Be Kind Rewind (Frankie x f!reader but also a little x Santi x Benny x Will)
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Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader but also a little x Santi x Benny x Will
Words: 2k
Rating: E 18+!
Summary: The boys find Frankie’s sex tape.
Warnings: voyeurism, dub con (watching your sex tape without consent), oral (m and f receiving), gagging, unprotected sex, cum play, just the male gaze in general
A/N: This takes place way before the events of TF, probably in their early 20s.
Apologies for this endorsement of the male gaze. Sometimes it just be like that. Thank you @ezrasbirdie for making me write this.
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until men fell at their women's feet and asked for forgiveness
Joel Miller x f!reader
summary: you already had a headache from the changing barometric pressure when the phone rang-- you almost didn't pick it up.
warnings: heavy petting, references to child abandonment, adults drinking alcohol, casual use of obscenities, Joel is the epitome of single DILF, TLOU AU where cordyceps never happens but Joel is still Joel
wc: 1.7k
an: this is my submission to summer lovin', brought to you by @pedgito, @chaotic-mystery and @amanitacowboy. The title is borrowed from Jack Kerouac's On The Road as it seemed roadtrip appropriate.
*
“Get in,” you said.
The sky was a leaden grey, the clouds wadded up as if they’d stanch a wound, but there was a sickly green tinge that you recognized. Joel ought to as well, unless he’d forgotten, like he’d evidently forgotten so much else.
You hadn’t forgotten anything. Not the way he shrugged, the way a tee-shirt clung to his broad shoulders, the way his hair curled when it was wet with rain or sweat. How he’d sounded, crooning a song to his guitar, humming under his breath when he scrambled eggs in the morning, a dishtowel slung over his shoulder, the roughly choked off moan when you took him in your mouth. How he’d tasted, how he felt, his hands on your hips, his lips on your forehead, the base of your throat. How he’d said he’d call, how he’d let the machine take your message, your messages plural, and his brother Tommy, who’d sounded embarrassed and annoyed, who hadn’t known your name though you’d known his.
“Didn’t mean to make you—” he began.
“Get the fuck in, Joel, and then we’ll talk. There’s a tornado watch. I didn’t buy a house with a cellar to get killed chatting on the shoulder of I-80,” you said sharply, your knuckles turning white where you grasped the steering wheel for dear life. Something dear, because otherwise, it meant you were imagining squeezing the life out of him and you were too tired and too old to buy that love and hate being two sides of the same coin bullshit.
It was probably the tornado that got him into your truck, though something in his dark eyes said maybe it had been your tone. Maybe that he remembered, though you’d used it rarely enough with him. A couple of times and then that third message on his machine, that you’d ended slamming the phone down, hoping he’d wince.
He sat quietly next to you, having thrown a beat-up canvas duffle in the back of the cab. He didn’t say anything about calling for a tow or asking if you knew the nearest mechanic. He just sat there, staring out the window, which was maybe a better choice than staring at you as you drove home, your foot heavy on the gas pedal, trying to beat the storm. Anyway, you thought he was staring out the window, his face obscured by his baseball cap and you weren’t about to go all Miss Priss and ask him to take it off inside, as if inside the truck’s cab was a place that deserved some sort of civilized etiquette.
He followed you into the house wordlessly, stood just inside the doorway while you turned on the radio to check on the storm’s progress and the likelihood that you’d both survive the night. The watch had been downgraded, so you went to the fridge and grabbed two bottles of beer and gestured for Joel to sit down at the kitchen table before you plunked one down in front of him.
“Church-key’s in the drawer next—” you said, breaking off as he fished the bottle opener out and used it to flick off his bottle’s cap before offering it to you.
“I know,” he said. He waited for you to open yours before he lifted his towards his lips.
“Sláinte,” you said, taking a long swallow. It was cold, there hadn’t been a power outage while you were on the road, so there was that. You had a pound of ground chuck in the fridge for a meatloaf or burgers, you hadn’t decided, and now it looked like you wouldn’t poison yourself when you did. You still sort of wanted to poison Joel, but not with E. coli.
He watched you and you looked right back at him, like it was a dare or a staring contest. Something you could win.
He drank, letting his eyes drift closed for a moment, then set the bottle down and took off the baseball cap. His hair was greyer, curling around his ears. He was overdue for a haircut, ought to look like a slob but instead he looked like every dream you’d had of him over the past three years, dreams that you woke from trembling, slick, fumbling around for the vibrator in your bedside table drawer to finish off and have a chance of getting back to sleep.
“Road trip hasn’t exactly gone how I’d hoped,” he said.
“Yeah, unexpected stay with the ex I ghosted wouldn’t be on my goddamn mood-board either,” you said.
He chuckled, a low, dirty sound, that reminded you of too much.
“You haven’t changed,” he said and the smile he gave you was appreciative and not polite.
“How would you know?” you snapped.
“You’re right, I wouldn’t. I don’t,” he said. He fiddled with the bottle’s label, peeling away with the condensation. Fidgeting, a rarity for him. “I don’t want you to think I was happy about how it went down.”
“You mean the ghosting me part? Or me blowing up your machine or cursing you out to your brother?”
“I was an asshole, yeah. Everything you did I had comin’ and more,” he said. “There’s context, if you want it. Or I can shut the fuck up and drink my beer and try to keep out of the way until morning and then get out of your hair.”
“There’s context?” you repeated, the disbelief in your voice almost rude. “Context?”
“Yeah. Don’t sound much like you wanna hear it though,” he said, taking another swallow of the beer. You wanted to smack him and sit on his lap, to scream you were over him and murmur how much you’d missed him, how bad it had hurt when you thought you’d never see him again. How bad it hurt when you saw him leaning against his broken-down truck in the rain.
“Joel, why’d you even call me?”
“Yours was the only number I could remember,” he said.
“Oh,” you said, pretending to yourself oh was a word, an appropriate, cogent, thoughtful response and not just the shape of your mouth around breath, half-sigh, half-sob.
“You could’ve hung up on me,” he said.
“That supposed to make me feel better?” You felt dizzy, still trying to make sense of what it meant, that he’d memorized your number, that it was the only number he could remember. You felt like you’d stumble if you stood up and you’d barely had any beer, there wouldn’t be any plausible deniability.
“It’s me sayin’ you’re treatin’ me better than I deserve. Like you always did. It’s me sayin’ I’m sorry, but doing a fucking piss-poor job of it,” he said.
“What’s the context?” you asked abruptly.
“I got a call. My kid’s mom left. Took off, didn’t leave a note, nothing,” he said.
“I thought your daughter’s mom was dead,” you said, not trying to soften it with some bullshit like passed on. If he was going to lie to you, you weren’t going to let him get away with it.
“My other kid. Turns out I had another one. One-night stand, condom broke, she never told me but she put my name down on the birth certificate. I had to fly out to Virginia to get her before they put her up for adoption or into juvie. She was raising hell at the foster home they put her in,” Joel said.
“You took her in?”
“I brought her home. She’s my kid. She’s mine, no one else’s,” he said. “I didn’t have a hell of a lot of bandwidth for anything other than dealin’ with her and Sarah, gettin’ them both settled. Honeymoon lasted all of a weekend but they’re good now. Good enough, anyway. They gang up on me, which is what sisters are supposed to do, if brothers are anything to go by.”
“Where are they now? You left them both with your brother?”
“Hell no,” Joel laughed. “I just dropped them off at Girl Scout camp for three weeks. Sarah’s Auntie Michelle fixed it up for them. I was driving around for a while before heading back to get them. Cheaper than flyin’ home and back and Tommy’s got all the subs lined up for the next couple of projects.”
“This was your vacation, your single dad vacation, living off truck stop diner food, just driving around aimlessly?” you said.
“Not aimlessly,” he said. “There was a reason I was in your neck of the woods—”
“You were hoping a fucking tornado would force me to take you in to save your life?” you said.
“I was just gonna call you. Or show up here with a huge bouquet of roses and a bottle of that white wine you liked and hope you didn’t kick my ass clear to Tampa,” he said. “I didn’t factor in a tornado.”
“Well fuck me sideways,” you said, the kitchen briefly illuminated by lightning followed so fast by a roll of thunder you knew the storm was right on top of you. Joel’s lips curved in an expression equal parts sly and tender, which you hadn’t understood was even a thing until you’d met him.
“I was working up to that, darlin’,” he said. “I wanted to start with rose petals though—”
“I don’t need them,” you said.
“No?”
“What’s her name, your other little girl?” you asked.
“Ellie. Doesn’t have a middle name,” he said. “You want more context, before you forgive me?”
“Later. Context can come later,” you said, pushing your beer bottle away, getting up and walking around to where he sat. “I want you to come now.”
“You first, darlin’,” he replied, pulling you down onto his lap, trusting you to find your balance because he took your face in his hands, drew you near enough to kiss. “Can I stay?”
You knew he didn’t mean for the night or even the morning after. Lightning must have flickered again but you didn’t see it, your eyes closed as he kissed you. You only dimly heard the sound of the thunder over your half-swallowed moan as his tongue did wicked things to you. You broke away, gasping, his arms wrapped around you tight, just far enough to whisper.
This story is short, but packs in so much mood and history. The part above was my favorite. There was always something there, so it was hard to let it go and easy to pick it back up. I really loved this!
Summary: Frankie doesn't know how to be an ex boyfriend and he doesn't know how to not take things too far.
Content Warnings: Smut, 18+ only MDNI. This is pre triple frontier and tom doesn't exist LOL, mentions of alcohol, a little drinking, reader can swim, toxic ex bf! Frankie, he knows zero boundaries, swearing, mentions of blood, (1) injury to your forehead thanks to catfish himself, patching up your injury, Frankie can lift reader onto the countertop, hate sex, fingering, dirty talk, p in v sex, Frankie smooshes your face against the mirror but gently, a little manhandling, nipple play, you become a toaster strudel at the end, (1) ass smack.
Authors Note: I guess this is my intro to Frankie, nailed it. I could not stop talking about this fucking idea to the hens and I'm so glad I breathed life into it. This was inspired by the song No More Friends by Olivia O'Brien. Granted.....the smut was a last minute idea but who doesn't love smut? Thank you @pedgito for the beta read, I love you <3 || wc: 3.4k || divider by me @cyberangel-graphics ||
Even though you weren’t with Frankie anymore and hadn’t been for a few months, Benny still invited you to his pool party to celebrate his big win in the ring from the other night. The breakup was messy but the guys were amicable about it and didn’t choose sides like Frankie wanted them to. He seemed to forget you were friends with all of them before you dated him.
You weren’t nervous to see Frankie anymore at these types of things, you were so over him and the bullshit he pulled. Or, at least that’s how you wanted to come across. Not a soul would ever know you were still hurt by him so you had no choice but to fake it till you make it. Through lots of self reflection and lots of nights out with your friends, you realized you didn’t need him, at all. Not even as a friend like he suggested. You had enough friends. You just wanted him and who he used to be when you first got together.
“Do you think he’ll be there?” Your friend in the driver's seat looks in your direction for a second and you respond with a small chuckle before diving into your purse to fish out your phone.
“Oh, absolutely. I got a text earlier before we left-” you start to read aloud the contents.
“Are you going to Benny’s thing tonight? I can come swing by and pick you up if you need a ride.”
The entire car responds with either a scoff or sound of disgust.
“Yeah, no thank you.”
The tires crunch over the gravel leading to the house and you don’t see Frankie’s car yet. Maybe he changed his mind and decided it would be better not to come. He always flaked on people, especially you. Date nights were good in theory but they would never become real. One two many times he left you sitting alone at the restaurant because he “lost track of time” with the guys.
Once everyone makes it to the backyard, the music thumps louder and louder in your chest and you don’t even see Benny through the crowd of people at first. Playing beer pong over by the shed to the left of the in ground pool, William and Benny shout like cavemen when the white ball sinks into the cup of flat beer for the other team.
“That’s what I’m talkin’ about, ladies and gentlemen!” You hear from behind you and instantly your body tenses up.
Frankie.
“Oh shit, sorry. Didn’t see you there. How are you? Do you need a drink?”
“No, thanks.” Short and cold was the best way to go about this and maybe he’d get the hint to leave you alone.
“Well damn, lady. Why so cold?” His tone sets your body ablaze and if looks could kill.
“Frankie, what part of leave me the fuck alone did you not understand? You don’t need to pretend like you really give a fuck about me. We can exist without speaking to one another.”
His face drops and before he can answer, you turn on your heels and disappear into the crowd to go finish saying hi to the rest of the guys.
Not too many people were in the pool but that didn’t stop you from getting in once you greeted all of your friends and left your belongings in Benny’s room where you knew they’d be safe.
“Cmon, don’t be a baby! Get in!” You shouted at Santi who was sitting in a pool chair with a beer bottle in his hand.
“Maybe later, I’m relaxing right now.” A soft smile grows on his face and you roll your eyes before dipping underwater, the cool temperature relaxing your body.
Everytime you’d turn to the wall to get your cup and take a drink, Frankie was lingering in peripheral vision ogling how good you looked in your bathing suit and waiting to interject to say something, anything to get you to be kind. That ship had sailed no matter how much it hurt.
The night went on and the overcrowded lawn slowly died down to a respectable size group and Benny convinced the guys to play marco polo with you. You could see Frankie sulking in the plastic pool chair by the deep end, cuddling with his plastic red cup filled with whatever he was drinking.
“Who still plays marco polo? Are you guys in fuckin’ junior high?”
“Who wears a button down to a fuckin’ pool party?” you shout from the middle of the pool in a mocking tone with your eyes squeezed shut, trying to find William who was plastered against the wall.
Stifled laughter echoes around you and immediately you pick out Santi’s voice, swimming over to one spot until it gets louder and louder and splashing crashes around you. Not a word out of the crybaby sitting outside of the pool until you open your eyes and notice him kneeling down by Benny, whispering something in his ear before darting away into the house. A few more rounds of the game go by before Frankie comes out in a pair of swimming trunks he clearly borrowed.
There’s no fucking way. There’s no way he really asked to borrow some trunks because of what you said to him. Was he really that bothered by it? Good, he should be. Water begins to flood around Frankie’s ankles as he walks down the concrete steps until he’s able to swim around, floating on his back to get his hair wet. Everything will be fine as long as he doesn’t touch you, or keep staring at you.
Everyone was taking turns and even when Frankie was in the middle with his eyes closed, you’d occasionally yell out for him to find you. It was feeling somewhat normal again and it wasn’t easy pretending like you didn’t miss it, like you didn’t miss him. You were cracking and it was getting harder and harder to pretend you were fine.
“Get your ass in the middle, c’mon!” William shouts at you and splashes the cool water on your face.
“Don’t cheat this time, will you?” Benny laughs.
“I do not fucking cheat!”
Before closing your eyes, you turn and look at Frankie, that disgusting feeling of butterflies in your stomach coming back to life. No, no this can’t happen. This isn’t happening. Stop, you fucking idiot. The voice in your head was loud and screaming at you to close your fucking eyes, unfortunately the last thing you seen was Frankie.
Everyone starts to swim around all over to throw you off before you call out to see where they were hiding. Just like a snap of your fingers everyone in the pool went silent and you waited to hear a movement or voice, laughter being swallowed.
“Polo!” Frankie hollers and you stick out your hand to find him, water spilling from between your fingers as you raise it from below the surface. You yell out once more and he answers again in a softer tone this time. Everything around you muffled out, it felt like it was just you two. For a second you blink your eyes open before you touch his arm, getting a flash of this look on his face you hadn’t seen in a long time, even before the breakup.
Santi comes up behind you and picks you up, dunking you into the water. It was a good way to clear your mind about Frankie, that’s for fucking sure. Swimming to the top and gasping a few times for air before opening your eyes, you look over at Santi who was laughing away with his arms treading water.
“We told you not to cheat and you cheated!”
Water droplets cascade down your forehead and Benny swims over to your left side, hooking his arm over your shoulders. Benny had always been a touchy person but you never thought anything of it, he was a really good friend to you. Nothing more. Clearly Frankie didn’t think that way considering how fast he scooped you up from behind and launched you forward. He didn’t have a really good grip on you though and fumbled you underwater, causing you to scrape your forehead on the floor. The chlorine stings the broken skin and you flinch instantly, swimming back up until fresh air fills your lungs.
“Frankie what the fuck!” You shout and brush your hair out of the way, blood getting watered down and running down your forehead swiftly. The guys rush over hastily, all of them asking if you were okay but it all mushes together and your anxiety kicks in telling you to go to the bathroom and take care of it, don’t cause a scene. Swimming over to the stairs you could feel tears pricking the corners of your eyes and welling up, your forehead feeling like there was a small heartbeat where the scrape was. Your friends notice you walking fast into the house and want to follow but you tell them you’re fine, you just need a moment alone.
Once you make it upstairs to your purse, you pull out your compact mirror and look at the injury, the blood not stopping anytime soon.
Fucking Frankie.
Ben’s bathroom was full of everything you need to fix yourself up. Dabbing an alcohol wipe over it to clean it as best as possible, you wince annoyingly at the pain. This shouldn’t be happening. Why did he do that? Why did he think throwing you around like everyone else was, would be a good idea? You weren’t friends. Taking the plastic wrapper off the back of the butterfly bandage, you press it firmly against your skin, looking at how stupid you feel with a white line plastered to the perimeter of your face.
Thudding footsteps come running up the stairs and bust into Benny’s room and into the bathroom where you were sitting on the sink.
“Are you okay? I didn’t mean to um– I'm sorry.”
“Can you leave me alone? Jesus Christ! You don’t listen, do you! You just don’t quit!” Finally, you were at your breaking point. There was no more being nice, no more dancing on the line of being kind for the sake of his feelings.
“Why are you being like this, huh? What did I do to you?”
“Hello, do you remember you just cut my forehead open not even five damn minutes ago or?”
“Even before that, you were being mean as soon as you got here! Why?”
Throwing the box of bandages in the drawer and slamming it shut, you hop off the counter and stand chest to chest with Frankie.
“Why did you break my fucking heart, Frankie?” Tears spilled out from your eyes and you didn’t care anymore. You cracked. It was hard keeping up this front like it didn’t bother you.
“I don’t have an answer for you, I’m…I’m sorry.” His tone was hushed and his thumb grazed over your bandage, the soft and tenderness you’d been searching for months to get just a piece. Of course he would finally give it to you after you had already broken up. Classic Frankie.
Snapping out of the emotional tornado you were spinning in, you shove him off you and suck your tears back, wiping your face dry. “I can’t move on when you’ve got me in this headspace, Frankie. I hate you, I fucking hate you. I hate you.” Your fists rattle against his chest as if you were trying to break through but you weren’t getting anywhere. Maybe it was the anger or the hurt, but something was tearing you down brick by brick and exposing you to him. Frankie’s warm hands wrap around your wrists and calm you until you’re no longer moving and wrapped in his arms, tucked away against his chest. He looks down at you after a few silent moments with him, like old times your lips connected to his. As if no time had slipped away from you two Frankie engulfs you, his arms wrapping tighter around you like you’d fade away at any given moment.
“Frankie–” you interject but his lips work faster against yours until you’re pushed up against the counter.
“Say it again, tell me you hate me, baby.” A squeeze to your hip makes you squirm and subconsciously hike your leg up on him until his hand catches onto the back of your thigh, pressing himself deeper between your legs.
“I hate you so goddamn much. You are the worst thing to ever happen to me.”
It was true, he was the worst thing to ever happen to you. Heartbreak never accompanied you in such a way like this until Frankie. His hands push you right back on top of the sink and ever so gently he rests the back of your head against the mirror while his fingers dance along the side of your thigh.
“If you hate me so much, why haven’t you left yet?”
He got you there. You were sitting comfortably with Frankie’s hips between your knees, your bathing suit exposing more of your breasts from the way you were positioned in front of him but you didn’t care enough to move.
“Do you want me to stop?” He kisses your cheek and trails down your neck softly as he awaits your answer. Your brain was a scrambled egg at this point, one half telling you this was going to be a bad idea and you’d regret it, the other telling you to give in, that you need him.
“N-no, don’t stop. Don’t stop.” You whisper before kissing him once more, fingers tangling in his wet curls. Your tongue glides against his bottom lip to gain access into his mouth and he approves, parting his mouth a bit more for you to slip in and find his own tongue. Frankie groans slightly and pushes against you more, his hardening bulge pressing against the apex of your thighs.
“Where do you need me, huh? Show me.”
Frankie pulls away from your lips to look directly into your eyes as he places his palm on your abdomen, waiting to be guided like he didn’t know where you ached for him. Clutching onto his wrist, you push him further down your body until his fingers meet the wet material covering your needy pussy, throbbing to feel his fingers one more time.
“Right here, baby? Still needy as ever, you’ll probably come in minutes if I do that thing you like.” The evil grin plastered on his face sent your heart skipping beats. Damn him. His pushed back hair had begun to dry, the ends starting to curl up the more you scrunched them with every kiss.
Frankie’s fingertips graze over the top of your clothed clit and he grins happily at the sight of you losing every thought in your mind. The pleasure rang far too loud over your negative thoughts for you to be upset with what you were doing in the moment. It felt too good to stop, to get off the counter and tell him to go to hell, to get in your friend's car and drive away back home where you knew you’d stay up all night and think about him.
“Cmon, hurry up before they notice how long we’re gone. Can you imagine what they’d say if they knew what we were doing up here?” You whine and maneuver out of your bathing suit bottoms, flinging them onto the tan tiled floor. The plop of wet clothing makes Frankie’s head tilt up to look at you and he’s completely captivated by your pushiness.
“I can’t tell if you missed me or just missed getting fucked the way I fuck you.” His cockyness would eventually lead him to get humbled, but today wasn’t that day, especially not now.
“Frankie just shut up and fuck me, please. Stop talking.” Your finger pushes against his lips before you kiss him roughly, legs spread to either side of him as he holds your waist to guide himself inside you. The both of you gasp at how he struggles to get inside fully before he pumps in and out slowly.
“Jesus christ you’re so fuckin’ tight baby. Don’t even think I’m all the way in yet and I can feel you squeezing around me.”
You moan out and claw at his back, digging your nails into his skin to keep him steady as he begins to thrust his hips, pushing his cock further into you until it felt like he’d break you in two. Scratching all down his back, you look at him through your eyelashes and grin.
“I hate you. I hate the way you feel so good inside me, I hate the way you make it so easy to fall back into this shit with you.”
“Keep goin’ I love this shit.”
Frankie moans your name and stands straight, putting his hand on the side of your head and pressing your cheek into the mirror behind you, keeping you absolutely still and right where he wants you.
“You-ughhh fuckk-you are the worst, Frankie-e!”
The desperate moans of insults mean nothing to him, it makes him laugh and keep thrusting harder and harder.
“Yeah? If I’m the worst than why are you letting me fuck you right now, eh? Doesn’t that make you just as bad for using me?”
“N-no I–”
His fingers rush into your mouth causing you to suck messily on them, whimpering and trying to buck your hips against him but it wasn’t working. Frankie leans down with a hand still pinning you to the mirror and with his freehand, he tears your bathing suit top to the side to free those hardened nipples that had been taunting him all night. His warm mouth encloses over the nub and sucks slowly, flicking his tongue over them before nibbling softly. With every flick of his tongue, you could feel it in your clit. He had you absolutely fucked.
“Yes yes yes, just like that. Why didn’t you tell me you’d shut up if I just put a titty in your mouth?” He was too busy to notice the playful remark but you knew it would make him laugh had he heard.
The burning embers in your belly start to ramp up and your pussy continues to clench around Frankie as he slips in and out of you, your skin smacking against one another and his hand squeezing you tighter against the mirror.
“Frankie-oh fuck-I’m gonna come, don’t stop” you mule out. His hand releases your head and you look directly at his cock disappearing inside you and making your vision blurrier by the second. Your eyes begin to roll back as your muscles tighten and let loose like a rubber band breaking in two. Your moans were echoing off the walls of the bathroom and right out the windows. Frankie didn’t mind but he covers your mouth forcefully as you come, knowing it adds to the sensation for you like it always did.
“Such a good girl for me, stay right there, baby.”
You lean back and catch your breath as your legs continue to tremble against Frankie, who was close as you could feel his cock twitch inside you. More echoes of your whimpers and Frankie’s moans coat the walls as he pulls out roughly, shooting his hot load over your stomach, the pearls of cum dripping down your sides as his head snaps back, body jolting with every pump of cum he lets out.
The post nut clarity starts to set in for you and you realize quickly just what you were doing and who you were doing it with.
“Frankie this can’t happen again, I mean it.” You push against his stomach lightly and hop off the counter, stepping towards the small linen closet to grab a washcloth. Running it under warm water while Frankie collects himself and pulls his trunks back up, you clean your torso off gently until there's no trace of him left. Once he’s done adjusting himself, he grabs your bottoms off the floor and kneels down, helping you step in them and bringing them up your legs until they’re right where they should be. With a little snap of the waistband, he lets go and adjusts your top.
“Yeah yeah, whatever. Come by later when you get dropped off at home, okay?” He smacks your ass and kisses the back of your head as he walks away to go back downstairs.
“Fuck you, Frankie!” You shout before he closes the bedroom door, leaving you with nothing but regret and guilt.
summary: newly single, dave finds comfort in life’s simple pleasures; among other things.
warnings: short & sweet, unspecified but legal age gap, cursing, food, alcohol, pedro’s insane coffee order, fluff, mentions of divorce, kissing & touching, suggestive smut, soft!dave.. possessive!dave (obsessed!dave actually), 18+ mdni.
notes: this is my submission to jana & daphne’s writing through the seasons challenge. i asked to write for dave york in the fall, and was given this beautiful moodboard and the prompt ‘next time i see you, we’re going to kiss for a very long time.’
to @guiltyasdave & @sizzlingcloudmentality — thank you for organising something so wonderful! jana, tysm for giving me the opportunity to get to know your man & write for him for the first time. i hope you like him, and happy birthday! <3
Simple Pleasures.
The optimistic name of the coffee shop that Dave began to frequent, and coincidentally something his coworkers had encouraged him to indulge in in the wake of his divorce.
You just forget sometimes, York. All you gotta do is take time for life’s simple pleasures, and things’ll get easier.
Easier? He’d scoffed. Sure.
The separation had been straightforward enough. Carol had felt he loved his job more than her, and he supposed — in the end — that she was right. She got the house, got the girls full-time. Dave found an apartment in the city, saw his daughters every other weekend. A clean break, with minimal disruption for the children.
He struggled with the change at first.
The York home had been warm and inviting: tiny sneakers strewn across the hallways, half-empty bags of grapes littering the countertops, Barbie doll heads and plastic unicorns worming their way inside his suit jackets. In contrast, Dave’s new living space was devoid of all life; high up in the clouds, any speck of glitter or fairy dust soon smoothed away by the cleaners.
Simple Pleasures was an independent coffee house, placed conveniently enough on his new route to the office downtown. It meant Dave was spending a stupid amount on caffeine, but he couldn’t quite find it in him to make it freshly brewed at the apartment — somewhere he still couldn’t bring himself to call home.
You were the first thing he noticed when he visited, and the reason he kept going back.
Dave found himself leaving for work a little earlier each day, securing a spot by the window in the summer sunshine. He had no real reason to stop, could get his order in a takeout cup just like every other glum-faced professional in the establishment.
But he didn’t.
He sat and he watched; the way your dainty gold bracelets sparkled in the morning light, the sheen of clear gloss across your full lips, how your face split into a smile when you greeted your regulars. You were younger than him, full of an enthusiasm he could barely remember from his twenties. Slivers of vitality shone in every move you made, practiced and careful in everything you did.
Dave savoured every interaction he had with you; replayed them in his mind at his desk, in the shower, in his bed. He would lie awake most nights, counting down every minute ‘til sunrise. The stress of work commitments and his depressing home life would fall to the wayside the moment he stepped up to the counter to see you. He waited eagerly for the touch of your manicured hand against his, the fluttered lashes, the gentle teasing.
Six shots of espresso over ice, Mr York. I sure hope you’re getting enough sleep.
///
“You wanna go away this weekend?”
Dave feels your body stir as he leans over, lips trailing across your shoulder blade. His hand finds the curve of your hip, dragging his thumb against the soft skin there. It’s early morning; your panties in a heap by the bedroom door, red marks from your nails fading across his back.
You turn to face him, blinking sleepily. “With you?”
“Yeah, pretty girl. With me.”
Dave looms over you, watching you pretend to think it over. He’s memorised every feature: the way your nose scrunches when you laugh, the colour of your eyes when the light hits them just right, the way your teeth sink into your lower lip when you’re anxious — or aroused.
“Where are you taking me?” you ask, eyebrow arching.
“It’s a surprise,” he tells you. “Pack warm clothes, though. And that blue lace you wore on Tuesday.”
Eyes narrowing, you loop your arms round his neck. Dave takes the opportunity to kiss you, tongue sliding into your warm, wet mouth. He groans at the taste of you, breaking apart when you start to giggle.
“Yes, sir.”
You’ve been his for almost three months: eighty-five days, to be precise. Dave is always precise, finding that hidden spot inside you every time he makes you come, knowing when to push you further, and when to hold you close. He knows your limits, respects your boundaries, gives you as much as you can take — even though you always ask for more.
“Y’know, you’re lucky I wasn’t give any shifts for this weekend,” you reprimand him gently a moment later, soft hands sliding against his back.
Dave smirks, bending his head as his nose drags along your jaw. “And why do you think that is?”
“You did not!”
“Baby, I spend enough money in that damned coffee shop to call in a couple favours,” he chuckles, grazing his teeth against your throat.
Summer had slowly given way to fall, the leaves turning gold on the trees; Dave fucking and falling in love with you as they began to drop to the ground.
///
The cabin was awarded to Dave in the divorce settlement. Smooth pine and modern furnishings, sitting prettily on a lake nobody else knew how to find — he’d made sure of that.
“This is all yours?!” you exclaim happily, wandering over to the stone fireplace. You’ve been twisting your hands round your scarf excitedly, darting from room to room, listing off excursions and activities for the two of you to try.
Dave lets himself be swept away by your enthusiasm, even if it does derail his plans to keep you naked for as long as possible. He wraps his arms round your waist, pressing his lips below the shell of your ear. “Ours, until Sunday night.”
You turn to kiss him, tugging a little at his hair in the way you know he likes. He often searches for the words to tell you the warmth you’ve brought into his life, and fails miserably, resolving to show you instead. Dave’s hands wander under your shirt, feeling himself stirring as your tongue slips so deliciously into his mouth.
“We need to make some dinner plans,” you remind him breathlessly a moment later, sandwiched between the back of the couch and the hard, insistent press of his groin. “Go for it,” he mutters, slowly dropping to his knees. He makes quick work of your jeans, kissing the soft inside of your thighs as you quiver above him.
“My meal’s right here.”
///
You do manage to drag him out of bed.
Occasionally.
You sip coffee in his lap on the front porch, sweetly forcing Dave to cut his espresso shots down to three. He watches you pouting, expressing concerns over his health, knowing he’d never deny you anything. He lets you plan the hiking route, pull a beanie hat over his head as you set off into the sea of red and yellow trees, hand-in-hand.
“Would you ever leave the city behind? Move out here permanently?” you ask, pausing to take in the views. Dave only has eyes for you; the way the sweater you’d stolen from him moulds to your body perfectly, your chest rising and falling with exertion, a look of wonder painted adoringly across your beautiful face.
“Not without you,” he replies truthfully, pulling you close.
Two deer move across the meadow below, never straying far from one another amidst the golden haze of the weak sunlight. You lean into him, watching the animals together wordlessly. Dave feels a level of contentment wash over him — here, with you, somewhere so peaceful.
Later on, after some simple mac and cheese and a couple of glasses of red wine, Dave takes you on the rug by the fire. He watches your eyes roll to the back of your skull; gripping his biceps, ankles locked over his lower back. I love you, he confesses breathily as he sinks in deeper. You respond in kind, his hand gentle over your throat, pushing you over the edge of bliss with Dave following soon after.
///
All too soon, Sunday evening arrives.
The drive home is quiet: Dave’s travelling out of state for work for two weeks, the impending separation already swirling round his mind torturously. He’s addicted to you: the scent you leave on his clothes, the soft bite marks on his shoulders, the way your smaller hand fits perfectly in his large one.
“‘m gonna miss you,” you say softly, leaning over the console to splay your fingers across his thigh. “I’ll come over, soon as I’m back,” Dave soothes, moving your hand to press his lips to your knuckles. Eighty-seven days have now passed since you first agreed to go on a date with him, and already he’s considering a browse at Tiffany’s, seeing if he can find something to make you his forever.
You sigh happily. “Well, the next time I see you, I’m not letting go.”
“Oh, yeah? What do you have planned?”
You grin, as vibrant as the myriad of beautiful fall colours outside the window, as full as you’ve made his life since coming into it.
“Let’s just say we’re going to kiss for a very long time.”
Summary: You meet Tommy after you pick up him and Joel from a bar. The night ends with you finally being honest and letting Joel in... a little.
Warnings: language, cigarette use, alcohol use, Joel loves bossy women, fluff, smut (18+), piv sex, fingering, handjob, reader has major self esteem/anxiety issues, very very mild hint at an abusive past relationship, Tommy and Joel acting like children and being little shits
other parts here
One forty two in the morning.
That's when your phone disturbs your blissfully deep sleep.
Nobody ever calls you in the middle of the night. Hell, no one even texts you in the middle of the night. It's why your volume remains on every day. The most action you'll get is a ping from your work email, and you've silenced that feature during the overnight hours long ago.
You may work like a dog, but you draw the line at anyone fucking with your sleep.
So when your phone wakes you with your ringtone—not your email or text sound, but your ringtone—you assume someone died. Has to be, right?
You're still groggy as you frantically reach for the phone, heart in your throat and eyes half open while you try to mentally figure out what time it is in London—would your sister call you and forget to check the time zone? Was she hurt or in trouble?
"Hello?" you answer without even looking at the caller ID. Your voice is thick and you sound like a frog. You clear your throat and try again. "Hello?"
There's shouting on the other end but it doesn't sound like an emergency. Not exactly happy shouting, either. Just... loud as all hell. And a whole bunch of voices, too. You blink and rub your eyes.
"Oh, h-hey! Hey, honey, can you hear me?"
You wince and pull the phone from your ear before angling the receiver towards your mouth. "Joel?"
"Did I wake you?"
More shouting that's now sounding like the drunken sort. People laughing and swearing are walking by, you can tell because their voices decrescendo as they presumably walk down the sidewalk.
"What—are you—" You shake your head. Words are hard to formulate.
"Y'there?" Joel sounds drunk, you can hear it now. Anger begins to simmer in your veins.
"Why are you calling me in the middle of the night?" you snap.
"Huh?"
"Why are you—"
"Gimme the phone!"
"Fuck outta here—"
"Joel, I wanna—"
There's rustling then. You can hear their shoes scraping on the sidewalk and you roll your eyes as you wait. The rustling finally stops and the second male voice curses out Joel before you hear the telltale flick of a lighter and then you hear his voice again, just a little breathless now.
"Sorry 'bout that," Joel murmurs. You can hear his footsteps on the sidewalk, he must be walking away.
"What do you want, Joel?"
"Got a favor to ask," he says, "any chance you can p—" Joel hiccups and you scowl. "Sorry. Any chance y'can pick us up?"
"Why?"
"'Cause we're drunk as shit and this goddamn bouncer's got a hard on f'Tommy here and won't let 'im leave without talkin' to someone that ain't me, so we can't call a cab, 'n I ain't callin' our ma or—"
"Oh, Jesus Christ, fine!" you yell, flinging the covers off your bed. "Where are you?"
He tells you while you shove on a pair of shorts and a sweatshirt.
"The hell's the matter with you two? Your brother's home for two days and you're already getting into fights?" You snatch your purse off the hook by the door and slip on some sneakers.
"No, no, didn't get into any fights," he says defensively. "Tommy just flirted with the wrong girl, is all. Perfectly—" hiccup "—harmless."
"Yeah, right," you grumble, locking the door behind you. Goosebumps erupt across your skin at the first touch of night air. "It's freezing, Joel, I can't believe you're dragging me out of bed for this bullshit."
"How's 'bout I drag you back into bed later and make it up to you?" he teases. You roll your eyes and collapse into the driver's seat of your car.
"I'm not interested in having drunk, sloppy sex with you. That's the opposite of making it up to me."
"Easy, darlin'. Save some of that sass for when y'get here. Know how much I love it."
"You're such a pain in the ass." You let the grin stretch across your face only because Joel can't see you because goddamn him, even when he interrupts your sleep, he manages to make you smile.
You hear the humor in his voice when he answers. "Yeah, you like this pain in the ass, though."
"Do not." You're still grinning as you back out of your driveway.
"Uh huh. You got a big ol' crush on me."
"Do you want me to just go back home? 'Cause I'll do it," you warn.
"Nope. No I do not," he replies. "Miss you. Wanna see you."
You flick on your turn signal. "You're drunk and horny."
"Both things can be true at the same time."
"Funny," you say dryly.
"C'mon now, you're sayin' you don't miss me? Not even a little?" he asks, attempting to sound seductive but it's coming across more like he's confused.
"We saw each other on Sunday," you remind him.
"Feels like a month ago," he grumbles.
You crack your window just a smidge to let in some fresh air while simultaneously running the heat on low.
"Who's the one with a crush now?" you say smugly into your speakerphone.
"Never denied havin' a crush on you," Joel answers, "and I still ain't."
Butterflies erupt in your stomach and you bite your lip. "You're a real sweet talker, you know that?"
"Mm. Maybe that's why we work so good. I got the sweetness and you got the spice."
"Spice?" At this point you're just keeping him on the phone so you know he and Tommy haven't wandered off somewhere, but it also serves as great entertainment as you drive the mostly deserted roads to a bar on the other side of town.
"Yeah. Spice. Like heat or pepper or somethin'."
"Sugar and pepper do not sound good together."
"Ah, don't knock it til you try it, otherwise, how're you gonna know if it's any good?"
You have to give him credit. Even though he's hammered, he still manages to not-so-subtly find ways to tell you what a great couple you'd make. It's been a fun few weeks, but you're still holding firm on keeping things casual, and Joel seems to have figured out just how far he can push you without tipping over that edge.
"Y'there?" he asks, and you nod although he can't see you.
"Yeah. Ten minutes out."
Joel sighs on the other end as the background noise starts to increase, indicating he's pacing back towards the bar.
"Got a goddamn headache. Loud as shit here." Hiccup.
"You sure it's the music and not the shots?"
"How'd you know we did shots?"
"I didn't. Crazy guess."
Joel laughs. "Wanna know somethin'?"
You smile to yourself as you roll up to a stop light. "What?"
Just then, Tommy's voice fills the speaker.
"—wasn't doin' nothin' and this motherfucker over here says—"
"Keep your goddamn voice down."
"Who's on the phone?"
"I told'ya already, we're gettin' picked up—"
"Ohhh! She's comin' to get us? Hey! Lemme talk—"
"Y'can talk to 'er when she gets here, back up!"
"Joel? I'm a block away," you say loudly into the speaker, but the brothers are too busy bickering.
"Stop bein' all weird and gimme the phone!"
"I ain't bein' weird! You're the one—"
"H-hey! Hey, sweetheart!" Tommy yells. You wince at the volume just as the lights from the bar come into view. "He's been talkin' 'bout you all night! He tell y'that? Wouldn't shut—"
Despite yourself, your heart lurches in your chest at Tommy's revelation. There's the sound of plastic clattering onto concrete and the scuffle of shoes mixed with some grunts and you pull into the parking lot.
When you park, you immediately spot them wrestling and get out of the car with your purse slung over your shoulder. As you approach, you notice the brothers attracted a few curious onlookers, but once it became clear it wasn't a real flight, they moved on. The bouncers, however, stood with their backs against the brick wall and their arms crossed over their chests, looking amused as they watched two drunk idiots try and fail to get one another in a headlock.
"Joel!" you shout, and finally they pull apart, breathless with their hair and clothes askew. You're about ten feet away but Joel, being drunk as he is, stumbles to pick up his phone and presses it to his ear.
"Y'still there?" he pants into the receiver.
"No, I'm here, dumbass," you say sharply. Joel's head snaps up at the same time as Tommy's and he gives you the dopiest grin before pocketing his phone.
"There she is," he slurs, opening his arms wide. His dark T-shirt is splotched with wet marks, probably spilled beer, and his wallet looks like it's about to fall out of his back pocket. His hair is sticking up every which way and his eyes look glassy but he still looks absolutely thrilled to see you.
"This is what you woke me up for? Some discount version of the WWE?" You reach to push his wallet deeper into his pocket and he envelopes you in a bear hug, pulling your face abruptly against his chest. He reeks of alcohol and cigarettes and you cringe before pushing him away.
"You stink."
"You smell fuckin' great," he says, still smiling like a fool.
Tommy says your name in a sing-songy voice, pulling your attention to the younger brother. He looks like Joel. All dark features, eyes that sparkle and a killer smile. His hair is cut short and he's clean shaven, very military-esque, but he's just as much a mess as Joel. His open button down shirt is hanging off one shoulder, revealing a white tank top underneath. His cheeks are pink and he looks a little sweaty. He's most definitely very drunk. Still, he remembers his manners and straightens his spine before offering you his hand and name.
"Yeah, I gathered, hi," you say, shaking his hand.
"Happy I get to put a face to the name," Tommy grins, still holding onto your hand. His eyes dart between you and Joel. "She's pretty," he tells his brother, and you speak before Joel can answer.
"She says thank you." You pull your hand away and glance around the front of the bar. Country music blares from somewhere inside—a live band, you think. Cigarette smoke clings to both their clothes and hovers in the air from nearby patrons taking a break against the wall. Laughter and shouting echo just inside the open door, which is framed by the two large bouncers watching the three of you warily.
"You with them?" One of the bouncers juts his chin stiffly in Tommy and Joel's direction. You sigh and nod before stepping away from them.
"Unfortunately. What'd they do?"
"That one—" The second bouncer scowls at Tommy. "Told my girlfriend he wanted to use her g-string as floss."
"Christ," you mutter, pinching the bridge of your nose.
"It was a compliment," Tommy chimes in behind you.
"For the record, this is not a great first impression of you, Tom," you say through clenched teeth.
"Then he climbed onto the stage when the band was on break and nearly broke the strings on the guy's twelve hundred dollar Fender."
"That rendition of Highway to Hell almost cleared out the whole bar," the first bouncer says, shaking his head. "Stumbled into some tables and broke a shit-ton of glasses. Got four customers soaked in gin. He's costin' us money."
"I am so sorry," you plead, "I'll take them home right now."
"They're lucky we didn't call the cops."
"Only reason we didn't is 'cause that one said he's military."
"I know, and I'm sure once they sober up, they will be able to appreciate that act of kindness," you say, turning to watch the two brothers grow bored and start bickering once again, but now it sounds like it's over who is going to get to sit shotgun. They start swatting at each other, which inevitably evolves to pushing and yelling, as the three of you continue to watch.
"The hangover'll be punishment enough," one of the bouncers mutters. You nod in agreement before turning back to the two men.
"So why does it feel like I'm being punished when I didn't even do anything?"
They chuckle and turn to slip back inside the bar. "At least your boyfriend wasn't the one startin' trouble."
"He's not my boyfriend," you grumble to yourself before looking back at the two brothers, poised to get into yet another wrestling match. "Hey! Knock it off and follow me to the car!"
"Yes, ma'am," Joel says instantly after giving Tommy one more hard shove. He falls into step next to you and slings an arm heavily around your shoulders while Tommy lights up a cigarette a few paces behind.
"What exactly was the plan here?" you ask, digging your keys out of your purse. "Who was gonna drive? You're both shitfaced."
Joel shrugs. "Cab. But th'bouncer was bein' a dick and didn't—"
"That bouncer did you guys a favor."
"Sure as hell did 'cause now you're here," Joel smirks.
You roll your eyes with a grin and unlock your car doors. "Get in," you say, shrugging off his arm.
"Shotgun," Tommy says, flicking his cigarette onto the sidewalk.
"No fuckin' way—"
"I called it!"
"I don't give a shit!"
"You have five seconds to figure it out before I leave you both here," you warn, slipping back into the driver's seat. Joel shoves Tommy and races around the front of your car, jumping in next to you and locking the door before his brother has a chance to catch up.
"Your mother must be a saint," you tell them flatly when Tommy begrudgingly slides into the backseat.
"Our Ma woulda let us get hauled to jail just to teach us a lesson," Tommy laughs.
"And we woulda thanked her for it the next day," Joel adds, slumping into your passenger seat with a heavy sigh. You fiddle with the heat before cracking your window again, then you check your mirrors and start to back out of your spot.
"Why d'you got the heat on if the window's open?" Joel asks.
"I like the fresh air but I'm cold."
"Can we stop 'n get some food?" asks Tommy, leaning forward to stick his head between your seats.
"Fine," you mumble, squinting your eyes to see through the dark lot.
"Wings?"
"Hell yeah, wings," Joel confirms.
"Where?" you ask tiredly. Between the two of them, you think you cobble together some coherent directions and you begin your journey to your first stop.
It's blissfully quiet for the drive. Both men seem to have tired themselves out a bit and they're quietly staring out the windows. It gives you a much needed break. By the time you approach the restaurant, you're feeling alot more relaxed than an hour ago.
"I'll run in and give 'em the order to-go," Tommy says, unbuckling his seatbelt. "Probably be like twenty minutes or so."
"No way you're going in there alone, drunk off your ass," you scold, turning off the car. "We're all going in. C'mon."
Joel groans in protest but unbuckles his own seatbelt and follows you both inside. You usher them forward to the empty counter and make sure they don't order the entire menu before finding a booth to sit and wait. When Joel squeezes in next to you, casually tossing his arm over the back of the booth and scooting close enough so your legs touch under the table, Tommy grins and the inevitable interrogation begins.
"So," he says slowly, gaze darting back and forth, "how long's this been goin' on?"
"Little more than a month," Joel answers right away. It gives you pause until you realize he's right—it has been. In fact, it's closer to two months now since you first slept together. When the hell did that happen?
"How'd you meet?"
"He had a job working on my next door neighbor's house," you say, planning on leaving it at just that, but of course, Joel interjects.
"Kept comin' over to complain 'bout the noise. Took me a few days to realize she was flirtin' with me."
"I was not!" You smack his thigh under the table and he laughs.
"See? She's doin' it again. Yellin's her love language."
"What the hell's a love language?" Tommy asks, nose scrunched with confusion, but you both ignore him.
"Then what is your love language?" Joel asks, turning his body to face you in the booth. His arm rests on the table and he's smiling at you like you're the only two people in the room.
"Giving or receiving?"
"Now we're talkin'," Joel laughs, "both."
Tommy shakes his head. "Hey—what are love languages?"
"Giving is acts of service, receiving is words of affirmation," you answer without hesitation. You hold his gaze with an amused expression while he works out this new bit of information.
"So you do got a crush on me," he finally teases. Across from you, Tommy watches the exchange on a tape delay.
"How did you get that out of what I just said?" you argue.
Joel shrugs like it's obvious. "You picked us up when I called you in the middle of the night, didn't you? Sounds like an act of service t'me."
You blink slowly, then scoff. "I just didn't want you to get thrown in jail or die driving home."
"Nah, you like me," Joel smirks.
"Wait, wait—" Tommy says, waving his hands in the air. You each turn to him as thinks, which takes much longer than necessary. "Ain't you... together? Like, datin'? Why'd—what're you—"
"No," you reply, cutting him off. "We're just... hanging out."
"Hangin'... out?" Tommy echos, stretching out each word slowly. You nod but Joel remains quiet next to you. Tommy scratches his head as he thinks some more and you take a deep breath, willing their food to finish cooking faster. "So you ain't his girlfriend but... y'still came to pick us up tonight?"
You roll your eyes. Jesus, they're drunk.
"Yes."
Tommy and Joel are silent except for the rhythmic, impatient tapping of Joel's fingers on top of the booth behind you. Finally, a slow smile stretches across Tommy's face as he points accusingly at you across the table.
"You like him."
"What?" you frown.
"Told you," says Joel smugly.
"You got a big ol' crush on him."
You bury your face in your hands to hide the heat that has crept up to flood your neck and cheeks. "Shut up," you groan.
"Oh, Mama's gonna love her," Tommy says to Joel. Your head snaps up, eyes wide.
"She's a spitfire," Joel replies, like you're not even there.
"Exactly why she'll love her."
Your mouth opens to protest—to say anything to stop this terrifying conversation in its tracks—but mercifully, their order number gets called and both men stand to go pick up their bags, forgetting all about your current mortification.
"Shit, this smells good," Tommy murmurs, opening his bag. Joel reaches in and steals a fry, popping one in his mouth before snatching his own food from the counter. You still don't have your bearings when he tells you they're ready to go, both of them completely absorbed with their food and oblivious to the way embarrassment is still coursing through your veins.
The drive back to Joel's house is quiet. Usually, you'd tell them not to eat in your car, especially something as messy as chicken wings, but you need the silence so you can process your own thoughts, so you let it go this time.
You've been pushing it out of your head for a while now, but it's becoming hard to ignore. They're right, obviously. You do like Joel. Problem is, you like him... a lot. And you're entirely unsure how to navigate these feelings because everything with him was so unexpected that you never allowed yourself enough time to confidently heal before falling into this... thing with him. So you've been pushing him away. Keeping him at an arms length. And Joel's been okay with it. What keeps surprising you is his persistence. Most men would jump at the chance to carry on a casual sex relationship—all the benefits and none of the baggage of a committed relationship. And yet, Joel keeps suggesting more. The question is... can you offer more?
"Right here," Joel says, pointing with a sticky finger towards a sleepy little house on the right side of a cul-de-sac.
"You ain't ever been here before?" Tommy asks.
"Uh, no," you reply as you pull into Joel's driveway and shift your car into park. "Joel usually picks me up when we have plans."
"I'm a gentleman," he tells Tommy, shooting him a look in the mirror. "Could learn a thing or two."
"Shut up," Tommy snaps, then they both collect the rest of the food and shimmy out of your car. As you follow them to the front door, you cringe to think about the smell of hot wings currently embedding itself into the fibers of your seats.
The brothers stumble into Joel's modest house, bickering about god knows what as they make their way to the kitchen, leaving you to quietly shut the front door and look around.
His home is... warm. It's well lived in and cozy, and it instantly makes you feel comfortable. Not that you weren't before, it's just... you never know what you're going to get when you walk into a bachelor's house.
There's a few steps that lead up into an already dimly lit living room. The couch is pushed up against the front wall, angled towards the television that houses countless DVDs stacked on shelves next to it. There's some rather decent wall art that impresses you, and a fake plant or two, but what really takes you by surprise is the guitar resting against the wall.
You slip your sneakers off before stepping onto the plush carpet, feet softly crossing the room and stopping right before the instrument. You drag one finger gently over the neck, then test the feel of the strings under the pad of your thumb. You try to imagine Joel playing it, maybe even singing. The thought has you smiling to yourself before eventually dropping your hand and turning back around to map the rest of the house.
Across from you is a staircase leading to a hallway—bedrooms and bathroom, you assume. Right before the stairs is the opening to the kitchen, where bright lights flood the carpeted floor and cast shadows against the wall of the brothers moving somewhere around the corner from where you stand.
It's cute. You like it. It's definitely his space. There's a certain feel to it that just reminds you of Joel. Maybe it's the smell or the leather couch or the ambient lighting that puts you at ease, the same way his voice and touch manage to do.
"Hey—"
Joel's head appears around the corner, pulling you out of your analysis with a smile.
"Sorry," you tell him, feet instantly moving to join them in the kitchen.
"Don't be," he says softly in your ear right as you walk by. His fingers brush your arm briefly, grounding you without even realizing it. "You hungry? I saved you some." Joel grabs his bag from the counter and sets it on his small kitchen table, where you're currently standing. Tommy is deeper into the kitchen, leaning against the stove, eating a wing with one hand and holding a glass bottle of beer in the other. He looks perfectly content, like he's home, and you get the feeling that maybe Joel's house acts like a second home to his family because that's just how Joel is. He's... open. Kind. Hospitable. Easy going. Sweet.
Shit.
"No, I'm okay," you say, clearing your throat. He saved you some of his food. "You eat it. I'll have heartburn for days if I eat that right now."
"I got other stuff, too," Joel says immediately while reaching for his fridge. But you quickly wave him off.
"No, really, I'm good. Just tired."
Joel opens the fridge anyway and grabs a few bottles of water. He tosses one to Tommy who narrowly manages to catch it after dropping a bone into his bag.
"Drink it," Joel says firmly, although the slight drunken wobble in his knees takes some of the edge away from his threat.
"I will."
"And don't leave the door unlocked like last night," Joel adds. He hands you a water and slips his hand over yours, leading you to the staircase. Before your foot hits the first step, you pause.
"Oh, I was..."
Joel stops and looks at you over his shoulder, patiently waiting for you to continue. He looks so endearing, all drunk and sleepy, and there's something extra appealing about watching him maneuver in his home. It's like exploring a side of him you haven't seen before. So what are you going to do? Are you really going to tell him you're going home instead of staying the night? It's so late as it is.
You think it over for about half a second.
"Nevermind," you smile, and his fingers squeeze yours before he turns to climb the stairs, leading you into his bedroom and shutting the door.
Joel drops your hand and moves into the room, flicking on the lights next to his bed and readjusting the grey sheets and comforter while you stand at the door with your water, taking everything in. This is Joel's most private space. He had no clue you'd be seeing it tonight. There's no way he could have prepared or hidden anything weird... what you're seeing is the real deal. The raw, honest version of his life. And... you like it. You like it.
His room is a bit messy, but that's fine. It's normal to have random articles of clothing draped over a hardly used treadmill in the corner. It's normal to have the top of a dresser filled with odds and ends he likely emptied from his pockets after too many long days. It's normal to have a hamper with dirty clothes hanging over the sides. There's nothing scary or strange here. There's nothing to "find".
Your gaze slowly slides over his king sized bed, where he just finished fixing the bedding. On one end table is a dead plant, an open magazine, and a television remote. The other has a coaster and his phone charger. But what really draws your eye is the artwork hung above his cherry spindle bed frame.
On the right is a vintage music festival poster for Club Deville. The center lists all of the musical acts in a warped font, the top advertises tacos and beer, and as if you couldn't already guess, Austin, TX is listed as the location on the bottom. There's an equally old looking poster for another festival on the left side of the wall, but this one has half of an acoustic guitar taking up a big chunk of the ad, along with the names of some acts you don't recognize. And right in the middle, taking up residence directly front and center, is a peaceful painting of a mountainous region with one single solitary deer in the foreground. You wonder if he chose it because something about the deer being all alone spoke to him, or if it was just a coinscidence.
"It ain't much," Joel fidgets slightly and you realize your silence may have unintentionally made him a little nervous, "but it's mine. Great neighbors, good schools, safe area." He moves to his dresser and begins rummaging for pajamas.
"I like it, too," you say softly. He pauses before twisting to look at you, but your eyes are back on the posters. "I didn't realize music was such a big interest of yours."
He follows your gaze and nods. "Yeah, I like to check out concerts when I can."
"And you play guitar?" you ask. Joel shuts a dresser drawer and tosses clean clothes onto the bed.
"Wouldn't say that. Used to, when I had more time. But now—" Joel strips his shirt over his head and you immediately lock onto his broad chest, "—I don't really practice as much. Can't seem to bring myself to get rid of the thing, though."
You feel a little hypnotized for a second as he stands there shirtless because it takes you until a fresh shirt is almost over his head when you blink and stop him.
"Wait, you've gotta shower," you say, stepping forward, "you stink like whiskey and cigarettes."
Joel frowns and lifts one arm to sniff himself. "I don't smell it."
"Of course you don't, you're nose blind to it by now. Don't put fresh clothes on—" You stop him again when he lifts his shirt to shove it over his head and he eyeballs you with a look you can read a mile away.
"You're just tryin' to get me naked."
"Oh, shut up," you say, but the smile that tugs across your face takes the bite out of your words.
Joel dramatically sighs in defeat and drops the clean shirt back on his bed. "Fine," he grumbles, undoing his belt buckle as he walks to the bathroom attached to his room, "but you're comin' with me."
"What? Why?"
"I'm drunk," he says over his shoulder. Then his jeans slide down his legs, along with his boxers, and your mouth goes dry at the sight of his bare backside. "Might fall 'n hit my head. You'll never be able to live with yourself."
You want to say something snippy in response, but you don't. Instead, you leave your water by the bed and pad across the carpet to the bathroom. This room isn't decorated that much, save for a fancy sounding soap next to his sink that you find yourself reaching for.
"Wouldn't take you for a shea butter and eucalyptus kind of guy," you say, taking a sniff. Behind you, the water is already turned on, warming up as you investigate the room further. But then Joel's hands are on your hips, lifting up your sweatshirt so his palms can glide slowly across your stomach and you pause.
"Gotta keep my hands soft f'you, don't I?" he murmurs in your ear before his teeth gently graze your lobe. Your eyelids flutter and you feel the heat already building below your neckline. Your head tips back to rest on his shoulder and his lips keep moving, grazing lightly over your throat while he pushes your sweatshirt up further.
You tilt your chin to the side so your mouth is right next to his ear. "But I like them a little rough," you whisper, then smile when you hear him groan.
"Yeah, I know you do, honey," he says gruffly against your neck. Goosebumps erupt over your skin from the scratch of his beard. His fingers splay wide across your hips and squeeze. "Goddamn, you're so pretty. Missed you so much."
"It's only been five days," you tease, squirming out of his hold. He pouts and your gaze drops to find him fully naked and half hard.
"Five very long days," he says, reaching for you again. You giggle and swat his hands away.
"Clean up first," you tell him. He rolls his head back and makes a frustrated noise before doing as he's told and turning his attention back to the shower.
"Not fair. Teasin' me like this," he says after he steps behind the glass door. You perch on the edge of his sink, swinging your legs playfully over the side as you strip your sweatshirt off. The steam from the shower and the heat of Joel's touch is too much, so you leave it in a pile with his clothes, not really caring if it smells like his night out when you pick it up tomorrow.
Of course, his gaze tracks the movement through the glass and he gives you an appreciative look when you're left in just a tight camisole and your sleep shorts.
"What'd I just say?"
You laugh. "It's hot in here!"
He rolls his eyes and grumbles something under his breath before reaching for his soap. You watch with your lower lip snagged between your teeth as he lathers up: white, foamy bubbles slide effortlessly down his strong arms, his broad chest, his thick cock. You swallow.
Joel glances at you every so often as you shamelessly watch those big hands glide over his dark hair, threading shampoo through the messy locks and then scrub mindlessly at his short beard. Your face must give you away, you think, because it's hard to hide the arousal building in your core the longer you stare. It's also impossible not to notice that he's now fully erect between his legs. The sight of his cock bobbing every time he turns around makes your thighs press together tightly, desperately trying to quell the ache.
Fuck it, you think, and slide off the counter.
"What're you doin'?" Joel asks when you crack open the glass door.
"Missed a spot," you say, reaching in to snag his washcloth. "Turn around."
He smirks and does as you say so you can pretend to wash a spot on his back when in reality, all you want to do is feel the heat and strength of his body under your fingertips.
"Get it?" he asks.
"Yep," you lie, and what happens next is so fast you hardly have time to register it.
Joel takes the washcloth with one hand and your wrist with the other, tugging you inside the shower and pressing you against the cool tile wall in a heartbeat. You squeal when the hot water from the shower head pelts your still very much clothed body, but Joel doesn't care. He presses his wet body against yours and kisses you so deeply that it steals your breath, and any sense that was left in your brain is gone.
Soaked clothes be damned. Your arms circle around his neck and your lips part, inviting his tongue to sweep inside your mouth, past your teeth, pulling a soft moan from your throat. Your hair sticks to your skin, along with your clothes. It's uncomfortable and messy but you don't care. You don't care. For the first time in forever, disorder doesn't bother you. The desire to live in the moment is overriding that voice in your head that is typically deafening, and it feels... exhilarating.
"Did I thank you for pickin' us up tonight?" Joel murmurs against your lips. Before you can answer, his fingers peel open your shorts and sneak past your panties. You gasp into his mouth and he smirks.
"No—no," you stammer when his finger finds your slit. He strokes you there a few times, refusing to touch your clit or press so much as a fingertip inside you.
"No?" he echos.
"Maybe. May—be you d-did..." You trail off because your muscles are going rigid with anticipation and it's pulling all your focus. "Can—can't remember."
Joel tuts under his breath. "Then lemme thank you in a way I'll know you remember."
Your head knocks back against the wall when one thick finger slips inside your pussy. The loud moan that leaves your mouth surely would have gotten Tommy's attention had Joel not muffled it with his lips. He kisses you with so much heat that your knees buckle, or maybe it's the way he crooks his finger just right inside you, it's hard to tell. Joel's free arm wraps around your waist for support when he feels you weaken, pinning you against the wall as the water falls in sheets around you both.
His name harshly rips from your throat when he adds a second finger. The stretch is sharp, your body is too tense, but it quickly melts into pleasure after a few snaps of his wrist.
"Goddamn," Joel breathes, "you're so wet for me."
You shudder when his thumb brushes a tight circle over your clit.
"It's—the water," you gasp unconvincingly.
Joel chuckles and dips his chin down to suck on your neck.
"Bullshit," he mumbles, "I saw the way you were droolin' over this cock, watchin' me. 'N if I could stand the feelin' of a wet condom, I'd be fuckin' you senseless right now."
A shiver rolls straight down your spine.
"I need these off," you pant, shifting your hips. "Take these off—please—"
The fingers inside you stall but remain right where they are while his free hand slips from your waist to tug down your sopping wet bottoms. They fall at your feet with a loud splat and you sigh with relief now that Joel has better access to your body, then he picks up right where he left off.
You whimper and squirm under his touch, body tightening around his fingers when he spreads them apart inside you, reminding you how much you can take and how easy it would be to slip his cock inside you right now.
An insane part of you, the one lost to the haze of pleasure he's currently pulling from your body, reaches down. Your fingers wrap around his cock and you almost angle it so you can sink down on it but the broken moan that falls from Joel's lips echos and skitters over the cool tile walls and stops you.
"Are—are you...?"
"More," he begs, then presses down firmly over your clit. Stars streak across your vision and you obey, sliding your fist up and down, feeling the way he twitches in your palm, reveling in the way he can't seem to remember his own name but he's still managing to fuck you deep and fast with two of his fingers.
"Fuck, that's it," he groans, "keep goin', j-just like that..."
White hot heat fills your body, spreads through your limbs and knocks the air from your lungs. His hips begin to rock steadily into your fist, chasing your touch. Your muscles pull tighter every time he presses his fingers against that devastatingly sensitive spot inside you, and it feels selfish to want more when he's making you feel so good, and yet—
"I want you to fuck me," you whine, "Joel, p-please, I wanna fee—"
His mouth sears over yours, probably shutting you up so he wouldn't be tempted to do something stupid. His tongue pushes into your mouth in rhythm with his fingers. It sets your skin on fire and makes you want to tear off your tank top so you can feel every inch of his warm, wet skin against yours.
When your thumb glides over the tip of his cock and your fist twists down with just the right amount of pressure, his palm slaps loudly against the wall next to your head and he comes, pouring his sticky release all over your fingers and groaning brokenly into your mouth.
"M'sorry," he gasps, hips still flexing, "oh, fu-uck, m'sor—"
"Don't stop," you rasp, clean hand coming up to clutch feverishly at his shoulder. His wrist snaps steadily, the heel of his hand slapping against your swollen clit, driving you higher and higher—literally. At some point you've risen to your tiptoes like your body is elevating but eventually there's no where else to go except to give in.
You bury your face into the crook of his neck when you come, body convulsing in waves as his fingers fuck you through it. Your hand is still wrapped around his cock, only loosening when your body goes limp and sags against his chest.
"Good girl," he whispers hoarsely. Your eyes flutter shut against his shoulder and you're so tired that you don't even wince when he removes his fingers, but you do crack an eye open when he raises his hand to his mouth without hesitation. You watch in a daze as he slides both fingers against his tongue, hollows his cheeks, and softly hums at the taste. Joel catches you staring and you think he's going to make some type of filthy joke, but to your surprise, his expression remains serious. He makes a show of taking his time, licking his fingers clean while you watch with your wet hair and cheek stuck to his shoulder. If it weren't for the water loudly falling around you, you're certain he would be able to hear your heart beating frantically in your chest.
"I know you don't like it," Joel begins after he slowly removes his clean fingers, "but you taste so fuckin' good, honey."
His words ricochet in your brain on a loop: you taste so fuckin' good, you taste so fuckin' good. Joel steps back and makes sure you can stand before helping clean your hand under the shower stream, then lifts the hem of your shirt over your head. It peels off like a second skin and joins the rest of your clothes in the tub. Next, he twists the shower knob to turn off the water and you watch him reach for a fresh towel. He wraps you up first, rubbing your arms to make sure you're warm, and you still haven't said a word. You taste so fuckin' good. Then he grabs one for himself and you watch dumbly as he dries his hair, then his upper body before tying the towel loosely around his waist.
You taste so fuckin' good.
"C'mon," he says softly, offering you his hand. You swallow tightly and shakily take it, allowing him to lead you out of the shower and back into his room. When the air conditioning hits your skin, you shiver, but Joel is quickly offering you a pair of his boxers and a well worn black tshirt. Your eyelids feel heavy as you watch him fall to his knees to help you step into the boxers, one leg at a time. The tips of his fingers trail lightly up the back of your leg with a look on his face like he's admiring a piece of art, then he gently removes the towel, letting it fall to the floor, leaving you topless. His eyes darken when they lock onto your breasts, your nipples hardening under his heavy gaze, but he doesn't try anything. He motions for you to lift your arms so you do, then the soft shirt that smells just like him is gliding over your skin and you swear you could fall asleep standing up, you're that comfortable. You taste so fuckin' good.
"Let's get some sleep, sweetheart," he murmurs after cupping your face and brushing his lips tenderly over your own.
It's not until the lights are off and his bare body is curved around yours that you feel brave enough to speak.
"It's not that I don't like it."
The arm that is draped over your waist stiffens slightly. It's the only indication he's heard you. You let the words settle in the air for a moment, not quite sure what to say next. Then Joel finally speaks.
"Wanna tell me 'bout it, or no?"
You swallow and stare into the darkness. Even though you couldn't see him anyway, you're glad he's behind you. It feels safer this way. Easier.
"I dated someone once," you say timidly, "who wasn't very... nice about it."
Joel stays quiet and lets you talk. He lets you say what you're comfortable saying and he doesn't push or grow impatient with how long it takes you to get the words out. His thumb just rubs soothingly over your hip, a reminder that he's listening.
"I can't... can't relax enough to really enjoy it anymore," you finally manage to admit. "I'm too in my head now. Being the only one wh—who gets anything from it... it's too much pressure or—something."
Joel's lips press against your shoulder blade but still remains silent. He can feel your muscles, every single one tense and practically trembling along the curve of his body.
"Can you please say something?" you whisper.
"If you don't want me to, I won't," he says softly, "but if you trust me enough one day to let me try, I promise you ain't gonna be the only one who enjoys it."
Your heart cartwheels in your chest. You want to believe him, but it's hard. It's so, so hard. You want to trust Joel, you really do, but you're just not ready yet. The walls you've built up took several years to build, and it's going to take some time to knock them down. But you feel a little lighter after sharing this small piece with him, so you figure that's a good sign.
"Can I ask you one thing?" Joel's voice is soft and deep against your back, and his body warming you under his covers is quickly putting you to sleep, but still you give him a sleepy mhmm.
"Where is he now?"
"Prison," you whisper before you can even consider lying. Maybe you didn't want to lie.
There's a pause, then when Joel speaks, the softness in his voice is gone.
"Did—did he... hurt you?"
You hear him, but you don't answer. You don't need to. He already knows.
***
You wake up the next morning to Joel's big hands sliding over the curves of your body, slowly, like he's trying not to wake you. And he's successful, for the most part, because you're aware of him but your head is still heavy with sleep and your muscles are so relaxed and loose in his comfortable bed, so you don't open your eyes. You let his hands wander under your—his—shirt, and bask in the warmth from the morning sun streaming through the window. Or, wait—that warmth might be coming from his body pressing firmly against your back. Either way, it's heavenly, so you let yourself drift.
"I like wakin' up with you in my bed," he mumbles before sucking on a spot behind your ear. Your skin flashes with goosebumps from the delicate graze of his beard and you smile—one thing about Joel is he will never let a vulnerable moment make you feel uncomfortable. Ending the night on a sensitive topic would normally leave anyone waking up feeling raw and exposed, but he knows well enough by now to understand you'll share more when you're ready.
"Shouldn't you be hungover?" you ask sleepily. His arms tighten around your torso.
"Nah. Got the cure right here," he says while simultaneously pushing his hips against your ass. You feel the hard outline of his cock and your pulse skips.
"Joel, your brother—"
"He can sleep through a hurricane," he says, cutting you off. Then his fingers drift up and brush gently over one of your nipples and your spine straightens. You don't fully believe him, but you're willing to test that theory because Joel is just too irresistible at the moment and hell, he's still completely naked. You feel it now when you reach back and circle your fist around his cock. A breath gets caught in your throat and his fingers gently squeeze your nipple with a grunt.
Your gaze sweeps over to the digital clock on his dresser and you convince yourself it's probably too early for Tommy to be awake yet anyway, so you release your hold on his erection and begin to push his boxers down your legs, but when you start to shimmy out of his hold to remove his shirt, he stops you.
"Leave it on," he mutters while squeezing your other breast, "I like it. Looks—looks good on you."
"Yeah?" you breathe with a smirk over your shoulder. Joel kisses you for the first time that morning with a soft mhmm, then pulls away to reach for his nightstand. Still laying on your side, you listen to the drawer open, then the telltale sound of foil crinkling before a beat of silence where you assume he's rolling on the condom. You make a move to roll over when he stops you, pressing his chest up against your back again.
"Wanna fuck you like this," he murmurs before hooking an arm under your knee and lifting it up. You gasp softly when your legs spread open so brazenly in the morning light, then shudder with anticipation because there's something you really like about being maneuvered in his bed like this, especially when you can't get a clear visual. When the tip of his cock bumps against your pussy, you nearly jump out of your skin. Luckily, Joel is still holding open your legs so he manages to keep you in position, but he still chuckles in your ear and whispers for you to stay still.
He notches at your entrance and hardly gives you a chance to breathe before pushing in. Your legs tense at the intrusion and your fingers grab at the pillow under your head for something to hold onto, but Joel's grip under your knee remains firm.
"Shit," he groans, "so fuckin' warm, Christ—"
He pushes in further, splitting you open inch by inch. One hand drops between your legs and your fingers spread around his girth so you can feel him enter you and—shit—he's so thick and it feels so good.
You whine his name through clenched teeth and squeeze your eyes shut, only remembering to exhale once his hips grow flush with your ass.
"You're so hard," you whimper. He shifts and drives himself even deeper, making your jaw drop.
"All 'cause of you, honey," he growls, teeth skimming your ear, then your throat. "Always 'cause of you. So fuckin'... soft 'n—pretty." He sounds pained behind you as he showers you with praise and you can't tell if it's because he's trying to stay quiet or if the deep rock of his hips sinking into your cunt is stealing his breath the same way it's stealing yours.
Your heavy gaze drops down between your legs, where you can just barely see him disappearing inside you over and over, but the angle is too severe to truly see it all. Instead, you have to imagine how your cunt looks stretched open on his cock, you feel how wet he is every time he withdraws his hips, you imagine how his knuckles have to be white with how hard he's gripping your knee.
"So good to me, lettin' me ha-have you like this," he pants in your ear, "what'd I do to—deserve you?"
You hum and arch your back, just a little. Just enough to allow him in deeper. Then your fingers drift up, away from where he's impaling you, and begin to draw slow circles over your neglected clit.
With a sigh, you start to roll your hips. You want to answer but you can't. Nothing comes to mind because... well. Frankly, it's still hard to comprehend he actually likes you as much as he says he does. But it's okay, because he's not really looking for you to reply. He's too fixated on the way your pussy flutters around his length and how your tits look bouncing softly inside his shirt with every deep thrust.
His trembling arm pinned under your side snakes up the front of your shirt and finds your right breast, palming and massaging it while he groans into the back of your neck. Heat burns through your limbs as you rub your clit faster, bringing yourself closer to the edge, but then Joel's hand releases your breast and drops to flick your fingers away. You almost cry out in protest but then the firm pad of his finger is there, pressing down and making you feel much better than you own hand.
"Gotta let me—take care of you sometimes," he says, "lemme give you what you need."
Your eyes roll back because Jesus Christ, easier said than fucking done. You've been taking care of yourself for so long, refusing to rely on anyone anymore after you've been burned, but here's this man—this strong, funny, sweet, sexy, man—who's begging you to let go a little and allow him to help you. And you want him to. You really want him to.
"Okay," you breathe. His hips jerk harder and he opens your hips wider.
"Good girl," he groans, and you have to turn to muffle the feral sounds that rip from your throat into your pillow. "Just wanna ta—take care of you, make you feel good."
"You do," you gasp, body jostling from the force of his thrusts. Your balance is fucked laying on your side but Joel has a good grip around you—you're not going anywhere. Your hand flies back to grab the back of his head, pulling his mouth down to your neck. His lips suction over your throat and then you turn your chin so he can kiss you, which he does. Without hesitation, his mouth seals over yours and his tongue parts your lips. Having him like this—pummeling you from behind, strong arm wrapped around your middle stroking your clit, soft lips moving perfectly against yours—it's an addicting feeling. The kiss only gets broken because the tip of his cock presses tightly against a spot that has you throwing your head back and gasping for air. Then his teeth are there, biting gently at your lower lip while hitting that same spot over and over and—
"Oh, fuck—" you moan, clawing at the back of his head while your muscles pull tight, "—fuck, Joel, I'm—"
The words get knocked out of you when he starts to fuck you faster. Hot puffs of air leave his mouth and cascade over your face and neck. He's struggling to hold on so you can come first and that just makes you even more turned on. Your cunt clenches around him in response and he gasps but doesn't stop. His fingers scrub at your clit and his hips collide roughly against your ass with so much determination that you're fairly certain if a bomb went off outside his window, he still wouldn't stop.
The heat builds bright hot in your belly and spreads to your thighs, which ache from being held open so long but you know the soreness will be worth it. In fact, you hope you are sore. You want to feel him whenever you move the rest of the day. You want to carry that secret reminder of how good he fucks you. The fantasy sends sparks behind your eyelids and you gasp his name, probably way too loudly, but you don't care anymore.
"That's it," he grunts, "let g-go, baby, c'mon. I ne—need it. Wanna wat—watch that pretty face when y-you come."
Baby. He doesn't call you that often, maybe only once or twice, but shit—hearing it today sets something off in your brain. His voice is so soft around the word, making it sound full of meaning rather than some throwaway term of endearment that gets picked in the heat of the moment.
Maybe he did that on purpose.
Maybe you really like it.
You open your mouth, ready to warn him, but your orgasm tears through you unexpectedly and instead your voice breaks over the words, splintering into the air as your vision blurs and your body gives in, jolting with pleasure in his hold.
You must have been too loud because when your senses start to return, you realize Joel's mouth is covering yours. But then a second later he's coming with a muffled groan of your name and you don't really care anymore because the hot throb of his cock between your legs is all you want to think about. At some point you pull his hand away from your clit, too overstimulated to take any more, but he's lost in his own hazy pleasure, still riding out his orgasm with weak, stunted rolls of his hips. You know it's over when a shudder rockets down his spine and his grip around your middle loosens, but you both still lay there, intertwined and breathless.
"Christ," he finally rasps, resting his sweaty forehead on your shoulder as he pants for air. You wince a bit when he drops your leg and immediately flex the joints to encourage circulation to return. Then his breath begins to level out and you feel the soft graze of his mouth over your skin before he sweeps the hair out of your eyes. "You okay, darlin'? Still with me?"
"Mhm," you reply, but your eyes are closed and your limbs are boneless, suggesting otherwise. "Think I need a nap," you mumble, then smile when you feel his fingers drift carefully over your face, like he's memorizing it. A deep chuckle rumbles from his chest, you can feel it pressed against your back, jolting your body with his as he quietly laughs and kisses your cheek.
"You can stay here as long as you want," he says before shifting his hips back. His cock slips out of you and you make a soft noise but otherwise remain still. "Any time you want, for that matter."
"Asking me to move in already?" you giggle into the pillow.
"If it means I get to wake up to this every day, I'll start packin' your shit right now."
"You're crazy," you sigh before rolling onto your back. You're stiff as hell but you feel good. So, so good. Your eyes flutter open to find Joel leaning on his elbow, looking down at you with the dopey smile that shows off those goddamn dimples.
"Ain't my fault. You make me crazy."
"So it's my fault?"
"Yeah. Fuckin'—minx," he grins before cupping your cheek and kissing you so sweetly you almost forget he just fucked the life out of you like an animal. Almost.
You hum happily when he pecks a few small kisses against your lips, deciding to just let yourself enjoy the moment without worrying or overthinking or panicking or... any of the other bullshit you're prone to doing.
"I'm stealing this shirt," you whisper with your eyes closed, plucking feebly at the shirt he dressed you in the night before. His mouth twitches, you can feel the sharp bristles of his beard before he speaks.
"Anythin' you want, it's yours."
Your eyes pop open and give him a mischievous look. "Anything?"
He nods very seriously. "Anythin'."
You tap your chin for a moment before raising an eyebrow, which he returns as he waits for your request.
"How about breakfast?"
"What do you like?"
"Do you have eggs?"
"I do."
"And toast?"
"Got it."
"Extra butter?"
Joel laughs and pushes himself up. Your eyes trail over his stark naked body as he strolls casually to his bathroom.
"Comin' right up, honey."
He disappears into the room to dispose of the condom and clean himself up while you stretch out happily in his bed, like a cat in the sun. When he returns, he goes to his dresser for some clothes and you watch lazily as he gets himself ready.
"Alright, so," he says brightly, "eggs, toast with extra butter, and sausage. You stay right here—"
"I didn't say anything about sausage."
"Didn't have to. Know you already love it." Then he winks at you and you groan in disgust.
"You're gross."
"Ain't what you were sayin' twenty minutes ago."
You throw a pillow in his general direction and he ducks, missing the impact with a laugh. But when he reaches for the doorknob, you suddenly sit up in bed and clear your throat.
"Wait—"
He glances back at you and drops his arm to his side. He's still smiling and it makes you smile, too, because you put that smile on his face. You made him feel happy.
So, with only a slight tremor to your voice, you square your shoulders and swallow your nerves.
"I... have a crush on you."
His eyes slowly brighten and his smile widens. He takes a step forward, back in your direction, but then stops.
"You like me." It's not a question.
"I do."
"How much?"
Your mouth twists and you frown as if you're thinking, then hold up your thumb and forefinger, measuring about an inch of space between the two. "This much?"
"Bullshit," Joel laughs, and you can't help it. You laugh too, drop your hand in your lap, and tilt your head to the side.
"Yeah. You're right. That was bullshit."
And this time, he doesn't hold himself back. He crosses the room in three long strides and bends down, fists sinking into the mattress on either side of your hips, and he kisses you. It's firm and sweet and made all the better by your matching smiles. When he pulls away, your nose bumps gently against his when you speak.
"I like you a lot."
"I know," he whispers, taking away any chance of there being an awkward, vulnerable moment, then gives you one more quick kiss before straightening up.
"I'll be back," he tells you, turning towards the door once again. "Get some rest. I got a feelin' you'll like me even more after breakfast, you'll need your strength."
"Shut up," you giggle, falling into his sheets. The door opens then shuts and you lay there, content, surrounded by his scent and his things and his clothes. It's scary, you know that, but you can't stop yourself. It feels so good to be with him. And, hell, maybe he actually is different.
How else will you know unless you give it a try?
"Tommy! You left the goddamn door unlocked again!"
"Jesus, Joel, my fuckin' head—"
Then there's shuffling and grunting downstairs that sounds way too familiar and your eyes open to stare, unamused, at the ceiling.
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A Dave rambling—because my brain is forever like ✨🥰Dave York husband🥰✨
David’s the kind of husband to run into the room when he hears you scream, a thousand thoughts running through his mind as he tears the house apart to get to you, and you’re standing there, close to tears, pouting at the eight legged monster on the wall and he’s all relieved because, well, no ones in the fucking house with a gun to your head or anything. Thank god. You’re safe.
And you think, yay I’m saved, Dave’s here. So you ask him to get rid of it and he’s just like, “Me? What do you want me to do?” and that’s when you find out your big tough cookie husband is afraid of spiders as well and you both stand there arguing about it. He wants to kill it, spray it with whatever shit you have crowding the bathroom counters, but you’re adamant in your decision that it deserves to live and be free in the garden.
He’s fucking soft on you, okay? So yeah. The fucking thing lives, much to his disgust. You both are mumbling praises of support to each other as one of you covers it with a glass and the other slides a bit of paper underneath and when he walks back in (after releasing the fucking beast), you’re just all over him about how brave he is and how much you love him and—
Ex Joel Miller x f!reader x bf Dave York || 880 words
Drabble for Table for Three series || can be read alone
Summary: the three of you have some ice cream fun
Tw: 18+, smut, food play, horny reader, mfm vibes, not specified age gap, dom/sub dynamic, daddy kink, praise kink, light degradation, voyeurism, f!masturbation, being naughty in public (not caught), cum eating, pet names (baby, kitten, babygirl, sweetheart). Pics are for the mood only, reader wears a dress, but has no specific physical descriptions.
A/n: thank you to @survivingandenduring for the ice cream socializer ask, which inspired this drabble😘 I’m so horny for these two it’s ridiculous. Dividers by @saradika-graphics 💕 Love you all❤️
Table for Three || Who’s your Daddy? || MASTERLIST
You’re sitting on Dave’s lap in a little outdoor cafe. It’s pretty empty and you wish they could play with you right then and there, like they’ve done before. Joel’s manspreading on the chair next to you, smirking at the way you squirm on top of your boyfriend’s thighs. But how can you sit still when his huge cock is right under the place you need him the most? You feel your naked pussy get wet and fear you’re going to soak through your thin summer dress.
Joel’s smug face mocks your need and you scoff, glancing into his ice cream bowl that he’s ordered,
“Chocolate, pff, boring.” You roll your eyes and add, “You should try something new once in a while, Joel.”
“I tend to enjoy things I always loved.” His voice, calm and gruff, makes your pussy throb, and you avert your eyes under his intense stare.
“Kitten, put your claws away,” Dave tells you with a smile but Joel knows you’re trying to rile him up.
“It’s ok, Dave. I love a little bit of scratchin’. She used to do a lot on my back when I was giving it to her good.”
“Or I was just trying to make you lift all your suffocating weight off me,” you retort, pouting your lips. You’re horny and hot and want them to finally fuck you.
Joel chuckles, shaking his head, and Dave sighs, his hot breath fanning your neck. You turn your face to him and peck his cheek with an apologetic smile.
“Sorry, daddy, I’ll be good now.”
“I know you will, baby.”
You turn back to Joel and see him take a spoonful of the ice cream and shove it in his mouth. He swallows the treat and then slowly licks the spoon clean, not taking his eyes off you. You’re mesmerized by his tongue gliding over the shiny metal. You imagine his sweet lips on your body, his wet tongue sliding between your folds and suddenly the air gets too stuffy around you, Dave’s body is too hot against yours and you take a few deep breaths, trying to calm down.
Joel narrows his piercing eyes and asks, “Got too hot for you, sweetheart?” He motions at the cold treat and adds, “want to cool off?”
“I have mine,” you look at the pistachio flavored dessert on the table in front of you — Dave’s favorite.
“C’mon, babygirl, just a lick,” Joel tempts you, “Good old chocolate ice cream.”
You lick your lower lip before biting it, and turn to Dave, searching for his reaction. Dave rubs your bare thigh with his big hand and says,
“Go ahead, kitten, you deserve a treat.”
He bucks his hips and your whole body rises up and you feel him big and stiff under your ass cheek.
“Fuck,” you curse under your breath, feeling yourself gush more. Then you look back at Joel whose dark gaze makes you burn up even more.
You expect him to feed you his ice cream with a spoon but instead he slides his index finger through the dessert, scoops some and brings it to your lips.
You have no time to think as it’s about to drip on your pretty dress so you hastily wrap your lips around his thick digit. It tastes amazing and you close your eyes with a moan, while your tongue is swirling around his finger, gathering all the ice cream off his skin.
“Someone’s hungry,” you hear Dave smirk and your pussy aches with need as the men laugh.
“Lick it all off, sweetheart, I don't want my hand to be all sticky.”
“Yes, kitten, suck on it better,” your boyfriend encourages you.
Then they both watch your tongue and lips dance around Joel’s finger, as you revel in the taste of the chocolate and your ex’s skin. You’re loudly slurping and whimpering with pleasure.
“Good girl,” Joel praises you, slowly moving his digit back and forth between your lips.
Suddenly you gasp, when Dave's hand slithers under your dress and he finds your wet and bare cunt under there.
“My perfect little slut,” Dave groans against your neck as his fingers dip between your folds and he begins stroking your clit.
Joel pulls your dress up slightly, so he could see your pussy and then pulls his finger out of your eager mouth. You whine but in a moment your ex covers your mouth with his and kisses you, tasting the chocolatey sweetness off your tongue.
Dave gently nibbles on your shoulder, twirling your clit, and soon you come as Joel swallows your moans and your boyfriend prolongs your orgasm, rubbing your pulsating clit with his fingers.
When your climax passes, you part from Joel and Dave’s hand leaves your drenched pussy. With half lidded eyes you watch him lick your juices off his fingers.
Joel palms his huge bulge and asks you, “by the way, what’s your favorite flavour, babygirl?”
“Pistachio,” you reply, giving Dave a soft smile. Then you look back at Joel, your eyes glinting with mischief, and add, “But sometimes I crave chocolate.”
Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic💖🌸
Table for Three || Who’s your Daddy? || Masterlist
Tag list for Joel and Dave @bonezone44 @janaispunk @neverwheremoonchild @survivingandenduring @tammythr @604to647 @baronessvonglitter @psychicsheepstranger @disregardedplant @shessweetsour @merz-8
If you'd like to be tagged in my future fics, let me know!💖
Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, mfm (kinda), not specified age gap, dom/sub dynamic, daddy kink, praise kink, light degradation, squirting, m!oral, f/m masturbation, cum eating, voyeurism, exhibitionism, pet names (baby, kitten, babygirl, sweetie). Pics are for the mood only, reader has hair, but no other specific physical descriptions.
A/n: I saw that video and had to write this. Pedro is such a menace! Warm hugs to @iamasaddie for the gif in the m/b❤️Kisses to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing💖 Dividers by @saradika-graphics 💕 Hope you’ll like it! Love you all😘
Pt 1 TABLE FOR THREE || GET A TASTE || MASTERLIST
“Who’s your daddy?”
“Fuck off, Joel, you know it’s not you.”
Joel is Face Timing you while you’re still lying in bed in the early afternoon after a night of passionate fucking with your boyfriend Dave.
You are surprised by your ex’s call but can’t deny that after last week when you sucked him off at a restaurant, meanwhile sitting on Dave’s cock, the surprise is pleasant.
Joel’s in his bedroom, judging by the background, and he looks so hot, you immediately gush. His hair is slicked back, chocolatey eyes sparking with mischief and his five day stubble is calling to be rubbed against your pussy.
“Yeah, I know Dave’s your dom daddy now. Is he with ya?”
“Dom daddy,” you snicker, rolling your eyes, “you watch too much porn, Joel.”
“Yeah, ya think I’m beating my own meat every day, cryin’ over you, babe?
“Aren’t you?”
You both stare at each other but Joel cracks first as a smile tugs at his lips and you both laugh. After a few moments you remember the question he asked.
“Dave’s in the kitchen. Why are you calling? I thought you had me blocked. Or vice versa.”
“Well, i reckon, none of us could say ‘goodbye’”.
“Oh, I can now. Bye, Joel!”
“Wait, wait, baby,” he gruffs hastily through the phone speaker, stopping you from hanging up.
“What?”
“I need to ask ya somethin’. ‘s important”. He narrows his eyes, his expression is serious.
“What is it?”
Joel’s squinting at you for a few seconds while you’re taking in his combed back curls, his handsome tanned face, broad shoulders under a plaid shirt. Every time he talks, his voice makes your pussy tingle, sounding even sexier through the phone. Finally he breaks the silence.
“What are you wearin’?”
You can’t help but laugh.
“You’re an asshole, Joel.”
“I’m just a man in love.”
You giggle, raising your brows and shaking your head in disbelief.
“You hated me a few days ago.”
“I did, baby. But I let the past go.”
You take a deep breath, feeling your guilt for what you did years ago slightly lifted off your heart.
“So?” He presses.
“I’m not telling you, Joel.”
“Ok, then just show me.”
You bite your lip, contemplating your next move. Your eyes dart to the door where you hear Dave, making breakfast for you two. You don’t think he would mind you flirting with your ex a little, considering he let you give the older man a handie in front of him. Besides, you look very cute in your sexy nightie with nothing else underneath so you change the angle of the phone so Joel could peek at your body, splayed on the bed, a blanket covering just a part of your leg.
You hear a whistle and your heart sings.
“Pretty, babygirl. Did he buy it for ya?”
“He did,” you reply with defiance in your voice.
“‘s he rich?”
“Dave’s doing fine. But I’m with him not because of money if that’s what you’re implying.”
“Ain’t implying anythin’.”
Then you just look at each other as the air in the rooms gets heavier and a light flirting morphs into something else. Joel breaks the silence first.
“I’m happy for you, sweetheart.”
You haven’t expected that and suddenly your throat gets squeezed with emotions.
“Thank you, Joel,” you say softly.
“Who are you talking to?”
Dave walks into the room with two mugs of coffee and the aroma quickly fills the bedroom. He’s wearing a gray tee and a pair of sweatpants.
“Joel’s FaceTiming me.”
“Joel?” Dave repeats with his brows raised.
He puts the coffees on the nightstand and lies down next to you and your mouth waters as his scent engulfs you.
You shift the position of the phone so Joel could see you both and Dave greets your ex.
“Joel says that he’s happy for me,” you tell your boyfriend with excitement in your voice.
“Oh, thank you, Joel. I’m glad that you two solved your past issues.”
“Her apology really helped, man. I wouldn’t say no to another one though.”
Joel winks at you and Dave smirks, “I understand. She’s very good at apologizing.”
Your eyes are darting between the two men. You can’t shake the feeling of wanting them both and your pussy tingles with desire. Dave’s body pressed to yours sends a surge of arousal to your core and you feel the cold air of the room on your bare wet folds and shiver with excitement. Joel is making you even hornier. He looks hot and masculine with his slightly wet hair. He must have had a shower.
For a second you remember how he made you squirt for the first time. On his knees in the shower in front of you he licked at your pussy and sucked your clit until your legs started trembling but he didn’t stop and began pumping his thick fingers into you, curving them and pushing on that sweet spot in your burning core. In no time you were spraying your juices everywhere, his hand squelching against your folds as he was repeatedly hitting your clit with the heel of his palm. Only your hands on his broad shoulders helped you not to collapse on the floor.
“Kitten!”
Dave calls you, not for the first time apparently, and you blink at him trying to shake the images of the past that were occupying your mind just a second ago.
Joel laughs, “Babygirl, were you thinking of us just now?”
“No,” you mumble, averting your eyes from both of them.
“You’re lying,” Dave says, not asking, and you see his gaze darken. It’s filled with curiosity and lust.
“Tell me what you were thinking about.”
“I—I just,” you stutter, looking at one man and then the other.
“It’s ok, kitten. You two had a past. Daddy wants to know.”
You swallow loudly and reply, “I was remembering—.” It’s so quiet in the room. “—how Joel made me squirt for the first time.”
Joel’s smug grin can be seen from fucking space. He looks sickeningly proud of himself and you immediately regret telling them.
Dave smiles carnally, as if he was waiting for that, and asks,
“How did it happen?”
“In the shower. He ate me out and fingered me.”
Dave turns his face to your phone and asks Joel, “Did you plan on doing it?”
“Yeah, I wanted her to squirt all over me. Does she squirt with you?”
“Yes, she’s a talented girl. Thank you for giving her her first time,” your boyfriend says to your ex and you’re afraid that you’re going to soak through your nightie. But Dave doesn’t give you a respite.
“Kitten, say ‘thank you’ to Joel.”
“Thank you, Joel,” you purr obediently and the older man winks at you through the screen.
“You’re welcome, babygirl.”
You see Dave adjust himself and notice that his prominent bulge has grown even bigger since he joined you two on the bed. He’s enjoying Joel’s call just as much as you are.
Not being able to wait any longer, you get closer to your boyfriend and put your head on his shoulder. With your big eyes looking up at him, batting your lashes the way you know makes his cock twitch, you ask,
“Can we fuck, daddy?”
You hear Joel curse under his breath and then groan. It’s clear that he wishes to be here with you.
“It’s a little rude, baby,” Dave chides you, “We haven’t finished talking to our friend, have we?”
You whine, pouting your lips and he turns to you and pecks your nose.
“How about you put your pretty mouth on my cock and I’ll talk to Joel.”
You hear Joel’s half chuckle-half grunt and almost drool at the suggestion and swiftly reply with an ‘ok, daddy.”
Then you give Dave your phone and climb down the bed, getting comfortable between your boyfriend’s legs, your head hovering over his huge bulge.
“We can talk, Joel, but maybe you’d like to watch as well?”
You don’t see your ex but you know his eyes are obsidian with lust right now.
“Fuck, yeah. Show me what our— your little slut is up to.”
Dave presses the reverse camera button and positions it with his big hands so Joel can see you perfectly.
By now you have already freed Dave’s semi hard cock and it twitches as you’re holding it inches from your lips. You smile at the camera and give Joel a wink.
“Show daddies what that mouth’s good for,” Joel encourages you and Dave smirks, “You’re right. Sucking cock is truly her calling.”
Eager to prove them right you wrap your hand around the base of Dave’s cock tighter, open your lips and circle them around the fat head.
Your boyfriend bucks his hips, impatient to slide his whole length into your mouth, but you decide to give them both a show so you lick a wet languid stripe from the base of Dave’s cock to the weeping tip, covering the underside with your warm saliva.
Then you kitten-lick the slit, gathering his clear precum, and a moan escapes your lips at the taste, as you flutter your eyes shut.
“Shit, Dave, ya lucky bastard.”
“Her mouth is fucking heaven, Joel. Baby, show our friend what you can do to daddy’s balls.”
You smile and nod, before lowering your head. Your hand is still holding Dave’s cock but your tongue is now licking at your boyfriend’s balls, and you tilt your head to get a better angle.
“Fuck, babygirl. Doin’ real good,” you hear Joel’s praise, followed by a sound of a zipper.
Your ears immediately perk up and you ask, parting from Dave’s balls for a moment,
“Joel, are you gonna jerk off?”
“‘m afraid so, sweetheart. If Dave doesn’t mind.”
“I don’t, Joel,” Dave says, his half lidded eyes shifting between you, gliding your cheek against his cock, and the man on the screen, “let’s see if this little slut can make two men come. A bit of a challenge for my kitten.”
You purr at his words, feeling your heated pussy ache with need and pressing your thighs together.
“Can I touch myself, daddy?” You ask as impatience paints your words.
“Not yet, baby. Work my balls a little more and maybe I’ll let you come.”
The hope is all you need so you get back to Dave’s heavy balls and start sucking on them, licking the seam and then open your jaw wide to take one in your mouth. As you’re rolling it with your tongue, you hear Joel’s growling and the sound of him fucking his fist.
Dave’s eyes are set on your lips wrapped around his ball but from time to time his gaze flicks to the phone where Joel is pumping his cock and you moan at the fact that the image of your ex, pleasuring himself turns on your boyfriend.
Dave’s dominant, always controls the situation, but you’ve noticed that he loves seeing what you do to other men, how much you affect them. You suspect that’s one of the reasons why he loves such a giant slut like you.
“Ok, kitten, get to the main course,” Dave commands and you part from his ball with a pop so you could give his cock your full attention.
Through the squelching sounds coming through the speaker you hear Joel encouraging you,
“Yeah, deepthroat that cock, babygirl. Still can’t forget how good you could swallow me. Remember, sweetie?”
You slightly nod with your boyfriend's tip already breaching your puffy lips. You unhinge your jaw and slowly take him all in, soon nuzzling his trimmed hair. Dave groans and clenches your hair with a tight grip, gently rolling his hips to help you swallow him.
“That’s my good girl. Take everything I give you. Make daddy proud.”
Your throat contracts around your boyfriend’s cock while the fap-fap-fap noises, coming from the phone, are getting faster.
“Fuck, Dave, are we gonna come at the same time?”
Dave chuckles as his dark eyes almost close with pleasure.
“Yeah, I’m gonna feed it to her soon. Get ready.”
“Let’s do it, man,” Joel almost moans.
“You too, kitten. Play with your little pussy. Bet it’s so messy right now.”
You take Dave’s cock out of your mouth and croak, “Thank you, daddy.”
To give them both the best view, you lift your ass in the air, getting on your knees, and the bottom of your nightie slides down to your waist. Now Dave and Joel can see your naked ass as a background of the blowie. Your hand slithers to your pussy and your fingers dip between your folds. Dave’s right — you’re dripping like a faucet.
You easily insert two fingers into your hole as your mouth swallows Dave’s cock again. You start plunging your digits in and out of your warm cunt, slightly rolling your hips while your head bobs as you’re massaging Dave’s manhood.
The groans of your boyfriend and your ex fill the room, mixing with your muffled moans and whimpers.
Dave’s leaking a lot into your eager mouth and you know he’s close.
“Fuck, if I was there with ya, we’d fuck all your holes, babygirl,” Joel grunts, his teeth clenched, as he’s probably trying not to bust his load just yet.
“Would you take her ass or her pussy, Joel?” Dave asks and your cunt clenches around your own fingers.
“You’d share her with me like that?” Joel asks.
“I’m a generous host, Joel. You can choose.”
“I’d fuck her pussy, pal. I miss it more than anything. She’s sloppy all the fucking time. Loved her sweet cunt.”
“‘k, I’d be fine with the ass. I work her open fast now. She sometimes wears a plug. Pretty little toy. We’ll show you one day.”
“Be happy to see it.”
Your ex and your boyfriend’s discussion about fucking your holes like you’re their mindless fuck toy is the final drop in a full glass of your pleasure and you overflow with ecstasy as your pussy spills squirt all over your hand, between your thighs and on the bed under you while you’re moaning loudly around Dave’s cock.
The vibrations of your throat and your euphoric expression makes him explode too and he satisfies your thirst, spurting his cum down your throat. Dave gives you so much, you almost choke on his thick load but swallow it swiftly again and again.
“Fuck yeah, babygirl, drink it up,” Joel groans, probably seeing the creamy seed, seeping out of the corners of your lips, and makes a loud grunt, the sound so familiar and dear to you.
You know he’s coming.
The noises from the speaker get wetter and you regret not being able to taste your ex too.
When you take everything Dave gives you, you pull your mouth away from his cock and rest your head on his hairy thigh, catching your breath and licking your puffy lips.
“You did it, kitten. You made us both come. And at the same time,” Dave praises you, gently patting your head, and you purr, closing your eyes with satisfaction. Your body is pleasantly tingling after a great orgasm.
“Can I talk to her, Dave?” you hear Joel’s tired voice and lift your head up.
“Of course,” Dave turns the screen to you and you see your ex’s face on the screen, cheeks redder than before, his eyes hazy. He smiles at you warmly and rasps,
“Thank you, babygirl. I enjoyed the show. Now I need another shower,” he laughs and you and Dave both follow.
“Ok, Joel, was good talking to you. Among other things,” Dave says, turning the phone back at him, “We should meet. We have a lot to discuss. And share.”
“Yeah, Dave. Any time.”
The promise of them both fucking you makes your pussy tingle again and you bite your lip, already daydreaming about it.
Dave hangs up and throws your phone on the bed.
“I’m proud of you, kitten. You did great. Now go get your prize and sit on daddy’s face. Let me clean this messy pussy.”
You almost squeal with excitement, immediately following his order.
Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic, it motivates me to write more stories for you, lovelies!💖🌺
Also tagging some wonderful people who might be interested❤️ @bonezone44 @janaispunk @neverwheremoonchild @survivingandenduring @tammythr @604to647 @baronessvonglitter
If you'd like to be tagged in my future fics, let me know!💕
Summary: you’re having a great time on your date but a man from your past interrupts it and makes it…better?
Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, mfm, not specified age gap, dom/sub dynamic, infidelity (reader’s, in the past), manhandling, daddy kink, praise kink, size kink, degradation, slut shaming, m!oral, cum eating, mutual masturbation, unprotected piv (wrap it up), creampie, light spanking, voyeurism, exhibitionism (they don’t get caught),mention of violence, pet names (baby, kitten, babygirl, sweetheart). Pics are for the mood only, reader has no specific physical descriptions.
A/n: this is filthy, y’all. Big thank you to an insanely talented writer @bonezone44 for inspiring me with this post. Smooching and hugging @milla-frenchy for beta-ing and screaming about this story with me. Love you all, hope you’ll enjoy it!💖 dividers by @saradika-graphics
MASTERLIST
Your boyfriend Dave and you are having dinner in your favorite restaurant. Your regular booth is tucked in a corner, hidden from the prying eye of the other guests. You two love coming here because you can enjoy each other without being seen, thanks to the tall backrests. Now you’re laughing, kissing and Dave’s hand is resting on your upper thigh, barely covered by your short skirt. His thumb is caressing your soft skin and your mind brings you back to the night before when he was railing you while you were sucking on the thick finger and moaning like a whore.
Suddenly a man plops on the seat in front of you with a smug smile.
Joel fucking Miller.
‘Shit, shit, shit,’ you repeat in your head as your heart freezes.
“Hello, sweetheart. Knew it was you. Saw you in the window passing by.”
He motions somewhere to the right of you and you inwardly curse his sharp eye.
“Want to introduce us, baby?” Dave asks with a cold tone in his voice and throws his arm around you in a possessive gesture.
You clear your throat and say as calmly as possible while panic twists your stomach.
“It’s Joel Miller, my— ehm, old friend.”
Joel chuckles, “Well, if old friends fuck like rabbits and live together for 3 years then I guess I’m that.”
He keeps laughing as you’re boring your eyes into him.
“Joel is my ex,” you admit, highlighting the last word with an expression of disgust on your face.
“Ex?” Dave repeats, narrowing his eyes and taking in the man sitting in front of him — older than him, much older than you, a broad torso under a worn out denim shirt, a big fist resting on the table and by the look of it, the man works with his hands. Joel seems to be calm and confident, but judging by the way you tensed, the break up wasn’t pleasant.
“Would never imagine you with a guy like that, sweetheart,” Joel says with a smug smile.
“And what guy am I?” Dave’s voice is coated with steel.
“Not like me, pal. I’m a simple working man, and this one always went for sweaty dirty men like me. You’re all suited up,” his piercing eyes slide to you and he asks, “Shootin’ out of your league, sweetie?”
“Fuck you,” you bite back and Joel smirks. You wanna slap his face so much but Dave takes your chin between his fingers, turns your head to him and looks into your eyes. His gaze under the furrowed brows scares and excites you.
“I’ll handle it.”
“Ok, Dave,” you mewl with a little nod and return your eyes to your troublesome ex.
“It’s her business who she dates. And mine. I guess your relationship ended badly, and I’m sorry, but shit happens, man. Move on.”
It’s so hot how calm he is and you feel your core burn with desire.
Dave pulls you closer to him with his arm still resting on your shoulder and rubs your collar bone with his thumb. Joel’s eyes follow his movements and he rasps,
“Don’t be sorry for me, pal. I’m fine now but ya gonna get burned if you don’t drop this slut.”
“You motherfucking piece—,” you sit up ready to start a fight but Dave’s hand, that a second ago was caressing your skin, flies to your throat and he pushes you back to the seat, not squeezing your neck but holding you seated by his side.
He shushes you and you can’t help but gush.
It’s a usual thing for him to be rough with you in bed, you love the way he manhandles you, breaks you every time you fuck, little by little, making you his. But he has never shown this side of him out of the bedroom. The idea that he’s so dominant with you around people sends electricity of arousal through your body.
With widened eyes you see Joel’s lips twist in a satisfied smile and anger burns your insides with a scolding ire. Only your boyfriend’s steady voice slightly calms you down.
“Joel, you seem like a reasonable man. What would you do if some asshole interrupted your date and started calling your girlfriend a slut. What I would probably do is break his jaw and then his legs.”
Not losing his smug smile, even after hearing your boyfriend’s threat, Joel raises his hands in front of his chest and explains,
“I don’t want any problems with you— it’s Dave, right? I’m doin’ you a favor. Givin’ you advice. Keep away from this minx. She’s good to look at and great to fuck but she’ll use you and then sleep with half of your crew.”
You curse and Dave puts his palm over your mouth. It’s big and warm and you feel your panties soak more.
“Crew?”
“I work in construction. I found out this bitch had slept with half of my team. Married guys, single. She was a hungry slut and I don’t think anything changed.”
He laughs and you try to take Dave’s hand off your mouth but he grabs your wrists with his strong fingers and keeps your hands on your lap.
“Sit still and let me listen, kitten. Or daddy will be angry.”
You swallow loudly, as your nostrils flare and pussy aches. Only your eyes can move now, darting between the two men.
“I like you, Dave, you have her under your thumb. I was too soft and kind with her. And women like her don’t appreciate kindness.”
Joel’s eyes shift between you and Dave as he continues, “Don't tell me you haven’t noticed. ‘s her nature. Her needy cunt always craves a fat cock. And oh boy, she always knows how to find it.”
You growl under Dave’s palm and he tightens his grip in warning.
“Shh,” he whispers in your ear and then turns to Joel with his eyes narrowed.
“I believe you.”
You hum in protest, wriggling in Dave’s steel embrace, and he takes his hand off your mouth.
“Dave, don’t listen to him, he’s just jealous.”
Joel chuckles, shaking his head.
“You can’t deny the truth, sweetheart. I caught you with a guy’s dick in your mouth, my friend’s dick. And then I beat the truths about your affairs out of the others.”
You glance at Dave with scared eyes but he isn’t looking at you. His pensive gaze is set on Joel.
Then he turns his face to you and blood freezes in your veins.
“I did notice how you looked at the waiter just now, kitten. And that bartender. I know you gave him your number.”
You shake your head, opening your mouth to protest, but he interrupts you.
“Joel isn’t lying. I can tell.”
“He is! I didn’t …”
“Enough!”
You immediately shut your mouth, as soon as Dave slightly raises his voice. He trained you well after all.
“Fuck, good job, man. Look at her. So obedient but still a little feisty.”
Dave smirks and you see pride in his eyes when he hears your ex’s words.
“And she knows how to take cock, huh?” Joel looks at you, adjusting a bulge in his jeans.
You’re glaring at him but your mind bursts with images from your past, him pounding into you, his huge cock stretching you so deliciously and then pumping you full of his thick cum. His skilful fingers could make you explode in minutes and you’d never forget the way he ate your pussy. Dave is perfect in bed but Joel was unforgettable.
“Look at ‘er, she’s probably creamin’ right now, the way she’s starin’ at me.”
Dave smirks darkly and looks you over.
“Let’s find out.”
With that he shifts in his seat, slightly turning his big body to you, and his hand on your thigh slides up and under the hem of your skirt.
“Dave”, you breathe in sharply, widened eyes looking at him.
“Shh, baby, I’m just gonna check.”
His hand pulls your skirt up and he sees your black lacy panties. Joel grunts and leans forward placing his big hairy forearms on the table so he could see what Dave is doing.
Your boyfriend’s thick fingers slip under your panties and you blurt out,
“I’m wet because of you, Dave.”
“Is that so, kitten?” Dave asks but doesn’t look at you. His dark gaze is set on your clothed cunt as he pulls your panties to the side, exposing you to his and Joel’s eyes.
“Fuck, Dave, you’re the man,” Joel praises your boyfriend and you see hunger in the older man’s eyes. You’re so turned on right now, you know you’re dripping.
Dave tsks when he spreads your folds apart and your cunt blooms for them - your clit throbbing, skin glistening with your slick. The cold air hits your pussy and you softly moan.
“Dave, people could see,” you whine and try to close your legs but Dave’s hand stops you and you feel his lips at your temple when he says, loud enough for Joel to hear,
“Let’s ask your old friend to sit next to you and cover you from the passers-by. Will you feel more comfortable, baby?”
You glance up at Joel and though you hate his guts, you can’t deny that you want the fucker.
You nod and Joel’s lips stretch into a wide carnal grin.
He gets up and you salivate at the sight of the huge bulge in his jeans. You desperately want to see his cock, touch it, lick it, su—
Dave interrupts your thoughts, shifting to the side and pulling you with him to make room for Joel. The seat is meant for two people and when Joel plops next to you, turning to you a little, your body gets sandwiched between their huge frames. You feel so small, so helpless around the two men and your clit twitches as the arousal floods your core.
With your pussy still out in the open, you glance at Joel when he wraps his arm around your waist and fans your cheek and chest with his hot breath. The familiar scent of cigarettes, whiskey and Joel's musk hits your nose and you quietly whimper.
“Missed me, babygirl?” He’s leaning to you and you move away, pressing your body closer to Dave.
Your boyfriend reads you like a book. He knows that you’re acting skittish but it’s just a facade. You want it, you want them both.
“Baby, you did wrong by Joel. I think we need to apologize. How about we let him play with your pussy? Daddy won’t be mad, I promise.”
You look into Dave’s eyes and see that he’s not lying.
“Ok, daddy,” you purr and Joel barks a laugh.
“Told you she always wants it. Our little slut.”
You bite your lip hearing ‘our’ but Dave shakes his head.
“She’s mine, Joel, don’t forget that. But I see that she hurt you, and you have a right to punish her. Use her however you want.”
Joel throws him a nod. “That’s fair.”
With that his big calloused hand cups your pussy and slightly squeezes it. You look at Dave as he watches your ex’s hand touch you and his blown out eyes send another surge of wetness into Joel’s palm.
“I missed your sweet cunt, babygirl,” Joel whispers in your ear while his middle finger slips between your folds and he prods your soaking entrance.
“Fuck, she’s so wet, Dave. I remember how she used to soak me, her slick was fuckin’ everywhere. Wonder if she tastes the same.”
You see his finger leave your pussy as he brings it to his mouth and licks it clean.
Dave groans and you moan, watching Joel taste you.
Suddenly you feel a slap on your pulsating clit and you jerk, crying out a little too loudly. You cover your mouth with your palm, scared that the people will notice what the men are doing to you but Joel and Dave only chuckle.
“I fucked her last week in a changing room and she moaned like a little slut but now she’s all embarrassed.”
“I loved it about her. She looks so innocent but when you get her going… fuck, she jus’ loses her mind at the sight of a cock.”
You feel your cheeks burn but Dave doesn’t give you a chance to wallow in your delicious shame and inserts two thick fingers into your wet hole.
You moan his name and he kisses your cheek, before he begins sliding them in and out of you in steady rhythm, whispering obscenities in your ear,
“My little slut,” “bet people can see us”, “you don’t care, right?”, “I know you’d make us fuck you right in front of everyone”, “play with our cocks, baby, c’mon.”
When you hear his command, your hand immediately darts to his bulge and you hastily unbuckle his belt with one hand, open his dress pants and pull out his stiffening cock out of his boxers.
“Don’t forget about your friend, kitten,” Dave rasps, spreading his legs wider, and you unzip Joel’s jeans and take out his already hard manhood.
Their cocks are exposed now and standing at attention, both gorgeous, long and thick. Joel’s is a bit girthier, but you salivate looking at both of them. You can’t deny it, you have a great taste in men.
You spit on your hands and grab Dave’s member with your left hand and Joel’s with your right. They both grunt, when you start sliding your hand up and down their throbbing cocks and you revel in the sense of control they’re giving you. Their slits are leaking on your skin and you glide your palm over their fat tips, gathering their precum to make the cocks wetter.
You’re a mess yourself, the seat under you is getting slippery because of the juices seeping out of your pussy, thanks to your boyfriend’s fingers.
Joel is softly growling, watching your hand pump his cock and Dave working your cunt. “Fuck, I missed you so much, babygirl,” he admits and grabs the neckline of your top. He tugs it down exposing your naked breasts, your perked up mipples and Joel takes one between his index finger and a thumb and shakes his hand up and down. You whimper at the pain that swiftly morphs into pleasure while your tit is bouncing. Joel hunches down and takes it into his hot mouth, gently sucking on it. Your hand flies to run through his hair and your eyes flutter shut, as your climax approaches.
“Come for us, kitten. Soak my fingers,” Dave orders and Joel pushes you over the edge when his fingers find your pulsating clit and he swirls it with his pads while his mouth is still latched on your puffy nipple. Both Dave and Joel are playing with your cunt and soon you’re writhing between them, as waves of euphoria are lapping at your body. You try not to scream but it’s almost impossible, so you bite your lips till you taste blood, desperately trying to hide your ecstasy from the people in the restaurant.
When your orgasm subsides and you slump in your seat, breathing heavily, Joel’s mouth leaves your breast and their fingers part from your messy pussy.
You languidly stroke their cocks, feeling them thrum in your hands.
Dave turns your face to him and kisses you, licking into your mouth, claiming you as his in front of the other man. While your lips and tongues are caressing each other, you hear Joel almost moan from the pleasure your hand is giving him and you part from your boyfriend to whisper,
“He’s gonna come soon, daddy.”
“Want his cum, kitten?”
You nod and he smiles.
“Sit on my cock so I can fill you up. And give your mouth to Joel.”
“Yes, daddy.”
You fix your top and Dave helps you to sit on his stiff member. You both moan at the sensation but Joel curses at the absence of your hand on his ready-to-explode cock.
When you lean down, bringing your mouth to his length, the older man coos, “what a good little slut. Want my load, babygirl?” You look up at him and breathe out a sultry ‘yes’.
“C’mon, milk our cocks, kitten,” Dave commands with a light slap on your ass and you clench around him, making him grunt.
You take Joel’s manhood in your mouth and it’s like those years apart didn’t happen. The taste of his skin, the shape of his cock are so familiar you moan, thinking how much you missed it.
Dave slowly rolls his hips into you, holding your hips with his strong hands and his length slides in and out of your clenching wet hole. You feel the second climax build fast, so you move your hips up and down to make him fuck you harder.
“Man, you did wonders with her. She’s such an obedient little slut now,” Joel praises your boyfriend as their cocks are filling your body from both ends.
“It’s a work in progress, but she’ll be a good girl in no time.”
The way they talk about you like you’re not here, like you’re not pierced on their hard cocks is so delicious that after one hard thrust from Dave, you explode, unravelling on your boyfriend’s manhood as your moans are muffled by your ex’s fat length.
Your trembling body sends the men over the precipice, and Joel starts spurting his warm cum in your mouth and you drink it, hungrily slurping till the last drop. As soon as you’re done swallowing your ex’s load, Dave pulls you up by your shoulder and presses you tight to his body, wrapping his arm around your waist, the other hand splayed on your chest. You feel warmth in your core as his manhood is pulsing inside your pussy and filling you up with his big load. Joel tucks his softening cock back in his jeans, watching your boyfriend’s balls draw up and pump you full while your hole is stretched around his girth.
When Dave stops coming, he carefully lifts you up and quickly pulls back your panties. You sit back down between the men as Dave softly kisses your lips in gratitude and then orders you,
“Don’t spill a drop, baby. Want you to soak your little panties through.”
“Can I see?” Joel asks the younger man, not you, and Dave gives him a short nod.
Joel brings his hand to your pussy and pulls on the band of your underwear. He peeks inside, seeing the creamy cum coat the gusset and your puffy folds.
“You're so fuckin’ hot, babygirl. Did so good for us.” Joel mumbles in your ear and you glance up at him with a little smile. You can’t deny it, you loved this fucker.
As if reading your mind, Joel shoots you a wink and looks at Dave again.
“Was nice meeting you, Dave.” Then he takes a card out of his wallet and puts it on the table.
“If you wanna share the progress, training this one,” he nods at you, “give me a call.”
Then he gets up, adjusts his bulge and leaves the restaurant.
Thank you for reading!❤️ Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic, it motivates me to write more filth for you, lovelies!🩷🌸
my favorite story of yours is 'Watching You'. I cannot get enough of that one. It is so fulfilling on so many levels, LOL!!
Thank you so much, friend and I’d love to fulfill you a little more so I wrote this drabble😘🫶 hope you’ll like it!
Dave York x f!reader || drabble for Watching You
18+ mdni, smut, infidelity || 660 words
*****
You hear a tap on the window yet don’t open the doors right away. You watched him walk towards the car but you like to make him wait a little.
As soon as the locks click open he gets in the back and you follow him in.
When you plop next to him, the waistband of his sweatpants already rests under his balls and his cock is standing hard, Dave’s big hand stroking it. He’s huffing with impatience and you smile.
“Your seat’s ready, kitten. Hop on.” His voice is a little raspy after a long day and you want to give him respite but also… where’s the fun in that?
So you get on his lap pulling your skirt up to your waist, showing off your lacy panties, but take your sweet time hovering over his weeping cock. Then you sit on his lap, but with his length pressed to your clothed mound.
“Isn’t Carol home?” You ask tracing a vein on his shaft with your finger.
“You know she is.”
“Isn’t it too risky?”
He glares at you from under his brows and replies, his gruff voice filling the car.
“It is, kitten. So why the fuck did you eat a popsicle half an hour ago?”
You raise your eyebrows feigning a surprise.
“Popsicle? Well…it was hot and I was hungry.”
His hands slide up your thighs and then meet at your pussy, one quickly pulling your panties to the side, before the other caresses your folds.
“It was hot, kitten. So hot that I nearly came in my pants watching you from the window. Was it a little show for me, baby?”
You can’t fool him.
“Maybe”, you purr while his fingers are swirling your clit making you forget all about your games.
“Now be a good girl and ride my hard cock. I don’t have much time. Said I was going jogging.”
You whine as his fingers leave your bud and he grabs your hips waiting for you to pierce yourself with his cock.
“Jogging? Guess I need to make you sweat then, right? Not to blow your cover.”
With a menacing smile you lift your hips up and keep your pussy over his cock while the tip is nudging your entrance. You don’t sit on it and Dave curses.
“Fuck, naughty kitten,” he growls but you know he likes it.
He braces one hand on the car seat, as the other returns to your clit, and raises his hips, thrusting his length up into you. You both moan not caring that you can be heard, can be seen, driven by lust and overwhelming affection for each other.
He thrusts up again and again while you’re keeping yourself up, hands grasping his broad shoulders. He’s slowly parting your folds, sliding his cock in and then pulling it out almost to the tip.
Dave’s watching your pussy greedily devour every inch of him and with a moan starts hammering it up into you.
His big and perfect cock, his tongue peeking out of his mouth, his dark eyes eating every part of you up like a delicious dessert- everything brings you closer to the climax.
“C’mon, kitten. Come on it, baby”, he growls power fucking you as his fingers are rubbing your clit.
You cry out his name and explode on his cock, finally falling on his lap and rolling your hips against him prolonging your orgasm.
He follows you soon, his hot cum filling you up as he spurts it deep inside your pussy.
Still jerking with aftershocks you kiss his cheeks, nose, forehead and then lips. You make out for some time, enjoying each other like that, spent and satisfied as he’s holding you tight, his cock resting inside you.
You know he needs to go and with a sigh you part from him.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Dave.”
He tucks his softening cock back, kisses you and says before leaving,
“No more popsicles, kitten. I’ll be watching you.”
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Summary/prompt: reader stalks Dave and he’s super turned on by it.
Tw: 18+, mdni, smut, voyeurism, so much of it, m/f masturbation, infidelity, unsafe piv(wrap it up obv), creampie, f/oral, light pussy slapping, fingering, swearing.
Word count: 4,2k
A/n: Happy holidays, @bonezone44 !🎄❤️ It’s an honor to write for you and I hope you’ll like my present! Love you, friend! Merry Christmas!🫂💖
Drabble || MASTERLIST
It’s another day. You’re in your work car, fast food trash lying on the seat next to you. You’re waiting for him, your current target, David York.
You’ve been surveilling him for some time now. Why? You don’t know. For your boss you’re just a pair of eyes so you follow, watch, take notes and monitor who he meets and who visits him and sometimes you take pictures of him, the hottest man you’ve ever seen.
David York, Dave as you call him... or not exactly. In your head you’ve been calling him Daddy all this time. Daddy was a family man. A loving, driving to and picking up from school, helping with homework, building tree houses, perfect dad. He was attentive to his wife, kissing her goodbye in the morning, making her breakfast in bed from time to time, fucking her missionary style once a week in their bed. See? You’ve been a great pair of eyes! You would gather everything you could and send it to your boss. All the information, every minor thing.
Except.. you might have omitted some details. Like sometimes when he sees his wife to her car in the morning his gaze slides along the street and pauses for a moment at whatever car you’re in that day. He kisses her glancing in your direction.
It might be a coincidence, you think. You just got too close, grew a little infatuated with your target and his warm eyes, kind smile and hot body. Maybe subconsciously you want him to see you. Clearly that would ruin the whole mission so you continue watching him and taking notes.
There is another reason you feel your heart and pussy flutter when you set your eyes on him. Every Tuesday and Thursday when his wife takes their daughters to their dance class he sits down in an armchair in the living room, a laptop in front of him on the coffee table and gets himself off. Watching in your car outside his house you have a great view of the whole process. He discards his belt, unzips his usual slacks and takes out his perfect cock. It’s big and thick, a little curved to the side, veiny but not too much. Perfect!
The first time it happened you reached for your binoculars so fast you spilled your coffee all over the car mat and then nearly choked on your spit at the sight of his length. He began stroking it slowly at first watching whatever was happening on the screen of his laptop while your heart was pounding in your chest and your pussy tingled making you squirm in your seat. With his hand sliding up and down his cock at a growing pace, he closed his eyes, turned his head towards the window, towards you, and bit his lower lip. You couldn’t help but whimper witnessing the sign of pleasure on his handsome face through the lenses. That moment you wished for nothing more than to be between his strong thighs, give him that ecstasy with your own hot mouth.
It happens regularly now. He chokes and milks his cock every Tuesday and Thursday and you watch him and ruin your panties. You don’t dare to do anything else right then and there but as soon as you come home on those days you plop on your bed, shove your hand into your panties and make yourself come sliding your fingers in and out of your tortured pussy. You don’t need your toys, just the image of his hand jerking his cock is enough to make every nerve in your body scream with ecstasy. You know every vein of his member, know the way he loves to start pleasuring himself and know his expression when he comes. It’s in your mind constantly.
You’re in your car waiting for Daddy to return with his daughters after picking them up from school. He’s late. He’s never late. You know his habits, his punctuality so you get nervous. Is he ok? Are the girls?
You’re deep in your thoughts staring at the road waiting for his car to show up and bring your nerves some relief.
TAP TAP
You jump in your seat, as your hand darts to your hip but you stop yourself remembering you’re in a suburban area with lots of civilians around and not armed.
When you turn your head your heart plummets to your stomach and you freeze, eyes wide. Him, Dave, Daddy is standing outside, with a hand on his hip apparently waiting for you to roll down the window. He’s wearing a light blue shirt with no tie and dark blue slacks with his ever present prominent bulge.
You try to compose yourself ready to lie through your teeth, and after taking a deep calming breath, you push the button opening a crack in the window.
He bends over and you see his face, his plush lips, a pronounced nose and warm eyes.
You must be worried, scared, shocked but your contradictory heart is fluttering at the realization that he finally sees you.
“Hello!” he says with a polite smile as his gaze quickly scans the inside of your car. You feel embarrassed scolding yourself for not cleaning up earlier and then another fear sneaks into your mind- have I left anything in the open showing that I’m surveilling him?
“Can we talk?” you hear his deep, velvet-like voice and stare up at him trying to control your breathing and your rushing thoughts.
“I’m sorry I’ve been waiting for my friend. I’ll leave. I don’t think she’s comin….”
He interrupts you, raising his hand in the air.
“Please,..” And then he calls you by your name.
Fuck!
You curse inwardly and begin thinking of your way out. You’re trying to read his expression and immediately drown in his eyes.
Fuck! I need to focus.
He knows. He’s known for some time. You’d be happy to say you’re surprised but in reality you aren’t. Your heart starts beating even faster. Is he dangerous? Of course he is. Why else would they need you to watch him?
“We need to talk,” he tells you, “can we go inside?”
You should say no, make up an excuse or just hit the gas and drive away but he’s here and the way he’s looking at you with his sad puppy eyes pushes you to stay. You can protect yourself if necessary, you think. So you make a decision.
“Yeah.. we can talk”. You open the car door, get out and follow him to his house.
He’s sitting across from you at the dinner table, staring intently at your face, his brows furrowed. He shifts his jaw as if in deep thought. The memory of him fucking his fist flashes in your mind and you quickly avert your eyes. You focus on the table in front of you, crayons and children’s drawings scattered across the surface. You clear your throat and return your gaze to him.
“So.. how long have you known?” you ask, making your voice sound more confident that you really feel.
“How long have you been stalking me?”
“Oh great! I’m that bad,” you chuckle nervously.
“Or I’m just that good,” he retorts with a smile.
“I’m sure you’re,” you breathe out and he raises his brow hearing an almost whimper in your tone. You feel your cheeks burning and you scold yourself mentally for showing your emotions. You want to fill the awkward silence and blurt out, “I'm definitely going to be fired now.”
It’s his turn to surprise you when he leans forward getting closer to you placing his forearm on the table and says looking right into your eyes.
“You don’t have to report this conversation. It can be our secret.”
You laugh bitterly expecting it to be a joke. Yet when you glance back at him you find his expression serious and intense. Why is he looking at you like this, why are you in his house? Your pulse quickens as his gaze slides down from your eyes to your lips and then your cleavage peeking out of your black shirt’s neckline.
“You can tell your boss that you failed or you can keep quiet and continue your mission,” he says, his voice calm and alluring.
“My mission…You mean - secretly surveilling you while you know all about it?” you ask as sarcasm coats your words.
“You’ve been doing it all this time so… you may as well continue,” he smirks. You feel offended by his remark and your instinct makes you to bite back with a question,
“Do you think I like watching you jerk your cock twice a week?”
The words fly out of your mouth before you can stop them and his expression changes.
“ I know you do,” a lopsided smile appears on his face as if he’s been waiting for these words all along. Your breath catches when suddenly he scoots closer to you moving his chair and you feel his knees touch yours. You look down at his thighs and his hand flies and brushes a hair strand away from your face. You grab his wrist and hold it as adrenaline is coursing through your veins. The faint smell of his cologne, oaky and deep, his face, his body, so close overwhelm you, and you feel yourself gush.
Your body wants him. You want him.
Still holding his wrist you bring his hand to your face and press your cheek to his warm palm. Your heart is pounding in your ears and you’re about to apologize for your inappropriate behavior and storm off when he cups your cheek and mumbles, “Oh, baby..”
You’re looking at each other for a few moments which feel like an eternity before he shifts his hand a little, swipes your lower lip with his thumb and murmurs, “Nosy kitten.”
You stop breathing completely, afraid to ruin the moment or make a wrong move. He pushes his thumb between your waiting lips and you readily open them for him. You take it in your mouth and begin sucking on it. It’s thick and heavy on your tongue. You moan and shut your eyes imagining something thicker and longer of his in your mouth. You swirl your tongue around the pad of his finger and hear his chair creak.
When you open your eyes Dave’s moved even closer to you, so close that your knees are between his thighs and you tingle all over seeing his broad shoulders, strong arms, all of him right in front of you.
“Mmm, my kitten is naughty,” he coos at you leaning to your face until he places his nose into the crook of your neck and takes a deep breath.
“You smell as good as you look, baby,” he whispers and you feel him kissing your delicate skin there while you’re still sucking on his digit.
Then his hand grabs your thigh and even through the jeans you sense how big and warm it is. He slides it up and you stop sucking focused on the hand itching closer to the place where you need him desperately. His lips leave your neck, he pulls his thumb out of your mouth and looks you in the eye again, his gaze soft yet intent.
“Can I…?” He asks and your breath hitches for a moment. You nod.
“Let me hear it, kitten. You have a very pretty voice,” he says, squeezing your thigh.
His touch gives you some courage and you reply with a tint of plea in your voice, “You can do whatever you want to me.”
He smiles and asks you softly,
“Could you stand up for me?”
You get up and he takes your hands and tugs you closer to him. You're between his legs now looking down at him. Even sitting down he feels bigger and stronger, more dominant than you. His hand moves to your belly and you bite your lower lip with anticipation. He slowly unbuttons and unzips your jeans and glances up at you. With his eyes not leaving yours he hooks his fingers under your waistband and slowly pulls your jeans and panties down. You whimper feeling cold air on your wet pussy. He bends down, sliding the clothes off your body and helping you to take them off completely while you’re grasping his strong shoulders for stability.
He sits up again and takes you all in, naked from the waist down, still wearing your shirt.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs as his gaze stops at your pussy and you gasp when he leans down and plants an open mouth kiss on your mound.
Dave caresses it with his lips and bends down a little more running his tongue along your wet slit. He pushes it in between your folds and swirls it around your clit. Your hand darts to his head to grip a fist of his hair and you part your feet to make room for his tongue between your legs.
He parts from your pussy, a string of his spit and your slick still connecting you two, and you whine with desperation.
“Fuck, baby, your taste amazing,” his hand darts to your folds, massaging them and then giving your clit a rub. With his middle finger he takes a scoop of your juices gliding it from your entrance to your clit. He brings it to his mouth and licks it clean, not tearing his eyes off your parted lips and hazy gaze.
“Wanna show you something,” he says getting up and you furrow your brows with confusion and a pinch of fear. He might be dangerous. Having noticed your hesitancy Dave takes your hand in his and squeezes it a little. If he wanted to harm you he’d have done it already, you think.
When your mind clears a bit it dawns on you and your ask with excitement, “is it those movies you watch twice a week?” He nods with a smile, gets up, takes your hand and leads you to the living room.
“I thought they were different every time,” you mumble as you see the familiar armchair and the coffee table with the laptop.
“I have a few favorites, kitten,” he tells you with a smirk taking his usual seat. He spreads his thighs and you glance at the tent in his slacks. Then you turn your head right and look out of the window. That’s where you’d be, watching and squirming in your car seat. You shift on your feet feeling a new surge of arousal between your legs. At this point you must be dripping on his carpet. Dave pats his thigh with his hand and half asks half commands,
“Take a seat.”
You hesitate for a second, glancing out of the window at his car drive, your mind suddenly flooded with images of his wife driving up the road. He takes you out of your thoughts,
“They won’t be here for some time. Don’t worry. Take your shirt off,” he adds and you do as you’re told undoing a few top buttons and then impatiently taking it off over your head.
His dark eyes slide from your face and down to your breasts, your belly and then to your pussy glistening with your slick and his spit. He growls at the sight and adjusts himself palming his growing bulge,
“Hop on, kitten. I know you’ve been itching to see what’s in here,” he taunts you pointing at the laptop.
You can’t wait any longer as well, so you turn your back to him and sit down on his clothed lap. His cock is stiff and big under the back of your thigh and you feel it twitch. Then he flexes his thigh muscles and your pussy cries at the pressure. You hold back a moan and try to focus on the black screen in front of you.
“Lean back,” his hands on your waist pull you to his chest and you rest your back on him as his hands are holding you close. You’re completely exposed and vulnerable, pussy and breasts completely on display for him and you love the feeling of being so naked while he’s fully clothed.
His breath is warm on your neck and then his fingers push on your cheek turning your face to him. His parted lips, hungry eyes are right in front of you, your chest is heaving and the heart is pounding.
He pulls you in for a kiss, gentle and soft at first but gradually desire overtakes your both and you seem to want to devour each other, your tongues tangling as you’re licking into each other’s mouths with impatience.
You melt into his body so strong and broad around you getting drunk on the kiss when his free hand cups your pussy and he begins massaging your folds and clit with his thick fingers, your moans muffled by his mouth.
He drinks your sweet sounds and when he parts from your lips and you both look down at the place where he’s making you a complete mess with his hand.
“Oh, fuck, kitten… look how wet you’re.”
His clothed thigh is glistening with your slick but none of you care, captivated by the sight of his skilful fingers sliding between your folds and rubbing your bud just perfectly.
Your climax is so close you legs are already shaking and you plead, voice quiet and desperate, “Fuck me, daddy.”
He chuckles but his tone lacks humor, “you’ve seen my cock, kitten.. don’t wanna hurt you. Need to get you ready first.”
You whine having dreamed of him inside you for so long, but he slaps your pussy gently and you gasp almost coming from the soft stroke.
“No whining on daddy’s lap,” you hear and your breath hitches when he calls himself that.
His two fingers move down from your clit to your entrance and he easily pushes them in. He starts pumping them in and out of your crying hole, curving them and massaging your g-spot. He adds a third and it’s a stretch but you take it well spreading your legs wider.
His stiff member is pulsing under your thigh and you feel your pussy contracting when you imagine his cock inside of you right now.
“Gonna come..,” you mumble and immediately start shaking in his arms as your walls squeeze his digits.
“Oh yeah.., good girl!” he praises as his fingers are thrusting into you fast and rough, the heel of his palm hitting your clit. Your orgasm flashes white behind your eyelids and you soak Dave’s slacks squirting all over his thighs and knees.
“Yeah… messy kitten,” he says almost triumphantly, panting in your ear, “Should daddy make you lick it all off?”
You whimper, completely spent and his hand slows down.
When your climax subsides and all your muscles relax you’re resting against his broad chest, trying to catch your breath, your eyes closed.
He gives you a minute but then you feel his hand under your thigh as he unbuckles his belt, takes it off and throws it on the floor. You hear a zipper open, and he plants a kiss on your shoulder asking for your attention,
“Come on, kitten, time to sit on daddy’s cock.”
You’ve just come but his words immediately reignite the burning in your core.
You get up clumsily, your legs weak from the hard orgasm, and look back to see him pull down his slacks and boxers. His cock springs out of its confines and you widen your eyes. It looks quite intimidating up close and you worry if you can take him, even after his fingers stretched you.
Seeing your worried expression, Dave smirks as his hand holds his hard cock at the base,
“Don’t be so scared, baby. You two can finally meet in person.” He spreads precum over the head with his thumb. You stare at his girthy shaft and angry red tip, shamelessly licking your lips and he notices, “I’d love that. But daddy really wants to stick it in your pussy now .” Dave takes your hips in his big hands and pulls you down closer to his lap.
Your ass is hovering over him as you’re holding onto the sides of the armchair until his tip nudges your wet hole. You begin sinking down and it aches pleasantly. He’s groaning behind you while you’re slowly taking every inch of him. His hands on your waist are helping you hold your weight, not rushing, giving your pussy time to adjust and accommodate his girthy cock.
Finally your folds and ass are flush against him and you take a deep breath sitting fully on his member.
“Are you ok, kitten?” he asks, his chest heaving deeply against your back.
Your ‘yes’ sounds more like a mewl and you look in front of you at the laptop reflecting your naked breasts and his face, eyes focused on your ass.
He glances up and your eyes meet in the reflection of the screen. He twitches inside of your core and you both moan.
“You wanted to show me something,” you mumble beginning to move a little on his cock and he leans forward. You do too, your bodies flush against each other. You feel him stiff and powerful inside of you and whimper at every movement.
Dave finds a file in one of the folders and clicks the icon. He sits up, pulling you with him and making you lean on his broad chest. You both watch the black screen for a few moments until a video starts and you see a busy street. Dave begins moving his hips and you can’t pay the video much attention focused on his cock sliding in and out as he’s holding you in his arms, thrusting his length up into you.
“Watch it, baby. Made it myself. Bet you’ll love it,” he murmurs as your pussy is dripping around his cock on his balls.
Your fingers grasp the sides of the armchair when he speeds up his movements and starts fucking you hard and deep.
You look down to see him splitting you in half on his cock before he grabs a fist of your hair and tugs on it making you look forward.
“I said watch, kitten.”
You whimper when he gets rough and you stare at the screen feeling the second climax build.
It’s still a busy street and you’re trying to comprehend what exactly you’re watching when you recognise the place and then a person walking through the crowd with their back to the camera.
It’s you.
You, walking home from the local market a few weeks ago.
You sit up watching the screen closer but with his hands under your arms he lifts your hips and uses you like a fuck toy pleasuring himself with your pussy.
The video changes and it’s night time. You know this place. It’s a dark alley behind your favorite bar. You see yourself coming through the back door, a man following you. He pins you against the wall and you’re making out. You remember you two fucked that night, just a one night stand and all the time you’d been thinking about Dave.
“What the fuck?” you ask your shocked eyes glued to the screen.
“What is it, kitten? You've been stalking me, I’ve been stalking you. Think it’s fair,” he grumbles panting hard still manhandling you on his cock.
You’re speechless. The sounds of his hips slapping against your ass fill the room. Your climax is close and you mumble,
“You’ve been getting off on watching me. You’re sick.”
He chuckles as his hand slaps your pussy again and you moan,
“That’s cute. Calling me sick when you’re bouncing on your target’s cock.”
You can’t say he’s wrong and a smile tugs at your lips.
“Fuck off,” you retort, leaning back on him, then turn your head and kiss him. He growls against your lips, close to his own climax. When you part he holds you close and murmurs into your cheek,
“All that time… watching you, kitten…wanted to fuck you so much.” The head of his cock is hitting the spongy spot inside you as you whine and moan. He continues, “Nearly took you in your sleep once… Wanted to slip my cock inside you..my beautiful stalker.”
You come, the bliss opening your mouth in a silent scream, and choke his cock as he quickly follows shooting his cum deep inside your core. He moans your name, his cock pumping all of his seed inside you, to the last drop.
When you open your eyes, slowly coming down from your high, and look at the screen you see yourself sleeping in your bedroom. He’s watching you, lying on your back, with your nipple peeking out of your nighty. The camera shakes as he takes it in the other hand, probably adjusting himself. Then he goes to your mirror. You see his reflection, wearing a black hat and a dark hoodie. He opens his mouth and breathes out on the mirror creating a misty spot on the surface. Then Dave draws something with his gloved finger.
The camera gets close and you see three letters written there.
ICU
Thank you for reading!
Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!!💖
After Watching You - drabble
Tag list: @milla-frenchy @bbyanarchist @harriedandharassed @missannwinchester @nervousmumbling
This story is so deliciously juicy! The way they've been watching each other and then finally getting to fulfill their fantasy together. I love when Dave always has the upper hand💕
summary: just a fucking filthy fic that is also so very soft i’m struggling to breathe.
warnings: divorced parents (Dave & Carol), soft dad!Dave with his babies, playful sarcastic!dave has me by the throat, i want this man to be my fucking husband, SMUT 18+ ONLY unprotected p in v, toy use, restraint use, spanking, brief barely-there choking, smidgen of oral (f rec), smidgen of tit play, ass play, overstimulation, squirting, cock warming
word count: 4.2k
a/n: the original idea for this was soft… i don’t know what happened LMAO. usually i’d work into the smut later in the fic but we’re turning it around and jumping straight into the good shit before ending on a very soft note. enjoy! x p.s the song i chose for dancing in the kitchen is ‘snowman’ by sia - i’m so fucking SOFT for them together ok bye
You don’t want to stop until everything feels perfect. The tree, in all of its 8ft glory, twinkles peacefully in the lamp-lit lounge, throwing off waves of warm light that shine over the mound of presents crowding its base. Is there too many? Not enough? You fuss with the ribbons and bows on each, ensuring the labels were placed perfectly over the various shapes before straightening and chewing on your lip in thought.
A body presses into you from behind and you sigh lightly, leaning into the lips that press softly against your throat. Dave’s hands land on your waist, palms smoothing along the shape of it before he glances at the tree, smiling against your skin.
Warnings: language, drinking, reader has a lot of issues (anxiety, self doubt, traumatic past not yet explored but it's implied, panic attacks), jealousy, Joel likes bossy women, smut (18+, piv sex)
Other parts can be found here
The nerves leading up to your first date with Joel were ridiculous all week. Can you even call it a first date if you've already had sex twice? Whatever. Regardless, the spiraling and the overthinking were on another level, even for you.
It's just a beer, it's just a beer, you kept repeating to yourself. But you knew that wasn't true. For him, maybe, but for you? This was a huge step. Something you haven't done in years, and for good reason. If you still saw your therapist, you're certain she would be proud of you for doing this after everything that's happened. As you finish your makeup, you roll your eyes at yourself in the mirror, knowing exactly what she would have said if she knew you wanted her approval.
You don't need anyone's approval but your own.
Unfortunately, you've never been able to wrap your arms around that piece of advice. You still seek it out constantly.
You swipe some lipgloss on and run your fingers through your hair a few times, tilting your head back and forth until you're satisfied with how it lays before you flick off the light and head towards your kitchen.
The jeans you picked are cute, you think. Tight enough to show off your curves but not too tight that you'll be uncomfortable. The tank top is flowy with skinny straps and a little low cut. It had you second guessing if you looked too desperate, but your backup outfit was a dress and you're certain that would have looked ridiculous in the dive bar you picked. Then you forced yourself to stop overthinking it and just wear the goddamn tank top because Joel's already seen your tits anyway, so who cares?
You take a deep breath and take a long sip of water, gaze flickering anxiously to the clock on your wall. God, you're so out of practice for stuff like this, what were you thinking?
Maybe you should cancel. Fake an illness. A death in the family. No, that's too dark. Sweat begins to bead at your temples as your pulse kicks up.
This was a huge mistake. You're not ready.
Shaky fingers pick up your phone. As you're about to text him some weak excuse, there's a knock at your door and you freeze.
Shit. Too late.
Your heart is in your throat as you slowly walk down the hallway, towards your door. Every step makes the panic rise. Your vision narrows. You try to swallow but your throat's too tight.
Nothing bad is going to happen.
Numb fingers wrap around your doorknob and you tug it open.
Joel is waiting on the other side looking... great. Clean. You blink hard. You've only ever seen him working, when he's covered in sweat and dirt and wearing junk clothes. But the man before you now is freshly showered, beard is trimmed, and he's wearing some type of cologne with a hint of spice. You think you've smelled traces of it on him before but to have the full effect now is very different. It's throwing you off, making you forget about your insecurities entirely.
You're staring. You haven't said anything and you're staring at him like a crazy person. Say something.
"Uh, hi."
Brilliant. Great job.
When you lift your gaze to meet his eyes, you find you weren't the only one gawking. Joel looks speechless for once in his life as he slowly takes in your outfit. All his bravado is mysteriously missing for a minute and it's giving you a much needed ego boost.
"Those for me?" you ask smugly, pointing at the white flowers he's clutching in his fist. Finally, Joel shakes his head like he's snapping out of a trance and looks down.
"Jesus—yes, sorry darlin'."
He hands you the flowers and you grin before sniffing them and making a pleased sound. "Thank you," you say sincerely, and his expression softens.
"Welcome."
"Let me put these in water before we go," you tell him, turning on your heel and walking back into your kitchen. "You can come in if you want," you toss breezily over your shoulder. What were you so worried for?
Joel's head tilts to the side as he stares at your ass disappearing down your hall. "Like the view right here just fine," he drawls, and you shoot him a weak look of offense before slipping out of sight. When you return, he's smiling that easy smile that makes his dimple crease. It's an entirely different feeling walking towards your door the second time—the panic has been replaced with excitement. This is Joel—he's easy to talk to. He's fun. This should be a good night.
He leads you to his truck with his palm pressed firmly against your spine. It's not a controlling touch, just a gentle guide. You like it more than you care to admit.
"Did I tell you how pretty you look?" he asks after helping you into the truck. He braces one forearm above the door with a grin as you get comfortable in the passenger seat.
"You didn't," you say, looking up at him through your lashes, "but it was strongly implied."
"You sayin' you got a good read on me?" he teases.
"Like a book, Miller," you grin. He chuckles then pushes off the door before closing it and rounding the front to slide into the driver's seat. Before he shifts the truck into reverse, he breathes loudly through his nose and shakes his head.
"Wow," he whispers like he's in awe. You feel your chest warm, assuming the breathlessness in his voice was your doing.
"What?" you ask a little timidly.
He shakes his head again in disbelief, looking entirely serious when he says, "Nothin'. Just... can't believe my two girls are finally together."
You pause as you try to process what he just said.
"Your—"
"You 'n my truck."
"Oh, my god!" you groan, embarrassed you allowed yourself to think he was about to say something heartfelt in the first place. "Don't compare me to your truck. And I'm not your girl."
He throws his head back with a laugh and despite yourself, you giggle. He makes it so easy when you're together that even the drive to the bar isn't awkward. He has the radio on low and he hums along with some country tune, fingers tapping occasionally on the wheel. You let the fresh breeze from the open windows caress your skin and relax your body. Occasionally, you glance his way when he's too busy watching the road to notice. The jeans he's wearing are clean. Belt looks nicer, too. Not new, but probably the clothes he sets aside for dates or parties or any time he needs to look presentable. You like imagining what that looks like, in his house. A certain drawer housing clothes that may go untouched but a few times a year. And you like the idea of him pulling out those clothes for you.
His shirt is different, too. It's a plain black tee but it's still bright, so you know he hasn't needed to wash it much yet. On top of that is a dark green flannel, buttons open and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You can't see his boots but you hazard a guess those are nicer than the dirty work boots you're used to seeing.
Eventually he catches on and shifts in his seat.
"Wishin' you cancelled on me already?" he asks, eyes still pinned on the road.
"Not yet," you reply, leaving out your panic attack before he arrived. He doesn't need to know about all that.
He hums and casually taps his fingers against the steering wheel again, squinting as he approaches an intersection. "You go to this bar a lot?"
"I used to," you admit, gaze drifting through the windshield to gauge where you are. "Back when I was in college I came here more often than I probably should've."
"That's a relief. Thought you picked this place so yes wouldn't run into anyone you knew," he grins.
"Oh, that too," you joke smoothly, and he laughs again before slowing and throwing on his turn signal to pull into the parking lot.
Joel helps you slide out of the passenger seat. You murmur your thanks and walk side by side towards the bar.
When a jeep backs out of a parking spot, Joel immediately redirects you and places his body between yours and the car. His expression gives nothing away. He didn't do it as a performance. He just... did it. Like it's second nature, he didn't think twice. Something about it makes your pulse skip.
Even from here, you can hear the music pumping from the jukebox. A few people linger outside to smoke with beers dangling from their fingertips. They casually watch you approach and nod to you both when Joel reaches forward to open the door for you.
Inside, the bar looks the same as it always did. You think they may have fixed some of the cracked seats on the barstools but otherwise, nothing else really changed. There are still a few televisions mounted high up on the walls showing a different sporting event on each one. There are still four pool tables and a dart board tucked into the back of the room, near the bathrooms. The lighting is still dim and the crowd is still the same—a mix of college students blowing off steam and a middle aged crowd scattered amongst the bar and surrounding tables.
It's loud already at only nine at night. There's a college football game on the television above the bartender's heads that most people seem to be focused on. And as Joel leads you to the bar to order, your boots still stick to the floors just like they always did before. If it wasn't so loud, you bet you'd be able to hear them unstick with every step.
"What do you like to drink?" Joel asks after he wedges himself a spot against the bar. He pulls out his wallet and looks at you expectantly. "Wine? Some mixed drink?"
"A beer, whatever kind you're having."
He gives you a surprised look and a nod before turning back to the bar. Behind him, you awkwardly tuck your hands into the back pockets of your jeans and wait, looking around. You spot a couple empty tables near the front windows and you tap Joel's shoulder.
"I'm gonna go grab a—"
But before you can finish your sentence, a familiar face appears behind the bar. It takes you a moment to recognize him, but he clocks you right away and frowns.
"Hey! I remember you! Didn't I say you ain't allowed here anymore?"
Your eyes go wide with horror but Joel just grins easily and sets back to watch the exchange.
"No! That was—"
"Nah, it was you. You and that other girl you were always with. Gave me too many goddamn headaches. Actually—" He leans forward across the bar with a towel dangling over his shoulder. "That friend of yours never did pay me back for the pool table."
"Pool table?" Joel repeats, clearly amused. Your cheeks burn.
"Had to refelt it. Wasn't cheap."
"That wasn't me," you insist.
"Sure as shit was."
You groan and prop your hands on your hips. "C'mon, Dave. That was a long time ago and it was her heels that scratched up the felt, not mine."
Joel laughs, clearly delighted.
Dave's eyes drift slowly between you and Joel before relenting and straightening back up. But then he points a finger at you and you cower a little.
"You can stay. But none of that bullshit anymore, you hear?"
"Yes," you promise, throughly embarrassed.
Joel tilts his head towards Dave. "Two drafts. And don't worry, I'll keep an eye on her," he says. When Dave grunts and turns around to pull the tap, Joel's gaze finds yours and adds so only you can hear, "she's a good girl now."
You narrow your eyes, ignoring the arousal blooming low in your belly at the term of endearment. "Don't start," you warn.
Joel barks out a laugh and grabs the two glasses after paying. "You got alotta explain' to do," he murmurs in your ear before trailing after you to an empty table. You slide into the curved booth right in front of the window and Joel follows. The creak of the thick vinyl seats under his weight can be heard over the classic rock song pouring from the jukebox speakers. On the table is an abandoned bucket of shelled peanuts and you quickly grab one just for something to busy your hands.
"So," Joel says, twisting his body to face yours. His free arm is popped on the top of your seat as the other cups his glass on the table. You like the way he slightly curves his body around yours. "Care to explain what that was all 'bout?"
You shrug, cracking into the peanut shell. "Can't really remember. It was a lifetime ago."
"Bullshit," he laughs, "tell me. You get up to no good back in the day or what?"
You grin up at him and pop a peanut into your mouth. "Maybe."
"Yeah? And who's the other girl?"
Your throat tightens at the memory. "I don't talk to her anymore."
Joel doesn't notice your discomfort. You're better at hiding it now.
"No? Why not? She tearin' up felt in some other bar now?"
He takes a sip from his beer while you chew. "Something like that," you say, and before he can push further, you change the subject. "Have you ever gotten kicked out of a bar before?"
He rolls his eyes and sets down his beer. "Oh, Christ. Yeah. Not my fault, though."
"Oh, I'm sure."
"I mean it!"
"Likely story," you grin, and just like that, the memory of another life fades.
"It was my little brother's fault mostly," he continues, snatching up a peanut. His arm is still propped up on the seat behind you, his hand inches from the back of your neck. You melt into the seat a little so he's closer.
"You have a brother?"
He nods. "Tommy. He's... well, he thinks he's a white knight sometimes. Gets him in trouble."
"So you're the real white knight?"
Joel smirks as he chews. "That's bein' generous."
"Well, you help him out when he's in trouble, right?" you press.
"Outta obligation, not 'cause I'm some hero."
"Oh, don't think I said hero." You playfully poke him in the ribs. He flinches and grabs your hand with a flirty grin.
"Haven't even had a sip of beer and you're already gettin' handsy with me."
You roll your eyes with a smile and yank your hand out of his grip. "You're the one who's holding onto me like Velcro."
"Gotta make sure you don't end up on that pool table again, I made a promise to good ol' Dave."
"Oh, you just loved that, didn't you?"
"I did." He takes another sip of his beer and you follow suit, your eyes never leaving one another over the rims of your glasses. He sets it down and subtly shifts a little closer. "Like findin' out more 'bout you. You're a mystery, y'know that?"
"Am I?" you ask innocently before taking another drink.
"Mhm," he hums, gaze slowly dragging across your face like he's searching for something. "So far, all's I know 'bout you is you work a whole lot 'n you like that you're good at it." He rubs his chin thoughtfully for a second as you pluck another peanut from the bucket. "Well, know a few other things, too. Wouldn't wanna say it in front of mixed company, though."
You smack his shoulder and he laughs. God, his laugh is so infectious. Every time you try to keep a stern expression, you fail.
"What'd I say?" he exclaims, rubbing his shoulder with a shit eating grin.
"You know what you said," you scold, throwing the peanut at his chest.
"Hey! Meant your burnt cookies, I don't know what you're thinkin'."
"Oh, yeah right."
"Didn't wanna embarrass you," he says defensively. You look around the bar, at the oblivious patrons, and then back at him.
"I think I'll live."
There's a brief pause where neither of you say anything, but it's not uncomfortable. He doesn't stop smiling and neither do you. There's a pull between you that leaves you both feeling a little exhilarated.
"Well?" he asks you as his fingers brush gently against your hair. You find yourself drawing even closer to him, like a magnet. To distract yourself, you take another long sip from your beer before catching his eye again.
"Well... what?" you reply.
"Gonna tell me somethin' 'bout yourself or you gonna make me work harder for it?"
You grin and cross your legs under the table. Your foot nudges his leg but neither of you move.
"What do you want to know?"
Joel thinks about it over a healthy drink from his glass before setting it down with determination.
"When was your last relationship?"
You laugh, mostly to cover up the sheer panic you know would otherwise be written all over your face. You're sure of it because you can feel your blood run cold at the mere mention of your romantic past.
"Let's start with something a little less..." you trail off and Joel throws you a lifeline.
"Intense?"
You nod. "Yeah. Intense."
"Alright," he says easily, entirely unbothered by you dodging the question. "You got any family?"
That's easier. You tell him about growing up with your parents and sister just outside of Austin. It was a normal childhood, by all accounts. It wasn't until the last few years when you grew apart. You leave that out and focus on the good times, before you grew up. You tell him about your sister who went to school in London and ended up falling in love with her classmate and getting married out there. How you only visited her twice but it was a beautiful city and you want to go again one day.
"What's keepin' you from seein' her?"
"Work, I guess."
Joel tsks. "Shocker."
"I know," you grin.
The way he's looking at you is making your stomach flip. He's so genuine and warm and funny... he's making it very hard to resist his charm.
"What are you thinkin' 'bout?" he asks. His gaze is heavier than before and it feels like yours is the same. At some point, your legs pressed together under the table and neither of you made the effort to separate them.
"I was thinking you clean up pretty nice," you tease softly. Then your fingers pluck at his open flannel, giving the fabric a playful tug.
Joel chuckles. "You, too. Still don't mind that flimsy robe of yours, though."
"That was my back up outfit."
"Would've gotten kicked outta here a second time for that," Joel grins, dipping his chin down. He's so close he hardly has to raise his voice over the music.
"What makes you think I've only been kicked out once?" The heat of his body surrounds you: his arm across the back of your seat, his leg against yours under the table, his mouth mere inches away from your own. If you wanted, you could kiss him right now. Maybe you should.
There's a low rumble that comes from his chest and his eyes grow darker. "And here I just got done vouchin' for what a good girl you are," he murmurs. "You gonna make a liar outta me?"
Your hand finds his leg and he breathes in sharp when you slowly curl your fingers along the inside of his thigh.
"What can I say?" you sigh, lips barely grazing his mouth. "Sometimes I'm trouble."
He groans and leans in, closing those last remaining centimeters with a slow, firm kiss. It's not messy or passionate, but it doesn't have to be. Even without tasting his tongue, you're still ready to crawl into his lap right here and now. Your fingers on his thigh tighten and his mouth parts ever so slightly, just enough for you each to take a breath before your lips slot together once again. The hand that's been taking up residence on top of your seat is now cupping your cheek, his thumb is swiping gently along your jaw, and it's so intense and sweet at the same time that you're dizzy with need and something else you can't quite admit yet.
The loud sound of billiard balls cracking together across the bar pull you out of it, but just barely. His forehead presses against yours after the kiss is broken and you each draw in a deep breath, clearing away the clouds of desire that took over your better judgement for a few weak moments.
"I'll go get us a couple more," he finally murmurs, pointing to your empty glasses when he inevitably leans back in his seat. His cheeks look a little pink and you have to stifle a smile behind your hand.
"You don't have to—" you start to say, but he cuts you off.
"If I don't get up right now, I'll end us gettin' us both banned for life," he winks, and your face flushes with heat as you laugh. Joel stands with your glasses and begins to weave his way towards the bar.
You prop your elbow on the table and rest your chin in your hand as you watch him from your booth. His back is to you so you feel free to let your gaze linger over his rugged frame, broad shoulders, and dark hair. He's so insanely sexy, just leaning against the bar so casually with that flannel exposing his strong, tanned forearms and his jeans hugging his waist just right. It almost isn't fair how good he looks, how well he fits in. Where's the flaw? What's the catch with Joel? Nobody looks as good as him and has a fun personality. You already know he's great in bed, so it's not that, either.
Stop it. You're doing it again. Stop looking for problems.
You pinch the bridge of your nose and shake loose the invasive thoughts. It's easier with a beer in your system to let that go and relax, but when your gaze settles back on Joel at the bar, another unexpected intense feeling flares up: jealousy. Because at some point in the last thirty seconds when you looked away, a very young and very blonde college girl sporting a mini skirt and cowboy boots has found a spot next to Joel at the bar and appears to be getting just a little too close for your liking.
Your lips press together as you watch, studying her body language like a hawk. She's leaning forward and saying something to Joel, then her perfectly manicured finger points to something. He glances over and plucks some napkins out of a dispenser and hands them over with a polite smile, but she's not done. She appears to be extremely grateful. She leans forward again, expressing her thanks while gently placing a hand on his arm, conveniently giving him a generous view of her cleavage.
Anger drips heavier in your veins with each bat of her fake eyelashes and every high pitched giggle that reaches your ears. You can tell Joel is trying to limit his interactions with her while still being polite, but she's not taking the hint and fucking Dave is ignoring that side of the bar entirely.
He's not your boyfriend, you have to remind yourself. But he is your date. So how much longer do you allow this to go on before doing something?
When she leans in to whisper something in his ear that makes him jerk backwards and laugh awkwardly, you get your answer. Enough is enough.
Joel's face is red as you approach from behind, and when you get closer you can hear him stammering something while the blonde watches him like a siren: all lust filled eyes with a seductive smile.
"Hey, baby," you breathe, stepping between them. You can see the discomfort in his expression, one that slips into a mix of fear and relief when his eyes settle on you. He opens his mouth, either to explain or reply, but you cut him off when you clutch his shirt and yank him down for an obnoxiously deep kiss. You make sure to moan a little so the blonde behind you hears, then you let him go with a breathless laugh.
"I missed you. What's taking so long?" you ask innocently while swiping some of your lip gloss from the corner of his mouth. Joel's eyes are wide with shock until he figures out your game, then they soften with a knowing smile.
"Busy up here. And this young lady was askin' for help," he says, jutting his chin over your shoulder. He doesn't tear his gaze away from you, though, and you like that.
Slowly, you turn to face the blonde, who is doing her best to act innocuous. You give her a smile while dropping your hand, possessively slipping your fingers between Joel's. You lazily size her up and down, then tilt your head to the side.
"Is there something we can help you with?" you ask sweetly, leaning against Joel's chest. You know you're laying it on thick and so does he. You can feel the rumble of laughter through your back and you grin.
"Uh, no," she replies with a tight smile of her own, "he was just telling me which whiskey is best."
"Oh!" you blink with surprise while Joel murmurs your order to Dave across the bar. "You're old enough to drink?"
Joel says your name softly in your ear, a light warning.
The blonde narrows her eyes at you, the mask shifting ever so slightly. "Yes. In fact, it's my birthday."
"Oh, happy birthday," you gush. Joel's fingers flex around your own. "Don't tell me you're celebrating all by yourself?" You plaster on a cheesy smile while the blonde flicks her perfectly curled hair over her shoulder to gesture to a table near the darts.
"No, my friends are over there."
When she turns back to you, your smile drops and the sweetness from your voice is gone.
"Good. You should probably go join them."
A subtle threat is laced in your tone and the blonde picks up on it easily. She slips off the stool and straightens her skirt, offers Joel a cordial wave, and disappears into the crowd.
"Goddamn," Joel chuckles after you turn around, dropping his hand with a glare.
"What did she say to you?"
"What? When?"
"You know when," you snap, "your face was red as a tomato."
Joel smirks and swipes his palm over his mouth with a shrug. "Said it was her birthday but she wanted to take me to the bathroom 'n give me a gift."
Your jaw drops. "That fucking—"
You spin back in her direction, rage boiling over, when Joel snags your arm. "Darlin', easy, a man can only get so hard."
"We got a problem here?" Dave asks, loudly setting down two beers with a scowl. You straighten up and try to unclench your jaw.
"No," you seethe.
"Good." His eyes shift wearily between you and Joel, then juts a finger in your direction. "I'm watchin' you."
You roll your eyes and grab your beer, too pissed to care.
"One foot outta line—" Dave warns Joel, and Joel waves him off before grabbing the other beer.
"Yeah, yeah. I got it."
He rushes after you, looping an arm around your waist and tugging you into his side.
"You're full'a surprises," he murmurs in your ear.
You scoff and slide into the booth, still too angry to think about much else, and take a long sip from your beer and Joel joins you.
"Does that happen often?" you ask with an edge to your voice.
"No," he says, "took me by surprise. I was tryin' to be nice." His arm resumes its post on the top of your seat and his other hand finds a home on your leg. His fingers squeeze a little as he inches forward while you take another angry gulp from your glass to settle the adrenaline. "Can I tell you a secret?" he asks, dipping low so his lips graze your ear. You find yourself leaning closer and the rage pumping through your veins begins to slow.
"What?" you reply, trying to maintain your scowl, but you're failing. Your brows cannot stay furrowed tonight.
Joel smirks and something dangerous shifts behind his eyes. "That was pretty fuckin' sexy, what you did," he admits, and despite yourself, your chest fills with pride. "Never had someone do somethin' like that for me."
"Try not to get a big head over it," you tease with a smile. The last of your anger dissipates and you poke him gently in the ribs.
"Oh, too late for that, honey," Joel laughs. He curls his body inwards more so you can feel that heat again and the hand on your thigh slides up slowly before reaching for your wrist. There's a familiar pull between your legs almost immediately from his touch.
His fingers delicately hold your wrist in your lap before he shifts in his seat and suspiciously glances around the bar. You're confused until he subtly moves your palm to the front of his jeans and you suck in a sharp breath when you feel him, hot and rock hard behind his zipper.
"Joel—"
"Wasn't kiddin'," he whispers in your ear before his lips find a sensitive spot on your throat. You bite your lip and try to ignore the warmth pooling between your thighs, but it's impossible. The gentle graze of his mouth raises the temperature of your skin and without thinking, your hand presses forward. You feel him twitch under your palm and your eyelids flutter in a desperate attempt to remain present and aware of your surroundings.
"Joel..." you try again, but your voice is merely a whisper. Still, he hums in acknowledgement, but his mouth is busy trailing down your neck. You swallow hard. "As fun as it was the other times, I'd really like to not get kicked out of here again tonight."
He makes a disappointed noise before reluctantly pulling back. Your hand falls from his lap to his leg as you stare at one another, tension thick.
"Sorry," he murmurs, voice strained. His heavy gaze drags slowly across your face, both of you equally flushed, hearts pumping wildly in your chests. Then he grins. "I really do wanna know more 'bout you, I swear it."
"I know," you giggle, tension breaking a bit.
"Can't seem to help myself when you get all pissed off," he continues, running his fingers through his hair. "You're doin' somethin' crazy to me, darlin'."
You laugh again, hiding behind your hair. You're not ready to admit it, but he's certainly doing something to you, too.
"Okay," you take a deep breath so as to fight through the veil of arousal clinging to your body, "what, uh... what movies do you like?"
The next hour or so carries on like that. Ten minutes of harmless questions, a joke here or there, and inevitably one of you finds a reason to touch the other. The tension builds again until you snap out of it and then the cycle repeats itself.
It's the beer, you think. It's making you both a little too relaxed. That's the only reasonable explaination for the unusually spectacular date. The connection feels strong because the beer is strong. That's all.
After you finish your drinks and the bar fills up with a much more rowdy crowd, Joel suggests heading out. As disappointed as you are for the night to end, you agree and stand to follow him hand in hand through the throngs of people laughing and milling around on the dance floor. It's only when you're a few feet away from the door that Joel stops and turns to you with a grin.
"Guess I wasn't that special," he says loudly over the music, then nods towards a dark booth in the corner. Your gaze follows and you burst out laughing when you spot a shock of familiar blonde hair all over some guy a few years younger than Joel.
"Sorry she broke your heart," you giggle, stumbling out of the bar side by side. Both hands curl around his bicep as you walk through the parking lot wearing matching grins.
"I'll survive," he jokes, fishing the keys out of his pocket. The music from the jukebox is fading behind you. Laughter and glasses clinking thin with every step. Instead, you begin to hear the soothing sound of crickets chirping from the nearby grass. You're silent for a minute, letting the quiet settle around you like a blanket. It's peaceful and you tip your chin up to gaze at the stars, knowing Joel won't let you trip.
"Wanna walk for a bit?" he asks once his truck is in view. Your eyes tear away from the inky night sky to look at him.
"Sure. Are you not good to drive?"
"Nah, ain't that," he says, grinning at you with that dimple. "Just don't want the night to end yet."
"Oh," you breathe, then hide your shy smile by pretending to study something imaginary across the street.
Your hands fall from his bicep and he laces his fingers between yours as you walk down the cracked sidewalk. You pass restaurants, mostly pizza and fast food places with later hours to accommodate the bar patrons. On the corner is a theater that just let out and your gaze drifts up to read the marquee.
"Oh, that one's supposed to be good," you murmur. Joel reads it and nods.
"Wanna see it next weekend?"
He says it so easily, so casually, that he has you agreeing without even missing that awkward step that typically comes after a first date, the one that has both sides wondering if it went as well as you thought and if it would lead to anything more. Joel decides to eliminate all doubt before the night is even over. He's so smooth about it that you wouldn't know for sure if he was as excited as you if you didn't happen to catch the smile stretched across his face before he swiped his palm over his mouth to hide it.
Eventually, you come to the riverwalk. It's such a calm atmosphere: lights from underneath the railings brighten your path, there's mostly couples strolling quietly along that give you an occasional nod and you smile to yourself when teenagers go racing by on bikes or scooters. Joel doesn't lead you that far, otherwise it will take forever to eventually get back to his truck, so instead he finds a secluded spot with a view and leans against the railing on his forearms. You follow his lead but shiver when the metal railing touches your skin. He notices and immediately shrugs off his flannel, draping it around your shoulders.
"Thank you," you murmur, sliding your arms into the sleeves. The heat from his body is still in the fabric. His scent clings to the fibers and it makes you a little hazy with want to have his shirt engulfing you like this because it's reminding you of the way his body felt folded around you while pummeling you from behind.
When you catch his eye, you think you see the same flash of lust there, but he averts his gaze to the water too quickly.
"Don't come here at night often," he says. The light breeze slips through his hair and it makes you want to run your fingers through it.
"Me, either," you admit, "it's nice."
Despite just wearing a short sleeved shirt now, you still feel the heat rolling off his body. You lean a little closer and watch the water lazily roll under the walkway towards the shore.
"Was it as bad as you thought it'd be?"
You glance sideways at him when he asks the question.
"What?"
He shrugs, eyes still scanning the scenery. "Tonight. Our date."
"Oh," you laugh, "I had a great time. I didn't think it would be bad."
"No?"
He shifts a little, body angling more towards you now. You do the same, leaving one arm on the railing for support and you shake your head.
Joel smiles. "Good. The way you kept makin' excuses when I'd ask before had me wonderin' if it was me."
Guilt blooms a little in your chest. "No," you tell him softly, "it's definitely not because of you."
He gives you a few moments to elaborate but you don't. He doesn't ask, either, which you appreciate. And he doesn't make you feel bad for not sharing. It's almost frustratingly perfect.
You stay there a little longer, shoulders pressed together as you stare at the view and people watch whoever happens to walk by. Your fingers lace together at some point and you only let go halfway back to his truck when he buys you both ice cream.
"Shit," he grumbles when he sees how good your strawberry cone looks. You raise an eyebrow at him while taking a generous lick.
"Buyer's remorse?"
"No," he says stubbornly after tasting his butter pecan. "It's an underrated flavor."
"I'm sure it is."
You walk a few minutes in silence, past the theater again, which is now closed. With your ice cream half gone, Joel crumbles.
"Lemme try yours."
"No! I told you you should have gotten a different one."
You take a stubborn lick of your ice cream and Joel pouts. "I'll give you some of mine," he offers, holding out his cone. You shake your head.
"No, thanks. This is perfect."
Less than a minute goes by with Joel side-eyeing you until he can't take it anymore and he suddenly lunges, trying to grab a lick of your ice cream, but you yank it away just in time.
"Stop!" you squeal, giggling when he tries and fails again. A crowd of drunk twenty-something year olds stumble past in the opposite direction, loudly swearing at one another and cracking lewd jokes, but neither of you notice because Joel figures out a way to get what he wants by pressing you up against the brick wall of a pizza parlor and kissing you so deeply that the entire world around you fades.
"Mmm," he hums, licking his lips after he breaks the kiss. You're lucky you're still clutching your ice cream in your right hand because you almost forget where you are when his body is pressed against yours like this and the faint taste of butter pecan mixed with strawberry lingers on your tongue.
"It's good," he confirms, then thinks about it for a moment before a sly smile stretches across his face. "Can't decide if it's better than mine. Lemme taste it again—"
Your laugh gets cut short by another kiss, but this time you're somewhat prepared. His beard scratches against your lips and chin and you're quickly becoming addicted to the burn, but it's nothing compared to the way his mouth moves against yours, the firm yet soft seal of his kiss, the measured swipe of his tongue behind your teeth, the gentle way he cups your face.
The way Joel Miller kisses is utterly euphoric.
When he pulls away, you have to stifle a whine of protest for your own dignity, but his hand still cradles your cheek as he smiles down at you.
"What do you think?" he asks softly. You're not sure what he means. What do you think about... the kiss? The weather? The president's latest cabinet pick?
"I think..." you pant, heavy eyes dropping to his mouth. Your thumb swipes under his lower lip and you swear he leans forward. "I think it's an underrated flavor," you finish, gaze darting up at him playfully. He smirks.
"Told ya."
The ice cream is gone by the time you wander back to the bar parking lot. Based on the noise filtering from the open door, it sounds like it got much busier since you left. A few motorcycles rumble into the parking lot behind you and Joel tucks you protectively into his side even though there's no chance of them coming anywhere close enough to hitting you.
When he opens the passenger door, he helps you hop in. His hand lingers on your waist a little longer than necessary and you grin.
"Do you want your flannel back?" you ask him. He shakes his head.
"Looks better on you."
Your cheeks warm from the compliment and in the brief moment you have to yourself after he shuts the door, you drag in a loud, steadying breath to calm your nerves. Why are you so nervous anyway? You've already slept with him twice. Yet somehow, being on this date with him feels so much more vulnerable than being naked.
On the drive back to your house, you try your best to keep the conversation light, but it's hard when his hand rests so comfortably on your thigh. All you can think about is dragging him into your house, back into your bed, because the tension that's been ebbing and flowing all evening is making you feel like you may implode.
"How much longer do you have next door?" you ask him at some point. His fingers tighten around the denim of your jeans as he makes a turn, one handed.
"'Bout a week or two."
You hum and keep looking out your window, fingers itching to touch him.
"Then what?"
"Puttin' on an addition for a family who's expectin' a baby in a few months," he tells you. "Spot's over in my neck of the woods, couple streets over."
"Where do you live?" you ask, a little ashamed you haven't asked before.
"Off Rossler, in a little cul-de-sac," he says. You map it out in your head.
"That's not too far from me."
"'Bout fifteen minutes."
"And do you live alone?"
Joel laughs. "You askin' if I got a secret family or somethin'?"
You can't help but grin in return. "I mean, I'd hope not, but you never know."
"Well, I don't. But Tommy'll be comin' to stay for a couple weeks pretty soon. He's in the army and he'll be home on leave."
That surprises you. "I thought you said he's a trouble maker?"
"That I did."
"Hmm," is all you say in response. A comfortable silence falls between you, only to be broken once Joel turns onto your street.
"I like spendin' time with you," he says abruptly. Your gaze skirts to the side in surprise when you hear the earnestness in his voice. "I know you said you don't really do relationships but I want you to know, I don't plan on seein' anyone else."
Joel removes his hand from your thigh so he can properly turn into your driveway, allowing you a chance to process what he's just said. When he shifts the truck into park and nervously glances in your direction, you realize you've taken too long to formulate a response.
"I like spending time with you, too," you say softly. The corner of his mouth lifts and he looks straight ahead, turning the key in the ignition. The headlights blink off, casting your driveway into darkness.
"Lemme walk you up," he tells you before popping open his door and sliding out of his seat. His boots hit the fine gravel and you hear the soft crunch under his weight before his door shuts and you're left in momentary silence. Your eyes track him rounding the front of his truck and you smile as you unbuckle your seatbelt.
You should just thank him for tonight. Maybe give him a chaste kiss. Tell him you're looking forward to next weekend. But you know you can't leave it at just that. It's almost laughable now as you breathlessly ask him to come inside as one hand fumbles with your lock, unable to focus when his mouth is pressed against your throat and his hands are squeezing your hips.
Somehow you manage to both kick off your shoes and push your door shut, even with your mouths seared together in a heated kiss. You mumble the hollow offer of a drink against his lips and as expected, he just shakes his head and pushes you down your hallway, mouth barely giving you a reprieve.
"You look so good," he growls, yanking the collar of his flannel down to expose one of your shoulders. Your breath stutters as you blindly navigate your bedroom, the sharp press of his lips over your skin sending shocks of arousal throughout your entire body.
Calloused fingers gently slip the thin strap of your tank top down next and the flowy material gives way, nearly exposing one breast. Joel helps it the rest of the way, curling his fingers underneath and pulling it down so his warm mouth can cover your nipple with a groan. The backs of your thighs bump against your mattress and you fall back, leaving Joel standing at the edge of your bed with his mouth open while you scoot backwards.
"You coming?" you tease before lifting your shirt over your head and tossing it onto your floor, joining the flannel.
"Not yet," Joel says back, and you giggle before his body folds forward, covering yours. Excited fingers find the soft waves styled on the back of his head and he kisses you again, stealing your breath when your nipples peak and graze against the fabric of his shirt.
"Been thinkin' 'bout this all night," he confesses with one more wet kiss before his lips drag down your jaw. "Been half hard since I picked you up."
You groan and arch your back, lifting your hips off the bed. His hand finds the button to your jeans and he undoes them in a heartbeat, zipper following soon after. Instead of tugging the denim down your legs, his hand delves down, greedy fingers seeking out your pussy and groaning deep when he finds you wet and aching for him.
The pad of his middle finger drags slow and firm over your clit and you moan, holding his face against your throat in a death grip. You're so sensitive from the buildup all evening that your body feels like a coil ready to snap.
Joel only gives you a few long, teasing strokes before he removes his hand and sits back on his knees to pull your jeans down. You eagerly assist, breathlessly lifting your hips and straightening your legs until they're left somewhere at the foot of your bed. You watch, heat licking up your spine as he strips off his shirt and starts to work on his pants. The arousing sound of his belt buckle clinking in the otherwise quiet room makes you shiver with anticipation. Joel sees it and smirks.
"Dyin' for it, ain't you?"
"Shut up," you whisper, eyes glued to the way he pushes his pants down and off, leaving him in only a plain pair of black boxer briefs.
"Mm, there she is," he breathes with a crooked grin. You roll your eyes.
"Get over here," you tell him, and his body jolts forward, eager to obey, but then he stops.
"Just one thing first," he says, bending forward at your waist. His lips find your hip and his beard drags slowly across your skin, distracting you from his hands pulling down your panties until you feel the cool air of your bedroom between your legs. Your eyes flutter closed under his gentle kisses and you almost forget where you are until his broad shoulders nudge your thighs apart and he settles his weight between your legs.
"Wha—what are you doing?" Your thighs tense when his hands glide up to hold them open.
"Wanna taste you," he says, voice low and thick. "Wanna make you feel good."
"No, that's okay," you tell him. Your throat tightens as the panic begins to rise.
"It's okay, just relax." His voice is soft and you jump when his thumbs spread you open. You can feel his exhale fan over your wetness and your muscles seize.
"You don't have to—"
"I want to," he smirks, "been thinkin' 'bout it for weeks."
When his mouth dips to taste you, you fist his hair and yank him up. You might have been a little too harsh based on the surprised look on his face.
"Sorry," you whisper shakily, "just... I'd rather not."
Something passes over his face that makes your stomach twist with guilt and you let go of his hair.
"It's not you," you assure him, "I—I just really want you to fuck me."
He scans your face and you can tell immediately he doesn't buy it, but thankfully he lets it go. He pushes himself onto his hands and crawls up to hover over your body and you relax instantly.
"Alright, honey," he says soothingly, "alright. Lemme take care of you, then."
Joel doesn't let your weird moment ruin the mood and you're eternally grateful for it. When his lips press firmly against yours and his weight settles between your hips, all is forgotten for at least the night. But something tells you the topic is only tabled, not dismissed entirely.
Desperate hands push blindly at the band of his boxers and you can feel him smirk against your lips.
"Take these off," you hiss, nipping impatiently at his chin.
"So fuckin' pushy," he chuckles before eventually helping slide the boxers down his legs.
"I know what I want," you reply with a pleased look as you watch him finally free his cock. You widen your thighs and reach for him, circling your fist slowly around his girth and giving him a few measured strokes. His eyelids flutter under your touch and it gives you a little rush, having him quite literally in the palm of your hand.
"Hang on." He sounds a little breathless when your hips tilt and the tip of his cock brushes against your folds. You bite your lip and pout when he shoos your hand away.
"What?"
He slides off the bed and searches for his wallet, wordlessly answering your question when he plucks a condom from somewhere in the depths of the leather and shows it to you like a prize.
The frustrated noise you make is involuntary, but Joel reacts to it all the same.
"I was over nine pounds when I was born," he tells you, tearing the foil and rolling the condom carefully down his length. His eyes flicker up to you and he tuts. "Ain't gonna do that to you, darlin'."
"God!" you exclaim, covering your face. "Don't put that image in my head right before you fuck me."
Joel just laughs and shuffles forward on his knees. His long fingers curl around your thighs, holding your hips wide. When you feel his cock nudge against your opening, your hands fall from your face with an eager gasp.
"Yeah, thought that's all it'd take," he murmurs, pushing forward just an inch. Your head drops back into the pillows with a moan. "First taste of this cock's got that smart mouth makin' sweet noises for me, ain't that right?"
"Asshole," you breathe, arching off the bed when he feeds you a few more inches. Joel chuckles again and leans down, mouthing at your jaw, then throat, then breasts until he's fully sheathed inside you with a relieved sigh. He spots an old hickey he left half faded on your skin and his lips seal around it, sucking on the skin to deepen the mark, to stake his claim.
"Fuck," you whisper, fingers rising to get lost in his hair. He grunts a little when your nails rake gently over his scalp. Then his hips withdraw just so he can slowly sink back into your cunt.
"So wet," he groans, eyes squeezing shut. "Feel so goddamn good, drives me fuckin' crazy."
You preen at the praise and let your hands fall to his strong shoulders, palms skirting over the warm, sun-kissed skin. He's so attentive to your body, studying your reactions every time he buries himself inside you, hands always searching your soft skin and committing every slope to memory. His mouth is always on you, either lightly nipping at your jaw or brushing his lips across your collarbone or kissing you to stifle his groans.
Joel usually starts slow, lets you adjust, then fucks hard, but today he notices how you seem to like it like this. You like being fucked slow. It's easy to tell—you're more relaxed and vocal underneath him. Your hips roll to match his thrusts and you're already short of breath.
"You like it like this?" he grunts, and when your eyes find his he nearly crumbles. You're entirely lost, floating. He can see it in your face. You look so soft like this, so open, that it nearly does him in. Then your lips part to answer, but nothing comes out.
"Hm? Like it nice 'n slow?" He finds your leg and pulls your knee up to press against your chest. A choked sound echoes from your throat and your eyes roll. There's something so intoxicating, having you like this, that it's making his vision swim. He can't tear his eyes away, utterly engrossed with watching how you gasp every time he fills you, how your jaw slackens with every slow roll of his hips, how your face warms and your skin glistens from the pleasure.
Oh, he likes this. He likes making you feel this good. He likes being the person to do this to you, to see you like this, so relaxed and open. And he enjoys peeling back the layers and finding out more things about you. It makes him wonder if it just feels better to be fucked slow and deep, or if there's another reason.
"Eyes on me, honey," he murmurs. His thumb and forefinger tilt your chin and your eyes flutter open. He grins and shifts his weight, deepening the angle and keeping your knee pressed firmly to your chest. The way your brows pinch together when you whine has his stomach pulling tight.
"Fuck, that's it," he groans, still holding your chin. Your mouth is ajar and your gaze is hazy but you're focused on him. Sweat beads at Joel's hairline, desperate to slam into you, to fuck you hard and fast and flip you over and do it again. But he holds firm, he maintains that slow pace, he keeps flexing his hips so he can reach the deepest parts of you because seeing you trembling and moaning so sweetly like this is something he can't resist.
"Joel," you whisper, but your voice shakes. He nods and leans in, lets his parted lips hover above yours but doesn't let them touch. Not yet.
"Doin' so good," he says softly, and when your cunt clenches in response, he says it again. "So good. Takin' it so fuckin' good, darlin'."
You whimper and claw at his shoulders, trying to draw him down. Sweat trickles down the side of his head and your chest heaves but he keeps moving, he keeps his relentless, steady pace because something about it is tearing your walls down and he's desperate to see more.
Slick pools around his length, he can feel it. He can feel the way you respond to his words, to his gentle touches, and he keeps filing it all away, reminders not only for now, but for the future, of things that you like. Or, perhaps, need.
"You're beautiful, y'know that?" he murmurs, lips centimeters from grazing your own, "so beautiful. Y'know how good it felt to have the prettiest girl in the bar next to me all night?"
It's hard to push through the fog in your brain. The pressure building low at the base of your spine is climbing. The heat in your belly is growing. Whatever he's doing and saying is scratching an itch you didn't even know you had and it's got you so far gone, you barely remember your own name. And yet, through the pleasure and praise, your mind snags on one particular piece Joel just said and your heart skips a beat.
"I—" you swallow, throat dry. "I... made you feel good?"
If the question throws him off, he doesn't show it.
"'Course you did, honey," he replies smoothly, "y'make me feel good all the time, thought you knew that."
You whine and cup your hand around the back of his neck. It's impossible to get any closer, not a sliver of light can sneak between your bodies, but you need it. You need him. And maybe later you'll be embarrassed, but not tonight.
"Again," you beg, breath fanning over his lips.
"Y'feel so good," he tells you without hesitation. He keeps moving slow, making sure you feel every inch of him. Your fingers around his neck tighten. Damp curls flop against his forehead. "You're perfect. You fit around me so well, shit—" His hips stall for a moment when you flutter around his cock, nearly pulling him over the edge. You whimper and curl your free leg around his waist. Joel pants heavily above you, and your jaw drops open more, eager to swallow down his moans. "You're gonna make me come, sweetheart," he gasps, the admission only dragging your orgasm closer to the surface.
"Please," you whisper, ignoring the sweat collecting under your bent knee, between your breasts, on the back of your neck. "Please, Joel, please..." you continue, eyes rolling back right before his mouth presses softly against yours.
Of course, he'll give you anything you want. He wants to tell you so, he wants to tell you how fucked up you have him, how much he thinks about you and how badly he wants you, but he needs to be careful. Dumping too much on you will scare you off, he's figured that much out by now. Still, the words claw up his throat, begging to push past his lips and into your mouth so you can't escape them.
When you come, it's quiet, but he feels it like an earthquake. Your body shakes, your cunt pulses, and your free hand snags on the sheets, fingers gripping the fabric so tightly it almost tears. His deep groans tumble from his mouth into yours when he follows, hips stuttering as his hand clenches around your waist, holding you still as he spills into the condom.
The kiss doesn't end until the sweat on your bodies begins to cool. He can't tear himself away, he needs this almost as badly as you. The hand on the back of his neck doesn't loosen. His hand on your waist doesn't move. Your bodies remain intertwined until a dull cramp forms in your bent leg and you wince when he slips his cock from between your thighs.
When Joel makes a move to get up, you make a soft noise of protest that tugs at his chest.
"Gotta clean up, honey," he reminds you before folding the sheets across your body to trap the heat. Your hand finally falls from his neck and he reluctantly pushes himself up. Your eyes are closed, face flushed and muscles loose. He can't stop himself from kissing your forehead before disappearing into the bathroom to take care of the condom and wash up.
When he returns, you're exactly where he left you but now you're curled up on your side under the sheets, looking content and sleepy. Joel pauses for a moment before bending down slowly to collect his clothes, but then to his relief, you speak.
"Stay?"
It's a soft mumble that makes his heart soar. He doesn't hesitate to drop his jeans and slip back into bed, under your sheets. His body curls around yours and you nuzzle tiredly against his chest. Joel tries to fight sleep as long as possible so he can soak up this feeling, but his eyelids grow heavy soon after your breathing deepens.
A strong sense of optimism washes over him before he falls asleep.
a Better in My Head drabble
this can be read standalone but feel free to go and read the original story here: masterlist
pairing: joel miller x f!reader
word count: 1,813
summary:textfic! you're away and a little tipsy.
warnings: rating change from the main fic. 18+. minors DNI.
a/n: i thought i was done with these two but then @billionairecowgirl mentioned sexting and well...here we are
as always the biggest of thank you's to my amazing beta @joelsgoodgirl. i wouldn't write/post half the shit i do without your support 💜
as a reminder the format key:
Joel
Reader
Wednesday, November 19
(6:09pm)
(Outgoing call - no answer)
(6:14pm)
I thought you said you’d be done by 6
(6:19pm)
Done with the work part of the day
but some of my old coworkers from the Detroit office wanted to get drinks at the hotel bar
(6:20pm)
Will you call me when you get back to your room?
Missed the sound of your voice
(6:22pm)
And miss you saying goodnight to me?
Never 😍
(6:24pm)
Favorite part of my day
----------------------------------------------
(9:09pm)
Joel?
(9:11pm)
Yes, sweetheart?
(9:12pm)
Why haven't we had sex yet?
(9:12pm)
(Outgoing call - no answer)
(9:13pm)
(Outgoing call - no answer)
(9:14pm)
Still at the bar
(9:14pm)
Still? It’s past 9
(9:15pm)
Drinks turned into dinner, dinner turned into dessert, dessert turned into more drinks
(9:16pm)
You didn’t answer my question
(9:16pm)
Not sure how to respond
(9:17pm)
Do you find me attractive?
(9:17pm)
C’mon now. You know I do.
(9:17pm)
Then what is it?
(9:18pm)
I just don’t want to mess this up
(9:18pm)
Joel…
(9:18pm)
That’s not fair.
You know I’m a sucker for when you say my name.
(9:19pm)
All I’m saying is that I want you to be comfortable
I don’t want you to think that I’m pressuring you
(9:19pm)
If anything it feels like I’m the one pressuring you…
(9:20pm)
I am very much a willing participant
(9:20pm)
So, you do think about me like that?
(9:20pm)
All the time
(9:21pm)
Do you…
(9:21pm)
Do I what?
(9:23pm)
I’m not sure how crude i’m allowed to be with you
(9:24pm)
It’s gonna take a lot to send me running
(9:25pm)
Do you think about me when you touch yourself?
(9:25pm)
Baby…
(9:26pm)
Just a simple yes or no
(9:26pm)
I’m only human
(9:28pm)
Tell me what you think about
(9:28pm)
Cmon now. You’re out with your friends
(9:28pm)
I’m being a bad friend and ignoring them
(9:29pm)
Just call me when you get back to the room and we can continue this conversation
(9:29pm)
Or you can just tell me now
(9:30pm)
Here, let's make a deal
You tell me what you think about
And I'll call you later on and tell you what I think about
(9:31pm)
I don’t know what to say
(9:31pm)
Just tell me what you think about
(9:32pm)
I’ll try
----------------------------------------------
(9:36pm)
There’s a lot of typing going on over there
(9:37pm)
Do you want me to tell you or not?
(9:37pm)
Sorry, please continue
(9:38pm)
Gotta restart now
(9:38pm)
You didn’t just copy what you had written?
(9:39pm)
I don’t know how to do that
(9:39pm)
🤐
(9:39pm)
Mhm. Keep laughing
(9:39pm)
You make it too easy
(9:40pm)
You know I ain’t good at texting
(9:40pm)
No?
Because I’m pretty sure that’s how you scored your girlfriend
(9:41pm)
You like my dopey way of texting?
(9:41pm)
Yes
Now, please go back to your super long text that you were sending me.
(9:42pm)
It’s nothing crazy.
I just think about kissing you all over.
(9:42pm)
It took you that long to type that?
(9:43pm)
I aint done
(9:43pm)
No?
(9:43pm)
No
Just not good at this
(9:44pm)
At sexting?
(9:44pm)
Is that what they call this?
(9:44pm)
Yes, old man
(9:45pm)
Not that old
(9:45pm)
Would it help if I said I'll be on my best behavior?
(9:45pm)
Probably not
(9:46pm)
I promise
(9:47pm)
Now, can you just try?
For me? 🥺
(9:48pm)
Why can’t we just wait and have sex like normal people?
(9:48pm)
Because i’m thinking about you now…when i’m a million miles away
(9:50pm)
Can you…help?
(9:50pm)
Stop thinking too hard
You’re stuck in your head
(9:51pm)
It doesn’t have to be perfect
Just tell me
When you’re alone and you have your hand wrapped around yourself, what do you think about?
(9:52pm)
You under me
(9:52pm)
Okay, good.
And are there clothes involved?
(9:53pm)
Not usually
(9:53pm)
And what are you doing?
(9:54pm)
Kissing your neck and making you arch your back like you do when we make out.
(9:54pm)
You like that?
(9:54pm)
I love it
(9:55pm)
Good to know.
(9:55pm)
What's next?
(9:56pm)
I’d slide my leg between yours
(9:56pm)
Good
(9:57pm)
and feel how turned on you were
(9:57pm)
and you’d feel how…hard I was for you
(9:58pm)
Joel…
(9:58pm)
Nuh-uh. You asked, and I’m answering
(9:58pm)
So keep going
(9:59pm)
I’d kiss you until you’re blue in the face.
Always wanna be kissing you.
(9:59pm)
Maybe tease you a little
(9:59pm)
Tease me how?
(10:00pm)
Baby…
(10:00pm)
I thought you were answering.
(10:01pm)
I don’t know what words to use
(10:01pm)
You can say the word cock, Joel.
It’s not gonna kill you.
and it’s certainly not gonna scare me off.
(10:02pm)
Jesus Christ
(10:02pm)
Is nowhere near this conversation.
Now please continue
(10:02pm)
Bossy
(10:03pm)
Stop stalling
(10:03pm)
Fine
(10:04pm)
I’d tease you with my….cock
(10:04pm)
Let you rub against it a little bit, get it nice and…wet
(10:05pm)
The dramatic pauses are unnecessary but continue
(10:05pm)
Baby, I'm trying here.
(10:06pm)
You said you were gonna be on your best behavior
(10:06pm)
You’re right. I’m sorry.
(10:06pm)
You gonna make fun of me again?
(10:06pm)
No
(10:07pm)
Good
(10:07pm)
girl
(10:08pm)
I’m sorry?
(10:08pm)
Good girl…
(10:09pm)
You like being called that?
(10:09pm)
I don't know, but i imagined you saying it and my heart went from 1 to 100 real fast
(10:10pm)
I’d kill to have you here with me right now
(10:10pm)
One more day and then I’m back in Texas
(10:10pm)
Will you keep going for me, Joel?
(10:11pm)
I’m doing ok?
(10:11pm)
More than.
(10:12pm)
You were saying that you’d tease me with your cock
get it nice and wet
(10:13pm)
Jesus, yeah
Or maybe use my hand
(10:14pm)
Let my thumb figure out how sensitive you are
(10:14pm)
Start working two fingers inside you
(10:14pm)
Maybe this wasn’t a good idea
(10:15pm)
Shit, I’m sorry.
I knew I was bad at this
(10:15pm)
NO.
God no. The opposite
(10:15pm)
I’m getting a little too worked up
(10:15pm)
Oh.
(10:16pm)
Do you want me to stop?
(10:16pm)
Fuck, Joel
(10:17pm)
Bet you’d sound real pretty saying that in my ear
(10:18pm)
I’m blushing
I’m beet red and blushing
(10:18pm)
Is that it?
(10:19pm)
What do you mean?
(10:19pm)
Are you wet?
Thinking about me touching you?
(10:19pm)
JOEL
(10:20pm)
How did you go from ‘I don't know if I’m good at this’ to….THAT in five minutes
(10:20pm)
It’s a real ego boost to hear your girl getting worked up over you
(10:20pm)
Touche
(10:21pm)
Are you going to answer my question?
(10:22pm)
Soaked, Joel. My panties are soaked and I am in public with my colleagues
(10:22pm)
Good
(10:23pm)
So, two fingers inside you, my thumb on your clit
(10:23pm)
Do I need more than two?
(10:23pm)
Subtle
(10:23pm)
It’s a legitimate question
(10:24pm)
You’re fishing
(10:24pm)
I’m not
(10:24pm)
All you have to do is ask
(10:24pm)
Is that not what I’m doing?
(10:25pm)
Just ask the question you actually want to ask
(10:25pm)
How is this somehow worse?
(10:26pm)
Worse than telling me your panties are soaked?
(10:26pm)
I’ve released a monster…
(10:26pm)
I would make a pun but it would be in poor taste
(10:27pm)
Joel, I swear to god
(10:27pm)
I’m sorry.
You got me feeling like I’m 16 all over again
(10:27pm)
Apparently.
Jesus.
(10:28pm)
It would probably be in your best interest to go up to three fingers
(10:28pm)
I’m dizzy
(10:28pm)
Baby, you okay?
(10:29pm)
Keep talking, you asshole
(10:29pm)
Baby?
What did I do?
(10:29pm)
Joel, please
(10:30pm)
Are you mad at me?
(10:30pm)
No.
Please keep talking.
(10:30pm)
Oh.
(10:31pm)
Three fingers. You said I needed three.
(10:31pm)
Yeah, baby. Three fingers inside you.
(10:31pm)
I’d let you feel the stretch. Work you open slow
(10:32pm)
Could you come from just my fingers?
(10:32pm)
yes
(10:32pm)
That was fast
(10:33pm)
Yes, Joel. I would come from your fingers. Please keep going
(10:33pm)
Baby, are you sure you’re okay?
(10:34pm)
I am in the restaurant bathroom getting myself off
because I can’t just sit there and do nothing while you talk such filth to me
and now you’re going to be insufferable about it but i don’t care.
(10:34pm)
I’m so close, Joel
(10:34pm)
(Outgoing call)
“I cannot do this with you right now.”
“If anyone hears me…”
“You don’t have to say anything, baby. Just listen.”
(zipper opens)
“…are you?”
“Yeah”
“Fuck”
“After you come on my fingers, I’d still want to make love to you.”
“Do you think you can do that for me? Come again?”
“Yes”
“Good girl”
Your breath hitches and you shove the meaty part of your palm in your mouth to keep from moaning.
“I wanna go nice and slow. Feel your fingers dig into my back as you moan into my ear.”
“I’d tell you that you’re doing good. Real good.”
“I’d kiss you, but it wouldn’t be all sweet. Not then, not while i’m inside you.”
“…Joel”
“Shh, quiet, baby. Someone’s gonna hear”
“I don’t care. I’m so close”
“Just from listening to me talk?”
“You don’t get it. I’ve been worked up for weeks now. “
“and you’re so sweet in person.”
“So polite and proper and god, you literally asked if you could put your hand under my shirt I just–”
“I want you so bad”
“I want you too, baby”
“Let me make you come. How can I get you there?”
“Keep talking. Please, Joel. Just keep talking.”
“Okay, baby. Okay.”
“Fuck. I’m touching myself thinking about you.”
“Thinking about how you’d be so warm and tight around me.”
“How I’d lift one of your legs a little higher just so i could get in a little deeper”
“Oh god, Joel”
“Tell me, baby. Is that what you want?”
“You want me inside you? Want me to touch your clit while I’m fuckin’ you?”
“Yes–”
“I’m gonna come, baby.”
“Fuck—I’m so fucking close. Are you close?”
“I’m so close, Joel.”
“Come with me, baby.”
“Come with me, please. Need to hear you come.”
“Joel–I–I–”
You press your palm tight against your mouth as the wave crashes over you. Your eyes squeeze shut and you’re forced to grab the railing for balance. You can hear the erratic sounds of his hand moving faster as he strokes his cock.
“Just like that, baby. Just like. You sound so good.”
Joel takes in a sharp inhale and then lets out a deep groan as he follows you, his orgasm hitting him hard, making his eyes roll back.
Your whole body shakes as you fight to stay quiet, breath coming in sharp, frantic bursts through your nose. Your thighs press together tightly and your knuckles turn white from where they still grip the railing.
A few moments pass.
“So…how’d I do?”
“The day I get back, I'm not letting you leave the bed.”
It would probably be in your best interest to - sir. Sir. 🥵 Well, how the turn tables have turned. This was so fun to see him get into it when he realizes the effect it's having on her and feels safe from teasing.
Rating: I’m rating this 18+. There’s no smut here, but I prefer to err on the side of caution.
Warning: My warnings apply to the entire series. Snack time.
A/N: We're at the end. It's been a fun ride. Thank you, everyone, for coming along with me. 💜
You throw the car in park, breathing a sigh of relief. You lost them somewhere near the exit ramp. You take a moment to fix your makeup and extract some emergency cash from somewhere deep within your bra. Stashing cash in random places about your person is an old habit from your waitressing days… and it’s a habit you still hold to this day. You never know what kind of strange circumstances life can throw at you, like being barefoot and purseless at a donut shop. Luckily, this particular Mister Donut is like the Waffle House of the donut world. The chances of a fight breaking out are substantially high, and the chances of them noticing or even caring about your naked feet are incredibly low. The risks are mostly on you as you step onto the sticky floor for the first time.
Your stomach rumbles again, so you quick-foot it toward the front counter and the disinterested cashier. Your mouth waters in anticipation, the bra-money clutched tightly in your greedy little fist. You almost let out a giddy squeal of joy when a shadow falls over you from behind.
“Sit,” a familiar, deep voice commands. You turn and run right into Joel’s chest. He says it again, but the word comes out a little gentler. “Sit.”
You wanna mouth off and tell him to ‘get fucked’, but you don’t. There’s something in his eyes that makes you just nod. As you go to move past him, he catches your wrist and plucks the money from your hand, folds it neatly, and tucks it beneath the top of your sequined dress. He knows you too well…still. It’s a tender gesture coming from him.
“Your shoes are by the table.”
“Thanks,” you whisper.
You sit and pull on your shoes, your feet slightly tacky from the disgusting floor. You could easily duck out the door, maybe hail a cab and get the hell out of Dodge. But you don’t. You wait. A minute later, he sets down a tray with two crullers and a chocolate milk and then slides into the seat across from you.
“You remembered,” you say, mildly gob-smacked as you look at the tray.
“Never forgot,” he replies matter-of-factly, breaking the seal on the milk container and setting it down in front of you. He always used to do that for you, said he loved your pretty nails and didn’t want you to ruin them.
“Where’s Tommy?” you ask, breaking off a piece of pastry and shoving it in your mouth.
“Told him to go home. He’s in enough trouble as it is without adding Maria. It’s just you and me now.”
“You mad at me?” You sip the chocolate milk, taking a moment to savor it. It’s a little different than you remember, but still just as good.
“Yes.” It sounds so simple.
“Oh.” You’d been hoping for a different response.
“Mad that you took my car. We both know you can’t drive stick for shit, Kitten.” There it is again… the nickname.
“Can’t blame a girl for trying.” You hear a huff of a laugh from him that sounds genuine.
“I’m more mad at you for actually scaring the fucking hell out of me… driving down the highway… no shoes, no purse, no phone.”
“How do you know I don’t have my purse and phone?”
“I’m looking at that dress you’re wearing, and unless you have them stored someplace I don’t know about, you ain’t got them.” You give him a halfhearted shrug.
He leans forward and rests his elbows on the chipped Formica table. It gives you a good opportunity to take him in, shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows… though the shirt itself is now heavily creased. His once perfectly styled curls are in complete disarray from the trip down the highway. Beneath the unbuttoned collar of his shirt you glimpse a gold chain and what you think might be a pendant of sorts… but it’s not. It’s your wedding rings. Yours that he placed on your hand that afternoon at the county courthouse. Yours that you left on the kitchen counter with a note. Yours that is now nested inside his own and gleaming against the tan skin of his chest.
“Something could’ve happened,” he continues, his hands dangerously close to yours on the table. “You could’ve gotten hurt… or worse. I can replace the fucking windshield, Kitten, but I can’t replace-”
“Can’t replace what, Joel?” you ask when he stops suddenly.
He turns his hand palm up in invitation. You lay your hand in his, and his fingers close around yours. “Can’t replace you.”
Dead. The you remembered/never forgot is the most tender thing ever!! My absolute favorite part that just speaks to so much history and familiarity. These two are gonna be just fine. This was such a great series! 💝💝💝
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Rating: I’m rating this 18+. There’s no smut here, but I prefer to err on the side of caution.
Warning: My warnings apply to the entire series. High-speed chase.
A/N: We're getting close to the end.
“Goddamnit, Kitten!! Pull the fucking car over! You’re gonna kill my transmission!”
Tommy white-knuckles the steering wheel while Joel continues to hang out the passenger side window. He doesn’t even bother trying to risk a glance over for fear of ramming into the car and taking everyone out at once. Dying is not on his list of shit to do today, and he doesn’t intend to add it to tomorrow’s list either. If he did manage to die, Maria will resurrect him just so she can kill him herself. The crap he gets himself into. All he can hear above the rushing highway noise is Joel yelling across the gap and you obviously struggling to shift gears. The thing that he finds most odd is that… Joel doesn’t sound angry. He fully expected him to be enraged to the point of bursting a blood vessel. But there’s an edge of concern lacing its way through his words… and Tommy doesn’t think it has anything to do with the car anymore.
“Kitten! C’mon! Just pull the car over!”
“No! I’m hungry!” you bark at him, apparently finding the gear you’ve been looking for and launching ahead of them.
“Fuck!” Joel exclaims, settling back into his seat. His attention turns to Tommy. “Keep up, will ya?!”
“I’m doing the best I can, Joel! God! I’m trying to not get us killed!”
“Jesus Christ… when did you get to be such a wussy behind the wheel? Should’ve driven the goddamn truck myself,” Joel mumbles.
“You might have a fucking death wish, but I sure as hell don’t.”
“Whatever. Just keep on her.”
“Are you sure it’s just the car you’re worried about and not-”
“Shut your damn pie-hole, little brother. I’m not so old that I can’t still kick your ass.”
Tommy rolls his eyes and drops it. He knows better than to engage at this point. Joel’s not completely flipping out at the moment, so he takes advantage of the small reprieve.
But the peace doesn’t last long. Joel’s phone dings in the quiet of the truck. Tommy keeps his eyes on the Mustang, but the atmosphere in the cab shifts. The light from Joel’s phone draws his attention very briefly… but it’s enough. He knows exactly what it is… security footage from the parking garage. Shit!
“Did you know about this?” Joel asks, not raising his eyes from the screen. “Was that why you were in the garage?”
Tommy doesn’t answer… doesn’t dare to. The fact that Joel allowed him to verbally unload on him earlier in the parking garage was a miracle… but some miracles are ‘single use only’. He tries to pretend like he didn’t hear.
“I’m not gonna ask twice.”
“Yes and yes.” Surprisingly, it only earns him a small grunt of displeasure. The Mustang signals and speeds onto the exit ramp. “What the fuck is she doing?”
Joel looks up and sees the sign. “Take a left at the top of the ramp instead of the right.”
“But she’s going-”
“Just do it.” The corner of Joel’s mouth starts to curl up into a smirk. “I know where she’s going.”
<What are the odds? Part 6 Series Masterlist What are the odds? Part 8>
Tommy has me dying here. Afraid of crashing, afraid of Joel, but terrified of Maria🤣🤣 Also, i meant to say this last time, I love the pictures you use for your stories!
summary: Partner. That word had been jammed up inside his brain for as long as he could remember. Gym-class partner, lab partner, work-out partner, partner-in-training, partner in this fucking life or death situation where we’re only going to get out alive if we trust each other more than I trust myself. And then he met you and the definition changed again.
warnings: domestic!frankie, marriage kink (if that’s a thing), oral (f receiving) but i think that’s an expectation from every frankie fic, improper use of a kitchen table, unprotected piv, no use of y/n, brief mentions of PTSD, improper use of Spanish, eating in bed
a/n: requested for my 100 followers event! Anon: hiiii firstly! congrats on the big one hundo you totally deserve it 🥂‼️ secondly wondering if I could rq a Pedro boy drabble with prompt number 12... I wanna do laundry for Frankie Morales :D “did you just wash these sheets?” “I did.” “they smell nice. and they’re still warm.”
🤍Masterlist
. . . I would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you.
Frankie fills the silence of the house without you in it with music. This house, it had been your choice, even though he never expressly made you choose, or even presented the dichotomy. This house, with its leaky faucet and janky AC unit and finicky pilot light, was what you wanted instead of a diamond ring, and so he gave it to you. First down payment, along with every other red cent you and he had both saved up, went into buying your first home together. This wasn’t forever, you both agreed (with only two bedrooms it wasn’t enough room for a baby, he often thought) but even as the real estate agent glanced around with disdain for the house and your budget, one look from you and it was settled.
“It has good bones,” you said, standing out on the concrete deck overlooking a postage-stamp-sized backyard. There were weeds in the corners and holes from some unknown animal but he could see the wheels in your head turning, imagining how you, like everything else you did, planned to tackle and wrestle control over it with your bare hands. “It needs work, but I think there’s something special here.”
“Yeah?” he asked, threading his fingers through yours, the real estate agent no doubt off somewhere inspecting the drains. “Is there something here?”
You grinned and shoved your nose then a soft press of your lips into his denim-shoulder.
“I’m sure of it.”
All his life, Frankie worked best in a unit. As children, his older brother, his younger brother, and him were practically inseparable, their physical similarities almost presenting as the same person but at different ages, and when that group disbanded because Oscar left for college, he went on to find another one. First, his army unit, then the boys. His boys. Left to his own devices, Frankie was terrible at remembering to eat, sleep regularly – focus on anything other than fixing cars and planes, really – but he’d do it for them. He hated to see that worried crease show up on Will’s brow when Frankie admitted he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. He hated that Benny had to show up at his apartment to drag his ass outta bed to get him into the sunlight. And he hated when Pope felt obligated to take him out to bars to try and meet women.
“I’m not dating someone just so they can be my mother,” Frankie muttered into the lip of his beer bottle. “I don’t need anyone thinking I need to rely on them like that.”
“Yeah, but you do better when you have people relying on you.” Pope’s dark eyes flitted from a woman at the bar top to him, with intention and full of force. “And I’m not saying I’m trying to get you to fuck your mother, but you need a partner.”
Partner.
That word had been jammed up inside his brain for as long as he could remember. Gym-class partner, lab partner, work-out partner, partner-in-training, partner in this fucking life or death situation where we’re only going to get out alive if we trust each other more than I trust myself.
And then he met you and the definition changed again.
You are his best friend. You are the woman he wants to fuck every day for the rest of his life. You are the first person he wants to tell good news to and the first person he wants to talk to when he’s had a shitty day. Your voice quiets something inside him that has been far too loud for far too long. You are a relief and a refuge. For all his faults, you love him and sometimes he can’t fathom why.
You are his partner – in life, in marriage (one day), and forever (he hopes).
“I might not always like you, Catfish,” you said to him in Will’s backyard for Benny’s birthday party. You had been drinking and every sip seems to bring you closer and closer to him. With your face tucked up into his neck, arms up under his flannel and hugging his waist, the only way he could be physically closer to you was if he was inside you – which he was about two seconds away from suggestion when you leaned in close. “‘M not always going to like you, but ‘m always going love you.”
And love him you did. You loved him when he decided to go back to school to get some additional certifications so he could maybe teach flight school. The army would pay for most of it, was a fucking relief to your shared thread-bare, cartoon-spider-web empty savings account. But what the army would not pay for was for you to go to nursing school. You worked in hotels for the events services branch, coordinating everything from weddings to conferences, walking (mostly running) from one end of the hotel to the next. Your sister got you a Fitbit for Christmas one year and after the holiday rush, you walked twenty miles in two days.
“After that, this nursing stuff should be a breeze,” you said flippantly as you signed your paperwork for admissions.
Of course you got accepted at one of the better hospitals in the city – he never doubted for a second you would – and as the fresh-faced trainee, you got stuck with most of the night shifts.
Which meant his days looked a lot like this: wake up at 6AM, drive an hour to the helicopter tour building on the coast, fly rich idiots around all day, eat the lunch you had prepped for the both of you on Sunday night, continue flying rich idiots around, drive home in two-hour traffic, change into his work overalls, go work on some cars Benny’s buddy had at the local garage for some extra cash, then go home, heat up dinner you also made Sunday night, and then attend to the most pressing thing you or the house needed.
Which could be:
Fixing the AC unit, resealing the back door so it would close properly, re-caulking the shower, building more attic space, repainting the back fence, or replacing the hand towel holder.
Frankie didn’t mind the hard work. It kept his mind and his hands busy. What he did mind was the house silent and eerily empty without you here.
He didn’t mind the hard work because even for a few hours, he got to hold you while you slept. He got to eat with you at 10:30 at night and it was the highlight of his day.
Pay your surgeon very well to break the spell of aging
Sicker than the rest, there is no test, but this is what you're craving?
Frankie bobs his head, his earphones carefully tucked up under his shirt to prevent the laundry from tangling up in them. He hauls out the latest load and moves onto the washer, fishing out one more sock when suddenly the lights go off. All of them. Total darkness.
And then light and he’s staring down the bottom of the drum.
Then dark. And light.
You. Your code. One you designed when you read that PTSD victims are often triggered into a fight-or-flight response when startled. You, who knew before he did, how to manage the symptoms, create workarounds, and find a pathway through, instead of not at all.
He takes out one of the earbuds and smiles.
“Hey, you’re home.”
You lean against the doorway, smiling that smile that is reserved for him and him alone. Sometimes he’s selfish and wants everything of yours to be only for him – all your smiles, your laughter, your sighs – but that’s like trying to capture sunlight in a butterfly net: too focused on the impossible and you end up missing the daytime.
“How goes this fucking Sysphian task?” You nod at the baskets of laundry at his feet, referring to how you’d often rant and rave about how laundry, the dishes, and grocery shopping were never tasks that could simply be done. He knows how much you hate being unable to cross things off your to-do lists, so he holds your hand during all of these rantings and kisses your knuckles when you take a breath.
“Good,” he shrugs. “‘Bout to fold your scrubs for tomorrow.”
“Ah, have I told you lately that I love you?” You swing into the room and kiss him on his cheek, on the division where his patchy beard meets his skin – the place that you most often claimed on him. Your fingers squeeze around his bicep as you pull away and your eyes fall to the basket behind him. You gasp with glee.
“Did you just wash these sheets?” You ask like you’d just uncovered buried gold.
He smirks, propping his hip up against the dryer. “I did.”
Without another word, you scoop them up in your arms and inhale sharply.
“Mhmm, they smell nice.” You bury your head in deep. “And they’re still warm.”
In the rare moments when you’re both home and going through laundry together, he never fails to scoop up a load of hot towels and dump them over your head, relishing in the girlish giggle from beneath the clean laundry. “It’s so toasty,” you whimper with glee.
“They’re not gonna be if you get your hospital gunk all over them,” Frankie tuts, going back to add a new load into the washer as you glare at him over the lump of sheets.
“Ha, ha. Move over, Mr. Morales, and watch a master at work.”
“Yes, Mrs. Morales.” It’s stupid but his heart always fumbles when he calls you that. It started as a joke, one that you initiated, but now it’s like berry jam on his tongue, sweet and sugary. He’s thought about calling you that while he’s inside you but figures he should save something for the wedding night.
He sidles back, giving you space near the dryer as you pick up a basket of t-shirts.
“You know there’s dinner waiting for you in the kitchen.” He shakes his head as you begin to fold the shirts with lightning speed and precision – a side effect of being the oldest daughter in a family of five kids.
“Yeah, but you’re in here,” you say and bump his hip. He bumps you back and helps with the load. “Besides, it’ll get done faster with two people.”
He can’t exactly argue with that, so he lets the silence grow. But it’s not silence, not really. In the distance, dogs bark. Outside the room, the temperamental AC grumbles, a sound he never thought he’d come to appreciate. Inside the room, fingers tug at fabric, the soft thump as the shirts grow into a continuous pile. Then there’s you, breathing in the lilac-scented air, the scent of his deodorant and sweat and something entirely unique to him– his Frankie-ness as you’ve called it many times without elaborating. I’d bottle it if I could, you told him, bathe in it. You’re kinda weird, he told you, and you know he likes it.
Every once in a while, his elbow brushes up against yours, yours skirting around his, but never colliding, an awareness of the other always present and attended to, a flow of familiarity and recognition he’s never felt before or known since.
Bit by bit, you’ve taken pieces of him into you, picked them up, held them to the light and found them beautiful, until a second bit of his soul lives outside of his body. He knows every inch of you, how every atom calls out to him, begs to be close to him, and held tight. It’s not sunlight he’s trying to keep safe, it’s your heart. Your precious, wonderful heart that is somehow so full, it was enough to fill him up too. Gold filling in the cracks.
Kintsugi, Benny called it, when he got obsessed with anime for three months that one time two years ago. Frankie never could remember the actual name, and maybe that wasn’t the point and maybe it was a little ridiculous, especially when it was explained by a deliriously drunk and bleary-eyed Ben Miller at one in the morning on his brother’s lawn chair.
Maybe a better way of thinking about it was how separate, disparate, jagged and raw edges came to fit together. How someone like him got a do-over, another chance to be remade in the kiln, and how someone like you was allowed to love unselfishly, to ask for things and never be threatened with reparations of some kind – as if loving you deserved some sort of compensation.
Pieces, broken and scattered – he looked up and saw you carrying yours, and you witnessed the scars and blood dripping from the shards of his own past, his life, his love, and despite how slippery his pieces were, how dried and empty and wanting yours were, something pulled them together and made them stay.
Something stronger than light.
Stronger than gold.
You shook his hand and looked at what you built together, the pieces that came together, and in the end, that was your partnership. A creation of something greater – home, family, love.
So much fucking love.
In the end, Frankie Morales used love to build his life, not death, and you’re the one who gave it to him.
He drops the last shirt on the stack and he turns, his fingers seeking the drawstring of your pants.
You know what he wants. You want it too. A singular desire in two separate bodies.
The inherent closeness of domesticity draws you into him, closing the already limited space as hands find waists and lips find skin. He drags his nose against your jaw, somehow already shaking, his teeth grazing your throat, unwilling and unable to press his lips to you, wanting to drag this out as much as possible. He squeezes your hips, thumbs flipping under your shirt to touch, touch, touch, until his fingers wrap around your ribs and you make your first sound of the night. It snags at his restraint, pulling it threadbare.
“Frankie,” you sigh and he cannot fight the cataclysmic pull towards you – he stumbles, pinning you to the laundry room wall, his tongue cupping your earlobe into his mouth and he sucks. The next noise you make is high and keening and it turns his touch frantic.
Caught between the wall and his broad shoulders, he does with you what he wants. He nips at your cheek, your neck, the dip of your clavicle, as his thumb presses up each knot of your spine, drawing out the tension from your body like draining poisoned blood, and by the time he pinches off your bra, you’re all but hanging onto him.
“Baby–,”
He can hear you say, it’s late, we have work in the morning, you don’t have to do this,
I’m not worth this
With a low growl that is all possession, all anger that someone ever made you feel like your love was too much, he tugs your shirt off, knocking his hat off as he goes. In the drift, he sees your eyes flutter, mouth twisted in pleasure and guilt – you don’t want to be asking for things like this – and so he silences every doubt, every worry that he’s tired or it’s too late or his knees are aching too much to make you feel the way you deserve – he kisses you with enough force to knock out every unpleasant thought you’ve ever had about yourself and flattens you against the wall.
You let him pry you open, his touch fervent and insistent, tasting of iced coffee and gum. He licks into you, telling you things with his tongue, the way he tugs your bottom lip between his teeth, in the soft puff of breath that escapes him when you cup the back of his neck. Closer, he begs, closer.
His wide palm arching your lower back into him, he squeezes your ribs, up under your breast, before finally taking your nipple between his thumb and the meat of his hand and twists, just enough to make you break apart from his demanding mouth, gasping as if tapped by a live wire. But it’s him who is electrocuted, who catches fire, who wants to be chewed down and swallowed up. He shuffles and pulls you into him, the throbbing in his pants bordering on painful. He rubs himself against you once and you sigh like you know he hurts. You nod.
Your fingers peel your shirt up and over your head as he cups one thigh then the other until your hips hug his waist, smearing the hem of his shirt up over his skin. He feels the heat coming from between your legs, the slight dampness, against his lower belly and he groans, low, right near that source of warmth he wants to die in.
You curl above him, tipping his head back, as you dive into his mouth again, fingers twisting into his hair, thumbs brushing his temple right where you know he tends to get headaches. Your tongue brushes against his upper lip, tasting his mustache, and his knees threaten to buckle.
“You’re gonna fucking kill me,” he laments, he praises, into the supple wetness of your tongue. You nod, pleased, and press your chest into him. He cannot fucking wait to get his mouth around your tits.
Mouth sealed to yours, hands cupping the meat of your ass, Frankie works entirely on sense memory to carry you into the kitchen, to a long wooden table beneath a wide window, white curtains closed and blinds shut.
This table had been one of the first purchases for the new house. Tan cedar boards with white knobby legs, it instantly reminded him of the one in his own childhood home, where he and his brothers fought over meals and did homework together. Where he held his mom after his father died and where he dropped his bag after coming home from a life too long spent fighting other people’s wars.
This table mattered to him and he’d be damned if it wouldn’t mean something to his own child one day.
That was something you too wanted to give your child, never having a table like this in your own life. You loved the stories he told about the table in his kitchen. How much it meant to him.
And now he was going to fuck you on it, this symbol of stability.
He just wonders how stable it really is.
His fingers clutching the back of your neck, arm running in tandem with your spine, he lowers you down, shifting your weight onto his arm so you don’t bump your head against the wood. He releases you but you protest, a muffled uh-uh, as he tries retreating. You loop your arms around his neck, tugging him flat against you and he feels your breasts mold against his chest, nipples already tight.
“Baby,” he breathes, sucking up and out of your mouth, “let me make you feel good.”
Behind him, he hears your sneakers clatter to the floor, your heels digging into his back as you toe off your shoes, and you shake your head.
“I am.” Kiss. A thumb under his bottom lip. “You do.” Breathless, reverent, grateful.
Grateful.
Grateful that he is kissing you.
Not good enough. God, he’s going to eat that self-loathing right out of you.
You whine, frustrated and hot, as he pulls back. He wants to go right for your pussy, but stutters at the sight of your unmarked tits. Smooth, flushed, heaving. There is no part of you he does not love, does not feel the need to worship on his knees.
But suddenly sour shame strikes him as he realizes enough time has passed since the last time you’d had sex for the hickeys to heal. He intends to amend that right now.
His thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your hips, to calm himself, he folds himself over you, dribbling kisses along your throat, over the wings of your clavicle, at the barest incline at the top of your breast, and then to the meat of your tit, the heaviness, the sway, and he bites down. Predictably, you yelp, nails scratching roughly into his scalp and that only makes him suck harder. You have very strict rules around where he can mark you, but on the places he can – oh, you beg him for it.
He palms your other tit, just to feel the goosebumps break out across your skin, to roll your nipple with the calluses on his palm. His teeth release, his tongue laving over that already pink and swollen skin, and he glances up, his other thumb coming to massage that fragile patch.
Being a pilot, a soldier, a brother, a son, those are the things he is. But Frankie lives – aches, pines, desires – to watch you come apart.
The purple bruise on your tit shining like a luxurious necklace, your eyes flutter open when you feel him pull up. Your fingers around his ears, your chest wet with his spit, you let him take you in. You give him this, because you know you’re about to get so much more. With your legs still wrapped around his waist, he can feel the soft cant of your hips, the quiet, patient begging, as you thought he needed reminding that you needed this. You rub up him, knees pinned to his ribs, and he lets you pull him into your mouth, grounding him. This kiss is brief, soft, a far cry from the tearing and biting that got you onto the table. Knowing exactly the state you need to be in to ask for what you want, he holds your jaw, thumb against the apple of your cheek and he slips his tongue out of your mouth. Again a protest, an instinctual reaction to the repeated pattern of abandonment, but like all cries for help, he quiets your squirming by sliding his thumb between your lips.
“Suck,” he murmurs gently. Your eyes flutter shut, your nails carving half moons into his forearm, lips creating a vacuum seal around his knuckle and you obey – you suck – and he rewards you with a trail of kisses across your sternum, over your breasts, to the soft swell of your stomach. He nuzzles your belly button and you groan, eyes still shut and his thumb still in your mouth. He bites, softer than before, just above the thatch of hair and you whine around his finger, body going supple for him. He slides his thumb out, dragging a shiny string of spit over your plush lips, down your chin, joining his other hand at the waist band of both your panties and your scrubs.
Any fast movement will awaken that anxious, overthinking, beautiful brain of yours, now that he has it fuzzy and unfocused, so he keeps kissing, keeps sucking and biting, that spot just above your curls. He tongues your hip, and then the other side, your bottom half wonderfully bare before you can open your eyes.
His shoulder bumps the back of your thigh as he stands up right, inhaling the sweat behind your knee, the pungent tang of your glistening curls, your almond butter body lotion. It’s hunger, he feels, but not a tangible hunger, one that can be so easily satiated. It’s not painful, or weakening – no, he is made stronger by it. He feels your blood pulse beneath his hand on your inner thigh as he opens you up and he’s made better by it.
He kneels, a holy servant before the divine meal of their goddess, on shitty linoleum beneath harsh lights in a kitchen he can barely afford.
Frankie takes your hand, kisses your knuckles, and slides your grip into his hair.
“Recuérdame cómo te gusta, nena.”
He eats. He consumes. He licks. He sucks. He slurps.
He tastes your dripping wetness on the seam of your cunt, before his tongue ever gets the chance to explore, to open, to divulge. He licks until he feels your breath hitch – a curse in the shape of his name, as if he needs scolding for making you feel so good – and then he opens his jaw and tongues your hole.
In a lust-drunk haze you once told him he has something better than DSL – he has a pussy-eating nose. He prods you with that nose you can’t seem to get enough of, licking in as far as he can, coating himself in everything as it leaks out of you, and he moans as he can feel it on his chin. You vibrate with the sound and above him, your fingers clench down into his hair.
“Oh, fuck, holy – fuck, Frankie–,” your trembling shakes the bowl of your hips, spilling his meal, so he sucks your clit in a way that makes your body freeze and then melt. You go limp, pliable, and gushing. He gets a few more moments of twisting and sucking and swallowing, until by the third time he puts his lips around your clit, you open-mouth whine and it’s like his body violently remembers he has a cock. He is seized with such a need to fuck you in this warm, wet place he’s dug out with his tongue, he doubles over and rests his teeth against your thigh.
“Frankie, I’m so close,” you writhe, chest flushed and brow sweaty.
Before you, he never knew sex could feel like this, could do this. Sure, he used sex to keep away those circling, vulture-like thoughts from time to time. But this, this drawing out and unthreading, unspooling, of himself and someone else, tearing at ego-drenched threads until all that was left was a being of pure want and desire – he didn’t know this was possible.
He didn’t know he could feel like this.
One more broad lick, coating everything in what he hope fucking smells like him, and you arch, thighs shaking, his hair in danger of being ripped from his scalp. You gasp as you flatten, the first orgasm of the night rolling through you, sweat making your skin salty, as though you had been breached by the ocean.
He laps you through it, of course, a nascent smirk on his face.
You open your eyes to this self-satisfied Frankie, eyes only visible over the top of your cunt, and you whine.
You reach for him and he goes, smearing your slick over your face, offering it to you in supplication on his tongue. He tastes your rising desperation, the way you sharpen your teeth against his lips, batter his tongue into the corner of his mouth, try to claim what your cunt already has. His hunger is an infection and your fever has reached a boiling point.
Your trembling fingers curl his shirt up his back, passing over the ruddy scar on his shoulder where he got hit with a stray bullet, the jagged white line over his ribs where a knife nearly split him open. He used to only fuck with his shirt on. He doesn’t now.
His shirt crumples to the floor as he sits up, you following, eyes dark, and you bite his pec muscle, your love for him twisting you into an anthropophagist. You want to consume him, like your pussy swallows his cock. Having him impale you is not enough; you want intercourse with him on a subatomic level.
You inch back to give yourself enough space to unbutton his jeans and he sees the wet slick left behind on the table. The heat behind his groin shoots up his spine and he grunts, burying his face into your neck where he tugs on your earlobe with his teeth, hands planted on either side of you.
“Hurry, baby, I gotta fuck this pussy,” he whispers against the curve of your jaw. He wants to leave a giant purple bruise there, this instinct to claim, to mark, stoking the roiling heat at the base of his spine and drawing up his balls.
But his attention snaps back to your hands when he hears a click, the release of his zipper is almost euphoric. He moans in relief, unable to see through his half-lidded eyes the explosion of goosebumps over your skin as his breath tumbles over your back and down your chest.
His urgent hands overwhelm yours, one pushing his jeans down his hips, the other palming your stomach, pushing you back and you go willingly, but seemingly mesmerized by the sight of his aching, flushed cock springing up against his stomach. You lie down, but only barely, still on your elbows, as he tugs you by your ankles to the edge of the table.
Your uneven breathing could mean a lot of things. He thought you were being complementary the first time you told him he was too big, but your eyes always widened at the sight of his cock.
“Do you need to be opened up some more, cariño?”
At his rawest, Spanish came out of him like a spilled bottle of molasses, sweet, slow, rich.
“Hmm? Tell me what you need. Hable mas alto por favor.” He rubs your knees, your thighs, hoping you’ll ask for what he wants.
“F-fingers, Frankie,” you swallow, eyes still latched on to his now weeping cock. You glance up at him, face open and full of trust, and he feels his dick pulse. “Please, Frankie, put your fingers in me.”
“Fucking anything.” He plants one hand and cups your mound, lost for a moment in the soaked curls, before pushing two fingers inside and thrusting. “I’ll fucking give you anything you want.”
His hips jerking slightly in tandem with the pulse of his fingers, his slacked mouth an indication of how unconscious his humping has become, as he watches you dissolve with every stroke of his hand. God, he didn’t know they made things this pretty. His hand pushes your knee up and back, finding room for three fingers and your eyes roll back in your head. You scrabble for anything to hold onto, fingers searching for the ghosts of your bedsheets, but finding none, your arms curl over your head and latch onto the other edge of the table. You present your fucking tits to him like you’re letting him admire artwork.
It almost brings him to his knees.
“Oh, I’m coming, oh, Frankie, I’m gonna –,”
He pulls out his fingers just enough to let you gush down his palm, his wrist, and he licks it up like a glutton. It drips a bit onto the linoleum and he smears it with his bare feet.
Frankie slides two fingers back in, his brain going fuzzy at being away from the clutch of your cunt for too long, when you grab his wrist.
You can barely breathe, your skin a pale pink, your cunt no doubt must be sore, but your eyes are as hard as diamonds in your skull. He swallows the flush of spit in his mouth.
“Now, Frankie,” you plead, fingers tight around his wet wrist, the hairs on his arm standing up at the sound of your commanding voice. “Fuck me, now, I need you inside of me.”
It always makes him a bit dumbstruck, the way you beg, the way you let him and only him see this side of you – this side of you that is sick with wanting.
His hand squeezes the base of his cock once, eyes fluttering, to remind himself he cannot blow his fucking load the instant the tip of him is inside you. He taps your clit, once, twice, lubing himself up as if he hadn’t moved around internal organs to make way for himself. He notches, then slides, white-knuckling his impending orgasm in favor of making this good for you. He steps farther between your legs, hands sliding from your thighs, up to your waist. He thumbs your nipple and your pussy twitches around him. He swears his heart flat out stops for a concerning length of time.
“How is a pussy this good all mine? All fucking mine?” He rolls his hips, pushing deeper, movements marionetted by the high-pitched whimpers and moans of your mouth. He could catalog every single one of them, has done so in the deep recesses of his brain, and it takes just a second to know when it switches from pleasure to pain.
He bends over you, you choking on his dick, and kisses you hard, shattering the tense look on your face.
“I love you,” he tells you, a secret that despite being well-known to anyone who sees him look at you, still feels precious and fragile. His hand plasters your hair to your sweaty neck as he kisses you desperately, speaking a language only you understand. “I love you so fucking much.”
You sigh into his open mouth. “I wanna marry you, Fransisco Morales.”
He is covered in gold. Dripping with it.
His nails at your hip dig into your skin and you know exactly what you’ve done.
“Say it. Say it louder, nena,” he snarls, face pressed into your cheek, and he thrusts forward with enough force to rock the table. The table legs squeak as you pin him to you one more time and nip at his ear. The last drop in the well, the rope slipping over the edge, the coil locked into place.
“I wanna fucking marry you.”
With a breathy grunt, he yanks you down onto his cock by your waist and slaps your ass with his balls. It’s been a while since your cunt has taken a beating like this. You clutch at the edge of the table again, mouth torn open.
He knows you like it when he plays with your clit, and he will, but he needs to get this out of him.
“Yeah? You’re gonna marry the guy who’s fucking your pussy so good right now?” It’s amazing that words escape at all through his gritted teeth, jaw taut. He watches as he disappears and reappears in you, your lips puffy and pink already but he needs more. He doesn’t want you to be able to walk out of bed tomorrow.
“Yes, Frankie – oh, god, there, right there – yes, I’m gonna marry you.” He tips your hips up as he pounds down and you arch, crying out at the angle, the depth, how full you feel. He fucks like he’s trying to bruise your ribcage through your pussy.
The thoughts in his head collide with the others, knotting together, blurring, until the only noise he can make, the only thing he can verbalize is the tight grunts, the hm, hm, hm, as he focuses on chasing this fire.
He feels it approach so fast, he’s nearly taken under by the intensity of his orgasm so he slows, grinds instead, and with his eyes on your face, he cups himself around where he’s split you open, feeling your lips suck in and out with every thrust.
He closes his eyes briefly, helpless against the waves of arousal that coat his fingers. He smears your clit with his thumb and his name is a split, jagged thing that burns your tongue. He wants that taste on his tongue again.
You throb once, a sharp climax warming your pussy, and he backs out, drops to his knees, and licks you up again. He can taste his sweat there this time and he groans. His hands slip over your skin from the sweat in the crease of your thigh.
The cries from your mouth are wet now, on the curve of a salty tongue. You tremble like your orgasm is a physical thing, thrumming under your skin, warming your blood and you claw at his forearm.
“B-baby, please–,”
Wiping his mouth on your inner thigh, then licking up the mess he made, Frankie stands. He swats your bottom lightly, tutting. He’s a mad man, he knows it, he can’t tell if it's delirium from the rough ache of his balls or masochistic joy in hearing you beg, but again he rubs himself through your folds. It’s not the same, not nearly enough, but it helps last just a bit longer.
“No crying until after I’ve made you come.”
“I’ve already come twice,” you whine as you buck your hips, trying to take him in deeper. “You said I can have anything I want.”
“And what does princesa want?” Yeah, there’s definitely something wrong with him.
Your eyes flash as your nails dig into his shoulders, that fire he so loves to stoke flaring out.
“I want to come on your cock, Mr. Morales.”
And he unravels, divinity calling his name.
His pace is slow, then rough, then deep.
The table is just the right height. He balances on knee on the lip, bending your knees over his shoulders, and fucking down into you. He’s going to snap you in fucking half and maybe he does but he’ll be there to seal you back up again.
Pour himself into you. Fill you. Make you whole once more.
Baby, please.
The first drip of tears starts out the corner of your eyes as you come, open-mouthed, throat exposed, a cry loud and in the shape of his name tearing from your lips, your body locking up, cunt squeezing him until he feels himself burst.
With a shudder and a groan, he spills, hot and flush into you. He comes, and comes, and comes, until his gooey spend is forced out of you and down the crack of your ass. He can’t see anything past the white spark in his eyes, feel anything but you and the tingle of his limbs.
The excess of you and him is everywhere, leaking out onto the kitchen table, soaking the wood. There’s a ringing in his ears he can’t quiet.
Your breath is hot on his neck, sweaty skin stuck tightly against his, he knows he’s crushing you, his arms given out at some point, but he really doesn’t think he can stand up right. He kisses your cheek by way of apology and thanks but you don’t seem to mind, your own gaze unfocused on the ceiling.
“Fuck, Frankie . . .”
He laughs, realizes his legs aren’t working, so trembling and uneasy, he slides out of you and manages to make it to the floor. He blames the sudden dizziness on a lack of food and then blames the dizziness for lying down on the floor.
His eyes flutter and somehow you’re suddenly curled up next to him, your palm resting over his pounding heart. His fingers find their way up into your sweat-damp hair, thumb gently rubbing against the knot at the base of your skull.
“Your back is gonna be killing you in about fifteen minutes, sweetheart,” you grumble sleepily into his chest, a grin on your face.
“I can’t feel anything below my waist right now.” He yawns. “So, we’ve got some time.”
You nod, absentmindedly stroking the dark hair on his chest.
“We need to talk about Pope’s birthday party this weekend. Will put us on drink duty . . . but I can’t really focus on anything right now.”
“Good,” he smirks with his eyes shut. “That was some of my best work.” And then he frowns. “You need to eat.” He pokes your side and you huff.
“Okay, if you’re awake enough to berate me, we can at least go to bed.”
Groaning, you pull him up and he threatens to stumble you both into the wall, but he kisses your cheek and swats your ass, before snagging a tub of ice cream and a spoon. He meets you in the bedroom with the cap off and a smear of chocolate around his lips.
You’ve got one of his shirts, grinning up at him from the center of the bed, and he’s torn about whether he likes you in his boxers, or nothing at all.
You take the ice cream from him before he has a chance to flop down on the bed.
“Not exactly a nutritious meal,” you mutter around the spoon and he turns his face from the pillow to glare at you.
“That’s the other dinner I made for you, so eat.”
Your giggle is all you can give to show your thanks.
He rolls onto his back, groaning theatrically, before tucking his hand behind his head, and his fingers coming to rest on his stomach.
Behind the lids of his eyes, he can feel you watching him.
“What?” He grumbles, feeling around for your foot to pinch your ankle. He hears you move so he knows he’s close. “Not the right flavor, princesa?”
“No,” you laugh and prod his hip with your toe. “It’s just . . .”
His eyes open, finding yours in the half-lit gloom. You’re grinning the spoon in your mouth, eyes bright with something unnameable. You shrug, eying his hand between you both.
“I just never knew Fransisco Morales could be domesticated.”
He wipes the chocolate off your chin with his thumb.
Bit by bit, you’ve taken pieces of him into you, picked them up, held them to the light and found them beautiful, until a second bit of his soul lives outside of his body.
This whole part, the kintsugi, is just beautiful and reads like poetry. Just a gorgeous, gorgeous read.
