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starlitscars · 9 months ago

Text

Made of ice

Jackson era! Joel Miller x F! Reader

Summary: One stormy night in the safety of Wyoming, it occurs to Joel that even though life has turned his heart into a slab of ice, there's a soft, melting spot buried deep inside... Only reserved for you.

Word count: 5.2k

Masterlist

Tags/warnings: MDNI, NSFW, implied age gap, canon-typical violence, Joel Miller needs his own warning, protective! Joel, soft! Joel, angst, fluff, smut, finger sucking, fingering, pet names, praise kink, language, no use of y/n, soft dom! Joel, negative thoughts, dea*h wish, self-doubt, self-confidence issues, Joel is a sweetheart here (but he doesn't think he's worthy of peace), rain, lots of rain, lightning, stormy weather, kinda established relationship, let me know if a tag has gone unnoticed.

Author's note: This is my very first attempt at writing for Joel Miller. I've had the idea in my mind for a few weeks now and it's hard to resist when it comes to him (did I say Pedro Pascal?) So I hope the details are accurate and if you decide to read this one shot, I hope you enjoy it as much as I did while writing it. If you want to be mutuals, I'll be more than glad <3

Divider by: saradika-graphics

Made of ice

You should've seen what you made of him.

The calm, slow beats in his chest are strikingly different from how he remembers them. In fact, he vaguely recalls the way those racing, dreadful patterns had carved themselves into his memory. With a rigid heart made of ice, it was nearly impossible to find the pulse in him, even at his most frightened, disappointed state.

Joel used to walk into the face of danger with a rifle clutched in his dying grip, a life to save and thousands to destroy, and in all those moments any sign of life was nonexistent in him. There used to be rage, hatred, regret, and frustration... Oh lots of frustration, running through the veins in his body. He used to walk, talk, and breathe. But he wasn't alive.

Now he doesn't find it in himself to call it miracle. But somewhere between the lines, you happened. You happened and fuelled the dying fire in the far corner of his heart. He used to keep it empty and dark, like a deserted house with no furniture, a perfect place for the noises in his head to become loud and maybe help him stand the never-ending days of what everyone called life.

You entered his life and now most of what he feels in these old veins is warmth, safety and attachment. Yes, he doesn't call it miracle, because his past doings are too stained and unforgivable to deserve a miracle. To deserve you. The real miracle. The fathomable idea of what it feels to be alive.

Joel feels alive.

Some days, it feels like his wretched past is clawing its way back into his mind, calling those demons to end his days of peace with you. Some nights, he's restless... So terribly restless. What if you get injured on your next patrol? What if the Raiders attack you when you're out of the gates of Jackson? What if something bad happens to you the moment his eyes close? What if these damn what ifs come to life? This old mind tricks him into seeing pictures of what has never happened and probably never will. You always assure him that you'll be careful. He trusts you and your abilities, but he does not trust his fears. Because if life is too good, it scares him.

It scares Joel Miller, way more than it would if he was trapped in a dark room with all of his fears and demons creeping on the cold hard floor towards him. He'd rather spend every day fighting off the Clickers and Raiders and every nasty threat out there, instead of pacing around the room and waiting to see if your patrols end well or not.

So he has no choice but to either convince Tommy to pick him as your patrol partner every damn time you have to do it – which he makes sure is as limited as possible – or occasionally keep an eye on you from a distance and let his thoughts consume him at the same time. Just like what he's doing now.

His persistence in being close to you tends to earn him annoyed eye rolls and "She's more capable than that, Joel." comments from his brother... almost all the time. But he simply can't help it, and he thinks that you know it. Because you never complain nor haul him over the coals for his instincts and worries and the immense amount of care his rigid heart feels for you. He's silently thankful for that understanding.

You are safe here, he thinks. Even though he feels restless, his heartbeat has never been this calm. He sits and watches you on nights like this and there's only one thought ringing in his head. All the scolding is worth it. You're sprawled out peacefully on the bed. His bed. It must be straight out of a fucking impossible dream. You're here, in his atmosphere, in his menacing, guilty, dark presence... And you have chosen it knowingly. It's all he can ever ask for.

The dim moonlight is swimming in through the curtains, casting a soft, silvery shadow over your face. Your hair is falling all around you like you're knowingly doing it... Posing for an artist just to paint this delicate beauty on a canva.

Despite his bitter mood, a content smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. Tearing his gaze from you, he downs the remaining whiskey and silently places the empty glass on the table, deciding that he needs a short walk to free his troubled mind. One morning, Maria woke up and decided that Joel needs to stay behind and help Tommy in fixing the issues in the town's only library. So you should have another partner for your patrol days for god knows how long. He fucking hates being told what to do. He fought tooth and nail to prevent that, and if you weren't there to stop him, he would as well turn the mess hall into another ruin that needed to be fixed – which only meant more time away from you.

So it's going to take only two weeks, at worst. Only a terrible fortnight before things go back to normal. It's almost unbelievable how you have managed to awaken a sense of normalcy in him that he hasn't known in decades. Your absence is an instant threat to this normal life.

Maybe it's about time he gets used to it. He's not that weak. He shouldn't let his angers and worries run him. More importantly, he shouldn't ruin your much needed sleep with his usual problems right now. You've still got the weekend. He'll take a walk and be back here before you as much as stir in your deep slumber.

Oh. The damn library.

...

Jackson is eerily quiet in the middle of the night, enveloped by darkness and as isolated as it can be in this corner of the world. It's a stark contrast to how busy the whole community is during the daylight – bustling with happy greetings, careless jokes, movie days, small parties, and lots of work to do. It all asks for social interaction and he deeply hates it.

He hates when every passer-by's attention turns to you every time you step out in the open. He hates how prying eyes rove up and down your frame every time you walk into the bar. He hates how... He shakes his head, almost rolling his eyes at the loudness of these thoughts. Joel has to remind himself that he is the one you hold onto and introduce to everyone in every social gathering. The proud gleam in your eyes always placates him. There's no need to break a jaw in this town... Perhaps.

Lights flicker by the porches and the sound of his boots on the ground is the only sound that disturbs the silence. The sky is clouding over, distantly promising another stormy night in its gloomy wake. Occasional flashes of lightning light up the road and before Joel knows it, he's passing by the Tipsy Bison. It's 3 past midnight, no wonder why its doors are locked and closed. Either way he comes to a halt, letting the gears turn in his head as he opts for a very familiar path.

Your house. It's a short walk away from the bar.

Joel still recalls that day. How long has it been? Five, six, seven months? It feels like yesterday to him.

He'd had a terrible conversation with Tommy, not at all the way he'd planned it on his first day in Jackson. Things got heated up pretty quickly, leaving a bitter taste of rejection lingering on his tongue, the burn of the whiskey only worsening his mood.

"Just because life stopped for you, doesn't mean it has to stop for me..."

The words were ringing in his head as he stormed out of the bar. Shrugging his jacket on, all he wanted was to walk as far away from that area as possible. This affronted, begrudging, irrational sting was boiling in him and in that moment he was more than ready to leave the gates of Jackson even if it called for more danger. Life had really ended for him years ago, but to hear it from Tommy right after the hell he'd went through to find him... It really hurt.

The pain was resurfacing in rapid tides.

If his boots could dig deeper, get stuck in the snow and propel him into the cold biting blanket of the earth, he'd welcome it. If life had really ended for him, he had to make it make sense by ending himself as well. This... There was this distant melody echoing in the air and cutting through his troubled thoughts. The wind was harsh against his ears, and each step brought the melody closer.

It really could be the last song that played before his funeral.

Joel was surrounded by all the colors, and all he could see was white, eyes fixed on the ground. He didn't pay much attention as he bumped into someone. He barely lifted his head to apologize, and then his gaze settled on the crackling fire on the left side of the road.

Red and orange and yellow hues. It was a fresh contrast. His eyes were hurting from all the white snow.

He came to a halt, mindlessly waving at the person he'd bumped into. A dozen of kids had gathered around the burning logs in a barrel on the porch, rubbing their hands together and listening to the same melody he was entranced by. The same melody that he thought would be his burial hymn.

Joel's eyes followed their excited faces, wondering who they were looking at. He saw you mirroring their hopeful gleams first, and then he registered the guitar on your lap.

To make the matters worse, you had tilted your head, shooting him a funnily quizzical look. He might've looked weird back then. The town's newcomer, with a permanent scowl on his face, maybe plotting murder as well (considering that it was the main topic in all the words that already flew around about him).

He didn't answer, still dead in his tracks as if he was immobilized by some invisible force. So you shifted in your seat, silently offering him a spot among the children as if to say "You can come over and join us."

He had two choices in that moment, either a polite decline was on the table or a dismissive frown. He looked over his shoulder at the bar and finally opted for the third choice – or so his mind created another choice for him – and he nodded, joining in on your little gathering without as much as saying a word. He really wanted to hear that song.

He never asked whether you knew the words to that song, but that night when he lay in bed and his thoughts were far from the idea that he wanted to bury himself in the snow, he vaguely remembered the lyrics. And it hit him hard, like a punch to the gut.

Yeah, I don't want to hurt

There's so much in this world

To make me bleed

Stay with me

Let's just breathe

Stay with me

You're all I see

He wanted to ignore how the words affected him in the middle of the night. It was the first night he could feel some semblance of peace, not sleeping with an eye open in case someone attacked them. Ellie was safe in another room. So he really considered that. He considered the possibility of staying. He was relatively new to the community... And so damn unaccustomed to the whole arrangement. He almost woke up the next morning and started packing before he remembered where he was.

Stay with me

Let's just breathe

Those words stuck with him.

And his first encounter with you was a harbinger of different things to come.

One day of patrolling with you led to another, one night of inviting you for a drink led to another. One peaceful afternoon in the stable led to another. One gloomy evening in the clinic did not lead to another. He was way too protective of you to let that happen again.

He truly feels lucky. You could be anywhere else, better off if you picked anyone other than this grumpy, old man. And yet you still want him. You silly girl. You've melted his heart with your warmth.

But he's like a lake, deserted in the middle of a haunted forest and engulfed in coldness. Even though the center is warm and gooey, he keeps the surface frozen and rigid and menacing. Hard enough to keep his instincts sane and alarmed. Cold enough to let everyone know that you're his and he will not fucking share.

Lightning strikes again in the sky.

He lifts himself up and off your front stairs with a heavy grunt. An hour has passed since he left for a walk. The clouds have fully gathered in the sky and he thinks that he should be by your side now.

Joel really cares little for the details, always asking Tommy and Ellie to spare him the explanation and get straight to the point. But with you, it's hard to forget a couple of things. One night, a few weeks ago, you were pulling him past the threshold of your house. So adorably drunk and inviting. He was still a little pissed by how the rainstorm had ruined your nightly walk. Despite your complaints about sharing a kiss in the rain, he'd dragged you back to the nearest shelter possible, because he just didn't want to get fucking soaked. Joel didn't find it romantic at all. He was frowning, still pinning you against the wall for a begrudgingly needy kiss. You giggled into his mouth, playful fingers pocking at his chest. "Come on Joel. Let yourself enjoy it... All these neverending drops on the roof, the fresh earthy scent that comes after it... It's just really beautiful. One of the few things that kept me sane before I came here..."

He's not really against the idea. But the changing weather doesn't bode well with him. One day is sunny, and the next is rainy and it just goes to show how he has no power over the situation.

Hell. A part of Joel is really terrified of the changing weather. One day it was scorching hot, and the next his boots crunched against the white blankets of neverending snow, reprimanding him for his carelessness. Time would pass whether he wanted to or not. He is still terrified, wishing he could stretch the time he could spend with you. God knows he wants an eternity with you.

He has seen enough rain for a lifetime. He hasn't seen you enough. How could he enjoy getting soaked in tiny drops of water when all he wanted was to bury his face in the crook of your neck and stay there for a while – maybe forever and a little more?

But he has considered it since then. If there are a few things that keep you happy and rainy days have to be one of them, he'll give you that. He'll get used to that. There's no pattern with the rainfall in here, and the weather forecast is pretty much nonexistent. He has promised himself to tell you whenever it rains, even though he despises the idea of you catching a cold after minutes or hours of dancing in the cold, letting droplets of water wash over you without a care in this wretched world.

He also despises the idea of waking you up.

But he knows you'll like it. You careless, adorable girl. He lives to see that excited gleam in your eyes. Everytime you show it, this old heart pounds impatiently in his chest and it all feels like the first time it has happened.

He's back home in no time.

So, kicking his boots off as silently as possible, he trudges over and settles down by the edge of the bed, suppressing a low groan. His knees still ache from all the never-ending effort he's put in repairing the library over the past few days. Jesus, he just wants it to be done as soon as possible. It feels like he's losing so much time when he's away from you. Now that you're still pretty much asleep in the same position he last saw you, all Joel wants is to lie down by your side and melt in your warm embrace instead of having to fight with his thoughts and the world to not take away yet another precious piece of him. He can't afford to even think about losing you.

Each flash of lightning illuminates the contours of your beautiful face and he can't help himself when he lifts a hand and lets his knuckles gently stroke your cheek. Your lips are parted ever so slightly and you look so innocent in your unconscious dream. He almost backs down, part of him hoping that it rains throughout the day, just so he doesn't guilt trip himself for the pout on your face if you miss it. You need to rest.

As if you sense his hesitation, you stir in bed and lean into his touch. A low hum escapes you, and Joel is too weak to deny himself the softness it brings. His wounded knuckles are soon replaced with a calloused thumb and he wonders what's so interesting about these hands that never ceases to catch your attention.

One night at the bar, Joel had caught you actually staring at them and when he teased you a little about it, you just shrugged and grinned mischievously. "I mean... I just like them so much. Your hands are always warm, and... and that's all."

He shrugged it off that night. Ellie had also considered it a flex for him to have warm hands even in the coldest days of winter, but with you and the way you looked at him... It was different. He knew it was more than that.

And when the nights he shared with you went further than his sinful thoughts had planned, you showed him that it was more than that. It was more than the warmth you found there. If anything, your helpless whimpers were an indication of how capable and strong these hands were.

Heat blooms in his chest. It simply is endearing. The way you always seem to recognize his touch and send his head spiraling with the idea that you want him to do more. You've never been afraid of him. You've never pushed him away. You've never judged him for the horrible things he's done. Jesus, it should terrify him. Joel should've pushed you away at some point, because he knows you'd be better off without him, but how could he muster the strength to do so? Since that fateful moment on your porch, your presence keeps on inviting him for more. More than simply existing. And God, if you knew how he wants to do more than that every second of the day... Only if the world lets him breathe a little.

There's another bolt of lightning and raindrops finally begin to drum against the window pane.

Joel shakes his head to get rid of those worrisome ideas. Propping himself on one elbow, he leans over ever so slightly and lets his thumb trace its way to your chin, up to your jawline, and then back to the soft skin on your cheek. He draws circles over the blooming flush and then his thumb is traveling down to your lower lip. Your mouth parts just a little more, breathing even and content and if he gets a grip on himself, he may notice that there's a ghost of a smile in there as well.

"Baby..." He whispers softly, his gaze drifting all over your adorable face. You really are a piece of art, tangled in the sheets, in the safety of his house, and your innocent hums are doing something to him. Some obscene voice that silently pleads for more. More and more... Just to give you more.

You stir a little more.

He leans over and places a gentle kiss on your forehead, the sweet, fruity scent he's come to like a lot about you engulfing his senses. He watches every little movement with amusement. "My sweet baby... You want to see what's waitin' for you outside."

"Joel," you mumble sleepily, voice drowsy and laced with a hint of confusion as you rub your eyes and stretch your arms before looking around the dark room with a quizzical expression on your face. It doesn't take long for the realization to hit you and the familiar gleam in your gaze makes him smile. You stare a him, wide-eyed. "Is it- again?"

He chuckles and gestures at the window. "Yes, a heavy one at that."

Again, there's that hum of delight as you follow his gaze. The pitter-patter of the rain cheers you up like a lollipop would do to a child. It's maddeningly adorable.

You should be running to the backyard by now, but instead you stare at him for a while. It's his turn to be confused. Your smile gets broader by each passing second as your delicate hands trace his face and run over the salt and pepper patches of his beard. When you playfully ruffle his hair, your eyes are still droopy and dreamy and so damn kissable that he just can't help himself.

His other hand fondles with a loose strand of hair beside you on the pillow before twirling it between his fingers. You bite your lower lip and lift your head just enough for a brief peck on the tip of his nose. He chuckles, letting his fingers draw a line over the column of your neck, down to your chest, and at last they disappear beneath the sheets, settling comfortably on the warm expanse of your belly.

Joel assumes that his presence is not too close to lock you in place, and yet not too loose to let you drift back into unconsciousness. You just have the perfect moment to escape. For goodness sake, rain is the one thing you choose over anything else. The thing you like a lot.

But you're still here, dazed eyes flickering all over his face and it just gives him a second thought. A new idea to test your patience. Seeing you still pinned under him and unmoving, was not really in his list when he decided to walk back home and wake you up. He chortles with amusement. If you want what he thinks you do, he could give you that... "Come on sweetheart, what's stoppin' you?"

His fingers drift lower, exploring the bare flesh of your thigh, right where his mouth was hours ago. Still as warm as he remembers, maybe a little bruised too. "It's all rainy outside. Ain't that what you wanted?"

"I know..." You mumble, an undertone of need sewn in your voice as you look down over the sheets that cover every movement of his hand. It's too dark for you to see anything anyway. He could easily toss the covers aside, but it's wickedly satisfying this way. "I'm- um, just feeling a little under the influence...and it's- uh, it's distracting."

His hand caresses its way to where he knows you need it the most, and you barely repress a shudder when his fingertips glide over your folds. But he barely feels you, a ghost of a touch hovering there as a smirk threatens to flicker at the corner of his mouth.

"Wonder if my hand's makin' a good influence or a bad one. What d'you say, baby?"

It pelts down steadily outside, but you don't seem to care the slightest about it. Neither does Joel. A low gasp emanates from you when his touch becomes proper, rubbing circles and spreading the slick over your clit as slow and unrushed as he physically can manage. You're still indecently wet after he'd brought you over the edge again and again before you dozed off... and the fact that some of his cum might be gathering in his hand is fueling his lewd thoughts.

You naughty girl.

"A very bad one, I see." He tuts, feeling your chest heaving up and down beneath him. It's easy to rile you up this way. Desperation is written in your expression... and he hasn't even started yet.

"She needs fixin', doesn't she?" Joel asks, bringing his movement to a sudden halt. You're too distracted by everything he does to form a coherent thought. He lifts an expectant brow, now actually waiting for an answer.

"Yes- yes Joel... need it so bad... so bad it hurts." You breathe, a helpless pout forming on your lips.

"I know baby. I know... Jus' lay down and let me take care of it, hm? How's that sound?" He demands again, but this time he doesn't give you a chance to respond as he pushes two fingers past your weeping hole, burying them knuckles deep within your warmth. You gasp at the sudden intrusion, eyelids heavy as you grasp his arm, squirming like a helpless, needy girl.

What a cruel man he is.

"Not off to a good start, angel. I know you can be more patient."

You nod quickly, biting your lip in an attempt to stop yourself from wriggling and twisting on the bed. For a split second, Joel considers pulling out to nuzzle his face between your legs and let the heat consume him. A perfect place to brave the cold, restless seasons.

But his fingers aren't shy either. He starts with slow thrusts, effortlessly sliding in and out before picking up the pace. He makes you adjust to his rhythm, and when you let go and open up, the obscene moans and chocked out cries are all that fill the silence of the house. Jesus, he lives to hear them every day. He rewards you by curling his fingertips to hit that spot that makes you see stars.

You shudder particularly hard at that, more arousal pooling inside you and soaking his fingers. You're losing your grip with reality, and he can sense it as your legs begin to shake and your knee brushes over the denim of his jeans, but you still remember to abide by his "No squirming" rule.

You're so pliant and obedient in his hands that it does nothing but to spur Joel to give you more. And so he does.

"I like these sounds," He adds a third finger, tilting his head to whisper in your ear. "I dream about them all the time."

You whimper and tighten your hold around Joel's arm. When he feels that your orgasm is creeping impossibly close, his thumb joins and rubs rapid circles over your bundle of nerves and that's your undoing. You clench around him, walls tightening and squeezing his fingers deeper – if that's even possible – as waves of white-hot euphoria crash over your worn-out body and take over your senses. Your back arches involuntarily into him. A sound between a groan and a curse escapes his throat.

"That's it. Atta girl... that's it, so fuckin' beautiful."

His touch is unrelenting as he talks you through it with a string of sweet nothings.

Only when you come down and rest back on the bed he slowly pulls out. You're panting heavily, face flushed and heated and so effortlessly seductive that Joel is sure no fucking artist could ever capture it in words of a poem or colors of a painting. Joel is the only one to witness this moment and it swells his chest with pride. He wants to drink it in, let it run through his veins like never-ending liquor.

He lifts his hand, smirking as you gape at the way it's glistening under the dim light. You're in awe. He softly places the tips between your swollen lips and you waste no time in swirling your tongue around them, licking the slick off as if it's a delightful lollipop. And the hazy look on your face says that it's more than just a sweet treat.

His own breathing hitches when you open your mouth a little wider and take him fully in, sucking and humming and driving him absolutely crazy. He shakes his head slightly, catching the playful gleam in your gaze.

"Hm. Still a very bad influence."

When you're fully recovered and satisfied, Joel lifts you up in his arms and walks towards the backyard, chuckling at your confused expression. You give a squeal and wrap your hands around his neck to keep yourself steady, at the same time trying to gauge what his next plan would be. You really have forgotten about the rain, haven't you?

He comes to a halt, making sure the blanket he'd just picked off the bed is not leaving any part of your body uncovered. The rainstorm has eased off considerably over the past hour, but he doesn't want to risk it. Keeping you warm and safe in the cold is and will always be his top priority, no matter if his back or knees protest from how much they ache. Hell, he aches for you and that content smile on your face. Nothing beats it.

"My girl still wants to go out, hm?"

Your eyes flicker between him and the half-open door, filled with excitement and delight and a tiny flicker of doubt. "Yes Joel... but...you sure you want to join in?"

"I don't know," He feigns innocence, pretending to think for a short while before his face lights up with an idea. "Do I get a kiss for it?"

You laugh and lean up to press your lips into his in a soft, lingering kiss. It's so tender and reassuring that he has to pull back before changing his mind and taking you back to the bed.

"Then it's settled."

It has been settled for a long time.

Maybe he can get used to it. Maybe you get a better idea of what you've made of him with your presence at times when he easily complies with things that make you happy. A heart made of ice, molten enough to experience the world with you all over again. Even if he gets soaked in the rain, he's alright with it. You kiss him and all the discomfort is forgotten.

He should give it time and learn to breathe again. Learn to stay, to settle. To let you know that you're all he sees.

Yeah, I don't want to hurt

There's so much in this world

To make me bleed

Stay with me

Let's just breathe

Stay with me

You're all I see

The words are carved in his head. He chances a glance at the living room before walking past the door. Your guitar is placed on the couch. Maybe one day he'll bring himself to play his melodies for you too. He thinks that he's got a lot of time for it now. He wants an eternity with you, and in this wretched world, eternity lasts as long as you'll have him.

One, two... Ten droplets fall over him. He kisses you again, harder and longer. His ice-cold heart melts just a little more at your careless laughter. Just stay with me.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller one shot #the last of us #joel miller smut #tommy miller #ellie miller #pedro pascal characters #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst

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thinkinonsense · 10 months ago

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old!logan and his obsession with the cute diner girl *mdni

a/n: this is my first attempt at writing something smutty so if it sucks im sorry lmao also if any writers have any tips please share! :)

logan has been around for long enough to know when a woman is attracted to him. there was a certain essence given off that was always a dead giveaway. usually it came from women close to the age he looked like and it tended to be brief moments of lust before all hope was lost. this was until he met you.

the pretty young girl working at the diner during her time off from college. everyday, he came in and ordered a black coffee. the coffee wasn't even that good but logan would spend two dollars every single day of his life if it came with the view of you bending over in that tiny uniform skirt.

logan would watch you for hours while he drank and skimmed the news paper alone in a booth. your hair was always up in either a ponytail or held together with a hair clip. he loved seeing your pretty handwriting as you scribbled on your notepad, taking orders. it was part of your job to be nice to everyone but you were especially nice to him. even your friends began to notice how you would linger by his table, constantly topping off his coffee mug and making small talk; sometimes giving him a slice of cherry pie on the house.

"don't you think he's kinda old for you?" one of your friends whispers to you behind the counter.

it's stung but you suppose she had a point. what would a man old enough to be your father want with a young wild girl like yourself?

"i-i guess so?" you stuttered, embarrassed at your previous attempt at flirting with him.

the rest of the night, you hoped he would leave before close so you could have some time alone with your feelings. summer was almost over and you would go back to the city soon. it was time to forget these silly fantasizes.

by ten, all the other waitresses went home except you, the older woman in the back who counted the drawer every night, and a few of the cooks. the only customer still there was logan. he flipped through one of the books he brought with him; still sipping away at that damn coffee.

"isn't it getting a little late for you, sweetheart?" he asked nonchalantly, not even looking up at you as you bent over to scrub the table next to his. the fifth table you've cleaned in the last hour and the second time you've cleaned that specific table. logan noticed but you didn't.

"need the hours." you mumble, frustrated by a stubborn stain. all logan could focus on was your scrunched nose and how your tight top pushed your boobs together just right for his viewing. "college is fucking expensive plus grants and scholarships only cover so much."

"hmm.." logan grunts. grants? scholarship? what a goody fucking two shoes, logan thought to himself. "if you bring me piece of pie, i think i can help you out."

you lean off the table and go get what's left in the glass container. it's probably a little hard so you definitely didn't plan on charging him for it. you sit the plate down in front of him and before you could turn around to walk away, logan reaches for your wrist softly.

"join me." he offers.

you knew you shouldn't but what was really the harm? at least your friends weren't here to make fun of you. the radio played quietly on an older station while you watched logan take a bite of the pie.

"why did your friends leave you here alone?" he asked, watching your face turn sour at the memory of them.

"don't wanna talk about it." your voice was small in the empty diner.

"why? think an old man like me can't relate to it?" logan chuckles. your thighs squeeze together without thinking. so much for not embarrassing yourself.

"no, no, not that." you shake your head and a strand of hair falls from your bun. "just sort of juvenile, you know?"

logan could tell that you were trying to come off more mature around him. you didn't want him to see you as some college kid.

"juvenile, how?" he eggs on, pushing down his glasses a bit.

god, those glasses got to you; and logan knew it.

"they don't understand how i feel about someone." you sigh.

"how do you feel about this person?" logan noticed you now avoiding his gaze, not liking it one bit. "eyes on me, princess."

the nickname caught you off guard like a dear in headlight; blinking and trembling up at logan. something logan enjoyed very much and could get used to.

"it's not important, just some stupid crush." you lie through your teeth. "they will forget about me in a month."

"why don't you think it'll work?" he cocks his head to the side a bit. "you're a pretty young thing, dollface. anyone of those college boys would be lucky to be wrapped around your little finger."

"i don't want college boys." you mumble, slightly annoyed by the memory of your friends.

logan felt himself getting hard at you admitting you had a taste for someone older. his eyes grew dark as he leaned in a little over the table.

"then what do you want?"

your moment to answer was interrupted by the older woman from the back, releasing you to go home for the evening. this was your chance to get up and leave before you admitted anything else that you would regret.

both of you stood up. logan threw down some cash while you went to collect your stuff behind the counter.

"i'll see you tomorrow, lo-"

"you didn't answer the question."

"i must go now if i want to catch the last train."

logan worried about you taking the train back to your apartment alone this late at night. usually you drive back but your car has been in the shop for almost three days now. he would watch you get to your car every night to make sure you were safe.

"i can drive you home." logan offers.

you shouldn't be this excited to be sitting in a strangers truck alone at night but here you were. the two of you sat in silence for a few minutes before logan brought up the conversation from the diner again. what did you even want?

"i want someone who understands me..." you begin rattling off the first things that come to mind when you notice logan's hand on your knee. you don't dare move.

"someone who is responsible..." with every word, his hand creeps higher and higher up your skirt. logan is more than pleased when he notices your legs spread on their own.

"someone who is m-mature..." logan's fingers inch towards the delicate skin of your inner thigh. there's no way this was happening, you thought as his index finger plays with the lace on the center of your pink underwear. he smirked at the wet spot front and center, waiting for him.

"treats me r-r-right." every word was a struggle to form as he stroked you softly. back and forth. back and forth.

logan nods along, not letting up down below. his index finger hooks onto your underwear, pulling it aside. you weren't even sure if you were breathing at this point; all this teasing was torture.

"p-p-please, logan..." you whine. "touch me."

his thumb rubs tiny circles on your button, adoring the way his name pours from your glossy lips. your hands fly to his wrists, needing more; nails digging into his skin in the most delicious way.

"where did this greediness come from?" logan groans, dipping his index finger inside of you. "what happened to that good girl from the diner?"

logan's finger barely fit in the tight space. your head fell back and a loud moan escaped you.

"oh, you weren't letting those college boys touch you at all, huh?" logan mocks, adding another finger and creating a steady pace.

"n-no!" you whine, lifting your hips a little.

"you were waiting for a real man to have his way with you, isn't that right, pretty girl?" he growls, pushing your hips back down.

you completely missed logan pulling off to the side of the road until now. his pace increases becoming rather rough now that he isn't driving. logan leaves deep purple bruises down your neck and across your chest, praising you to no end until you gush around his fingers, completely soaking his palm.

your heart pounded like you had just finished a marathon. logan allowed you to catch your breath as he carefully removed his fingers, bringing them up to his mouth to lick clean. he can feel your dazy eyes staring at him as he does so, making a real show of it.

"i've been wanting to do that for months now." he admits with a smirk.

"me too." you said, leaning forward and pulling him into a kiss; tasting yourself on his lips and tongue. logan wraps his hands around your hair, pulling you back a little when another moan falls from your lips.

"and we aren't even close to being done."

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mickyschumacher · 1 year ago

Text

[APHRODISIAC CHOCOLATES! PT.1]

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: they say you should learn something new every day. in oscar's case, he learns he should really read the fine prints. or in which oscar's secret santa gift comes into use. 𝐏𝐓. 𝟐 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄!

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+ (minors dni), protected sex (for the 1st time ever here) childhood lovers (bc oscar IS this trope), face sitting/riding + consent, p in v, teasing, oral sex, mutual orgasms, (over)consumption of aphrodisiacs, mentions of spiders :(

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: oscar piastri x gf!fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3k+

𝐀/𝐍: as usual, proofread-ish. for the majority who thought aphrodisiacs and oscar sounded good... hope you like it! ♡︎

🏎️ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | ⚽️𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Summer cleaning. You did it every January with Oscar when he came back home to Australia. The reasons you did it? Well, it gave you some peace and the pure free time you had with Oscar was limited. It didn't sound that fun but every year, you managed to make the most of it by reminiscing all the old memories you made, the past year or long ago. The bonus side: you kept things clean!

Last January you had both found an old scrapbook of Oscar and you that you had poorly made with the glue sticks that bare stuck no matter how much you slathered onto the paper, various croppings of coloured paper, loose glitter that hung on by a thread, and the cheapest driest markers you had found (you both thought you took them from primary school).

As horrifically it was made, it was sweet, sending you back down memory lane. The part that made the best was the secret confession in the back of it Oscar had written down with his god-awful six-year-old handwriting. Upon seeing 'really' spelt 'rallllly' and 'pretty' as 'pritty', it was safe to say, Oscar rushed to put the book back as quickly as you found it.

"Babe... what happen to cleaning?" Oscar queried, hand resting on the top of step ladder with raised brows as he looked down at you on the floor. He was moving around the books you stored at the top shelf of

You were sprawled on the floor, relishing the cool breeze the fan brought you. "It's 30 degrees, bro. What do you want me to do? I'm tired. The air outside is warm. It's gross," You complained, feeling your skin stick to the floorboards.

Oscar narrowed his eyes at your words, taking careful steps down the ladder now. "First of all, don't ever call me 'bro' again. Because that's fucking gross," He told you, taking your hand and pulling you up from the floor. "Secondly, you are sugar crashing. We probably should've had lunch an hour or so ago."

You pouted at the sound of sugar, slumping against Oscar's shoulder. "Why are we doing this?" You groaned.

Oscar chuckled, holding you tighter against him. "We're doing this so you don't call me in a few weeks and scream about spiders popping up everywhere."

You curled your lip in annoyance, pushing yourself off of him. "You suck," You retorted, walking over to your fridge. You took a moment to savour the cold air radiating from it as you opened the door before searching for something cold to eat. Your heart deflated at the mostly empty fridge. You hadn't been able to go shopping because everyone was either closed or had close early. You didn't even have any ice cream! The sheer audacity...

Your eyes flickered over your options before a red box caught your eye. You gasped, taking out the container and dangling it in front of Oscar. "We still need to finish these!"

Oscar turned his head towards you, recognising the red box quickly. It was part of the pack of sweets Daniel had given him for Secret Santa last year. To be honest, Oscar didn't have that much of sweet tooth. At least, he had nothing on you. He knew the moment he got it, it was going into his suitcase with prayers that it didn't melt in the Oceanic heat during transit.

While spending Christmas with your families, you, his sisters, and Oscar (mostly you) had taken the liberty to consume most of the candy. By the time you had eaten all the candy canes and small bits, the sight of the mere red box of chocolates made all of you feel sick. So you put it inside your fridge, saving it for some other desperate time. And said desperate time had soon come around in early January during your summer cleaning.

While Oscar would've preferred actual food to eat, he too was at his wits ends. When he nodded, he watched you excitedly come towards him as if you were preparing for your sugar rush.

You sat next to him, knee-to-knee. Opening the box without thinking too much, you both began eating the variety of chocolates. They were in various shades of brown and white, topped of with edible glitter or other candy. You were more than halfway through the box before you wondered what the different flavours were. You popped another into your mouth before closing the box to turn to it's back.

Raspberry... hazelnut... cinnamon.... maca root... epimedium?

Wait what?

"Oh fuck." You heard Oscar whisper.

You raised a brow, lowering the box, still finishing the piece in your mouth. "What's wrong?"

Oscar winced, sucking in a sharp breath before turning the front of the box to you, index finger pointing at the fine print underneath the brand's name.

APHRODISIAC CHOCOLATES.

Effects dependent on the amount eaten and the person. Eat at your own risk.

Your eyes widened, hand almost dropping the box. "Oscar... there's like three left."

Oscar's mouth opened to speak but nothing came out. He pondered the gift. No wonder Daniel was smiling so weirdly at him after he received his gift. That plus his incessant texting, asking whether he had finished all the candy. Shit...

A nervous laugh fell from Oscar's lips as his ears turned red. "I mean... it won't work, right? Surely... this is a scam... a gimmick?"

Your mouth was dry. "Let's check online, hmm?" You told him, taking out your phone. Oscar shuffled closer next you, eyeing the screen cautiously. Typing the product name into the search bar, you felt your cheeks become hot once the results came pouring in.

The best chocolates for sex in 2023!

Horny chocolates for horny lovers. See our favourites!

Viral aphrodisiac chocolates reviewed to be really good.

You pressed your lips, clicking on the last link. Your eyes skimmed the page. You could hear Oscar read the reviews, voice getting louder with every passing second. "Was unsure but no regrets... Bedroom was on fire.. more than... t-three rounds?! Be careful how many you consume... effects stronger with more consumption.... lasts up to three hours?!"

You laughed awkwardly. "S-Surely not. I'm mean not that it's terrible but we still have cleaning to do. I'm sure these are fake reviews... you know like to disguise drop shipping." It was a poor excuse slipping from the likes of your mouth but it was an excuse nonetheless.

Oscar nodded slowly. "Right... cleaning! Yes, that's... that's it! We should probably do that," He told you taking the box out of your hands and putting it to the side.

You and Oscar weren't necessarily awkward or shy about sex. You communicated perfectly well. But the concept of eating aphrodisiac chocolates that were given by his co-worker much less a fellow Australian definitely sent the both of you down the lane of uncertainty.

To be honest, you weren't feeling anything anyways... yet.

Together, the both of you had managed to get all the cleaning done. The thought of the chocolates were long gone after you had multiple Daddy Long Legs come out of the attic, half scaring you to death and sending Oscar into a fit of laughter (although he wouldn't admit he was terrified for a brief second).

Having enough and thrilled you were finished, you were both down to take a nap in your bedroom with all the doors closed and the aircon on blast.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Your nap was going great. It was so good you were sure the red lines of your sheets were embedded into your skin. You were dreaming... it was hot and sticky, it was in the shower for a second and the beach the next and Oscar's hands were all over you.

But all goods things must come to an end.

Especially if it means waking up in Oscar's arms, ass pressed against his hard cock and his hips rutting against you.

With sleepy eyes, you tilted your head to capture a glimpse of Oscar who looked wide awake with a sheen of sweat covering his face. His arms around you tightened when he met your eyes. You furrowed your brows. "Os.. did you not sleep?"

A strained sigh fell from his lips, releasing his hot breath onto your shoulder. "How could I? You were moaning my name and these fucking chocolates are killing me here. God, you sounded so good, baby," Oscar whispered, lips ghosting the shell of your ear.

Your eyes closed naturally at his touch. You were sure you were already wet from the dream but the tingling between your thighs was intensifying. "Oscar," You softly whined.

His hips jerked against you, making you both moan quietly. "I need you, sweetheart. Let me eat you out... please," He pleaded, feeling his cock impossibly tighten.

Clenching your thighs together, you nodded frantically. At your notion, you watched Oscar peel himself away from you. You couldn't hide the shock on your face when you discovered he had already removed his pants long ago. He had been grinding into your ass naked. His cock stood straight, skimming the surface of his lower stomach. It looked different. Angrier... harder... not necessarily bigger but it stood as if it was ready to ruin you.

Oscar eagerly spread your legs with both of his hands, cursing when he saw the patch of wet darkness on your shorts. Carefully, he took away your short, leaving in your panties which were fully damp and clinging to every possible fold of yours. "Shit," He muttered, fingers gingerly pulling the front of your underwear so it was tightly pressed against your pussy.

In his peripheral, he could see your legs squirm, getting antsy for his touch. If he was being honest, Oscar could barely think straight. All this aphrodisiac in his system had sent him overdrive. He couldn't tell what he wanted to do first. Whether he should rub his cock against you so the both of you came like two virgin teenagers going at it for the first time... if he should just fuck you to oblivion or whether he should eat you and find every crevice till you were shaking against him and begging for more..

"Ride my face," Oscar simply stated, peeling away your underwear to reveal your bare pussy. He clenched his jaw, restraining himself from taking you right then and there.

You gasped at the intrusion of cold air on your hot folds. Oscar had said something... what was it again? "R...Ride your face?" You shakily whispered. "A-Are you sure? I... don't you need to breathe?"

In any other moment, Oscar would've laughed lightly. But his need for you was far too strong. He nodded, moving to the side so he laid on his back. "Baby, I've never been so sure of something in my life. Trust me. I've got you," He assured, lust thick with his promise.

You sucked in a sharp breath, unable to mull over the proposition because your answer was already clear by the way your pussy was clenching around nothing and your arousal had increased ten-fold. You moved over Oscar's body, hovering over his face. His hot breath sent a shudder up your spine while his hands naturally placed themselves on your hips, slowly pulling you down, legs on either side of his face.

A groan slipped out of his lips. The scent of your arousal was intoxicating Oscar. He could've sworn that he was fucking pussy-drunk.

Your mouth fell open upon feeling his nose against your clit and his warm tongue flat against your folds. "Oh, fuck," You moaned, thighs tensing around Oscar's face.

Oscar lapped at your juices, slurping all he could while he explored every crevice of your folds. His head jutted against your legs, nose sloppily knocking against your throbbing clit.

Your hands flew to his brown locks, tugging at the sheer pleasure running through your body right now. Any tension or worries you had about suffocating Oscar had melted away, hips already leaning in to put as much of your weight on his face as one could humanely allow, rocking your hips to get even more friction.

His tongue dragged up your folds, finding your swollen bundle of nerves as he came up for air. Oscar just couldn't help it. The urge to get a taste of you shuddering against him was overwhelming. But as he sucked your clit gently, his brown eyes of his flickered up to your face and what a sight it was.

You had completely lost yourself.

Eyes clamped shut, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, sweat littering the surface of your skin, nipples hard against your shirt... fuck. If he knew you would feel and look this good, he would've made you ride his face ages ago.

Despite losing your senses, your body still was restraining from putting your full weight on him. Oscar could feel it as you tried to lift yourself in the attempt of self-control, making him chase for your pussy. But the rise of your hips came one too many times and Oscar had enough, fingers tightening around your thighs with an ironclad grip, holding you close to him.

You squirmed against his hold. All those chocolates... you had both eaten them because you were hungry. But Oscar had only become more starved and thirsty as he drank you as though he was dehydrated. You were so wet that his tongue was practically swimming between each fold.

Hips rutting against his face, your head fell back as his lips moved back to your clit, suctioning the bundle of nerves while stars began to invade your vision. You had barely said anything, so lost in the pleasure, forgetting to praise his art. It was like your brain was so dazed that it wouldn't sync up to your mouth, only allowing for your whimpers and moans to join the lewd slurping of Oscar's.

You couldn't care anymore. The stars were so close... you let your full weight rest on Oscar, making him grin against your heated cunt. Your grip on his hair tightened, the coil in your stomach snapping as his movements became sloppy, drool seeping from the corners of his mouth.

Your body is trembling against his face, convulsing around his tongue while the only thing you can manage to let out is a series of broken moans and obscenities under your breath.

Oscar feels you fall limp, muscles tired from tensing and exerting more energy than usual. He slowly lifted you off of him, shifting you next to him as both of your chests heaved with deep breaths. His head fell against the pillow. "I could do that till I die."

You swallowed the saliva that had built up in your mouth, nestling into the pillow. You let out a soft laugh but it slowly died down once the seriousness of Oscar's tone finally registered. Your eyes travelled down his cock, standing angrier than ever, leaking with pre-cum. From what you were seeing, Oscar must've been in pain.

You shifted closer to Oscar, sweaty skin sticking to his own. You peeled off your shirt, sighing at the cold air skimming your breasts. Without a second thought, Oscar's hands were on them, groping and fondling them. Back arching, you fell closer to his touch, pushing yourself into him.

He was distracting you.

"Oscar," You whimpered at the squeeze of your nipple in response. "Fuck me."

Oscar's hands paused, eyes flickering to you. His breathing had gotten quiet all of a sudden while his eyes darkened. "How?" He asked. "H-How do you want me to fuck you?" His voice cracked slightly with the heavy strain of lust–well, partly the aphrodisiacs-weighing it down.

You pulled yourself away from him, sprawling yourself comfortably on the bed. "However you want."

"Fuck," Oscar groaned, eyes closing at your words before pushing himself up to remove his shirt. He moved to hover his body over you. His hooded eyes flickered over you, full with admiration. You looked like a hot mess. His mess... that he made. You were going to kill him.

His brain must of been short circuiting, however. He blinked blankly at you. "Shit, I don't have a–"

You interrupted him by reaching under your pillow, dangling the foil-wrapped packet in his face. Oscar slowly took what he was looking for from your hands, eyeing you with furrowed brows. "You just keep condoms under your pillow now?"

The sudden comment made you break into laughter, making Oscar's struggling to keep his heart at bay. You nodded your head, quietening down. "Yes, specifically for this occasion."

"When a friend gives me sex chocolates?" Oscar raised a brow, voice full of ridicule.

"Yep! Precisely."

Oscar rolled his eyes, shaking his head. You were bad at joking but to him, you were the world's best comedian. He tore the wrapping, hissing at the sudden contact as he rolled the condom onto his shaft. He blew a deep breath from his lips, sweat-ridden hair doing little to move out of his face.

His eyes fell to your still swollen pussy... so enticing... "I don't think I'll last long," Oscar admitted with a grave mumble, a flush of red scattering across his neck.

You smiled softly. "It's okay. You already gave me the most mind-blowing orgasm of my life... you can fuck me till you can't cum anymore."

Oscar's cock twitched against his stomach. He sure liked the sound of that.

His hands darted out to roam your body, embracing the feel of every curve or bump he could get his hands on. He heard your sharp inhale as his fingers danced around your v-line. Me too, he thought to himself.

Oscar couldn't take it anymore. He was practically blue-balling himself at this point. He lowered himself over you, feeling your hot breath envelope him. His cock slowly pressed against your folds, making both of you pause at the warm feeling tingling up your spines. "Shit," he groaned, watching your engorged folds try to grip any bit of his cock. "You're seriously going to kill me."

"A girl's gotta try," You teased, breaking into a small whimper as Oscar dragged the tip of his throbbing cock to your hole, skimming your clit along the way.

Your mouth fell open upon feeling Oscar pushing his hips into you. His cock entered your warm folds, stretching the tight walls of your soaked cunt. Your head lolled back into the softness of the pillows while a high-pitched whimper slipped past your lips.

Oscar grunted as he fully unsheathed his cock, bottoming out as much as he could. The feel of your pussy clenching around him with a vice-like grip was sending over him already. He could feel every part of you, hips flushed with yours while the tip of his cock nudged your cervix.

He began with shallow thrusts, rocking his hips against yours. "Fuck, you feel so good, baby," Oscar swore, eyes fluttering shut momentarily.

You moaned in response, savouring every inch of his cock that came in and out of you. "You fill up so well," You praised, hand travelling to his own to give him an affirming squeeze.

Oscar missed your lips. It felt like he hadn't touched them in a long time even though he had probably spent over half the morning with them today. Sloppily, his lips travelled across your jaw and met your soft pillowy ones. He could hear your muffled moans in the kiss as he rutted into you. Shit...

"Oscar," You whispered with a high mewl upon feeling his fingers roll your nipple in between them. You were going to kill him? More like he was going to kill you.

But you weren't lying. His cock was indeed filling you so well, having you clench around him like there was no tomorrow. You felt so... full... those fucking chocolates...

Speaking of which... Oscar was over these 'aphrodisiac chocolates' or whatever the hell they were. They were making him insane. Every moment he ever spent with you, whether it was on a date or in bed, he always felt like he was being driven insane (in the nicest possible way, of course). But these chocolates... it felt like he was aware of everything. Every reaction... every part of him was on fire... everything was amplified... ten-fold, no, a hundred.

You were both on the crest of your climaxes. Oscar could tell by the way you were gripping him, the sudden reduction of your words, and the dazed look in your eyes. And you could tell by the stutter of his hips and the twitch of his cock.

Oscar bent his head down towards your legs, spitting directly onto your bundle of nerves. Fuck, now your hips were stuttering as well, the familiar feeling of the coil in your lower abdomen unravelling. "Oscar, fuck, I'm going to–"

Oscar doesn't even have the decency to let you finish your sentence, hand rubbing dizzying circles on your clit, hips increasing it's pace, sending you flying into your second orgasm.

"Oh, shit, shit, that's it, baby," Oscar encouraged, fighting to keep his eyes open as the waves of pleasure began drowning him. You were just squeezing his cock so much. Your mouth is wide open as Oscar's hips faltered against yours. He rushed to take his cock out, hand jerking off the engorged shaft to spill every single drop of his hot white cum onto your stomach.

For a moment, it felt like the effects of the chocolates had worn off as Oscar collapsed on top of you without a single thought going through his mind. His chest heavily rose up and down, your chin nuzzling into his collarbone while he soothingly patted your head.

You both laid like that for over ten minutes, saying nothing, just revelling in each other's presence, naked.

"I think we're going to have to thank Daniel," You joked, finally regaining your words.

"Later," Oscar sucked in a sharp breath. "Like three hours later."

You furrowed your brows, looking up at Oscar, only for him to be looking down. Following his gaze, your eyes honed in on the object capturing both of your attention.

"Oh..."

𝐏𝐓. 𝟐 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄!

#mickyschumacher #f1 x reader #f1 x you #formula 1 #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 smut #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri smut #formua one smut

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zepskies · 7 months ago

Text

Wake Up Call

Pairing: Sam Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: Sam often gets up before you in the morning. He enjoys luring you into the waking world.

AN: Surprise! After writing Rest for Dean, equal parts hurt/comfort and fluff, I’ve been itching to do some “early morning” fluff for Sam…

Word Count: 700

Warnings: 18+ only for smuttishness. Fluff and feels.

Unlike Dean, Sam isn’t one to be sentimental.

It doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. On the contrary, he hordes and treasures memories in his mind, rather than on his shelves.

It also means he’s not one to collect things just to have them. There has to be a practical use, like the way good books can be read again. Even his dad’s journal is a useful resource, not just a record of the man’s most significant words, and in some ways, his legacy.

Sam’s room is function, not fluff.

That is, until you invaded.

Well, less invaded, and more invited, but still. He sees traces of you everywhere, in the half-drunken mugs of coffee and tea piling up across his nightstand; in the shelves you’ve put up to showcase his books, alongside yours (complete with “cute” little bookends you found at a flea market in town); and in the extra fuzzy blankets and smaller pillows you’ve bought, not only because they’re comfortable, but because they help “pull the room together,” in your words.

Sam had to snort at that one. Somehow, he doesn’t think a few decorative pillows and a lamp from Goodwill are going to make a windowless bedroom in a bunker look like a page out of a Pottery Barn catalog.

But he humored you then, with the same smile he looks down on you with now. It's early in the morning as he sits up beside you in bed with his coffee. He has a fresh mug ready for you on the nightstand. (He's also brought the army of old ones back to the kitchen sink.)

He spares a moment from his laptop to brush your hair away from your cheek as you sleep. His hand drifts down your bare shoulder, as far as he can reach down your arm. Finally, his touch stirs you. Your breathing shifts with a little hum as you creep closer to wakefulness.

“Awake already?” you grumble at him.

“Yeah. Waiting for you.”

“Hnnmmmmm.”

Sam smiles. You can be so grumpy in the morning.

He takes another sip of his coffee and sets aside his mug and his laptop. He gets up just to raise his side of the blankets, sliding back in and slotting himself behind you. You sigh after his arm has slipped beneath your head, and the other around your waist, pulling you comfortably warm against his chest.

He issues his first plan of attack, laying soft kisses behind your ear, along your jaw. Even with your eyes closed, you smile as his long hair tickles your cheek. He pays special attention to your pulse point, nipping and sucking gently. A shiver tingles down your spine.

“No fair,” you breathe out, reaching back a hand to card through his hair. Your fingers tangle in the dark strands as he smiles against your skin.

He continues his tantalizing path down your neck. His hand moves under the sheets, under your borrowed sleep shirt. His thumb brushes the underside of your breast, earning a pleased hum from you. It encourages him to palm the round softness with his big hand, pebbling the nipple under his nimble, rolling fingers.

Uttering a soft whine, you begin to subtly writhe against him. Your ass presses back into him, accidentally-on-purpose. His arousal rises to meet you, a low-burning fire crackling to life.

Sam’s kisses become more insistent with the brush of his tongue against your skin. His hand moves from playing with your breast, down the soft length of your body. Every move is a form of delicious persuasion, especially when his fingers slip under the waistband of your panties.

“You awake yet?” Sam teases, his lips moving against your cheek.

Your smile grows. You finally open your eyes and tangle your leg with his under the covers.

“If I’m not, this is one hell of a dream,” comes your cheeky reply.

Sam chuckles. His fingers dip between your legs, into your wet heat. You suck in a breath.

His voice in your ear is enough to raise the hair on your arms.

“Baby, we haven’t even started yet.”

AN: 😘 Hope you enjoy! I haven't written Sam in a while, but I do love him too. 💜

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@jc-winchester @stoneyggirl2 @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @daisychaingirl @number1whorehome

@g0ldfishd00dles @10ava01 @sixxteenbullets @tayl0rfanatic @trashmoutth

@spnaquakindgdom

855 notes · View notes

bykshre · 7 months ago

Text

Sure Thing

charles leclerc x female reader (smau) 2/?

a continuation of WE FOUND LOVE (index)

summary: you and charles were meant to be together even if the media, society and his girlfriend criticized you.

trope: childhood friends to lovers, ferrari driver x head strategist , mean gf (no hate to any of charles' gf's, ex or current.)

a/n: hi hii!! :D charles my amour won in COTA and of course I had to create something out of that. Soo without further todo, i shall introduce to you Sure Thing, part 2 of We found Love! Enjoyyy!! <3

Your thumb hovered over Charles’ Instagram post, reading the simple caption repeatedly, fixating on one specific sentence; "Alex and I have decided to end our relationship".

You felt an unexpected surge of emotions — relief, confusion, excitement.

"This is so sudden", you whispered to yourself though there was no one really beside you.

Alex was heavily popular, APM Monaco made her model for their jewellery, she was signed with influencer management and she even promoted many clothing brands throughout her journey as Charles's girlfriend— she was sort of the IT Wag. However, nobody truly knows what she was, what she did and how she acts when she's away from the monumental stardom and attention she got.

And you opened twitter. Which instantly made you regret your decision.

@F1Gossip:

"BREAKING: Charles Leclerc and Alexandra call it quits! What led to the sudden breakup? Rumors are swirling about Y/N’s involvement… 👀 #F1Drama #CharlesLeclerc"

@AlexandraStans:

"Honestly, good riddance. Alex deserves better than someone who spends all his time with another woman. #TeamAlex #CharlesLeclerc"

@LeclercNation:

"People need to stop blaming Y/N for the breakup. Charles is an adult who made his own decision. #TeamYN #FerrariFamily"

Regardless of whatever you were feeling, you quickly pushed them aside, reminding yourself to not to get sucked into this situation. "Who are you?", you asked yourself, constructing a mental note. You are Charles’ strategist, his friend, and that’s all this was. You did spend hours with him throughout your childhood, of course, you went to school with him, you had sleepovers with the Leclerc brothers, you spent hours in the kitchen with manman gossiping - you were considered the daughter she never had. What have you not done with the Leclercs?

It was love at first sight, at last sight, at ever and ever sight.

Frankly, you've no idea how to bring it up, so you kept a promise to not bring it up and you didn’t. You appreciate the week off without any races — it brought you away from everything. You wanted to keep your mind off things and give some time to yourself. And that's exactly what you did.

ursername

time-off 🤍🐻‍❄️🪽🍸

liked by mlnmarta, charles_leclerc, joristrouche and 2.8M others

lewishamilton enjoy, yn! lets get some almave next time ya?

⤷ ursername omg yes lewsss!! 🍸🍸

charles_leclerc 🩷 see you next week, ynie!

⤷ ursername indeed char 🤍🩷

mlnmarta boubou is missing you, come back soon!! 🤱

⤷ ursername u and me in singapore? it's a definite yes😘😘

alexfanpage look at this homewreker, fucking bitch! 😡😡

⤷ illpresidanto omg get a life!! you so pressed for no reason u ugly bitch

19765K likes

🌟

It was a sunlit afternoon in Monaco, where Marta and Riccardo were celebrating the upcoming arrival of their second child. The garden was decorated with a mix of blue and white balloons, creating a cheerful, celebratory atmosphere. Close friends, family, and little Chiara, who was already running around like a whirlwind, were all present.

You wore a pink dress, your hair tousled on your shoulders, favouring another baby girl while Charles was wearing a blue t-shirt accompanied with a blue bandana — something you haven't seen him wear for the past 2 years. It felt different seeing him wear that bandana, it evoked old memories between the both you. You were brought with a wave of nostalgia where you used to go live with Charles on Twitch racing each other on the sim during the Covid-19 era.

You're a sucker for nostalgia

When you first spot Charles at Marta and Riccardo's gender reveal party, you can't help but pause for a moment. He's standing casually near the edge of the garden, his relaxed posture and easy smile making him the center of attention without even trying. His blue bandana was tied loosely around his head. The way the sunlight catches his hair, tousled from the bandana, adds a soft glow around him. He’s talking to a group of friends, but when his eyes meet yours from across the garden, there's a brief flicker of recognition.

As Chiara ran over to you, her arms outstretched, you quickly scooped the little girl up into your arms — pampering her with your soft kisses. “Hey there, sweetheart!” you cooed, smiling warmly at the giggling toddler. Chiara clung to you, pointing toward the food table, eager to see what was there.

Charles watched the both you from a distance, carrying two glasses of sparkling water. As you looked up at him, you couldn't help but tease, “She’s already stealing the spotlight from you.”

Charles grinned, handing you a glass. “It’s alright, I’ll always be her favorite godparent. She just needs a little time to realize I’m the cool one.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh, is that what you’re telling yourself?”

Charles shrugged, a playful grin spreading across his face. “Hey, it’s working. I’m planning to spoil her with all the toys.”

You smirked. “Bribery isn’t exactly what I’d call ‘parenting,’ Charles.”

He leaned in slightly, his voice low and teasing, “Good thing I’m not a parent yet.”

As the countdown for the big reveal began, everyone gathered in the garden around Marta and Riccardo. You and Charles stood together, chatting quietly about the possible gender.

“I’m pretty sure it’s a girl,” you said, eyes glancing toward Marta. “Marta’s been mentioning how much she wants a sister for Chiara.”

Charles shook his head, his hands on your shoulder. “I think you’re wrong, honey. Riccardo’s been too quiet—he’s definitely preparing for a boy.”

"I'll prove you wrong today, Miss Strategist," he smirked

"You'll never it's definitely a——"

The moment arrived. The large balloon in front of Marta and Riccardo burst, releasing a cascade of blue confetti. Cheers erupted from the crowd, and Chiara clapped her hands in delight as she was handed to Marta.

“It’s a boy!” Riccardo exclaimed, lifting his daughter into the air, his eyes glistening with tears of joy. Marta smiled brightly, holding Chiara close to her chest, both parents absolutely overjoyed.

“I called it,” Charles whispered, nudging you with his elbow.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting that. But I guess I’m going to have to learn to spoil a little boy now.”

"And you're proven wrong, y/n," he said while erupting in happiness

"Fuck off Charles!" you said as you roll your eyes

Later in the day, after the excitement had died down, you and Charles found yourselves in a quiet corner of the garden, enjoying the peaceful atmosphere. you were holding Chiara, who had fallen asleep in your arms, while Leo lay at Charles' feet, content and relaxed.

“You know, you’re really good with her.”

You glanced up at him, eyes soft. “She’s easy to love.”

Charles watched you for a moment, his gaze lingering on the calm scene in front of them.

“I think you’d make an amazing parent,” he said, his voice quiet.

You smiled, though you didn’t fully respond to his comment. Instead, you gently brushed Chiara’s hair from her face. “Maybe one day.”

charles_leclerc

team boy!! 🩵🌟

liked by mlnmarta, riccardoberreta, joris_trouche,ursername,landonorris

ursername baby chichi <3

liked by author

mlnmarta mi bebe~

joris_trouche 🩵

alexandrafp no alex and u look like shit!

alexamour wheres that bitch Y/N??

ursername

mon lion et ma petite filleule

liked by charles_leclerc, mlnmarta,oscarpiastri and 3M others

charles_leclerc adorable

lewishamilton soo cute!

mlnmarta my 👶

joris_trouche who took this pic🤭

@FerrariInsider:

"Sources close to the team say Charles and Y/N have been spending more time together since the breakup. Could something more be brewing between them? 👀 #F1Gossip"

🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟

COTA GRAND-PRIX, AUSTIN, TEXAS.

ursername

story, 4h ago

Looking sharp out there 👀 Let’s keep it smooth this weekend, @ charles_leclerc. 🏎️✨

As Charles arrived at the garage for practice, he seemed relaxed, as if nothing had changed. So, you followed his lead, keeping things as normal as possible. Talking about Alex was the least of your concerns, you were more concerned about how Charles was coping and when you saw him being his usual bubbly and annoying self —you knew this relationship was long to be called off. Then again, this is the Charles Leclerc, the homie hopper, the playboy- you've seen it all. He's messy in relationships and that scares you, so much. Yet, you're treated so differently and you wonder why.

After FP1, Charles and Carlos stroll into their garages to rewind and reflect with the team to consult tyre management, degradation and qualifying strategies.

As Charles unlocked his phone, his thumb instinctively swiped to Instagram to catch up on the latest updates. A burst of laughter escaped him as he saw a story from his head strategist, who had tagged him in it.

“Looking sharp, huh? Not bad for just a practice session.” He said to Y/N who was sitting beside him.

“Don’t let it go to your head, Leclerc. You still have a lot to prove this weekend,” you said sternly,

“A lot to prove? I thought I already impressed the toughest critic on the team.”

“I’m a strategist, Charles. Being impressed is temporary — results are what matter,” you said

“So, if I get results, will you post something even nicer?” he said, giving her his winning smirk

“Win the race, and I’ll think about it.”

🌟 🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟

As the sprint race ends, Charles strolls into the garage, his helmet tucked under his arm. Y/N is standing by the monitors, reviewing the data.

Charles: “You’re awfully quiet today. Everything okay, strategist?”

Y/N doesn’t look up immediately, keeping her focus on the screen. “Just making sure you’re as sharp as I said you were. No pressure, though.”

Charles smirks, leaning casually against the desk beside her. “I’m starting to think you enjoy putting pressure on me.”

Y/N finally glances at him, a small smile playing on her lips. “If it makes you faster, then maybe I do.”

Charles chuckles, shaking his head. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

Y/N tilts her head. “You’d know if you were. For now, just focus on not going wide into Turn 11 again.”

Charles groans playfully. “That’s never happening again. You’ll see.”

Y/N: “Good. I like being right.”

Scuderia Ferrari HP

@charles_leclerc is working hard tonight with the team 🏎 ❇

liked by ursername,ggiada,mlnmarta,riccardoberreta and 5M others

ursername one of the rarest times i see mr leclerc staying overtime! mind-boggling indeed

⤷ charles_leclerc gosh you are annoying

oscarpiastri the dedication 👨

charles_leclerc y/n's fault!

lewishamilton keep it up bud!

After the debrief and post-practice meetings, you're walking back to your hotel, laptop bag slung over your shoulder. The paddock is quiet now, with only a few people milling about under the warm Austin night sky.

“Hey, strategist.”

She turns to find Charles jogging to catch up with her, still in his Ferrari polo and cap.

“Shouldn’t you be resting? I thought you went back? You’ve got qualifying tomorrow.”

Charles falls into step beside you, hands casually shoved into his pockets. “I could say the same to you. What’s keeping you out so late?”

You shrug. “Notes. Data. Making sure we’re perfect tomorrow.”

“We’re perfect, huh?” He glances at you with a teasing smirk.

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Don’t let it go to your head. It’s my job to make sure you don’t mess it up.”

“Ah, so you’re saying you’re the brains, and I’m just the guy driving the car?”

you finally stop walking and turn to face him, raising an eyebrow. “You’re finally catching on.”

For a moment, they just look at each other. The playful banter fades into a quiet intensity. Charles’ gaze softens, and Y/N feels her pulse quicken under the weight of his attention.

Charles: “You know, you’re pretty incredible.”

“Charles…” she starts, but he cuts her off with a soft laugh.

“Relax, strategist. Just giving credit where it’s due.”

You shake your head, “Save the charm for the press conferences. You’ll need it when they grill you tomorrow.”

“Right. Gotta stay focused.”

“Goodnight, Y/N. Don’t stay up too late. Wouldn't want my stargirl to get sick.”

You chuckle softly as you walk into your room, catching his eye as he waves from across the hallway, stepping into his room just opposite yours.

RACE DAY

The morning sun was barely filtering through the high windows of the hotel lobby as Charles stood near the entrance, checking his watch for what felt like the hundredth time. His nerves were on edge—not because of the race, but because today felt different.

Just as he was about to check his phone again, he saw you.

You stepped into the lobby, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. The buzz of the hotel faded away. You were wearing a dress unlike any other—simple yet striking. It was a fitted black satin dress, hugging your figure perfectly and stopping just above your knees. The neckline was deep enough to tease but still elegant, and the fabric shimmered under the light as if it were made to capture every glance.

you were unaware of the way you had completely captured his attention, you walked towards him with a confident, almost teasing smile. You could feel the tension in the air, but she wasn’t sure if it was just the race day energy or something more.

“Morning, Charles,” you said, your voice warm

“You… you look…”

Your smile widened, though there was a hint of mischief in your eyes. “Thanks. I wanted to make sure you had something to look forward to after the race.”

Charles chuckled softly, the sound low and almost nervous, his eyes scanning over you once again. The dress clung to your body in all the right ways, and his thoughts were running wild. “You’re distracting me,” he said with a grin, taking a small step toward you.

Charles reached for her hand, his fingers brushing against hers, the touch sending a shock through his system. “You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?” he murmured, his gaze dropping to her lips for a split second before meeting her eyes again.

Your heart skipped a beat. You hadn’t expected this reaction from him. Sure, he was always flirty with you but this past week seemed a little different.

“Shall we?” he asked

“Lead the way,” she said

Charles led you through the hotel lobby, his hand lightly resting on the small of your back as you two walked toward the exit. His touch was soft, almost protective, but you could feel the weight of it. It wasn’t just a gesture—it was more.

When you reached the car, a sleek Ferrari SF90 in all its glory, Charles opened the passenger side door for you.

“After you,” Charles said with a playful grin.

You smiled, your heart skipping a beat as she slid into the car, the cool leather of the seat pressing against you as you settled in. You glanced over at Charles as he slid into the driver’s seat, his movements smooth and confident. The way he adjusted the rearview mirror, the way his hands gripped the steering wheel—it all seemed like a quiet dance between you both like everything was aligning.

Charles started the engine, the powerful rumble filling the space between them. He looked over at you, a small smile playing on his lips as they began their journey to the track.

“So,” he began, trying to keep the mood light, “Are you ready for today?”

You leaned back in the seat, gaze wandering to the window for a moment as the city passed by. “I think you’re the one who should be ready for today,” you teased, glancing back at him with a knowing smile. “You’re going to have a lot of eyes on you.”

Charles laughed softly, but there was a nervous edge to it. “That’s nothing new.” He shifted the car smoothly, maneuvering through the streets. “But it’s different when you’re here, you know?” His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. “Having you here makes it… better.”

You weren’t sure if he meant it in the way you wanted to believe, but the sincerity in his voice made you feel something she hadn’t expected.

“It’s always been different,” she said softly, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

“I’ve always been here for you, Charles. I always will be.”

Charles glanced over at you, his expression softening. “I know. And I’m grateful for that.” His hand briefly brushed against yours on the gearshift, sending a jolt through you, and he didn’t pull away. For a moment, it was just the two of you, the world outside the car fading away.

When they arrived at the track, the noise of the race weekend came rushing back.

He looked over at you, his gaze lingering for a moment, his thoughts seemingly racing. Then, with a slow exhale, he opened the door and stepped out, walking around to your side of the car. He opened the door for you, just like before, but this time, it felt different.

As you stepped out of the car, Charles was already there, his hand extending to help steady you, though it wasn’t needed. You didn’t take his hand immediately, but the way he watched you, the way his eyes stayed on you with such intensity, made your heart flutter.

“You look even more stunning in the daylight,” he said, his voice lower now, the playful teasing replaced with something more genuine.

You met his gaze, lips curving into a soft smile. “Thanks, Charles,” you replied, voice barely above a whisper.

formulaone

Charles Leclerc steps into the track alongside his strategist, Y/N today! Charles is starting P4 today - let's see what we'll get with Ferrari, especially with the upcoming title battle with McLaren! Today's going to be interesting.

liked by mlnmarta,joris_trouche, and 4M others

alexandrafp seriously charles it;s only been 2 weeks since you broke up with alex and you're taking y/n around in your car? wtf!

⤷ charlesfp y/n is charles childhood best friend , besides alex was toxic enough that he couldn't spend time with yn!

⤷ ynstrategistupdates frr- yn and charles have always stepped into the track together before this, where is your brains?

⤷ yndefender please what?! charles had ENOUGH with alex past 2 years! stfu and leave the sport if you're only invested in WAGS!

@F1Fanatic

"Okay, but Charles and Y/N arriving together in his Ferrari SF90 and the way he held her hand to help her out of the car??? Gentleman of the year 🥺🔥 #CharlesLeclerc #F1"

@TifosiForever

"Y/N in that dress??? Charles could barely keep his eyes off her. You’re telling me this is just ‘driver and strategist’ behavior? 😏 #Ferrari #COTAGP"

@GrandPrixGossip

"Did anyone else notice how Charles waited for Y/N at the lobby this morning? She’s clearly more than just a strategist to him. 👀 #F1Drama #LeclercNation"

@F1Moments

"The way Charles just casually said ‘I drive better when I know you’re watching’ to Y/N in the garage?? Sir, the cameras are ON. #SlowBurn #CharlesAndYN"

@FerrariInsider

"People are saying Charles and Y/N are just friends, but friends don’t exchange those kinds of looks before a race. 🫣 #F1LoveStory #CharlesLeclerc"

@F1Editz

"Charles Leclerc and Y/N arriving at COTA this morning >>> any romcom scene ever filmed. The chemistry is unreal. 😍 #F1Romance"

@LeclercNation

"If Charles wins today, it’s 100% because Y/N is his good luck charm. Someone check the stats on her presence at his podiums! 🏆❤️ #F1CoupleGoals"

womeninformulaone

Ferrari's Head of Strategy, Ms YN arrives on the COTA paddock alongside Ferrari's Charles Leclerc today. She is wearing a beautiful fitted navy blue dress. Let's see what she pulls off in today's race! 🏎 ❇

liked by carmenmundt,hannahstjohn,ursername,charles_leclerc and 8M others

ynsfp who is this DIVA?

alexfp cunning witch

⤷ charlesfp you should've been banned by now! Why do people like you still exist??

ursername WOW haha featured by this page? I thought this page was just for WAGs, never thought WOMEN in MOTORSPORTS could've been featured.

80K likes

RACE

The track energy was high as the team prepared for the race. Charles stepped into his car after having his debrief with his engineer, Bryan, Fred and of course, you- adjusting his helmet and getting settled in the cockpit. You stood by, watching till the clock hits 12.

Least to say, you were feeling nervous. But when do you not go through a whirlwind of emotions when you see your best-friend driving at 200-300km/h for 2 hours? Formula One is not a just a sport— if not done meticulously it'd be fatal.

Not were you only nervous on that but as a strategist yourself, you are afraid of letting the team down with ridiculous pits and scenarios which scares you. You weren't responsible for what happened at Montreal nor were you responsible for the mishaps this year. But as a woman in motorsports where women are highly downgraded and treated not well — you were determined to make a change in this sport where misogyny has no place and uplift young girls to dominate this world of motorsports.

As you sit on your chair at the pit-wall, you laugh as you remembered your last conversation with Charles making you shake your head.

“I’m going to win today.”

“Confident, are we?”

Charles: “When you’re the one calling the shots, how could I not be?”

There was multiple times where Charles would've said that and not win. So him being overconfident made you remember those moments. However, you always wanted your best-friend, Charles to win every single race if you could. You both grew up dreaming about winning the constructors championship for Ferrari and here you are together working together.

Life is so unexpected and magical.

The Circuit of the Americas roared with excitement as the lights went out, marking the start of the Austin Grand Prix.

As Max and Lando fought aggressively into Turn 1, their cars went wide, forcing both drivers to compromise their exits. This split-second miscalculation opened the door for Charles and Carlos Sainz, who took full advantage. Charles made an audacious dive on the inside, slipping past not just Max and Lando but also gaining a crucial edge over his Ferrari teammate.

Suddenly, Charles found himself in P1 by the end of the first corner, with Carlos right behind him. The commentators were stunned by his opportunistic brilliance:

"Leclerc from P4 to P1! That’s unbelievable! What a move from the Ferrari driver!"

"His race-starts are on point, isn't it?", you ask Fred

"He's definitely perfected it," Fred replied

From that point on, Charles showcased a masterclass in race control. Lap after lap, he extended his lead with precision and consistency. While chaos unfolded behind him, with Max and Lando locked in a fierce battle for P3, Charles focused on maintaining a steady rhythm.

Even the pit stops—often Ferrari’s Achilles’ heel—were flawless. When Charles came in for his stop on Lap 18, the team delivered a lightning-quick turnaround, allowing him to rejoin the track without losing his lead.

"Just keep it steady, Charles. You’re doing an amazing job," his race engineer said over the radio.

"Copy. Let’s bring it home," Charles replied, his voice calm but determined.

As the final lap unfolded, the crowd at COTA erupted in cheers. Charles crossed the finish line with a commanding lead, having led every lap of the race—a feat that underscored his strategic brilliance and racecraft.

"YESSS! Let’s go, ragazzi! What a race!" Charles yelled over the team radio, his joy evident.

As the garage burst into cheers and celebrations, someone nudged your shoulder. “He’s going to be insufferable after this,” one of the engineers teased, and you laughed, shaking her head.

“I think he’s earned it,” you replied softly, unable to hide the affection in your voice

His team congratulated him on a flawless performance, and the commentators lauded his exceptional drive

Leclerc didn’t just win today—he dominated. From P4 to P1 by the first corner and never looked back. This was a perfect race from the Ferrari driver."

Your hands trembled as you lowered the headset, a wide grin spreading across your face. Pride swelled in your chest, almost overwhelming. You clapped along with the team but couldn’t shake the warmth bubbling inside you. This wasn’t just a win for Ferrari. This was a win for him

In Parc Fermé, Charles leaped out of his car, visibly elated. The Ferrari garage was a sea of red, celebrating what was undoubtedly one of their best performances of the season. Charles hugged his team members before making his way to the podium.

You had tears visible flowing down your cheek- they call it the happy tears. Your heart beaming in joy and proud.

You wanted to run out there and hug him, tell him how incredible he was. But instead, you stayed rooted, heart pounding, waiting for him to arrive in Parc Fermé

As the Monegasque driver stood on the top step, the Monegasque national anthem echoed through the Austin sky, marking a moment of triumph for both Charles and Ferrari.

As he made his way to the podium, you stayed back, watching him from the sidelines. Your heart was full, pride immeasurable. You pulled out your phone, snapping a quick photo of him standing on the top step of the podium, champagne in hand, the Monegasque flag behind him.

The camera's were all on you, Ferrari and Charles — capturing the special moment that will last an eternity.

@F1Fans: "Charles Leclerc’s drive today was a masterpiece. Calm, calculated, and utterly dominant. Driver of the day, no question."

@LeclercNation: "From P4 to P1 by Turn 1, and he never gave up the lead. Charles Leclerc is a star! #AustinGP #TeamLeclerc"

@F1Memes: "Max and Lando fighting each other in Turn 1: 'This is fine.' Charles: 'Don’t mind if I do.' #Masterclass"

@FerrariOfficial: "Victory in Austin! Charles Leclerc secures the win with an exceptional performance. A day to remember for Scuderia Ferrari! #ForzaFerrari #CharlesLeclerc"

ursername

story, 5mins ago

What a drive. Proud of you @Charles_Leclerc

When Charles returned to the garage, still beaming, he sought you out immediately.

“Y/N!” he called, his voice cutting through the noise.

You turned, laughing softly at the sight of him—his race suit slightly damp from the champagne, his hair a mess, and his face glowing with happiness.

“That was incredible,” you said as he approached, eyes sparkling with pride. “You didn’t just win—you owned that race.”

He grinned, a little bashful despite the confidence he’d displayed on track. “You think so?”

“Charles,” you said, stepping closer, voice dropping slightly. “I think the whole world knows so. That was a masterclass.”

His grin turned softer, more genuine. “Means a lot coming from you.”

For a moment, there was silence between them, just the buzz of the team celebrating in the background.

“You owe me dinner,” you teased, breaking the tension. “You promised if you won.”

He smirked, his signature charm returning. “Guess I better make it special, then. For someone who’s apparently my lucky charm.”

You rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t fight the warmth creeping up her cheeks. “Don’t get used to it, Leclerc.”

“Oh, I’m already used to it.” His tone was playful, but there was something deeper in his gaze, something unspoken.

@F1Updates:"What a dominant win by Charles Leclerc today at the Austin GP. From P4 to P1 by Turn 1 and never looked back. #CharlesLeclerc #AustinGP"

@F1FanGirl:"Did anyone see Y/N’s story? That caption! She’s so proud of him, and honestly, same. #CharlesAndYN"

@GossipGrid:"Y/N spotted in the Ferrari garage during Charles’ win. These two are definitely giving ‘something’s going on’ vibes. 👀 #F1Drama #CharlesLeclerc"

@FerrariOfficial:"Victory is red! 🏆 Congratulations to Charles Leclerc on a flawless drive at COTA. #ForzaFerrari #AustinGP"

charles_leclerc

Another one . The team have done such an incredible job recently and it's paying off, so happy we achieved a 1-2. Thanks to everybody for the massive support too, always special to come back to the US.

liked by ursername,scuderiaferrari,joris_trouche and 10M others

maxvertsappen1 amazing masterclass bro

lewishamilton always amazing to see young generational talents winning🥇

ursername well done leclerc! 🥇

ursername

merci charles, you proved yourself right, you earned this win with pure talent and crafted art- to more wins!

liked by mlnmarta,charles_leclerc,maxverstappen1,lewishamilton and 6M others

charles_leclerc finally got a good caption huhuu

scuderiaferrari cota will be in the books!

anthoinethrouchet amazing job charles, merci y/n!

@LeclercNation:"THAT race win. THAT walk back. Charles texting someone during the press conference. Coincidence? We think not. #CharlesAndYN "

@F1Gossip:"Y/N was glowing after Charles’ win. And the way he kept looking at her? We need answers, stat. #F1Tea"

You two stepped into the elevator, the hum of the machinery filling the quiet. Charles leaned against the wall, glancing at you.

“You didn’t stick around for the real celebration,” he teased, his voice low.

You smirked, arms crossed. “I figured you’d be too busy soaking up all the glory.”

Charles tilted his head, his lips curving into that signature smirk. “Maybe. Or maybe I was saving it for someone more important.”

Her heart skipped, but you rolled your eyes, playing it cool. “Always the charmer, aren’t you?”

“Only when it works,” he shot back smoothly, the elevator dinging open just in time.

As he stepped out, he glanced back at you with a small grin. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Charles,” you whispered as the doors slid shut.

924 notes · View notes

thewritingrowlet · 9 months ago

Text

The Tireless Wife, ft. Red Velvet Irene

tags: creampie, deepthroat—you know what, just read the whole thing, hm?

length: 8k+

author's note: I speedran this fic so please forgive me if it's too messy; I just wanted to make use of this free time.

p.s. this fic takes place before and after The Determined Wife.

Irene walks in the bedroom as you’re gathering your consciousness after a very good, post-sex sleep. “Ah, good morning, my love.” She high steps towards the bed to join you, taking her rightful place in your arms. “Love, on a scale of 1 to 10, how awake are you?” “Seven, probably.” You rub your eyes to see if maybe you can improve that score. “Okay, maybe eight and a half,” you revise.

Irene thinks that it’s not good enough; she wants you to be 100% in the right mind this morning, which is odd. She sits on your lap and starts kissing you passionately, seemingly in high spirits; she’s likely very satisfied with the fact that you’ve granted her wish to be bred.

“Tell me again.” “Nine and a half,” you tease. Your wife rolls her eyes. “Ugh, please don’t play hard to get.” You chuckle. “Aww, come on, love; I just want more kisses.” She puts on the beautiful smile that’s unique to her and only her. “Ah, fine, you win.”

She comes in for one more deep kiss, going as far as invading the space of your mouth with her tongue—it’s unfortunate that she breaks it soon after, though. “If that didn’t make it 10, I’m going to suck you off,” she says. “Sounds tempting,” you tease, “well, maybe later—let’s get to your point first.”

With a smile, Irene fishes something out of her shorts pocket and hands it to you with a closed palm. It is only when she lets go that you can see what it is: a pregnancy test device with two lines on it. “I’m a mother, love,” Irene starts breaking into tears, “I’m a mother, and there’s no question that you’re the father.”

Tears, endless of them, start flowing freely out of your eyes and onto your cheeks. “Y-you’re pregnant, my love?” Your grip on the little test kit weakens as your hand starts trembling—oh, look: a tear lands on the device, right where the little screen is. “I am,” Irene joins you in crying, “thank you for granting my wish.”

You put the small device to the side because you want to use your hands to hug your wife. “No, no, no,” you say, “thank you for giving me such a huge blessing.” Irene starts crying more freely, and you can’t help but do the same. “We’re going to become parents, love—isn’t that crazy?” “It is,” you agree with her, “thank you for making it possible for us, love.”

Irene pulls away from the hug, placing her hands on your shoulders instead. “You need to get ready for work, don’t you, love—let me start your shower.” You shake your head. “Screw work,” you say, “I want to spend this wonderful day with you and only you.” Your words draw a wide smile on her face. “Sounds great, love.”

She turns around before leaning against your chest, placing your hand right on her stomach that’s now occupied by the little one—your little one (the fetus hasn’t formed yet, yes, but the point still stands). Irene giggles as you rub her belly gently. “You’ll need to come up with some names, love.” “You first,” you say, “do you have ideas?” She taps her chin as she thinks of a candidate. “Jihoon-ie if it’s a boy, and Hyewon-ie if it’s a girl.”

You’re a little startled; Jihoon was the name of your little brother who passed away just before he turned 9 years old (you were 13 at the time) due to cardiac arrest. Your parents, specifically your mom, took his passing heavily, falling into what you learned years later as depression, which explained why they weren’t at home a lot—they were busy seeking help from professionals, both at home and abroad.

Irene knows about this story, obviously; you’ve taken her to his resting place a few times. “His memories can live on with our child, love,” she explains the reason behind the idea. “I’m glad that you have that idea, but personally, I think I’d let him rest,” you say, and Irene dares not argue.

“What about your ideas, love?” You take a few deep breaths as you try to come up with some names. “I don’t have any boy names in my head, but Yeseo if it’s a girl,” you say. Irene likes your idea; she thinks that it’s such a pretty and cute name for a girl. “Well, we’ll need to wait until they can tell if we’re having a son or a daughter.”

Mr. Hwang, the cook, has made some fettuccine for breakfast, since Irene said that she’s been craving pasta—a pregnant woman shall have what she wants. So, here you are: sitting at the table in the dining room with Irene, ready to fill your stomach with this tasty-looking dish.

Seeing the tall glass of water reminds you of something important that you want to address with Irene. “My love,” you place a hand over hers, “now that we’re going to become parents, let’s stop drinking alcohol, hm?” She nods enthusiastically. “I was about to suggest that idea to you, hon.” You smile. “I’m glad that we’re on the same page.” “About that, though,” she backtracks, “what about our collection? We have some nice wine and champagne.”

You ring the kitchen bell, and Mr. Hwang appears after a few seconds. “Yes, sir?” “Do you drink, Mr. Hwang?” “I do, sir, occasionally,” he admits. “Nice,” you put on a thumbs-up, “would you like to keep our liquor collection? We want to stop drinking now that we’re expecting.” His eyes widen in surprise. “I would be honored, sir, but as far as I know, they’re expensive.” You smile kindly while placing a hand on the side of his arm. “The only thing I care about, Mr. Hwang, is my wife and my child’s health—I don’t care about those bottles.” “If you say so—oh, and congratulations on the pregnancy, sir.”

After convincing Mr. Hwang to keep your collection of liquor for himself, you return to your wife. “Mr. Hwang will take care of those bottles, love; we won’t have to throw them out,” you inform her. “Erm, actually,” says Irene, “can we give the Masseto to my parents, love?” You agree with her request, thus officially marking the start of the transition to a clear-headed life without alcohol.

You invite Irene to join you on the sofa because you think that you have some things to discuss with her. “What do you want to talk about, love?” “Which hospital do you want, and how do you want to deliver the baby?” After thinking about it for a while, Irene says she wants to try delivering without surgery but is open to it as the last option. As for the hospital, she chooses the Sacred Heart Hospital, which is a very good hospital that’s also not too far from your house.

“Next up, our stuff,” you say, making Irene confused. “What do you mean?” “Well, we’re going to need a new car; I don’t think transporting the 3 of us in that 911 or your Genesis is a good idea.” “Do you want to sell the 911?” No, you don’t want to; Irene bought that silver speedster as a birthday present for you. “I was thinking that we should just buy a new one—something that can accommodate us and our child comfortably.” She pulls out her phone to search for options, but you stop her. “That doesn’t have to happen today, love,” you say, “we can think about that later on; I was just trying to get it out there, you know.”

Irene moves to sit on your lap. “I have some things to ask from you, love,” she starts on a new subject, “tell me what you think about them, okay?” You nod to get her to continue. “First, whenever possible, please come home early and don’t spend too much time working.” You say yes without hesitation, which satisfies her. Work will always be there, but your child’s growth and other important moments only happen once—wouldn’t want to miss your child’s first word or first step, would you?

“Second,” she puts up two fingers in front of your eyes, “please have mercy on me when we have sex.” You ask her to elaborate further. “I know that we can get rough sometimes, so let’s turn it down a bit to make sure the child isn’t in danger or anything.” “What about the frequency?” You take your turn to ask. “Just the usual, please; I’ll tell you when I want it, and you can tell me when you want it.” Again, without hesitation, you agree to her terms, which apparently serves as a segue for her next point.

“Can I have you, love?” You grin as you feel your cock getting hard. “You certainly can, love—can I have you as well?” Irene giggles cutely. “That goes hand-in-hand, doesn’t it?” “Just wanted to make sure, baby.”

Because of the time and day, there are other people in the house (i.e. the cook and the cleaning staff), so the only place you can have sex in is the bedroom. On your way to the bedroom with Irene in your arms, she taps your chin to get your attention. “Love, Miss Jo wants to take a leave to visit her parents,” she says. “We’ll go out later and get her some stuff to take home.”

You set Irene gently onto the bed in compliance with her request to take things easier during sex. “Ah, my gentle giant,” she comments. She hasn’t used that nickname in quite some time, now that you think about it. That name was given to you by your fellow student council members (including Irene) back in university when you refused to beat up a toilet peeper and would rather have him formally punished by the university and charged by the victims. “I thought you’ve forgotten that name.” She lets out a giggle. “How can I forget, love?”

You come in for a kiss to indicate that you’ve had enough chatter, and Irene welcomes you warmly as usual. “Please, love,” she gulps, “please start already.” You reach for her pajama top and undo the first button. “Patience, baby; I still need to undress you.” She cooperates by undoing her top starting from the bottom button and meeting you halfway. “There, I helped,” she says, making you laugh a little. She then proceeds to pull down her shorts just as you’re about to ask her.

Your gaze lands on her firm belly where your child is being safely kept. “I hope you won’t hate me when my stomach gets bigger.” You shake your head rapidly. “There’s no way I’d hate you for that—you’re my wife and that’s our child in your belly,” you say, and you see that Irene’s eyes are threatening to burst.

You join her in bed after undressing yourself and after she has taken off her underwear. You then pull her into a hug and peck her head everywhere, making her let out that lovely laugh that’s special to her. Once you stop, she places her hands on each side of your face. “I swear on everything I have that I’m so glad that I ended up with you and not with that Kim Junghwan guy.” “He never deserved you,” you say, demeaning. “That is true,” she agrees with you, “you and only you, love.”

You take the bottom position today, letting Irene have her way with you. “I have a feeling that I’d not be able to ride you as well with a big belly,” she comments as she moves to sit on your lap. You’re starting to get ticked off, but at the same time, she’s coming from a good place, so for now, you simply let out a sigh. “Love, please don’t worry about the sex; we’ll adapt as the pregnancy continues. Just focus on your health and stress levels, please.” Irene places her hands on her chest. “That’s touching, love—thank you.”

With your cock in hand, she aims it at her entrance. “Here I go,” she notifies you, as if you couldn’t see what she’s doing. Irene slowly goes down on your shaft, hugging it with her tight and warm walls. You breathe deeply as she starts moving up and down. “Fuck, that’s good,” you praise her to rile her up. “Yeah, daddy?” There it is: the kink that you love the most—Irene has always been quick to use it.

Irene bends backwards slightly and fixes her grip on your knees. After making sure that she’s steady, she starts moving faster on your cock, and you desperately want to hold those bouncing plump tits of hers. “Daddy, daddy,” she chants, “oh, you’re so deep in me, daddy.” “Keep it up, baby—fuck, you’re doing so well.”

Irene might not be the best at working out, but damn is she good at managing her stamina during sex; it feels like she has this extra battery pack that’s specifically used for sex, and as long as praises and words of affirmation keep flowing out of your lips, that battery will never die.

“Oh, no, daddy,” she slows down a little, “I think I’m about to cum.” “I don’t see the problem with that.” You slap her butt a few times to get her to speed up again. “Go on, baby; be good and cum for me.” Irene nods and picks up the pace again, trying to adhere to your command to “be good.”

Irene’s thighs shake violently when her first orgasm hits while her walls are gripping your shaft very tightly, making it very hard to you to not just bust right here. You pull her towards you and hug her. “Good job, love—very good job.” “You—oh, you always bring the best out of me, daddy,” she replies despite the heavy pants. “I can say the same about you, love,” you whisper back.

Without retreating from her pussy, you roll over until you’re the one on top. “You’re so sweaty, love,” you comment while wiping her forehead, “that must’ve been exhausting for you.” Irene shakes her head feebly. “A-anything to make you happy, daddy.” The way she always puts your pleasure as the top priority is touching. “Alright, let’s take a breather first, okay?”

“Take a breather,” you say, but you’re still slowly moving back and forth in her pussy, making her let out soft moans despite the exhaustion. “Ha-have mercy—please, daddy,” she utters faintly, almost too quiet to reach your ears. “Don’t worry, baby; I’m being gentle.”

As you keep fucking her like this, you can feel your orgasm inching closer, so you pause for now. “Okay, I’m going to stop here—I don’t want to cum without your full attention.” “B-but you have my attention, daddy.” You chuckle. “Your eyes are barely open, love.” When you see her opening her mouth to make an argument, you quickly lean in for a kiss to interrupt her. “Relax, love, we have all day.”

You’ve spent the last few minutes kissing (while still being inside her), and Irene is the first to break it. “When are you going to give me your cum, daddy?” You assess that she has recovered enough for you to finish this, so to answer her, “Right now.” You straighten your back and prepare to start. “Where do you want it, love?” Irene scoffs. “Where else?” “But what about your career?” The callback to the career vs. child argument makes her laugh. “I’m literally pregnant right now, in case you forgot—fill me however much you want, daddy.”

You place her legs together on one side of your shoulder and start fucking her. Irene promptly places her hands on her tits, doing whatever she can to add more stimulation on top of that you’re giving her. “Daddy, you’re close, aren’t you? I can feel it, you know.” You let out a hum to answer her. “Give it to me whenever, daddy.”

You fasten your grip on her legs as you turn up the pace to the maximum of your ability. Your wife has now been reduced to moans and screams; she no longer has the headspace to play with her tits and instead just puts her hands on each side of her head.

“Love, I—” Before you can finish your sentence, semen escapes your shaft and enters her body, making her let out a long, sensual moan because of the warmth. “Oh, daddy,” she gasps, “oh, God, you’ve filled me again.” You let go of her legs and fall limply onto her body. “I love you, baby,” you say right into her ear. “I love you more, daddy.”

As you roll closer towards your house, you see your wife patiently waiting for you in the front garden among the flowers. She turns her head and puts on a smile for you, and you swear to God that exhaustion and stress from work has been taken away, and along with it, your breath.

You quickly jump out of your car, stumbling on your own leg in the process. “Welcome home, love,” she greets you with open arms. You take your rightful spot in her arms, and you can feel her belly bump against yours. “Tired, love?” “I was but not anymore,” you say. “It’s like magic, isn’t it—the moment you see your significant other, everything else just disappears.” “Absolutely,” you agree with her.

Irene invites you to sit on the garden bench with her, but you opt to take a knee in front of her instead. You rub her belly gently to greet your little one, and Irene looks at you with a smile of approval. “I want to say that I’m tired, but it doesn’t feel right.” You furrow your eyebrows. “Why not?” “I mean, it’s you who went to work, not me.” “That’s absurd; you might be at home, but I imagine being pregnant is tiring.” You can tell that she wants to make another argument, but the way you’re looking at her right in the eyes makes her bury that intention.

“Have you eaten, by the way?” Irene nods. “I asked Mr. Hwang to make me lentil soup for lunch.” Lentil soup sounds nice and healthy, which is important for a pregnant woman. “It was so delicious, by the way.” You laugh. “He’d be in deep trouble if it wasn’t.”

You think that this is enough catching up for now and that it’s time to get into the house, so you carry her inside safely. Irene says she wants to watch TV because she’s “tired of being in the bedroom,” so you put her down on the sofa and hand her the remote. You then tell her that you’ll join her after taking a quick shower.

When you get back to the living room to join her, you see that Irene is watching this little documentary on Giethoorn, this beautiful hamlet in the Netherlands where rivers run everywhere. She keeps letting out wows as shots of the area are shown on screen, deeply immersed in the show. “Do you think we can move there one day, love?” “Oh, man, I hope so; that looks like a really nice place to live in.” Irene turns your head towards you. “Maybe if we can’t live in the Netherlands, we can live in some quieter place instead—Damyang or Jinhae, perhaps?” You smile at her. “We’ll see what we can do, alright?” Not satisfied with just words, she makes you make a pinky promise that you’ll seriously consider it.

You didn’t know that you fell asleep, only waking up because you feel soft pokes on your thigh.

“Hngh?”

“Love, you’re tired, aren’t you?”

“A little.”

“Please, that doesn’t look like a little.”

“A little lot, perhaps,” you change your answer.

“I was going to invite you to sleep, but you haven’t eaten yet.”

“That’s fine, love.”

“No, it’s not fine—do you want to have food delivered here?”

“Eh, sure,” you accept her offer, “order something light for me, please.”

Irene doesn’t say anything, presumably busy scrolling through the food delivery app to find something for you. “Light, light, light—what’s something that’s light?” “A lamp—haha, get it?” Irene slaps your thigh for your joke. “Daddy is really funny, isn’t he, Hyewon-ah?” Hearing your wife say that name startles you a tad. “Hyewon-ah? Really?” “I don’t know,” Irene shrugs, “I just like that name.” “Oh, I thought we’ve found out if we’re having a daughter.”

Irene focuses on ordering food again, and something finally catches her fancy. “What about some toast, love?” “What toast?” She shows you the available options, from peanut butter toast to kimchi and cheese toast. “Get me one peanut butter toast, please.” She says that it’s a better deal to order at least 3 toasts, so she adds some other toast to the order. “It’ll be here in around 45 minutes, love.” You thank her for the help and then invite her to rest her head on your lap.

“Love me, please,” she says in this aegyo-esque voice. You bend down and peck her on the forehead. “Anything specific, love?” Irene opens and closes her mouth a few times, seemingly trying to judge if she should speak her mind. “You’re so tired, though,” she utters, and you can already tell what she’s getting at. “You want me between your legs, don’t you?” Your wife covers her red face. “W-well, if you put it like that…” “We’ll wait until I have some food in my stomach and see how we can proceed—do we have a deal?” “Yes, deal!” The way her voice cracks makes you laugh. “My, my, aren’t you a cutie?”

The toasts are here: you’ve grabbed the bag from the delivery man and put it on the living room table.

You pick up the box with the text “PB” written on it. Irene says that she has bought some toast from this place before and hopes that you’ll like it like she does. You nod in satisfaction after taking the first bite. “I think I know what brand of peanut butter this is,” you comment. She scratches her head in cluelessness. “I don’t know, love; they all taste the same to me.”

You notice that Irene has two hands on top of each other on her stomach and keeps licking her lips while watching you eat. “Want to have a bite, lovely?” She nods timidly. “It looks so good,” she admits, “b-but I don’t know if I should eat.” You tilt your head in confusion. “Why not?” “Erm, I think that’s ultra-processed food—that’s one. Two, I don’t want to gain too much weight.” Weight can be quite a sensitive subject, especially considering that your wife has always been paying close attention to it.

You keep chewing as you think of a reasonable answer—well, here it goes: “I’m sure that you have good intentions, but I’m almost certain that one toast won’t hurt you or Hyewon-ie.” You can tell that she’s starting to get swayed, as proven by how she has a box with “CHOCO” written on it in her hands. “Forgive me, Hyewon-ah, but I really want this toast.”

You panic a little when Irene sheds a tear after taking a bite. “Oh my, are you okay, love?” She nods again. “T-this is so good, but I feel so guilty for eating this—oh, I’m so sorry, Hyewon-ah.” You put down your and her toast on the table so that you can hold her hands. “Love, love,” you try to get her to focus on you, “it’s okay, no one is yelling at you for eating one toast—not me, not Doctor Shin, and certainly not Hyewon-ie.” “A-are you sure?” “Yes,” you say in a resolute tone. “We’ll be just fine, trust me.”

Feeling decently comforted and assured by your words, Irene asks if she can have her toast again, so you give it back to her. You make sure you don’t forget to wipe that random tear off her cheek while you’re at it. “Thank you,” she utters softly. “You’re welcome, my love,” you say equally softly.

After finishing those tasty and quite filling toast, Irene asks if she can have you between her legs, so you stand up from your seat and stretch your body to warm up. “I apologize in advance if I finish too fast; I’m kind of tired.” Your wife shakes her head. “As long as your load is mine, I don’t really see the problem with finishing fast—I’ll probably finish before you, anyway.”

There’s only you and your wife in this house right now, but that doesn’t change the fact that sex should only happen in the bedroom for the next 6 to 7 months; it’s more comfortable for her and safer for your child.

After getting undressed, Irene asks to be helped sit on the stool that she prepared earlier today. “It seems like you have an idea,” you comment. “Yes,” she says, “I want you back there.” “What happened to turning it down?” “This isn’t our first time, is it—just remember to be gentle.”

You open the bedside drawer to find the lube and see that it’s not there. “We don’t have lube?” Irene looks away to hide her red cheeks. “Erm, I might or might not have used it earlier.” You furrow your eyebrows. “You used it? For what?” She shyly admits that she fucked herself in the rear with a dildo this afternoon. “I-I wanted to prepare for you, because I know you like it when I think ahead.”

It’s not strange or new to you that your wife is lustful; you’ve known that for years at this point. That said, you’d think that being pregnant would turn that lustfulness down, but it doesn’t seem like it so far—in fact, it feels like she’s more lustful than ever.

You stand in front of her and hold her chin. “Oh, love, what would you do without me—who could satisfy you if not me?” “I don’t know, daddy; it’s always been you since day one.” You reward her with a kiss for answering correctly. “May I, then?” Irene giggles slightly. “Certainly.”

You walk around and look for your target. “I’m pulling this plug out, alright?” After getting a nod of approval from your wife, you gently tug on the plug. “Ngh!” Irene clenches her fists when she feels her rear being stretched by the wide part of the plug. “Relax, love—it’s almost out.” With a pop, the plug is finally out of her tight ass, and you quickly put your mouth on it for the first time ever in this marriage, making your wife gasp in shock. “Daddy, no, I’m dirty there.”

You ignore her and keep running your tongue on her puckered hole; quite fun, you must admit. Occasionally, you try parting her cheeks apart so that you can put the tip of your tongue in her rear.

Feeling weak, Irene starts tumbling forwards, but you catch her just in time to save her from going face first onto the floor. “God, you’re so crazy, daddy.” “Your new task, baby, is to keep it clean all the time—is that clear?” Irene nods in obedience. “Y-yes, sir; I will try my best.” You squeeze her butt cheek lightly. “Good girl,” you praise her.

You get on your feet and hug the panting woman from behind. “Are you alright?” “Y-yes—fuck, you’re fucking crazy.” You pinch a nipple, more surprising than painful. “That’s not how you speak to me, woman.” “S-sorry, sir, b-but you are indeed crazy.” You kiss her on the back of the head. “I hope you didn’t mind, by the way.” Your wife shakes her head. “Not—oh, not at all.”

“Sir, daddy,” Irene can’t choose between the two, “would you fuck my ass, please?” “Thought you’d never ask, baby.” You stroke your shaft to make sure that it’s properly hard and ready while your wife spreads her butt cheeks to give you access. You place the tip right on the entrance of her forbidden hole. “Are you ready, baby?” “Yes—oh, God, fuck, yes.”

You waste little time and go deep right away into her warmed-up hole. “Fuck, you’re always so tight right here.” “Hngh! Ngh!” Irene can only let out grunts as she’s getting overwhelmed by the stimulation you’re giving her. “No one can touch you like I do, hm?” She shakes her head weakly as a response, still unable to say anything back.

You hook her arms backwards as you get ready to fuck her to make sure she doesn’t fall off the stool. “I’m yours, daddy—fuck me however you want,” she says, as if it was ever a question. “Bet.”

With this steady posture, you start fucking her ass roughly, forcing Irene to scream with each thrust delivered. “My husband is fucking amazing—Hyewon-ah, daddy is fucking amazing,” Irene thinks as the sounds of your hips crashing against her butt enter her ears.

As time goes on, everything starts to get blurry for Irene, and it doesn’t help that from this position, she has no control over how fast you’re fucking her. “P-please stop,” she says weakly, hoping that it’ll still reach your ears amongst the clapping sounds. It doesn’t seem like you heard her, though; you’re still fucking her ass recklessly, which leaves her no other choice but to just yell out loud. “DADDY, STOP—PLEASE!” Hearing her scream makes you stop abruptly with more than half your shaft still lodged in her ass. “Daddy, please, let me breathe,” Irene begs.

Still panting, you gently retreat from her gaped ass. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” you just realize how rough you’ve been. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry, love,” you repeat to show sincerity. You pull her into your arms and take a seat on the edge of the bed, and the sight of your wife crying (from getting fucked in the ass, nonetheless) twists your heart like nothing else. You keep repeating apologies while rubbing her stomach gently, hoping that doing so could also tell Hyewon that you’re regretful of your actions.

Irene feebly reaches for your face. “I-it’s okay; it was good until it became overwhelming, daddy.” You lie her down on her side and inspect the result of your recklessness—it seems like she didn’t get injured by your shaft. “I think you’re fine, baby.” “Great,” she replies, “so what are you waiting for?” You blink rapidly in confusion. “I thought you were in pain?” “I never said that,” she shrugs. Seeing that you’re silent, Irene piles on. “C’mon, look at yourself, daddy: you’re still hard and ready to fuck me—let me finish the job, please.” “Fine,” you give up, “I’m not getting in your ass again, though.”

Irene says that you have a deal and asks you to lie down so that she can take control, which is fine by you; you’ve had enough “fun” being dominant tonight. You keep an eye on your wife as she aims your shaft towards her entrance from the cowgirl position. You grit your teeth when Irene slowly sits down on your cock—you’re in her ass again. “Oh, fuck, welcome back, daddy.” “I thought we had a deal.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Irene deflects, “anyway, I hope you enjoy the ride, hihihi.”

Irene rests her subtly bulged belly on your body while her hips are busy bouncing up and down along your length. She keeps chanting “you’re in my ass” as if you can’t tell that you are indeed in her ass. You reach around and slap her butt. “Go faster.” Having planted her hands on your chest, Irene tries to bounce faster on your cock. “Oh, oh, yes—how’s this, daddy?” It’s you who can’t respond this time; just like earlier, the way her muscles are squeezing you prevents you from thinking straight and coming up with words to say.

You rest your head on the pillow while your wife is busy fucking herself on your cock (while moaning so freaking freely), and for some reason, your eyelids feel like they weighed 100 kilograms—what the hell are they so heavy for? “You must be close, daddy,” Irene makes a keen observation. “Uh-huh,” are all that escape your lips. Hearing that you’re close serves as fuel for Irene to keep up the tempo and make you bust with her ass; this tireless woman can be very crazy in bed, pregnant or not.

“Love, I’m about to—oh, fuck, I’m about to bust,” you warn her. “Yeah?” Her voice is barely heard thanks to the endless clapping noises. You grip the pillow your head is resting on as your cock starts twitching wildly in her rear. “Baby, please,” you let your desperation to cum be known to her.

Irene slams herself down onto your body, and you instantly erupt, surprising the both of you at the same time. She throws her head back as your warm semen floods her ass. “Oh, oh, yes, daddy.” It was her who did all the work, but it’s you who’s panting heavily.

“Love, thank you so much.” Irene removes you from her ass and lies down next to you. “Even when tired, you’re still so strong,” she praises while her hand runs along your length. “What’s your secret, daddy?” “You’re my secret; if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be like this.” You let out a low moan when your wife manages to squeeze the last bit of semen out of you. “You’re so cute, you know that?” You chuckle. “No, I don’t.”

It feels odd to not have Irene welcome you at the driveway, especially since she’s been doing that consistently for the past few weeks, too. Her Genesis is parked neatly in the usual spot, so she must be at home, but where is she?

“I’m home.” You close the door behind you and scan your surroundings—still no sign of your wife, making you wonder if perhaps she’s asleep. You make your way towards the bedroom, and your jaw drops immediately when you see her kneeling on the floor while being almost entirely naked. Irene buckles a little, presumably because she feels a fetus kick. “Even Hyewon-ie doesn’t approve,” you comment.

You rub the side of her face gently. “What on God’s green earth are you trying to do, love?” The ball gag in her mouth prevents her from answering, but she has this little spanker in her hands that she’s trying to hand over to you. “Love, please, what are you doing?” Irene just looks at your feet while her hands are on her thighs. “This isn’t how a woman in her second trimester is supposed to behave, is it?” You close your eyes and take a few deep breaths to get yourself together. “Fine, I’ll play your game.”

Your wife steals some glances as you undress in front of her, and when you’re finished, you take the time to take off her bra, exposing her tits that you swear have grown bigger recently. You then lift her onto her feet to remove her panties, and Irene instantly drops back down onto the floor after you’re done. “Oh, you’re that serious, aren’t you?”

You pick up the slim paddle from the floor and prepare to swing. “Wait, where do I hit her?” You look for places to hit her on, but the more you think about it, the more that you don’t want to do it. That said, you imagine that it’d disappoint her if you chicken out, so you decide to play along until she taps out.

You hit her on the right shoulder once. “Ngh!” Irene lets out a yelp of surprise when the paddle lands. “That’s one.” You move the paddle to your other hand and hit her on the left shoulder. “I’ll count until 29, okay?” Irene nods in response, and that’s when you look for other targets.

You ask her to show you her palms and hit them successively. “Any ideas?” Your wife taps her thighs, indicating that she wants to be hit there, so you hit those two spots, harder than you’d like to admit, making her grunt in pain. “Sorry.” That sounds less sincere than you’d like, but it’s okay, you’ll make it up to her later.

Before you continue, you join her on the floor and unlatch the gag. “This doesn’t look comfortable, so I’m taking it off,” you say. Irene relaxes her mouth now that she’s free. “Thank you, master.” You sigh. “Master? Really?” Irene nods enthusiastically. “Yes, master.”

You stand back up and swing at her tender breasts out of nowhere. “Fucking naughty, aren’t you?” As Irene opens her mouth to say something, you hit her breasts again. “You’re pregnant, and this is how you fucking act? Explain yourself.” You tell her to explain herself, but you don’t give her the chance to do so, interrupting her with a hit on the forearm. “M-master, please.” “Please what?” You subconsciously raise your tone. “Please punish me; I-I’ve been naughty.” You roll your eyes. “Fuck it, we’re going back to zero.”

You hit her on different places in rapid succession, and Irene screams after each one. “How many?” “S-six, master.” “Good,” you praise her emptily, “count to 18, slut.” You initially chose 29, which is the date she was born, but changed it to 18, which is the date you were born. As much as you’re putting on a cold charade for her, you don’t have the heart to hit her 29 fucking times.

You tell her to get on her hands and knees to expose other parts of her body. You smack her on the back a few times before moving on to her butt and hitting it a few more times. “How many?” Irene chokes up momentarily before she manages to get her answer out. “T-twelve, sir.”

To end the show, you give her some hard hits on the back of her thighs. “E-eighteen, master.” “On your knees,” you command, and Irene obeys right away. “Explain yourself, or else.” “I-I was just trying new stuff,” she says. “Is that it?” Irene just nods, and you can’t help but sigh, feeling somewhat frustrated by her simple answer.

“Love, be honest with me: why are you acting like this?” After taking a deep breath, Irene proceeds to explain the whole thing, from how she tore the left rear tire of her car against an elevated curb while trying to pull into a gas station this afternoon, to the fact that she touched herself thrice while thinking about you. “L-like I said, I’ve been very naughty.” You exhale deeply. “Those few things don’t require punishment—especially not of this sort.” Your wife shakes her head. “But I want to be punished,” she insists.

“Have you had enough, or what?” Irene slowly shifts her gaze to meet yours, and you know that she knows that you’re aroused, as shown by your erect cock. “Do whatever you please, master,” she says, hiding her excitement behind the façade of obedience.

Still kneeling in front of you, Irene eases you into her mouth. You place a hand on the back of her head and pull her towards you, forcing your cock deeper. She’s taken you deep plenty of times, so this is neither new nor difficult for her. “Hold it there and count to 10.” After finishing her count, Irene retreats until only your tip is in her mouth. “Very good—now do it 9 more times.”

Irene does as you command, doing each repetition passionately, much to your satisfaction. “That’s very good, love,” you make sure you don’t forget to praise her. You retreat from her wet mouth to let her breathe, and she promptly inhales sharply. “I-I hope I did well, sir.” You smile kindly. “Of course; you always do everything so well.”

You take a seat on the edge of the bed while you wait for Irene to get herself together. “Anything else, master?” A lit bulb appears over your head. “Is it just me, love, or have your breasts gotten bigger?” She takes a quick look at herself. “I-I think they have indeed grown, master.” “They look so soft, don’t you think?” She nods to your question. “Would you like to touch them, sir?” “I have a better idea,” you say, “put them around my cock.”

Irene crawls towards you and places your cock right between her extra plump tits. “Like this, sir?” You moan in a low voice as your shaft grinds against her tits. “You—oh, fuck, you’re so good at every-fucking-thing.” Your wife blushes. “I aim to please, master.” “Oh, trust me, I’m very pleased right now, love.”

Much to your pleasure, Irene presses her chin against her chest and catches your tip with her mouth every time it pokes through her tits. You pet her head gently. “Good fucking job, baby—fuck, I’m about to bust.” “Please, give me your cum, master.” Irene moves her tits faster, eager to have your first load of the day.

You throw your head back and close your eyes as semen spurts out of the tip of your cock, landing all over her face and chest. “Oh my, very thick,” she comments. “I love how you taste, master; your diet works well for me too, you know.” You chuckle. “Good to know, baby.”

You invite Irene to lie down in bed with you. “You haven’t cum yet.” “Yes, I have; I told you I touched myself a lot today.” You get your tie from the messy pile of clothes. “Hands above your head, please.” She puts her hands together above her head, and you tie them together. “Are we ready?” Irene looks at you nervously. “Please have mercy, master; I’ve had a lot of orgasm today.” “That wasn’t my doing, was it?”

Irene gasps in shock when she feels your hand on her little nub. “Sensitive much?” “Please, master.” “Please what, baby?” “I need to cum again, master—make me cum with your hands, please.” “Well, since you asked so nicely.” You use one hand to stimulate her nub and use the other to play with her tits, going fast and fervent right from the gate.

In the moment of high stimulation, Irene accidentally kicks you in the head—how did that even happen? “That’s not nice.” “I-I—fuck, I’m so sorry, master. I didn’t mean it.” “That’s strike one, Miss Bae,” you warn. To punish her behavior, you increase the intensity of stimulation on her pussy, making her jolt around more. It’s fine if she were to kick you again; you have some more ideas in your head to get her back.

Your wife keeps moaning loudly and freely as her fourth orgasm looms ahead. “Master, master,” Irene begs for your attention, “I won’t last too long, master.” “Oh, is that so?” You plunge two fingers into her pussy and finger-fuck her, and Irene can’t help but moan, possibly until her voice disappears.

Your hand starts getting tired, but as timing has it, she’s also very, very close to orgasm. With an ear-piercing scream, Irene explodes: her legs are shaking violently, and her juice is coming out torrentially. “Very, very good, my love—you’re such a big bomb, aren’t you?” You free her hands and move to barrage her sweaty head with pecks. “We’ll wait until you’re relaxed before doing anything else, alright?”

Amid all this, you notice that you’re getting rock hard again. You start stroking your cock with the sight of your naked wife in front of you. Irene, in her exhausted state, looks at you. “Don’t waste your cum,” she says vaguely. “What do you mean?” “Put it somewhere in me, master,” she clarifies. You stop for a moment. “You’re very exhausted, love. I don’t want to burden you with more sex.” Your wife shakes her head. “I can take it, don’t worry.”

You take a position in between her legs, aiming your cock at her pussy in the process. You announce that you’re going in, and Irene moans weakly at the first contact. She tells you that you need to do all the work this, citing her exhaustion. “Never thought I’d hear such words from you; you’ve been tireless recently,” you say, earning a little chuckle from her.

You kiss her while your shaft goes in and out of her, dropping whatever charade you’ve been using these past few hours. “I love you, baby—I love you so fucking much.” “I-I love you more, hon—you’re the best for me.” Her warm words make you smile. “I’ll stay by your side until death do us part, my love.” “You have a deal.” You hug her tightly when your second load of the day enters her body.

“We’ll rest a bit, if that’s okay with you.” “Sure,” Irene says, “I can’t even stand up right now.”

You feel rapid taps on your chest, making you wake up crassly in surprise. When your eyes are open enough to provide vision, you see that your wife is seated in bed with Yeseo in her arms. “Yes, love?” Irene doesn’t answer your question and instead, starts breaking down in tears. “C-can you take care of her a little? I-I want to rest.”

You slap yourself as hard as you can for leaving your wife to sleep and, in turn, forcing her to tend to your child alone. “My goodness, I’m so sorry, love.” You open your hands to receive your daughter who is wrapped snug with a little blanket, and Irene immediately falls flat onto the bed—she’s still crying, though. “Go to sleep if you can, love; I’ll keep her safe.” “I’m such a bad mom,” she insults herself unnecessarily, “I can’t even stay up for my daughter.” “No, you’re not a bad mom—trust me, you’re not.” To offer her some peace, you tell her that you’ll be in the living room with Yeseo until morning. “I’ll see you later, okay?” You give her a peck as a parting gift.

“Yeseo-yah,” you whisper softly, “while mommy catches her breath, we’ll hang out in the living room, okay?” Having been born just a few weeks ago, Yeseo can’t respond much aside from a small head movement, which you’ll gladly accept as an answer. “We’re going to get along very well, aren’t we, sweetie?”

You turn on the TV to watch something in an attempt make sure you don’t fall asleep, and that’s when you see the time: 02:09 a.m. “We’re staying up late, sweetie—I hope you won’t make this a habit when you’re grown up,” you comment.

You make sure that the TV is muted so that it doesn’t startle your daughter when this video starts. “Oh my, look at that place, Yeseo-yah.” A shot of beautiful countryside scenery in Jeju steals your attention, and it’s very hard to resist the temptation to move there with your family. “What do you say we move there, sweetie?” Yeseo lets out a small squeal, and you guess that she’s interested in living there. “Aha, great minds think alike, hey?”

You remember your wife asking if the family can move to somewhere quieter to raise Yeseo in, and now that she’s actually here, you’re really contemplating the opportunity. In your head, you try to think about what work would be like if you lived in a place like Jeju, which is even farther from the big capital. Your brain suggests stepping down from your post and earning from dividends, which sounds like a sound idea. Irene had stepped down from her position of director of risk management two months before Yeseo was born, so it’s not the craziest idea to follow suit.

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you and mommy, Yeseo-yah.” You want to say that you’re willing to die for them, but Irene’s words enter your mind: why die for family, if you can be healthy and stay by their side instead? You laugh a little as you recall that exchange. “Mommy is an amazing person, sweetie. Sometimes I can’t believe I ended up with her.”

Irene wakes up around 6 hours later, feeling somewhat refreshed after a decent night’s sleep. The first thing she does is obviously to check up on her husband and daughter.

“Look at you: sleeping with Yeseo in your hands.” Irene unlocks her phone and takes a picture of you sleeping with your mouth wide open while Yeseo is chilling in your arms. She gets teary eyes looking at this scene in the living room.

She never had the idea of being childfree and has taken a more neutral stance about it, but at the same time, having Yeseo is quite the surprise turn of her life.

Irene quietly joins you on the sofa to not disturb your peace. “Love, love,” she whispers, trying to get you to wake up, “wake up, please; it’s time for work.” “Screw work,” she hears you say, “I’m stepping down.” She knows that you’re referring to your job. “Are you sure?” “Yes,” you reply again, “we’re moving to Jeju.”

Before getting too excited, Irene makes sure you’re awake. “Love, seriously, wake up.” The way you’re suddenly looking at her with eyes wide open makes her jump. “Yes?” “Were you serious about moving to Jeju?” You nod. “I’ve talked with Yeseo about it, and she agreed.” Irene bursts out laughing, shaking her head in amusement. “Sure, she did.” “Just ask her yourself if you don’t believe me.”

She plays along with your joke and asks Yeseo about her opinion on moving out of the big city, to which she replies by crying out loud, taking the two of you by surprise. “What, what, what,” you panic, “is she hungry? She’s probably hungry, right?” Irene unbuttons her pajama to expose a nipple Yeseo can latch on, so you hand your daughter over to her to be breastfed.

“Sorry, love, but these tits aren’t solely yours anymore,” Irene quips. You start laughing out loud, finding it difficult to stop. “What—what are you talking about? Why did you say it like that?” Your wife joins you in laughing. “I don’t know—it just felt right to say it.” You shake your head, highly amused by your wife’s odd statement. “It’s fine; I’m totally content with sharing them with Yeseo,” you clarify.

You take one last look at your house that is now empty. “We spent a fortune on this house, didn’t we, love?” You nod in agreement. “It’s crazy how much we bought this place for,” you reply. “I hope you won’t regret moving out,” Irene expresses her concern. You look at her right in the eyes while your hands are on either side of her waist. “We’re doing this for Yeseo—this is bigger than just the two of us, love.”

You walk with her outside towards the driveway, where Yeseo’s stroller is parked. “Isn’t she so cute?” “She is,” you say, “I swear I will do and give everything for you and her.” Irene puts on a big smile.

“We’ll give her a good life and a bright future, love.”

“We absolutely will.”

#girl group smut #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #male reader #male reader smut #smut #red velvet smut #irene smut

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dmitriene · 1 year ago

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john price didn't intend to be someone's sugar daddy, not knowing that well what it means, and not even planning to join a relationship — yet, that's till he meet you on a dating app his lads almost begged him to install.

or they even installed it themselves, taking his phone while they were off in some country pub, and it wouldn't hurt to open it at least once, price thought.

indeed, it wouldn't, because that's how he found you — the sweetest, soft thing his eyes ever fell upon and seen, reminiscent so much of all the images and scenarios he often dreamed about, but always pushed further away.

john thought you looked like a proper sunshine itself, well mannered darling with toothy smiles and small, yet so sweet description of yourself, and this is the first situation in his life in which he did not think twice, before deciding to write to you straight away.

he's an old man, price is a captain inside and out, with warm heart and sincere smiles, yet bloody hands and fucked up head — he's seen everything, experienced everything, which made him the jonathan price he is right now, and still, it didn't pushed you away a tad bit.

all the time you were such a sweetheart, from the text's in the app and down the road to the first meeting, and if john didn't experience falling in love before — that was it.

it started by itself, after the first meeting there was another, with each of them you became closer and closer not only mentally, but also physically, and against the background of falling in love with you, there's responsibility that began to shallow.

john wanted to pamper you — pay for your lunches together at every meeting, then for your grocery's delivery, then it moved to fixing some little financial issues you had or even buying you something you couldn't afford right now, all of this was just for you, and you hadn't to do anything to receive it.

he had a good amount of money, the one he didn't exactly know where to spend, but there's you — you help john relax on hard days, take care of his health, comfort him when things don't go as they should, and wait for every new message from him while he's away on another mission.

shouldn't he repay to you for being his little pocket sunshine?

his, he always thinks and says, yet you don't exactly belong to him, you never talked about what exactly are you two — friends, lovers, or something else, because price never voiced his feelings and never crossed any possible boundaries, until you did it first.

a little kiss on the stubbled cheek to thank him for buying you some silly things you wanted so much recently, a warm hug against his bulky body, an innocent act of holding hands.

before it turns into messy tongue kisses, squeezing grasps of calloused palms, itchy mustache rubbing against soft flesh of your neck, sucking blooming marks to form a patch down your shoulders and to your cleavage, kissing, biting, moving away unnecessary clothing that gets into john's way.

you became his entirely, body and soul, with buzzing warmth inside your stomach and pleasurable soreness between your doughy thighs, with red marks both from price's fingers and beard, while waking up huddled under his heavy arm and under cool, silky sheets of his spacious bed.

john price fell in love with you completely and irrevocably, just as you in him — welcoming him home each time with soft touches and featherlight kisses, freshly cooked meal and tidy environment, light giggles and sincere words of love and adoration.

a dream come true, a place for him to return to, with light walls that hold only precious memories, with your gasping mewls that reverberate here at night.

from his grounding touches, soft roll of his broad hips when he nestles against your back at nights and curl his hands over the curve of your waist, hoisting your leg to probe against your sopping warmth, burrowing inside your gummy walls softly as john nuzzles his face against your shoulder blades.

price adores you, without planning it all in the first place, but now he is sure that he would not have refused to meet you in any of the circumstances.

✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3.

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bweeeb · 2 months ago

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BOAT PROBLEMS

DBF Joel Miller X Reader

HAWAII SOLUTIONS PART TWO

Summary: After the night before, all you could remember was his hands on you, but apparently Joel was trying really hard not to notice you there, more than you would like.

warnings: hard dick, cock sucking, admit dirty things ,blow job with the door open, maybe some shitty writing. enjoy

Notes: I really don't feel this part two but I did what I could, I hope I didn't disappoint anyone.

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The feeling still burned on my skin

The fleeting memory of his fingers gripping my thighs, my ass, my breasts, everywhere. It still made me want to moan and crave more.

Joel Miller was like a drug—one of those dangerously good men who get you hooked and leave you wrecked when they're not around.I stretched on the bed, breathing in his scent that still lingered on my pillow.

Maybe I had underestimated him, but the man fucked me four times in just a few hours.

Believe me—Joel Miller’s cock takes you to another plane of existence.

"Sweetheart, we're heading down for breakfast."

Two knocks on the door separating my room from Addison and my dad’s. And I wasn’t sure if I wanted to see either of them right now… or if it was just that growing ache inside me that needed release.

Just when you think things couldn’t get any weirder, it hits you—how weird it feels for everything to seem so... normal.

There he was. Sitting next to my dad, casual as hell, looking at me too casually—if a sideways glance even counts as looking. But what I did notice was him staring at that damn spa lady Addison introduced us to before we headed out to the yacht for the day.What the fuck is this?

“Hey. Sweetheart, why don’t you go ahead with the girls? I need to talk man-to-man with Joel.”

My dad said it, and even as I walked with the two women, my ears were sharp, listening behind me.

“I heard something while we were waiting at the deck yesterday… you and… you know.”

“You know what?”

Dad must’ve gestured or something, because Joel chuckled like the idea was absurd.

“Oh hell no, man. What the fuck?”

“I know, it’s just—she’s my daughter. And you two were… together.”

“She went up to her room. Some local girl showed up, we were talking, and I figured—hey, you only live once, right?”

“Well. Glad you’re having fun, man.”

I don’t know if that’s what I wanted to hear. Joel obviously wasn’t going to admit anything, but still—it wasn’t what I expected. Oh, what was I expecting? Don't even ask. Especially since, as we walked toward the boat, my dad was ahead with Addison, and the bastard stayed back with Miss Sunshine, whose name I didn’t even bother to remember.

If he didn’t care, then I sure as hell cared even less. And yes, I would keep saying that teenage bullshit to myself until I drove him out of my head.

Oh my God. What am I? Fifteen years old, for God's sake.

Hours later, I was sitting at the front edge of the yacht when someone took a seat beside me. Out the corner of my eye, I saw a guy—my age, dark hair, styled like he had money, an open blue shirt, beer in hand, and a smile that could melt panties.

“You’re way too beautiful to be sitting alone.”

“I’m not alone.”

He glanced around. I smiled, turning my back to the sea and facing him.

“Well, I don’t see anyone.”

“Maybe you should be that someone then.”

“Perfect.”

He smiled, hand landing on my waist.

“Where are you from?”

“Texas.”

“You don’t sound Texan.”

“I usually show my Texan side when I’m riding.”

I smirked, and he bit his lip.

“You gonna show me how you ride?”

“Maybe. Where are you from?”

“California.”

“Californians are the best to ride.”

Lies. Joel Miller was the best.

“Ridden many?”

“Californians? Nah.”

“Come on.”

He grabbed my hand, pulling me toward the yacht cabins. But our giggles were cut short by a cough.

“Hey kid, they’re calling for you up top.”

Joel.

“Now.”

His tone was firm. The guy vanished, leaving me irritated, turned on, and did I mention irritated? Yeah. Still fucking irritated.

“Were you gonna fuck him?”

Who cares? I’m in fucking Hawaii.

“Oh my God, you were.”

Joel looked me up and down, shocked.

“Come on, Joel. . You ruin my thing, act like you didn’t do anything, flirt with that hoker the entire day and still think you have the right to say something?”

“You were about to fuck a guy whose name you don’t even know—and she’s the hoker?”

He did not just say that. Okay, it seemed like that, but man, he knew me well enough to know I wouldn't do that.

“So now I’m the hoker?”

I laughed bitterly, shaking my head.

“Maybe I wasn’t even gonna fuck him. Maybe I’d just suck his dick. I don’t know. At least he’d get hard faster than you and I’d never have to see him again unlike you.”

“You don’t mean that.”

He pointed at me.

“I do. You’re the one pretending you didn’t come inside me four times last night and now acting like you’re gonna do the same with that woman.

”I pointed at him, and silence grew thick between us.

“I wasn’t doing that. I’m hiding.”

“Hiding? "

" Pretending "

" You’re pretending that you’re not into me by getting with her? That’s why your dick’s bulging in those shorts? Because you’re hiding your hard-on for her?”

He stepped in, closed the gap, and pushed me into a cabin, growling into my ear while grinding his hard cock against my stomach.

“Hiding that my cock’s fucking hard as hell for you. Because you keep walking around with those damn tits out, that sweet ass covered in nothing but that see-through shit, and all I can think about is your tits bouncing in my face. You are the fucking problem.”

“Not my fault you can’t control yourself and act like you don’t even know me.”

“Then suck my fucking dick right now so I can stop pretending my hard-on’s for her.”

He ordered, and I was on my knees almost immediately. The cabin door was slightly open, and all I could hope was that no one came by and ruined this.

I pulled his shorts down, his cock slapping up against his stomach, making me let out a nasal laugh.

“Shit, you’re really fucking hard.”

One hand on my neck, the other wrapped around his length. I licked him slowly, dragging my tongue around the tip and spitting warm and slow over the swollen head.

“Quick, baby.”

He groaned, pressing my head down, and I braced myself against his thighs.

“Beg for me.”

I looked up through my lashes, dead serious.

“Come on.”

“Beg for me, Joel.”

I let go of his cock and he groaned in frustration.

“Fuck, please, sweetheart. I need you.”

“You need me?”

“Only you. It’s always been just you.”

He panted, and I smiled, stroking him again.

“How much?”

“I’ve jerked off over a hundred times thinking of you.”

The words fell from him like my touch had unlocked a vault.

“Oh yeah? What else?”

I asked, taking him into my mouth and sucking on the pink head.

“Stole one of your panties once. Jerked off with it while listening to one of your voice notes.

I pulled off, hearing a soft ‘pop'

“So filthy. Oh, Mr. Miller.”

I sucked him in again, deeper this time.

“You are… fuck. You’re fucking ruining me, sweetheart.”

“Mmhm.”

I mumbled with him deep in my throat, pulling back slowly.

“What else, Joel?”

I gave kitten licks to his tip. He gripped my hair tighter, making me moan, thighs clenching with how wet I was.

“Remember that night you called me? Drunk? Said you felt lonely and horny? I jerked off with you on the phone. Felt like shit after.”

“Oh, don’t feel bad. I did too.”

“What?”

“I called you because I was horny. Wasn’t drunk at all. Just needed to come with your voice in my ear.”

I smirked as Joel groaned, coming hard and painting my chest with it.

“Fuck. I’m gonna tell your dad. We’re gonna be together, baby. We’re gonna do this right.”

His hands softened, brushing my skin gently—until I looked up.

And saw my dad. Arms crossed. Eyebrow arched. Pissed as fuck.

“You gonna tell me you’re fucking my daughter, you son of a bitch?”

Everything happened fast—Joel was yanked away from me and my dad’s punch landed hard. I froze. Joel didn’t fight back. He just took it.

“Dad!”

I screamed, scrambling from the floor, rushing to them as Addison pulled my dad away.I dropped beside Joel, who looked at me before closing his eyes and leaning his head back.

“You okay?”

I whispered, brushing his bruised face.

“I deserved that,”

he muttered, standing up slowly.

“I’m sorry, okay?”Joel looked at my dad, whose back was turned while he ran a hand through his hair.

“You’re sick.”

My dad hissed, and I narrowed my eyes, pissed now.

Excuse me?

“Dad.”

“No. He watched you grow up. This shouldn’t be happening.”

“Well, it did. And it’s not just his fault.”

“He’s too old for you.”

He shook his head.

“And you’re too old for Addison.”

“So that’s what this is about?”

He yelled, and I threw my hands in the air—

“No, but if we’re playing that card, then maybe think about that for a second”

" Listen, I love her, man, I love her."

Joel stepped in front of me, and I froze, just staring at his back. Does he love her?

" You lied to me. I asked you about this, and you fucking lied to my face."

" You wanted me to admit it? I’m sorry, man."

" You should love her like a niece.My dad yelled, walking closer, pissed off."

" Well, I don’t. I did that once, alright? I didn’t love her when she was a kid, not the same way i love her now. I love the woman she’s become now, and that’s so much more than just sex, because long before this trip, I knew it."

" Damn, you fucked her, man."

My dad yelled, and I just kept staring at the back of his neck like a statue.

When the boat docked at the hotel, the silence stayed until everyone went to their rooms, except for me. I stopped at Joel’s door, and as expected, he opened it.

There I was, cleaning his face with cotton from the mess we made.

" He’s gonna be fine."

I whispered as I wiped his nose.

" At least he didn’t break your nose. I like your nose."

I admitted, and Joel smiled at me.

" I really love you."

He said the same thing from earlier, and I stopped, looking into his eyes.

" I think I love you too. I always wanted you to see me, you know? I thought it was hopeless, but look at us now. "

I said, laughing through my nose as I went back to cleaning his face.

" You’re ready."

I said, getting out of his lap and tossing the cotton in the bathroom.

" You know something you still owe me?"

I said, turning my back to him.

" What?"

" Make me come. I’ve been so horny since the boat ride, and you haven’t done anything."

" Guess I’ll have to take care of that."

The night was gonna be long. How lucky am I

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a bad ending, sorry. I hope you enjoyed it. Requests are open

@theoraekenslover @hungryforbatboys @tracymbcm

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel x reader #joel smut #joel miller #joel tlou #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedrohub #pedro x reader #pedropascaledit #pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #joel the last of us #joel miller x you #joel miller dbf #dbf!joel

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13tinysocks · 1 month ago

Text

My Dead Girlfriend

You find common ground with the Marks- getting a little too comfortable in the process. Across the desert, plans are made.

Past child abuse. NSFW. (Not related, Jesus)

[Invincible Variants X Reader]

[Part one] [Ao3] [16] [18] [Chapter Index]

17 * Rendezvous [10.3k]

"I ain't even saved your number

So no, I can't reply to no text,

I make him cry 'bout the pussy,

Probably why my shit so wet."

Cry Baby - Megan Thee Stallion (ft. DaBaby)

Gray fought the urge to stand closer to you, instead opting to keep watch of the horizon until the others returned. They did, minutes before Tracksuit asking where he was. Neither of you told them to suck it, because that felt a little on the nose. Tracksuit returned, grumbling something about his stomach.

Gray took of before Tracksuit could get his bearings, knowing the way better than Tracksuit after Maskless relayed the directions. Tracksuit bitched and moaned as he took to the sky. Gray ignored him because being near you like a magnet for desire that still roiled in his stomach. Nothing was as boner-killing as Tracksuit rattling on about his bathroom trip as they flew.

Gray found Mark's body under six feet of sand. The stuff dried to him like horrible glitter glue. His heart was still in hand, fingers clutching so hard it punctured in multiple places. He was stiff and cold, flesh starting to sink in with rot.

With all the dried bug carcasses, he could smoke all of Mark in hours instead of days like Emperor. He set up a station in what used to be your old home. It'd keep the heat well.

Tracksuit helped. Mumbling about how fucked up it was the whole time despite his actions, because eventually the bugs would run dry. They needed emergency food.

He made Tracksuit swear not to tell you. Though if they ever had to turn to the backup, you'd know right away where it came from.

***

Omni returned diligently to your side. Listening to your spiked heart rate, watching your reddened face, how your eyes avoided his. He chalked it all up to more crying, you poor thing.

He spoke first, watching the fire, trying to see what you saw in your memories.

"I'm impressed by what you built down there." Your home. Your hamster hut. Your shitty bug furniture. Shared with Mark. You suck in your lips and he knows he's said the wrong thing. You didn't need empty platitudes, you needed connection. The thing you so clearly had with Mark. So apparent in the single, well-worn cot, the lingering smell of soup and sex. "I was young when I first developed my powers."

Markus was up to bat. Missed once, twice, then hit the incoming baseball so hard it knocked the pitcher off his feet and broke three of his ribs. It was chalked up to a freak accident but Nolan knew it wasn't. It was everything he had been waiting for, he was so proud. Took Markus and Debbie out to ice cream after insincerely apologizing to the parents of the kid his son just hospitalized. Markus remembers laughing at the ice cream shop, the smile on his dads face. It was one of the last times he ever felt normal.

Training began right away. School shoved aside, play dates ignored, his weekends bowling with mom gone for good. Dad didn't go easy on him just because he was a child. In hindsight, his training was harder at the beginning compared to when he got older. Back then, he didn't follow orders as well. He misunderstood things, wasn't strong enough to withstand villains or the beatings that'd come if he failed to take down the bad guy of the week. But he learned overtime, getting hit was better than staying in the room.

A few months into his training, he'd fucked up big time. Was too slow and let an elderly couple get smashed by a car some rouge giant mutant threw. Instead of going after the mutant, he lifted the car in a desperate attempt to save the man, who's screams he could hear. Except the weight of the car was keeping the blood inside his crushed body, and when he lifted it with an apology, he bled out in front of Markus's eyes. So fast there was no chance of saving him. Not the first death he'd seen, not even close, but he remembered it for what came after.

Debbie had introduced Nolan to the idea of a timeout when Markus was a toddler refusing to eat his veggies. Stay quiet, keep your head in the corner, don't move. It was a very human punishment, suitable to his son without powers. Viltrumite children did not misbehave the way Markus did, for fear of a beating, or just the fear of being perceived as weak, to be culled. Nolan knew Markus would never understand that pressure being raised on Earth, so he had to raise the stakes, punishment would have to match his son. So he shoved Markus into the downstairs coat closet, told him to face the wall and not move until he came back. Then he shut the door. Didn't come back for hours.

The house had gone quiet. Markus was well-behaved, but this was ridiculous. Dad knew it was an accident. He surely didn't mean for him to be in the closet so long. It was an accident the punishment went so long. Those people were dead forever and that sucked but it wasn't Markus's fault for trying to save them. Honest mistakes happen all the time! When he opened the door, it was night. He saw Dad right away with his eyes adjusted to the dark. Sat still on the couch, a travel booklet open in his lap.

"I told you to stay." Dad was in front of him in an instant. Chest to Markus's nose. The threat of violence in his stillness. "You want to be like me, don't you?" He nodded though he was scared shitless and really had to pee but didn't know how to say it. "Then you need to learn to truly reflect on your mistakes."

"Dad-"

He shut up when Dad's fist balled. He wanted to be like him so, so very badly. He also wanted out of the closet. He also didn't want to get hit again. He decided then to look at it as training, and not as something that made him feel cracked and incomplete, if this was the only way, so be it. Markus shut the door and faced the wall for three days.

Debbie found him while looking for an old kerchief to wear to an open house. She blindly believed Nolan when he said Mark was staying at William's house for the weekend. Piss reek on all the coats despite being dried in his pants. She tore Nolan a new one the best she could, but he quieted her. He never hit her but he held things over her neck like a guillotine. "Debbie, you need to understand. Viltrumite children are different, stronger, he can take it."

"Nolan, he's eight."

"Which is early for powers, yes, but there's no better time to set him on the right path. What I'm doing is a good thing. Markus neeeds to be prepared to do whatever it takes to keep the planet safe." His voice was placating, easy. They'd had this conversation a hundred times and Nolan always won.

But Debbie still tried, less as time wore on, but still tried nonetheless. "Can't you go a little easier on him?"

"Do you want Earth to be blown up by a metor if I'm not around to stop it? Or alien invsation or mind control? I can't be everywhere at once."

"There's other heros to-"

Nolan held up his hand to quiet her. "They're only human."

"Only human?" She was insulted.

"Yes, Debbie, only human. You'll never understand what it's like for us. What we are. As a Viltrumite, I know better than you. I know whats best for the planet. You know how to sell a house. Who do you think is more fit to raise our boy to be who he wants to be?" Markus had begged for training all his life. Lay anxiosly awake at night, worring if he'd never get his powers.

Debbie didn't try much longer, like she should've, she let him steamroll her. All she did for Markus was buy him enough time to change clothes, to go to the bathroom but not clean up. Nolan had him back in the closet while he took his mother to bed where they argued. Markus could hear their rising voices through the walls. Superhearing not developed enough to parse out the words. The yelling gave way to the apparent sounds of sex. There was nothing else to hear, to focus on.

It was Dad who got the say when he was let out. While he sat in the dark his fathers face had morphed into a monster in his mind, an unfamiliar hatred that choked out the rest of his senses. He wanted to yell at him, to hit the thing that was keeping him in there. But when Nolan opened the door and put a hand on his shoulder, it was just his father. He was so overwhelmed and so grateful he hugged him. Nolan hugged him back, saying, "I'm sorry I had to do that, son."

It happened again. He made less mistakes as he got older but they still happened. Nolan would take him to the closet, sometimes silently sometimes with violence. Markus tried leaving multiple times over the years. Dad would find him immediately or some time later, sometimes goading him back to the closet, sometimes beating him so bad he had no choice but to be carried back. And there he sat. Stewing. Becoming steelier than his father in the dark. Always aspiring to be like Nolan but thinking to himself, if he had a son he'd do different. He'd be better. He'd look better in red and white instead of that silly blue-yellow color scheme Art picked out for him.

"I know what isolation can do to someone," Omni said.

Killing Dad was a lot easier than he'd thought it'd be. He'd placed him on such a high pedestal he didn't notice how thin the supports were. But that wasn't the point. This was about the things you shared, not his love-hate fueled parental double homicide.

Yet you looked at him like he'd emphasized how he'd beat his father's head in after snapping mom's neck. You looked up at him, a whisper on your lips, "What the fuck?"

He had expected that reaction. You'd given him a similar one before. Except by the time that happened, you'd been together for years and put things a little less vulgarly. He'd always thought it was strange, how you cried to him about the death of his parents. He told you it was an attack. An old arch nemesis, a flimsy story, really, but you'd believed him because with him, you knew he always knew what was best. He could still remember the horror on your face when you found out what he really was. This time around, he'd be more honest from the get go. The more you understood him, the more he understood you.

"Dude, if that's your idea of flirting you suck," Tracksuit said, back to you both lying on the floor trying to sleep.

It wasn't said exactly, but neither party was willing to leave you with the other. So they stuck around under the tent, waiting for the cool but not overly hot morning to move the tent closer to Tracksuit's and Maskless's expansive concrete estate.

Despite what Tracksuit said, you had leaned on Omni's side halfway through the story. Relating to some things and being horrified by the rest. Hating that you felt bad for him, that you could see a kid Markus alone in the dark and feel only horror at the idea. Hating that you needed to feel his body heat, how you couldn't stop yourself from melting into it. Hating that you needed to hear a story of someone else burned in the dark. His story, life, was worse, to the point where you wanted to apologize for making him talk about it, but you don't.

Instead, you give him want he wants, what a stupid part of you needs, "Thanks... Markus." You can't look at him. Won't. Don't want to see what the name does to him- send a flush of memory to his cheeks and a glint to his eyes. "Even if that was a super fucked up time in your life." You think about telling him about the first time you killed someone. Not first blood for Machine Head, but the real first time. The accident.

"Of course, my dove." His arm loosely snakes around your waist, holding your body closer.

Tracksuit's head whipped around. Pissed at you but nosy. The last time he heard that name you were crying it out. And since when were you on a pet-name basis with that daddy-loving freak? He found Markus's head pressed to your (hair/scalp), not quite kissing you but not not kissing you. Nose twitching as he inhaled your sweaty, desert scent. Ew. He flipped back around.

You knew what you were doing. Trying to get closer to Markus to fill the Mark shaped hole in your wounded heart. The guilt of it hits you, dizzying and harsh.

"Don't call me that." You said though it had made your gut pleasantly twist. To be loved is to be changed and Mark loved you so much in those two weeks despite what he did to you. You hated the way it changed you. Here was Markus, offering up love on a silver platter with no secret side dish of being locked away and going insane.

The skip of your heart says you're a liar who likes the name but he placates you, "Would you rather I call you something else?"

His lips move against your (hair/scalp), his voice low and teasing, sending a pleasant tingle down your spine and straight to your still aching cunt. It'd been hours since you'd sucked Gray dry and you wanted more. When Markus had returned with Maskless, him and Gray took to the sky. You had no idea if he told but guessed not with how surprisingly chill Markus was with his presence. If you told him, you'd ruin things, but you'd get the pleasure of hurting his stupid feelings.

You make the decision that's not best in the long haul, but for now, "My name is just fine."

***

Gray waited in the sky. Hands behind his back, still slick with sweat. Heart rate slowed, an unusual relaxation in his shoulders that he tried to offset by being extra rigid. Cock still wet with your saliva. Luckily, the wind made his kilt flutter forward a degree, hiding the mild arousal that'd repossessed him.

You were down there. Small with distance. Content, with no idea that you'd taken his world view and flipped it around and around. Before he was fighting for a reason to care, unsure of why he was still fighting to survive. But the care you'd shown him, how easily you could unwind him and fill him with such new uncertain feelings was more than enough. One thing was for certain, procreation without actually procreating was much better than he had ever envisioned. He wanted to do it again and again and again. Any and every way you could teach him. He fantasized about things he never gave thought before. Remembered the slivers of your skin he'd seen and shivered.

He wasn't just surviving for the Empire now. He was surviving for you and your vicious tongue. For the chance to fill you with love and his... oh. Jesus, that was uncouth. But he couldn't stop thinking about it. If you'd like it. The sounds and faces you'd make. The-

"You wanted to speak to me?" Markus lifted into the sky behind him.

Gray didn't turn. Hard on too apparent even in the wind. "Your mate attempted to convince me to take her to the others while you were gone." He kept his tone mild.

Markus crossed his arms, "And how did she do that?"

He should tell the truth. Lies would cause problems in a situation like this but he felt so much closer to you having a secret. Plus his allyship with Markus was new, he couldn't risk it, not now. Not if it meant losing you. Gray just had to hope you'd also keep your mouth shut.

"We spoke at length," he said, "She tried to use her powers but she's drained. From what I've observed, it may take until her leg heals for her to be at full potency. We should plan for that." A gnawing, horny part of him said fuck it. Take her along. Kill the others. More blowjobs for him. Blowjobs for a job well done. More food for him. Food for a job well done. Both animal cravings the desert brought out in him.

"I see," Markus said.

Gray had been shot at by alien ray guns. Been cursed, beat, trained by one of Viltrum's elite. He kept himself cool and steady to a T. He felt Markus could see right through him, had to school his heart rate and breathing. He was sure he'd win the fight if it came to that, but there'd be repercussions surrounding you he wasn't ready to face- not after you'd recently grown so affectionate.

"Her leg will be healed in about a week." Gray added.

Markus nodded to himself. "So we have a week to convince her to not try and kill herself for nothing." Not a lot of time considering how stubborn you'd proved to be. Refusing to die in those caves, taking one of them down despite your affections for him.

"I say we have a week to train her until we all go to kill them," Gray said, watching the man over his shoulder. Was the idea too unlike himself? Would Markus know what had transpired?

Markus was quiet a moment. Gray took it as suspicion until he said, "They could kill us too." Though Markus loathed to admit it. "Kill her to get at us. It's too dangerous." But so were they. They'd spot you eventually. "But I agree. Something must be done about them, sooner rather than later. I don't want her involved."

Why not? She's an asset. Gray thought, before his dick caught up to him. No post-battle reward if you were dead. It was his turn to say, "I see."

***

The days went by in a molasses blur. The tent was moved beside the concrete runes that was Maskless and Tracksuit's base. Simply so there'd be no quarrel about where you'd be and who with- you were with them, at their shared base, all the time. They kept to their original bases and you floated between them.

Skirting the days by in agony as your bone knit itself back together. Turns out humans didn't have speed-healing for a reason- it hurt like a motherfucker. You'd used the last of your codeine to dull the pain, but it barely scratched the surface. So most of the time you just laid down wherever was coolest, and wondered when you were going to join Mark in death.

The pain wasn't all physical, being nearly bed ridden left you with lots of time to think about him. It shouldn't hurt so bad, him being gone. You hadn't really known him all that long. You lived together for two weeks and the affection had started to turn to a boiling hatred. But you got to live and he didn't. His only crime was not joining the empire, oh and mass homicide on your version of Earth but still- you felt like the shittier person. He killed for you, you killed because some robot asshole told you to.

You were starfished on Markus's cot, recovered from the cave ruins under the tent shade. Hot, but hydrated enough to sweat. Stripped to the soldier's underthings. Leg no longer splinted, bone mostly healed but still, it hurt to walk.

"What are thinking about?" Markus. Ever since he told you about himself, you'd started calling him the name like he'd been calling you yours. He liked it. A lot. You hated how much he liked it, but liked that somebody liked something you were doing. You just wanted to feel loved again. Not by him necessarily, but he kept hand feeding you affection like you were some skittish horse.

Markus had you practice using your powers every day. Never as long or hard as Gray would like but it was compromise to not using power at all. Tracksuit or Maskless were often your unwilling subjects, paid in extra bug meat. You were getting better by the day, stronger as your leg healed.

Gray was down in the caves doing something. He wouldn't tell you what. Maskless was down there with him, sifting through the ruins of the hatchery. Last you saw Tracksuit he said he was going to nap in his hammock- the map turned cloak he demanded you give back days ago. You did, though you bickered back and forth. Blooming friendship soured by his jabs and you making him literally jab himself. You missed the normalcy he brought, but you were also pissed at him. You were pissed at everything, all the time. So was he. The desert made bitches out of both of you.

Back to Markus. You wanted a few things from him. For him to take you to Phantom. For him to help you ease the pain in your leg and your heart. You could get all that and more if he would just, "Come here." You reached up for him, hovering over your bed. In the past few days you'd allowed him to hold you. It left you with a swirling contradictory roster of feelings.

He obeyed, coming closer until your arms could snake around his back. Tugging at him. He smiled. Thinking finally, you were returning his affections, molding into the sweet thing he wanted you to be. He'd been fine just holding you while you sat or laid there like a corpse, but he'd been yearning for your reciprocation.

For awhile, you let him hold you. You made no sound, didn't doze. Just lay with your eyes open, face pressed to his chest listening to his beating heart. Thinking about Mark. Thinking that if he wasn't so... You closed your eyes. You couldn't start thinking it was Mark's fault. Wouldn't. But if he had just held on, let you dig you both out...

You couldn't think anymore. You pulled back from Markus's chest, looked into his face. Calm with a slight wrinkle of worry in his brow. "My-"

You kissed him. Trying to recoup yourself in it, to not feel the overwhelming void. You feel his stubble scratch against your jaw and reach your hand up to trace along it. You feel needy and when he tenses and kisses back you feel wanted, vindicated. You go back and forth, slow and steady wins the race- and gets your motor humming. He welcomed your tongue into his mouth, practically rolled out the red carpet. He was all too happy to help you feel needed, wanted.

Through the rolling of tongues and sighs, you could still remember Mark, feel the rebar digging into your skin and his arms around your waist. You needed something more. Your hand left his cheek, trailing down his chest until you found a semi on the soft side.

He was gone from you all at once. Standing on his knees on the edge of the cot. You followed him, lifting onto your elbows, face flushed and lips buzzing. Whining, "Why'd you stop?"

You looked so much like her. Chest heaving, eyes wanting, splayed on the bed under him begging for more. He wanted to give it to you but not like this.

"I don't think you're ready." He knew the only reason you let him cling to you was Mark's death. It stung, but he was grateful. Knew you'd eventually stick around because you liked him for him, not that dead boy. Only when your heart had healed and you were wanting, would he make love to you again.

"For sex? I think I am." You'd been thinking about how good it'd felt to suck Gray off for days. Gray had been avoiding you but seemed to have told nobody of your rendezvous. You missed how getting eaten out by Mark felt. Fingers stretching out your cunt. You ached for something more. Something thick and mind-erasing, even for a little while. Felt guilty about it, felt not-guilty, then guilty all over again.

Markus frowned as you sat fully upright. Hands reaching for his waist. He leaned back, "You're still grieving and hurt."

But you were insistent. Hurting so much in the stillness, the broken leg and your mind eating at you. You needed this. "Gray gave me the okay to walk yesterday. Why don't we set that back a little, yeah?"

He shook his head and completely floated out of range. "Don't use my love for you to hurt yourself." You didn't rise to follow. Knew it'd be a fruitless endeavor.

You scoffed still, rejection stung. "Sex wouldn't hurt me."

He rose a brow. Remembering how you enjoyed him manhandling you. Remember how your attitude had started to shift after he fucked you. Sex changes things, though he doesn't bring it up. "I'm sure we'd enjoy it, yes, but I don't want you to regret it afterwards."

"I won't."

You didn't love him enough yet. You hadn't dropped Mark from your mind.

"You will." He said. You fixed him with a look but you both knew he's right. "I appreciate the... offer but I think it's best to wait." He moved back toward the edge of the tent. Thinking about fucking you till you begged him to stop. Feeling himself twinge with excitement but his mind was stronger than his body. "I'm going to check on the others. I'll tell you if they've found anything."

With that, he was gone. Fighting himself to leave you but knowing it'd pay off in the end. You wouldn't see him as some fuck buddy, he was to be your husband.

You were alone. Unsatisfied. Needy as hell. Pissed. Needed someone to rant to, a little normalcy. Needed to feel like you were talking to Mark at the very beginning of things. Him and his cocktail sauce jokes.

You trudged to the other base where the only other person you could talk to was.

The concrete remains were shaded but sweltering. The hammock ends were stuffed into cracks in the wall like they used to be before Maskless tore them out, unsecured and unsurprising when Tracksuit fell out of it, again. He swore as he got up off the ground, trying to fix the damn thing and take his nap. He was tired of sand, of this fucking place and everything that came with it. He heard the crunch of your boots, another thing he hated about the desert. "Didn't hear the other guys makin' food so wha'dya want?"

You leaned against the bare window frame watching his back flex as he worked, trying and failing to shove the fabric back where it used to be.

"That's not going to work." You thought of Mark trying to help make the buggy furniture. His hands were big and clumsy, you ended up making most of it.

He scoffed. "You come'ere just to tell me that?" He crawled into the freshly hung hammock, which instantly fell. He bristled as he thrashed in the sheet, saw you still watching and hissed catishly, "Fuck off!"

You left to his relief, only to come back a few minutes later. You walked slowly, mostly leaned to your good leg. You were determined to walk on your own, with no more sad looks from Gray or Markus. "Here." You re-entered the room, holding your rebar crutch. "Use this as a stake."

In the time you were gone he tried three more times with zero success. "Oh yeah, cuz I can hang a hammock off one thingy." He snatched the crutch out of your hand anyways.

You watched him look around. Considering sticking it in the sand but remembering it wouldn't hold. You suggested, "Stick it in the wall. Tie the other half to that." You point to a rusty spike of metal jutting out of the ceiling. You'd had to be resourceful in the cave, with Mark.

Tracksuit grumbled but listened. Shoving the rebar into the wall, sending cracks along it, making you worry the wall would crumble and ceiling would come down but the rebar held. He tied one end to it, then the other to the spike you pointed out. He gently, slowly, laid himself down. Tensed for the inevitable fall but it didn't come. "Hm."

"You're welcome." You said, not your normal biting tone.

"Didn't say thank you." He bit back.

"I know."

He waited for you to leave but you didn't. "Thought you came over cuz you were all like, annoyed at the sound of me falling n' shit. You jus' gon watch me sleep or something?"

"No."

He spun, back facing you. He slipped his mask off his face. Hot as all hell under the fabric. "Then piss off, I'm trying to sleep."

"Is it really that hard to not be a dick to me?" You snapped. Deep down you missed that asshole you smoked with. You needed a friend. You couldn't see him now, just another back turned. You can almost imagine Mark in the end- despite the hair.

"I dunno, is it really that hard to not be a huge bitch when every guy in the desert is slobbering over your pussy?"

"Excuse me?" You had power again. You could make him hurt. You wanted to rebuild the bridge you burned but... God, he was such a dick.

"If I were you, I'd be all for it. Like, you can't do shit but sit around, so why not ease the tension a bit and pass yourself around?"

He didn't mean it but he was mad. Missing Rex, missing home. Missing when he didn't have to hear about you and see you every fucking day. You got to eat good in a cave while he starved in the sun, got to cum as much as you wanted with an endless roster of boyfriends but abstained for some fucking reason.

He heard your footsteps coming closer but didn't move. He knew you couldn't hurt him but was wary of you controlling him. He hadn’t considered you could untie the hammock from the crutch and let him fall on his ass. It didn't hurt but it did well making him angry. He snarled up at you from the floor, unmasked, feeling naked but he didn't lunge for the cover. Thought it'd make him seem weak in front of you. "Fuck was that for?"

You knew under the fabric he was Mark, but seeing his face for the first time felt like a hot slap. He was Mark with thicker brows, one of them slit. He was Mark with a more bent nose bridge, a bull ring septum, and a cheek dermal. He was Mark with longer lashes and a scowl that said he hated you. Mark would could grow facial hair, stubbly and spotty as it was. Seeing his face made your gut twist painfully and balloon with butterflies. You had wanted to reply, to tell him he was being a cunt but your throat was dry.

Tracksuit saw the hesitation in your eyes and went for the kill. He stood fast, forced his face into yours grinning. "Aww, lose ya nerve when you saw this sexy mug?"

You didn't back down, pointing at the cheek piercing, "You look ridiculous." Though you thought it looked sexy.

"Tch. Yeah right. You're like- biologically down for all this, sweetheart." The pet name came out as an insult.

"I don't fuck losers." You leaned in, challenging him back.

"Really?" His breath was hot on your lips, "Could've had me fooled."

You snarled. "Step off."

Even though you were in his place, standing over his fallen hammock. Even though you could make him with your powers but you don't.

"You first." He said.

You'd been down this road before. Knew where it led, but you stood your ground. Waited for it to happen.

Both of you stared nto each other’s eyes, yours so pretty, his light and amber. Anger electric between you. You don't remember who looked at whose lips first. Just that someone did and lips and teeth collided shortly after. You had him by the collar, pulling him violently close. He gripped you hard by the waist. Tongues already in each other's mouths. Growling like animals. Biting but never hard enough to bleed.

As the kiss moved, so did your bodies. He pushed your back rough into the concrete wall, pressing himself fully into you. Warming your already overheated body. Pressing his quickly growing arousal to your thigh. You moaned into his mouth, heat pooling between your legs.

He sensed it. Moved his hands from your waist to your hips, forcing your legs up, making your thighs hook around his hips. The sound you made when his clothed arousal pressed to yours, a harsh gasp, only made him harder. He snickered against your lip, grinding into your core. "You fuckin' like that?"

This was a terrible idea on both your parts but neither of you stopped. Tracksuit needed a proper release after starving in the desert and You needed a distraction from the grief. Both of you got something out of this.

"Hate it." You said against his lips, slick with your spit before you kissed him again. Body moving with his, dry humping each other like dogs against the wall.

He's touchy. Hands slipping under your shirt to paw at your tits. Kneading them harsh in his hands. Savoring how it made you gasp into his mouth. "Not such a bitch now, huh?"

He was Mark, but sounded nothing like Mark when he talked. It was the accent, the cocky attitude. Part of you wanted to pretend it was Mark making you feel good. Another part wants you to remember its Tracksuit. Mark was dead, couldn’t make you feel good anymore, move on.

You can't make up your mind so you tell him to, "Shut the fuck up."

You escape his lips and go for his throat. Not bothering to kiss down the column of skin, going right to sucking and biting. His hips cant against yours, pressing delicious friction to your core.

"Yeah," He gasps, "Yeah, just like that."

"What did I just say?" You bite him again. This time he doesn't comment, only groaning as he grinds into you.

He doesn't expect it when you say, "Get off of me."

He listened, not because you used your powers. but because his mind came back to him. Thinking, 'oh shit, I'm so dead, the others came back and heard and I'm sooo fucked.' He listened, looked out the broken windows and saw no one.

"Blue ballin' me, seriously?" He tried to sound pissed but he only sounded desperate. He only stepped back a few feet. He was faster than you. Could so easily pin your back to the wall and fuck you into it. He doesn't because he's not Scars. You're a person to him, despite much of an asshole as you were.

You gave him an annoyed look. "I can't take my pants off like that."

Oh. Oh!

He shifted on his feet, ready to tear your pants off rather than wait for you to pull them down. His head (not the lower one) stirred. "Wait a sec. Are you trying to get me killed right now?"

You didn’t stop undoing your pants buttons. "They're all out right now. We've got time."

His mind went blank when you started wiggling your hips to get out of the pants. God Damn. His head stirred, that one this time. "They catch us, I'm dead."

"You're dead once we run out of food anyway." Or until you accidentally made him kill himself, you thought bitterly. You knelt down and tugged off your boots, stepped out of your pants. Casual, easy, like sex used to be. You hated that you felt the need to say, "Are we doing this or what?" When everything was so easily passed between you and Mark. You hooked your thumbs in the solider shorts, waiting for his reply. Looking dangerously hot. He prayed to a God he didn't believe in that your pussy would be to die for.

Tracksuit had you back against the wall, helping you tug down the shorts. Naked from the waist down, though your rumpled-up tank top didn't cover much. He'd undone his suit, pulled the zipper at his neck all the way down to his crotch. Exposing a sweaty, toned chest and a cock in dire need of attention. He hated that Art made him a onesie but it was easy to get in and out of.

"Fuck." You moaned just looking at him. Still mostly clothed but Jesus.

"Like what you see?" He squeezed your ass as you rehooked your legs around his waist.

"Shut up." You tugged at his hair and he moans, leans in to mindlessly shove his tongue down your throat. You welcome it. Leaving him to blindly fumble with his dick, sliding the pink aching tip up and down your folds. Coating himself and relishing your shudder.

He pushed in slow. Eyes rolling back into his head as your welcoming cunt stretched around him. So wet and ready for him. It'd been such a long time since he fucked. A millennia by his standards with his revolving door of booty calls. Sliding inside you felt like coming home.

You knew he'd be big, him and Gray were the same person after all, but he just kept going and going. Filling you inch after thick inch. Pushing your body to its limit by the time his pelvis met yours. For a moment, you were both still. Your body adjusting to the fullness. So much bigger than fingers.

"You good?" He panted into your lips. You growled and canted your hips. That was answer enough.

Squeezing your ass, he rolled his hips back, dragging his dick slowly out before he pushed forward. Testing the feel of you. All of you felt like it was squeezing him, trying to keep him inside, close. You moaned as he pulled out again only to shove back inside, faster this time. He'd done enough fucking to know the signs that someone liked it fast, liked it hard. He wasted no time in setting a pace that made your skin clap together.

Filling you all the way before leaving you empty then forcing your cunt to reopen, to take all of him in one long drag. Over and over. His pelvis slapped harshly against your swollen clit. Your moans echoing off the concrete walls only spurred him on. So different from the way Mark worshiped your pussy. Mark was all about giving, even when you were pleasuring him, he wanted to be good for you. Here you were, a week after his death, being fucked near to tears by another man (kind of). Tracksuit took, greedy and unforgiving. God, you were awful and God Tracksuit's dick felt so good. Why was Mark so scared of giving you his?

"You know," Tracksuit pulled you from your half-dazed thoughts, "you're a lot nicer with a dick you." He watched your face, flushed, fucked-out by a few strokes. He wasn't surprised, he was good at a short list of things: Killing, fighting, and fucking.

Only then you realized how desperate and slutty you must look. You schooled your features but he'd seen it, was grinning mischievously at you though his eyes were clouded with want. Dick snapping into you.

"You're a lot less annoying when you shut up." You could've cum by now if he just kept quiet. Stopped pulling you out of your thoughts that only made you start to spiral. Pleasure mixing thick with self hate and regret.

"You say that a lot." He chuckled.

"Because you talk a lot." You yanked him forward by his tousled hair. You sucked on his neck and finally, instead of yapping, he moans. Gripping you harder, hips starting to stutter, thrusts less calculated, balls deep practically grinding his cockhead against your cervix.

“You want me to pull out or can I cum in you like a slut too?” He probably shouldn't have added that last part. You'd probably push him off, hate him for saying it but you don't.

The idea makes you clench around him, throb with want. Finally forget. You try and fail to keep your voice steady, maoning, "Don’t you dare pull out.”

"Fuck- nnnngg- fuck I'm-" A jackal's bark escapes his throat as he cums. Filling you more than you already had been. Hot and claiming. His head lulls as his dick went sof, heart hammering. "Holy shit." He pulled out of you. The plug gone, his cum starts to ooze out. "Fuck I did not think you’d let me cum in you, that’s crazy." He mused over the view a moment.

You leaned back against the wall. Dejected. Feeling like a slut cheating on Mark who was fucking dead. Feeling like if you didn't cum this would all be for nothing. You don't care about showing him, just lift your tank top and let him see the scar. "Doesn't mean much, remember?"

He felt like an asshole. "Uh. Yeah." His hands leave your ass, now lightly bruised in the shape of his hands. Usually people were panting when he was done with them. You just looked kinda sad, but that wasn't his problem. You were the pampered princess, he was just some guy, not some princeling who promised to save you from a castle. He unnotched your legs from his waist, left you shivering and wanting as he grabbed his zipper and starting pulling it up. "Thanks for that."

Your feet hit the sand and you are fucking pissed. "I'm not done." You prowled forward, needing to finish what you started. Pussy throbbing. Having a taste of him but not enough to bring you to orgasm. You kept thinking about Mark every time you got close- bit of a mood killer.

He jutted his hips forward, softened dick uselessly flopping between his legs. "Can't really fuck you like this."

Mark would've never left you wanting. Even if he'd come he'd take care of you, double whatever you gave him, triple it. "You selfish asshole."

Tracksuit shrugged with an unwarranted smirk, like you’d just called him handsome. "I get that a lot."

You narrowed your eyes at him and his toned body and good dick and hair sweatily stuck to his forehead. You wanted him all over again but he'd need time to recover. "Lie down."

"What?"

Your eye twitched. "Look, we're probably going to die. Let's just get this out of our systems." That got him on his back, hands folded behind his neck like a pillow. Dick still soft but soon to wake.

"So what'cha gon do until then?" Tracksuit watched you, amused as you crawled on top of him. Cum rolling in streaky tears down your inner thighs.

Your pussy touched down on his muscled thigh. Rough fabric providing the perfect amount of friction. You don't reply, hands coming down on his hard chest as your hips started to rock, sliding yourself up and down his leg like a dog. He watched, mesmerized by the way you moved. Needing his dick to resurrect so you’d do that rolling motion on him.

"You gonna help at all?" You snarled at him, still and lazy, hands still tucked behind his head.

"Don't wanna ruin the view." He said, happy to watch as your eyes flutter from grinding on his legs. Most girls would be too embarrassed to do something this desperate. God, you really were a slut. He appreciated that. Loved a good slut. Didn’t consider why you might be desperate or what it meant.

"Dickhead."

"Speaking of," he palmed his regrowing erection. Still slick with your fluids. You were poised to sit down on him before he was fully hard. He didn't mind.

You were full once again. Getting fuller by the second as he grew harder inside of you. Again, you rolled your hips on him. Feeling his cock push into your walls, grind against all those sweet spots that made your eyes roll back. Your shin shot little spikes of pain up your back but you didn't care. Leaned forward, gripping him by the shoulders as you chased release.

Hands came to your hips, guiding you along with a guttural, "Fuck yeah, baby."

It was your turn to set the pace and you did. Bringing yourself up and down as fast as you could. Trying to out run the grief. Feeling Tracksuit's thickness punch up inside of you. Thinking about doing this with, "Mark."

Tracksuit's closed eyes open. Watching you. Knowing who you were pretending he was. Fine by him. He was using you to cum too. But, he was still mildly insulted, he wouldn't give you what you wanted, only himself. He gripped your hips hard, started fucking back up into you, making your tits bounce, setting the pace. You tried to keep up but you were only human. Just a hole for him to fuck.

You were about to cum. You could feel that sweet tension building inside of you, ready to snap when he flips you on your back. Climax slips through your fingers as his dick shifts, hitting a different spot entirely.

"Are you fucking serious?" You snapped.

"Yes ma'am." He didn't hide the way he was watching your tits bounce through the tank top. Didn't hide his purposeful denial.

"You are-"

"A selfish asshole? Yeah, think I just heard that."

You snarl but get lost in him again. It's endearing. He liked your attention on him, though he doesn't know why. He'd had plenty of casual flings he didn't care about, but none of them got a round two. Maybe the desert was really starting to get to him. Maybe he had a crush. Whatever- you were fucking him and he was going to make sure you knew it.

He grabbed you by the plush of your hips and rammed in deep. Cock filling you all at once. He savored the way your eyes shot back. Mouth fell open. He opened his mouth to taunt as your spasming hand reached up, and covered his lips. He smiled into your palm.

You bounced off each other. Shifting sand under your bodies. He filled you deeply, completely, fast, so fast. Holding your hips at an angle so his cockhead punched into your g-spot every time. You felt orgasm finally coming like freight train. Your mind went blank.

"Oh shit!" Your pussy convulsed around him. Squeezed so hard he felt like you'd snap his dick clean off. Jerked him off with your muscles and twitches so good that he came again. The hardest he'd ever cum. Vision going blurry and mind going fuzzy. Maybe there was a reason the others wanted you so bad.

Cum leaked out your hole from around his softening length. Every inch of you full and warm and claimed again like it'd been with Mark who could've fucked you like this had he not been so scared.

For a few blissful seconds, you were a blank slate before it all came crashing back. Mark was dead and you just fucked somebody else a week after he died.

Tracksuit pulled out and flopped into the sand beside you. Heaving, red faced.

"Holy fuck." He said. It was good before but feeling the way you came? "I think I just saw God." One thing was for sure, your pussy was not mediocre. Most people couldn't get him to cum once, let alone twice.

Your breath hitched. He turned to watch you laugh exept you weren’t laughing. You were crying.

***

Markus wasn't gone for more than ten minutes. Just long enough to check on Gray and Maskless's progress with the jerky. A collective secret shared. Talking of dead man's meat cools his body and mind. They head back in a group, flying low and slow, idly searching the desert as they went. Finding nothing.

He heard it before he landed. Heard the same sound fall from your lips all those weeks ago in the dark cave after you fell. Ricocheting off the walls of the concrete ruins, so loud it made his ears twitch. Markus was a reasonable man. He knew you were bound to be attracted to the others, would be downright concerned if you weren't. But still, it hurt, hearing you fuck another version of himself. The one who didn't even care about you- that hurt. How could you be so stupid?

His gloves groaned as he approached the building. He was going to rip that rat off you and give you the talking-to of a lifetime. A hand fell on his shoulder, Gray. Who was fighting jealousy in his own right but approached the situation a little more clinically. "Humans get frustrated when they can not finish what they set out to do."

Maskless ran his hand over his face and retreated to the tent, where he laid himself down. Hands over ears to drown the sounds out. No prude but pretty fucking annoyed. Forcing himself to think about William and now how much he hated the lot of you.

Markus waited, getting angrier by the second, every grunt and moan that came out of that building like a punch. He was livid, but willing to wait until you were decent. He'd waited and suffered long enough what were a few more minutes? But once he heard your soft cries, that plan went out the window.

***

"I'm bored! This is boring!" Lensless whined, head thrown back. Phantom didn't react to him poking at his wounds anymore. Whenever Phantom was conscious, he didn't react to much at all. "We should just kill 'im. Jerky-fy him the way that guy did."

"He knows where she is." Scars scratched at his beard. Somehow he grew one while all Lensless got was spotty stubble.

Lensless hummed, thinking while he shoved a thumb under Phantom's dirty bandages. Feeling around in the hot meat, stomach grumbling. Phantom breathed but didn’t stir.

"He's not gonna tell us, even if he could." Lensless pulled his thumb out and popped it into his mouth, savoring the rich flavor. He sucked his finger clean before shoving it back in. "She's probably dead anyway." He smiled, but wasn't happy. You barely used your powers on him. Barely pushed him around. He hardly got to see you cry and break down. That was no fun at all.

Scars quietly considered this. Hating that Lensless of all people was right. "We'll kill the next one slower."

Lensless grinned. "Any idea who?"

"Whoever we find. We'll keep him alive till we've got a replacement."

"Sounds good to me!"

Mohawk slunk away from the wall he hid behind.

***

"Aw shit," Tracksuit rolled onto his side, trying to joke. "Was it really that good?"

You wiped at your eyes with your thumb but the tears kept coming, hating that this was what you'd been reduced to. A grieving slut with a gaping pussy.

"I miss Mark." You'd never said it, even before the desert. Before you would have lashed out at the suggestion it but you'd been beaten down by the sun and withered by grief. You were a shell of who you used to be. Longing to be that person again but you couldn't be, not out here. A sob ripped from your throat.

Tracksuit didn't reach out. Didn't know if he should or not. His casual flings cried sometimes, but he usually had the option to just fly away before they got sappy on him. He couldn't really leave because this was technically his house, his camp. Plus, he kind of, sort of liked you a little more now after you made him cum twice. Enough to think he should be a little less of a douche to you. You had been trapped for two weeks, had just lost you kind of boyfriend. He wracked his brain for something nice to say. "You like... are like... really-" He'd always been bad at being earnest. "-Not a bitch at all, I was just kinda mad earlier." That was a start.

"Is that seriously how you talk to women?" The voice made you both bolt upright. Sand stuck to the sweaty backs of your clothes.

Markus's frame eclipsed the doorway, casting a cool shadow over you. Mask on to protect his face from the UV, to protect you from seeing the betrayal in his eyes.

"Shit, dude." Tracksuit yanked up his zipper. "Don't kill me but also learn to knock? Seriously, don't kill me."

"If I wanted you dead, you would be." Markus deadpanned. "I've been waiting for you two to finish."

You moved for your pants. Markus was a red-white flash. Suddenly, you were sat down, pants on, wiped dry (much as he could) between the legs by a rag Markus threw into the wastes. You stared up at him, heart beating erratically, even your tank top was fixed back in place.

"I don't want you to look as indecent as you must feel." He said as his attention turned to Tracksuit, who was in fighting stance, ready to be attacked. But Markus didn't lunge. "That was a stupid idea."

"Yeah, cuz you're gonna kill me." Tracksuit tried smiling but it didn't reach his eyes- so close in hue to Markus's, to mom's.

Markus ignored him and his tense muscles. "(Y/n) is under deep emotional duress. She is in no state for intimate relations."

"Intimate relations?" Tracksuit scoffed. "You mean fuckin'?"

"Obviously."

The more time Tracksuit went by without his head being mashed into a pulp, the more he relaxed, but never completely. Markus could pull a Maskless any second. "If you haven't noticed, we're all stuck in a fuckin' desert bro, we're all under 'deep emotional durress', so yeah, I'm gonna need to relax a little."

Markus wanted to snap his neck. For fucking you, sure, but his voice, his manner. So childish, so unrefined. What he could've been had father not been so cruel in molding him into the perfect hero.

"A few months in the desert is nothing." He said, "As Viltrumites we can survive much longer without food or water. You would know had you ever had any hardship." Days in the closet. No food. No water. No light. Just him, the darkness, and the coats pressing in.

"Bitch, I moved outta my parents place and roughed it for years. Oh and-" He pointed to his face, exposed to Markus for the first time. His nose bridge was permanently knocked to the right. "I didn't have it easy with daddy-dearest like you did. He'd beat the shit out of me, no fuckin' time out. Like, matching costumes, man, for real? How often do you two go on daddy-daughter dates, huh?"

Markus's jaw ticked at the way you watched them both. Catching a flash of concern for Tracksuit at his jab. He couldn't kill the fucker, you cared about him now, clung to him like you had Mark. It'd only set back your relationship.

"I suggest you be quiet, Mark." The name came out low, a warning from Markus's lips that made Tracksuit almost flinch.

"You sound just like him." Tracksuit half-laughed. "That's fucking crazy, dude. Like, actually insane."

"I won't warn you again, Mark."

"Okay, first of all, I never went by that stupid ass name," Tracksuit said. Dad picked it. He hated dad. Hated mom too but a little less, "Went by Seb. You know, like, Sebastian."

"I'm aware of our middle name."

"Cool. Well, if you're gonna 'dad' me, at least get the name right. Or don't maybe. Seriously, you're freaky as fuck, dude. Quit it with the dad voice and the dad outfit and the dad lecture-" Tracksuit threw his hands up then down. "Whatever. It's weird! You're weird!"

Markus's lips twitched stiffly down. He even frowned like dad. "Father must've only lectured you if you're like this."

"Uh, my broken nose, hello?"

"That's nothing." Markus took a proper step into the room. Sand dusting up around his boot. "Do you want to see what my Father would do to me for acting like this?"

You're up on your feet. Legs and back aching. Embarrassed, vindicated, but having seen enough macho bullshit.

"I came onto him." You admitted fast.

Markus's eyes slide to you under the dark glass. "I could tell. I thought you were better than this. I told you to wait until you felt better."

It hurt. Almost felt like your actual parent was disappointed in you. You lashed out, "I thought you hated your dad for what he did to you. Why the fuck are you acting like him now?"

There were still tears in your eyes, but Markus didn't miss a beat. "I hated him, but you both are acting like children."

Another shadow crossed into the room. Gray hovered in through a busted window, wearing an expression that gave nothing away.

Tracksuit threw up his hands, "Uh-oh! Mommy's here to yell at us too!"

You snickered at that because it felt good to be a bitch. To feel like you and Tracksuit were on the same page, friends again at last.

"We have a guest." Gray said.

***

Mohawk remembered vaguely where Maskless and Tracksuit held up. He wanted to warn them because they were alright. He liked them better than those pretentious dickheads because they didn't slobber over you. He didn't truly care for Maskless and Tracksuit, he just wanted help taking Lensless and Scars down. It was only a matter of time till they went after someone else then someone else, picking them off one by one. If Mohawk wanted to live, he needed to buddy up. Kill them and eat them. Not the other way around.

Seeing that tent outside the concrete ruin surprised him but to hell with the dislike, he thought. The more the merrier.

Gray intercepted his landing in the sky, asking why he was there. Mohawk explained in a frazzled frenzy. Mohawk had some of his head on but it wasn't screwed tight. That's what drinking blood and eating raw flesh did to a guy after two weeks. He could only imagine how batshit Lensless and Scars were since they really, really liked the taste where Mohawk... could only admire it a tad.

Gray wanted to talk longer in the sky. Steer Mohawk toward the tent so he could fetch the others, conveniently leaving you in the ruins with orders to stay put. Gray didn't trust him a bit. If anybody was going to snap next, it'd be Mohawk. Perhaps once the job was done, he could be eliminated.

Despite everything, Mohawk was quicker with him. Fueled by desperation and annoyance at the idea of waiting a second longer to launch an attack. He touched down. Gray only had seconds to warn the others and hope they had the sense to hide you.

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rafeandonlyrafe · 10 months ago

Text

sin, sin, sin.

words: 1.6k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, semi public sex, catholic church setting, confessional, rafe kind of pretending to be a priest (itll make sense quickly), religious trauma, if youre religious and easily offended probably skip this one

rafe knows little about his mother, but the one thing he does know is that she was a devout catholic. maybe it's stories ward told him, or the fact that his strongest memory of her was her funeral, held in the same catholic church he's currently pushing the grand wooden doors to enter.

it's his last chance as he looks into the candlelit hall. to turn around and go back into the darkness of the night, let the inky blackness swallow him whole.

rafe feels a pang in his chest. good old catholic guilt his mother passed down to him. rafe lets out a curse before he steps foot into the church, wishing he got his father's fake christianity instead, going to church on holidays and only using the religion when it suits you.

rafe looks away from the altar, the cross hanging above it, and to the confession booth to the side of the pews. his feet carry them there with the false confidence he's always been able to paste on as a front.

rafe looks at the door and then swallows thickly. guilt, guilt, guilt. he's not sure anything could help, yet he opens the handle and steps inside.

the creaky door slams shut behind him as rafe sits and faces forward towards the screen, just opaque enough to make out a figure on the other side in the low light.

rafe realizes then that he doesn't know the words.

“forgive me father, for i have sinned.” a voice from the other side suddenly rings out, a soft, feminine voice. rafe suddenly is aware of his mistake. “it has been two days since my last confession.”

rafe knows he should interrupt you, stop you from continuing on, but something in him stirs him to stay, his interest peaking.

“ive slept with another man. i know you're tired of hearing it, father. i just can't help myself. i can't seem to wait, it's like something takes over me. father, i feel as if i am possessed by some sexual demon.”

you scoff and rafe can see your body crumple on the other side, becoming an even smaller shape.

“tell me what happened.” rafe says.

“i-i had a date. a nice catholic man, or at least who i thought was a nice catholic man. he took me to dinner, and then i thanked him by getting on my knees immediately after.”

“keep going…” there's something about your voice that stirs rafe, has his hand gravitating to his crotch, there's a sexual prowess in your voice mixed with the guilt and innocence, like you're describing the deeds of some other woman entirely.

“he didn't even initiate it. i did. i pulled him into my apartment when he was dropping me back home. can you believe that? he was being a gentleman bringing me back to my doorstep and i just had to be a total hussy.”

rafe presses his hand down against his growing cock, imagining himself as that so called catholic gentleman.

“i unzipped his pants and tugged them down. he wasn't even hard. i played with him over his underwear, kissed his length and sucked on it and everything.”

rafes hands follow your description as he leans back against the wooden wall, tugging down his zipper and closing his eyes to picture it even better, some anonymous bold woman.

“i then pulled his underwear down. right there in the front hallway. when i saw him… i knew i was going to sleep with him next.”

you pause for long enough that rafe realizes he needs to speak. he hopes his voice doesn't come out strained. “then you slept with him?”

“yes. didn't even make it to the bedroom, he took me against the dining room table. how am i ever expected to settle down and have my own children and a loving family when all i really want is that high.”

“how does the high make you feel?”

“it comes right before the orgasm, really.” your voice drops in octave, and rafe wonders if your pussy is getting wet reimagining the scene. “when he's inside of me, pounding hard, and i know he's about to lose it too.”

rafe pushes his underwear down and tugs his cock out, not kid himself any longer that he's not extremely turned on and cannot leave the confessional with his pants tented.

“we're moaning in sync, not worrying about the neighbors in that moment. im clenching around him and he's-” you hesitate for a moment, and rafe swears he hears a sensual exhale, as if you may be touching yourself on the other side of the booth. “he's stretching me out. i love the pulsing of right when he's about to cum-”

rafe lets out a moan as he strokes before he realizes and sits up suddenly, but his reaction is too delayed as you're out of your booth and opening the door to his.

“you perv! father-” you come face to face with a handsome young man instead of the elderly priest you expected. “you're not the father.”

your eyes then travel down to his cock and that devious part of you taking over again.

“it-it was an accident.” rafe says quickly, trying to explain why he's in the priests side of the confessional when you step inside and close the door behind you.

“i have another sin to confess.” you pull the skirt of your dress up, revealing that you're wearing nothing beneath, your glimmering wet pussy directly in front of rafes face. he could so easily lean forward and taste you.

“ive always wanted to fuck in the confessional.”

rafe grabs your hips and tugs you down. he doesn't even know your name. he doesn't need to as his lips smash against yours, wildly making out.

you reach down between your bodies, grasping rafes hard cock and giving it a few strokes before you line yourself up.

you hesitate for just a moment before sinking down as rafe moans into your mouth, hoping that his mother isn't up in heaven looking down at him desecrating this holy place with you.

you gasp and pull away from the kiss as you adjust, your pussy being stretched just the way you described liking it.

“fuck.” rafe hisses out.

“shouldn't curse in a place of worship.” you smirk at him, cutting off whatever reply he had as you begin to move, bouncing up and down.

rafe grabs your hips, helping you move. his hands are strong as they disappear beneath your dress, needing to feel your bare skin.

“so good.” you whimper, pressing your forehead against rafes, breathing heavily as the temperature in the small booth rises.

“fuck, your pussy-” rafe grunts out as his hips begin to snap up into your tight heat.

“you ever had a good catholic girl like this?” there's a hint of playfulness in your voice that rafe is shocked you can manage with your labored breathing.

“from your confession, im not sure you're all that good.” rafe says, moving his hand to rub his thumb over your clit, mostly just to see the reaction on your face as you moan out.

hes thankful for the late hour as he doesn't move his mouth forward to silence yours, letting your beautiful symphony of pleasure escape through the confessional walls and fill the church.

“this high.” you arch your back, eyes rolling back in your head as your fingers tighten on rafes shoulders.

he knows exactly what you're speaking of. that moment when you're both on the apex, his cock swelling inside you while his thumb rubs against your clit, doing anything he can to elicit a reaction out of you, to increase your pleasure even more.

“cum for me.” rafe commands in a shockingly even voice, even surprising himself as your body stills and then shakes, crumpling forward into rafes strong arms as your pussy clenches around rafes cock, and it's all he needs to release himself, thrusting upwards and spilling inside of your cunt.

you're both breathing heavily as you come down from your high, wrapped up in each others bodies and your own intersecting pleasure before you have to pull away, realization setting in.

“oh my god.” you giggle. “we just fucked in the church.”

“shit.” rafe laughs as well. this is certainly not what he meant to do when entering into the church, yet his soul still feels lighter as he looks at your smile.

“god,” you look up at the ceiling, as if you're talking to him directly. “im so sorry. im going to hell.”

“i guess ill see you there.” rafe chuckles before he's interrupted by a gasp as you pull off of him.

rafe is quick to get himself back together, very aware of the fact that you're still bare under your dress, his cum no doubt dropping down your thigh.

you push open the door to the tiny booth and take a breath of cool air before rafe is quick to follow you out.

“i thought i heard a noise.”

you both freeze as you look up to see the nun walking from across the aisle.

“do you need the priest? he's already retired for the night.”

“no, sister.” you respond, a soft, innocent smile gracing your features as you grasp rafes hand and pull him to continue towards the exit. “see you at service sunday.”

you both let out a laugh as you push open the large wooden doors and flee from any more questions.

“can i at least get your name?” rafe asks as you enter into the night, way lit by moonlight.

“no.” you smile back at him. “but i will have another confession to make. tomorrow. same time.”

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kylestfs · 3 months ago

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LIFT

Jay said, his voice firm and steady, the way a coach’s should be. As a 40 year old gym coach, he had his habits when it came to training guys, helping them get to their physical fitness goals. He looked at the guy he was training as gritted his teeth and pulled the barbell up with a shaky breath.

“Lift.”

The weight came down again. Jay rolled his shoulders, watching closely, his own muscles twitching from habit.

“Lift.”

He blinked. Something felt off. He had said that word a million times, but this time, it echoed strangely in his head, stretching out—

“Liftttt—”

A rush of cold air hit him. His breath stuck into the black balaclava he was wearing. His gloved hands gripped a metal bar..

He was on a ski lift.

His body felt different—lean, light, skinny, a comfortable flex beneath sleek layers of ski gear. His boots rested on the bar, expensive and pristine. A helmet pressed snugly against his head.

And next to him sat someone else. Another guy, equally sleek, equally expensive-looking. His ski goggles reflected the bright winter sun, but his lips curled into a knowing smirk.

“You alright, bro?” the guy asked, his voice teasing, slow and hot. Seemingly young and teenage-ish. “You zoned out for a sec.”

Jay- or was it Jayden swallowed. The guy’s voice was familiar. This whole scene was familiar. He wasn’t just on any ski lift. He was on his ski lift.

Memories trickled in—winter trips, après-ski parties, Miami beaches, yachts, fast cars. He wasn’t a gym coach. He was…

A rich 20-year-old ski boy. Jayden.

And the guy next to him? Jayden knew him too. Knew his name. Knew the way his smirk turned into a breathless laugh when they were racing down the ski slopes.

Knew the way they flirted, although they weree supposed to be fully straight.

Jaydens lips parted, a cocky smirk forming on their own.

“Guess I was just distracted,” he said, his voice smooth, rich, young. “Probably by you.”

The guy chuckled, shifting closer.

“Good,” he murmured. “We got the whole lift ride to get even more distracted.”

He turned toward the guy next to him, the heat between them cutting through the crisp mountain air. The dude was hot—really hot. Not because he had a beautiful face (he did), but because he looked so handsome in his ski gear. You couldn’t even see his face behind his balaclava, helmet & ski mask. But Jayden remembered tons of nights with his bro, sucking it and taking it without any hesitation.

The guy’s gloved hand shifted, resting casually on Jayden’s thigh, just above his ski pants. Not quite subtle. Not quite innocent.

Jayden smirked. “Getting comfortable?”

The guy just grinned, his fingers pressing in slightly. “You looked cold.”

Jayden chuckled, shifting slightly so their knees bumped together. “You sure it’s not ‘cause you just wanna touch me?”

The other guy tilted his head, his ski goggles sliding down slightly. “Touch what? You’re barely packing anything”

Jayden’s stomach flipped. It was all coming back now—the way they teased each other, the way neither of them could keep their hands to themselves, especially on long ski lifts like this.

He let his own hand drift, sweaty gloved fingers brushing over the guy’s arm, then his chest, feeling the firm skinny body beneath the layers.

“Damn,” Jayden murmured, voice low. “Forgot how solid you are.”

The guy smirked. “Forgot how much you liked that.” His hand slid higher, fingers squeezing just a little.

Jayden rolled his eyes, but the warmth creeping up his neck betrayed him. “Shut up, Luca.”

Luca just grinned. His hand sliding lower and lower, cupping Jayden’s average sized dick beneath the ski gear layers. He moaned.

Jayden shifted, pressing himself closer against Luca, feeling the heat of his body even through their thick ski gear. His breath hitched as Luca’s hand slid lower, teasing over the waistband of his ski pants.

“Hey,” Jayden murmured, voice dropping into something softer, needier. “Pet me.”

Luca chuckled, fingers stilling just at the curve of Jayden’s rear. “Pet you where?” he asked, like he wanted to hear Jayden say it.

Jayden swallowed, face heating beneath his balaclava. He knew what Luca wanted, and he knew how much he loved teasing him for it. “You know where,” he muttered, shifting slightly. His small, tight rear barely filled out his ski pants, a firm little thing that didn’t bulge out at all, just hugged close to his frame like it belonged to a lean, sleek ski boy like him. He knew Luca liked it, liked how perky and snug it was.

Luca hummed, fingers finally pressing in, palming over the slight curve. “Damn,” he teased, voice rich with amusement. “Forgot how tiny this thing is. No wonder it takes so much work to feel you.”

Jayden groaned, half from embarrassment, half from the way Luca’s fingers kneaded him, spreading warmth through his layers. He pushed back slightly, encouraging. “Shut up,” he grumbled.

Luca just laughed, fingers pressing firmer, squeezing the small handful of Jayden’s rear through his ski pants. “Cute,” he murmured. “All tight and little.

Jayden’s breath hitched. His stomach twisted in that way it always did when Luca had him like this—flushed, flustered, teased into submission.

Luca’s grip on him tightened suddenly, fingers digging in just enough to make Jayden jolt. Then, his voice came, low and playful, right against Jayden’s ear.

“Do something for me,” he said

Jayden swallowed. “What?”

Luca’s hand on his ass flexed, warm and firm. “Fart on my hand.”

Jayden’s stomach twisted—not from disgust, but from something deeper, something hotter. The fact that Luca was actually asking for it, wanting it, made Jayden’s pulse hammer against his throat. His first instinct should’ve been to shove Luca’s hand away, to roll his eyes and laugh it off. But instead, he found himself shifting, adjusting his seat, making sure Luca’s hand was cupped right under him.

His ski pants were tight, snug against his body, trapping in every bit of heat from their morning runs down the mountain. He could feel the layers hugging him close, sealing in the warmth, sealing in everything.

“Hold on,” Jayden murmured, his voice dropping, turning softer, breathier. He pressed his weight down against Luca’s palm, focusing, feeling the slw churn in his stomach.

Luca let out a slow chuckle, his fingers flexing slightly over Jayden’s tight, small rear. “Atta boy,” he murmured, encouraging. “Let it out, rich boy.”

Jayden sucked in a breath, his gut bubbling, twisting from the sausages and potatoes he’d downed at breakfast. His teenage metabolism had been working overtime, turning everything he ate into fuel—and, apparently, gas. The pressure built low in his gut, warm and insistent, pushing right against the tight waistband of his ski pants.

And then—

Prrfffttt—

A slow, hot burst of gas pushed out, muffled by the thick insulation of his ski gear but heavy, sinking straight into the layers of fabric. It was thick, rich, almost humid in the way it settled, caught between the padding of his ski pants, sinking in deep, unable to escape. The scent hit immediately—sulfuric, eggy, lingering deep in the heat of his clothes

Luca exhaled, fingers tightening over Jayden’s ass. “Shit,” he muttered, his voice dipping, lower, rougher. “That’s rank.”

Jayden shivered, his pulse hammering in his ears. He shifted, letting the warmth of it seep deeper into his pants, knowing it was trapped there, brewing, getting stronger by the second.

“Yeah?” he asked, voice breathy, cocky. He pushed back slightly, his rear still snug against Luca’s palm. “You like that?”

Luca let out a low chuckle, rubbing slow, lazy circles over Jayden’s rear. “Hell yeah,” he murmured. “Gimme another.”

Jayden’s stomach flipped. The heat of Luca’s hand, the way he was actually asking for it, made him feel—fuck. He wanted to give it to him. He wanted to feed him more.

He bit his lip, stomach twisting again, another deep, rich bubble of gas pushing low. He wanted this. Wanted to let go again, right into Luca’s waiting hand.

Jayden shifted once more, feeling the pressure in his gut build, his stomach still working through the sausages and potatoes he’d eaten. He could feel the weight of it in his lower belly, thick and sluggish, pressing against the tight fabric of his ski pants. His butt cheeks shifted restlessly, the material of his gear rubbing against his skin, and the warmth of the gas started to rise, spreading in the thick layers.

Luca’s hand never left his body. It was a steady, relentless presence, still cupping the firm curve of Jayden’s tight butt, fingers flexing, pressing in, making him feel every inch of his body responding to the heat between them.

Jayden bit his lip, shivers running up his spine. “You want another?” he asked, voice dipping low, almost teasing now. “You still want me to let one out?”

Luca grinned, eyes glinting behind his goggles. “I can smell it, man. It’s making me crazy.” His gloved fingers slid up the small of Jayden’s back, a soft, possessive motion. “Let me have it, bro. Don’t hold back.”

Jayden’s heart raced, but he didn’t hesitate. His body was warm, all the gas inside him pressing, making him feel full, heavy. With a deep breath, he let go, feeling it start to push, slowly at first, then building in intensity, a thick, sour release slipping out, unmistakable, the eggy smell rich and heavy, cutting through the air. It was rotten, like overcooked eggs left in a pan too long, mixed with the greasy stench of sausages and potatoes still turning in his gut.

The warmth of it sank into the thick layers of his ski gear, filling the space between his body and the ski pants, wrapping around him like a blanket. It didn’t escape immediately—it was trapped, all that foul gas sitting heavily in the padding, saturating the fabric with the stench of his breakfast, settling right into the curve of his tight butt.

Luca inhaled sharply, his grip tightening. “Fuck,” he muttered, a low, guttural sound. “That’s bad, Jayden. Really bad.” He shifted closer, leaning in, his breath hot against Jayden’s cheek as he took another deep sniff, nose pressing closer to Jayden’s buns. The smell of the eggs and sausage lingered on Luca’s breath, mingling with the sharp, almost sour tang of his sweat.

Jayden couldn’t help but feel a rush of something strange, a warmth flooding through his chest. “You like it?” he asked, voice low, almost breathless now. “You like how disgusting it smells?”

Luca’s hand slid down again, cupping Jayden’s buns harder, squeezing tight. “Hell yeah,” his nose brushed along Jayden’s butt, drawing in a long, slow breath, inhaling the thick, foul air trapped in the layers of his ski gear while surrounded by the snow of the mountains and the calm atmosphere.

Jayden groaned, leaning back into it, knowing that Luca was practically addicted to the smell. His body felt flush, each inhale of the stench making him feel something darker, something he couldn’t quite name but didn’t want to fight anymore. “You really want me to let go again?” Jayden whispered, biting his lip, pushing back against Luca’s touch.

Luca’s fingers dug in harder in the already hard small cheeks. “Give it to me,” he growled, voice low and desperate. “I wanna smell all of it, bro”

—————-

Luca :

Jayden :

#male transformation #straight to gay #fart #fart story #farting #gassy #musk #ski tf #age regression #cock shrink #stink #male tf #transformation story #tf

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hearts4hughes · 2 months ago

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Hello!! Could you write about rafe and reader break up and rafe sees old videos/photos of them and he does everything he can to get her back like they didn't end things on good terms yk I hope this makes sense! And It would be great if it the ending was a cute happy ending but it's up to you however you wanna end it!! Love your work btw ❤❤

note: i’m sorry the ending sucks😭 please send me another request if you want me to make one with more detail of him fighting for her back

the memories haunted him just as much as the breakup itself. everywhere he looked in his house was graced with your presence. from the wilting bouquets that decorated every table, to your heels in his mud room that he hasn’t had the heart to return.

even his phone is a graveyard of your love. his lockscreen, a picture of you with a flower tucked behind your ear, taunted him every time he dared to answer a text or send an email.

in the morning it was easy to ignore. he would busy himself with work, stay at the office until the cleaning crew kicked him out. he would go out to lunch with topper and drink his emotions out of his body. but at night, it wasn’t dismissible.

he lies in his bed, staring at the ceiling, counting how many times the frogs croak in one hour. this feeling was foreign to him. rafe cameron never has his heartbroken, no, he was the heartbreaker! but the unmistakable feeling of a weight on his heart wouldn’t go away.

after the tenth time of repositioning himself, flipping his pillow over, and focusing on his breathing, he gave up. he props himself on his elbows, blinking away whatever sleep was stuck in his eyes. the phone on his night stand torments him. like a siren in open waters, singing so beautifully. and rafe was the captivated sailor who was changing course to go towards it.

he grabs the phone, the screen lighting up the room in a harsh glow. your face greets him immediately, eyes squinted, blush lips parted in a laugh, the flower nestled behind your ear. seeing the picture at night always hurts more.

he clicks to his camera roll, swiping through your love story. blurry concert selfies, lazy sunday mornings wrapped in his sheets, your smile stretched wide as he took pictures of you from the driver’s seat while you whined for him to stop. it’s all there, frozen in pixels, a slideshow of everything he’d managed to destroy.

he hesitates over a video from last summer. the two of you on his boat, your tan skin glowing in the golden hour light, laughter carried away by the wind as you lean into him, pressing a kiss to his jaw before whispering something that makes his grin spread wide, proud and boyish. he plays it, the sound of your laugh filling his room, vibrating throughout his chest.

“god,” he mutters, squeezing his eyes shut as if that could somehow make it hurt less. his jaw clenches, the muscles in his neck tight and taut. he can’t keep living like this, haunted by your ghost in every corner of his life.

he sets his phone down, breath coming in shallow pulls. he lays his head down, hand reaching out for you in his sheets. it’s almost as if his brain makes out your silhouette next to him. a thousand thoughts race through his mind, each one more desperate than the last. he needs to fix this. he needs you.

the next morning, he’s parked outside your apartment before he even realizes he’s driven there. the sight of your building makes his stomach flip, his fingers gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles bleach white.

he almost turns back. almost convinces himself to pull away and let you have your peace. but then he remembers the way you looked at him in that boat video, like he hung the stars themselves, and it’s all the courage he needs.

he doesn’t bother to text, instead, he takes the stairs two at a time. when he reaches your door, he forces himself to pause, dragging a shaky breath into his lungs.

and then he knocks.

you answer, bleary-eyed and wrapped in one of his old sweatshirts, the one you never gave back. his heart stutters, and for a moment, he forgets why he came.

“rafe?” your voice is soft, uncertain. your eyes are swollen and bloodshot, tears stain your perfectly rosy cheeks. your hair is tousled, like it’s been in that messy ponytail for a few days. but to rafe, you look like an angel.

he swallows, words fumbling in his mind, but he forces them out. “i messed up,” he says, voice rough, laced with something dangerously close to a whine. “and i know i don’t deserve a second chance, but i’m here begging for one anyway. because i can’t…i can’t keep doing this without you.”

your eyes search his, the walls you’d so carefully built around your heart cracking, falling under the weight of his gaze.

“rafe, i—”

“just… let me in?” his voice wavers, the vulnerability raw, unfamiliar on his tongue. “let me try to fix this.”

“i don’t know,” your voice trails off.

“please, i can’t sleep without you, i can’t eat without you, i can’t live without you.” he would’ve gotten on his knees and begged if you had asked him.

you want to say no, want to close the door right there, and give yourself the satisfaction of breaking him the same way he broke you. yet, you open your door an inch wider, inviting him in.

and for the first time in weeks, he feels something close to hope.

taglist ~ @ren-ni @bungurus @kayperrysinging @cupids-diner @43hughes @babygirlboeser @makiplan @ladyatwalmart @qversazex @favbrnette @xoxosblogsblog @nothingtosee333her @soft-starr @f10werfae @bibissparkles

#nora’s writings 💐#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron obx #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron smut

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ghostgirl-22 · 3 months ago

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new age gap art was so good. i’m wet. and i think it’s only fair that art get used by TWO people twice his age. 👁️

(this is me asking for a threesome part two please i you want)

Thank you Anonnie, my love <3 and you know what—you’re so right and you should say it louder and more often <3

CW: Age gap kink, daddy kink, exhibition, student/teacher dynamics. A lot of other things i probably have to discuss in therapy. Anyway if the idea of this makes you uncomfortable obviously DONT READ.

Unrelated but I swear writing this made me crazy. I flirted heavily with the idea of never posting (or being seen or heard from again) so honestly if you fuck with this at all thank the always lovely Mel @artstennisracket <3 for reading and encouraging me to post 😭 And if you hate it blame her jk! if i regret it i can still private it…right? right?!!!

——

It was supposed to be one time. Is what Coach Patrick keeps saying. Even though it’s been so… many… times.

“I’m not that guy,” Coach says. It’s a random Thursday night. The last day of spring training camp. Not everyone stayed in town but Art did and he worked really hard. So hard. Now he feels so pleasantly sore it all feels worth it.

He’s leaning over the balcony of Coach Patrick’s giant home in the hills. All the chardonnay he snuck from Patrick’s dinner glass is starting to wear off because he feels a little less dizzy. He’s trying to take in the view of the city but he can’t stop looking back at Patrick all stretched out on his patio furniture in only his boxers, half finished cigarette in his mouth. He looks like a fucking tribute to the human form, the thin line of the surgery scar on his knee not withstanding. so relaxed and casual. Like he didn’t just make Art come so hard he nearly blacked out.

Art’s barely able to keep still for the euphoria of just the memory of it. He’s rocking back and forth against the railing before he finally gives up on the view and approaches Patrick on the deck, climbing onto his lap. “What guy?” He asks as Patrick adjusts himself to take on Art’s body weight.

“Mm,” Patrick pinches the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger like it’s a joint and gazes up at him. “You know, that fucking pathetic guy… like… a professor with a full blown midlife crisis who needs to fuck his barely legal TA just to feel young again… claiming ‘well it’s because she’s the only one who really gets me.’”

Art grins.

“Shut up,” Patrick says, before Art can say anything.

“You mean you don’t feel young when you fuck me?” He goes for the cigarette but Patrick shifts it out of his reach.

”Behave yourself.” He says sternly.

“I am,” Art says. “I just want to try it.”

“And I just want to win a grand slam but neither of those things is gonna happen. You already got drunk on dinner wine. I’m not here to enable you sweetheart…” He takes another drag and uses his free hand to push Art’s t-shirt up, rough fingertips grazing along his abdomen. The way he blows the smoke out, bored and casual and so goddamn cool.

“How do you do it like that?” Art asks.

“Do what?” Patrick asks, looking over Art’s body, slides his palm down his chest, over his tummy.

“When you smoke…I don’t it’s um…” Art squirms a little. “I like watching you smoke.”

“Yeah?” Patrick slides his palm down lower resting it where Art’s cock is, he’s semi hard again. “God, already?” Patrick laughs. “Twenty years old… of course smoking turns you on. Everything fucking turns you on.”

But the fabric between them is paper thin and Art can feel him…and god he’s fucking growing.

Art can help himself, he starts wiggling. He’s dreamed of sitting on him and feeling it grow hard from the first time he saw Coach Zweig lazily manspreading on the bleachers while his assistant, Coach Meg, talked his ear off.

“Daddy, please lemme suck it a little,” he says anxiously. Pretty sure he’s not still talking about the cigarette.

“Jesus Christ,” Patrick mutters, he immediately puts out the cigarette on the side garden table, grabbing at Art’s waist. “Come here.” It’s happening so rapidly now, the way Patrick is filling out. Even though Art knows how big it is, it still makes him feel a little crazy.

Art leans in,still wiggling. “You gonna fuck me, daddy?” He bites down on a grin as Patrick grips him, bruising tight to steady him.

“Jesus. I should fucking gag you.” Patrick says against his lips.

“With the whole thing? Like every single inch?” Art whispers, playfully, nuzzling his cheek against the gentle scratch of Patrick’s beard.

“Fuuucking, stop with all of that.” Patrick groans. Art loves his dirty mouth. Loves the way the he says “fucking” when Art drives him crazy. So punctuated. like it’s two different words. “Fuck-ing sit still.”

Patrick pulls him into a bruising kiss and Art pushes his tongue in right away. It’s insane actually, the way he’s still not fucking done growing. Art feels impatient. He plays with his waistband ready to get his boxers off so Patrick can fuck him again.

“Mm… slow it down.” Patrick hums, steadying him. “Go get a fucking condom. The ones i left on the coffee table.”

Art doesn’t really want to get off of him. “Please. Can’t we just—“

“What? Can’t we just what? you want me to fuck you raw?”

”Don’t you want to come inside me, daddy?” Art asks lightly. “Don’t you wanna fill me up and watch it spill out…the way you did that one time when you couldn’t wait and…”

“God.” Patrick bucks his hips. “You have to stop fucking talking. You’re gonna make me do something I shouldn’t. Now fucking get up.” He says forcefully. “Go get me the fucking condom. And honestly this is the last time, okay? I can’t keep doing this shit.”

“Got it. Last time okay,” Art smirks.

Patrick gently pokes a finger into his ribcage and Art sticks out his tongue before climbing off his lap. He’s tenting as he makes his way into the house. He pads into the open living room and stops in his tracks.

She’s absolutely impossible. Standing in the doorway. Seeing her in real life. In person. She can’t possibly be real. Taller than he expected, tall like a runway model, and like a runway model looking effortlessly beautiful in an oversized sweatshirt and shorts, her shiny hair tied up in a loose bun. Her wide brown eyes sweep over his form before she looks back at his face. “What the fuck?” She demands.

“Hi uh—“ Art goes tongue tied. He looks back at the patio and then at her. He can feel his skin heating up. “You’re um— I’m um— s-so pretty.” He stammers. Then feels his skin get even warmer.

“God he’s a fucking idiot,” Tashi mutters. She lets her tennis bag slide off her shoulder and drop to the ground before she makes her way past Art to the patio door. Even in person, the way she moves, so poised and graceful like a dancer. Impossible.

“Are you fucking serious Patrick?” She calls from the doorway.

“Tash!” Patrick sits up right away, stepping into his flip flops. He hurries towards the house. “Oh shit baby… baby you… you said you’d be home on the weekend I—“ he steps in the room breathless.

“Stop. Don’t baby me. What the fuck is going on?” she demands.

“Uh well…” he glances at Art and then back again. “you know the usual…”

“Oh the usual…right,” Tashi repeats. “Isn’t this your fucking player Donaldson? Aren’t you coaching this kid? Patrick?” She demands, moving into his field of vision when he tries to look away from her.

“Well…yes but—“

She huffs a laugh. “Are you serious, Patrick? Are. you. fucking. serious?”

As fast as his heart is racing, Art is still kind of thrilled that she recognizes him.

”Baby it’s not—“ Patrick starts.

”How old is he? Is he fucking 18?”

“Yes he’s… no, he’s…” Patrick takes a deep breath. “He’s older. He’s not a teenager.”

“Oh does that make you feel better?” Tashi snaps. “You’re 31 fucking years old, Patrick. Do you feel better about yourself cause maybe he’s 21? so it’s all good.”

“No,” Patrick swallows and rests his head against the patio door all pouty. “Mm baby I feel like shit, I really do.” He whimpers softly. And even that sounds sexy. “I didn’t mean for it to…. I didn’t mean to.”

”Yeah really?” She says, stepping closer to him. “You feel like shit? Huh?” Art watches as she cups her palm over his cock and he takes a deep breath. “Yeah that’s what I fucking thought,” she whispers turning away when he tries for a kiss.

“Baby, please,” Patrick says and then he lets out a deep sigh. “Fuck.” He breathes.

Her gaze falls back on Art, rounding on him. He tries to adjust himself. He can’t believe this is how he ends up meeting her. Even before he ever met Coach Zweig and started crushing on him he was in love with her.

He’d been playing tennis since he was 5 years old but he never really cared about tennis until he watched her win the US Open. He was barely 12 years old and watching her play for the first time. This powerhouse of a performance on the court…. Never rattled, clean, precise but also capable of the impossible. The perfect blend of superior technique and unbridled talent. She absolutely demolished her opponent, some Russian girl he never saw or heard about again. It had affected him so much that afterwards he started taking tennis seriously (he’d also started masturbating, the first time right after the match when he’d snuck into his bedroom and lay on his stomach, rubbing himself into the mattress thinking about her perfect form).

“How old are you?” She says, dragging him back into the present. her tone a little softer but not much.

“I’m uh…20?”

”Are you asking me?”

“No well I just turned 20 so I um…can I tell you I um— I love your— i love your backhand.” God. He’s falling apart every time she looks at him.

She squints. “How many times have you been in my house?”

Art looks around, his gaze falling back on Patrick just behind her, Patrick shakes his head, almost imperceptibly.

”None,” Art blurts.

“Right,” she mutters dryly and Patrick rolls his eyes clearly disappointed with him. “How many times has he fucked you?”

Art bites his lip. “I’m s-sorry.”

“Okay that’s not an answer, show me on your hands, is that easier?” She only sounds mildly condescending like she’s speaking to a child. “How many times has he fucked you?” she asks again.

Art shifts, “uh… i don’t… i don’t have enough fingers.”

She laughs. ”You’re fucking disgusting, Patrick. I think you should know that.” She says without taking her eyes off Art.

“I know and I’m—and I’m not gonna do it ever again Tash I’m—” Patrick starts.

“He’s your fucking student. God, I bet you get off on that, don’t you?”

”Tashi—” Patrick says.

”There are thousands of guys out there, Patrick. Shit, if thats what you want, there are thousands of twenty year olds who don’t go to Stanford, who don’t play tennis, who aren’t on your team, or your fucking star player. But you choose something so fucking off limits anyway. Jesus.” She teases her fingers gently into Art’s hair and it makes Art shiver, he can’t help leaning into the touch.

“God do you fuck him at the school?” She asks softly.

”Um…” Patrick hums.

“Patrick can you just answer the question.”

“Yes, yes,” Patrick breathes. “A couple times.”

“You like that pretty boy?” She asks Art. “Coach Patrick taking such a special interest in you.”

“Yeah,” Art whispers, helpless. She smells so good, god, her lips look so plump and soft, he’s fixating on them. The way he did when he was a teenager with a Duncanator poster on his wall, one hand down his pants. Except now she’s actually in front of him and just so fucking real.

“Does he fuck you before practice? Or after when you're all full of adrenaline?”

“B-both,” Art says anxiously, “before, after, sometimes in the middle.”

“Yeah?” Tashi asks, she sounds a little breathy. “Lemme guess, he sneaks you into his office? Sits you on his lap and pretends to work while you cock warm him. Let’s his stupid big dick get so hard you cant sit still?”

“Mmmm,” Art hasn’t done it like that but now he fucking wants to. The more she talks the more he feels dangerously close to touching himself in desperation, he wants to fuck her so badly but instead he blurts out, “Can— can I kiss you?”

“Oh you wanna kiss me? You fuck my fiancé repeatedly and now you wanna kiss me? Why?”

Patrick takes a breath, Art can see he’s white knuckling the handle of the sliding glass patio door, eyes fully dilated, as he looks between them, a crooked little smirk on his lips.

“B-because I-I love you,” Art stammers weakly.

Tashi giggles, it's a bubbly surprising sound. “God.” She looks down, Art follows her gaze to the tent in his boxers. “You hear what your barely 20 year old is saying to me Patrick?” She whispers, her knuckles grazing along the thin fabric covering his shaft making him gasp.

“I know baby,” Patrick sighs, his voice pitched soft. Art glances over and notices his other hand, he’s stroking his dick idly. Art feels so suddenly dizzy with arousal he thinks he might fall down.

Tashi catches it too. “Oh wow Patrick…you’re incredible…” she says. “Are you fucking jerking off?!”

“I’m just… a little… yeah…I’m sorry…” Patrick says, raising his hands defensively. “It’s just… it’s hot...”

“God, I catch you in our house fucking your 20 year old player and you don’t even have the decency to feel ashamed for more than a minute. I bet you watch him run around the court, not even a little bit ashamed of yourself. God it probably gets you fucking hard knowing you just finished inside him. You probably spend all practice trying to hide it. I mean fucking him before and after practice?? Jesus Christ you know how fucked up that is? How fucking wrong it is?”

Even as she says it, Art is breathing heavier, leaning closer to her… he’s so turned on. He likes it. Likes the whole idea of it and it’s clear she does too. Her cleanly manicured fingers gently brushing along the fabric barely containing him.

”Of course I do, I—” Patrick starts, softly.

“Of course you do,” Tashi mimics. “But you get off on it anyway. There’s something really fucking wrong with you.” She says. Every nerve in Art’s body is firing off as she continues to barely touch him.

”Mm I know, I know. I’m real fucked up baby, I know.” Patrick sighs, but he’s absolutely jerking himself off again.

“Yeah and you should be ashamed,” Tashi sighs, walking Art backwards towards the sofa. He stumbles over the rug at the last minute and drops onto it haphazardly. He almost cums when she straddles him with her thick thighs, her round soft ass settling on his lap. He has to bite his tongue so hard.

“Pretty boy. He’s not even old enough to fucking drink. And you’re shoving your dick in him.” She grips at Art’s length over the fabric of his boxers and starts jerking him properly.

“Oh—oh god,” Art cries out.

“Holy fuck Tash,” Patrick moves to sit beside them on the sofa.

“Do your teammates know why you’re getting all of this special attention?” She asks softly in Art’s ear. He’s overstimulated with Tashi on top of him, Patrick right next to him.

”He—he doesn’t give me attention,” Art whines. “He’s really fucking mean. He— he— makes me run laps even when i… when i don’t even do anything wrong.”

“So he works you harder?” Tashi smiles, her grip tightening. “Good.” She moves a little faster and he groans, biting again on his already achy tongue. “Who else knows?”

“N-no— no no one. I promise.” Art stammers out the lie. He actually talks about it all the time with his roommate and his best friends, the ones that knew about the crush before they ever started fucking. He can’t shut up about how good it feels, how big it is, how easy it is to make him cave.

“You sure? He’s fucking you all over campus. Probably fucking you at away games. Probably sliding you his second room key so you can sneak into his hotel room. Because he’s fucking reckless. Because he wants to get caught. Because you get his dick so hard he forgets to use his fucking brain.”

“Ah no daddy, daddy doesn’t fuck me when I—when I have to play when I have a—he doesn’t fuck me when I have a game.” He’s dangling on the edge but mercifully she stops jerking him for a minute.

“Patrick,” Tashi says, turning to glare at him, her tone carefully measured. “What. The. Fuck.”

“I swear I didn’t fucking tell him to call me that.” Patrick says.

“oh pat your f-fucking sick,” she whispers, eyes falling back on Art. He gazes up into her deep brown eyes, breathless, bouncing his leg eagerly. “Fuck I can see why you…,” she sighs softly, touching Art’s cheek. He turns to kiss her palm and she smiles and slides her hips forward, grinding all along his length, the clothing hardly a barrier. It’s almost like he can feel her pussy. His brain is ready to fall out of his head. “Ohhh,” is all he can manage before he’s seizing up, spilling warm and wet all over his boxers.

“Jesus, you’re a mess huh?” Tashi giggles softly. “Like a pretty little puppy.”

Her face is so close Art presses his lips to her cheek. She sighs and turns to kiss him properly. Art gasps against her lips. They’re as soft as they look, softer even. He slips his tongue into her mouth, warm and wet. She tastes like cinnamon. Her tongue sliding along his feels like heated silk. He’s certain if he hadn’t just finished he would blow his load at just the touch of her mouth. He can feel her fingers in his hair while he’s nervously grabbing at her waist.

“Fuck yes,” He hears Patrick groan softly.

His heart is pounding like crazy. He can imagine trying to explain this to his roommate… to anyone. “Tashi Duncan caught us. And then she jerked me off and we made out while Coach watched and touched himself.” No one would believe it. He doesn’t even believe it. He wants to touch her more, he tentatively fingers the waistband of her shorts, but he’s so scared she’s going to realize what she’s doing and make him stop.

“Mm puppy,” she breathes, breaking the kiss and rubbing her thumb over his lips. He sucks the digit inside his mouth, keeping her gaze. She watches him for a miniute and then says. “Have you ever had a threesome?”

whoops guys it’s two parts. i did say a billion words. perhaps. maybe. if y’all like this. and idk Mel convinces me to post

#tw: age gap #tw: daddy kink #tashi donaldson smut #art donaldson smut #patrick zweig smut #art x tashi x patrick #artashi smut #also forgive me all i know about California is San Diego and what i’ve seen on tv #artrick

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