Why Not Both?! Thank You So Much! Im Glad You Liked It

Why not both?! 🤷‍♀️😅 Thank you so much! I’m glad you liked it ❤️❤️❤️

Between Us

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Summary: You and Frankie are dating but keeping it a secret from your daughters.

Warnings/Tags: 18+ MDNI! Go on, get! Kissing, fluff, secret relationship, time skipping, smut, oral(f and m receiving), unprotected PinV(don’t do this, make smart choices), cream pie, anything I left out let me know!

A/N: HAPPY FRANKIE FRIDAY!!! This is part 2 of Paint With Me but can be read as a stand alone! Thank you @noxturnalpascal and @beefrobeefcal for giving this a look over for me ❤️ Thank you @jay-zzle for giving this a read as well and the moodboard 😍

Masterlist||AO3 Link

Divider by @saradika-graphics

“Fuck, right there,” you groan into Frankie’s pillow, gripping the wrist that’s holding him above you. His other arm wrapped around your shoulder, grabbing your breast while he pulls you back against his cock again, your ass meeting his hips in a steady rhythm.

“Oh fuck,” he quietly grunts into the side of your neck, feeling your walls sucking him in, “Feel so fucking good baby.”

It’s been four months since you and Frankie had that conversation in the painting class you attended with your daughters. Four months of sneaking around so that the girls don’t catch on to their parents dating each other. In front of the girls, you and Frankie are just good friends but behind closed doors, it’s a completely different story.

“Frankie,” you whimper, trying to stifle your moans, you can feel the warmth simmering in your lower belly, so close to tipping over the edge, “I’m gonna come.”

“Yeah, baby?” Frankie whispers into your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point, causing goosebumps to erupt across your skin, open-mouthed kisses placed along your shoulders as he feels your walls beginning to flutter around him. “Wanna feel you come on my cock.”

Your grip around his wrist tightens as his hand grabs your jaw to tilt your head to the side. He captures your mouth in a kiss, your tongues massaging each other. His thrusts start to get quicker and you can tell he’s getting close too.

“Fuck,” Frankie whimpers into the crook of your neck, “I’m not gonna last much longer.”

“Daddy?” You hear a wobbly voice say on the other side of the door and you both freeze. “Daddy, I had a nightmare.”

“Shit,” Frankie huffs into your neck, “Okay, be right there baby!” He hollers at the door.

You both hear the door handle turning and the door creaking open.

“Missy!” Frankie panics, “Don’t. I’ll be right there. Just give me a second.”

“Why?” Missy asks, trying to peek through the crack in the door. Frankie pulls the covers up onto his shoulders higher, blocking the door's view of you under him.

“I’m naked, Missy. That’s why!”

“Ew!” Missy shouts, running back to her room.

“Dad duty,” Frankie grumbles, pulling out and searching for his boxers, “I’ll be right back.”

—

“Nora!” You shout from the front door, trying to get your shoes on, “Come on! We’re gonna be late!”

“I need socks!” She hollers.

“There’s a clean basket of clothes in the laundry room,” you shout back.

“Mom,” Nora says, approaching the living room, “Why is there boy underwear in the laundry?” She asks, holding up a pair of Frankie’s boxers from the last time he stayed the night. Shit.

“Uhmm…” you start, trying to think of a quick excuse, “My friend had an accident and asked for my help.”

“What kind of accident?” Nora asked, scrunching up her nose.

“Just an accident, Nora,” you huff, getting your jacket on, “Now get your shoes and jacket on so we can go!”

Nora dropped the subject, thankfully, putting her shoes on and both of you were out the door. On the drive to Paint with Me you kept looking in the rearview mirror, you could see the wheels turning in your daughter's head about what had happened back at the house but still, she kept quiet.

“Hey!” Frankie greeted you with a warm smile, as you walked in the door to Miss Janice’s weekly art class. “Missy’s at our usual table,” Frankie said to Nora, pointing in Missy’s direction.

“Here!” Nora said, wrestling off her jacket, chucking it at you, and running to the table where Missy was. The girls are beaming with smiles at each other, hugging as if they hadn’t just seen each other a day ago when you all met up at the park for them to play.

“We might have a problem,” you say low enough for only Frankie to hear, hanging Nora’s jacket up on a hook and sliding your own off. He cocked his head to the side with a confused look, “Nora found your boxers in our laundry,” you whisper, hanging your jacket with hers.

“Oh,” Frankie says, eyebrows shooting up his forehead. “Uhm, how- how did that go?”

“Told her that my friend had an accident and he asked me for help.”

“Accident, huh?” Frankie grinned quietly adding, “We’ve been together for six months now, you know I’m potty trained.”

You both laugh, as you make your way to the table to sit with Nora and Missy. The girls are whispering to each other as you both sit down.

“What are you two gossiping about, huh?” Frankie asks, giving Missy’s side a small squeeze. Missy lets out a giggle.

“We think she has a boyfriend!” Nora says, pointing at you.

“What? Me?!” You ask, pointing to yourself.

“Yeah,” Nora says, “Why else would you have boy underwear in the laundry?”

“Is he cute? Is he nice? Wait, Is he rich?” Missy asks quickly. You can’t help but laugh shaking your head.

“Missy,” Frankie laughs, “Leave her alone.”

“What?” Missy asks, shrugging her shoulders, “It’s just a couple of questions.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” you say, “No boyfriend for me.”

Frankie places his hand over his mouth covering that knowing smirk.

–

“I can’t wait til they get here!” Nora says, vibrating with excitement staring out the front window.

Frankie and Missy should be arriving any minute with the pizzas. Nora wanted to have a sleepover, so you figured why not have Missy over and invite Frankie to join for pizza and some movies for a little bit. He offered to pick the pizzas up on his way over.

“They’re here!” Nora shrieks, running to the front door and swinging it open causing it to smack against the wall.

“Damn it, Nora,” you grumble, watching her run to Frankie’s truck and opening the door for Missy to jump out. The girls are excitedly jabbering in the driveway while Frankie is trying to hold onto the pizzas and ushering them inside.

“Mom said we can camp in the living room tonight and fall asleep watching movies!” Nora says excitedly, “I bet you I’ll stay awake longer than you!”

“Whatever,” Missy says, “I’ll be the one up the longest!”

You and Frankie share a look both knowing that neither one will be up past 10. Frankie goes to the kitchen and sets the pizzas on the counter.

“Get the good stuff?” You hum, rubbing your hand across his lower back.

“Pepperoni and black olives?” He asks, opening the box and moving to show you, “Why yes, yes I did.”

“Gross!” The girls say in unison.

“No worries,” Frankie said, “I got a plain pepperoni and plain cheese for you two to destroy!”

“Yay!” They both yelled from the living room. You got plates down from the cupboard, getting slices of pizza set on each one.

“You guys get a movie picked out?” You ask, grabbing the plates meant for you and Frankie, while he holds the two for the girls.

“Uhmm…” Nora hesitates, looking at you while standing in the middle of the living room arranging blankets. “We got distracted by making our floor mattress.”

“Well,” Frankie says, observing the mess of blankets while setting the plates on the coffee table, “I’ll work on this and you guys pick out a movie.”

Frankie made their pallets on the floor, while the girls rummaged the shelf picking out movies to watch. Each picked out 5, playing rock paper scissors to see who got the first pick.

“Yes!” Nora shouted, raising her arms in victory, “Monsters vs. Aliens first!” 

You pop the DVD in while the girls get comfy on the makeshift beds Frankie made for them, both of them diving into their pizza slices. You plop on the other end of the couch, away from Frankie. He gives you a puzzled look as you bite into your pizza and nod your head towards the girls.

“Ahh,” he sighs out, “Gotcha.”

As the night goes on, you notice both girls yawning more frequently and Frankie inching across the couch to get closer to you. By the end of the third movie, both girls are passed out and Frankie’s arm is behind you on the back of the couch.

“Looks like they’re both asleep,” Frankie whispers in your ear. You turn to look at him with a small smile.

“Appears so,” you say, slowly standing up and quietly making your way to their pallet on the floor. You look at both girls, hearing their soft snores as you pull their blankets up to their shoulders.

Frankie stands, smiling, watching you care for his daughter. It’s been nine months of this sneaking around, meeting up when Nora’s at her dad’s and he can find a sitter, or you coming over while Missy’s asleep, making random play dates just so you have an excuse to see each other. I love yous have been shared, talks about one day all living under one roof together have happened, Frankie’s getting tired of keeping it a secret and hopes you are too. You follow him out of the living room, satisfied the girls are comfortable.

“Hey,” he whispers, grabbing your hips and pulling you against him. You can feel his half-hard member through the denim of his jeans against your thigh.

“Hey,” you whisper back, a smile gracing your lips, “Ya know, you don’t have to leave right away.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you reply, pulling away and grabbing his hand, coaxing him to your bedroom. Crossing the threshold of your room, you close the door behind you, locking it as you lightly push Frankie towards your bed, while he kicks his shoes off. The back of his legs hit against the mattress, pushing against his broad chest, he sits down, hands traveling to the nape of his neck playing with the soft strands there.

“Missed you,” you breathe against his mouth, kissing the corner of his lips, trailing your lips along the expanse of his throat. Frankie lets out a soft groan when you gently bite down, running your fingers up his scalp, giggling when you knock his hat off. His hands come to your sides, rubbing his palms against your soft skin while peeling off your shirt. He grabs the back of your neck and pulls you into a bruising kiss, licking into your mouth with fervor, arousal pooling in your panties.

“Missed you too,” he says, forehead pressed against yours. You start to push his shirt up, pulling it off the rest of the way, chucking it to the floor next to yours. Your fingers travel the expanse of his chest and he lets out a quiet hiss when you put more pressure on his nipples, fingers making their way over his soft belly to the trail of hair peeking out from his jeans. You’ve done this dance plenty of times; you remove his belt and undo his jeans like a pro, Frankie lifts his hips so you can slide his jeans and boxers off. His shaft slaps against his stomach while you sink to your knees, your head resting against his thigh, admiring his beautiful cock. You wrap your hand around him - your fingers unable to touch together - and give him an experimental tug, watching as a bead of pre-come escapes the flushed tip.

“Frankie,” you sigh, “You’re perfect.”

Frankie smirks, running his fingers through your hair. Your mouth engulfs his tip, tongue swirling around it as he lets out a moan.

“Fuck,” Frankie hisses, as you take more of his length into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks, looking up at him. Those deep brown irises are blown black with lust as he watches you bob your head along his length, twisting your hand around the base of his cock in tandem. “Stop.”

Your head lifts off of him with a soft pop, he grins, motioning for you to stand, grabbing your ass, and pulling you towards him.

“Don’t wanna come down your throat baby,” he says, kissing along your collarbone, traveling to the tops of your breasts. He reaches behind you to undo your bra, letting the straps fall from your shoulders, and your bra slides onto the floor.

“Mmmm,” he hums, massaging your tits, pulling a nipple into his mouth and sucking sharply. You feel his wiry whiskers scrape along your skin and you let out a breathy whine.

“Frankie,” you whisper, your fingers running through his chocolate curls. He trails his lips down your rib cage, leaving goosebumps across your skin. He pushes your leggings and underwear down, fingers coming up to feel the arousal between your folds.

“So wet, hermosa,” Frankie purrs, grabbing your knee and bringing it against his thigh, shifting your body so you’re lying beneath him further up in bed. His cock rubbing against your folds as he sucks the skin of your neck into his mouth. “Wanna taste you, baby.”

You moan as Frankie makes his descent to your core, wide palms against your thighs pushing you open a little more for him, placing your legs on either side of his broad shoulders. He kisses and nips at your inner thighs, parting your lips to look at your glistening sex, and lets out a hum of approval before dipping down, flicking his tongue against your clit. You let out a shaky breath as he begins lapping at your folds like a man who hasn’t seen a meal in days, sucking your bundle of nerves into his mouth and swirling his tongue.

“F-fingers,” you manage to stutter out. Frankie begins tracing the tip of his finger against your entrance before slowly pushing in, massaging your inner walls, “Mm- more,” you whine and in response he hums, sinking a second digit along with the first.

“Oh god, Frankie,” you moan, raking your fingers through his hair, “Don’t you dare fucking stop.”

Frankie lets out a moan as you tug on his hair, rocking your hips against his face, feeling his knuckles massaging that sweet spot. Your legs begin to shake, skin heating, walls contracting, feeling your climax approaching.

“Frankie,” you whine, dissolving into pleasure, your orgasm overtaking you.

“So fucking good,” Frankie grins, your release covering his mustache and chin. You bring his face to yours, kissing him with a carnal desire, tasting yourself on his tongue. “Messy too,” he laughs, as you wrap your legs around him.

“Fuck me,” you whine, “Frankie, please. I need you to fu-“

He pushes into you in one quick thrust, splitting you open, and you let out a loud moan. Frankie quickly covers your mouth, fearful the girls will wake up.

“Gotta be quiet, cariño,” Frankie hums with a grin etched on his face, slowly pulling out, groaning when he looks down at his cock covered in your juices. “Fuck.”

You whimper against his hand as he pushes back into your warmth, setting a languid pace. Nails digging into the muscles of his back, hearing the squelch of your pussy as he rocks into you.

“Fuck, baby,” Frankie grunts, smacking his hands against the mattress by your head, snapping his hips into you at a desperate pace. Your nails bite into his skin harder, crescent moons to be left behind as a reminder of you. “God damn it, I fucking love you.”

“I love you too,” you pant into his mouth, feeling that tingle at the bottom of your spine starting to flourish. He devours your mouth, swallowing your moans as you reach your peak once again, white-hot electricity flowing through every limb of your body. Frankie’s hips stutter as his warm release paints your walls, your name escaping his lips as he comes.

Frankie slumps against you, face in the crook of your neck attempting to catch his breath as your fingers trail along his back, tracing small patterns into his skin. He pops his head up, looking at you, brushing stray strands of hair away from your face, kissing your forehead, cheeks, chin, and lips. He moves off of you and lays at your side with a sigh, pulling you into him.

“You should probably leave,” you pout sleepily, “I don’t,” yawn, “-don’t want the girls finding you here in the morning.”

“Just a few more minutes like this,” Frankie hums, pulling you against him tighter. 

Sleep overtakes both of you before you know it.

You wake to the sounds of Nora and Missy playing in the living room. Your eyes snap open. Shit, you fell asleep. Frankie fell asleep, here. At your house, with the girls just down the hall.

“Frankie,” you hiss shoving against him, “You fell asleep here!”

Frankie wakes startled, looking around your room trying to put the pieces together in his sleep-addled brain.

“Fuck,” he groans, rubbing his eyes as you move getting dressed, “What do we do?”

“Uhh…” you say, looking around trying to think of the best possible option. Window. The fucking window. “Window.”

“Window?” Frankie asks with a puzzled expression on his face.

“Window. Climb out, pretend you just got here to pick Missy up.”

“What am I fucking sixteen?” Frankie laughs, standing up to stretch his back.

“Frankie,” you plead, “I don’t know what else to do here. This is not how they should find out.”

“Window it is,” Frankie says, getting himself dressed while you work on quietly opening the window. Frankie approaches you from behind, wrapping his arms around you.

“Even though I wasn’t supposed to stay, I’m glad we had our own slumber party,” he whispers against your temple.

“Me too,” you grin, matching the smile on his face when you turn around, wrapping your arms around his neck, planting a firm kiss against his lips. “Now shoo before we get caught.”

Frankie climbs through the window, landing softly on the ground.

“I wanna tell the girls,” Frankie says abruptly, looking up at you, hope dancing around within those Hershey orbs.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Frankie sighs out your name, “I love you and I wanna tell them. I think it’s time.”

“Okay,” you say softly, leaning your head out the window to give him one more kiss before you return to pretending he didn’t stay here the whole night, “I love you too.”

—

It’s been four weeks since Frankie snuck out of your room like a teenager trying not to get caught by your parents. You both had a long discussion about finally telling the girls about you two being together, what could change, how they’d react to the news, and every possibility you could think of. Frankie seemed confident that they would take the news just fine. Missy liked you, Nora liked him, and they were best friends. Just means they get to see each other even more, Frankie had said with a laugh.

You pulled up to the local Cherry Berry, one of the girls’ favorite places. No holds bar on toppings, Frankie told them both to go wild. You find a somewhat secluded table for this discussion, in case the worst happens. The girls come over with their massive piles of ice cream and toppings sitting next to each other like always. Frankie takes the seat beside you, digging into his ice cream as soon as he sits down. The girls begin chattering away about stuff that’s been happening at school, their teachers, wondering what the next thing they’ll paint in class is when Frankie clears his throat.

“So,” he begins, twiddling his spoon, “We wanted to talk to you guys about something.”

The girls look between the two of you, waiting for one of you to say something.

“We’ve been dating,” you explain looking at each of them, “Each other,” you add, motioning between yourself and Frankie.

“Yeah,” Frankie adds, “We just wanted to be honest with you and let you know. We don’t want to keep it a secret anymore.”

Nora and Missy look at each other and then back at you and Frankie. Nora starts to giggle and Missy soon joins her. Both of them are laughing like hyenas. You and Frankie share a look before glancing towards the girls again.

“We know,” Nora says once her giggles die down. Missy nodded her head at Nora’s words.

“What?” You and Frankie ask in unison, flabbergasted they would have caught on. You’ve both been so careful with how you are around each other.

“Yep,” Nora nods, “Remember the sleepover where Frankie came to pick Missy up and didn’t have his hat?”

You nod, processing the words your daughter is saying.

“I found his hat,” she says, holding in her laughter, “Under your bed.”

“Oh,” you say, stunned, looking towards Frankie who shrugs his shoulders.

“And I’ve seen that shirt in my dad’s room,” Missy says pointing at your chest, “And his room smells a lot better now too, kinda like vanilla, like you!” she exclaims.

You stifle your laugh, shaking your head.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Frankie mutters, “Got ourselves Starsky and Hutch over here.” 

Boom! Did the thing! 😍

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dream with me…

You’ve been with Joel for a few years— not in that sense. You met him somewhere between outbreak day and Boston. Smugglers together under the guidance of Tess.

You were both hardened by the same thing— tormented by the fact that you both lost everything that meant the most to you.

The only difference between you both, you harbored feelings for a man who would never have the same for you.

It was on a failed smuggling operation that your life moving forward would change forever. You fumbled the job horribly, nearly getting yourself killed by a group of runners.

Joel had to save your ass. Wasted energy and time, Joel told you, costing you both to forfeit the rest of the job and head back empty handed.

You knew you fucked up and the tension that simmered upon arriving back was obvious. You attempted to smooth things over, apologize for your fuck up and promising to make up for the loss in any way possible.

‘I don’t care what you do, you almost got us killed. I’d be fine if we never spoke again’ was all Joel said to you before icing you out completely.

Tess tried to convince you to stay. Let everything blow over like it usually does. But you could bear to stay any longer, feeling like a walking hazard to the group. It was only time before you got hurt or worse— someone else would.

Tommy offered you to join him, as he was leaving in the morning to meet up with a group of fireflies heading west. You agreed, asking him to not tell anyone that you were leaving with him.

You took one last look at what had been home for you since arriving in Boston. Glancing at Joel’s closed door briefly, then slipping out undetected, before the sun even had a chance to shine over the QZ.

‘Tommy!!’

The whole town was stunned by the commotion. Tommy and a newcomer’s reunion on display for everyone to witness. Only to you this wasn’t a stranger.

You watched from behind a wall of people, happy to see the two brothers together again. It’s the first time you’d ever seen Joel smile in all the time you had known him.

Silently, you retreat from the crowd and excitement, hoping to remain undetected for the time being.

Unbeknownst to you, Joel was made aware of your presence immediately. Tommy giving him and the young girl that arrived with him a tour of the fenced in grounds, making sure to point out the home you had been residing in since joining the community.

It’s only a matter of time before your paths cross, but you kept your distance, quick steps and redirection, avoiding any and all interactions with Joel Miller.

One evening you’re making your way home from dinner with friends, knowing you had plenty of time before Joel would be joining Tommy and Maria in the same spot. The air cool and crisp as the sun descended behind the Jackson mountains.

Your name being called out by a familiar voice stops you in your tracks. Your heart nearly beats out of your chest listening to the crunch of gravel beneath his boots as he walks closer.

‘Jus’ wanted to come say hi ‘n see how you been. Seen you around here ‘n there. Seems like you’ve been avoidin’ me though.’

You turn to face him fully. His a much older version of himself. Greyed and still the most handsome man you’ve ever seen.

‘I’m fine, Joel. Just makin’ sure I keep up my end of the bargain— with never speakin’ again and all.’

That’s all you manage to get out before you turn and head up the path to your home and closing the door behind you.

Anywho. This was a dream I had last night and it’s been bouncing around my noggin most of the day. Of course it would end on a cliffhanger like that too.

Finally got to read this, I was so excited to see an update on it! This story has made a home for itself in my brain and I love it soo much!!!

a safe haven l ten

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist l previous chapter l next chapter

summary: After a long night, Joel and Ellie take you home.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. (TW) THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS MENTIONS OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, MENTIONS OF AN INJURY SUSTAINED FROM AN ACT OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, PREGNANCY, CONVERSATIONS SURROUNDING PREGNANCY LOSS . PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. Ellie and reader are very close to each other, Joel deals with feelings of guilt, Joel and Maria make nice, Joel gives reader a bath and washes her hair, food consumption (i am just gonna apologize to my lactose intolerant folks right now, trust me i must pretend with you), both reader and Joel have some big feelings, reader mentions her deceased father, angst, soft and domestic Joel, fluff.

word count: 5k

a/n: i have not updated this series since october. :l i feel a a mixed bag of emotions updating after all this time, but most of all, i am grateful to know there are a couple of people out there who are still invested in this story. to anyone who has been waiting: truly, it means the world that you have shown me patience, support, and kindness. believe me, i am going to be seeing this story to the end, and it is all thanks to those who continue to show this lil story of mine a whole lotta love. special shoutout to the loveliest human @mrsmando who made me this beautiful mooodboard every single time i got stuck during this chapter, i looked at it and it gave me the boost of inspiration i needed. thank you mimi <33 this chapter is fairly tame, the next chapter is already in the works, and there are a couple of time jumps coming. overall, we are down to the last handful of chapters. let’s finish this story and give these two the ending they deserve, shall we?

“What the hell is taking Tommy so fucking long?” Ellie whines. She’s sprawled out on the couch with her head in your lap, and her arm draped over her eyes. Her feet are hanging, dangling over the edge of the couch at an odd angle after you’d warned her not to get muck from her sneakers on the linen fabric. Despite Joel insisting over and over that she head on back to the house, she had stubbornly refused, not wanting to leave your side. “It’s been over two hours! He’s taking fucking forever, man. What’s the fucking hold up?”

Joel bites back a sigh, masking his own impatience. Or at least, he tries. He’s grown just as restless as the kid, if not more. Much like Ellie, he’s desperate. He’s itching to take you home already, almost too anxious to watch you take that first step over his threshold, and into your new life with him and with Ellie. He aches, aches, to get you settled into the place where you would be spending the remainder of your days with one another, where you would be safe, and loved in the way you deserved to be loved—the place where he would cherish and adore you until his final breath.

“Don’t know,” he answers, his voice sounding rougher, more gruff than usual. Reaching up, he scrubs his hand down the side of his face, adding tiredly, “He might be a while longer, kiddo. It could be another hour, could be more. Like I already told you, s’probably best if you just go on and head back to the house without us, alright?”

“No. I’m not walking out that fucking door unless she’s with me.” She pauses and pulls her arm away from her face for a moment, just long enough to throw a teeny glare his way. “Unless you’re both with me. The three of us go home together, or it’s no fucking deal. Got it?”

He shakes his head in utter exasperation.

“Ellie, we’ll be right here down the fuckin’ road—”

Her hand shoots out and she flips him off.

Just when he’s about to chastise her, he stops himself, clamping his mouth shut. It’s pointless.

Kid’s too goddamn hard headed for her own good, and Joel knows he’s just wasting his breath with her.

“I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” you reassure them both, weaving your fingers through her hair to scratch at her scalp in an effort to soothe her. “Right, Joel?”

He meets your exhausted, worn down gaze from where he’s standing across the room, and his heart lurches in his chest. As the guilt begins creeping in, he’s forced to look away. He can’t imagine the living hell you had been through over the last twenty four hours alone. And the worst part about it was the realization that last night, while he was fast asleep in bed just a couple of houses up the road, that fucking bastard had his belt wrapped around your throat.

Joel feels sick to his fucking stomach all over again.

Horrifying, vividly real images of you helplessly trapped underneath Luke scratching and clawing at the leather around your neck with trembling fingers, struggling to breathe oxygen into your burning lungs as he tugged it tighter and tighter through the buckle flash in his mind, a gruesome nightmare turned into reality.

Exactly how far had Luke taken it?

Until you had grown too weak to keep fighting?

Until you almost lost complete consciousness?

Until he noticed the life threatening to leave your eyes?

Is that when he had finally stopped pulling on the belt?

Joel shudders, a bitter taste climbing up his throat as it sinks in. He could have lost you—and his unborn child.

This shouldn’t have happened.

He shouldn’t have let you walk away that night.

This wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t let you walk away from him that night.

“Joel,” you say his name, quiet and weary.

His head snaps back in your direction and he glances at you, almost missing the subtle shake of your head. It is a silent warning telling him not to go there, though you know by the tight clench of his jaw it’s too late for that.

Joel makes the futile attempt to hide it, but he sees it written all over your face—you know what he’s thinking because you know him like the back of your own hand, and you just know he’s placing all of the blame for what happened to you on his own shoulders.

But can you honestly fault him for that?

How can you expect him not to feel like he is somehow responsible for this? Just how the hell is he supposed to make himself believe he hadn’t failed you?

Joel promised—he had fucking promised you—that he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you. He had sworn to keep you safe, made a vow to protect you from Luke, but here you are, your soft, delicate flesh marred with the painful evidence of yet another one of his failures.

And it was all because he had let you walk away on that fucking night.

He should have done something.

Even if it meant running the risk of you never speaking to him again—even if you never forgave him, spent the rest of your life angry and hating him for going against your wishes. He should have something.

“Joel—”

“Be right back,” he mutters, lightly shaking his head.

Shoving away from the doorframe he’s leaning against, Joel pivots on the heel of his boot and starts down the hallway. He walks into the kitchen where he finds Maria standing at the counter, tapping her fingers against the smooth, laminated oakwood as she waits for the coffee she’d offered him a few minutes ago to finish brewing. She’d offered to whip up a quick supper, but food was the last thing on everyone’s mind.

“Tommy’s been gone for a couple hours now. Girls are startin’ to get real tired of just sittin’ around waitin’ for him to come back,” he tells her, exhaling the sigh he’d held back in the living room. “What do you think could be keepin’ him so long?”

With her back still to him, Maria reminds him, “Well, he did mention he was going to round up the council and get them together for an emergency meeting.” She lets out a sigh that matches his own—it’s been a long night for her, too. When the last drop of dark roast drips into the glass pot, she carefully takes the pot by the plastic handle and pours the steaming coffee into a speckled, white and blue ceramic mug. “Do you take it with milk and sugar?”

“No thanks, that’s alright,” he declines as politely as he can.

“I also have cinnamon if you’d like?”

“Plain black’s just fine.” He gives her a nod of gratitude when she hands it to him. “Thank you. And I don’t just mean the coffee, but for, uh—for bandagin’ up my hand for me, too.” He clocks the brief look of surprise on her face and almost laughs. He doesn’t blame her for being taken aback, because truth be told, so is he. Since he’d met Maria, he had known she didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him. There was something of a mutual understanding between them, a silent agreement they had made to keep each other at arm’s length, to only interact when it was absolutely necessary.

Never did he think he would be standing in her kitchen, thanking her for patching up his hand, and for making him a cup of coffee out of the kindness of her heart.

His brother wouldn’t believe it.

“Don’t mention it.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she leans back against the counter. “How’s it feel, by the way?”

“S’fine,” he replies, shrugging. “Nothin’ I can’t handle.”

There’s a momentary silence. A taste of tension lingers over their heads, and he knows at one point or another, he’s going to have to address the affair, the very reason everything had unfolded in such a terrible manner.

Guess now’s as good a time as fuckin’ any, he thinks to himself with an inward sigh.

Joel lightly clears his throat. “Listen, since we’ve got a minute alone, just the two of us, I was wonderin’ if, uh—if we could talk ‘bout somethin’? If that’s alright?”

“Of course.” Maria gives him the floor.

“I know that she—” Pausing, he shuffles from the heel of one boot to the other, his ears burning hot. He had known it wouldn’t be an easy conversation to have, but he underestimated just how uncomfortable it would be, regardless of what she already knew. “I know she told you and Tommy all ‘bout us, and ‘bout our relationship. See, the thing is, the first time I saw her—”

Again, Joel stops, the burning sensation now radiating, spreading from his ears to his face and down his neck, flushing his skin a deep, deep shade of pink. Unable to meet his sister in law’s gaze, he glances down into his mug, as if he will somehow find the right words to say somewhere in the depths of his coffee.

“It was never my intention, y’know,” he finally says after a minute. “Goin’ after a married woman. I swear, I never meant to fall for her. I just fuckin’ did. I think I might’ve fallen for her long before I even met her,” he confesses. He feels himself darken to a shade of maroon under her curious stare. “And somehow, for reasons I ain’t all too sure I’ll ever understand, she fell for me too.”

Maria raises an eyebrow at him. “Look, I’m not judging you, Joel,” she assures him, shaking her head. “If that’s what you’re thinking. I’m not judging her, either.”

He looks up at her, blurting out, “You’re not?”

She moves her hands to cradle her swollen middle. “Do I wish you two had handled everything differently?” she answers her own query with a nod of her head. “Oh, I’m sure we all do. But I’ve known her for a long time now. I know the kind of woman she is. And I’m starting to see the kind of man you are.”

“And what kinda man is that, Maria?”

He waits without the slightest clue as to what she could possibly say.

“Since you came back to Jackson, I’ve chosen to keep my distance from you—but make no mistake, I’ve been watching you like a hawk since day one. Waiting for any signs of trouble. Waiting for you to fuck up. Waiting for you to give me a good reason to throw your ass out of this community because I didn’t trust you. Not after all the things I was told about you.”

He snorts. “You goin’ somewhere with this?”

“You are not who I thought you were,” Maria admits, smiling wryly. “I’ve gotten to see a different side of you. You pull your weight around here by doing your job and doing it well. You stay out of trouble—for the most part. And more importantly, I have seen the way that you’ve stepped up to be a father figure to Ellie. It takes a good man to do that, Joel.”

“Think that’s the nicest fuckin’ thing you’ve ever said to me,” he muses, setting his mug down on the counter. “I stepped up because I love her. I love them both. Those two, they’re the best parts of me. They’re the reasons I keep goin’ and now I’ve got another reason on the way.”

Maria smiles, but it vanishes as quickly as it appears.

Catching her hesitance, Joel asks, “What? What is it?”

“What comes next is not going to be easy,” she warns him, lowering her voice. Even with the living room a fair distance from the kitchen, she doesn’t want to run the risk of you overhearing her. “For as hard as we’re going to try to contain the fire, it will spread, and everyone in this town will find out about everything—including the affair. People are going to talk, and believe me, they’re going to have a whole lot to say about it, Joel.”

He can’t help but roll his eyes at her.

“Think I can handle some fuckin’ gossip, Maria.”

“I know you can. But I’m not sure if she can,” Maria tells him, quietly. “It worries me. She’s been through a lot in just one night alone. I don’t want her stressing anymore than she already has. She is in a very delicate stage of her pregnancy right now, Joel. If she’s not careful, she could have a miscarriage. She had one about two years ago when her father became sick—” Observing his lack of a reaction, she realizes, “You knew that already.”

“Yeah,” he sighs. He knows where she’s going with this. “I did. She told me ‘bout it.”

“It makes her chances of having another one higher—”

Joel doesn’t even allow himself to think of it happening to you again. “I get it,” he interjects, trying not to sound too curt. “I’ll make sure she takes it real easy, alright?”

Lifting a hand off her belly, she reaches out and takes a hold of his forearm, gripping it tightly.

“Promise me something, Joel. Promise me that you’ll look after her,” Maria pleads him, gently. “Please. After everything she’s been through—I need you to promise me that she’s going to be in good hands with you.”

He nods. Without thinking, he places his hand over hers in an unexpected token of affection and reassurance. “You have my word, Maria. I’ll take good care of her.”

She gives his arm a grateful squeeze, then glances over his shoulder at the clock on the wall. “It’s getting pretty late. We don’t know how much longer Tommy’s going to be with the council. Why don’t we just go ahead and call it a night?” she suggests. “We can all get together first thing in the morning at your place to talk about it.”

“Yeah, good idea,” he agrees. “She really needs to rest.”

Maria gives his arm another squeeze. 

“Go on then, Joel. Take your girls home.”

“Finally!” Ellie exclaims with a dramatic flail of her arms as she shoves through the front door.

“Alright, kiddo. Get your behind upstairs and into the shower,” Joel instructs her, flipping on the lights in the foyer. “Y’smell like fuckin’ horse shit.”

She lifts the collar of her shirt to her nose, takes a whiff, and makes a face. “Yeah, I won’t argue with you there,” she mutters. She toes off her dirty sneakers and leaves them beside the door before dashing up the staircase, taking two steps at a time.

He shouts after her, “And don’t use up all the hot—”

“Yeah, yeah, I fucking know the rules, dude!”

Moments later, you both hear the shower going.

“Little shit,” he grumbles.

You exhale an amused huff through your nose.

Joel withdraws his arm from around your shoulders and reaches for your hand, lacing your fingers together. “C’mon, darlin’.” He guides you up the stairs and down the hallway into his bedroom where he switches on the light before proceeding to lead you over to his dresser. “I’ve got a bunch of shirts in this top drawer here,” he says. Dropping your hand, he pulls it open for you and gestures to it with a jut of his chin as he takes a step backwards, moving out of the way. “Go ahead and pick one to sleep in tonight. Want you to be comfortable, so help yourself to whichever one you want, sweet girl.”

Nodding, you begin to rummage through the drawer, unaware of the moment he slips away. You reach for a t-shirt, but then a plaid green flannel catches your eye. You pluck it from the drawer, running your fingers over the soft, warm fabric. “Is it alright if I wear—?” You turn around, stopping mid sentence when you realize he’s no longer standing behind you. Puzzled, you follow the sound of running water into the bathroom where you find him kneeling beside the tub. “Joel? What are you doing?”

“Runnin’ you a bath.”

You notice the bloodied bandage beside him on the tile floor. “Joel, are you serious?” you scold him. “Maria just patched your hand up for you.”

“S’okay, peach. I can rewrap it when we’re done.” Joel sticks his injured hand under the faucet to check the temperature, the cold water soothing his cuts. Once it turns warm, then hot, he pulls out his hand, waiting for the tub to fill halfway before shutting the faucet off and rising to his feet. “C’mere, sweetheart.” He rolls the sleeves of his shirt up to his forearms, then beckons for you with both of his hands. “Let’s get you washed up.”

You remain standing by the door. “Joel, you don’t have to do this for me.”

“I know.”

“I’m capable of washing myself—”

“Yeah, I know that too,” he says, chuckling. “S’only fair, darlin’. Don’t you think?”

That’s when it hits you—how this moment is mirroring that night you had cleaned Joel up after you and Ellie had brought him home from the clinic with an injured shoulder. He allowed you to take care of him, and now, he was looking to do the same for you. And all you had to do was let him.

“But your hand—”

“Will be just fine,” Joel persists, stubbornly. “It’s nothin’ but a few cuts and scrapes. C’mon—or else I’m gonna march right over there and get you myself, peach.”

Knowing Joel, you certainly wouldn’t put it past him to throw you over his should and carry you to the bathtub.

“Fine,” you relent with a small sigh of defeat.

Setting his shirt down on the sink, you slowly walk over towards him and whirl around, letting him help you out of your knitted cardigan. You finish undressing yourself, inhaling a deep breath as you muster up the courage to turn back around and face him—when you finally do, it feels like a punch to the gut to see the heartbreak in his dark brown eyes, the subtle tremble of his bottom lip. You don’t have to look at yourself in the mirror to know it looks about a hundred times worse when you’re not wearing clothes.

Keeping your arms down at your sides, you fight every urge to cover yourself up. You’ve never felt so fucking vulnerable.

Clearing his throat, Joel holds out his hand. “C’mere.”

You accept it, and he helps you into the tub.

“How’s the water? S’not too hot, is it?”

You shake your head and he leans forward, kissing your temple so sweetly, your eyes flutter closed.

He washes your hair first, then takes a clean washcloth, lathering it up with a bar of milk and honey soap—the same soap he would smell on your skin all those nights. Admittedly, Joel preferred castile soap, but switched it when he found himself missing you during those weeks you were apart from him, when he needed the comfort of your scent. He is gentle with you, so gentle, as if he’s afraid you’ll shatter into pieces in his hands.

As he lightly drags the washcloth up your back and around your neck, you stiffen, prompting him to freeze too. “Fuck. Baby, did I hurt you?” he asks, and you hear the slight panic in his tone.

“No,” you say quickly, desperately trying to swallow the lump rising in your throat. “No, you didn’t hurt me. It’s just—” Every overwhelming emotion slams into you all at once, and you can’t seem to figure out which one to feel first. Humiliation? Fear? Relief?

The water sloshes around you as you pull your legs up to your chest and wrap your arms around your knees, giving yourself permission to feel them all. Bowing your head, you begin to sob quietly, hoping that Ellie, who is just down the hallway, won’t hear you crying again.

Joel says nothing. Washcloth still clutched in his hand, he leans forward over the edge of the tub and wraps his arms around you, pulling you close, or at least, as close as the barrier between the two of you will allow him.

“Joel,” you choke, trying to push him off. “Stop it. Your clothes, they’re getting all wet.”

“Hush. Don’t fuckin’ care ‘bout my clothes,” he croaks, and for a second, you swear he’s about to cry too. But he doesn’t. He holds himself strong. Tugging you closer against his chest, he buries his nose into your soaking wet hair, whispering his reassurance. “You’re okay, baby. You’re safe, my sweet girl. I’ve got you, alright?”

He pulls back slightly, dipping his hand into the water, placing it on your lower belly.

You look down, your eyes glazing over his bruised and battered knuckles. Proof that Joel Miller really would do anything for you.

“I know you do,” you say, softly. “I know you’ve got me, Joel.”

A while later, you’re dried, dressed, and composed. You follow Joel out of the bathroom and back into his room, where he has you take a seat on the bed. Noticing you had missed a button on his flannel shirt, he does it for you. He plants a kiss on the top of your head and says, “Give me a minute while I change.”

He peels off his wet clothes, being careful so as not to further agitate his sore, injured hand. After changing into a pair of gray sweatpants and an old, faded black t-shirt, he turns around only to find you’re sitting in bed underneath the covers.

“Sorry,” you apologize with a nervous chuckle as you rest your back against the headboard. “It just looked so warm and cozy—and it smells like you. I couldn’t resist making myself comfortable.”

Joel pads over to the side of the bed. He leans over, planting one hand on either side of you as he dips his head and brushes his lips against yours. “Ain’t got no reason to apologize, baby,” he assures you in a gentle murmur. “This is your bed now too, peach. This is your room. This is your home. Alright?”

Home.

You’re home.

He touches the tip of his nose to yours, and then draws himself back up to full height. “There’s somethin’ that I’ve gotta take care of downstairs, peach. I won’t be too long,” he promises.

It’s almost midnight. Joel goes about the kitchen and he prepares you the quickest meal that he can think of. He plates the sandwich he’d thrown together and pours a glass of cow’s milk—he’s always sure to keep a pint of it in the refrigerator to make the kid her oatmeal in the mornings.

He heads back upstairs, only to find that while he had been gone, Ellie had joined you, making herself a little too comfortable on his side of the bed. He stands there at the door, watching the two of you.

“Hey, so is it true babies can hear stuff while they’re in there?” Ellie questions you, curiously.

“Mhm,” you reply with a nod. “They can hear music, for example. Voices—”

“Voices?” She smushes her face into your stomach and he hears a muffled, “Hey, dude!”

You giggle. “Ellie, I think it’s still a little too early.”

“When do you think it’ll be able to hear me?”

“I’m not too sure. In a few months, maybe?”

Ellie lifts her head, humming. “You know, I bet there’s baby books in the library,” she tells you as she sits up. “I’ll have Dina help me look for one tommor—oh shit.” She stares at you with wide eyes. “Dina! How are you going to tell her and Talia about Luke?”

Joel grimaces. He hadn’t thought of that, either.

“I—I’m not too sure.”

“You have to fucking tell them. Dina has to know about him. She has to know what a piece of shit he is, and so does Talia.”

Sensing your discomfort, Joel steps into the bedroom and intervenes before she can say another word. “Ellie, get to bed. S’late.”

“But—”

“Don’t make me tell you again,” he warns her, sternly.

She huffs, rolling her eyes. “Fine.” She climbs off the bed and on her way out, she eyes the plate in his hand. “That chicken?”

“Turkey. And it ain’t for you, it’s for her. So scram, kid.”

“Couldn’t have made me one while you were at it, old man?”

“Ellie, if you don’t get outta here right now—”

“Alright!” Ellie holds her hands up. “I’m leaving. Jesus.”

She disappears, closing the door behind her.

“Pain in my ass,” Joel mumbles, shaking his head as he walks over and carefully perches himself beside you. He hands you the plate. “Here, darlin’.”

“Joel, I appreciate this, but I’m really not very hungry.”

“Maybe not, but y’gotta eat,” he insists. “Baby needs it.”

Thankfully, you accept it without further protest.

“I’ll have Ellie get your things tomorrow,” Joel states as you’re eating. “Maria can go along with her since she knows the house. They’ll get your clothes and whatever else you might need outta there.”

“My father’s belongings.” You accidentally talk through a mouthful of turkey and bread. Swallowing, you tell him, “I have some boxes of his stuff in the basement. But they’re way too heavy for either of them to carry.”

“I’ll take care of that for you.” He reaches up, wiping a breadcrumb from the corner of your mouth with his thumb. “I can ask Tommy to give me a hand. Don’t you worry, peach. We won’t leave your dad’s things behind, I swear it.”

Relieved, you shoot him a grateful look, then polish off the last few bites of your sandwich.

“Here,” he says, offering you the glass of milk. “Figured it’s good for you, and good for the baby. Y’know, since it’s got calcium and…stuff.” He shrugs sheepishly, no clue as to what he’s talking about. “Vitamins, right?”

Nodding, you grab the glass and take a reluctant sip.

“You hate milk,” Joel realizes, raising an eyebrow.

“I do,” you admit with a laugh. “But you’re right. It’s good for both me and the baby, so cheers.” And with that, you somehow force the entire glass down.

He sets the dishes aside on the nightstand, figuring he can take them downstairs first thing in the morning.

Without bothering to rebandage his hand like he’d told you he would, Joel turns off the lights and climbs into bed with you. “All those nights wishin’ I could bring you home,” he muses as you curl into his side. “Wantin’ nothin’ more than to hold you in my arms in this bed. In our bed.” His arm slips around your shoulders, a laugh rumbling through his chest. “Almost doesn’t feel real, darlin’.”

Tilting your head, you nuzzle your nose into the scruff of his beard, prompting him to laugh again. Then, he remembers his conversation with Maria, and his smile fades from his face, his lips pursing together.

You catch the sudden shift in his demeanor.

“Joel? What’s the matter?”

“M’fine, baby. It’s just—” He hesitates. “From this point forward, I need you to let me handle things.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t want you gettin’ all stressed out, alright? I don’t want to run the risk of you—” He’s unsure of how to say it.

“Of me losing the baby,” you finish for him, quietly.

Joel winces, knowing he was wandering into sensitive territory. “Yeah. I—I really don’t want that to happen.” He pauses. “Maria mentioned to me you’re in a delicate stage. When do you reckon you’ll stop—how long until you don’t gotta worry ‘bout it?”

“After twelve weeks, my risk isn’t as high. If I make it to the second trimester in six weeks, then my chances of having another miscarriage are lower.”

Though you speak calmly, he clocks your anxiousness.

You’re worried, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t fucking worried out of his mind too.

Being a father at his age wasn’t ideal, but he wanted this child. It was part of him, and more importantly, it was a part of you.

Joel squeezes your shoulders. “I only ask ‘cause I was thinkin’ that, y’know, once we get to that point, maybe I can go ahead and start buildin’ the baby’s crib.”

“You’re going to build the crib?”

He nods. “And the highchair too. I can even make you a diaper changin’ table if y’want one.”

“Joel.” You can’t help but chuckle. “Our worlds were just turned completely upside down. You just found out that I’m pregnant, and you’re already thinking about building furniture? Aren’t we getting a little ahead of ourselves?”

“Hey, those things take a whole ‘lotta time,” he says in defense of himself. “Besides, winter’s right around the corner and I don’t wanna be out in the garage freezin’ my fuckin’ ass off. If I can get a head start now, I can have them all done in the spring by the time the baby comes.”

You fall silent.

“What’s on your mind?”

“I’m really scared of losing it,” you confess. “When I first took that pregnancy test, I wanted nothing more for it to be negative. Now, I’m terrified I won’t make it past my first trimester again. I really don’t want to lose it. I want this baby, Joel.”

He turns his head, meeting your eyes in the silver light shining through the lace curtains over his window. “S’why you’ve gotta let me handle things, darlin’. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“C’mere, my sweet girl.” Joel presses his lips to yours, murmuring against them, “I love you.”

His declaration comes with natural ease.

And so does yours.

“I love you too, Joel.”

This is absolutely beautiful! The longing, the wondering, then when they finally get together?! 😍🥲 I loved reading this so much!!!

fresh out the slammer

➔ Javier Peña x afab!Reader

➔ 4.4k words

➔ Javier Peña moves home and, in the process, breaks the invisible bubble of your complacency.

➔ Rated MA // reader is afab (female anatomy, no pronouns used), age gap (reader is 23, javi is mid-30s), infidelity (reader is married), unprotected p in v sex, oral (reader receiving), pet names, smoking/nicotine use, reader wears a dress

You’re not sure when the ring on your finger, a glistening band that you used to admire so much, transformed into a shackle.

You loved him at one point, you’re sure you did. You never would’ve ended up here otherwise. You’re not weak, you’ve never been the type to need a partner in order to feel complete. You got married because you were in love, because you thought that you would love your husband for the rest of your life.

It’s terrifying how quickly the illusion of comfort comes crashing down when you meet Javier Peña.

You’ve heard so much about him that he’s nearly a thing of legend, despite never having met him. Your neighbor Chucho is incredibly proud of his only son. Every day that you go over to help around the house with Chucho’s seemingly endless list of chores, you’re regaled with stories about the fearless Deputy-turned-Agent Peña; about how the world will be changed and molded by Javier’s hands. It’s hard to believe all the tall tales that Chucho weaves, and still there’s undeniable reverence in your mind as you catch a glimpse of Javi’s handsome face in the photo frames that you dust.

All the stories you hear, though, never could have prepared you for the real deal.

He shows up without warning one sweltering afternoon and sets his bags down on the floor with a hefty thump, clearly confused at the beautiful stranger in his father’s kitchen. Apparently, Chucho didn’t warn him about you, either.

He knows within seconds of stepping through the door that you’re off-limits–he’s trained his eyes to seek out the glistening golden band on your left ring finger. But the more you talk to him, the more you look at him, the more you smile at him… he can’t help wondering more and more exactly how off-limits you are.

Days don’t blur together the same way they once did for you. You find yourself eager to visit your neighbor just for a chance to glimpse the easy smile that Javi reserves for you–his pretty next door neighbor, his friend.

It’s so painfully easy to like him, even despite your best efforts to the contrary. He’s the perfect gentleman–always says ‘please’ and ‘thank you’, holds doors open for you, helps you carry in groceries. He thrives with acts of service, and it shows. He seems like he genuinely likes spending time with you. He tells you the lighter stories of his time with the DEA, and you tell him stories in return. Mostly about your childhood so you can avoid what your life has become since then: just a moon spinning mindlessly in the gravitational orbit of your husband. Nothing more than a phantom floating around your boringly nice little house, in your boringly nice little neighborhood.

You were so young when you uttered the vows that would become chains. Eighteen, fresh-faced and wide-eyed and all those other descriptors that come with youth and naivety. You had wanted to be wanted, and your husband had wanted you. It could’ve gone on forever without a wake-up call.

Then there’s Javi and everything changes because of him. With each passing day, you grow closer and closer to a man who isn’t yours. Bit by bit, Javi pries the steel trap of your doubts open without even meaning to–and when those doubts pour out, they come like a flood.

You used to sleep so soundly in the king-sized bed you share with your husband. But now, there are late nights where you lay awake in that bed and you wonder even as you lay beside your husband if you were too hasty in marrying him so young. 

Your quiet resentment was at least subconscious before Javi strolled in, short sleeved button-up shirt sweaty from the late summer humidity and dark wash jeans hugging those broad hips in a way that should be considered a crime. You leave his house and return home to a husband who takes you for granted, who thinks your care of him is just the bare minimum, and it chafes.

You try not to let it bleed over, but little comments you make paint a much larger picture. Javi can tell as clear as day that you’re not being appreciated–that you’re even starting to feel trapped. 

Your friends start to see it too, on the few occasions you go out. You’re a bit more transparent with them, because they can read you like a book regardless of how much you try to hide. That’s the hardest part of coming to terms with how unhappy you are; that you were wrong, that you made a stupid decision, and the people around you know it. You’ve never been good at admitting mistakes, and this is the biggest mistake you possibly could’ve made. The vows you made to your husband are supposed to be engraved in stone for eternity.

You know you should focus on fixing this rather than condemning it. You were happy before, and you could be happy again. Then you look up into Javi’s dark eyes, and you start to think that you might never be happy if it’s not those eyes that you come home to each night.

It’s infinitely harder when you can feel the burgeoning desire every time you step foot in his home. Javi knows it’s not his place to speak his mind, but it’s right there in the look on his face. He thinks you deserve better, even if better isn’t him. That’s the part he fights to keep to himself; that he so desperately wishes it could be him. Javi could appreciate you the way you deserve, Javi could make you happy. If you would just give him a chance, he could change everything for you. He’s so willing to ignore the doubts and the what-ifs in favor of the perfect fairytale ending. Realistically, could he really deliver on all the promises he’s made to you in his mind? He’s tried this out before, and it didn’t end well. It could just end up as the same story, different chapter.

That’s the scariest part, to him–the realization that he’d rather love you and lose you than never have you at all.

The scariest part for you is just how willingly you would uproot your entire life for even a chance to be his. There’s no reality where it happens easily, your life is far from a Hallmark movie. Divorce would be messy, and it would halt not only your life but your husband’s, too. He has no reason to think you’re unhappy; on the surface, everything is great. He supports you, and you support him in return. He doesn’t recognize that you’re wasting away your wonder years in the home of someone who doesn’t excite you–and even worse, that you spend most of your days pining after someone he’s never even been properly introduced to.

Maybe that’s the hardest part of all this; that it’s not really your husband’s fault, but yours by way of negligence. If you had waited, maybe explored a little further before settling down, you might have found the man you really wanted to be with. You wouldn’t have led on a perfectly nice guy who’s just a little too vanilla in all aspects of life for your taste.

You know it’s considered emotional cheating, what you have with Javi. Your husband would be so hurt if he found out, and you know it. The last thing you want to do is hurt him, but Javi makes you feel so alive. He makes you feel so cared for, so valued, and who can blame you for wanting more of those feelings?

Every morning when you walk across the expanse of lawn that separates your property from Chucho’s, Javier’s waiting for you with a smile and a cup of coffee made exactly the way you like it. He protests half-heartedly that you don’t need to come take care of Chucho anymore now that he’s home, but you know he would worry his head off if you didn’t show up. Besides, your home is so lonely. When you go next door, you have constant company between Javier and Chucho. When you’re home, you have no one but yourself until your husband comes home–and even then, it’s hollow company. There’s not much conversation between two people who can feel something dissolving but are powerless to stop it.

Your husband starts to ask questions about the neighbors that he’s never bothered to bond with. He’s a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them. You used to go to Chucho’s once a week to help out, and your visits have only increased since his son moved back in. It looks suspicious even from an objective point of view; Chucho is old, but he’s far from decrepit. He doesn’t need as much help as you offer,  certainly not with Javier around.

You never talk about it, but you know he wonders. And really, he has a right to. You’ve thought about taking that final, irreversible step a million times. You’ve thought about taking Javier’s handsome face between your hands and kissing him absolutely breathless more times than you can count.

But that’s all it’s been so far, thoughts, never actions. As much as you want to forget, you always remember that you’re married. Javi can’t seem to forget it either. You know he wants you–maybe even as badly as you want him–but he won’t do a thing about it. Not with that shiny ring on your finger.

It’s your five year anniversary, and your husband thinks it needs to be a big deal. You would think so too, if you weren’t so preoccupied with other thoughts. Regardless, you go through the motions. You go into town and buy a nice dress for the occasion, you send out hand-written invitations, you organize catering and decorations. It’s slated to be the backyard shindig of the year, but celebrating your marriage is like a punch to the gut right now–especially when Javi offers his help with the preparations.

Your feelings are a little unreasonably hurt by how eager he is to assist. Why is he so excited for you and your husband? Have you been reading all of his signals wrong? 

You haven’t–his love language is acts of service, and he’s sure he can prove to you that he’s the better choice if he can demonstrate his worth. But it’s not like he can just come out and say that–he can’t be the deciding factor of whatever happens between you and your husband. It’s a choice you have to make on your own. So he grins and bears it–even as each wedding photo and reception memento you pull out of storage drives a chisel into his heart.

You’ve grown used to being able to read him so well. Now, as he helps you lug boxes down from the attic, you have no clue what’s swirling in those pretty brown eyes. It seems like distance, and maybe that’s for the best. Maybe celebrating your wedding anniversary is exactly what you need to get back on track–to finally put the man you can’t have out of your mind and focus on the man you do have.

“You did good,” Javi hums, beer in hand as he leans against the garage to admire the finishing touches of backyard decoration with you.

“You probably did more than I did,” you admit sheepishly.

“Nah, I’m just brawn. You’re the brains behind this operation,” he tells you with a quiet chuckle. “He’s gonna love it.”

You let out a little sigh and push away from the garage, wiping imagined dust from your palms. “Let’s hope.”

It’s quiet for a long moment, and Javi takes a few sips of his beer before working up the courage to ask what he wants to. “You still love him?”

“Of course I do,” you answer without thinking, because that’s what you’re supposed to say–even if it’s not entirely the truth.

You want to take it back the moment you see the crestfallen look on his face, but it’s too late. You shouldn’t want to take it back, even if you could. You’re supposed to love your husband forever, ‘til death do you part.

“Guess I’d better go clean up,” he murmurs. “I’ll see you tonight.”

He treks off across the lawn before you can stop him, broad shoulders practically bursting through the seams of his tight button-up, and all you want to do is throw yourself at that retreating back. You want to bury yourself in him and beg him to run away with you, to save you from this mess of your own making. 

Instead, you go back inside and get yourself ready for what is shaping up to be the longest night of your life.

It’s busy, there’s really no other way to describe it. You’re being pulled in thirty different directions simultaneously–everyone wants to hug you or take photos,  the caterer keeps pulling you into the kitchen for issues that they should be able to handle on their own. Your goal of a nice, relaxing party is completely out the window by the time the last of the guests arrive.

Big parties have never really been your thing, but your husband soaks up the attention. You hardly even see him the entire night–he’s always off chatting with a friend or a coworker.

All these smiling faces are like nails in your coffin. You get so many hugs and congratulations that it’s suffocating. There’s one face you really want to see, one face that could make your anxiety melt away like butter on a stovetop. He’s not here.

Chucho seems to sense your anxiety as he brings you into a warm hug–there’s something unreadable in those anciently wise eyes. “Javier sends his best.”

“He’s not coming?” Your stomach drops, and Chucho can tell. 

“Think he’s come down with somethin’,” Chucho explains. Then, with a subdued smile that tells a deeper story than words ever could, he says, “Maybe you ought to go over and check on him. You might do more good than I could.”

Deep down, you know it would be so horribly irresponsible and rude of you to leave your party at this moment. You’re supposed to be hosting and having a good time, enjoying a night dedicated to you and your husband. If Javi doesn’t want to join in, he doesn’t have to. He has every right not to be here, it’s not like it’s his celebration.

You’re knocking on his front door before you’re even conscious of making the decision to do so.

His eyes are red-rimmed when he opens the door. For a moment, he looks at you like he’s seeing a ghost–the most beautiful spectre of a person he’s ever laid eyes on.

“You still love him.” This time, it’s not a question. Just a cold, hard statement.

“I’m supposed to,” you whisper. It’s an easier answer than the truth.

“You should go back,” he tells you, and you know. You know you have no right being here, no right to ask him to give you more of himself than he already has.

“I know.” The unspoken part of your answer is that you won’t, because there’s nothing worth celebrating back there. Those people are all at your house under false pretenses, and the only other person who knows it besides you is standing in the doorway of this modest ranch house with tear-stained cheeks that you can hardly bear looking at because you put those tears there. “I’m sorry, Javi.”

“I am too.” You don’t know what he’s apologizing for until your brain catches up to your nervous system and you realize he’s kissing you. Not sweetly, either–it’s harsh, as if he’s chastising both of you for what’s happening even as he’s powerless to resist it. His tongue sweeps into your mouth and your arms snake around his neck without thinking, because the thought of pulling away now that you’re here hurts more than anything else ever could. There’s no going back now and you both know it.

He pulls you inside and presses you against the door, every delicious inch of his body pressed up against yours as he kisses you deeper and deeper.

“You need to stop me,” he murmurs into your mouth, even as his hands trace down your waist and tug you closer against him.

“I don’t want to.”

Javi knows he should be the bigger man and put a stop to this before it can go any further. He can’t ask you to uproot everything for him. He doesn’t have anything better to offer you than your husband does–realistically, he knows he’s the lesser of two options. He just can’t bring himself to do it when his lips are trailing down your neck and your hands are unbuttoning his shirt.

“This’ll change everything,” he mumbles as your hands find his belt buckle. It’s a last, fleeting attempt to save you both from something that only ends in disaster.

“Good.” 

Really, when you put it like that, he’s doing you a favor by pulling you down the hall to his bedroom.

“I don’t wanna go back,” you confess as he pulls your dress over your head. “It’s all bullshit.”

“I know, baby. I know. But you have to.”

“We can’t just ride off into the sunset?” You ask, a tinge of humor in your voice because you both know that it isn’t that simple. Maybe in the movies, but definitely not in real life.

“I wish we could,” he admits with a smile as his warm lips trail lingering little kisses down your stomach. “I’d give anything to make that happen.”

Really, you know there’s nothing more for him to give. He’s risking his own security by doing this, too. He’s dooming himself to backwards glances at the supermarket and whispers behind closed doors–the typical curse of a small town. Whatever heat you get for this, he might get it just as bad. Still, he doesn’t seem to care. Still, he’d ruin his own life for a chance to be yours.

If you were merciful, you’d bail him out now before he has to take any of the heat from this disaster. In the end maybe your biggest flaw is how unable you are to stop yourself from being selfish, now that you finally have a glimpse of the sunshine you’ve been hoping for throughout the winter that your marriage has become.

He’s achingly gentle as he pries your thighs apart and makes quick work of sealing his lips around your clit. He looks up into your eyes as he unwinds you, like he’s never seen anything more magnificent. The thought excites you more than it should.

“You taste even better than I imagined,” he all but whines into your cunt. It’s impossible not to let that go to your head–the fact that he’s imagined working you open on his tongue like this before.

In the end, you need the reassurance that it hasn’t just been you this whole time–that he’s always wanted you as much as you’ve wanted him. “You imagined this?”

“All the time, baby.”

That does you in all on its own. You shatter like a vase dropped on a hardwood floor, pleasure coursing through every vein as you struggle to escape his ministrations yet simultaneously desperate to press yourself closer to him. His grip is strong as he works you through it, keeping your hips firmly in place against his mattress as he laps at you like he’ll never be able to get enough.

“Jesus…” he murmurs once you’ve come down enough to stop moaning his name. He scatters little kisses over the insides of your thighs, desperate to stay close even as you shiver with the remnants of your orgasm. “I gotta be inside you, baby.”

“Come here then.”

You’re still a little breathless as his lips find yours, but he breathes life back into your lungs quickly enough. He’s shoving his jeans down and grinding his hard cock against your soaking cunt in a matter of moments, and it’s intimidating. Not because of his size—although he’s quite a bit bigger than you're used to—but because of how right this feels. What if this is the first and last time this ever happens? What if nothing ever feels this right again?

He quells your fears one kiss at a time, tongue sliding across your bottom lip as his hand comes up to hold your jaw.

“We can stop here, baby,” he tells you so sweetly, even though you can see in his beautiful eyes that stopping is the last thing he wants. He would do it for you though, even if it hurts, and that only makes you want him more.

“Please don’t stop, Javi.”

He’s lining himself up before you’ve finished saying his name, eyes dark and searching. “Nice and slow, querida.”

“Okay,” you breathe.

The first push of him is ecstasy. Like stars lighting up the night sky or waves crashing against time-worn cliffs, it’s right. It feels good, his hands holding your thighs open while he presses deeper inside you, but what makes it feel great is that it’s Javi. It’s the man you would give everything up for, finally filling you the way you’ve dreamed since the day you met him.

“Ohhhh, Christ…” he murmurs as his eyes flutter shut, finally filling you to the hilt. It’s almost hard to hear over the deafening pace his thumb works against your clit. “This is gonna be so embarrassing.”

“W… what do you mean?”

“I’m not gonna last long like this,” he murmurs into the crook of your neck. “Feel too damn good.”

You’ve got to be hearing things, because surely there’s no way he’s as unraveled as you are? Surely you don’t have that much of an effect on him?

You brush your fingers through his dark hair, soothing him even as you’re desperate for him to move. “It’s okay. You’re perfect.”

“I’m far from it,” he admits, but he pulls back and starts slowly rolling his hips against yours anyway.

“You’re perfect for me, then,” you whisper. His hips jolt a little at that, and you’re stunned once again by how much simply your words affect him—by being wanted as much as you want him.

“God, I don’t fuckin’ deserve you.” He thrusts deep, as if to distract you from his passive self-degradation, and it draws an involuntary whine from your throat.

“You deserve everything, Javi.” You hope he’ll keep you around long enough for you to drill that lesson into his head.

He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to. Words would never properly convey what he feels, anyway. He dedicates himself to showing you instead.

It’s like time stands still just so he can wreck you more effectively. Every moment of his hands hitching your legs higher around his waist, every moment of his cock splitting you open, every moment of his breathy kisses; it all seems drawn out. And yet it’s not enough— you don’t think it’ll ever be enough. You’ve wasted too much time not being his.

“You’re everything I’ve ever wanted,” he mumbles into your mouth with a particularly deep shove of his hips. “I never thought I’d get to have you.”

“I never thought you would want me,” you admit earnestly. Your voice is so much higher than you remember it being—everything is so tightly wound you feel like you might combust into flames.

“How could I not?” He kisses you again—slow and languid, even as his hips pick up the pace and his thumb speeds up on your clit to match. “I can’t let you go now. You know that, right?”

“I don’t want you to,” is all you can manage before all coherent thought is wiped from your mind by a blinding wave of pleasure.

Time doesn’t exist for a little while. Nothing does, really, outside the bubble of this queen-sized mattress. All you know is the waves coursing through your nerves and Javi’s little grunts filling the room as he fills you, with short and deep strokes that leave you dripping the creamy reminder of what you’ve done. You’re sweaty and sticky as he unwinds himself from you so he can flop down beside you, and nothing’s ever felt better.

By the time you manage to pry your eyes open again, Javi’s coming back from the bathroom down the hall with a wet washcloth.

He winces at the overstimulated groan you let out when he starts wiping you clean. “I know baby, m’sorry.”

He tosses it into the laundry hamper at the foot of the bed when he’s done, then sits on the edge of the bed next to you to light a cigarette.

For a moment, it’s quiet. You watch with quiet fascination at the little swirls of smoke that drift from his lips, and you think you could get used to this. 

“I meant it, Javi,” you hum quietly. You prop up on your knees behind him, arms snaking around his waist as he leans back against you. “I don’t wanna go back to the way things were. I don’t want you to let me go.”

“I won’t, then.” He lets out a contented hum, then leans forward to drop the butt into the ashtray on his nightstand. Your arms are open when he leans back into you, and this time he turns so he can kiss you. It’s light and lingering, a contrast to the desperate kisses from earlier—it feels like a promise.

“It won’t be easy,” you warn him. You know he knows, but you have to give him an out. You have to make sure he sees the storm that’s coming.

“It doesn’t have to be.” A smirk flashes across his lips as he leans his forehead against yours. “You did your time, baby. You tried. It’ll be alright.”

And here, in the safety of his arms, in the safety of his bed, you believe him.

You’ll go back to your own home in a few short minutes, when you can bear to release Javi from your arms. You’ll finish out the party for your guests, and then you’ll talk to your husband. And then, once everything is finished imploding, you’ll run to the porchlight that calls your name from next door and the open arms that can soothe any ache.

➔ this is third submission to @beskarandblasters Taylor Swift Drabble Challenge thank you for the prompt love :)

➔ beta: @shakespeareanwannabe and @schnarfer ; dividers: @saradika-graphics thank you darlings <3

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I wanna be in a Frankie and Benny sandwich!

Couch Chronicles | One Shot

Frankie Morales x f!reader x Benny Miller

Summary: When you accidentally tell your boyfriend, Frankie, that you think his best friend is cute... he makes a plan. Rating: 18+ Explicit Word Count: 4.2k Warnings: strictly smut, established relationship, threesome, mmf dynamic, heavy kissing, a stupid amount of neck kissing, nipple play, oral (f! and m! receiving), fingering, choking, rough sex, cum eating, deepthroat, unprotected piv sex, multiple creampies, degrading kink (very mild), praise kink, pet names (pretty girl, baby, babygirl), language, men whimpering (i know) A/N: I want two boyfriends, and I want the boyfriends to be boyfriends... yeah, you guys know how it goes. idk I had an idea, tossed some words together, and here we are. not my finest work and probably a lil shitty in terms of technicality, but I was craving a good trip to Paris.

Masterlist | Ko-fi

You were lying in bed with Frankie one night, scrolling through social media, when you came across a new post from Benny. It was from a recent fishing trip down to the lake, and he was shirtless, holding a large trout in his hand. You tapped on the screen twice, liking the photo and spending an extra few seconds staring at his tall frame and shaggy blonde hair doused in sunlight. 

“You know he is pretty cute,” you said aloud, showing Frankie the photo.

Frankie and Benny were close, best friends even. You had spent time with him here and there over the years at barbecues and small group settings. He was always friendly and welcomed you into the group with open arms. You and Frankie had been dating for a while now, and you were well aware of his past with the group of men and the missions they had gone on. But now he was home for good, making a living for himself and staying clean. 

“Do you ever think about fucking him?” Frankie asked casually, glancing from the screen to your face.

“Frankie, oh my God!” You gasped. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You gaped at him, shutting off your phone and placing it on the nightstand.

“Hey, I wasn’t asking to start an argument,” he said coolly. “It was a genuine question.”

You shrunk into the pillows, turning to face him. He nestled against his own pillow, holding your gaze and giving you a small grin. His hair had grown shaggy at the ends, sticking up behind his ears and curling at the base of his neck. You lifted a hand to scratch at the patchy beard covering his jaw, biting your lip as you navigated a response in your head.

“No, I haven’t thought about it,” you exhaled. “Okay, maybe I have once or twice. Fuck—I don’t know. Not in a fuck him and leave you type of way.”

“You know I wouldn’t be mad if you did,” Frankie replied. “Fuck him, I mean.”

“What?” You balked, eyes growing wide.

He only shrugged his shoulders, shifting close to you in the bed.

“He’s my best friend. I’d trust him with you.”

“You’re not seriously telling me right now you want me to sleep with Benny.”

“I’m not telling you to do it,” Frankie argued. “Just saying, if you ever want to explore it, tell me. I’m sure he’s thought about it, too.”

Your face burned bright red at the thought of Benny fantasizing about you. There was no way. Frankie was messing with you.

“None of this bothers you?” You questioned.

Frankie laughed softly, hooking an arm around your leg and guiding it over his hip. You shuffled your body closer until you were both a breath apart. 

“Fuck no, baby,” he smirked, his pupils growing bigger. “Getting to see one of best friends fuck you would probably only turn me on more.”

You felt him growing harder against you, and you reached a hand down to palm his cock through his pajama bottoms. Frankie let out a soft whine, bucking his hips into your hand.

“Would you just sit back and watch?” You quirked an eyebrow. 

“I’d do whatever you want.”

Your fingers danced up his pants, teasing his waistband. You gave him a mischievous grin as you trailed lower until your hand wrapped around his cock. He groaned at your touch, his eyes rolling back.

“What if I want both of you?” You asked, pumping him slowly. “At the same time?”

Something carnal flashed across his features, and he crawled on top of you, running his mouth up your neck. You arched into him, using both hands to pull down his pants. Frankie did the same to you, tugging your sleep shorts down your legs and exploring the wetness collecting between your inner thighs.

“Pretty girl wants to get tag-teamed?” He teased. “Yeah, I can make that happen.”

You gasped at his words and let him fuck you mercilessly the rest of the night. 

You had zero clue what Frankie had told Benny, but later that week, you were situated on the couch between their warm bodies, watching some action movie. Benny kept a respectable distance while Frankie’s hand remained on your thigh, drawing slow circles over your bare skin. You were wearing one of his T-shirts and a pair of soft sleep shorts, your nerves buzzing through your body. 

You barely had the capacity to pay attention to the movie, your eyes shifting between both of the men sitting on either side of you. Frankie leaned over after a while, his breath hot against your neck.

“You call the shots, pretty girl. Whatever you wanna do, it’s your choice,” he muttered into your ear.

You let out a small gasp, glancing over at Benny. He was sitting relaxed against the couch; his legs spread open and muscular arms crossed over his chest. Your eyes trailed up his thick neck, studying his tensed jaw covered in days-old stubble and blue eyes that remained focused on the screen. You weren’t the shy type, but initiating this type of situation was way out of your comfort zone.

“Benny?” You whispered.

His gaze slid to you, his pupils already dilated.

“Yeah?” He asked, his voice deep as he said your name.

You sucked in a breath, mustering the courage to take it to the next step. 

“Kiss me,” you demanded, though it sounded a bit sheepish.

He flicked his gaze to Frankie, then back to you. Reaching a hand up to tangle in your hair, he reeled you in for a hungry kiss. You whimpered at the feel of his mouth against yours, his approach far rougher than what you were used to with Frankie. His tongue intertwined with yours as he coaxed your mouth open wider, his other hand sliding up your thigh. 

Frankie’s mouth connected with the other side of your neck, sucking marks into your flushed skin as you let out another helpless whine.

“Fuck,” Benny panted, guiding your head toward Frankie.

Frankie was quick to capture your mouth, his tongue tracing the saliva still lingering on your lips. You gasped as Benny’s mouth trailed up your neck, drawing his tongue over the erratic pulse under your jaw. 

“This what you want, baby?” Frankie asked before sinking his teeth into the plush skin of your bottom lip.

You gave him an eager nod of your head, and he brought his hand up to tilt your head, both of their mouths now hot and wet against either side of your throat. The throbbing between your thighs grew painful, and you squirmed against their roaming hands; Benny’s hand crawled up to cup your breast, Frankie’s hand teasing your aching clit over your shorts.

“Jesus Christ,” you moaned, letting your head fall back against the couch. 

“Call the shots, pretty girl,” Frankie ordered. 

You bucked your hips against his hand, searching for any form of friction to alleviate the pressure building inside your core. Benny tugged at the t-shirt covering your torso, his breath going ragged as he discovered you bare beneath the soft cotton.

His head dipped down to capture your pebbled nipple between his teeth, grinding them against your skin until you cried out from the pleasure mixing with pain. Oh, Benny was rough, and it only made you ache for more of his touch.

You glanced down at the same time his gaze lifted to yours, a grin tugging at his lips as he realized how much you liked it. Frankie, meanwhile, was working at sipping his fingers between your wet folds, sinking two fingers knuckle deep. 

“Shit,” you hissed through clenched teeth. Frankie’s fingers worked fast inside you; he knew what to do to make you completely fall apart.

But now you had another man working at you in tandem, Benny’s mouth still ravaging your breast. Your fingers tangled into his hair, your nails raking over his scalp. He let out a groan of approval, rewarding you with another bite of his teeth around your nipple.

“Feels…so fucking good…” You whispered to both men.

Frankie angled his hand so that he could push his fingers deeper, curling them against the spongy spot inside you. Searing heat coursed through your veins with each movement of his fingers, your breath coming out short and pained.

A dangerous idea floated through the fog inside your brain, and you wondered how far you could push it at the expense of your wanton needs. Tugging Benny’s hair, he released your nipple with a gentle pop and moved his lips back to yours. You sucked his bottom lip in between your teeth before diving your tongue into his mouth. Benny let out a shallow exhale, letting you steer the kiss in whatever direction you wanted. 

“Benny,” you whined. “I want your tongue inside me.”

He cursed under his breath and looked over at Frankie, who was still working you closer to the edge. Frankie’s eyes lifted to meet yours, a devilish smirk playing on his lips. He pulled his fingers from you, lifting them to your mouth.

“Clean them, pretty girl,” he ordered. 

You wrapped your mouth around his thick fingers, the salty, sweet taste of your arousal coating your tongue. You pulled your head back and looked at Benny with a lifted brow.

“Wanna taste?” You asked with a coy smile.

You expected him to pull you in for a kiss, to taste it from your mouth, but your breath stalled as you watched him grip Frankie’s wrist and guide his fingers into his mouth. Your jaw dropped open as Benny sucked on Frankie’s fingers with fervency, his eyes locked on your boyfriend. This was new. Frankie grunted as Benny dragged his tongue over the pads of his fingers, finally releasing them and settling back into the couch.

“Come here, baby,” Frankie said, shuffling his body back against one side of the couch.

He maneuvered you into his lap, your back pressed against his chest. Through heavy lids, you watched Benny tear away his shirt and put his defined abs on display. You and Frankie had been to a few of his boxing matches, and you were more than familiar with the toned figure he hid under his basic t-shirts. Your eyes roamed down his torso, studying the way his chest hair flourished between his sternum and trailed down his abdomen. You involuntarily wet your lips at the sight, wanting to take your tongue and trace every flexed muscle on his body.

“Spread your legs for me, babygirl,” Benny instructed. Hearing him call you babygirl had your mind reeling. 

You let your legs fall open and watched as Benny shuffled back to situate himself between your thighs. Frankie’s hands groped and squeezed your breasts, his fingers pinching your nipples until you gasped at the stinging pain. You tilted your head back, arching upward to meet his lips. Frankie responded with a sloppy kiss, his nose brushing over yours at the same time Benny’s tongue flicked over your aching clit.

“Fuck!” You cried, the word muffled in Frankie’s mouth.

Frankie let out a low chuckle and intertwined his fingers through the tendrils of your hair, forcing you to look down at Benny.

“Watch him while he tongue fucks you, baby,” Frankie commanded. 

Your breath hitched, and Benny took that as his opportunity to dive his tongue deep inside you. Sparks of pleasure erupted behind your eyes, and it took all your strength to keep your focus on him as he worked his tongue deeper. His eyes shot up to yours, the pale blue of his irises swallowed by his pupils. 

“Do you like that pretty girl?” Frankie crooned in your ear. “You enjoy having us both giving you all this attention?”

“Yes,” you panted, your chest rising and falling steadily as warmth spread through your stomach.

“Tell Benny how much you like it.”

Your eyes rolled back as Benny traced over your wet folds with his tongue, the heat of his mouth against your cunt sending you into a spiral. 

“I—.” You choked on your words as Benny’s lips suctioned around your clit, his tongue sending sharp rhythmic flicks across the aching bundle of nerves.

“Tell him,” Frankie growled, his hand wrapping around your throat.

“Your mouth feels so fucking good, Benny,” you gasped. “Please don’t stop… Please. Keep doing that, I’m so fucking close.”

Your words were melding together, a jumble of incoherent mumbling and humiliating whimpers. Frankie’s hand squeezed your throat tighter, restricting your breathing as Benny coaxed your orgasm closer to the surface. With Frankie’s hand around your neck and Benny’s tongue assailing your cunt, the overstimulation began to spread through your veins. 

“I know you’re close, pretty girl,” Frankie whispered in your ear. “I can feel how tense you are. Let it go, baby. Cum for us.”

His words sent the heavens crashing down around you, and your body seized upwards as your orgasm ignited a fire that raged under your skin. Benny lapped at the arousal pooling out of you, humming in satisfaction as a strangled cry left your lips. 

“Doesn’t my girl taste good, Benny?” Frankie murmured, releasing his grip on your throat.

“Fucking perfect,” Benny grinned.

You leaned your head back against Frankie’s chest, seeing his big brown eyes sparkle with lust. 

“Frankie, baby,” you whispered. “Why don’t you have a taste, too?”

Frankie started to shift you off his lap, but you pressed yourself further into his chest, leaving him looking at you confused. You glanced down at Benny and gave a subtle lift of your chin as if to silently coax him from between your thighs. He followed your lead, crawling up your body until he hovered over you and leaned in close. He braced himself against the couch with one arm while snaking the other around Frankie’s neck. You careened your neck to watch as their mouth collided, Frankie’s aquiline nose smashing against Benny’s cheek for a frenzied kiss. Frankie submitted to Benny’s control, whimpering as their tongues danced together. Your jaw went slack as you watched your boyfriend passionately kiss his best friend; oh, you fucking loved this.

Benny tore away from Frankie’s lips, bending down to trail his lips over your jaw and neck. 

“I think your man wants some attention, babygirl,” he muttered against your warm skin.

“I think so, too,” you agreed, breathless.

Both men maneuvered off the couch, taking their time to undress, while you sat back and admired both of their naked bodies. Frankie was soft in all the right areas, his dark chest hair spread across his broad torso and trailing down over the soft pudge of his stomach. His cock hung heavy between his thighs, already glistening with precum as it leaked from the tip. Your eyes shifted over to Benny, your eyes growing wide at the length of his hardened cock. While Frankie’s cock was sizable in girth, Benny made up for it with length, and the thought of his cock deep inside you only spurred you closer to another orgasm. You needed one of them to fuck you, or else you’d go crazy.

“Baby,” you whined, shuffling your body up on the couch.

Frankie gave you a smirk, the creases in the corner of his eyes appearing as he looked down on you. You snaked a hand down your navel, your fingers slipping between the wet folds as you sought out some sort of relief from the throbbing need inside you. 

Benny moved around the side of the couch, his strong hands hooking under your shoulders and dragging you back until your head hung over the arm of the couch. Upside down, you stared up at his cock as it hovered over your face. You wet your lips at the sight of it, waiting for him to inch closer. Gliding a hand over your strained neck, his fingers squeezed the right above the base of it.

“I wanna feel my cock right here, babygirl,” Benny said. “You gonna show me you can take it?”

“Yes,” you breathed.

You dropped your jaw open, your tongue darting out as you waited for him to step forward. Frankie’s body weight dropped on the couch above you, his hands lifting your legs onto his shoulder. As your calves settled onto his broad shoulders, Frankie lined himself up with your entrance. In one quick thrust, Frankie bottomed out, and you let out a raspy moan. Before you had a chance to make another sound, Benny slid his cock into your mouth, your tongue dragging against the veins along the length. You sputtered around him as he drove deeper down your throat, his fingers still massaging your neck with each shallow thrust. 

Frankie’s thrusts grew harder, and your muffled cries were silenced as Benny continued snapping his hips forward into your mouth. 

“Ain’t she so pretty like this?” Frankie grunted through each drive of his cock.

“So fucking pretty,” Benny huffed. You swallowed around him, forcing him to choke on his words. “She’s taking our cocks so well. Her mouth feels so fucking good.”

You keened at their words, arousal blooming deep within your stomach as they spoke. They were using your body any way they wanted, and you were desperate for their praise. 

“You enjoy getting used like this, baby?” Frankie asked, his voice low and strained. 

You couldn’t respond as Benny plunged his cock further down your throat, your jaw straining to take his length deeper. You could feel the tears cascading down your temples, your breath forced out of your nose as you struggled under his hold. 

“Aw, pretty girl can’t talk?” Frankie taunted. 

Frankie lifted your ass off the couch, his warm hands squeezing the supple skin as you began assaulting you with unforgiving thrusts. Your cunt clenched around his cock, sucking him in deeper until the tip of his cock brushed against your cervix. You wailed a helpless cry, saliva dripping over Benny’s cock and down your cheeks. 

Your eyes blurred as your climax grew into an inferno inside your stomach. Each thrust on either side of your body plummeted your orgasm closer and closer to the surface, your heartbeat thrumming erratically in your ears. Benny hunched over your body, his hands massaging your breasts, his fingers pinching around your nipples. You arched off the couch, and Frankie kept his grip tight on your hips as he continued railing into you.

“Gonna be a good girl and cum for us, baby?” Frankie crooned.

“Mmmph.” 

You couldn’t speak. You could barely make a coherent noise as your orgasm ignited inside of you, leaving you paralyzed—suspended between the bodies of two men that continued to wreck you completely as you came undone. 

“Such a good fucking girl,” Frankie praised.

“Think she deserves a reward?” Benny questioned, drawing his cock from your mouth.

You heaved in lung-fulls of air, drool still dripping down your face. Benny crouched behind you, his hand fisting your hair to pull your face forward toward Frankie. Frankie’s dark eyes met yours, and he pounded deeper into you, your cries turning into humiliating whimpers.

“You want Frankie to cum inside you, babygirl?” Benny whispered, his tongue tracing along the shell of your ear.

“Y—yes,” you wailed brokenly. “Please, Frankie. Need your cum.”

Frankie’s face scrunched up with concentration as he changed the tempo of his thrusts; they were slower and more powerful. Benny’s grip on your hair remained firm, not allowing you to look anywhere but at Frankie. His tousled dark curls stuck to his forehead with sweat, his jaw clenched as he forcibly thrust into you in one final time. With a carnal groan, Frankie emptied himself inside you, slumping onto your chest with labored breaths. 

“Jesus Christ,” Frankie groaned. 

Benny unwound his fingers from the tendrils of your hair, peppering your cheek and neck with kisses. Frankie lifted his head to look at Benny, and you could faintly see a smirk teasing the corner of his hips.

“I think she can take a bit more. What do you say, Benny?” Frankie grinned.

“I wanna know how good that pussy feels. You gonna let me fill you up, too?” Benny asked, his teeth grazing your neck.

“God, yes,” you exhaled.

Frankie climbed off your body and maneuvered you onto all fours. Your legs wobbled against the cushions, Frankie’s cum slowly leaking from your sore cunt. Benny made his way around the couch, climbing behind your shaking body. Frankie took his spot in front of you, his large hands cupping your face and wiping away the excess saliva that still coated your cheeks and nose.

“Look at the mess you made, pretty girl,” Frankie mumbled, his eyes dancing over you ravenously. 

He leaned in to kiss you, drawing his tongue over your wet lips. You moaned into his open mouth, your body tensing up with anticipation as Benny coated the head of his cock with the wetness leaking from your entrance. 

“Eyes on me, baby,” Frankie ordered, pulling away from your mouth. “I wanna watch you while Benny ruins that perfect pussy.”

That was all Benny needed to hear before he broke you up, the stretch of your cunt around his cock blindingly painful for the first few seconds. Your mouth fell open as his hips pressed against your ass, every glorious inch of him stretching you wide open. A choked gasp fell from your lips as Frankie held your focus, his brown eyes watching with fervid attention. 

“Benny,” Frankie said, never breaking away from your eyes. “Fuck her hard.”

Benny replied with a forceful snap of his hips that sent your body colliding with the couch. You screamed out at the savage pace he set, each connection of his hips against yours sending you into a frenzy of whimpers and sobs.

“So fucking tight and perfect,” Benny huffed between each drive of his cock. “Can’t believe you’ve been keeping her to yourself.”

“She’s all mine, Benny,” Frankie reminded him. “But I think she enjoys being shared.”

You nodded vigorously, flames licking up your nerves as Benny steered you closer to another orgasm. Your nails dug into the cushions, half-moon indentations left in their wake. 

“I want you both,” you panted. “Like this.”

“Yeah, babygirl?” Benny exhaled, bending his body over yours to kiss up your spine.

Frankie dragged you in for a long kiss, a moan exhaling from his mouth into yours. You were drunk on their touch, each hand roaming your body, every kiss, every lust-filled word. You couldn’t get enough.

“Cum inside me, Benny,” you pleaded. 

Benny’s arm braced around your torso, pulling you up until your back was flush with his chest. Frankie climbed over the arm of the sofa, his hands sweeping back the hair from your face. Benny brought his free hand up to Frankie, tugging at his curls until he shuffled closer. Frankie tilted his chin up and met Benny’s lips, their kisses slow and impassioned. Both of their body’s pressed harder against yours, Benny’s cock sliding in and out of you slowly, his thrusts shallow and short. You licked a path up Frankie’s neck, startling a gasp from him as Benny deepened their kiss.

The muscles in Benny’s arms flexed around your chest, his hips snapping hard one last time before his release was painting your insides. You were so fucking full of them both, your body coursing with adrenaline and pleasure. Benny slipped out of you, breaking away from Frankie’s lips and falling back against the couch. 

“Come here, babygirl,” Benny urged, outstretching his arms.

You glanced at Frankie for permission—which was comical as the mixture of their cum leaked down your inner thighs. Frankie gave you a soft smile, peking your lips before guiding you down onto the couch. 

Benny wound his arms around your trembling body, pressing a light kiss on the crown of your head, while Frankie settled against your body on the other side. You nestled into the warmth of their bodies, your eyes drifting shut from exhaustion.

“This was nice,” you hummed, giggling softly. 

“You wanna do it again?” Frankie chuckled, kissing your shoulder.

“Maybe not right now,” you groaned.

The soreness between your legs throbbed violently, and every muscle in your body tense and stiffened. You stretched out between them, feeling both men’s heartbeats pounding against your body.

“I love you, baby,” Frankie muttered into your skin.

“I love you, too,” you exhaled.

Lifting your chin to look at Benny, you watched him eye Frankie knowingly. You could see the emotions swimming in his blue eyes, his lips parted and swollen.

“You love him, too,” you commented.

“Yeah, maybe I do,” Benny said absentmindedly.

Benny’s gaze slid down to you, and you saw it in his eyes. The passion between them, the cohesiveness of their movements with you; it was all right there. You always thought Benny loved Frankie like a brother, but maybe there was something more. You weren’t jealous; you were far from it. You wanted them both, maybe in different ways, but still… you wanted them.

“Would you do this again?” You asked, partially to both of them.

“Absolutely,” Frankie said, at the same time Benny said, “In a heartbeat.”

“Stay the night with us, Benny,” you offered. 

“Wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else,” Benny sighed.