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#the outlines before that part is so fun
catominor · 2 months
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post no longer cancelled though actually. take my hand. look at their littwle shoesies with me :')
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hella1975 · 2 months
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wondering why old ladies aren’t smiling at me around town as much this morning then remember im wearing hoops and a puffer jacket and generally look like a bitchy year 9 girl who’s about to punch someone
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groenendaelfic · 2 months
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When you spend an hour writing a scene only to realize that you've already written said scene and the next 4k a month ago but labeled the file wrong.
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gregmarriage · 10 days
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gonna become pepe slivia charlie, while trying to write the plot for this fic
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bambino1294 · 7 months
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why is researching for a fic like this
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floorpancakes · 8 months
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you would think my gay ass would have come up with an xxxholic idol au by now but i havent
which is hilarious because i totally unintentionally gave two of my idol ocs douwata dynamic lite
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blissblauu · 1 year
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i wrote out this whole crazy post detailing the uncanny valley of the date i went on last night w the delivery guy but it got deleted 90% of the way through so let’s just suffice it to say - he was really cool and funny. carrying some really bad family stuff around but actively processing and could talk and laugh about it. then lmk halfway through that he wants to tattoo the whites of his eyeballs black and is saving up for it. recounted an ongoing string of events in his life that truly sounds like a dark energy is following him around. then was the worst kisser i have encountered in maybe my entire life. peaked too soon, immediate downhill slope. our apartments are down the street from each other but arranged in such a way that we can see each other from our outdoor space.
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I basically scrapped at least 80% of my original story and I'm writing a good chunk of it from scratch now. I haven't even progressed past 5% ever since I re-started it. That's what you call procrastination lol
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pussymasterdooku · 9 months
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#okay don’t ask me why but i can’t ramble in text posts. too much pressure. the blogging part of my blog occurs in the tags. who cares!#ANYWAY#i’m in like! a writing era again! it’s been so long since any creative writing flowed#(though i’ve been having fun w writing for my classes for Some Time Now!! but i haven’t been Inspired since my reddie smau#which i started pre covid and then covid happened like. it was doomed. anyway it’s been a While since i last wrote fic)#and as may be evident from my recent blogging i finally got into star wars in early 2022#and then i started thinking about a codywan necrocav Situation and that turned into something a LOT bigger#which is very much still in development it’s my baby#but it’s huge. definitely two full stories and they will not be short.#but i was making good progress on that and then i busted my fucking wrist#so it was kind of on hold#and then a single thought about a time travel story DID take hold of my entire consciousness#and i’m not posting ANYTHINGGGG until it’s Done Done so that i don’t fall into my brain traps when people read as i go lol#so it’ll be a while before any of this sees the light of day anyway#BUT i’ve now finished my fleshing out the shape of it document beginning to end which i’m now working on beating into a coherent outline#anyway that doc was 10.5k which is longer than all but one thing i’ve posted on ao3 LOL#but anyway. it’s happening and it’s special to write again it’s been SO long!!!!!#me turning up after a decade of not publishing anything to my ao3: hey guys who wants 200k of vaderwan time travel lol#me four years later when i finish the other story: and now 800k of whatever this monstrosity is#BUT ANYWAY IT’S FUN! THANK U TO ANYONE WHO READ THIS FAR LOL#that includes you future self who will definitely read these tags at some point. love u girl!!!! xoxo#a ten is blogging#bycbwg#uyaf#arhtbtad#(those r based on their working titles but for future sorting reasons)
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patalliumapples · 1 year
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not planning out your novel is all fun and games until you want to write but your brain is just completely blank
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prettieinpink · 4 months
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NEW YEAR, NEW ME
( A collab with thee lovely lele @bloombabydoll )
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If you want to reinvent and rebrand yourself, or just continue to make positive improvements in 2024, the first thing is to evaluate your current year. 
EVALUATION
Reflect on how things went for you. Was there continuous growth? Were there many difficult times? Did you discover anything major about yourself and so on. Try to summarise your year in (a) paragraph(s) at least. 
Oversee your goals. Which ones you didn’t, did achieve, difficult ones, easy ones and the impacts it had on your life. 
Compare your dream girl then and now. Is your visualisation of your life currently different to the one you have now and why? 
List any major losses or successes you’ve had in your life, and how they have helped you or why it matters to you. 
This evaluation can be as detailed or simple as you like, but as long as you have a decent outline of your year. 
PREPARING & PLANNING
To prepare for 2024, you want to know what you want life to be like in 2024. Something realistic to a point, but still is a growth journey. 
Think of something that you can associate with 2024. This can be a word, a symbol, art, a song, a book, a movie, a place, or even just all of these things. When you think about your goals and your journey, this is your theme. This is something that should relate to your goals or your dream girl somehow. 
For me, I chose a word and a song. My word is growth because, for me, 2023 was a year for just being able to shed my old self which I did achieve however I just felt there wasn’t much growth as an actual person and not just in my environment. 
For my song, it is Mayflowers by Proleters and Taskrok. This song is the epitome of what I would imagine, is the most polished mindset. I would say perfect, but having a perfect mindset is near impossible. I want to have a mindset glow up because I’ve just been hard on myself lately which has caused my confidence to plummet. 
Before we get into the fun part of the preparation stage, we have to do some organisation in our life. I want you to take a look at your daily lifestyle and your habits, and be completely unashamed about this. 
Then categorise these habits into two sections; Leave and Leap. Leave habits are habits that you are leaving behind in 2023, leap habits are habits that are leaping into 2024 with you. 
Any habits that are self-destructive, addictive or generally harmful are leave habits. Beneficial habits and self-building are leaping with you into the new year.
I want you to do the same for people in your life, all environments (school, work, online etc) and anything else you believe needs to be sorted out. 
This works better if you can reason with yourself why it is a leaping or leaving habit, but don’t try to convince yourself a bad habit is good or vice versa. 
Now, I want you to document an honest paragraph about who you are right now. List your bad and good habits, your strengths and weaknesses and your behaviours. This one requires a bit more detail. 
Then, write a paragraph about who you will be in 2024, your dream girl. List her habits, lifestyle, behaviours, mindset, strengths and anything else extra. I’ll explain later but do not include materialistic desires in this your dream girl. Once again, this one also requires details. 
Stemming from those paragraphs, I want you to create specific and achievable goals. SMART goals are best, but I want to introduce you to how I set goals. 
I divide my year into quarters. For each 3 months, I have 3-5 goals for those months. Usually, it’s one from each area of my life. Then, I break down these goals. 
Questions and How They Help 
Why do I want to do this goal - For motivation and commitment. 
How it’ll benefit me - For the sake of improvement. 
How can I involve myself in this goal - To achieve your goal.  
I prefer this method because it is a lot simpler for me, as I am just a young girl and my bigger goals are more in the future in which I’ll utilise SMART goals. 
To create good goals; Make sure they align with your current values and life principles first. Try to avoid creating goals that you have just taken from the internet. Those goals just aren’t it and you most likely won’t follow through with it. 
Be specific. Don’t say you want to eat more healthily, instead say you want to include (a certain group of veggies/fruits) in your diet and reduce the intake of ( food/drink). 
E.g using eating healthy example
I want to eat healthy -> I want to start including foods that boost my immunity system and support my skin while reducing those that have the opposite effect. 
Then break down those quarterly goals into monthly, weekly and daily goals. Make these habits that you can establish in your lifestyle and have a way in which you can refer back to your progress. 
EXAMPLE GOAL BREAKDOWN
Quarterly Goal - Read 6 books.  
Monthly Goal - Finish 2 books.
Weekly Goal - Be or near half way of one book.
Daily Goal - 20 minutes of reading per day. 
AREAS TO SET GOALS IN YOUR LIFE
Academics
Spiritual
Fitness/sport
Health and wellbeing
Mental health
Personal life
Relationships
Hobbies and recreation
Now for the best part- vision boards! Collect all of your favourite images that embody your quarters or the whole year, then put them in one place where you can see them regularly!
Some ideas are a scrapbook, Pinterest boards, mood boards, playlists etc. 
Choose your theme; It can be your healthy girl era, your academic come back or whatever you want. You can have more than two btw.
Use quotes! Then actually say them in your daily life as a way to shift your mindset to reflect said quote.
Include inspirational people. It doesn't even have to be a millionaire or a very well established person, it could be your friends or someone on the internet.
Be imaginative. Your vision board doesn't have to realistic in my opinion, as the whole point of it to me is that viewing it daily and considering it to be part of your life one day allows for you to open up to those opportunities.
Materialistic Wants
I feel obligated to make this a separate section. This section is practically tangible objects that you want.
However, when choosing this said object that you want, mindfully think about why you want that thing specifically.
It doesn’t have to be meaningful, but as long as each thing on that list has got a purpose to you, and will serve you, I think it’s all good!
Conclusion
If you want, you can definitely start implementing habits before January. However, I believe that as long as you go into 2024 at least knowing who you want to be and shedding away any limiting beliefs, you’ll be fine.
Make sure to incorporate some self care rituals into your daily life as well✨
To end this, I hope everyone has a very merry Christmas! And that 2024 they will achieve to close that gap with their current selves and their dream girl selves! 💖🙏
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banannabethchase · 1 year
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The worst part about that tattoo stipulation fic is that now I really want that to-do list tattoo but I don't think work is gonna be cool with it.
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cheswirls · 1 year
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actually writing prose for the prologue of the sw au after putting it off for 2351351 months aaaaaaaaaaa progress progress
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monzabee · 14 days
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pon de replay - cl16 (+18)
masterlist ||
Summary: The one where Charles decide to prove to everyone that it is him that you belong to, and only him.
Pairing: charles leclerc x reader 
Word Count: 4.8k
Warnings: smuttt, nothing but pure filth, one might even say it is pwp, unprotected sex (cover your willy don’t be silly), oral (f receiving), kinda exhibitionism?, public sex, jealous charles, possessive charles, carlos being a little shit because he’s bored, poor lando, not even sure if i fulfilled the request or not, minors dni!! 
Request: “HELLOOOO! i have an idea and you don’t have to write it but it’s been rattling around in my brain and im never gonna write it (i constantly have way too many ideas to write them fr) myself so i figured i’d send it to you cause you’ve kinda restored my F1 phase with your work. basically, reader being very goofy, funny, and maybe a little bit too loud at times. just like a very silly and bubbly personality and she hangs out with some of the f1 boys (maybe because she’s famous in her own right like a dancer or something) so naturally EVERYONE ships her with lando. like hardcore, almost as bad as one direction fans ships (iykyk), and it sorta makes sense cause when they’re together it’s pure and utter chaos and they both express themselves with physical touch B U T ! she’s actually with charles. to her it makes total sense to be with charles instead of lando cause while lando is definitely attractive he’s too much like her and it’d be like dating herself whereas charles brings out a new calm side to her and she can bring out a goofier side to him. opposites attract type shit😭. maybe a little angst cause charles hates seeing all the edits and also feels a little insecure cause lando and reader DO make sense together in his mind so why’d you pick him instead? then like soft fluff/smut reassurance that charles is literally the man of her dreams, a literal fucking prince, and the best person she’s ever been with. ANYWAYS, im rambling! again, you don’t have to write this if you don’t connect with it or don’t have time i just needed an outlet SOMEWHERE for all the F1 brain rot.”
Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! i first of all want to start by saying that i’m very sorry that this isn’t exactly like the request, like at all, but it took me a criminal amount of time to actually get this finished so we’re not going to focus on that. okay? okay, great!! in all and all it was actually quite fun to work on this at the beginning, it was just kinda hard for some reason to work on the actual smut part, but i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee
Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 
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Charles wouldn’t call himself a possessive person, not a chance. He might be ambitious, and competitive, but possessive? That, he is not. He’s never been the type of get jealous of his partner’s friends, whether male or female, because he likes to think that he is mature enough to understand that people have friends. It’s that simple. And he is most definitely not the type of person to comment on what you wear when you’re going out, he is just not that guy. He’s fairly certain that his mother would materialise out of thin air and give him a good beating if he were to do that. So when you asked him about the dress you have on earlier before you left his apartment, the one that clings to your body so tightly that he can practically make out the outline of your tits from across the room? He just smiled and told you to have fun tonight – because he’s there to make sure you’re not put off by anyone staring at you in it.
So yeah. He’s not usually the type to let the jealousy take over his ability to think things out rationally, but when his girlfriend is dancing her heart away in the middle of the dance floor while every red-blooded men watch her with the same look in their eyes? Yeah, it’s not easy to keep his emotions in check at the moment given the circumstances. And it’s not that he even intends to pout like a petulant child at the bar, making sure to keep an eye on you, it’s just that he is an expressive person and his face reflects what he’s feeling that well. Totally because of that. It’s scary how utterly focused he is on you, watching your every move to make sure no one is bothering you, though you don’t seem to be in need of his help as he watches you dance with one of the girls you met when you first arrived to the club – and with Lando, though he tries not to focus on that part too much.
It's fine, though, he tries to make himself believe, it’s fine as long as you’re having fun. Though that doesn’t necessarily stop him from throwing daggers into Lando’s direction as covertly as he can. The way he has a friendly arm around you is driving him crazy, and he is not above stomping over there to pull you under his arm, drag you to the nearest bathroom and– Well, maybe he shouldn’t get too far ahead of himself just yet.
“They look good together, no?” He hears someone ask him from the side. He realises it is his teammate when he turns to give the person a glare.
“Who?” He asks, deciding to play dumb, but he can’t help himself as he makes a face while focusing his gaze back on you.
“You know who I’m talking about, cabrón!” Carlos exclaims, laughing as he pats him on the back and points to the two of you with a tilt of his head, “I’m glad he’s finally doing something about it rather than sulking around like a geriatric toddler.”
If he would have turned around any faster, Charles is sure his neck would actually, possibly, break. “What?” he spits out as he turns around, “Do you mean her and Lando?”
Carlos gives his teammate a confused look, “Yes,” he drawls out, “you didn’t know he had a crush on her? I thought the entire paddock knew!” Charles feels a surge of disbelief and a tinge of anger bubbling within him.
He wouldn't call it possessiveness, more like a primal instinct to protect what's his. But this revelation catches him off guard, shattering his carefully constructed facade of nonchalance. With doing his best to keep calm under the situation, he asks, “Are you sure you’re not making things up? I feel like you’re misreading the situation here.”
That receives another confused look from his teammate, and though Charles is quite the perceptive person, he misses Carlos starting to put the pieces together – thanks to his overreaction. “I guess so,” Carlos mumbles, loud enough for Charles to hear him in the loud club, “he’s always talking about her, though. The way she smiles, her hair, her dresses; did you know he even went to see one of her performances in Vegas?” Carlos feels bad, really, but there is also something so fulfilling in confirming his theories as he watches his teammate’s eyes bulge out at the mention of one of your dance shows in Vegas. Because Charles knows what those entail.
“I-in Vegas?” He stutters out, eyes moving to focus on your dancing figure again. And at that moment, he absolutely hates Lando. He hates him for having his arms around you, he hates him for dancing with you to the beat in a rhythm he never seems to be able to keep up with, he hates him for the way everybody seems to think the two of you seem to make a handsome couple, and he absolutely hates him for the way he makes you smile.
Charles Leclerc is not a possessive guy – until it comes to you, that is.
“Charles?” He hears Carlos call out his name, but he’s out of his seat long before he can hear the end of his sentence. He doesn’t mean to stomp across the dance floor to get to you. He really doesn’t. He also doesn’t mean to grab you by your arm and put a pause on your fun. And the smile you give him and the way you wrap your arms around his neck while you call him ‘Charlie’? Makes his heart stutter in a way that makes him forget why he ever came over in this first place. Because this should be normal – you, having male friends and spending time with them should not make him insecure. He should be fine with you and Lando spending time together because you both love the hustle and bustle of a club. But at that moment, he doesn’t care about what should be normal, no. He cares about the fact that someone other than him has managed to make you smile, and that he needs to remind you that he’s the only one who should be on the receiving end of all your smiles.
So when he drags you away from the dancefloor (and Lando, for that matter), he doesn’t listen to your objections. He doesn’t care about the way Carlos is watching from his place from the bar, putting all the pieces together as he shares a look with Lando. And he most definitely doesn’t care about the fact that he’s about to fuck you in the club’s bathroom. Well, maybe he does care about that last part. “Charlie,” you whine, your voice clearly scratched from shouting along the lyrics of the songs playing throughout the night, and he doesn’t miss the way you slur his name ever so slightly – which tells him that you had at least two drinks. Cosmopolitans, if he had to guess. “Pleaaase,” you drag out the word, pulling on his shirt to get his attention, “they are playing my song!”
His first mistake is to look at you, because the way your lips form a pout and the way you’re giving him puppy dog eyes is usually strong enough for him to give in. Though this is no usual situation. So instead of moving the two of you back to the dancefloor, he grabs you by your cheeks and presses his lips against you. In the middle of the club, where everybody can see him doing it. The way his lips move against yours is aggressive, and you’re definitely out of breath when he does move away. Cosmopolitans, he realises after tasting you. You've had cosmopolitans. Then, he just gives you a look, threads his fingers through yours and raises an eyebrow. Then he asks, “Are you going to be a good girl and come with me now, or should I do this the hard way and just carry you on my shoulder?”
If this was any other situation, you would totally say something bratty back. Hell, you might have actually said something rude if it meant him being rough with you, maybe spanking you a few times just enough times for you to learn your lesson. But you understand that this is no ordinary situation from his voice and the expression on his face. Charles is like that, you suppose. He’s an open book – meaning that it is very easy to understand what kind of a mood he’s in just by looking at his face, or listening to the undertone of his voice. And right now? Right now you know he’s pissed. You don’t necessarily know what you did, nor do you care. Mainly because all you want to do is make him feel better simply because of the reason that he is one of those people who’s just meant to smile at all times, not frown.
And so you nod gingerly, squeaking out a thimble, “Yes.” You finally meet his eyes as you wrap yourself around his arm, pushing yourself closer to him in the crowded club. “I’ll be good.”
This thumb does that thing where he caresses your knuckle, and he starts moving you through the crowd again. This time, however, you try to stick to him by matching the speed of his steps rather than trying to stay back. You told him you’d be good, you intend to keep your promise. He’s quiet all the way to the bathroom, and he’s quiet when he motions you to get inside, and he’s quiet when he closes to door and promptly locks it behind your back. You think for a moment you’re just there for a chat, maybe about that something you might’ve done, but Charles takes you by surprise as he grabs your waist and pushes you against the door, causing your eyes to widen with realisation of what you’re about to do in that bathroom.
“Charles, what’s wrong?” You try to ask, but he shuts you up with another kiss. And if you thought the previous kiss was aggressive, this one absolutely consumes you. He doesn’t even give you a fighting chance as his tongue quickly dominates yours, and he is relentless as he nips at your lower lip. You can’t help the mortifying moan that leaves your lips, and you push him away to inhale deeply. “What has gotten into you?” You ask, eyes wide due to the adrenaline coursing through your veins, “What happened?”
“You, happened.” He growls. And by that, you mean that he actually growls. His voice is a few octaves deeper than his usual voice, and you can see that he’s snappy. There is this dark look in his eyes that would otherwise scare you if you didn’t know him, but you do. Because he’s your Charles.
And you know this because the quickly leans into your touch when you bring one of your hands up to cup his cheek, giving him a confused look. “Did I do something?” You ask, voice soft amidst the humid bathroom. “Oh my god, is it my dress? Is it too short?” Your eyebrows draw closer as you start properly spiralling. “I knew I should’ve worn the shorts, why didn’t you say something?”
Your mini monologue about your party attire must have struck a chord because Charles suddenly exhales heavily, his forehead resting against yours as he closes his eyes. “No, non, it's not about the fucking dress,” he lashes out, his voice strained, and lace with something else that you can’t quite catch. “I don’t care what you wear, though I do appreciate the easy access.”
“Easy access?” You repeat, testing out the words as you come to a realisation. “What?” You exclaim, quickly taking your hand away from his face to lightly slap at his chest. “No! We are definitely not doing that here, are you out of your mind? You pulled me away because you can’t keep it in your pants until we’re home?”
“And why not?” He asks, and this time, you can see the unbridled rage behind his look. “Would you rather go back to Lando out there? You looked quite happy in his arms after all.”
And the realisation dawns on you right then and there. That this isn’t about your choice of dress for the evening, no. It is about Lando. Though you don’t get that part, since he’s both of your friend, so why is Charles being like this? And you would ask him, of course. But the look he gives you indicates that he doesn’t want to be tested in that exact moment.
So instead, you attempt to calm him down, by dragging your hand gently down his chest and wrapping your arms around his middle. He is like that, your Charles, sometimes he just wants to be held to see reason. “Charlie,” you call out, voice soft as you give him a pleading look, “why don’t you tell me what this is about, hm?”
You think he’s going to finally give in for a moment, but then he just gives you a blank stare. “I don’t want to talk,” he grunts, pulling you flush against him by the hands he has on your waist. His lips are on your neck faster than you can say anything, working his way towards your collarbones. The faint whimpers that come out of your lips bring a small smile to his lips knowing that he’s the one causing them, not Lando or any other guy.
“Charles,” you gasp, your fingers tangling in his hair as his lips trail along your skin. Despite the confusion and frustration swirling within you, you can't deny the way his touch ignites a fire deep within you, consuming your thoughts and leaving you breathless with desire. But as much as you crave his touch, you know that there are unresolved issues between you, issues that need to be addressed before you can fully give yourself to him in this moment. “Charlie,” you repeat, your voice barely above a whisper as you gently push against his chest, urging him to stop. “Stop, we need to talk about this.”
“Talk about what?” He asks, all breathy and with a wild look in his eyes. You can see that he’s trying to hold himself back, but at the same time his hands keep moving on your body in a way that makes you want to let him lose control and perhaps even join him. He successfully ignores your attempts at pushing him away, sliding his hands down on your body to grab the hem of your dress, clenching the material in his hand while dragging it upwards on your thighs until he reaches the soft skin of your stomach. “I have a thing in mind which might help me feel better.” Unable to take your eyes off of him, you take a stuttered breath as you watch him slowly get down on his knees, his lips pressing kisses starting form your sternum continuing down your body over your dress until you feel his lips on the exposed skin of your stomach. His kisses stop once he’s met with the top lining of your underwear, looking at you with a mischevious glint in his eyes as he nips at the nimble lace adorning the top. You call out his name in a weak whimper – though it is not clear to you, nor him, whether you’re asking him to stop or go on. Charles decides to go with the latter. “You know what to say if you want me to stop.”
You don’t really need his reminder, you realise, but it is a welcome one. Your cheeks blush even further when you feel his gaze on you as he lowers his face towards your core, leaving a sweet kiss onto your clit through the fabric of your thong. Suddenly, you want nothing more than to just rip to whole thing apart so there is nothing separating you from him, but you know the game, and you especially know that the ending is sweeter than what you could ever imagine at that moment. And so you wait – you wait until he eventually makes his move and gives your slit a generous lick through the fabric. Watching you is equal parts thrilling and painful, mainly because he wants to drag out his teasing as long as possible just to see you falling apart for him. It’s second nature to you, the way your hand threads through his hair to move him the way you want to, but it is of course not an option because it’s Charles who is in charge.
He makes this known by the way he pulls away, ignoring the way your hands scramble to guide him back to where you want him to be. He nips at the skin of your thigh in a warning manner, pulling a whine from your lips as he fixes you with a look, “You’re not in control tonight, mon bijou, I’ll stop if you try to take over. You got that?” It’s sobering to see him take control in such a way, you sweet little Charles. Usually, he has no problem just laying back and letting you take all the control, or even just making you believe you do. But now? With the way he’s looking at you with such hunger? You know you’d be soaking through your underwear if you weren’t so wet for him already. All you can do is offer him a meek nod, with your lips hanging open in shock, but he is not satisfied with your answer. No, he needs to hear you say the words. So, being the initiative person that he his, he tips at your skin again, this time earning himself a whimper along a grumble about how he’s being unreasonable. He isn’t, but that’s a topic to discuss another time, he decides. “I said, you got that?”
“Yes! Fine, yes!” You whine, grabbing your dress even tighter with your fist that isn’t buried in his hair, “Please just make me come.”
“See?” He asks, flashing you a sweet smile as he lowers his face back onto where you need him the most, “It wasn’t that hard now, is it?” The grumble about how he’s about to be the hard one, makes him chuckle to himself, the rumbling from it making you moan his name as he finally gives you what you want. His tongue works fast as he laps on the wetness through your underwear, soaking the material even more without a care in the world. If you weren’t wet before, you’re sure you’re definitely wet as he drags his tongue through your slit and back onto your clit to suck it through the fabric, causing you to let out a string of moans, each getting considerably louder as he works on your cunt.
The breath is knocked out of your lungs as the moments pass, as you become closer and closer to your impending release. You don’t even notice the fact that you’ve started to move your hips to match the rythym of his tongue, seeking something more to make you tip over the edge. You’re also very aware of the fact that Charles is letting you what you want to do, and though you’re scared out of you midn that he’ll stop like he threatened to do before, the little nod he gives you when you give him a pleading look assures you that he also wants you to come undone on his face.
Or so you’ve thought.
Because he knows your body so well that jus as you’re about to come he pulls back, leaving you high and dry, and even has the nerve to chuckle when he hears his name coming out of your mouth in a high pitched whine. You’re so lost in the moment that you almost miss the way he gently grabs your hands and removes them from his hair, pinning them above you and pushing you against the wall. “Why?” You whine, lips pushed out in a pout as your voice gets gradually whinier, “I was so close, Charles.”
“Oh, baby,” he cooes, “I know you were, I could feel it too.” He starts peppering your feverish skin with kisses, as if to say sorry for leaving you on the brink of an orgasm, and you find yourself arching your neck to expose more of your skin to his skillfull lips. You should stop him, some part of you screams to you in your head, because with the way he’s disguising the fact that he’s marking you with hickeys, but you don’t care at that moment. Your every breath and moan seem to motivate him to work faster, and harder, and when he eventually pulls back to leave a bruising kiss on your lips. A smirk finds its way onto his lips as he gives you an eyeing down, taking in how breathless you look. “Don’t worry, mon bijou, I’ll fuck you now, okay?”
You don’t even realise the nod you give him, too lost in his eyes to put words together to form a proper sentence. He’s gentle with you as he lets go of your hands and positions you the way he wants. With one of your legs wrapped around his hip he has better access to your soaked underwear, his fingers working quickly to pulling it aside. You don’t know when he managed to get himself free from his pants and underwear, but that doesn’t stop you from letting out a loud moan when you feel the tip of his cock circling your clit. “Please, please, please,” your voice cracks as you frantically beg him to do something more. You’d love nothing more than to scold him for the way he shushes you condescendingly, but any complaint you had evaporates when you feel him nudge your entrance. “Please,” you breathe out again, giving him pleading looks as you try to pull him closer somehow, “You promised me you’d fuck me.��
That manages to pull out a beathy chuckle for him, and as if he’s trying to console you, you feel his fingers gently caressing the skin of your hip. “Why don’t you do it yourself, hm?” A grin widens on his lips when you give him a look of confusion, and he leads one of your hands between your bodies for you to wrap it around his cock. “You want me inside you, right?” He rewards your tentative nod with a series of kisses down the column of your throat, “Come on then,” he mumbles into your skin, “put it in, pretty girl.” Exhaling a shaky breath, you keep your eyes on him as you guide him through your entrance. A gasp is torn from your lips when you feel his tip entering you, the initial stretch being more overwhelming because of the fact that you’re standing up. But Charles is quick to soothe you with his kisses down your neck, letting you control the rhythym and how further he can move inside you at first. With your hand making its way down to his hip, pressing him close to you, he quickly gets the message that you’re ready for him. “You’re ready?” He double-checks, raising his head to fix his eyes to yours.
“I swear to god if you don’t fuck me right now–” Your words are interrupted when you feel him move his hips back, just enough to have his tip inside you, and then he snaps his hips forward to thrust back in, making your breath hitch at the back of your throat. It doesn’t take very long for you to become a moaning mess, in fact, you’re more than ready to fall apart for him then and there, but you know he won’t let you until he gets his point across.   
“Look at you, mon bijou,” Charles darkly chuckles, hips matching the rhythym of the song playing outside at the dance floor, “what would people think if they saw you being such a mess for me in a club’s bathroom?” And the whine you let out in response to his question nothing if pathethic, but you can’t find it in you to care because of how good he’s making you feel. “Yes?” He prompts you, mocking the whiny ‘Yes’, that leaves your mouth before you start begging him to let you come. But he doesn’t, because he knows you can hold it until he’s ready for you too, and he tells you just that.
“So good, Charlie, so good,” you can’t help the broken moans you let out as he fucks you to the brink of an orgasm. But that is not enough for him, no. He needs everyone to know the two of you are together now, needs to get out all of his pent up frustrations out.
So when the opportunity presents itself with Lando knocking on the door asking if you are okay? A knowing smirk find its way onto his lips, and you try to silently plead with him with your eyes. “You want to cum?” He whispers in your ear, his thrusts becoming faster. “Say my name if you want to come, baby.”
“Please–” You gasp, hands grabbing the shirt he’s wearing. It’s no avail even if you try to keep your voice down. Because when Charles finds a way to slither his hand down between your legs and starts rubbing your clit in firm circles? You know there is no way you can stay quiet through your orgasm. “Why?” You manage to get out, “God, Charles please.”
“Tell me who’s making you feel so good, pretty girl.” He encourages you, his rhythym now almost brutal as he tries his best to make you come for him. “Come on, tell me who you belong to.” He chuckles darkly when he sees you shaking your head. “It’s not Lando, it’s me. You hear that?” Uh-huh, is the only answer he receives in return, but he is of course not satisfied with it. So, he gently pinches the inside of your thigh. “Tell me who’s going to make you come, or I’ll stop.”
“N-no!” You exclaim, too overwhelmed to see that his threat is an empty one, because he would never actually do something like that to you. “Please, please don’t stop.”
“Come on,” he cooes, the sweet words he whispers into your skin making you more and more malleable to his request. “Say my name baby, let me hear you.”
“Charles,” your loud moan cuts the heavy air in the bathroom. Cheeks flushed, breath unorganised and with that wild look in your eyes? There’s nothing Charles wouldn’t do for you. With every move of his hips, you moan his name louder, eventually tipping over the edge as he feels you squeezing his cock so tight that he almost loses himself then and there.
That’s not to say he doesn’t, of course. Because just as you’re about done with your orgasm, you feel him come inside you, chanting your name alongside mine, mine mine. It takes a long time for the both of you to get back to your senses, but he’s extremely gentle with you as he helps you down and fixes your underwear. You find yourself snuggling up to him when he eventually takes you into his arms after fixing his own clothing, nuzzling your nose to his neck. “You know, I think I like the jealous side of you.” You mumble, leaving a few kisses across his jaw.
“Yeah?” He asks, a breathy chuckle leaving him as he cradles your face with both of his hands, his thumbs caressing the apples of your cheeks.
“Yeah.” You nod, giving him a small smile, “But I need you to take me home, please, I can feel your cum dripping down my leg.”
“Oh baby,” he coos, tutting as he slides his hands down your body to grab you by the waist, “we’re not going home, it would be rude to leave our friends by themselves. Don’t you think so?” The flabbergasted look that you give him makes another chuckle come from his lips as he slowly turns you towards the door. His lips find the junction between your neck and shoulder again as he announces, “We’re going to go back out there, and we’re going to dance. We wouldn’t want you to miss your song now, would we?”
And when he opens the bathroom door and you hear the first words to a Rihanna song you love? You know it’s going to be a long night ahead of you.
2K notes · View notes
ezrasbirdie · 23 days
Text
amateur [pre/no-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader]
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summary: After a breakup, Joel invites you over to watch a football game and you arrive a little earlier than he expects. Or: Joel gets caught watching porn. ratings/warnings: E [smut, fluff, age gap (reader is 24, Joel is 40), dad's best friend, a sprinkle of daddy kink, dry humping, male masturbation, Joel indulges in Internet pornography, reader wears a skirt, reader calls him Mr. Miller, use of baby girl, Joel is confused about the Internet, a smidgen of insecurity, soft Joel, bossy Joel, some very light teasing degradation, Joel likes bush, I think that's it] wc: ~3.7k a/n: please go to @ezrasbirdie-updates to be notified of updates! Remember to read the warnings, please and thank you. I know I just updated a fic but I'm clearing my WIPs out and I've never been very patient. I've never done an age gap/dbf thing and I always wanted to, and I thought this lent itself pretty well to the trope. It's pretty much just smut lol. I had a lot of fun writing it and I hope y'all enjoy it, too! shout out to @mothandpidgeon for the beta and also to everyone who has listened to me yap about this<3
masterlist | joel masterlist
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To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS
Joel has no idea how these websites get his email address.
Honestly, he doesn’t. 
He suspects Tommy could be to blame—it seems like something he’d do with a smirk on his face, thinking he was just so goddamn funny, knowing good and well Joel doesn’t know how to make the emails stop. 
Joel is still getting used to this whole Internet thing. He only uses it for work, and he really only got it for Sarah to use for school. For the most part he prefers doing business by telephone, but every now and then he gets an email inquiry. 
He always calls them back, though. 
So he doesn’t spend a lot of time—what’s the term he’s heard?—surfing the web. But these damn websites get his email address regardless, and sometimes…well, he’s only a man. 
A single man who doesn’t get a whole lot of time alone; not since Sarah was born, at least. Usually for him, “time alone” means a quick shower and his hand and his imagination. 
And lately that imagination includes a whole lot of you.
Way, way too much of you. So much of you that when he found out from your dad that you’d broken up with that no-good loser boyfriend of yours and had been moping around the house ever since, he jumped at the chance to invite you along to watch the Cowboys game. You’d been much more eager to agree than he’d anticipated, and he’d had to tamp that excitement down in front of your dad. 
You know, his friend. His very close, personal friend. Your father. 
It’s not that he thinks anything could ever happen—you’re sixteen years younger, after all—but he couldn’t help himself. Not when you’d looked so sad the last few times he’d seen you. 
He hasn’t always thought of you like that. Certainly not when he’d first met you in the middle of your second semester of freshman year in college, back when you were much too cool to have any time to spare a second glance at your old man and his friends. 
But then you’d worn that costume for Halloween two years ago—the one with knee-high boots and a dress that skimmed your thighs, so short he’d caught a glimpse of your lacy panties when you bent over to grab your bag before you left the house.
He’d looked away immediately, scarlet-faced and guilty, taking swig of the beer in his hand just to have something to do. He’d told himself, over and over, he hadn’t seen the outline of your pussy, that the light had just played a trick on his eyes. 
It’s been hell seeing you ever since then, but one he gladly endures if it means spending a little time with you. 
Another email pops up as he back out and he rolls his eyes, but accidentally clicks “open” instead of “delete”. 
CLICK HERE TO SEE MORE OF ME
In the body of the email, a picture loads slowly to reveal a scantily clad woman crawling toward the camera. He swallows as he realizes she looks a little bit like you. 
He clicks.
There are many, many categories to choose from, but he zeroes in on a thumbnail of the woman that looks like you underneath. 
Amateur, it says above it. 
What exactly does that mean, he wonders.
With Sarah at a friend’s house for the night, he has the place to himself for another hour or so while he waits for you and your dad to show up. He still checks over his shoulder as though he’s found a dirty magazine and doesn’t want his parents to catch him. As though he doesn’t pay for this house with his hard-earned money; as though he isn’t a grown man. 
But there is still something deeply thrilling to him as he opens the link and finds rows and rows of thumbnails with women who are decidedly not porn stars. 
It isn’t like he’s never seen a naked woman before—he’s seen plenty of them, thank you very much, but all the porn he’s ever seen before this was polished and plastic; waxed pussies with landing strips at the most, dicks so large he’d always wondered how they got enough blood flow to get hard, flat stomachs, perfect asses, fake tits. The people on his screen now, though, look nothing like that. 
These women are soft with little dimples in their thighs, stretch marks dappled across their hips and bellies, asses that jiggle when they’re grabbed and spanked. He imagines you might look like that, too. 
Real. 
Some of them even looked like what he imagined you do under your clothes. And he imagined that a lot, he’s ashamed to say.
He finds the woman who looks like you again. She’s kneeling again with her tongue sticking out, and his hand has migrated to his lap, stroking absently over his growing bulge. 
The clock reads five P.M., and you’ll be here at six. 
Along with your father. 
Joel scrubs a hand over his face. “Fuck it,” he mutters as he hits play. 
The camera’s shaky, held by a man hovering over the mystery woman as he rocks into her. She whimpers, but it doesn’t sound fake or overdone. Her glossy, lust-blown eyes roll back as she arches off of the bed.
“Feel good?” The man grunts, pointing the camera to where their bodies join, revealing her finger circling her clit as he thrusts into her deeply.
“Yeah,” she breathes. “Mmhmm. Gonna come.”
“Come on, baby girl,” the man murmurs. 
Her eyes flutter and she sighs as her body tenses up, a soft squeal falling from her lips. “Daddy,” she whines. “Daddy, daddy, daddy.”
Joel’s breath hitches.
He is aware of the fact that some people use this word during sex. It’s not something he ever explored, ever thought about at all, mostly because he became a single father at twenty-two, and it seemed a little odd to him.
But the way she says it makes the top of his head tingle, a rush of electricity shooting through his whole body as his eyes roll to the back of his head. 
He gets it. 
She whimpers the word a few more times as she comes back down to Earth, reaching for the man above her with both arms.
It’s…fuck, it’s sweet. Joel misses the feeling of being wanted like that. He clicks play on the next video and closes his eyes, palming the bulge in pants and pretending it's your hand groping him, your little whimpers of “Daddy” in his ears.
He doesn’t know how long he sits there, legs spread wide as he watches, transfixed and rubbing, rubbing, rubbing in a slow, torturous circle, precome soaking his boxers and leaking into his jeans, so transfixed he forgets the front door is unlocked; that he’d told you to come on in when you arrive; that he has simply lost track of time. 
He doesn’t notice your reflection in the monitor until it’s far too late. 
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This is probably your fault. 
You get there way too early, even after stopping at the grocery store for snacks for this football game you have no real interest in. It’s a pity invite, obviously. Your dad had definitely told Joel about you moping around the house the last few weeks.
“Why don’t you come watch the game with us Thursday night, sweetheart?” Joel had asked with an encouraging smile. How could you possibly say no to that?
You’ve had a crush on Joel Miller from the second your dad introduced you to him, age difference be damned. But Joel’s never spared so much as a glance in your direction that wasn’t completely innocent, so you nursed your little crush for years in silence and hoped he didn’t think you were too awkward as you tried not to flirt with him. 
And your dad was always there, of course. It’s not like you could do a lot of flirting in front of him. Tonight might be a little different, though, because your dad suddenly felt sick.
“You go on without me, honey, Joel’ll take care of you,” he’d said, trying not to cough on you.
You try to ignore the phrasing.
But God, you wish he would take care of you. You’d texted Joel to let him know it would just be you, but he never answered, and now you’re sitting in his driveway twenty minutes early, wondering if you should go in.
It’s a little weird to show up and barge in, right? But what if he looks out of the window for some reason and you’re just sitting there? That’s weird, too.
You should’ve timed this better.
Eventually you stop arguing with yourself, walking up to the door with your arms full of chips and beer, struggling to reach the knob and stumbling in. Hopefully, he didn’t see that little display of grace. 
But he’s not in the front room, or in the kitchen. 
“Joel?” You call out softly, walking past the living room toward his office. 
Maybe he’s on a work call?
You don’t hear his voice, though, and the closer you get the faster your heart beats. This feels more private, more intimate than just hanging out in the living room.
You hear it before you see it.
A soft, feminine moan followed by a man’s voice—not Joel’s voice, though.
“Yeah, there you go, baby,” the man says, and she moans again, louder this time. “Let me hear it.”
Only the back of Joel’s head and the monitor are visible to you, but the sliding glass door gives him away, the curtains open just enough that his reflection betrays what’s got him so occupied right now. He’s sprawled out in his chair, legs spread open as he palms himself over his jeans. 
And holy fuck, you do not need to see this (you desperately do need to see this).
It’s not hard to deduce what he’s doing. He doesn’t make much noise, just a few grunts every time the woman on the screen whines or arches her back. The scene changes as the man sets the camera on a dresser, now capturing the full length of her body. She turns her head and smiles at him, giggling as he makes his way back to her and crawls back on the bed and gives her a sloppy, needy kiss before he straddles her.
You squint at the monitor. Does she look like you?
Leave leave leave—
“Come on me,” she begs.
Joel lets out a groan, loud enough to make you jump. 
He freezes when he sees your movement in the monitor, ripping his hand away from himself in a flurry of movement as he tries to shut off the video and compose himself.
You should give him a minute.
Instead you bite your lip, wide-eyed as he flounders in front of you. 
“Sweetheart,” he starts weakly, looking especially sweet and guilty as sin. “I’m sorry, you weren’t supposed to see that.”
Joel won’t even look at you—he’s still hard, still waiting for you to scold him, but you have absolutely no intention of doing that. 
“Don’t apologize,” you breathe. “I was so early. Didn’t mean to just barge in.”
“Shouldn’t have been doin’ that. Knew you were comin’ over and just lost track of time,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck, his big brown eyes pleading for you to believe him.
“It’s okay,” you say, trying to gather your courage to tell him why you’re not upset. Should you tell him? It seems as good a time as any, but it’s entirely possible your pussy has taken over your brain as he stands there in front of you in a thin t-shirt that hugs his biceps, still red all the way down to his chest. “I’m not upset or anything. I…didn’t mind.”
Please, please take the hint. 
Joel swallows and takes a hesitant step toward you. 
“That woman you were watching,” you murmur. “She looked like me.”
“Goddammit,” he says, scrubbing both hands down his face. “It ain’t—it ain’t like I’m a pervert or somethin’. You just…”
“I just what?” You ask, inching into his space.
His eyes are still lust-blown as he wets his plump lips with his soft, pink tongue. “You’re a beautiful woman,” he says.
“You think I’m beautiful?” You breathe. 
“Christ, honey, of course you are,” he groans, eyes dropping to your lips as he cups your chin with one big hand. “So damn pretty.”
“Joel,” you whisper as you lean toward him.
“Can’t do this,” he mutters. “You’re too—”
“Too what?”
“Too young, baby,” he says weakly, but you shake your head. 
“Not that young. And you’re young, too,” you tell him. His cheeks, to your delight, tinge pink.
“Your dad’ll be here any—”
“No,” you interrupt him. “No he won’t. He’s sick. It’s just me. I texted y—”
But you don’t get to finish your sentence, gasping as he pushes you against the wall, pressing his lips to yours in a messy kiss. He groans into your mouth, one hand squeezing your waist and the other braced against the wall.  
“Tell me,” he murmurs between kisses, “if this is too fast. But I need you real fuckin’ bad, baby girl, real fuckin’ bad.”
And it might be too fast, but after so long with someone who was rarely interested in fucking you and could barely make you come when he did, you need it. You want it to be too much, too fast; need him to overwhelm all your senses and make you sob his name. 
“It’s not too much,” you assure him, frantic as your tongue runs across the seam of his lips. “I need you.”
He pulls you with him toward the little loveseat at the other end of the room and drags you down onto his lap, groaning as you roll your hips instinctively. 
“What do you need? What can I—” You beg, wanting so desperately to please him. He grunts as you roll your hips again and whine as the friction presses against your clit.  
“Need you to come is what I need,” he grunts, kneading the meat of your ass. “Can you get off like that?”
“Yeah,” you breathe. 
“C’mon then,” he growls. “C’mon. That why you’re wearin’ that little skirt, sweetheart? Easier to rub your little pussy on me?”
Your head spins, cloudy with desire—it’s all happening so fast. Maybe you should care a little more, but all you can think about is fucking yourself against his bulge, his hands clamped over your hips as he guides your pace. 
“That’s right,” he grunts, looking up at you with dark eyes. “Fuck, you’re so sexy. Humpin’ me like a dog, desperate little thing.”
You wouldn’t let anyone else talk to you like that, but something about the way Joel says it humiliates you and drives you wild, arousal dripping out of you as you hide your face in his neck. 
“Don’t be embarrassed, baby, you rub your little pussy on me as much as you need to, hm? Get yourself ready for my cock—”
It hits you out of nowhere, your cunt pulsing, fingers digging into the meat of his shoulders as you gasp and writhe. “Attagirl,” he murmurs. 
He strokes your back, pulling you flush against him as you ride it out. You barely register the soft kisses to your cheeks until you open your eyes and find him gazing at you with a fond smile that you can’t help but return.
“You good?” He asks, and you’re suddenly shy, as if you hadn’t just made yourself come all over him seconds ago. 
“Good,” you pant. “I’m good. I’m…” 
“What is it, sweetheart?”
His eyebrows are pinched together, lips pursed as he waits for you to answer. He’s still holding you against him, hand skating down your back. “That woman, the one in the video, she—would you do what she wanted? Would you come on me?”
Joel’s eyes darken as he flashes a devilish grin. “Dirty little girl, aren’t you?” He teases, but it doesn’t bother you. 
“Not with everyone,” you say, and he lets out a little growl as he taps your thighs and signals for you to take his place. 
“I’ll tell you what, sweetheart, since you asked so nicely—you show me your messy little pussy and I’ll come wherever you want me.”
“I, uh—yeah, okay,” you say, only faltering for a second, but he catches it. 
“What’s wrong? We ain’t gotta do anything you don’t want, sweetheart,” he says, dropping to his knees between your legs. He is so fucking sweet it might kill you.
“I want to,” you clarify. “I just, uh, I haven’t really prepared lately. Dry spell and all.”
“Don’t give a shit about that,” he says, smoothing his palms over your thighs. “Still a wet pussy, ain’t it?” 
“Yeah,” you giggle. “Sorry, some guys do.”
“Little fuckin’ boys do,” he says, his nostrils flaring like an angry bull, and you suppose he’s right. Your ex never was very interested in growing up. Joel’s thumb slides under the gusset of your panties, groaning as he pets at the soft curls you’d been so worried about. He hooks his fingers under the waistband and looks up at you with big eyes, waiting for your to tell him it’s okay. 
“Please,” you murmur. He slides them down your legs and sighs, pushing your legs open until he has a full view. You tug your shirt over your head, now just wearing a bra and your little skirt. “Come on me, Joel.”
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Joel’s breath catches in his chest as you pull off your shirt and gaze down at him. He doesn’t know where to look—he’s greedy; he wants all of you. He hopes this isn’t the last time. He hopes you’ll let him take you apart again and again. Who gives a fuck about football?
His eyes drop to your open legs and he just can’t help himself—he leans down and licks at you, just a little, relishing the squeal that comes from above.
“Look at all that,” he grunts, kissing your thigh as he retreats. “Came hard for me, huh? Been all pent up, sweetheart?” 
You’re too young for him, he doesn’t care what you say, but he can’t seem to stop himself now. His self control is somewhere on the floor behind him with your panties.
You squirm in front of him, closing your legs on instinct at his gentle teasing, but he throws a stern look at you as he unbuckles his belt and your legs fall back open for him. He gathers some of your slick on his fingers and pulls his cock from his jeans as he stands, towering over you. Your eyes flick back and forth between him and his cock, licking your lips as he moves his hand up and down his shaft. 
He’s so hard it aches. 
He wonders if you’d ever use that word—if you’d ever open your mouth and whimper “Daddy” as he fucks you. He wonders if it’s too much, if you’d hate him for even asking, but God, would you? 
He almost hates himself for thinking about it while you’re underneath, all vulnerable and unsuspecting. Then he imagines it garbled around his cock, and he doesn’t care that much about the ethics of it all anymore.
“Joel,” you sigh, and he bites down, ticking his jaw as he tries to keep from embarrassing himself. Sweat gathers at his temples and he grunts as you pull the soft cups of your bra down, bare tits and stiff nipples begging to be marked by him. With his free hand he cups your breast and squeezes gently, thumb brushing over your nipple and pulling a moan from you. 
“Want me to come on these, baby girl?” He asks through gritted teeth. 
“Yeah,” you breathe. You smirk as you look up through your lashes, eyes full of mischief. “Please come on my tits, Mr. Miller.”
Joel closes his eyes and breathes, squeezing the base of his cock. Fuck, it’s not Daddy but it’ll goddamn well do. He wants you to call him that again, preferably while he splits you in half. 
“Say it again,” he says, leaning over and bracing himself with one hand against the wall. “Say it.”
Your tilt your head all the way back, looking him right in the eyes. “Come on my tits, Mr. Miller.”
There’s no stopping it now. 
“Oh, fuck,” he snarls, painting himself all over you chest. He comes so much it shocks him even as his orgasm tremors through his body—you’re covered in him when it finally ends. He cups your jaw and leans down to kiss you, sucking softly on your bottom lip before stuffing his softening cock back into his jeans. 
You’re a sweet, bashful mess underneath him.  
“Hang on a sec, sweetheart,” he says.
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Joel leaves the room, giving you just enough time to start wondering if he’d want you to leave right after. You gingerly pull your bra back into place, trying not to get any of his spend on it.
He comes back with a wet cloth and a bottle of water, and it’s so…gentlemanly. Not something you’re used to with guys your age. He cleans you off, dropping to his knees again to help you put your panties back on. 
“Really like this skirt,” he murmurs as the thumbs the hem. You reach out and run your fingers through his sweaty hair, tugging slightly on the silver-threaded dark curls. He closes his hand over your wrist and kisses the inside of your palm, and your heart thumps at the intimacy of it. “Can I ask you somethin’?”
Your momentary feeling of safety falls away and you stiffen, waiting for something to ruin all of this. “Sure.”
“Nothin’ bad. I did this backwards,” he explains. “Could I take you out? Or…in? If you’re wantin’ to stay a while, that is.”
The sun has started its slow descent and the early evening golden light glimmers on his cheekbones, his eyes sparkling with hope. “I would really love that, Joel,” you say, scrunching your nose and grinning at him. “Could I maybe shower, though? You can join, if you want.”
He stands and holds out his hand to help you up. “I like the way you think, darlin’.”
“Lead the way, Mr. Miller.”
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reiderwriter · 1 month
Note
Okay but, flirty reader majority pointed at Reid, and the scene where he has to get hosed down and says "I'mma bout to get naked, I don't think you wanna see that" and reader's just like raising her hand and says "don't worry I'll stay". And after she walks out to go to the hospital and sees everyone and with an open mouth and wide eyes just goes " woah" cause big dick energy
A/N: Hi, thank you so much for your request! I've been a bit sick lately, so I haven't had a chance to write much, but this was fun and quick to write! I might do a part 2 with the actual smut in the future, so if that's something people would want let me know in the comments!!
Warnings: suggestive content, public dirty talk?
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“I really want to see that.” 
You heard the words but weren't sure where they'd come from for the longest time. It had been a confusing morning, with a high alert for anthrax and your coworker trapping himself inside a contaminated lab to save you from dying a presumably very painful death, you couldn't be blamed for not realizing that you'd said the words in question. 
He'd meant the words sarcastically, of course, and they'd warned Morgan off immediately with a chuckle and a “You better survive this, kid,” but you'd stood rooted to the earth until he'd repeated them again. 
“Y/N, they're going to strip me down. You don't want to see that.” 
“I really do, though.” Your eyes unabashedly trailed down the contours of his body, soaked from the hoses currently decontaminating him. You could've sworn that he was moving in slow motion as his hand pushed back his hair and cleared his face of water. 
If there weren't this many CDC agents around, you'd have likely joined him in his impromptu shower to feel your way along the lines of his clothing, checking to see what was outline and what was the thick layers of shirt and pants that unfortunately still obstructed your view. 
Another minute of you ogling him went by before your eyes finally returned to anywhere near his, and you realized that your desire for the man could no longer pass for camaraderie. 
“You better not die, Spencer. Not before I can enjoy the meal I'm about to sample.” 
His doctors were either ignoring the conversation completely or were busy focusing on other things, and luckily, they didn't react to your words. Other than to take Spencer's temperature one more time when he flushed bright red, and stared at you slack-jawed. 
“We're going to have to speed this along, Doctor Reid. Please start unbuttoning your shirt,” one of the hazmatted men said to him, but his eyes were fixed on you. 
“Yes, please do, Spencer. It's for your own good. And mine.” 
You expected him to blush and fawn again, but his day had been as long and confusing as your own, so you were unsurprised when he looked you directly in the eye and began unbuttoning his shirt. You watched his descent, and your breath faltered, seeing the water drip down his bare skin now. 
“I'm not sure which of us is wetter right now,” you tried to joke in earnest, but you felt a sharp jolt of lust in your gut as soon as his hands reached his belt. 
“Y/N, you need to leave now. Before you make this any harder for everyone here.” The innuendo in his words were clear, but you were thankful again for the considerate and/or oblivious doctors either side of him bagging up his discarded shirt and jacket. 
“Only if you promise I can make your life as hard as I want to when you're in the clear.” You smiled again, hoping the full force of your lust would reach him. Spencer was always oblivious to genuine flirtation, you'd observed enough women throwing themselves on him (had discouraged a few too many with a hand on his arm and a finger playing with the abandoned curls at the back of his neck, too) to know that for sure. 
You needed to make your need for him explicit. 
“I mean it, Spencer. I really mean it.” 
His eyes locked with yours for the last time ad you made to turn around, doing your best to convince him without becoming distractedly horny. 
“I know. I'll see you at the hospital.” 
“At the hospital? Risky, I like it.” You winked and turned away, leaving him calling back after you as you walked over to the car Derek had pulled around the front of the property. 
“Wait, not the hospital! Those beds aren’t comfortable. Y/N! Y/N, really!” 
You giggled as you sat down in the car, but you bubbled with anticipation still. 
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