Carla Dunkler *BadMoms/ FTM Reader | AO3 | My Stories MasterList | Tip Jar💰| 2026 Trans Pride MasterList | Carla Dunkler Storis MasterList
Warnings : Established relationship / Dr*nk Dunkler / FTM Reader / Muscle Cars and French Fries / B00 chick fil @ / Drunk yelling / Carla has no filter / Ficlet Oneshot / Love Declarations / Mushy Fluff / Jaxon is a good kid / Carla is doing her best / Cl3vage love / Flirting / Daddy K*nk / Domestic AU / Summer Nights / 12/13 ftm stories for pride / 18+
“I HATE YOUR DOG!” Carla yelled out the window of your car, her body hanging out. You grabbed her by the back of her belt and yanked her down into the leather seat.
“Baby, get your ass in the car.” You threaten, but she’s yelling out the window again. PTA nights always went like this, and you made sure to be on call.
“MY MAN LOOKS BETTER AS A DOG LICKING MY PUSSY! YOUR DOG LOOKS LIKE A TOILET BRUSH! GO FUCK YOURSELF! YOU WISH YOUR GOLF PARTNERS FUCKED LIKE MY MAN! HE FUCKS ME WITH A DOUBLE SIDED DILDO SO DEEP I COULD BURP IT UP!” She screams at a group of people smoking outside of the bar you are passing. The poor metrosexual man clutching his toy poodle against his chest.
“Fuck baby, come on, don’t do that. That guy bags our groceries come on.” You half laugh but also feel a blush warm your cheeks.
By the time you wrangled her back into the seat. Carla’s laughing and clapping her hands together like she’s the funniest person in this car.
“HE FUCKS ME SO GOOD I’M SURE ONE DAY I’LL GET PREGANANT FROM THE STRAP!
Your trying to get the window rolled up, but it’s an old car and it’s crank. So your leaned over trying to roll it up manually. And like a dog, (the pet which Carla won’t let you and Jaxon get) she’s shouting out of the crack in the window, her lipstick smudged on the window.
“I LOVE HIS COCK IN MY MOUTH! I EAT HIS ASS, I DO!” She yells so loud your eardrum hurts. Your arm is a bar across her breasts as you get the last of the window up.
Someone wolf whistles as a response and Carla points at the pedestrian like she’s a real one. Her finger pressed against the glass.
“Okay, let’s make a deal. You keep the window rolled up and I’ll let you DJ?” You try and Carla snorts at the idea.
But instead of answering she slides on the carbench seat to be pressed against you, her hand going for your jeans.
You yelp and swerve, trying to bat her away.
“Come on Daddy, don’t be like that.” Carla scowls and you are often confused on who Daddy is. When Carla is drunk you are Daddy, or when you go grocery shopping, when you and Jaxon are playing video games.
But then there’s the other half of the time, like when Carla gets the strap on, or when your retro car breaks down once a god damn week and she picks you up.
Then Carla instructs you that she is Daddy, and will be called such.
“Carla so not the time for road head.” You say holding the button of your jeans like some victorian romance where you wouldn’t dare show your ankles.
“It wouldn’t be the first time, won’t be the laaaast.” Carla says in a sing song way.
Drunk Carla is not a great listener, hell sober Carla isn’t always listening to the conversation. But she also wasn’t wrong.
As she unbuckles your belt you realize you must pull out the big guns, or her fake nails are going to keep scratching your hand.
“Hey, hey, do you want fast food? Fries or-or bigot chicken?” You ask and Carla stops her assault. Bingo.
“You’d let me have Christian Cunt chicken?” Carla whispers offensively, you’d apologize for her but luckily it was just you two in the car. And honestly dating Carla meant having to apoligize to randos a lot.
“You have to buckle, and keep all appendages inside the car and then-” You start and Carla makes a triumpheant noise and then give you the biggest kiss on your cheek.
She obeys, which isn’t a word that is normally associated with Carla. But she slides to the middle and does the child across the lap buckle.
It’s not far away, as your hold stays on the stick shift now, one on the wheel, you try not to react to those seductive fingers.
But Carla listened, sorta, her hand falling on your tense thigh, too high up, too tempting.
You don’t say anything, you downshift as you come to the yellow light.
Taking a deep breath.
It takes you ten minutes to go to the fast food place you refused to give money to. But your girlfriend was drunk, and once she had a vanilla milkshake she was sure for a nap. Jaxon and her both had the worst sugar crashes. But you made sure she at the waffle fries and all the chicken.
You drove, and Carla tried to feed you a fry and you shook your head.
You were already complicit, you didn’t want to enjoy it.
Carla was speaking about how her night was. How Amy and Kiki were just upset on a weeknight, but they were both light weights and would feel it in the morning. You didn’t comment on how now that was was fifty two she also felt it in the morning. No., you were too good of a boyfriend to fall for that bait.
Carla finished her food and burped and you giggled, making her smirk.
You burped too, as it was a thing you prided yourself on winning at, but Carla was armed with a night full of vanilla vodka.
Pushing her chest out she let another loose, this one holding more base.
You laughed harder, and Carla giggled doubling over and slapping her knee she was so tickled. Once she’d snorted her last snort, she kicked off her heels (which was a win that you wouldn’t have to pick them up from Amys this weekend).
Curling her legs under her butt, onto the leather seat, then pressing her head against your shoulder.
Carla fit perfectly.
Your heart sped up, always did when she was this close.
She smelled like vanilla ice cream, some victoria secret sweet scent, and something just Carla.
You didn’t play music afraid if she’d fallen asleep and you moved for the aux it would break this moment.
Her breathing even, in and out, on your shoulder, you were careful as you shifted the stick not to jostle her. Your feet moving on the peddle, the green lights almost like a boost to your ego. Being in a cool car in summer, with the most beautiful woman in the whole state on your shoulder.
You are enjoying the quiet. You were almost five minutes from home, you heard your girlfriend whisper.
“You love me don’t you?” Carla asks, it’s so small you almost missed it.
Carla was many kinds of drunk, but uncertain or sad wasn’t one of them. When Carla drank wine she wanted to watch real housewives, when she drank margaritas on fridays with you at your favorite Mexican food joint she wanted to dance.
When Kiki and Amy got drunk it was normally whatever someone had on hand, and Carla always got tipsy - but not so bad she couldn’t take care of her friends if need be.
So you were sure it wasn’t the vanilla vodka’s fault.
“Baby? Of course I love you.” You say back, the streetlights flood the inside of the car and then are gone until you drive to the next. Like a tiny silent disco for only you two to enjoy.
The car is warm, as the summer night air is just humid enough for Chicago. The engine hums and roars as you shift. The white lines out on the streets are faded and won’t be repainted for another five years.
Summer makes everything sticky and sensitive, and so much more important.
“Why won’t you mary me?” Carla makes the admission, it’s so fragile you don’t know what’s happening.
“Carla? I-I didn’t know you wanted to get married?” You asked a question with a question, never a good move.
But Carla doesn’t do mindgames, never has, so as her hand moves on your thigh, it’s not sexual. Her fake nails tracing invisible patterns on your denim, calming you, while you wonder if this is the second your life changes forever.
“I don’t, or didn’t.” She answers unhelfully.
“You don’t?” You repeat back, looking at the road as if some god or goddess out in the darkness might give you some insight into whats happening in your relationship.
“I didn’t before, I wouldn’t have before. But you….You pick me up when I get drunk.”
You laugh at that, okay now you’re sure vanilla vodka is no longer safe.
But Carla chuckles softly and then shakes her head and pushes her nose against your cotton t’shirt and inhales you before pulling back and trying again.
“I mean you always do. You never….You’ve never let me down. Not me, or Jaxon. You go to every one of his stupid basketball games.”
“Baseball.” You correct and she rolles her eyes, but you know Carla knew that.
“They don’t keep score, who cares.” She tells you and you break your stare on the road to peak at her red cheeks.
God if you could capture a moment and bottle it.
“Jaxon and you are important to me.” You respond, understanding getting off track wouldn’t help drunk Carla get through her thought process.
“I know, and people say that kinda stuff the first month of dating. But it’s been four years…and you fold my thongs.” Carla told you and you tried hard not to laugh at that. But your joke comes out of your mouth none the less.
“Is that what makes me marriage material? Thong folding and baseball?” You can’t help it, your not making fun of her, but it does sound like the bar is low.
Carla jabs your ribs with her nail and you jerk at the movement.
“Stop it, I’m declaring my love here!” She tries her best not to laugh with you.
The car glides to a stop sign, and then your making a left turn to the street you two live on. The house Carla inherited from her grandmother, the one Jaxon first came home to. It’s lawn you taught him how to mow, the flowers you planted once you’d learned Carla loved the color purple.
The oak tree you hug a tire swing last summer as Jaxon and his friends played on the wallmart water slide you’d added extra soap to make super dangerously fast.
You park in the driveway on your side, next to Carla’s POS car, turn off the engine and twist so you can see the woman you love.
The icadas sing outside, the faint sound of someones sprinkler still on, and every now and then a lightning bug flashes.
But all that matters is how Carla’s eyes are glassy with tears she wont shed. Because she won’t be that drunk girl in her boyfriends car right now.
“Carla, I thought you didn’t want to get married.”
“I never thought I’d be domestic and disgusting with a kid and a PTA drinking night either! But here we are okay! My twenties where I thought all I ever wanted was to be a groupie for The Cure is gone too now!” She raises her voice in horror and wonder. You try to guage if this is a ‘I’m tired of waxing pussys monologue’ or a ‘life in the fast lane’ sing along moment.
You squint at her, trying to ignore how far her clevage was, or why she was wearing your jacket to Kiki’s to get sloshed.
“Such an odd choice to groupie, you only know like three songs.” You correct and she’s glaring at you now.
“I know five songs, and you’re missing the point.” Carla growls and you hate how sexy she is when she’s angry. Most would call it restraining order look, but damn it if it wasn’t hot.
“What if you can’t count the 90’s era?” You joke back and Carla grabs her highheel off the floor and throws it at you, but you’ve done this before, and you catch the cheeta print five inch ‘fuck me’ heels.
You knew if Carla broke her shoe she’d be pissed in the morning.
“So you want to spend the rest of your days with me then?” You question, arching an eyebrow. Fixing her with an intense gaze.
“I’m rethinking it currently.” Carla sniffs back, but you know her bluff.
“This isn’t the booze speaking?” You tilt your head at her, and she looks offended.
“I was sober after my first waffle fry.” Carla answers back, and you can tell she’s mostly correct.
“Jaxon already gave me permission you know.” You lean back in the leathers seat and set the heel on the dash. Unhooking your seatbelt, Carla unhooks her own and then glares at you.
“Jaxon can’t spell permission, what do you mean he gave you permission? Wait when the hell was this?” She yells too loudly, luckily the neighbors are used to this kind of volume from your home.
“Six months in, I took him to the eye doctor, got him glasses.”
Carla seems confused and you shake your head.
“Yes you know this, he uses contacts now we’ve discussed this. Then we went and saw Glass Onion in theaters. It was the only way he’d let me take him. Then Jaxon told me he liked that you stopped crying at Rite Aid commercials with the old people now. He said you weren’t lonely anymore. Then said I’d be a good Dunkler.” You respond camly, but your gloating a bit, it’s impossible to ignore.
Carla’s jaw drops, she’s speechless, not something that happens often.
The last of her lipstick reflects from your porch light.
She’s staring at you completely in awe.
“You saw that skanky woman from you spankbank and didn’t tell me.” Carla half teases with her possessive nature. But it lacks the normal heat, as if Carla can tell she’s about to hit the jackpot of this conversation. But she’s still got a good joke in there.
“Kathryn Hahn is a lady, and that’s not what you really want to say.” You try to steer back.
“Your last name sucks and Dunkler is better anyway?” Carla asks but her eyes are wide.
“Stop flirting by insulting me.” You try.
“Stop getting turned on by it.” Carla answers just as fast.
“Fuck your uno reverse shit, your too smart for me, now open the glove box.” You say with charm, but your palms are soaked, your sweating on your lower back. Your heart is beating in your ears.
This is it.
Carla doesn’t look away but her hand moves, her palm making a ‘thunk’ noise on the dash. She’s feeling around like a blind woman, a new glint to her eyes.
She’s holding her breath, your still but inside vibrating.
Carla looks away only to thumb the latch and she presses her shoulder into it, knowing it sticks in this humidity. She knew everything that had anything to do with you. With how your car worked, how you still had the same nightmare from childhood, how to soothe your worries and kiss away the lingering shame.
Carla was an expert in loving you.
So when the little red velvet box tumble from the back of the glove box, and she lifted it with trembling fingers, Carla knew.
You tried to remember to inhale, but it was hard.
Sitting in this car, in the middle of the summer, asking a question that you’d already been living the answer to.
Carla’s eyes moved to you, then the box, then back to you, over, and over. As if she had to know it was you, you who hid it there. You who’d thought the idea long before she’d gabbed about how much she wanted you to be a Dunkler for the past six hours to her best friends.
It was always going to be you.
You reached your hand out and she pulled the box to her chest, as though you might take it back.
As if you could ever stop loving Carla Dunkler.
Her lip shakes just a bit, a fear no one else ever got to see.
You smile warmly at her, what a complicated woman. What a tender soul under all that leather and cude language.
You look at Carla with a promise on your tongue.
The idea of forever with her.
“I just thought you might want me to put it on.” You say gently, and Carla didn’t realize she was crying until she looked back down at the box and one tear splashed ontop of it. She wiped it away with her thumb, like somehow Carla might tarnish another good thing.
“H-how long have you been carrying this?” The no longer drunk woman asked the box, but you answered.
“Four months in, but we were at a BBQ with Kiki and Amy’s family. Uh- Amy’s Mom was talking about how useless men and husbands were. While poor Hank was picking all the things she hated out of the salad. Uh-you uh you agreed, saying prenups and plan B was the most radical for woman since the whizzinator. And I-I guess I just figued I’d be your kept man for as long as you’d have me.” You shrugged, then hated yourself for saying all of this.
You were actively making Carla wrong, this was dumb, you should have just not said anything.
But Carla’s face changed instantly, she always wanted your honesty, appreciated it more than anything.
“Fuck you know I was talking out of my ass, right? I mean I would have your babies in a second if you had the equipment! God don’t listen to me! I also called Niles a cuck in Fraiser but he’s my favorite! Why do you listen to me? You know not to listen to me!” Carla screams but she’s smiling and crying and she’s gorgeous.
“Your a confusing woman, you know that.” You deadpan and she hits your arm and you break and smirk.
“It’s a womans prerogative, now shut up and put it on me?”
“Does that mean yes?” You ask scooting closer and taking the box out of her hands now.
“No I’m jewlery shopping for the next block party, YES! GIMMIE GIMMIE GIMMIE!” Carla shouts and then her mouth collides with yours and she’s giving sloppy open mouth kisses and you are laughing.
So she kisses your teeth, and your top lip, and your nose and your cheeks and she’s grabbing your face and squeezing.
“Carla! We have neighbors! We can’t fuck in the car again, the last time they saw my ass.” You say, because you actually know their names.
But the older woman climbs into your lap and kisses down your neck.
“Baby don’t you want to see the ring?” You ask, having held it for this long you wanted to know if she at least liked it.
“I DON’T CARE IF IT’S A GOD DAMN JUICE PLASTIC PULL TAB. Fuck I’d marry you in a mud pitt with Dolly on a zebra! God I’m going to fuck you so hard tonight, fuck then if you’re a good boy I’ll let you fuck me!” Carla answers giddy and the ring box falls back on the seat as you wrap your arms around her waist.
Carla’s lips move up your throat and back down again, pushing your t shirt aside so she can leave hickies big enough for you to blush at the supermarket.
“Carla I love you, will you be my w-”
But she’s kissing your face again, and you hold her tight, her breasts pressing against your chest.
She half kisses you with the corner of her lips to answer.
“YES, YES, YES, YES.” Then Carla’s kissing you again and your high off her touch.
You didn’t get road head that night, damn it, you got so much more.
AO3 | My Stories MasterList | Tip Jar💰| 2026 Trans Pride MasterList | Carla Dunkler Storis MasterList
