and keep it in my room.

This is not how it went down. On day one of my pan coming home one of my roommates popped into my room to chat, glanced into my three quarters shut closet and immediately said, “What is that?”

I sighed and admitted my plan. All three roommates roundly condemned my plan as extremely passive aggressive. I tried once again to explain that I wasn’t eating, but my secret pan was now a source of contention, a precious resource held back from the collective.

Their discontent reached a fever pitch and I finally declared, “Fine! I will put my pan in the kitchen. On one condition. If I ever find this pan dirty, ever, I will scrape whatever is left on it into your bedding. I swear to god, if I ever come home to it being dirty there will be a reckoning.”

Terms were agreed.

The first month or two went okay. On the third month I awoke to eat breakfast and found my precious pan sullied. I grabbed it and marched upstairs. Betty was named as the culprit. I strode into Betty’s room and stood over her sleeping form like the vengeful ghost of dishes past.

“If you don’t get up and clean this right now I’m going to dump it on your bed.”

Betty groggily regarded me. “Seriously?”

“I have never been more serious.”

“It’s one time, can’t you just clean it yourself?”

“No. You promised.”

With much huffing and grousing Betty arose from bed and tromped downstairs, hastily cleaning my pan while I watched. “Happy?” She demanded.

I was. I made my egg, cheerfully cleaning the pan afterward, leaving it to dry.

#ramblies #ffs foibles #writing #funny #story #dishes #dirty dishes

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cheftsunoda · 18 days ago

Note

ahhhh!!! the nolan fic you wrote was SO GOOD! i was wondering if you’d be able to write something about nolan with a rookie f1 driver reader. like she might also race for mclaren (or wtv team you want) and they become the motorsport it couple. and she’s like super popular and famous bc she’s the only female f1 driver, so he’s all nervous and shy around her. thank you!! i love your writing🫶

golden retriever boy, black cat girl — ns6

smau + written blurbs

nolan siegel x !o’ward f1 driver reader

you’ve always been loud in a world that wanted you quiet. the only woman on the formula 1 grid. mclaren’s rookie. pato o’ward’s little sister. and now, lando’s partner in chaos. eyes are always on you—press, fans, critics. but you’ve learned to thrive under pressure.

then there’s nolan siegel. your brother’s quiet indycar teammate. soft-spoken, golden-hearted, and too pretty for his own good.

he looks at you like you’re something cosmic. you grin like you might eat him alive.

he has no idea what he’s getting into.

neither do you.

fc : saradeanii on ig and biancaaaaa

(a/n): tysm for the love cutie pie!!!! hope you love

—

ynoward

liked by patriciooward, lando, nolansiegel and 1,877,734 others.

ynoward : dumping my recents on you 🥸

tagged : lando

—

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lando : everyone go buy my monster!! in stores now

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↳ ynoward : no self promotion on my page muppet.

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↳ lando : i literally made it melon flavored bc that’s what you like 😔 BE NICE

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↳ ynoward : oh yeah my bad pimp. continue

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↳ ynoward : the door fell off during delivery so technically he did have to put it back together

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elbaoward : you are unreal 😻

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↳ ynoward : learned from the best;) miss you so much

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↳ elbaoward : miss you even more 💋💋 hugs and kisses

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↳ ynoward : i like my men whipped

liked by nolansiegel and lando

—

flashback

You hadn’t even been in the garage for ten seconds before chaos began to ensue. Classic.

You weren’t even wearing anything particularly wild—just your usual— black crop top, jean shorts, sunglasses on your head, a lanyard with your credentials, and a granola bar you stole from Lando’s drivers room weeks ago. You were there to surprise Pato before practice and maybe steal a headset to watch his run.

What you weren’t expecting was the very cute, very startled boy currently standing next to your brother.

He was mid-sip of a Gatorade when he saw you, and immediately choked. Violently.

“Jesus,” you laughed. “You okay there, champ?”

He blinked at you like you’d just slapped him with a carbon fiber wing.

Your brother turned around, spotted you, and grinned.

“YN!” Pato shouted, tugging off his headset. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Surprising you. Stealing snacks. Maybe stealing your data sheets if you piss me off,” you said, reaching out for a hug.

“Classic,” Elba muttered from behind you, barely looking up from her phone. “Also, he’s been talking about this all week.”

You ignored that and turned back to the boy who was now actively trying to become one with the garage floor.

“And who’s your friend?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

“That’s Nolan,” Pato said casually. “New teammate. Don’t scare him.”

You looked him over. Full race suit, messy hair, soft brown eyes. Nervous wreck.

“Hi, Nolan,” you said with a smile, sticking out your hand.

“Hi—yes—um, I mean—hi,” he stammered, his voice cracking a little as he shook your hand. “You’re—I mean, I know who you are. Obviously. YN. Pato’s sister. You’re… cool.”

Your grin widened.

“You think I’m cool?” you asked, leaning in just slightly.

“No! I mean—yes! I mean, you are. Obviously. But I didn’t mean it like that. Or I did. But not like weirdly. Not in a weird way. Not that you’re weird—”

“Okay, breathe,” Elba interrupted from behind you, like she’d seen enough secondhand embarrassment to last her a lifetime.

Pato squinted at the scene in front of him like it physically pained him. “If you traumatize my teammate before qualifying, I’m disowning you.”

“Relax,” you said, tossing a wink at Nolan. “I like him. He’s cute.”

Nolan turned red so fast you were genuinely concerned he might overheat.

His mouth opened, closed, then opened again, before he finally blurted out.

“Do you—do you want a Gatorade? I have extras. In case you like… hydration.”

You bit back a laugh. “That’s very chivalrous of you.”

—

Fifteen minutes later, you were still sitting on the pit wall next to Elba, sipping the Gatorade Nolan handed you. He kept glancing over at you. Not subtly. At one point, he nearly walked into the timing screen cart.

Elba nudged you.

“He’s toast.”

You shrugged. “He’s cute.”

“You’re gonna break him.”

“Probably.”

—

And that was the first time you met Nolan Siegel.

You still think about it sometimes—how awkward and breathless he was, how pink his cheeks went when you called him cute, how he genuinely looked like he might combust over a single handshake and a smile. You remember the way his voice cracked when he offered you a Gatorade, and the Sharpie-written “for YN” label you kept in your glovebox for three months like a middle schooler saving a love note.

It would’ve been so easy to laugh him off. Write him off. Let him stay exactly what he was— Pato’s sweet, rookie teammate with anxious hands and big eyes and the inability to make eye contact for more than four seconds straight.

But then he texted you that night. And then the night after that. And the next. And now?

Well, now it’s been four months.

You’re halfway through your first Formula 1 season, and Nolan’s been right there through all of it—quietly orbiting, always watching, never pushing. He checks in before race weekends. He sends you playlists before long flights. He FaceTimes you after every qualifying, even when it goes badly, even when he’s exhausted. You send him photos of Lando doing crimes against fashion and screenshots of Twitter spiraling over random nonsense.

You never said it out loud, but you think you became best friends somewhere in the middle of all of it.

And yeah, maybe you’re a little gone for him too. Maybe it’s the way he always listens. The way he talks about racing like it’s poetry. The way he still gets flustered when you wink at him. Or maybe it’s just because for the first time in your life, someone makes you feel seen—not like Pato’s sister, not like the only girl in the paddock, not like a headline. Just… you.

So yeah. You’re in deep. And you’re about to make it worse.

“You think they’re gonna freak out?” Lando asks from the seat across from you, legs stretched across the McLaren jet.

You glance up from your phone. “Nolan might pass out. Pato’s gonna act mad but secretly love it.”

“Did you tell Elba?”

“Nope. I wanted her to be surprised too.”

Lando grins. “God, this is gonna be fun.”

You roll your eyes but smile, gaze drifting out the window. The clouds blur past in soft whites and silvers, the light bouncing gently off the cabin walls.

The truth is, this whole PR trip was your idea. McLaren’s pushing cross-series content this year—“building the brand,” “global unity,” whatever nonsense Zak said in the meeting—and when the calendar lined up with the next IndyCar race, you raised your hand before they even finished asking.

You didn’t tell anyone why.

Not that they’d need to ask.

It’s not like you and Nolan are dating. You haven’t even kissed. But sometimes, it feels like you’re teetering on the edge of something fragile and golden. Like the next moment could tip the scale.

You haven’t seen him in person since the Miami GP two months ago. He’d been in the crowd, half hiding under a McLaren hat, and you’d found him after the race—sweaty and exhausted and radiant. You hugged him, longer than you should’ve. He didn’t let go right away either.

Now you’re two hours away from surprising him at a track he doesn’t expect to see you at.

You can already picture it—Nolan stepping out of the hauler, half asleep and sunburnt, and then freezing mid-step when he sees you standing there with your arms crossed and a smirk on your face.

He’s going to look at you like he always does—like you hung the stars just to watch him trip over his own feet. And you’re going to let him.

Because if there’s one thing you’ve learned since that first chaotic handshake in the garage, it’s that being around Nolan makes everything feel a little less loud. And god, you’ve missed the quiet.

—

The second your sneakers hit the ground, it smells like home. Fuel. Rubber. Fresh asphalt. Nerves and sweat and sunscreen. You’ve never even raced in IndyCar, but after a childhood of track days and karting weekends and watching your big brother grow up in orang, this place will always feel familiar. Like a heartbeat you didn’t realize you’d been missing.

Lando’s already peeled off toward the hospitality tent, grumbling about needing coffee before dealing with cameras. You don’t blame him. You have other priorities anyway.

Like sneaking up on your siblings.

You spot Elba first—hair pulled back, sunglasses low on her nose as she talks to a crew member. She’s in full big-sister-mode, eyes sharp and focused.

You walk up quietly, then casually say, “Hey, when were you gonna tell me you were auditioning for team principal?”

She freezes. Literally stops mid sentence.

Then, without even turning around—

“No.”

“Yes.”

She whips around so fast her sunglasses nearly fly off. “What?!”

You just grin, arms open. “Surprise, bitch.”

Elba drops her bag with a gasp that turns into a scream, launching herself into your arms. She squeezes so tight you swear your spine cracks a little.

“You didn’t tell me!” she yells, pulling back just far enough to swat your arm. “You didn’t say anything! I would’ve—god, I would’ve put on real mascara!”

“You look beautiful,” you say sincerely, brushing a loose piece of hair from her face. “You always do.”

She glares at you. Then melts. “I missed you, enana.”

You squeeze her again. “I missed you too.”

“Wait until Pato sees you,” she whispers like a conspirator, already scanning the pit lane. “He’s been unbearable all morning.”

“He’s always unbearable.”

“Oh, I know.”

—

You don’t have to wait long.

Pato rounds the corner like he’s on a mission, fire suit half-zipped, arguing with someone when he glances up and sees you standing next to Elba.

He stops. Full-body freezes.

You wave. “Hola, hermano.”

“Noooo mames,” he mutters under his breath before breaking into the biggest, most disbelieving grin you’ve ever seen.

He doesn’t run—he sprints. Wraps you up in a hug so tight your feet leave the ground.

“Why are you here?” he asks into your shoulder. “How are you here?”

“McLaren PR stunt,” you say. “Surprise content. Good optics. Also I missed you. Don’t let it get to your head.”

Pato pulls back, hands still on your shoulders like he’s making sure you’re real. “You little menace.”

“You love me.”

“I do. Unfortunately.”

Elba rolls her eyes. “You’re both insufferable.”

You stand between them, arms slung over both of their shoulders, soaking it all in. The sun. The smell of the garage. Your siblings right beside you. It’s loud and warm and perfect.

But there’s still one person missing.

—

You peel away a few minutes later, claiming you’re off to find Lando (lie), and duck behind the hospitality tent, winding through the rows of transporters and spare tires until you spot him.

Nolan.

He’s crouched by a tire stack, scribbling notes on a clipboard, totally unaware of the world. His fire suit is half-tied around his waist, and his hair’s a mess, already windblown and slightly sweat-damp from the heat.

Your heart does something stupid. You walk up slowly, carefully, savoring the moment. When you’re a few feet away, you say softly—

“Working hard or hardly working, golden boy?”

He jumps like he’s been electrocuted.

“YN?!”

He scrambles to his feet, nearly knocking over the clipboard in the process. For a second, he just stares—like his brain’s short-circuiting. Like he’s not sure you’re real.

Then he smiles.

It’s the kind of smile that makes your stomach flip. The one that starts slow and then completely takes over his whole face, lighting up his eyes until he looks like he could power the entire pit lane with that expression alone.

“You’re… you’re here,” he says, still stunned.

You nod, stepping closer. “Surprise.”

“I didn’t know—I didn’t think—Pato didn’t say anything—”

“Because he didn’t know,” you say, grinning. “No one did. McLaren sent me and Lando for PR. I just… wanted to see you.”

He looks like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Then, finally, he just says, “This is the best surprise I’ve ever had.”

Your smile softens.

“Hi, Nolan.”

“Hi,” he echoes, quieter now.

There’s a long pause. Not awkward—just full of all the words you’re not saying. All the weight and softness between you.

And then he opens his arms, a little uncertain. “Can I—?”

You don’t let him finish. You walk right into his chest and wrap your arms around his waist, burying your face in the side of his neck.

He hugs you like he means it.

Like he’s been waiting for this.

Like you’re the one thing that makes the world slow down.

“God,” he murmurs, his voice warm against your ear. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” you whisper back.

—

The day ends in laughter. Between the surprise, the press rounds, and the nonstop teasing from Lando, you’ve barely had a second to breathe. After dinner with your siblings, you finally peel off from the chaos, promising Elba you’ll meet her for coffee in the morning, dodging Pato’s overprotective third degree, and managing to sneak out of the hotel bar before Lando can drag you into another round of espresso martinis.

You don’t go back to your room.

You knock on Nolan’s door instead.

He opens it on the first knock like he was already standing there—hair still wet from a shower, hoodie slung over his shoulder, bare feet on the carpet. He looks so soft, so him, and you suddenly feel like you’ve been holding your breath all day without realizing it.

“Hey,” you say, quiet.

“Hey.” He smiles. That shy, lopsided one that always gets you.

He steps back, and you walk in.

The room is dim, lit only by a lamp on the bedside table. The TV is on mute, some old race replay flickering across the screen, and his notes are still spread across the desk in half-organized chaos. But the bed is made, and there are two water bottles on the nightstand, and you can tell he was nervous. That he hoped you’d come.

You sit down at the edge of the bed. “You looked really good today.”

Nolan laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s funny. I spent the whole day trying not to pass out.”

“You handled it well.”

“I almost tripped over nothing. Twice.”

“Fair.”

A beat of silence passes between you, not awkward—just charged.

You glance up. He’s already looking at you.

And he’s so beautiful like this—lit by lamplight, still flushed from the sun, his expression soft and open and full of all the things he hasn’t said yet. It makes your chest ache a little.

“You wanna sit?” you ask gently, patting the bed beside you.

He hesitates for only a second before he does, close enough that your shoulders brush. You can feel the tension humming between you like static, waiting to snap.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you today,” he says, voice low. “I thought about you all morning, but I didn’t think—”

“I missed you,” you interrupt, looking at him fully now. “A lot.”

His breath catches.

“Nolan,” you start, softer now, “I don’t know what this is yet. But whatever it is… I really, really like it.”

He’s still staring at you, eyes wide and warm and so full of that golden kind of hope.

“I like you,” you admit, heart pounding. “I think I’ve liked you since the second you offered me that Gatorade.”

He lets out a breathless laugh, then shakes his head.

“I didn’t just bring it for you once,” he says quietly. “I’ve brought an extra to every race since. Just in case you showed up again.”

Your throat tightens.

“I’ve liked you since the moment I met you, YN,” he says, and this time there’s no hiding it. No rambling or stammering or pretending to be casual. He’s steady now. Honest. “You scare the hell out of me sometimes. You’re confident and sharp and everything I’m not, but you make me feel like I can keep up. Like I matter.”

You blink, the words hitting deeper than you expected.

“I was terrified you’d never take me seriously,” he continues. “That I’d always just be your brother’s awkward teammate with a dumb crush. But I’m not just crushing anymore. I want more.”

Your voice barely comes out. “What does more look like?”

He reaches for your hand—gently, slowly, like he doesn’t want to startle you. His fingers thread through yours, warm and sure.

“More looks like this,” he says. “You. Me. Together. No hiding. Just… us.”

Your heart cracks open.

And then you kiss him.

It’s soft at first—tentative, like you’re still testing the weight of it—but the second he exhales into your mouth, you’re done for. His hand moves to your jaw, your fingers tangle in the hem of his hoodie, and suddenly he’s pulling you closer, anchoring you to him like he’s afraid to lose it. To lose you.

You kiss him again. And again. And again.

Each one sweeter than the last, more sure, more real.

At some point, you shift into his lap, arms wrapped around his shoulders, laughing between kisses as he tries and fails to string together a full sentence.

“I had a whole speech prepared,” he mumbles against your cheek.

“Yeah?” you breathe, smiling against his skin. “What was it?”

“No idea,” he grins. “You kind of erased my brain.”

“Good,” you whisper, kissing him again. “It’s about time I returned the favor.”

You spend the rest of the night wrapped up in each other—no cameras, no pressure, no expectations. Just two people who’ve been waiting far too long to stop pretending.

And when you finally fall asleep, curled into his chest, his arm slung around your waist, you think. This is it. This is the beginning of everything.

—

ynoward

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—

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—

You wake up to the sound of waves, the smell of coffee, and Pato’s voice yelling from the kitchen.

“YN! Tell your boyfriend to make breakfast. Tengo hambre.”

You blink against the morning light, groaning into Nolan’s bare shoulder. He’s still half asleep beside you, hair a mess, arm curled loosely around your waist.

“Tell him to shut up,” you mumble.

“Don’t think I can yell at your brother,” Nolan mumbles back, eyes still closed.

“I give you permission.”

“You also said that he wouldn’t be annoying about us.”

“I lied.”

He laughs softly, presses a kiss to your shoulder, and sighs.

You eventually drag yourselves out of bed, both in oversized shirts and sweatpants, and shuffle out to the kitchen together, hand in hand.

Pato is dramatically fanning himself with a banana leaf he definitely stole from the garden. Elba is perched on the counter sipping an iced coffee and watching the show unfold like it’s live theater.

“Oh my god,” Pato says the moment he sees you both. “They’re holding hands. In my kitchen.”

“It’s not your kitchen,” you say, grabbing a mug.

“Everything is mine if I’m loud enough.”

Nolan tries to hide his smile as he digs through the fridge. “I guess I will make breakfast,” he says sheepishly. “Thought I’d earn my keep.”

“You already earned it,” Pato says, then pauses. “Are you actually dating my sister?”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’ve known this for a week.”

“Yes, but now you’re in my family vacation house and you’re making breakfast, and she is wearing your shirt and I feel like I need verbal confirmation.”

Nolan blinks. “Uh. Yes?”

Elba snorts. “God, you’re lucky he’s cute.”

“Don’t scare him,” you warn, tugging Nolan closer by the sleeve of his shirt. “He’s mine.”

Pato sets down the banana leaf. “No, no. I’m not scaring him. In fact…”

He turns to Nolan, suddenly grinning.

“I am thrilled.”

Everyone blinks.

“You are?” Nolan asks, startled.

“Duh,” Pato says, like it’s obvious. “Do you know how long I’ve waited for someone to show up who actually sees YN? Like sees her? She’s been surrounded by idiots for years.”

“Hey—” you start.

“Don’t ‘hey’ me,” Pato says, cutting you off. “They were all lame. And now you’ve got this guy—“this golden retriever of a man” making pancakes and smiling at you like you’re the sunrise. You win. I win.”

Nolan looks like he might combust on the spot.

You glance over at him, biting back a smile. “You okay there?”

He just nods, ears bright pink, flipping a pancake that’s way too perfect.

“I love him,” Elba says around a sip of cold brew. “He’s soft. I want to put him in a little glass case and protect him from the world.”

“Too late,” you say. “I already claimed him.”

Pato dramatically wipes away a fake tear. “They grow up so fast.”

The rest of breakfast is all sunshine and laughter. Nolan somehow makes the perfect plate for everyone, and you end up curled into his side on the outdoor patio couch, sharing a fruit bowl and feeding him bites of papaya just to make him blush again.

Pato tries to start a game of “who knows YN best,” which turns into Elba shouting, “you were five years old when she had her Jonas Brothers phase, you don’t count!” and Nolan somehow winning by guessing your favorite travel snack.

Eventually, Pato leans back, sunglasses on, arms behind his head.

“I give you my blessing. But if you break her heart, I will make sure your suspension mysteriously explodes mid race.”

“Understood,” Nolan says instantly.

You kiss his cheek. Pato throws a grape at you.

—

The sun is starting to dip, casting long golden rays across the beach. You’re curled up in a hammock with Nolan, tangled together in the laziest, softest way, your head on his chest, his hand lazily tracing patterns on your back. You can hear Elba and Pato arguing over a beach volleyball match down by the shore. You have no plans to join them. You’re too comfortable here. Nolan’s phone buzzes, and he groans quietly.

“Is it the team?” you murmur.

“No. Worse.”

You shift to look up at him. He’s holding up his phone, showing you a very dramatic tweet.

yn o’ward is in tulum with her brother, her sister, and nolan siegel, who is apparently now part of the family?? is this a PR stunt or do we think he actually bagged her???

Below it, a blurry zoom-in photo of the two of you sharing a smoothie with one straw.

You snort. “I love that they think you ‘bagged’ me. As if I didn’t do all the flirting for three months straight.”

“You did,” he nods, smiling. “I was useless.”

He scrolls again.

@/lando (replying): i’ve been begging. they won’t listen to me.

You giggle. “Lando’s such a hater.”

Nolan pauses. He turns his phone off and sets it on the deck rail beside the hammock. You can feel him gathering courage…it’s in the shift of his shoulders, the small squeeze of his hand around yours.

“Can I ask you something?” he says, soft.

You nod, already looking up at him.

He bites his lip, just a little. “Would it be okay if we just like put it out there? I mean, only if you want to. No pressure, obviously. It’s just people are kind of already assuming, and I don’t really care what they think, but I care about you. And I really like being yours. And I kind of want to tell the world that.”

Your heart does something completely dramatic.

“You want to post us?”

His ears go red. “Yeah. Or you can. Or we both can. I just want people to know.”

You smile, leaning up so you can kiss the corner of his mouth. “You’re the cutest person alive, you know that?”

“Debatable,” he says, but he’s already smiling.

“I’d love to hard launch with you.”

He exhales in relief. “Okay. Good. Cool. Yeah.”

You watch him pause like he’s trying to figure out the best way to even do that.

“Do we take a photo right now?” he asks. “Like, do we stage it? Or do we use one someone else took? Or oh god, do we post different ones at the same time? What’s the protocol here?”

You laugh and pull your phone out of your hoodie pocket, flipping to your camera roll.

You scroll through until you find the perfect one.

“This one,” you say, turning the screen toward him.

He looks at it. Blinks. Smiles so wide you can see the tops of his teeth.

“That’s the one.”

—

nolansiegel

liked by ynoward, patriciooward, lando and 125,052 others.

nolansiegel : the prettiest girl in the world is mine. love you forever <3

tagged : ynoward

—

user has limited comments on this post.

ynoward : you are the cutest ever. i love you always ❤️💋

liked by nolansiegel

patriciooward : YAYYYYYYYYYYYYY

liked by ynoward and nolansiegel

lando : fucking finally

liked by ynoward and nolansiegel

elbaoward : my faves. cutest babes on the planet❤️

liked by ynoward and nolansiegel

—

twitter!

motorsportgirlies : nolan siegel spotted in the mclaren hospitality at the hungarian gp this morning, wearing yn o’ward’s initials on his wristband and carrying her matcha for her 🥹🤧

view 104,000 other replies.

username00 : i’m sorry but nolan siegel being a supportive f1 wag was not on my 2025 bingo card

username0 : THE IT COUPLE OF OUR GENERATION

username1 : yn has golden retriever boyfriend privileges. god is fair.

username7 : nolan “i’m just here to support my girlfriend and carry her iced matcha” siegel is the kind of boyfriend the grid needed

username5 : they are the blueprint. the it couple. the main characters. no one’s doing it like yn and nolan.

—

The paddock is already humming journalists buzzing like flies, engineers jogging between garages, fans pressed up against barricades hoping for a glimpse of anyone in orange. Race day always feels like a fuse has been lit. There’s energy in the air, sharp and crackling, full of nerves and noise and expectation.

But right now, in the tucked-away quiet of the motorhome lounge, there’s only you and Nolan.

You’re sitting on the couch in your race suit, top half rolled down and tied at your waist, black tank top clinging to your skin. Your hair’s half-done, pulled back with a clip. You’ve still got thirty minutes before the garage wants you. Just enough time to breathe.

Nolan sits beside you, one arm draped behind the couch, fingers gently tracing patterns into your shoulder like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. You’re curled into his side, legs tucked under you, head resting against his chest. Neither of you are talking. You don’t need to. This has become your ritual, your calm before the storm.

He presses a kiss to your hair. “How’s the heart?”

You shrug. “Steady now.”

He smiles into your temple. “Good. That’s how I like it.”

There’s a long, soft silence. You glance up at him. He’s already looking at you, eyes so full of adoration it makes your stomach flip.

“You always look at me like that before I race,” you murmur.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re worried I might disappear.”

Nolan swallows. “Because sometimes it feels like you do.”

You blink.

“Not in a bad way,” he rushes to say, his hand tightening around your waist. “Just when you put the helmet on, when you walk into that garage, you change. You become this version of yourself that’s so powerful and sharp and untouchable. And I love it. But I still hold my breath until I see you again.”

Your chest aches at the honesty in his voice.

You reach up, hand cupping his cheek. “I come back to you every time.”

He leans into your touch, eyes closing for just a second. “I know. It’s just you’re my favorite person. And watching you chase danger at 200 mph isn’t exactly relaxing.”

You laugh softly. “And yet you race cars for a living.”

“Different when it’s you.”

Your heart stutters.

He pulls you closer until your forehead rests against his. “Just be safe, okay? And kick their asses.”

You grin. “That the official boyfriend pep talk?”

“There’s more,” he says, then kisses your nose. “You’re the fastest. The fiercest. The coolest person in this entire paddock. And when you win, I’ll be the idiot grinning at the monitor and crying behind my sunglasses.”

You laugh. “You’re gonna cry?”

“Already tearing up,” he says dramatically, wiping a fake tear.

You roll your eyes, but your heart is warm and full and fluttering in the best way. He leans in and kisses you soft, slow, lingering. It’s not rushed. It’s not desperate. It’s just love. Simple and sweet.

When he pulls back, you whisper, “I love you, golden boy.”

His face breaks into a grin so wide you swear the whole world tilts a little.

“I love you too, pretty girl.”

—

The sun is low and warm, casting everything in gold as you and Nolan walk side by side through the paddock. You’ve showered since the race, now dressed in soft black McLaren gear and sunglasses pushed up into your hair. Nolan’s wearing one of your hoodies, hands shoved in the pocket, cheeks still slightly pink from standing in the garage all day.

There’s a quiet between you. Not awkward—just easy. The kind of silence that means comfort. That means—this is normal now.

Every so often, he bumps your arm with his.

You nudge him back. “Stop flirting. We’re in public.”

“I’m literally just walking.”

“That’s flirting.”

He’s mid-laugh when a small crowd of fans spots you from the other side of the barrier. Their reaction is instant cheers, phones up, a few of them waving signs with your name scribbled across them in neon paint.

You smile and immediately pull Nolan toward the fence. “Come on.”

His eyes go wide. “Huh?”

“You’re part of this now,” you tease, grabbing his hand.

Nolan is visibly panicking as you both walk over. You’re met with excited voices, some yelling your name, a few screaming “NOLANNNN!” with just as much energy.

“YOU GUYS ARE SO CUTE!”

“POWER COUPLE!!!”

“YN, YOU ATE TODAY—AND NOLAN’S LITTLE HEART EYES!!!”

“SOFT LAUNCH ERA OVER!!!”

One fan, probably seventeen at most, holds up a sign that says—

NOLAN, IF YOU BREAK HER HEART WE RIOT

in all caps, with a sparkly orange border.

You burst out laughing. Nolan immediately goes bright red.

“Oh my god,” he mutters under his breath. “They’re terrifying.”

“They’re adorable,” you correct, waving at the girl. “I love you.”

“She’s going to frame that sign,” Nolan mumbles, half-hiding behind you.

You sign a few things hats, shirts, a phone case that already has your face on it and Nolan stands quietly behind you the whole time, trying not to combust as people sneakily snap photos of him being the best boyfriend ever.

At one point, someone yells, “KISS HER FOR THE CAMERA!”

You glance at Nolan. His eyes go wide.

You just smile, lean up, and press a quick kiss to his cheek.

The crowd screams.

“OH MY GOD I’M NOT OKAY”

“HE’S BLUSHING SO HARD”

Nolan lets out a breath as you turn back toward the paddock, pulling him along.

“Okay,” he says, voice soft. “That was terrifying and also weirdly sweet?”

You grin. “Told you.”

“I think I just got threatened by your entire fanbase.”

“You did,” you nod. “Congratulations.”

Nolan glances over at you. “You’re really okay with all that?”

“The yelling? The signs? The marriage proposals?”

“Yeah.”

You loop your fingers with his and squeeze. “I love them. And they love that I’m happy. And you make me happy.”

Nolan smiles, still a little pink. “You make me happy too.”

You walk the rest of the way hand in hand, golden light wrapping around you like a bow.

The paddock is loud, chaotic, and buzzing with post-race energy but with Nolan next to you, it’s quiet in all the right places.

—

#formula 1 #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 smau #f1 social media au #cheftsunoda #indycar imagine #indycar fic #indycar #arrow mclaren #mclaren #nolan siegel fic #nolan siegel fluff #nolan siegel imagine #nolan siegel x reader #nolan siegel #pato o’ward #pato o’ward x sister reader #po5

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dontbesoweirdkira · 10 months ago

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I propose an idea! Romantic Yandere Mark Grayson with batsib mc….oh I can feel the chaos that these two worlds would bring😂

A/N: "BIYVjhKDjshuguj" was my inital reaction to this requests because this is tew good. If you've seen my Mark Grayson post then you know exactly how insane this mf is.

Warnings: Pure crack to be honest? Like this is not even a serious post. I was laughing the entire time. Don’t even know where I was going with this but…I had fun

Requests? always open!

Masterlist

Two black haired, attention whore yanderes with the same last name, walk into a room with their darling in it...who's winning?

I mean technically their meeting is not too far fetched. Mortal Kombat and DC had a crossover..and Invincible is also apart of Mortal Kombat which means- nvm, you didn't ask for that.

Here's the thing, everyone in the family dislikes Mark but yan! Mark and Dick HATE each other the most but because they are low key so similar. Mark is obviously way more extreme but i digress. He brings out the absolutely worse out of Dick.

Like Dick has picked up a Knife and contemplated murder.

Mark and Dick's interactions are hilarious though?? Like they both have the exact same fake smile and passive (heavy on the aggressive) behaviors.

"Ahhh, Mark, we're always pleased to host you since y'know your parents obviously need some sort of break from an irritant, such as yourself."

"Thanks, Dick! But regardless of how much of an irritant i am to them, least i still have two biological parents to care for me. Maybe it's because they're not patrons of the circus....?"

*backhands him*

Jason isn't subtle and has whipped out his guns, ready to blast that mf. He's been the closet to causing Mark to blow up the mansion. It was a whole thing and you dumped Mark over it but of course he gaslighted you.

I think the family doesn't like the fact you're dating someone who can easily take advantage of you. (ironic) Mark is clearly dangerous, he's half viltrumite and they may not know everything his people are capable of but they know he can cause a lot of havoc. Mark is not only a threat to you but to them as well. He puts them in a state of constant high alert. They're always staring him down, searching for any signs of danger. I'm sure Batman has a fail safe plan all ready to go. They are eager for the moment they can take this mf down. Do you think they have the supers on speed dial just in case? Ugh even uncle Clark is disapproving of this too.

Your sisters try endlessly to have heart to hearts with you because WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU THINKING????? MARK?! They'd rather you date poke-a-dot man or something because why????

Mark isn't a dumbass, he knows they hate him. He also knows just how scared they are of him and it gives him some sort of sick pleasure knowing he could truly have you all to himself if he really wanted to. But there's really no point in that yet, you're wrapped around his fingers. He totally has thought about going back to his planet with you and keeping your pretty self locked up where your family won't ever find you. That'd really stick it to em'

The cocky, manipulation is just oozing off him every time he's around. The way he shoots threatening looks towards your siblings when they try to get your attention or "playfully" insulting them. There's never a moment where his head isn't held high, looking down at your siblings as if they were beneath him...He runs this place when he's over. Which is all the time because Bruce is like okay, if you won't leave him, you have to be supervised.

Can you imagine combined family dinners with Mark's family and yours??? First, there is definitely a fight of who is sitting next to who. I'll say your brothers win this and are sitting on either side while Mark is fuming as he's across from you. The tension is so freaking high. It's rather silent around the table but everyone is looking at each other either like "I'm ready to kill him when you are" or "i'm going to kill you, mark...". I headcanon that even Bruce has beef with Nolan. They clash rather constantly on their differences of how to handle villains. Nolan is a stone cold killer to Bruce, who is rather set in his ways. It's no wonder Mark is his son. You aren't going to be with this kid for long. "So, Bruce? How's things on your side of town? Still letting your boyfriend out of jail so you can keep playing tag?" "The Joker isn't my boyfriend, i'm just not into murder, unlike some "heros" are. I like to set an example for my kids." "Ah, is that why Jason threatened to kill my son at gun point last month?"

You and Debbie are the only ones who like are trying to be civil and are sort of ignorant to everything going on.

"Um, so i made brownies with Mark's mother for everyone! Anyone want a piece?"

"Of course, love. You know your brownies are my favorite, i've been waiting all day."

Your siblings act like savages and eat the entire pan, stuffing it in their mouths so Mark cannot get any. Bruce doesn't do anything to correct his children out of spite.

Bruce is also debating on just handling them right here. He could have Kal-el over in matters of minutes and this could all be over with.

(Okay but Mark and Damien beating each other’s asses???? Damien cannot bite his tongue and Mark is trying to be nice because he’s a kid but he then Damien call him a "little bitch boy" and it pushes him over the edge. Mark just jumps over the table lollllll???? Sad thing is, Damien gets in tons of cuts with the butterknife he was just using for his sweetroll heheh))) "I though you were invincible...guess i was right in calling you a little bi-" "OH YOU'RE DYING TONIGHT"

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sekai-no-koi · 1 month ago

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okay real quickly... Ran knowing it's Shinichi does not significantly shift the danger around her in any meaningful way, right? If the org got the idea that Shinichi might not be dead and looked at the records and saw Shiho's signature, with the technology and with their power they would simply find him. They already know about Haibara, or at the very least Gin and Vodka do. He's also been really bad about keeping his cover. What about Ran knowing or not knowing would help or stop them?

also RAN'S LITERALLY SO POWERFUL STOP NERFING HER AAAAA

okay but ANYWAY we know the reason for him keeping it from her is totally emotional. Shinichi is allowed to be just a guy trying to keep the last piece of his old life safe okay, that makes sense enough, it's angsty and tasty and such. that's all good. not mad at him for it 👍

but IT IS FAIR for Ran to say, "You kept the biggest event in your life from me, for [whatever amount of time]. How am I supposed to trust you from here on out? What if you decide to 'protect' me from something you know I'd want to be in on again? I thought you'd disappeared and you let me worry, and you deliberately tricked me into thinking you were all right when I knew in my gut you weren't safe. I don't want to be in a relationship with someone who thinks it's okay to do that. I need to feel safe with the person I'm spending my life with."

because Ran is also a person with emotions just trying to feel like they're living a normal life again. I think what's missing from the series more and more is the sense that Ran is a person with feelings that matter.

imo ran deserves better than shinichi and how he treats her But I don't think shinichi is necessarily in the wrong. like I both believe that if shinichi explains himself he can be understood and forgiven, AND that ran does not need to hear his side, she does not owe it to him.

regardless of whether or not shinichi fully explains his side and ran understands, it does not change the fact that shinichi did hurt her. she would be entirely valid in cutting him out of her life for that! if she did I don't think that's what shinichi deserves but I do believe it's what ran does, y'know?

their relationship is Not clear cut, black-and-white, this is what should happen. as a viewer I'm on shinichi's side but if I was one of ran's friends I'd say Dump His Ass!!! and I think both perspectives can and should coexist.

#honestly i think if the Org thing never happened they should've just tried actually dating each other for a while #enjoyed the puppy love #realized their ideas of what they wanted in life were incompatible #and decided to separate before getting married so they didn't end up divorced like Ran's parents 💔💔💔#okay also re: ran's feelings. on the one hand I get it because they've had over 1000 episodes #and if they didn't have the London confession happen to shift the dynamic so that every time we get a peek into her inner life she's crying #it probably would've gotten old. or at least very sad #like in a meta outlook that makes sense right #ofc they could have also just given ran more things going on than just what shinichi was up to... just to mention in the background you kno #but y'know whatever i guess...#If I were Shinichi tho. I would not be trying to date anyone rn #if i were ran in those circumstances i would nottt be dating shinichi either #like okay she knows that there's something weird about him being gone all the time right? and that he's lying?#i mean to be fair other people are also backing him up on it (oof) but stilll....#and then she was so mad and upset she was crying and he chased her down and grabbed her arm and confessed... in a sherlock related location #sherlock the thing he loves that she was getting annoyed with?#i kind of see some of what they were trying to do but to me it was like. so about shinichi and his feelings #and so little about her and her life and thoughts and feelings... like not from what shin was doing exactly i mean from a writing standpoin #i realize i'm being a buzzkill here and if you enjoy that scene please continue to do so ofc <3 #i'm not gonna pretend that nothing they've done since then has been cute. it just doesn't feel quite earned to me yet #actually if this were any other series i would say wow! they are going to end in disaster. i wonder if ran will survive this season #okay well i absolutely wanted to talk about this and i was really interested to hear these thoughts from a shinran shipper because.#as a former shinran shipper. i've been saying this for years. my disappointment has been endless tbh #i wrote all of this instead of finishing packing for a trip tomorrow. it's nearly midnight now so i guess i'd better do that #but i would love to hear any points or counterpoints you have! or additional thoughts... am i starting fights? i hope not #you're such a girl's girl for the dump his ass comment tho!! like fr!!#if ran were my friend i'd say the same thing #... wait okay sorry it was she/her for you?

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purplereina11 · 3 months ago

Text

In a match where the scoreboard tells only half the story, a fierce on-pitch rivalry between you and football royalty, Alexia Putellas, evolves into something electric — something unspoken, but deeply felt. Between the lines two players lock eyes, trade touches, and blur the line between competition and connection. What begins as a game becomes a gravity neither can resist.

Part 8 Other Parts

Word Count: 7.5K

You knew it was coming but it didn’t hurt any less when the list dropped. You saw the names. Scanned slowly, as if your own would appear if you blinked enough times, but it didn’t.

Not selected for this England camp.

Your phone buzzes with the group chat a stream of heart emojis and for the first time in years, you don’t have a reply, because you’re not going. Not even close.

You’re at home, sat on the corner of your bed, thumb resting on your screen like it might undo the post if you hold it long enough. You’d known something was wrong weeks ago.

Your club coach hadn’t looked at you the same since the injury. Since the press focused more on your recovery than the team after a must win game the team won. The minutes dried up, then the starts, then the glances.

You kept your head down, you trained harder, you didn’t say a word, you worked to prove every day you were recovered fit and ready to go.

But now because you weren't playing for club, you’ve been benched into invisibility.

You lock your phone. Stare ahead. Try not to let it sting more than it already does, but the spiral is already happening not fast, but deep. Your body’s healthy, but your mind was slipping, because if you’re not on the pitch… who are you?

You had no idea, and the comments of your move to Germany was career suicide were all coming back and proving themselves right.

The list isn’t haunting your inbox. It’s haunting your silence.

You think about training the way the coaches don’t speak to you unless it’s procedural. The way they praise others. The way your name never leaves their mouth, unless it’s followed by 'off the pace; or 'needs to be sharper', despite in your opinion you were doing a lot of drills better than some that were getting on the bench if not starting.

You think about your body. How it’s fine now, fully fit. Working hard. You’ve done everything right. And still nothing. The frustration sits hot in your ribs. Your jaw clenches. You want to scream. You want to cry. You do neither. You just sit. And the spiral deepens.

Am I not good enough anymore?

Did the injury change how they see me?

Or did it just make it easier for them to forget me?

You rub your eyes with the heel of your palms. They burn, the ache behind your cheekbone old bruising still echoes in your face like a shadow of that night. The night you won, and bled, and mattered.

You haven’t felt like that player since.

Your phone buzzes once. You don’t check it. Then again. And again. You still don’t look.

Because it might be Georgia. Or Beth. Or Sarina, with something generic and clinical like 'Keep working hard, we’re watching.' And you’re not sure which would hurt more, their concern, or their silence.

So you lie back on your bed. Eyes on the ceiling, and let yourself feel nothing, because that’s worse than anger and right now, it’s all you’ve got.

The buzz comes again not a notification from socials, not news, not group chat noise.

Just one name.

Alexia

You stare at the screen. It’s not a meme. Not a casual thinking of you. Not a selfie she wants to know if was ok for an Instagram dump she was doing.

It’s a message that makes your chest pull tight.

You haven’t said anything about the call-up list.

You read it once. Twice.

The simplicity of it hits harder than anything else, because she knows you would have said something, because she’s read your silence perfectly.

Then, another one, quickly after:

I’m not asking if you’re okay. I know you’re not. Do you want to talk or do you want me to distract you?

You don’t answer right away. You just stare at the messages, fingers hovering over the screen, throat tight, because it’s not pity. It’s just her. Knowing the exact right way to stand next to you when everything feels like it’s slipping.

Your reply takes a minute to type, but you send it.

I don’t know what I want. I just feel like I’m disappearing.

Her typing bubble appears almost immediately.

You’re not. I see you. Even from here.

You stare at those words. Let them sink in. Let yourself feel them and for the first time all day, the spiral pauses.

The call comes less than a minute after her last message. Your screen lights up with her name and you hesitate for half a breath then answer.

“Hola,” she says gently. “Hi.” You don’t speak right away. She fills the space, soft and steady. “I’ve booked you a flight.”

You blink. “What?”

“I’ve booked you a flight,” she repeats, firmer now. “To Barcelona. Two nights, maybe three. Before I leave for camp.”

You sit up slowly on the edge of the bed, one hand against your temple. “Alexia…”

“Not taking no for an answer,” she says, cutting off your protest before it starts. “No plans. No expectations. Just you, me, and my sofa.”

You exhale, heavy. “I can’t just leave Teddy—”

“He has a ticket.”

You freeze. “What?”

“I booked him a pet fare,” she says casually, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Cabin-approved. I looked it up.”

Your lips part, silence stretching between you. “You’re serious,” you finally murmur.

“Of course I am.”

You run a hand down your face. “You didn’t even ask—”

“You wouldn’t have said yes.”

You lean forward, forehead against your knee. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not,” she says immediately.

The line goes quiet for a second, your heart stutters, then she adds, softer now “And I’m not letting you spiral alone.”

You wipe at your eye nothing’s fallen yet, but the pressure is building. You whisper, “When?”

“Morning. 10:15. Pack comfortable things. Teddy’s allowed a blanket and treats.”

You let out a breathless, broken laugh. “Of course you looked up dog policy.”

“You needed something to hold onto,” she replies. “So I made the space.”

You swallow hard. “You’re going to ruin me.”

Her voice breaks just a little when she says, “Maybe I’m just finally showing you what not being alone looks like.”

You nod, even though she can’t see. “I’ll be there.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

⚽️

You wake to your alarm barely slept, eyes gritty, the weight of yesterday still clinging to your ribs, but something is different.

There’s movement. A tail thumping.

Teddy’s already pacing by the door, ears alert, head cocked like he knows. Like Alexia texted him the plan.

You stretch gently, wincing just a little, and mutter, “You’re too smart.”

He just wags harder. You pack slow only what you need. Soft clothes. A hoodie that smells like your flat. His lead. His travel harness. You pause once, staring at the mirror. You decide to pack a few nice outfits just incase Alexia does an impromptu lunch again.

At the airport, everything is controlled chaos.

Teddy is beside you, full of tail wags and leash tangles, drawing smiles from half the check-in staff as he tries to lick the counter agent’s sleeve.

"He's a beautiful dog,” the woman behind the desk says with a warm smile, watching you fumble with his paperwork.

You open your mouth, then close it. Smile, soft. “Yeah. He is.”

Security is a mess, Teddy insists on sniffing everything, whines none stop when his emotional support elephant plush toy had to go through the scanner and lays dramatically on the scanner floor when asked to wait but eventually, you're through.

On the plane, he lies quietly at your feet, head on your shoes, gaze flicking up at you every few minutes like he’s checking you’re still here.

You reach down, fingers brushing his fur, the plane hums, clouds roll past the window, Teddy is the best of boys and your heart picks up, because you’re almost there and she’ll be waiting.

⚽️

You stand just inside the arrivals hall, trying not to look like you’re searching, even though you are.

You’re holding Teddy’s lead in one hand, your travel bag looped over your shoulder, hoodie pulled up slightly despite the warmth of the Spanish afternoon light filtering through the glass walls.

Teddy pants beside you calm, tail swaying, already earning smiles from strangers. You don’t notice. You’re too busy scanning faces.

Your fingers twitch around the strap of your bag, heart thudding, that soft, fragile voice inside your head asking, What if she’s not here yet? What if this was too much?.

Down the corridor, behind the sea of people, moving toward you with that familiar, grounded walk, calm, steady, head high.

No hoodie this time. No low-key disguise. Just Alexia. In soft denim, white tee, hair tied back in a low twist, sunglasses pushed up into it like she forgot they were there and the moment her eyes land on you, everything else slows.

No smile yet just her gaze, fixed. Sure. Certain.

You don’t move, because you can’t, but Teddy does.

The second he sees her, he lunges forward with the full weight of 35 kilos of devotion, dragging you a step before you catch him, breathless “Teddy!”

But Alexia laughs. Full, bright, and relieved.

She drops into a crouch as she reaches you, arms open without hesitation, Teddy barrels into her, tail thumping, nose pressing into her shoulder like she’s his, too and she takes it. All of it.

Then she looks up at you from where she kneels hair half-loose now, eyes shining and says, softly “Bon Dia.”

Your breath catches “Hi,” you whisper back.

She rises slowly, one hand steadying Teddy, the other brushing against yours as she stands.

You should say something clever. Something casual. But all you manage is “You came.”

And she just smiles. “No,” she says. “You did.”

⚽️

The trunk closes with a soft thud.

Teddy’s curled in the backseat already, head resting against the window like he owns the car. His breath fogs the glass in soft huffs. He’s content. He always is.

You slide into the passenger seat just as Alexia settles behind the wheel, adjusting her sunglasses and glancing your way.

“You okay?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

She starts the car, shifts smoothly into gear. “Hungry?”

“A little.”

“I’ll make something.”

You glance out the window. “You don’t have to.”

“I know,” she says. She always says it like that simple, no weight. Just truth. The first few minutes on the road pass in easy quiet.

Barcelona blurs past the windows palm trees, red-tiled rooftops, the hum of city midday. The kind of sun you forgot existed when you’d been stuck inside so long. Her music plays through the speakers mellow, not English. Soft vocals and layered guitar. You don’t know the song, but you don’t want to ask. You just want to listen.

At a red light, she glances sideways. “You didn’t pack much.”

You shrug, eyes still on the road ahead. “Didn’t feel like I needed to.”

She nods slowly, as if that answer is good enough. Maybe it is. “I’m glad you came,” she says, finally.

You rest your head against the window, let the cool glass anchor you. “Yeah,” you whisper. “Me too.”

The sun shifts on your skin as the car turns, her hand stays on the wheel, yours rests in your lap and there’s nothing else to say.

Not yet, not when being here, next to her, finally feels like the most normal thing you’ve done in weeks.

The city softens as you leave the airport zone the buildings lower, the roads narrower, every other corner bursting with flowering trees and motorbikes tucked in at angles only locals understand.

Alexia slows at a small plaza. There’s a corner shop old, sun-faded signage, a line of crates outside stacked with oranges and glossy tomatoes. “I’m stopping here,” she says.

You glance sideways. “Need something?”

She eases the car to the curb, cuts the engine. “You’ll want snacks later. I’m not risking you staring at me in hunger like I’m your next meal.”

You huff a tired laugh. “No faith.”

She unclips her seatbelt but doesn’t move right away. “I’ll be two minutes. You good?”

You nod. “Teddy’ll protect me.”

Her mouth curves, amused. “He’ll sell you out for a breadstick.”

You lean your head back as she steps out. The door closes gently, and through the window, you watch her walking in that quiet, purposeful way she always does. Not hurrying, not hiding.

Inside the shop, she grabs a basket, you can see her from the car, not watching you. Just knowing you’re there.

You glance at the backseat Teddy asleep, one paw twitching like he’s chasing something in his dreams. The car smells like warm air, her cologne, a bit of dog fur.

You sink into your seat, let yourself breathe. A few minutes later, she returns. One small bag. Two bottles of something fizzy. A box of those pretzels you always get when you travel.

She gets back in, hands you the bag wordlessly. You peek in, your favourite chocolate is there too.

You look at her, “You remembered?”

She doesn’t answer, just starts the car again and says softly, “I never forgot.”

⚽️

The car crunches up the short gravel drive, your legs are stiff Teddy’s tail is already thumping, his nose pressed against the window as if he can’t wait to get out and explore.

Alexia hops out first, moving fluidly. She’s already pushing open the door as you round the car, unclipping Teddy’s harness before you even reach the door.

“Wait, wait—” you mutter, but it’s too late.

She opens the front door and Teddy is gone. A streak of gold. His paws thunder across the smooth tile, nails clicking like a percussion line as he slides around the corner and out through the wide living space, paws thundering on the tile like a small horse who’s just discovered freedom.

“Wait— Teddy—” you half-yell, already regretting unclipping his lead too early, but he’s gone.

“Jesús,” Alexia laughs, stepping in behind you. “He’s been here two minutes.”

Teddy’s zooming around through the hall, into the open-plan living room, and straight for the glass bi-folding doors Alexia’s just finished sliding open to the backyard.

He doesn’t pause, doesn’t look back. “TED—”

He launches. Golden limbs splayed. Tongue out and then SPLASH. Water erupts from the pool like he just landed a cannonball in a silent library. Your stomach drops. Face flushes hot. You blink hard, hands rising like you might somehow rewind time.

“Oh my god, I’m— Alexia, I’m so—” She just laughs. Not politely, not politely at your expense. It’s real. Full. Bright.

“¿Pero qué…?” she manages through her laughter, hand to her chest as she watches him resurface and immediately start paddling laps with the grace of a floating rug.

You’re frozen, halfway into her house, shoes still on, mouth open in mortification. “I swear he’s not usually like this. He’s— he’s never jumped in a pool before. He’s not even— he’s not allowed on furniture when we go to peoples houses he knows that, I don’t— I’m so sorry—”

Alexia holds up a hand, eyes still on Teddy, who is now trying to climb out the shallow end and failing gloriously. “You think this is the worst thing that’s happened in this house?” she says, grinning. You blink. She nods toward the soaked paw prints already tracking along the tile. “He’s fine. The pool’s fine. The floor’s waterproof. Breathe.”

You exhale shakily, rubbing a hand over your face. “He does this now?” you mumble.

“I like that he feels comfortable.”

You glance at her the way she’s still smiling, watching Teddy with something closer to fondness than frustration. “You’re… weirdly chill about this.”

She shrugs. “You came here. You brought him. He likes the pool who wouldn’t”

You shake your head. “You’re too calm. I’m panicking.”

“I know,” she says. “It’s cute.” You groan, half-turning away. She walks past you, grabbing a towel off the laundry rack near the garden door. “Come on. Let’s get your idiot son out of the pool before he drinks it dry.”

You’re still red in the face when she hands you the towel, but her hand brushes yours, steady, warm and when your eyes meet, the embarrassment softens.

Because somehow she’s not laughing at you, she’s welcoming all of it. Even the soggy, soaking, zoom-prone parts.

⚽️

She didn’t make it a thing, just started chopping. Tomatoes. A bit of fresh bread. Cheese. Olive oil. Nothing complicated but it smells like someone meant it.

You hover near the edge of the kitchen, Teddy’s passed out across the tiled floor, tongue out, legs twitching. You don’t speak for a while, neither does she. The quiet isn’t awkward.

Finally, you push your hands into the pocket of your hoodie and ask, “Did you know I wasn’t called up before I said it?”

Alexia doesn’t look up. “Yeah.”

You nod slowly. “Thought so.”

“I saw the list. Checked it twice.”

“Right.”

She finishes arranging the food on two small plates, then sets them gently on the island before finally looking at you. “I waited to see if you’d tell me.”

You nod again, “I didn’t know how. Saying it out loud makes it feel real.. yanno?”

She moves around the counter and sits on one of the stools, keeping the other one beside her empty. Not pushing. “I didn’t want you to feel like you had to,” she says.

You swallow. “I wasn’t picked. Not even a standby.”

“I know.”

“And I’ve been benched at club. Barely starting. I don’t think I’ve even had a full match since the injury. Not one.” She nods. “It’s like…” you exhale, leaning your hip against the counter, “I’m healthy. I’m trying. I’m still me. But nobody’s looking.”

Her voice is soft. Steady. “I am.”

You blink down at the wood grain of the countertop. “I don’t even know why it’s hitting me this hard. I’ve had setbacks before. I’ve been dropped. It’s part of the job.”

Alexia watches you. Quiet. Hands resting lightly on the rim of her plate.

“But this time,” you continue, “it feels like I got hurt and they were… relieved. Like it was the excuse they were waiting for to justify not playing me.”

Alexia nods once. Then finally speaks, “I’ve felt that too.”

You look at her sharply, surprised.

“I know what it’s like to be the golden one until you’re not useful. Until your body doesn’t move the way they need it to. Until they stop calling. Stop asking.”

You sit slowly, not saying a word. She presses her thumb to the edge of her plate.

“But you know what matters?”

You meet her eyes. She smiles, just a little.

“That you’re still trying. That you showed up everyday anyway”

Your throat catches. You don’t speak and then, like it’s nothing at all, she nudges your plate toward you.

“Now eat something. You can spiral again after lunch.”

You huff a laugh through your nose, pick up a slice of tomato, still quiet, but steadier. Not fixed. But held.

You take a bite, not because you’re hungry, because she asked, because she listened. It tastes better than you expected. Tomato sweet. Cheese soft. Bread with a crisp edge. All so ordinary. And maybe that’s why it makes you feel like crying.

She watches you gently. Not pressing. Just present. You chew slowly, eyes down. Then, without looking at her “Did you ever think you wouldn’t come back?”

A breath, “Yes.”

You look up. She nods, no hesitation.

“After the surgery,” she says, voice steady, “I couldn’t imagine myself moving the same. Playing the same. Being the same.”

You rest your elbow on the counter, leaning into it, “What did you do with that?”

“I let it break me. Quietly.” Her voice doesn’t waver. “Then I got bored of being broken. And remembered how much i love playing football and i wasn’t about to give up on it so easily”

You blink.

She half-smiles. “So I let myself change instead.”

You sit with that. Let it land and then your voice comes low. “I’m scared it’s not a phase.” She nods. Doesn’t interrupt. “That this isn’t temporary. That the version of me I keep waiting to feel again… just isn’t coming back.”

You meet her eyes, finally and she gets it. Not with a pep talk. Not with stats or promises, just with her gaze. “Maybe you don’t need her back.”

You freeze. “What?”

She says it again, slower. “Maybe you don’t need the old version. Maybe this one now, hurting, rebuilding, here is the version who gets to decide who she becomes.”

You don’t know what to say. Not right away, but your chest eases just slightly and after a pause, you whisper, “I want to believe that.”

Alexia tilts her head, watching you with such soft certainty it burns. “I already do.” The silence after that isn’t heavy, itholds you both, then she nudges your plate again.

“Finish that. You need fuel for reinvention.”

You smirk faintly. “You sound like a self-help podcast.”

She grins. “I’m bilingual.”

And just like that the weight doesn’t vanish but it shifts.

⚽️

The sun’s slanting warm across the tiled floor when Alexia tugs her training top over her head. Hair pulled into a braid, she moves around the house with the quiet focus of someone who’s done this a thousand times but she still glances over at you twice in five minutes.

You’re leaning against the doorframe with Teddy at your feet watching curiously, arms crossed, hoodie sleeves shoved up.

“You sure you’re okay with Alba picking you up again?” she asks, slipping her watch onto her wrist.

You nod. “I liked her. She didn’t make me feel like a guest.”

Alexia looks up at that and smiles, just a little. “You’re not.” A moment later, the gate buzzer sounds. “Speak of the devil,” she mutters.

You follow her down the short path to the front door Teddy trots beside you like he belongs here and maybe he does.

Alexia opens the door and there she is Alba, leaning against her car, sunglasses on, already waving when she sees you.

She beams when you come down the steps. “Hola! Look at you, and look at this guy,” she adds, crouching immediately to give Teddy a proper greeting, which he accepts like she’s his long-lost best friend.

Alexia watches the reunion for a second before turning back to you, “You good?” You nod, adjusting the bag on your shoulder. “Text me when you get there,” she says.

“I will.”

She leans in, no hesitation, and kisses you once, quick and warm, just a little longer than necessary and then she’s jogging toward her car uncharacteristically late for her own game, braid swinging, focused now.

You slide into Alba’s passenger seat, after taking Teddy back inside and giving him a treat to distract him.

As you pull away, Alba glances over, her voice light. “You’re not nervous this time.”

You shrug, watching the road ahead. “No,” you say softly. “We've done this before, I'm not nervous”

She smiles. “Good.”

The city slips past the windows in shades of soft yellow and sun-dusted stone. Warm air filters through the cracked window, Alba drives with one hand on the wheel, sunglasses still perched high, her elbow resting against the edge of the window.

Music plays low Spanish indie-pop you don’t know, but don’t mind. She glances over once you’re clear of the tighter city roads, “You’ve been quieter than last time.”

You huff a faint laugh. “That bad, huh?”

“No. Just different.”

You nod slowly, watching a couple cross a narrow street holding cones of ice cream. “I guess I feel different,” you admit.

She doesn’t respond right away. Just lets it hang for a few blocks. You like that about her the patience. Then, softly, “Alexia said you weren’t called up.”

You glance at her not sharply, but it still surprises you. “She told you?”

“She didn’t need to,” Alba says. “I’ve known her long enough to know when she’s holding someone a little closer than usual.” You look back to the window. Alba adds gently, “And I’ve seen her try to hold herself together after an injury. She wasn’t okay then, either.” You swallow. The words settle deep. “You don’t have to say anything,” she continues. “But I figured I’d say I see it too, your quite obviously sad, but if you want to off load, you can to me to”

You nod. Quiet. A bit glassy-eyed now. “Thanks,” you say after a second. “I’m not great at talking about stuff.”

“I didn’t ask you to be.” She smiles. “But I’m glad you’re here.”

You glance over at her again, and this time, your smile breaks through. “So, what, are you the secret emotional support sibling?”

Alba grins. “God, no. That would require emotional growth.” You both laugh. “I just care about people who care about my sister.”

You sit back, letting it hold you.

Alba chuckles. “You’re going to be alright, you know.”

You nod because you know it was just a set back and you had heard and witnessed people come back from a lot worse than a coach who didn't particularly like them.

The car eases into the reserved lot, and Alba navigates the back entrance, there’s a warmth in the familiarity not VIP treatment, not arrogance, just belonging.

Alba nudges your elbow, “Come on, star guest. You’ve got a front-row view and zero excuses.”

She leads you through the short hallways, the buzz of the stadium starting to build just outside crowd noise like the sea. Distant but growing.

The players' families and friends section is fuller than last time you were here, you settle in beside Alba until she nudges you again, subtle this time, tilting her head toward the pair approaching from the left aisle.

Lucía, graceful, sharp eyes and warm smile waves gently as she walks up, her son in tow.

“Hola,” she greets, reaching for a hug Alba returns easily. Then she turns to you.

“I’m Lucía. I’ve heard… a little about you.”

There’s a playful tone in her voice. Enough to make you blush. Enough to make you laugh too. “Hopefully the good parts,” you say.

“Oh no, just the dramatic parts,” she teases.

Then Mateo maybe three, maybe four peeks around her side, wide-eyed and shy at first.

You crouch slightly, resting your hands on your knees. “Hey, bud,” you say. “I like your boots.” They’re bright green, one lace already untied.

He squints at you. “Are you the football player who’s friends with Ale?”

You blink. “Yes,” you say slowly. “That’s… exactly right.”

“Good,” he says, and without another word, plops into the empty seat beside you like he’s claimed it for himself.

Lucía sighs fondly. “I guess you’ve been approved.”

You glance sideways. Mateo’s already tugging lightly at your sleeve. “She says you have a doggy” he asks, very serious.

Your lips twitch. “I do"

He suddenly looks away and points instantly at the pitch. “Thats my mami”

You follow his finger, and there she is Irene jogging across the pitch, all ready to go. You smile, soft and full, even before you realise you’re doing it. “Yeah,” you say. “Your mami makes my job a lot harder when I've played against her”

He nods, satisfied, Lucía sits beside her son, folding her hands with a glance toward the pitch.

The anthem fades. The whistle blows, and football begins. Not chaos. Not frenzy. Just the steady rhythm of the ball and the crowd and the heat of the early evening pressing into the concrete stands.

You’ve got your legs crossed, and Mateo beside you, his feet barely reaching the edge of the seat, arms crossed dramatically. Alba returns from the small concession line, slipping past Lucía with practiced ease.

She hands you a drink first something cold and fizzy then grins and produces a tiny tub of chocolate ice cream with a plastic spoon.

You lift an eyebrow. “We said no churros.”

“This isn’t churros,” she replies, smug. “It’s Ice cream.”

Mateo’s eyes are locked on the tub before it’s even fully in your hand. “I like ice cream,” he says gravely.

You glance at Lucía just a quick, discreet check. She gives you a soft nod. “One bite won’t kill him.”

Mateo immediately shuffles closer, then closer, then just leans, his shoulder bumping gently against your thigh as you peel the lid back.

You hand him the first spoonful.

He eats it with the exaggerated focus only a child can summon, one slow blink, a moment of stillness, then immediately declares, “That’s the best one.”

You smile, keeping your voice light. “Best flavour?”

“Chocolate,” he says. “Then strawberry. Then chocolate again.”

You hum thoughtfully, scooping a small bite for yourself before offering him another. “Strong list.”

He accepts the spoon, tilting his head dramatically as he eats it like a critic.

Alba leans closer from the other side. “You’re spoiling him.”

You grin without looking away from the pitch. “You bought it.”

“And you’re letting him lean on you like a puppy.”

You glance down, Mateo is half-resting against your hip now, eyes still fixed on the game.

You look at Lucía, half-apologetic, but she just smiles soft, real. “He’s comfortable with you.”

That hits you somewhere deep, because this isn’t a press conference. It’s not a stat line or a minutes report. It’s a child, trusting you. It’s this moment, so simple, earned.

You offer him another bite, and when he takes it, he sighs like he’s lived a life already. On the field, Alexia touches the ball for the first time clean, calm, confident.

Mateo points. “Auntie Ale kicked it really far”

You nod. “Yeah,” you murmur. “She’s something else.”

⚽️

The crowd has thinned. The sun’s dipped low behind the buildings, but the air’s still warm, humming with leftover energy the kind that lingers long after the final whistle.

You’re standing by Alba’s car, chatting lazily, Mateo propped on your hip. His cheek rests against your shoulder now, but his mouth is still going, hands gesturing like a proper little pundit.

“And then she kicked it so fast,” he says, wide-eyed. “Did you see that?”

“I saw,” you say with a laugh. “She does that sometimes.”

Lucía’s beside you, sipping a bottle of water, half-listening. Alba leans back against the car, sunglasses perched on her head, watching the whole thing like it’s better than any post-match analysis.

“Will you come play at my house sometime?,” Mateo adds suddenly.

You smile at him as he went a little shy, "Mr Paredes are you asking me on a play date?"

"I have super cool toys.. I promise"

"Well when you put it like that" you smile, "I'm not here for very long, maybe next time I come to barcelona?"

"Where do you live?"

"Munich"

"Munich?" Mateo's brows furrowed testing the word

"Yeah it's in Germany" You pull your phone out and show him on a map, "We're here, and I live all... the way over here"

"Wow" Mateo looks as Lucia takes a step closer, "I asked coco on a play date.. she said not now but another time"

“That’s because you were perfect,” Lucía replies, pressing a kiss to the top of his hair.

“I think she’s perfect,” Mateo announces, looking at you with all the sincerity in the world.

You blink. “Me?”

He nods seriously.

“Oh no,” Alba says, hands on her hips, turning just in time, “Irene,” she calls, spotting her and Alexia stepping out of the players exit, bags slung over their shoulders. “Your son just asked someone on a date.”

Irene lifts a brow. “¿Perdón?”

Lucía laughs, catching Irene’s eye. “He asked Y/N over for a play date” You and Irene smile politely at each other, you were not very aware you'd barely said a word to the defender and you were holding her son being invited into her home.

You glance up at movement and there Alexia is, hair damp from her post-match shower, sleeves rolled to her elbows, boots in hand. She slows when she spots you.

You don’t miss it. That little flicker in her expression, her eyes go to Mateo, then to your arms around him, then back to your face. "Did you her that Alexia? Mateo asked Y/N on a date"

It’s subtle, the shift in her jaw, the way her eyebrows pull ever so slightly together, the bite at the inside of her cheek. Jealousy, of a child. Soft. Undeniable. Ridiculous, but real.

You almost laugh but you’re too delighted, you offer her a perfectly neutral smile. Keep one arm snug around Mateo and say absolutely nothing.

Alexia recovers quickly, switching on a pleasant nod as she looks to the group and Mateo. Irene scoops Mateo from your arms, he grumbles but goes, eventually.

Alexia gives you a brief once-over. “You good?” she asks.

You nod, lips twitching. “Perfect,” you say, because you’ve seen it now and she’s never living this down.

⚽️

The house is quiet when you step through the door. Still warm with leftover sun. Teddy stretches on the cool tile as soon as he’s woken up, immediately rolling onto his back like the day hasn’t been long enough getting belly scratches from you.

Alexia walks ahead of you, keys jingling once before she tosses them into the bowl by the door. She says nothing as she slips off her shoes, sets her boots by the mat. Still cool. Still collected, nut you’ve seen it.

You’ve absolutely seen it and now that the front door clicks shut, you turn slowly, leaning your shoulder against the wall.

“Mateo asked me on a date.”

Alexia doesn’t look up right away. Just slides her fingers through her hair, tying it into a loose knot at the nape of her neck. “I heard.”

You hum, watching her carefully. “Said he had super cool toys. He promised.” A pause, still no reaction. You push just a little more “Really sweet, actually. Polite. Just adorably cute.”

Alexia lifts a brow. “He’s three.”

“He’s got good instincts.”

She meets your eyes now level, unreadable. But you see it: the way her jaw ticks, just once, the faintest narrowing of her gaze. “And are you… tempted?”

You grin. “Little bit.”

That does it, she closes the distance in two slow steps. Not urgent but purposeful. “You’re lucky I like you,” she murmurs.

You tilt your head. “I must be. I’m very popular lately.”

She narrows her eyes, eyes dropping to your mouth for a heartbeat too long, and then soft, sharp, teasing right back “Maybe I should’ve asked first.”

You hummed pressing your finger to your lips, "Maybe you should have, but I'm a one person kind of girl, so maybe next time" You blink. “Are you jealous of a three year old?”

“No.” Beat. “I’m jealous he got to lean on you like that.”

The words land like heat across your collarbone. You stare at her, caught just enough off guard to go quiet for a second.

Then, softly “You could’ve.”

Alexia shrugs one shoulder. “I was sweaty.”

You laugh, breathless. She grins. You move toward her now, not fast, not heavy, just there. Your hand brushing her waist as you pass her into the kitchen. She turns with you, following. You open the freezer, still smiling to yourself. “Ice cream?” you ask.

“You’re not seriously going to let him win.”

“I mean…” You glance over your shoulder. “He made a pretty good case.”

Alexia shakes her head, stepping close enough that her voice is practically in your ear. “I’ll make a better one.”

You blink. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

She places a hand on each side of your waist spinning you to face her “Both.”

You’re standing a little too close now, her in front of you, hands resting on the counters edge either side like she’s keeping you in place. Not trapping. Just… there. Present. Intentional.

She doesn’t step back. Instead, Alexia watches you carefully, her eyes darkening in the dim kitchen light cautious but certain. Waiting.

“You’re not usually this forward,” you tease softly, one finger brushing the hem of her T-shirt.

She holds your gaze, her voice low. “Maybe I’m tired of pretending I don’t want to be.”

That hits you low and warm. You shift ever so slightly, a deliberate tilt of your head. “Then don’t.”

She exhales slowly, shaky, barely controlled and that’s all you need.

She moves first, hands finding your waist, gentle at first, then firmer. Your breath hitches again as she presses you slowly backward until your back meets the cool edge of the countertop. It grounds you, the contrast sharp against the warmth of her body.

Her mouth finds yours careful at first. Testing. Soft and slow, until you shift closer, your hand sliding into her hair, pulling her gently deeper. The kiss goes hotter, heavier, the weeks of careful tension breaking open in a heartbeat.

Her fingers slip beneath your hoodie, tracing carefully along your waist, respectful of the lingering tenderness but barely. She’s warm, sure, and somehow exactly what you need.

She breaks the kiss just long enough to whisper against your mouth, “I’ve been thinking about doing that since the airport.”

You grin, breathless. “Not since Mateo asked me on a date?”

She groans softly, her head dropping forward onto your shoulder. “You’re really going to ruin this moment?”

“I’m improving it,” you whisper back, your thumb brushing along the edge of her jaw.

She lifts her head, eyes meeting yours with a kind of soft intensity that makes your stomach flip. “Just kiss me again.”

You smile, gentle, teasing, even as your chest tightens. “Ask nicely.”

Alexia’s eyes narrow but she’s already leaning in again, mouth brushing yours. “Please.”

And you do. Slow, deep, your body melting into hers, losing track of time, space everything except the feeling of her hands sliding along your waist, hips pressing yours into the counter.

It’s too much. And it’s perfect.

Then Teddy chooses exactly this moment to pad into the kitchen big paws clicking on the tiles, pausing to sit with an exaggerated sigh right next to you both, staring upward like he’s waiting patiently for an explanation.

Alexia breaks the kiss with a quiet laugh, leaning her forehead against yours. “He has your timing.”

You grin, lips brushing hers lightly once more. “Consider it payback”

She smiles into your mouth, stepping back just slightly, one hand still lingering at your side not daring to ask what the payback was for.

You breathe out slowly, your heartbeat eases, but the warmth lingers. Neither of you moves. Neither needs to. She hasn’t moved far just one step back, enough space to breathe but not enough to forget what just happened.

Teddy is sitting between you both now, looking from one of you to the other like he’s waiting for someone to acknowledge that he, too, is emotionally involved in all of this. You smile down at Teddy, "You're so clever Ted, you know it's time for your walk"

Alexia breaks the silence first between you both, nudging your hip lightly with hers. “Are you always this smug when you win?”

You glance over at her. “Only when I know you hated losing.”

She scoffs, but her smile betrays her. “He’s three.”

“He’s got vision.”

“He ate all your ice cream”

“And still had a better chance with me than anyone else tonight.”

Alexia rolls her eyes, steps in close again, and taps your lower lip with her thumb. “You’re getting cocky.”

You smirk. “You started it.”

She huffs a quiet laugh and presses a final kiss to your mouth slower this time. Not playful. Just certain. Her hand rests on your waist, fingers curling through your hoodie fabric. You lean into it, eyes slipping shut, letting the moment stretch.

When she finally pulls back, she rests her forehead against yours again. “Come on,” she murmurs. “Sit down.”

“I’m going to—”

“Let me walk Teddy.”

You blink. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” she says simply.

You glance down. He’s still staring up at her like he’s been waiting for just one of you to go towards his lead by the door, “He likes you.”

She shrugs, smiling. “He has good taste.” You groan into her shoulder, and she laughs. “I’ll be fifteen minutes,” she says, already moving toward the lead. “Sit on the sofa. Be a good girl.”

You call after her, teasing, “You’re very bossy for someone who was just kissing me against a counter.”

She stops in the doorway, glancing back over her shoulder with one eyebrow raised. “You liked it.”

You grin. “That’s the problem.”

She disappears around the corner, and Teddy follows obediently tail wagging, as if the evening hadn’t just shifted something real between you.

You’re left standing in the kitchen, breath still a little unsteady, pulse still slow and deep, but you’re smiling, because she kissed you like she meant it and walked your dog.

Alexia’s steps are slow. Not lazy. Just unhurried.

The leash hangs loose in her hand, her fingers brushing the woven thread absently as Teddy trots a half-step ahead tail swaying, head occasionally turning like he’s checking she’s still following.

She rounds a corner, her hoodie sleeves pushed up, the night air clinging warm to her skin. There's a breeze now, just enough to brush loose strands of hair across her cheek. She doesn't fix it.

“Alright,” she says aloud, glancing at the dog beside her. “So... what do we think?”

Teddy huffs, not stopping.

She chuckles, gaze drifting over shuttered windows and balconies heavy with vines. “She likes simple things. But also… she’s dramatic. Low-key dramatic, if that’s a thing.”

Teddy glances up at her like everything is a thing if you say it like that.

“Something yellow?” she wonders, tilting her head. “Or maybe white.”

They keep walking. She hasn’t meant to go this far. Not really, but her feet led her here and when she glances up again, there it is.

A little flower shop.

The bell above the door rings softly as she pushes it open.

Warm air greets her earthy and full of cut stems and something citrus-sharp. Inside, the space is narrow but layered: vases on every surface, bundles of flowers waiting to be wrapped, the faint hum of a small radio playing quietly in the corner.

Teddy pauses in the doorway, looking up like he knows this isn’t exactly his kind of place.

Alexia glances down at him. “Behave.”

The florist an older woman with silver-streaked hair in a loose bun and hands stained green at the fingertips smiles from behind the counter.

“Still open?” Alexia asks softly, motioning toward the door.

“For you? Sure,” the woman replies with a wink. “But I’ll be closing soon.”

Alexia offers a soft smile, nods her thanks, then moves slowly through the small space eyes flicking over blooms without touching them. Her fingers brush her own wrist, thumb running circles like she’s thinking too much and trying not to.

Teddy follows, nose twitching near a bucket of baby’s breath before deciding it’s not edible and sitting with a huff.

“Looking for something special?” the woman asks from behind the counter.

Alexia doesn’t answer right away.

She stops in front of a low wooden shelf lined with single stems in narrow glass jars. Her gaze lands on a cluster of pale butter-yellow ranunculus, soft and round like layered silk.

She nods slowly to herself.

“Yes,” she murmurs. “But not loud. Something… kind.”

The florist doesn’t ask more questions. She just starts pulling blooms together with quiet expertise.

Ranunculus. Small sprigs of waxflower. A few pieces of soft eucalyptus, pale green and curling at the edges. A single white freesia tucked into the middle simple, elegant, unassuming.

Alexia watches it come together, arms crossed lightly, the corner of her mouth twitching up just once.

“She’s been having a hard time,” she offers quietly.

The florist ties the stems gently, like the arrangement’s not just for decoration like it’s a message.

“She’s lucky to have someone who notices.”

Alexia doesn’t answer. She just nods, as the bouquet is wrapped in brown paper and tied with a loose ribbon, she glances down at Teddy. He thumps his tail exactly once.

“You’re making me look good,” she tells him.

He yawns dramatically, the florist hands the bouquet over with a smile that doesn’t pry.

“Here,” she says. “Take care of her.”

Alexia takes it carefully, fingers closing around the paper. “I’m trying.”

#alexia x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas fanfic #woso fanfics #alexia putellas #woso #barca femeni #barcelona femeni #alexia putellas imagine #woso imagine #alexia putellas x y/n #alexia putellas one shot #fcb femeni

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emotionaldamages · 10 days ago

Text

dates?- max verstappen

summary- max verstappen is dating y/n yukis Irish twin

definitions:

Irish twins- siblings born less than a year apart from each other.

ps: ignores the 2016 dates it’s from google 🤭 and a little like something with the rumors of max going too Mercedes

maxverstappen

maxverstappen date night

tagged y/n

comments

user I love them tg so much

user so when’s the wedding

user 😍

user she needs more screen time

landonorris sushi🤮🤮

y/n hater 😐

user she paid for that dress with a lil something called face card

user I am so jealous of her beauty

user im 😭 so 😭 happy 😭 for 😭 you 😭

user literally gorgeous

user the best in paddock seriously

user mama y papa

y/n

y/n cuties

tagged yukitsunoda, max verstappen

comments

user yuki is tinny

user bring back more paddock dumps

user love them all

user adorable ☺️

yukitsunoda no.

y/n yes

yukitsunoda no

user max is coquette

user yesss posting after like a year

user her random posts❤️‍🩹

user COME BACK TO POSTING DAILY

user2 OR WEEKLY WOULD BE GOOD

y/n

y/n love dates with you ❤️❤️

tagged maxverstappen

comments

user GIVE ME THIS PLS

user 💔💔like

user need this in my prayers

user THIS IS SO CUTE

user I’m dying why are they always on dates and I can’t even get a guy

user it’s okay girl me too💔

user realest thing ever

georgerussell how’d you get him to read

user GEORGE WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE

y/n I have no idea

user GET ME A MAN NOW

user I inspire to have ur type of relationship

y/n

y/n lately

tagged yukitsunoda, maxverstappen, charlesleclerc

comments

user how cute ᵃⁿⁿᵃᵇᵉˡˡᵉ ᵍᵉᵗ ᵗʰᵉᵐ

user the shirt is memories

charlesleclerc absolutely no.

user i love this content

user are we getting our paddock queen back

user the best of the best

user YES we missed you

maxverstappen ❤️❤️

user I’m inlove

user oh she ate

user COME BACK QUEEN

user it’s been a three months long💔

y/n

y/n how’s life for you 😉

comments

user WOAH WHAT

user OMG OMG OMG

user so cuteeee

user OMG FINALLY

alexandrasaintmleux the best wedding and biggest congratulations❤️

user wait…

user gosh ima faint

landonorris congrats fam

yukitsunoda congrats sister 🥰

charlesleclerc can’t wait to meet a little max or y/n

user OOOO IM GONNA DIE

user OMG OMG THEIR MARRIED

user ima go cry this is so cute

user a little baby

lancestroll the baby of the paddock

+more comments

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀs ɴᴏᴛᴇ

hey if you made it this far 😉 I will be posting when I can sorry for disappearing for like a year but I’m slowly getting back into doing these again and much love to those who’ve supported me and came back to read these 🥰🥰🥰 also idk if this story made sense

anyways peace out hope you enjoyed😘

#f1 one shot #formula one imagine #f1 social media au #max verstappen social media au #max verstappen instagram au #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #yuki tsunoda #landonorris #charles leclerc #formula one social media au #formula one x y/n #formula one x reader #formula 1

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eddiesxangel · 1 year ago

Text

Never Have I Ever… | E.M x Virgin!Reader

TJ’s 2K Request celebration!

@nailbatanddungeon : “I have a request for youuu. Okay, this is Eddie x Virgin!reader, reader is still new to everything, but there is one thing that the reader needs but is scared to push because the reader is TOUCH STARVED (So am I)”

Cw: reader and Eddie are in their mid to late 20’s, touch starved virgin!reader, angst, fluff, alcohol, throwing up(too much alcohol consumption), hangovers, fingering, oral (f receiving), p in v, protected sex. Friends to lovers

WC: 3.1k

I hope you enjoy!! 💗

“You’ll get there; you’re just a late bloomer, is all”

A late bloomer, you’ve heard it your whole life- and you’re sick of it. Sick of feeling behind in life? You’re in your twenties now and getting absolutely shit-faced because you’ve never done anything in this game of never have I ever.

You, Nancy, Steve, Eddie, Robin, Jonathan, and a few others were at the block party, and you somehow ended up involved in the juvenile game.

“Never have I ever kissed the same gender,” you drank.

“Never have I ever dumped anyone,” you drank.

“Never have I ever smoked weed,” you drank.

“Never have I ever said the wrong name in bed.” That’s rich because you’ve never been in a bed with anyone to begin with.

You hadn’t relized how much you’ve had to drink until you stood up.

“Woah, you okay?” You hear Nancy speak as you wobble.

You had wanted to get up and get more to drink because, unlike the others, your cup was empty.

“Yeah.” You tried to get out, but it sounded more like a grunt to the others.

Ignoring their protests, you stumbled your way back to the kitchen, feeling sorry for yourself.

You fumble with the lid of the hard liquor bottle until a strong ring-clad hand clasps over yours. You freeze, pissed off and embarrassed, knowing who the hand belongs to.

Even in your inebriated state, you get that same feeling whenever he is around you. You feel the heat in your cheeks instantly as the butterflies in your stomach irrupts.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Sweetheart.”

You look down, not wanting to see the look on his face.

“I don’t care” you slur. God, you will hate yourself in the morning.

Of all people, it had to be Eddie to come and check on you?

That’s how he was—always worried, always babying you because you “weren’t experienced in life,” according to his words, and it made you mad! It made you seem like a child, and you were sick of people treating you as such. You were a grown woman, you had a 9:00-5:00, an apartment, and a degree, but none of that mattered—not when it came to dating and love.

“Sweetheart, please, you need to slow down.”

“Why?” You rolled your eyes. “I’m a big girl I can handle my alcohol.” You huffed.

“I just think— "

"IM TIRED OF WHAT YOU THINK!" you've had enough. No one took you seriously, and you couldn't help that Eddie happened to be the only one to feel your wrath.

"Woah, okay-okay, I’m sorry."

“I’m sick of everyone treating me like a child!" the dam broke, and streams of mascara fell down your cheeks.

"I don't think you're a child." Eddie timidly reached out his comforting hand.

"Yes, you do."

"When have— "

"ANY TIME WE ARE OUT, EDDIE! Like last week at the bar, I was so close to getting that guy's number and you swooped in acting like my father!"

"Sweetheart I—"

"Don't sweetheart me!" You cut him off once again. "It's demeaning."

"y/n. Let me take you home. We can talk about this tomorrow."

"I don’t want to."

"Too bad we are going." Eddie no longer gave you a choice. He took your hand and started to pull you along with him.

You stumbled, tripping over your feet because your balance was gone completely.

“Woah, see my point exactly.”

“Shut up.” You mumble, and Eddie can’t help but stifle a laugh. You were so cute.

Eddie didn’t mean to make you think you were juvenile…. He admired you and wanted to protect you; you were a woman to him, all women. He liked you; he really liked you. The only reason he swoops in is because he doesn’t want you with anyone who isn’t him, not because he doesn’t think you’re not capable… He dreams about how capable you can be. He just didn’t have the balls to say it to your face.

The thought of you not having any experience never even crossed his mind. He still had no clue you’d never been intimate with someone; he didn’t even know how inexperienced you were until the game. He watched and raised an unknowing brow each time you took a gulp.

Eddie took your keys from your hands and unlocked your front door for you. The whole car ride had been eerily silent. You didn’t dare speak a word without the threat of vomit coming up with it.

You silently stumbled into your home. Eddie followed closely behind. He helped you take off your sneakers. He led you to the bathroom and found some makeup wipes to help you take off your makeup, but halfway through, you turned to the toilet as the tequila made its way back up.

That’s when you broke; you were so embarrassed. “What’s wrong with me?” You cried.

“Nothing is wrong with you, swee-.” But he cut himself off, remembering that you scolded him earlier in the evening.

“Yes, there is something wrong with me! Nobody wants me.”

“That’s not true.” Eddie stroked the back of your head as you emptied out the contenders of your stomach into the porcelain bowl.

“Then why am I still a virgin?!” You sobbed.

Eddie was stunned, speechless. He had no idea. He just thought you didn’t like sharing your sex life, not that you didn’t have one.

So he let you cry into his chest. Your tears stained his shirt, but he didn’t care; he was here to take care of you.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” he guided you after he helped you ride your mouth out.

You crashed as soon as your head hit the pillow. Eddie thought of leaving but was worried you would need him if you woke up, so he took the couch.

You awoke with a throbbing pain pounding in your head. You were never drinking again. The night was murky; you started remembering bits and pieces but not everything. You get up and notice the bottle of painkillers and a glass of water you definitely didn’t put there.

Then you remembered Eddie bringing you home and let out an aggravated groan. How could you have been so messy? And in front of Eddie, out of all people? Why couldn’t Robin and Nancy bring you home? What did you say to him? Were you mean? Did you yell at him? You remember crying, but the reasoning was foggy.

You begrudgingly take the water and pills and almost gag, trying to get them down, but you manage. You also smell like a minibar, so you strip and walk to your bathroom.

After a long hot shower, you get dressed and must put some food into your empty stomach.

You walked past a sleeping Eddie, not seeing him curled up in the living room, and started noisily making yourself some breakfast.

“Is that the way you wake up all your guests?”

You screamed as you threw the fork you had in fright.

“Eddie, what the fuck?!” You clench your chest as you take big breaths to calm your racing heart.

“Sorry, Angel”

Angel… that’s new? It’s always been sweetheart.

“I didn’t know you stayed?”

“Yeah… you um. Were in pretty rough shape last night, I didn’t want you to be alone... so I slept in the couch. I hope that’s okay”

“Thank you, Eddie, I’m sorry I ruined your night.” You looked down, ashamed.

“You didn’t ruin it.” He shook his head.

“Well, I owe you one,” you giggle awkwardly. Eddie and you hardly ever hang out one-on-one.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like absolute shit.” You hand Eddie a black coffee.

“Yeah, well, you really went hard in that game of never have I ever.”

You met out a moan of embarrassment. Your memory came flooding back.

Mortification consumed you as you didn’t want to look Eddie in the eyes. You cried in his arms last night after you puked your guys out.

“Oh god”

“It’s okay, Angel. Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“What happened to sweetheart?” You tried to change the subject.

“You said it was demeaning…”

“Oh god, I did?” You peek up and see Eddie silently nod his head yes.

“I’m sorry, it’s not… I like the nickname. I just…. I was feeling so emotional last night, and the alcohol.” You tried not to gag at the thought.

“S’all good.” He shrugged. But he was replaced to hear you liked being called sweetheart. It suited you; he didn’t call anyone else that, either. It was reserved just for you.

“Um, so about last night, you mentioned nobody wanting you….” Oh god, was he really doing this now? “I don’t think that’s true.” Yes, he was.

“Huh?” You sit up, taking a sip of your coffee.

“You cried about how you didn’t think anyone wanted you, but it’s not true… I want you.”

Did you hear that right? Did you get water in your ears from the shower?

“You do?” Your eyes widen.

“Yeah,” he looks at you sheepishly.

“Oh?” You were in shock.

“Shit-I-I’m sorry, I ruined everything.” Eddie stood up, but you stood up with him, not wanting him to leave.

“No, Eddie, wait!” You grab his shoulder and turn him to face you. You couldn’t let him leave, not now.

“Sweeetheart, please let me be mortified in peace.”

“Kiss me.”

Eddie stares at you before you tell him one more time.

“Kiss me, Eddie.”

Then you feel his hands grip the back of your head and pull you in.

You didn’t think anything could cure your hangover but this comes pretty damn close.

You melt into his touch, his hands cup your head, your hands find his waist. It feels right, so right you think you’re floating.

No one had kissed you in what felt like years, and maybe it had been, but it was worth the wait.

Hands danced around one another’s bodies, and tongues and teeth clashed. It was messy; it was needy.

“Woah woah woah, sweetheart, hold on.” Eddie pulled back breathlessly.

“What’s wrong?” You look up at him, concerned…. Had he changed his mind?

“I think we should slow down.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Sweetheart, it’s okay. We have time.”

“No.” You shook your head. “I’ve waited long enough.”

“Sweetheart, I don’t think—"

"No! I need this, I want this." You look him dead in the eyes.

"You tell me if you want to stop, okay? Promise me."

"Okay, Eddie."

Eddie waists, not another second to take you in a feverish kiss. His hands roam your body, landing on your ass. It excites you so much you can feel the familiar tingling ruminating lower and lower.

You moan his name and press your whole body into his; you need to feel him, all of him… and you can. His hard cock is digging into your hip bone, and you connect your bodies.

Stumbling back without breaking the kiss, Eddie leads you to your bedroom. You fall backwards onto your bed with a gasp.

hovering above you is Eddie. You can see the lust behind his eyes as he scans your body.

"If im doing anything you don't like, tell me. This is about you, okay?"

“Okay,” you breathe as he lowers down to his knees. You watch his hands run up the tops of your thighs before spreading them wider so he can have access to where he wants you the most.

Running his fingers down your centre, you can’t help but moan at the feeling. You are greedy; you want to feel everything all at once.

Wasting no more time, you pull down the stretchy waistband of your pants and yank your underwear down with it. No time to be self-conscious- the need to feel Eddie fueled your desire.

“Beautiful,” Eddie whispered as he left a trail of kisses up your thigh, hovering just above your mound.

“Can I taste you?”

“Yes, please. Take care of me, I want it so bad,” You whine desperately. If you weren’t so horny, you’d be embarrassed by your words, but with Eddie, everything felt right.

Eddie’s lips latched into your soaked pussy, and you watched as his eyes rolled back in enjoyment. He didn’t hold back; he wanted this to be the best head of your life, even if it’s the only head of your life. You grip his hair in your fist, not expecting the pleasure to ripple through you so quickly.

“Taste so good, sweetheart; I wanna live in this pussy.”

“Oh god!” You cry as a single digit breaches your wanton hole.

Slowly, with his tongue and his finger pumping into you, you’re nearly there. Considering how long you’ve waited for this moment, it doesn't take much more. You’re cumming within minutes.

“Good girl, you okay?” he slaps the inside of your thigh and your body jerks.

“More,” you beg. It wasn’t enough; nothing would be able to satiate you until his cock was deep inside you.

“You sure? We can stop if you’re not ready”

“Need you now.” You grab him by the shirt collar and pull him towards you for a searing kiss.

“Okay,” he mumbles into your mouth, crawling up your body.

You loved the feel of his weight on top of you, consuming you with every kiss.

“Want you, Eddie” you moan as your hands toy with the hem of his shirt.

“You have me.” He dips his head lower to caress your throat with his lips.

Your breath hitches when you feel his teeth scrape across your soft, delicate skin.

Eddie didn’t lift his head until he was satisfied with the dark mark left on your neck.

When he unlatched from your throat, you demanded he take his clothes off.

Eddie loved your eagerness; he saw a spunk in you that he could only have dreamed of.

You also removed the rest of your clothing as he stripped.

When Eddie removed his last layer over his head, he couldn’t help but ogle your body, the way your head sunk into the pillows, your breasts, your soaked pussy on display for him. He was devouring you with his eyes.

You motion him to you with a single finger, breaking him out of the trace you put him under.

“God, you’re so beautiful.” Eddie was like a feline the way he crawled up on the bed to you.

The heat rushed to your cheeks; somehow, this felt more intimate than what he was doing between your legs a moment ago.

“I want you,” you repeat yourself.

Eddie cups your face, and you cup his in return. His eyes bore into your soul, leaving not a trace unturned as he searched your entire being before kissing you one more.

You moan into his mouth, and Eddie’s cock grazes your mound collecting your slick as his hips ground into you.

“Ready?” He asked desperately; he needed to be inside of you.

“Yes.”

He quickly got up and you moaned,

“What are you?- oh,” you blush

You see him reach for his pants pocket for his wallet as he pulls out a condom.

Quickly he rips it open, and your mouth waters as he rolls it over his cock. This is the first time you’re seeing what he looks like down there, and you’re getting nervous because how is that supposed to fit?

“Sweetheart? You'll be okay.” He smirks.

Cocky, shit.

“If I have to ask you again, I’m going to do this myself.” You huffed.

“Oh really? How do you suppose that?” He pounced back on top of you.

“I have my toys.”

Eddie’s head drops back. “We will get back to that later. Now I’m going to fuck you.”

“Finally”

Eddie doesn’t respond. He just slowly slides his cock through your slick folds collecting your natural lube before inching his way inside of you.

“I need you to relax, sweetheart.” You naturally clench around him. He was so tickled and long. Never had you felt so full, but little did you know Eddie was only a quarter-way in.

“Fuck you’re big,” you gasp.

“No need to stroke my ego, baby girl”

That made your pussy clench down again.

“Oh, you like that?”

You nod your head, yes, unable to speak.

“Noted”

You could kill him if he wasn’t making you feel so good.

“Eddie!” You scream as he finally reaches the hilt, gripping him like a koala you don’t want to let go.

“Fuck, this pussy is so tight” Eddie slowly works his hips in and out of you; with each thrust, you can feel his bush brush against your clit, and it sends a tingle down your spine.

You moan in response; everything feels like it is on fire; never had you expected this level of sex. No wonder everyone is obsessed with it.

“Harder”

“You sure”

“Yes, god yes!”

Eddie's hips snap into you with such force your head almost hits the headboard. The bed is rocking; you have never experienced something so wanted, so needed, so absolutely taken over by someone else.

“Eddie! Eddie! Eddie!” You chant his name, which only makes him go harder. His fingers dug into your hips, gripping you so hard, not ever wanting to let you go.

“Fuck me, this pussy s'good.” He spits through his teeth. His primal side is showing, and you can't get enough.

Nothing can again amount to this amount of pleasure; you're ruined for life.

"You close, baby girl?" Edie smirks when he feels you clamp don't on his cock when he spits out the words.

A guttural moan is unleashed from your throat in response because, god, you're so close.

The pressure building inside of you is about to burst as Eddie's calloused fingers find your sensitive clit.

"Come on baby, I know you gotta another one for me. I know you do."

Eddies words tipped you over the edge. Your body seized as his thick cock continued to pump into your greedy pussy. Your orgasm took over, and Eddie watched you silently scream for him.

Before you became overstimulated, Eddie also came shortly after, only a few more pumps, and he spilled himself into the condom.

With Eddie beside you huffing and puffing, you couldn't wipe the stupid grin off your face.

"That good, huh?"

"I don't want to stroke your ego, but yeah... fuck me" You hid your face.

"I just did." Eddie rolled over to kiss all over your face and you can't help but giggle.

"I hope we can do that again," you shy away.

"Oh, we are one thousand percent doing that again. "

Tagging some mooties: @littlexdeaths @xxbimbobunnyxx @voyeurmunson @rowanswriting @lofaewrites

@starkeysprincess @strangerstilinski @taintedcigs @mmunson86 @paybacksawitch @stardancerluv

#Eddie Munson x you #Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson smut #Eddie Munson x female reader #Eddie Munson x virgin!reader #Eddie Munson imagine

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