Oh. Oh My! This Was Delicious!!!

Oh. Oh my! This was delicious!!!

dave york x babysitter!f!reader

summary: the kids you babysit have a hot dad. you want him. but he's married... cws: unfaithfulness (dave is married to carol), power imbalance (employer and employee), fainting, thigh grinding, fingering, reader wears a skirt, dad!dave and his kids, nicknames (baby, honey), reader sits in dave's lap, mention of blood, frottage kinda, one (1) shoulder bite word count: 2.7k divider by @thecutestgrotto thank you and shoutout to my cheerleaders on this, liv @5oh5 and han @swiftispunk <3 and my love @joelsversion for helping with the header <3

"Without touching his skin, How can I be guilty as sin?"

You hate being alone with Dave York.

There’s nothing wrong with him. He’s a perfectly pleasant, well-mannered man. His daughters, Molly and Alice, are angels when you look after them (mostly), and nothing Dave has ever said or done has made you uncomfortable. Your interactions are innocent and professional. And that’s exactly the problem. 

There’s nothing wrong with him.

Because when you’re left alone together, in the evenings when his kids are asleep and he offers to drive you home, or in the mornings on the days he doesn’t work  from home and he pours you a cup of coffee in the kitchen while you make the girls breakfast… you can’t stop your mind from wandering.

You’re not entirely sure what Mr. York does for work, but you know he must look good doing it. Prancing around the house in his fitted dress pants that hug his front and back just right. His loose dress shirt hiding the body you suspect is strong and strapping, based on the sounds coming from the garage when he tells you he’ll be working out. And those are just the parts you don’t get to see.

His hands, however, are always on full display. When they curl around that mug he hands you. His palm brushing the small of your back as he opens the door for you when you leave. Fingers tapping, sometimes only one on the steering wheel, when he drives you home. When he’s typing away at the computer in his home office, or brushing the hair out of his girls’ faces before kissing their heads goodnight on the nights that he makes it home in time. Oh, those fingers… and that ring.

The ring he wears as a promise to Carol, his wife, that he’ll always be faithful to her. You should know how much a promise like that means. Someone once promised you the same. To always be there, to never stray. But stray they did. And the pain of that is something you don’t wish on anyone.

So yes, you hate being alone with Dave York. Because he’s so close. You spend more hours in his house than your own, basically raising his kids. And he’s right there… but he’s not for you.

It has been a very long day, and yet the clock on the kitchen stove shows only 11:27. The girls have run through the garden sprinklers all morning, worn out and down for a nap already, a combination of heat and exhaustion making you wish you could do the same. The heat wave has lasted for days now, only alleviated by a few minutes of clouds during the worst hours. 

Your bare thighs cling to the chair as you get up to clean up your lunch. It’s quick work, so you do the rest of the dishes too, even though it’s not your job. Warm soapy water prunes your fingers quickly, the only parts of your body not already damp with sweat. The house is rarely this quiet during the day, only the distant sounds of traffic from the main road blocks away filling the room, joining the splashing of water and clangs from dishes as you put them back into their cabinets. Some mornings you can hear Dave talking in his office, the sound carrying through the house. You can never make out what it is he’s talking about, only the low rumble of his voice sometimes plaited with other voices through computer speakers. He’s quiet today. 

This heat is unbearable, you think, as you wipe your forehead with wet hands. Leaning on the counter, you take a deep breath. For a second your eyesight falters, and lightheadedness washes over you. Have you even had a glass of water today? You can feel your legs start to wobble, vision turning static, and you’ve just started swaying when–

“Hey, hey!” 

A strong hand grabs your arm as you topple over, and you lean into Dave’s solid chest, letting him support your weight as you focus on your breathing. 

“There you go, honey,” he soothes. “Deep breaths.”

His shirt smells crisp and clean, the scent interrupted by whiffs of soap and cologne from his skin underneath it, as you inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

“You okay?” His big hand draws circles on your back, still holding you up with the other.

“Just hot…” you manage, lifting your head up to see a concerned Dave look down at you with furrowed brows. 

“Come lie down in my office for a bit, the AC is better in there.”

He supports you on your unsteady legs with an arm firmly around your waist, guiding you to his work room at the other end of the house. You’ve never really been in there, only stuck your head through the door to let him know you’re leaving at the end of the day.

The room is huge, especially for a home office. Floor to ceiling windows cover the far wall, his desk in the middle of the room, facing the door. Bookcases line the other walls, filled with mostly folders and what looks like heavy encyclopedias. In front of one of them is, of all things, a chaise lounge. What is he, a shrink? You’ve never seen him have anyone else in there, but for all you know he might as well be. He’s got the calm and steady presence you imagine one would need to be any kind of doctor.

“Here,” he says as he guides you over to the chaise, one big hand engulfing yours, the other supporting your neck as you lower yourself down.

“Let me get you some water.” 

As he leaves the office again, you hurriedly smooth your skirt down, suddenly very aware of how much skin you’re showing. If you lift your knees your entire ass would be on display for him when he returns, but you know keeping your feet up will be good for the dizziness. You settle for an in-between, only one leg raised, and the other straight out, just as Dave returns, bottle in hand. He twists the cap open before he hands it to you.

“Thanks,” you breathe as you accept it, gulping down half the contents in one go. You hand the bottle back to him and he chugs the rest. Your eyes are fixed on his plush lips around the bottle opening that was just between your own. You wonder what they would feel like on your warm skin.

As he drinks, a stray droplet escapes from the side of his mouth, trickling down to his chin. It runs down the length of his throat, Adam’s apple bouncing when he swallows, and then the drop disappears underneath his shirt collar. Your mouth waters, yet you feel even thirstier. You’d like to rip his shirt off and lick the droplet off his chest, as if only that could quench your thirst. And you can’t help but feel… No, you can help it. You should. It’s completely inappropriate. He’s your employer, your boss, and he’s… so Goddamn good looking. Shit.

He crumples the empty plastic before throwing it away in the bin next to his desk. Slumping down in his office chair he turns his attention to the computer screen.

Typing away at his keyboard, you watch him. Doctor York? Professor York? You try to imagine him; teaching a class, doing paperwork at an office, running a store, being someone’s strict and authoritarian boss. The latter thought makes your legs clench together involuntarily. 

“What do you do?”

The question escapes you before you can help it, and you cringe slightly at your own sudden bluntness. 

“Sorry?”

“I just realized I don’t know what you do for work.”

He doesn’t look up from the screen when he speaks, but a subtle smile plays on his lips.

“If I told you I’d have to kill you.” You laugh.

“That would suck. Who would look after your kids?”

“I’d be on the run, so not me.”

“Carol, then. All alone. Poor Carol.”

“Yeah. Poor Carol…” he agrees, voice suddenly grave.

A few minutes pass, comfortable yet somehow charged silence surrounding you. When he speaks again, his tone shifts—still dark, but less grave.

"Ever been to Europe?" he asks, breaking the stillness.

The unexpected question leaves you momentarily flustered.

“Uh, yeah, I, uhm… I went backpacking there a million years ago,” you stutter.

His eyes narrow slightly. "Really?"

“Why is that so hard to believe?" you challenge, squinting back at him.

“Just a little surprising, I suppose.” 

He meets your gaze without flinching, a spark of something unreadable flickering in his dark eyes.

“I’m actually planning a trip to Belgium. Come have a look at this.”

He beckons you closer with two fingers, the gesture innocent and yet, paired with your clouded judgment and current state of mind, borderline obscene.

Carefully, you put your two feet down on the floor, taking a moment to test your balance. Once confident you won’t topple over again, you step over to his side of the workspace. You lean over his desk, one hand on the table and one on the armrest of the office chair he’s seated in, squinting at the screen. It’s probably very interesting, pictures and lists of things to do and see abroad, but the only thing you can focus on is the sliver of ass you know is revealed when you bend over in this particular skirt. You’d usually wear something more work appropriate, even just a pair of hot pants underneath. But this weather… This heat…

Dave’s gaze is just as scorching as he awaits your reaction, and you can tell he’s working hard not to let his eyes wander. Just like you do, when from the corner of your eye you spot his hand moving absentmindedly up and down his thigh, resting a little too long at the top, thumb grazing his groin.

“Want me to bring you something back?” he asks, voice low, close to a whisper, as if worried someone could hear him. 

You shift your weight from one leg to the other, giving your feet a little more space between them, making room between your thighs. Suddenly, his fingers graze the insides of your thighs and his hand trails upwards, coming to rest over the wet patch of your underwear, damp from your excitement or from the temperature you’re not sure. An audible sigh escapes you at the contact. He responds with a groan of his own as he starts drawing circles over your clothed clit.

“I’ve heard they have great chocolate,” you stutter in response to his question.

“Yeah? You got a sweet tooth?”

You wish desperately he would touch your skin, and try to angle your hips so he can slip a finger under your panties, but he just follows your movements, touching you through the fabric. You only hum in response.

“God, this isn’t right…” you hear him whisper to himself. You don’t disagree, yet neither of you make a move to stop.

His hands move to rest on your hips, and he slowly turns you to face him. Soft fingers grip you tightly. The insides of his legs brush the bare skin of your own, making you shiver despite the heat. Your eyes flutter shut.

“Look at me,” he says, pleading. So you do. The darkness of his eyes pull you in, and you’re almost taken over by the urge to lean down and kiss him. As you start to bend down, one hand resting on his shoulder, his hands on your hips keep you in place. At a distance.

“Tell me we shouldn’t do this.” His eyes rake over your body, taking you in, short fingernails digging into your skin. “Tell me this is wrong.”

It wouldn’t be a lie. It really is, and you really shouldn’t. So you’re not sure why throw one leg over his and straddle his thigh. A buzz shoots through you as your swollen core meets the tight muscle of his leg. You’re so close to him like this. So close you can feel the warm puffs of his quickened breath fan your skin, with a faint scent of coffee, toothpaste, and something else, indistinct but distinctly Dave.

Details of his complexion you’ve never noticed before become clear. The worry lines between his brows. The sharp curve of his cupid’s bow. The few hairs he’d missed while shaving, probably in a hurry, that morning.

Almost unwillingly your hips start drawing small circles, chasing release. Dave’s hands haven’t moved an inch, still gripping your hips, following your movements. His eyes are fixed at where your legs clasp around his own, soft movements growing erratic as your pleasure pulls you further.

Under his clothes he’s fully hard now, the fabric of his dress pants stretching around his erection. You imagine the weight of him in your hand, how your fingers would barely meet around his shaft when you jerk him off. You shift forward, thrusting, wanting desperately to feel him, but he holds you in place, pulling his own hips away from you.

“Nuh-uh.” One of his hands releases its grip on you and rises to gently cup your face. The tips of his fingers barely brush your skin. “Not like that.”

“What?” you breathe.

“Just…” Dave’s face contorts slightly as he sighs. “Just take what you need. What you want.”

You continue to grind on his thick thigh, drenching his trousers with each movement. Back and forth, clenching around nothing. As your breath quickens, you hunch over more and more, forehead eventually landing on Dave’s shoulder. Your teeth come down on the soft flesh of your cheek, and you chew, molars slicing through the skin until you taste blood. 

“Come on,” he purrs, his voice hoarse and vibrating in your ear. “Come on, baby, give it to me.”

“I’m gonna–

Your mouth falls open in silent moan, and you bite down on his shoulder to keep from making a sound, soaking his already damp cotton shirt in saliva and drops of blood from the inside of your mouth. His grip on your hips is relentless, and he groans through his gritted teeth as you fall over the edge.

“Fucking… come… on.”

And you do.

Your thighs clench around Dave’s, and you can feel him tense up as well, sending new waves of pleasure through your core. The buzzing vibration runs from your middle, through your spine, and sets off another spark at the very top of your skull. Your hairs stand up, goosebumps. The blood pumping in your ears deafens you momentarily. 

With your nose buried in his neck, nuzzled behind his ear, you take a few breaths to restrain yourself. His hands are looser on you now, thumbs drawing small circles on your hip bones. His chest rises and falls underneath you, slowing in time with yours.

And just as you’re about to lift your head from his shoulder, not quite ready to face the reality of what has just happened, what you’ve done, someone else breaks the silence.

“Daddy!”

Molly’s sleepy voice is unmistakable from down the hall. Dave’s hands are off you in a second, and you barely have time to react before he’s on his feet.

“Dave, I’ll take her–”

But he’s already out the door.

Once you’ve flattened your skirt and straightened up in the hallway bathroom, you find them in the kitchen. Molly is blabbering, Alice yawning, while Dave is listening and laughing, arranging their lunch in funny shapes on their plates. Cucumbers for eyes, a slice of bell pepper for a pair of red lips, a piece of mushroom becomes the nose. The children giggle at their Dad’s shenanigans. 

You stand in the doorway, observing. Domestic bliss. They’re not your kids and he’s not your husband, and this moment is not for you. As the kids’ laughter and the clang of kitchenware reverberates through the open kitchen, you catch yourself wondering how Dave will explain the stains you made on his clothes to Carol.

taglist:

@hellfire-state-of-mind @janaispunk @joelscruff @takochansugoi @paanchusblog

@pastelpinkflowerlife @mountainsandmayhem @inept-the-magnificent @bitccchmood @sullyselena

@akjnoris @teanbean521 @joelalorian @lucifurrr @theetherealbloom

@lightdragonrayne @skbeaumont @itsjoelver @fhatbhabiee @peachesandcreams-world

@clownd1ck @alwayscairo @halfpastgrace @clarysthing @mellymbee

@seasonaldelusion @scenaaario @punkshort @frogturtlejr @kt86

@sweetperfectioncloud @hannahkatharine @fandomoniumflurry @emisreadingstuff @knopes-waffles

@your-teeth-glow-in-the-dark @rsquared31 @r3dheadedwitch @alejaa-a @myhappyplaceofstuff

@yodasgreenthumb @dovedewdrop @saradika @clawdee @harrisonispunk

@lostfleurs @always-andromeda @amanitacowboy

This legit made my morning 😍🤣 He is definitely a little insane 😂

I’m glad you enjoyed it! ❤️❤️❤️

Lies, Excuses and Bullshit

Pairing: Exboyfriend!Dave York x f!Reader

Summary: A man with a double life willing to do anything to keep his obsession around, and a woman who doesn't know what she's gotten herself into.

Warnings/Tags: 18+ MDNI, go on get! Breaking up, creepy!Dave, infidelity, stalker behavior from Dave, oral(f receiving), spanking, unprotected PIV(make smarter choices), manipulation, and if there is anything I missed please let me know!

A/N: Phew, not sure what happened here. This is a first, I don't usually write darker stuff but something about Dave made it just fly out of my finger tips. This was written for @punkshort's AU August Challenge! Thank you Shortie for letting me be part of the challenge 😊 I need to shout out @beefrobeefcal @strang3lov3 @ozarkthedog and @mothandpidgeon thank you all for the encouragement and lending your eyeballs for this story! ❤️

@jay-zzle, my love, my bestie. This one is for you! 🥰❤️🥰❤️

Masterlist||AO3

divider by @saradika-graphics

You thought things were fine. Dave is the perfect gentleman. It is a complete shock to see this text from your friend. It was a picture of Dave with another woman and two little girls at a soccer game. Maybe it’s his niece's soccer game and he’s just there being a good uncle? Until the next text comes in.

Isn’t that your boyfriend?

Another picture is attached featuring Dave, his arm around the woman. Then another and another and another. More evidence to suggest he is obviously in a relationship with the woman and you are the one left in the dark on this whole situation.

You stopped responding to your friend a while ago, staring at the pictures they sent. Back and forth, memorizing every detail. The way he’s looking at her. The way his arm is around her. The way he’s touching her. The way he kissed her -  that was the one that sealed your fate of knowing you had in fact not been seeing a recently divorced man but a married one. Your phone buzzes with another text notification.

D. York: Hey baby, still picking you up at 9 right?

You glare at your phone unsure of what the next step is. Obviously he is cheating on his wife unbeknownst to you. How does somebody even handle something like this? You really liked Dave, you saw a future with him. Your relationship has been going on for months now.

After neglecting to respond your phone buzzes again with another text from the man himself.

D. York: Been thinking about you 

You roll your eyes and text him back.

You: Not tonight. Don’t feel good.

D. York: Aw you poor thing. Do you need anything?

You didn’t even have the energy to respond with this new found information rattling around your brain, pressing the button to make your phone sleep and making your way to your bedroom. You plugged your phone in and crawled into bed, ignoring the constant buzz against your nightstand as you tried to drift off. The sun was still out but you couldn’t be awake right now. You needed to shut your brain off and this was the only way you knew how.

There was a pounding on your door when you woke with a startle. The moon casting shadows through the curtains into your room. You checked your phone, seeing the multiple notifications, some from your friends and some from Dave. He’d also tried calling several different times.

D. York: Are you okay?

Did you talk to him yet?

D. York: Do you want some company?

Want me to kick his ass?

D. York: How are you feeling?

What do you plan to say?

D. York: Baby, please answer me. Getting a little worried here.

The pounding on your door continued as you checked your phone. The doorbell camera he insisted on getting for you and installed showed Dave at your doorstep holding a plastic bag, grumbling, you got out of bed and walked towards the door.

“I’m coming. Give it a rest,” you shout, hoping Dave can hear you over his loud knocks.

Sliding the chain lock you open the door.

“Baby,” Dave sighs with relief, “What have you been doing? I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for hours now!”

“I told you, I don’t feel good,” you shrug, “I’ve been sleeping.”

“I’m sorry to wake you, I started to get worried,” Dave says, looking around your living room, “I got you some stuff to hopefully help with whatever bug you’ve seemed to catch.”

You watch as he carefully steps into your space, placing the bag on the coffee table in front of your couch.

“Dave,” you sigh, “I know.”

“Know what?” Dave asks, hands on his hips and shaking his head with a smirk.

“I know you’re still married.”

You see his adam's apple bob as he swallows, flopping back onto the couch, and clasping his hands together. He stays silent for a moment, contemplating what to say next.

“How’d you find out?”

Your eyes widen, not expecting him to fold so easily. 

“A friend sent me some photos from today at the soccer field,” you murmur, trying to keep the wavering in your voice to a minimum.

“I see,” Dave says with a nod.

“You also have kids?”

Dave nods again, facing you this time.

“Why?”

“Why what?” Dave scoffs, “Sleep with you?”

“I wouldn’t just call what we’ve been doing as ‘sleeping together,’ Dave,” you say, using your fingers as air quotes when the words sleeping together leave your mouth.

“It’s really not that big of a deal,” Dave chuckles, “I get bored from time to time and like to play with someone new.”

“Your wife know that?” you ask, glaring at him. This man who you thought you knew is showing an entirely different side of himself, and you don’t like it.

“She doesn’t need to know because it’s not a big deal.” Dave sighs exasperated.

“I think it’s best if you left.”

“Alright,” Dave says standing, “If that’s what you want.”

“Yep,” you say with a sharp nod.

“Listen,” Dave says, reaching a hand towards your arm, and you slid your arm back letting him know not to touch you, and he put his hand down beside him, “Okay, well, it’s really not as big of a deal as you’re making it out to be. I like you, I like what we’ve been–”

“Dave, you’re cheating on your wife,” you grit through your teeth interrupting the spiel he was going on, and swung the door open for him, “Leave.”

—

“Fucking take it.” Dave growls in your ear, thrusting his hips harshly into you, “Just like that baby.”

Your moans fill his ears, he can tell you’re close. The way your walls flutter around his length, squeezing him tighter. He can practically taste your climax in the air around him, gripping your hips tighter and angling them so he can get deeper.

“Dave,” you sob, after a particularly harsh thrust. Fingers gripping the sheets beneath you, back arching as you continue to cry out his name.

Dave. Dave. Dave.

“David!”

Dave jumps to the sound of Carol’s voice. Looking around to see he’s in his own bed in his home, not yours.

“Honey, your alarm has been going off for 10 minutes now.”

He lets out a sigh facing his reality, adjusting the hardness in his pajama bottoms. It was just a dream. It’s been months since he’s seen you. You’ve seemed to make your way into his brain at all times of the day, conscious or not.

“I’m gonna get the girls ready but you don’t need to be late for work again,” Carol says, giving him a smile and wink. After last night, he’s not sure how much longer he can do this. He’s been trying to have sex with Carol more. Sure, she’s his wife but she doesn’t scratch the same itch you did.

He’s tried. He’s tried to be a good husband, he’s tried to be a good dad and he’s exhausted. Dave feels himself becoming more of a shell since you told him to leave.

You’ve made it abundantly clear you want nothing to do with him. He tried to reach out to you, only to have his number blocked. You disabled your doorbell camera after he left that night. You must have known he’d try and look at it on his phone, you knew he had the information for your account. Why wouldn’t he try to look?

What you don’t know is that once Carol takes the girls to school, he gets the second phone hidden in the false bottom of a shoe box in his closet that is an exact copy of your own. He can see who you’re texting, where you’re at, how things at work are going, who you’re hanging out with. It’s become an obsession to check it daily.

—

As he steps out of the shower, Carol shouts up the stairs that she’s leaving with the girls, and the front door closes shortly after. Time to start his day.

Getting dressed in his running gear and snatching his headphones from the dresser. He makes his way to the closet. Finding the shoe box with your duplicated phone.

Texts from your friends, a text from your boss and a missed call from your mom. What catches his eye the most is the notification from some jackass on Tinder. James. Scanning James’ profile he’s definitely not your type: blonde hair, green eyes, gelled back hair, and a full beard.

James, 29

Looking for a girl who just wants to have some fun, if it leads to more that’s cool too. I like hiking, graduated from Harvard, hanging with my bros, anything else hmu

Dave shakes his head as he reads the messages shared between the two of you. He scans reading hellos, good nights, sharing random facts about each other, until he stumbles upon the most recent messages

James: Hello gorgeous 😉

Hello 😊

James: So I’ve been thinking would you wanna meet up? Go get a drink or something?

Sure! 7 good?

James: Awesome! Yeah. Do you know where Sal’s is?

I do! It’s not far from my job

James: Perfect! I’ll see ya then beautiful

No. No way in hell is this James guy meeting up with you. Dave calls the office letting them know he’s taking a personal day, he has some business to take care of.

—

Sal’s is exactly what you expected it to be. Dark, dingey, and small. Not too crowded thankfully, it’s definitely got character though. The random decor on the wall is confusing. You can’t tell if this is supposed to be a sports or a punk bar with the random band posters on the wall along with sports jerseys next to them.

Making your way to the bar you sit down on a stool, flagging down the bartender.

“What’s your poison for the night?” He asks, wiping his hands on the towel he was carrying.

“Jack and Coke,” you say, slipping your hand into your bag to get your wallet out. He makes quick work of mixing the drink and placing it in front of you, handing over your card while you hear the jingle of the door.

“Starting a tab?” The bartender asks, swiping your card.

“No, thank you,” you smile as he hands your card back to you, putting it back in your wallet.

Out of the corner of your eye you can see someone standing a couple stools away. Looking down at your drink, moving the straw around before taking a drink. You take a peek at your watch to see it’s 10 minutes before you’re supposed to meet James. 

Maybe this was a bad idea, you haven’t had to do this in months. It was easier when Dave just kind of fell into your life.

“Whiskey on the rocks.”

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up when you heard the familiar timber of his voice, head snapping to look at him. Dave. His smirk as he waits on his drink says it all, he knew you would be here. Was he James?

“Are you fucking serious?” You hiss through your teeth.

Dave thanks the bartender, moving closer to you.

“I come in peace,” Dave says, sitting in the stool one away from you, “All I want to do is talk.”

“Are you James?” You ask through clenched teeth, glaring at him.

“Oh baby,” Dave tuts, “I’m not James, he’s very real.”

You continue to glare at him. Unable to force your brain to work with your limbs on moving, leaving, throwing your drink on him. Anything other than sitting here being in his presence.

“He wasn’t hard to convince to leave you alone though,” Dave looks at you with a smirk, one eyebrow raised and begins to chuckle, “One mention of snapping any finger that touches you sent him running.”

You try to swallow but your throat feels like a desert, gripping the tumbler in front of you and taking a swig. Did he… did he do something to James? Surely not, Dave wouldn’t even kill the spider that appeared in your apartment one day, scooped it up and took it outside. How could he cause harm to anything?

“Dave did you…” pausing pondering how to even ask the question.

“Did I hurt him?” Dave asks, scooting to the stool next to you and leaning in closer, invading your space and you nod your head, “No, just made it known what’s mine.”

You let out a sharp gasp at his words, arousal seeping into the gusset of your underwear, thighs clenching together at his closeness, feeling goosebumps erupt across your skin. This shouldn’t be happening but your body thinks otherwise.

“I’ve missed you baby,” Dave hums into your ear, “Don’t like how we ended things.”

The way he says it has the ice around your heart melting. You hate him but can’t help the way your heart betrays your brain at his words. Dave lets out a small growl, gripping your bare thigh beneath the bar top possessively.

“I’m staying in a hotel room tonight,” he says, the grip on your thigh becoming less and smoothing his hand against your inner thigh. Gliding his hand up, up, up. Pinky finger playing with the edge of your underwear under your skirt.

You grab his hand and pull it away from your core, bringing it to rest on your lap. Lacing your fingers with his, while his thumb rubs along your palm. You sigh, contemplating what to do. Go with him or send him packing like last time. The devil on your shoulder telling you to go with him, it’s just stress relief, it won’t- it can’t mean anything, he knows your body better than anyone else. The angel on the other side just repeating the same words, he’s still married.

In the words of your mother, if he doesn’t cheat with you then he’ll just find someone else. Might as well have fun.

“I’ve missed you too,” you confess with a soft whimper in his ear. Finally seeing him again after months of nothing has your practical sense crumbling. 

“Let’s go then,” Dave smirks, standing pulling your hand slightly to stand with him and leave.

—

Dave drove like a bat out of hell to the hotel, dragged you to the elevator and his room as if this was his last chance to have you. Clothes flying off the moment you crossed the threshold of the room.

“Dave,” you moan, his lips ghosting down your neck to your collarbone. His hands grip your ass, pulling you flush against his front, feeling his erection against your stomach.

“I’ve missed you so fucking much,” he groans, his mouth sucking the flesh of your breast, capturing your nipple in his mouth and giving it a nip. A whine escapes past your lips at the sudden pressure of his teeth, moving your body with him until you feel the back of your knees hit the bed.

Dave releases your nipple, pushing himself against you to lay back on the bed, making room for himself between your thighs. His dark eyes swimming with lust study your face. His hand comes to rest on your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek.

“Why’d you let me leave like that?” His voice barely a whisper, lying his forehead against your own.

“You’re married,” you wince hearing the words leave your throat. You shouldn’t be doing this.

“I can change that,” he smirks with a chuckle, kissing the corner of your mouth, “I’d leave if it meant you’d stay,” kissing your jaw, “I’d spend every single day of my life making you happy,” he coos, trailing his lips down to your neck, laving his tongue against your pulse point.

“Dave,” you plead, hoping to stop his words. You don’t want to hear this, it’s all lies to get you to stay. The ache between your thighs begging for more.

“Mean it baby,” Dave says with a hum, mouth traveling down the expanse of your body, “Only want you,” he breathes when his face inches away from your sex, “Looks like you want me too,” he teases.

You feel the warmth spreading through your body as he sighs using his thumbs to spread your lips apart, staring at your glistening slit.

“Oh yeah, she’s definitely missed me,” he hums, flicking his tongue against your clit.

“Dave,” you gasp, gripping the sheets between your fingers. He works his tongue along your bundle of nerves swirling and sucking.

“God I’ve missed this pussy,” Dave growls, gripping your hips tightly before fucking you with his tongue.

“Fuck,” you moan, back arching off the bed. The fire in your abdomen grows more intense. You reach for one of his hands, linking your fingers with his. His other hand moving, fingers prodding at your entrance.

“Please,” you beg, “Dave, pl- please. More, I- I need m-“, you cry out when his fingers plunge into your cunt. Swiftly curling them inside you as he moves the pads of his fingers back and forth putting delicious pressure against your g-spot.

“That’s it baby,” Dave groans, nipping your inner thigh, “Let me have it.”

Your toes curl feeling the coil in your lower belly tightening, leaning your head up to watch him. He looks as wrecked as you feel as he rapidly flits his tongue against your clit. His brows furrowed in concentration as he worked his mouth and fingers in sync for you to reach your climax, his lips shiny from your arousal. He opens his eyes to see your mouth hung open in a silent scream, brows pinched together as you pant looking into his eyes.

“Dave,” you pant, “Baby, I’m gonna come.”

Your walls clamp down on his fingers as you stare into his dark orbs. White hot heat spreads throughout your body, letting out a soft shriek.

“Flip over,” Dave instructs, moving your pliable limbs so you’re on your stomach. You cry out as he pushes his cock into you sharply.

“Fuck.”

“Shhh,” Dave tuts, “It’s okay baby, you can take it.”

You whine, it feels like he’s splitting you in two, walls gripping his length. He doesn’t give you a moment to adjust before he’s roughly snapping his hips into you.

“Make you mine again,” Dave grunts, “No one else deserves you.”

The pain quickly turns into pleasure as he works his cock in and out. The sound of your squelching pussy filling your ears as strangled noises crawl up your throat.

“God damn baby,” Dave hisses, tilting your hips up as he grinds his hips into you, hitting that spot deep inside only he’s been able to reach.

“Missed this so,” he grunts, slapping your ass, “Fucking,” another slap against your skin, “Much,” another harsh slap before soothing the marks he’s left with his palm.

“Dave,” you let out a choked sob, feeling the pleasure building, thrusting your hips back into him, “Faster.”

“Dirty girl,” Dave hums, gripping your hips again, pounding into your pussy at a frantic pace, “You gonna- oh fuck- come again?”

You can only nod your head weakly, feeling the sizzling pressure in your abdomen start to boil over. Your walls spasming and contracting around his cock. The muscles in your legs tensing before screaming out.

“Oh fuck,” Dave moans, “That’s it baby. Come on my cock. Just like that.”

Dave leans over caging you between his arms, thrusting into your wet heat a half a dozen times before his hips start to lose rhythm and going still, your name tumbling from his lips, letting your walls milk his cock feeling the warmth of his seed paint your walls.

“I really have missed you,” Dave admits slumping against you with a sigh, “So fucking much.”

He kisses your shoulder before pulling out with a hiss. You groan feeling the emptiness before he helps you up, guiding you to the bathroom.

You shower together, taking time to wash each other with delicate touches, and sharing intimate kisses before crawling back into bed with his arms wrapped around you.

You wake sometime in the middle of the night. Dave’s snoring beside you, finding your phone amongst your belongings scattered around the room, you make your way to the bathroom. Looking at Dave sleeping so peacefully from the doorway of the bathroom you can’t help feeling torn. You loved him, still do if you’re being honest with yourself, but this isn’t what you two should be doing.

You find an uber available and schedule to be picked up. Quietly making your way out of the bathroom and grabbing your things when you hear two identical dings. One from your hand and one from Dave’s bag. Slipping your clothes back on you slowly wander over to his things. Rummaging around until you find a phone, similar to yours. Pushing the button on the side you see a notification for an Uber 5 minutes away, looking at your own phone to see it displaying the same.

“What the fuck?” You whisper to yourself, head snapping to look at Dave hoping you didn’t wake him. You look around to find a pen and piece of paper.

—

Dave wakes the next morning with a smile, remembering what happened last night. Sliding his hand to where you should be, feeling the cool sheets under his palm, peeking an eye open to see the empty spot next to him.

He listens closely to his surroundings, hoping to hear the shower but is met only with silence. Frowning as he sits up, scrubbing his hands against his face trying to rub the sleep from his eyes. Looking around the room for any sign of you, taking note of your things being gone.

He sees a folded piece of paper lying on top of something on the dresser. Dave gets up to inspect what it is. His name is on the paper, sitting on top of two phones. Immediately recognizing one as yours and the other the duplicate he had made. His eyes scan the note you left, unable to believe what he was reading.

You’ll never be anything but a lying, cheating, manipulative douchebag. Figure your shit out. Don’t ever reach out to me again.

Dave’s hand curls into a fist as he reads the note over and over again. You left. You really left and this time it’s going to be even harder to find you.

He smirks, shaking his head as he collapses on the edge of the bed. You must not realize how much he loves a challenge.

Oh my gosh! I have been holding onto this one on my TBR list and phew! The EMOTIONS!!!!! UGH!!!!!

Absolutely beautiful!

Dusk

Javier Peña x fem!reader

Summary: Javier sees you again years after the end of your love affair. Torn between the memories of what happened then and what is now, you both face the weight of your actions from Bogotá to Madrid.

read on AO3 | masterlist

Rating: Explicit, +18

Warnings/Tags: past lovers, secret relationship, angst, smut (penetration, f oral), implied age gap (not mentioned). Reader has hair, foreigner (not explicit which country, she isn't American or Colombian), knows multiple languages and is able-bodied. No use of y/n, Spanish translations are between the paragraphs.

Word count: 8,7k

Tabby note: My first Javi P fic for angst challenge by @almostfoxglove 💔 Even if I go around difficult topics, most of my work is lighter, so this was a great exercise to go deep into emotions! You can the moodboard inspiration here and the list of all fics here! 🐾

now

“Are you happy to be in Madrid?” The receptionist with a pearly smile cheerfully greets him, or maybe not, it sounded more like she was talking for a while, following a script, that he ignored.

He could be in Paris, Tokyo, or anywhere in the world at the moment he wouldn’t give a damn. Tiredness has been consuming him for a while now, and the week passed at an agonizing pace. Inside his head, there is silence and chaos altogether.

Somehow, he comes to his senses already inside the hotel room. What had he answered to the receptionist? He can’t recall but he got the key, which is more than proof that the autopilot was working. Taking off his jacket, he opens the minibar and takes whatever alcohol he can find.

His head mends the last months as just one, a very lonely one. He can’t fully remember what it felt to be together with someone, closely, intimately. From family to friends, everyone becomes a blur as he tries to get his shit together. The alcohol burns down his throat, he doesn’t even mind reading the label. Once he can rest, it will be fine.

The night promises to be a long one, the timezone difference is a pain in the ass to deal with. Whenever he is about to drift away into sleep, his legs kick repeatedly and startle him awake. The clock reads 1 AM, then 2 AM, at 3 AM he decides he has enough and starts to dress up again.

Passing by the mirror, he ignores his reflection, paying attention only to what he will do. Have a cigarette, walk a little, and head back to sleep. Simple. He locks the room’s door, orders the elevator, presses the button to the ground floor, waits, and walks out when it stops.

For a summer night, Madrid is cold. The scenario is drastically different from the streets of Bogotá and further from the ranch in Laredo, everything he wanted for a fresh beginning. For a week of his time, some words on his experience, and training on how to deal with narcotraffic, the Spanish police paid some considerable money, the type of money Peña couldn’t ignore. Now, here, he is watching the downtown buildings and wondering if it was worth it.

Lightning his cigarette, he drags a puff and looks at his surroundings without much curiosity. Neoclassic buildings or whatever style they are, mostly white now warmed by the orange city lights in a classic boulevard. Not many floors, four maximum, but full of balconies. In one of them, on the third floor, a woman screams at her husband.

The small woman is shouting fast words as she throws some clothes down at the man, who tries to ask forgiveness from the street. Another neighbor, from a couple of balconies away, asks them to quit it and go back to sleep, but the woman ignores and continues the fight.

Getting amused by it, Peña keep watching the scene from his place on the other side of the street. Another balcony, now on the fourth floor, opens and reveals a confused sleepy woman. Even with the low light, he can recognize the pout on your lips.

The cigarette is long forgotten as he watches the details on your face waiting for the best moment to enter the fight. It is like a memory played in front of him, seeing you in your underwear and t-shirt, the angle of your hips making your ass jiggle a little every time you try to stretch yourself down at the balcony the floor under. He doesn’t hiss when the cigarette burns his fingertips, lost looking at you.

When the moment comes, you grab the attention of the small woman in tears and murmur something too softly for him to hear from afar, except for how you sweetly say “Vamos a dormir, cariño?” And so he walks back to the hotel to sleep.

("Let's go sleep, love?")

then

Cheerful bubblegum pop fills your room as you carefully paint your lips red. It takes a little effort, but in your lace lingerie and big hair you feel like a woman, not a girl. Next to you, an open big window lets the chill mountain breeze caress your skin, raising goosebumps in your almost naked body. 

Your dad had separated what he thought was appropriate for the occasion as if you were still a child. Being the ambassador’s daughter isn’t an excruciating task, except when you get to play into your father’s business. You know little to nothing about the USA’s DEA or whatever their mission is in Colombia, what you had access to was that your dad invited part of the DEA into your house for lunch. Sitting pretty and smiling is your task for the day.

With a pop, you touch your lips together and inspect the lipstick line. Perfect. Voices are filling the garden, gaining your curiosity. Coming to the window, you can see men in suits greeting your father and grandma as they walk on. All of them are looking ahead, but one. His brown eyes are locked with yours, inviting you to come down and see them up close.

“Javi,” someone shouts, making the man return to the group. You stay there watching him go before finishing dressing up.

In a white two-piece Chanel suit, you strut down the stairs to the first floor feeling small compared to the high ceiling. It had become a regular sentiment, to look around and see a big house nettly decorated and think to yourself “Why am I here?”.

By the garden door, the ambassador waits for you as he keeps enchanting his guests with some story. Here you aren’t his daughter, you are a state piece and it is key to remember your place in this chess game.

You can feel the brown eyes boring into your skin as the ambassador introduces you to the DEA officers. Following his command, you greet one by one as if it is normal behavior for a diplomat to know every policeman’s name. You heard him review all their names with his assistant the day before.

“Javier Peña, ma’am,” the owner of the brown eyes says to you. Enveloping your hand on his, you do your best to ignore a shiver when he puts pressure. His thick fingers leave a hot trail, his big hand engulfs yours.

Whatever you feel, he does too. 

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Peña.” His brown eyes shine when you politely say his last name back at him.

Gathering around the table, you sit in front of him and scold yourself every now and then to look at the others, even if you only want to stare at the handsome man. He, however, isn’t as discreet putting weight in his stare cornering you.

With sips of white wine, you try to ignore it doing your part as a pretty little thing full of questions. How long have you been in Colombia? A few months for most of the department, Javier is in his first week still fresh from Texas. Have you made any progress in your mission so far? Yes, still in the early stages, they are gathering all the information about the cartels. Are you enjoying the country? The food is great and the weather is mostly nice, even in cold Bogotá. Is your family enjoying the country or are they missing the USA? They are getting or already gotten used to it, Javier is single, though.

 You laugh when necessary, showing your white teeth in contrast with the red of the lipstick. Legs crossed like a lady, nails carefully done around the glass, you are well-behaved and it shows.

“Your daughter is an exceptional young woman, your grace,” one of the men says in a sincere compliment to the ambassador, even if he is speaking about you.

“She is indeed. Even more now, after her year abroad.” You smile back at your father, who is doing the proud dad bit.

Tradition is that in your culture once fine man and woman become an adult they have to choose a place to spend a whole year, it is supposed to represent their coming of age on their own terms. You don’t count having access to everything money could get, a comfortable house, and stability as the coming of age journey of the century, but here you are.

“Where did you go to?” Javier asks as he drinks more of his wine.

“Egypt, Cairo.” You reply as you drink his facial features without shame. The sharpness of his jawline, the way his mustache heavily adorns his thin upper lip just to emphasize the plump bottom one.

“What an unusual place! What motivated you?” Another man asks, forcing you to move on from Peña’s face after a lingering second.

The ambassador loves that you can captivate the room’s attention so easily, but your father tried to convince you to change your destination many times. 

Europe was much more chic, but attending an international boarding school made you get bored by it. If the DEA knew how little you care for the USA, they would quickly find you a pain in the ass. The Middle East was much more interesting, far from the restricted embassy’s house in sunny Colombia.

“I like history, to deeply learn a culture. There wasn’t anywhere else that I could experience it so vividly. I’m glad my family could proportionate it to me.” You smile truthfully, gaining a glance from Grandma.

“Must have learned a lot, being on your own out there,” Javier states in a lower tone.

“She knows where to put her foot, soon will go to Oxford to study just like her father,” Grandma praises raising her glass in your direction.

It was a question of time before they brought it onto the table. It is a sensitive topic to you, still unsure how to navigate that new part of your life. Far from homeland, between boarding schools and the embassy, then an ocean of distance from your family, you hadn’t stuck your feet anywhere for too long and suddenly you had to choose something to call yours for the long run. It feels more than just a diploma.

“Well, if everything goes right. I still need to get their acceptance letter.” You remind Grandma with a small laugh, that doesn’t exactly reach your eyes, but nobody seems to notice.

Grandma, playing as a governess, gets up to announce the dessert order with a tentative to marvelous the guests with your home country food. As everyone gets interested in her chat, you and Javi opt to sneak a glance at each other.

In a moment of courage, you lift your high heels and gently caress his leg under the table. Gaining a smirk from him, he slides his leg to get closer to yours. Hidden by the tablecloth, you keep touching as the conversation goes by.

“Has my son already invited you to the annual ball?” Grandma asks with a smile. The ambassador coughs in surprise but is ready to charm.

“Oh, you absolutely should come. We spend the whole year planning it, a celebration of our culture at its finest. If you liked the food today, just wait until you get the beverage. We are known to be good matchmakers too, you might fall in love there, Peña.”

Javier takes his eyes from you to look at his host, who is waiting for an acceptance of the invitation. Pushing his leg closer to yours, he grabs his glass and raises it.

“I trust your gut, sir. Count me in.”

now

The national police of Spain, or CNP, headquarters isn’t far from the hotel. The district itself is bougie, fancier than what Javi was used to, too formal, too classy with the embassies and mansions. He feels out of his element, but no wonder you chose to live there.

He slept well after seeing you, like old times. Your presence always made him feel at ease, even if your departure was bittersweet. The aftermath is still with him, folded in his wallet as a reminder of what once were you both.

From the hotel to the police, he keeps thinking about you. It wasn't new, during the years his mind would drift to you after a long day, but now that you were here it is a different kind of thrill. He tries to bury it down to that place where all his failures and worries are lost, but he can't.

The job, however, is a great distraction. As soon the formalities are finished, he jumps head in on what he knows how to do. Six years in Colombia were enough to showcase his skills.

During the first break, he goes out to smoke. Sunny day, blue sky, and good weather. A nice sight of a busy fancy street. More than enough to keep his mind in the present and not lost in memories. Stepping out onto the sidewalk, he puts a cigarette in his mouth and starts searching for his lighter when you appear in his vision.

Dress pants, a white t-shirt, and a clock with a leather strap on the wrist. In your arms, a plastic case full of paper forces you to bend a little forward. Clipped on your pants pocket is a badge of some kind with the national police logo. Whoever is with you, speaks with a heavy madrileño accent, but you don't bat an eye to understand it.

To simply put, you are different. Far from the glamour of the embassy, from the party life late at night that he knew so intimately because of you. There was a time when your eyes would find his so easily in a crowd, but now you don’t even glance at him as you enter the building, too immersed in your conversation.

Ignoring his cigarette, Javi follows you down the hallways of the CNP until he reads “Traducción y Letras” on one of the plaques outside. This is more like you, classier.

("Translation and Languages")

Checking his clock, he sees that he still has a few minutes before going back to his lesson. You are alone in the room, just you and archives. He takes a deep breath and knocks on the door, you invite him in without looking up.

“It's good to see you,” he states without much thought as if it was casual to meet you there. You quickly look up at him with big eyes.

He can't read if the expression of surprise on your face is good or bad.

“Javi,” you say, putting whatever you were working back on the table. Your eyes are locked with his but without the playfulness of before.

“I thought you were in the UK,” the last time he spoke with your grandma she told him, it sounded like brand new information. It had been years since.

You scratch your neck, like you used to whenever you got anxious. He can still read you after so long.

“I was. What are you doing here?”

“CNP asked me to train their DEA.” You scoff in amusement like it is the most obvious thing ever.

“Of course, I heard something about it. Didn't connect it with you, sorry.” 

Another glance at the clock, he has less than two minutes before getting back to class but wants to stay here with you.

“Are you free tonight? We should have dinner,” he says straight to the point hoping you will say yes.

He phrased it like that because it is obvious that you should have dinner with him. It isn’t a question, it was a matter of when for Javier.

Still in shock, you swallow hard and shake your head. His heartbeat rises, ready to have another harsh goodbye.

“We can have lunch if you insist. I'm busy tonight. Just come by whenever you're ready.”

Simple as that, you get back to work and ignore his presence. You aren't rude, it isn't your nature, but it feels colder than he remembered.

Nodding at your statement, he leaves you alone and walks down to his office for the week. His bluntness will be a problem, he can't scare you away or he will be settled for another couple of years wondering “what if”.

The weight of his wallet gets heavier with every step, the souvenir of the last night you were his still there begging him to do not fuck it up this time.

After some concentration, he can focus again on training. Work was there for him when he needed to ignore the world and move on. The autopilot was carefully crafted doing the tactical work in South America and reigns free in Europe, for what it seems.

His body craves nicotine, but he needs to guarantee that you won’t run away before. In solid steps, he walks fast toward your office again. At least he thinks it is yours, it is absurd to have you, of all people, working for a police force.

The door is open, but you don’t notice his arrival. With you back to the entrance, you are speaking on the phone in a calm tone.

“Cena es mejor. Aun tengo muchisimo que hacer hoy, harta de trabajo con todo lo que vino de Marruecos.” You heavily sigh before laughing at whatever the person on the other side of the line said. “Sabes que flipo con teatro, mi amor. Ya, nos vemos en mi apartamento a las ocho. Te quiero, bye.”

("Dinner is better. I still have much to do today, I'm full of work with everything that came from Morocco. You know I love theatre, my love. Okay, see you at my apartment at 8 PM. Love you, bye.")

Javi steps back to the corridor before you turn, giving you a few seconds to sit back in your chair. It is logical, you moved on and so did he. Yet, he feels in his chest how unprepared he is to face it.

“Ready?” He knocks on your door as if nothing has happened, like you are still close and this is a regular thing.

“Ah, yeah. Do you have a place in mind?” You ask grabbing your purse and leading the way out, following his play-pretend of acting normal about whatever you two had become.

then

If your lips weren’t so busy kissing Javi’s, you would kiss the landscaper who projected the embassy’s garden. Far from the noise inside the ballroom, further from curious eyes, illuminated only by the moonlight and shadowed by a centennial tree. In the garden’s corner, you are peacefully focusing only on Javi’s body reactions to yours.

How his big hands are divided between caressing your neck and holding your waist so close to his, you can’t but throw your arms around his neck to flush his body into yours. 

You didn’t bring a coat, even if is a chilly night. The heat emanating from him to you keeps you warm, almost burning where the skin meets.

You hadn’t touched a single glass since the party started, too busy waiting for the right moment to come to him. Through the open kisses, you taste on his tongue cigarettes and champagne, getting you drunk with every twist and turn.

Your lipstick will be smudged from the pressure of his lips, that’s why you kept the package and a mirror in the pocket of your dress for a small maintenance before going back to the party.

Your neck, hopefully, bruised with every nibble and hot kiss he inflicts on the tender skin, so you opted for using your hair down to keep to yourself the souvenirs of the night.

With a soft moan, he kisses you back before putting some distance as he catches his breath. You want more, so you pressure your open mouth on his again as he softly laughs.

“Eager, huh?” He asks with his thumb making soft circles in your jaw. You nodd back, positively drunk of him.

Everything became Javier Peña the moment he left the diplomat’s house. You counted the days until the annual ball, daydreaming about your next meeting. From the dress to your position in the room, where you could easily see every guest's entrance, it was all a conscious choice.

You saw him before his brown eyes locked with yours. His regular suit, not a tuxedo, appeared to be out of place when sided with your gown, but you didn’t mind a bit as you made small talk waiting for the moment for you to lead him outside. Dividing the attention between guests, you moved inside the ballroom from one person to another, brushing your hands in his whenever crossing his path.

Inside the ballroom, you were a state piece, but in the garden in his arms, you are you.

It started small, as you softly spoke to each other walking further in the garden. Javi isn’t a man of many words, but for you, he tries. When the last guest went inside, you threw yourself in his arms and happily kissed until he lost his breath.

With the moonlight, his sharp profile is a heavenly vision. In his embrace, you wish for nothing but to be there with him forever. Putting both hands on your face, he kisses your lips one final time.

“We should go, people will start to ask questions,” you whisper glancing at the party. His eyes follow yours before his hands leave you to look for a cigarette.

“Want one?” You shook your head, remembering how he tasted seconds ago. “Not a smoker?”

“No, but I like the smell, though.” Licking your lips, you inhale big hoping to look less flustered. Javi stares at you nodding slowly, pondering about what you said.

Taking your pocket mirror and lipstick, you adjust the makeup as he finishes his cigarette. Your eyes roam his body looking for any clue of what just happened, his tie is crooked and he has lipstick in the corner of his mouth.

His eyes stay on your face as you straighten his tie until perfection, they focus on your freshly painted lips when you clean the lipstick on his with your thumb. Looking up at him, you take a deep breath.

“Perfect, shall we?” You suggest and he gives you his arm, taking you back to the party like nothing happened. Just an innocent walk in the garden, a good host for a guest that didn’t match with the ambient he was in.

It is the first of many nights where nothing and everything happens.

now

The sunlight finds your eyes the moment you leave CNP’s door, Javi can’t remember when he last saw you out in the sun. Maybe he never did. The hue of your iris is pretty just like your face, your stare is more like a woman now. 

You used to be all smiles next to him, clingy even, constantly touching him in the privacy of taxi cabs. He used to think about holding your hand in public, wonder what would feel like to touch you in front of everyone. To claim you out in the open, where you could be just his.

He signals for a taxi, you enter it giving the driver the restaurant’s address just to be quiet in sequence. Sitting far from him, your eyes are distant in the street, ignoring his that inspects every inch of your body.

Javi never learned how to deal with frustration, so he does what he can and lights up a cigarette.

“Do you mind?” He questions remembering how you would watch him exhale smoke with lust, pressing your body closer to his post-sex cigarette. In the late night of your meetings, the first thing you did was to smell him and close your eyes in comfort.

With your eyes still looking through the window, you speak in what appears to be lost in thoughts.

“A little, don’t like the smell of it.” 

He immediately flicks the cigarette out of the car window.

The restaurant is nice, as he expected. Not too fancy, with a minimalist ambiance and small menu. Even if some things are different, you remain the same in others. You wear glasses to read, he isn’t sure if for aesthetic or prescription. The crimson red lipstick is a more cherry tone. You hadn’t smiled yet.

When the waiter leaves and you put down your glasses, he can’t take the silence anymore.

“Didn’t expect to see you working for the police.” A simple statement, you are intelligent and more academically inclined.

“I don’t. I work for their intelligence, translations, and interpretation. I don’t do field work.” Your eyes finally look at his, it bothers him the lack of passion there.

“You do back office work then?” He tries to stretch the conversation to any clue what your life is like.

“Something like that. I work for the government, not the police. Spain has ultramarine territories, plazas de soberanía if you prefer, my job is to provide verbal and cultural translations of information that they might have an interest in. It’s more about the countries that neighbours the territories than these cities.”

“You learned Arabic.” This makes you smirk. 

It was an old wish of yours, you wanted to read more, to experience the culture in another way. It wasn’t unusual for you to switch between languages during the day back then, to him you reserved a few words in your native language when alone.

“I did. There’s a diploma that proves it.”

University is a topic he isn’t keen to speak about. 

The day you left Colombia to never come back is burning inside his mind, the folded paper in his wallet flashes into his head. He wants to open it up on the table, to interrogate you about it like a fugitive, instead, he chooses another topic.

“Why Spain?”

“Why not?” Your eyes are defiant, you understand what is behind his words. You hated Europe, you tried to stay away, why here?

“You could be anywhere in the world, so, why Spain?” He tries again, watching as you bring your hand to the neck.

“I don’t know.” Looking back at him, you keep your voice soft. “Guess it ties parts of my life. I came here as an intern, when the time came the intelligence decided to keep me and I stayed. It feels familiar to listen to Spanish all day. Almost like home, if I have one.”

“You hated the accent, always preferred the South Americans.” It sounds bitter because it is bitter.

Javi wanted to meet the version of you he knew all about, to come back to the day you left and continue from there.

“Relajate, tío. No te cabrees tanto.” You tease doing the Spaniard lisp. He rolls his eyes in response.

("Relax, tío. Don't worry about it." Tío is a traditional slang in Spaniard Spanish, similar to dude.)

“Your grandma was sad when I last saw her, you didn’t visit enough.”

Javi saw her two times after your departure. One when he went looking for you in the diplomat’s house just to be received by the elder woman who informed him that you had gone away already. The other one was on an official visit to the embassy, where he politely asked about you to receive a sympathetic look from her. “She never stays longer than a weekend.”

“Got tired of Colombia. Seems that you feel the same, you left.” Two can play this game, now is your time to be bitter. You are right, he can understand how you feel about it.

“Finished my mission, it’s different.” He is being reasonable.

“And I left to find one. Who says that this isn’t my mission?”

Enough. Javi always hated games.

“What will you watch tonight in the theatre?” Your eyes subtly widened with the realization that he heard you on the phone.

You open your mouth to reply, but the waiter comes with the food forcing the conversation to an end.

then

With every night spent together, you understand less why you are lying. Javi has a respectable job, treats you well, and, on top of everything, the sex is amazing. He makes you feel like the one, yet, you get to be with him only in the shadows.

It starts with quick whispered calls between the house and the DEA to schedule late night meetings, evolves to random encounters in restaurants and bars far from the embassy district after the sun goes down, and ends on your bed after midnight.

Quickies in his car parked in an alley, heated kisses with hands all over the place in the back of a cinema, and ends up on your bed. All paths lead to your bed.

You know every freckle in his body like it is yours, you kissed all the corners and folds in his skin. He learned when to shut you up before moans get too loud to echo through the house, the exact rhythm of his hips thrust into yours that makes you see stars. You know when he will close his eyes ready to come, appreciate how much he likes to give your face little pecks right after.

There is a lighter inside the drawer of your bedstand in case his don’t work. A jacket he once forgot is hidden far in your coat rack waiting for you to wrap yourself around it on the nights you don’t see him. You sleep on the right side of your bed because the left one is his, but only until before sunrise.

Months of obsession led to this. With perfumed skin and the red lipstick he loved so much, you met for what was supposed to be just a couple of drinks. Javi don’t make it so simple.

Two shots of aguardiente and his tongue taste like anise, which you never really liked, but here you are savoring like it is your last meal. He is drunk and whispering sweet nothings between kisses in the back of the bar.

“Stay with me,” he supplicates as if it wasn’t obvious, you laugh at the absurdity of it.

“You say like I have other plans,” his pupils dilate making his eyes almost black, staring right at you. He smacks his lips into yours hungrily with a groan, earning a full moan from you.

“I mean it. Don’t go,” the words hit you like a bullet.

Don’t go to Oxford, stay here. You thought about it since the acceptance letter came weeks ago, if you should ignore it and study in Colombia instead. It is irrational, you know that you will choose yourself over him in the end, but it sounds lovely to be just his in this fantasy.

He senses your hesitance in giving in, so he pushes a little more.

“I like you, stay,” with a low voice, murmuring like a prayer on your lips.

Your brain gets foggy and you listen to it as I love you, wishing to be the same, to have the semantics of it changed to what you want.

That night you think you made love, not sex. You mistake lust for passion, that his stare is of devotion and not of arousement. He gets inside your body and you don’t care about how vocal you are, focused only on his reactions to your nails scraping his skin.

You are sat by the bed, wrapped by the bedsheet as he uses your lighter on a new cigarette. The window by the vanity is open, welcoming the moonlight to shine on his tan skin and create a halo around his profile. He is up to smoke into the air of the night, fully naked so you can see the red marks on his back.

“Stay,” is your turn to plea. He exhales smoke before looking at you.

“We can’t,” a sober Javi says and you miss the drunk him.

“And? Stay, just for tonight.” You smile biting your lip, wanting to wake up tangled limbs with him.

“It’s better if we don’t.”

With a final puff, he puts away the cigarette and kisses your head before dressing up.

“I have a big lead to search on early tomorrow. I can meet you another time this week, maybe.” His eyes don’t find yours, you feel cheap, even if the sheets around your body are expensive.

With a nod, you try to put away the apprehension and give him a chaste kiss followed by a smile before putting on a robe to take him to the door.

The big house seems bigger in the dark, the coldness of it makes you embrace yourself to get heat. By the door, he puts his hand on your jaw and you lean on it, seeking comfort. He kisses you deeply, but softly, before walking out.

Dragging your feet to the stairs, you do your best not to remember the drunk Javi's words, to not give in to the fantasy. Getting to the top, Grandma calls you by your childhood nickname.

“Are you sure of it?” She asks in your native language and you know exactly what she means.

Her eyes search yours in the dark, filled with concern. It doesn’t take much to read behind them.

“Yes. I am.” You start going up a few steps but stop at the top of the stairs.

“These violent delights have violent ends, and in their triumph die, like fire and powder, which as they kiss consume.” She murmurs in English to the empty room and you shiver from the instant recognition.

The quote stays with you in your lonely room. It is painfully obvious why you are lying about Javi, keeping him a secret.

Your bed is cold on the left side, even more in the morning. There is a man’s coat that is cheaper than everything you own inside your closet. You keep lavanda incenses inside your drawer to erase every trace of him, a floral scent to clean the cigarettes you hadn’t smoked.

Intimate details about him sound far from whatever you did inside these walls. You kissed all his freckles but don’t know his middle name or the city he grew up in. You know his drink of choice, but not his fears. Everything feels superficial, not enough to get you feeling what you are.

Laid on your bed, you turn your back to the left side and drift to sleep. In the end, you choose you.

now

You don’t tell what play you will be watching and don’t mention once who will take you. Javi doesn’t put pressure, no matter how much he wants to know.

Lunch is almost normal, you answer here and there a few of his questions, but don’t ask him anything. You used to be talkative, intrusive even, trying to learn everything about him, the curiosity is gone and boredness gave in.

He pays for it, but you don’t kiss his cheek with a thank you, instead, you say the words out loud before taking a deep breath.

Now you would head back in a taxi with your legs on his lap as you talk about whatever you wanted on the road to the diplomat’s house. He would hold your high heels in his hand and massage your shins, thinking about how intelligent you are and how much he wants to take your clothes off. You would tease him about being too quiet and he would answer, truthfully, that he likes the sound of your voice. You would smile big, with soft eyes that could see him as a whole.

Except this is Madrid, not Bogotá and you are close, but so far away. Your eyes are once more looking into the window, both hands on your lap tensed by his presence.

The folded paper in his wallet is the anchor that sinks his heart with its weight. He wants to touch your skin, kiss your face and ask you to say anything, but he is six years too late.

By the CNP door, you get out of the taxi before him. Unsure of what to do, you open and close your mouth.

“Thank you for the lunch. It was nice.” It is a lie, but he takes it. You don’t want to hurt him.

“Thank you for the company. I’m glad that you found a place where you belong.”

He is happy for you and sad for him. You always were better than he could be, good to see that you made life on your terms and don’t depend on anyone. Sadly, he doesn’t have a place in it.

Your eyes are big, round as you stare at him moments before you give his cheek a peck. A small smile adorns your face and he feels better for a second, watching you enter the building.

He sleeps well that night, wakes up like it's an ordinary day, tries to keep life going despite knowing there is a possibility to see you for the rest of his stay in Spain.

First, the idea of seeing you again is a threat, then is a wish. He wants to see you, he looks around the people coming and going through the corridors hoping that you will appear in the corner. Giving in to failure, he focuses once more on his work until the break when he listens to your name being spoken by one of the detectives with a mocking tone.

“El Conde ataca una vez más. Ayer la llevó al teatro, tanta cosa más interesante en esta ciudad y es esto lo que amanece en El País!” He laughs while pointing out a photograph in a newspaper.

("The Count attacks once more. Yesterday he took her to the theater, so many more interesting things in this city and this is what is being reported in El País!")

“No seas tonto, hombre! Está en la parte de society, qué esperabas? Geopolítica?” Another mocks back.

("Don't be stupid, man! You are in the society part, what did you expect? Geopolitic?")

From his position, Javi can see you in a cocktail dress next to a good looking man. You are smiling with your teeth as the man has his hand on your lower back. He looks polished, well raised, Javi can smell money on him.

The detectives leave, still in banter, but the newspaper stays. He reads the small note at the bottom of the picture “El Conde y su hermosa pareja, nuevamente en cita”. It must be a recurring thing, he wonders if the nickname is actually this man’s royal title.

("The Count and his beautiful partner, once more on a date".)

Money searches money. From party dresses, two pieces sets to tennis outfits and countryside all-white, you flaunted generational wealth. He invested a big slice of his payment in suits that looked more put together to appear like he belonged in your world. El Conde, from what Javi can see, never had to worry about such triviality.

Putting his work aside, Javi isn’t a name to remember. He doubts that growing up in Laredo, being a small-town man at his heart would be worth the news. Except to you, who treated him like the most interesting person you ever met, even if he tried to keep the personal information to himself.

Looking back, sounds off why he couldn’t give in to you. Rationally he can understand his actions, you were going to live abroad and it could set you back having someone waiting for you on the other side of the world. His life was too dangerous, with the risk of getting those close to him hurt rapidly growing and he wouldn’t be in peace if something happened to you. Despite all of it, you were worth the inevitable pain from day one.

So worth that seeing you in a dress, having fun with another man, made him think about the countless nights spent out in Bogotá. 

Your room was his favorite place in the city, he slept on the left side back on his apartment’s bed to imagine that you were there with him when the morning came. He never asked for the coat he forgot in your house, he liked to imagine you wearing it to have a little piece of him. Everything back then felt like home.

He closes the newspaper and goes out for a new cigarette, puffing a cloud of smoke with the smell you can’t stand. El Conde must smell like an expensive perfume.

then

You don’t take him to your bedroom anymore, not since that night. If he notices something about it, he keeps to himself. You are still his sweetheart in the backseat of his car, where his hands are all over you and the heavy air fogs up the windows.

The car is parked in a blind spot, where the light from the streetlamp doesn’t reach. It is dark, mostly shadows inside of it, everything is hidden by the tinted windows.

Words aren’t exchanged, the only sounds are the flesh against flesh and the uneven breath from your lips as you ride him hard. Big hands knead the tender skin of your hips, pushing you further to meet his thighs. He is deep inside you, making you clench with every move. His open eyes stare at you with the same devotion look you try to avoid by shutting yours and hiding your head in his neck.

“So good,” he whispers into your ears as his hips increase rhythm.

You cry out loud from overwhelm, the angle makes your clit rub his pubic hair more and more when he moves. He knows you are close, so he hugs you tighter, almost suffocating. You hate how much you are an open book to him.

“Let it go, baby,” he orders and you follow, giving in to ecstasy.

He is not far behind, as he uses your spent body to achieve his bliss. With legs shaking from oversensitivity, your mind is lost between heaven and earth as he pushes one final time inside of you.

 He kisses your face in needy little pecks, softly tracing your silhouette. Your eyes are still closed.

After a minute or two, you start to untangle yourself from his embrace and search for your outfit on the car floor. You still haven’t looked into his eyes and it clearly annoys him.

“I can take you home. Don’t take a taxi.” He offers and you want to accept it, but know better.

“You know I can’t, Javi.”

You haven’t spoken about why you decided to get cold at him, it has been weeks of slowly putting some distance between you two. For every push, he pulls you back in this tug of war.

He breaths harshly from his nose, but gives you a positive nod anyway. Getting out of the car, you start walking to the closest avenue, but he promptly pulls your arm and kisses you.

It makes your head spin, your bodies illuminated by the street lights where everyone can see it. For a second you want to ignore your guts and stay there, claim him as yours until daylight, but you don’t.

“Call me when you get home,” he asks with puppy eyes, already searching for a cigarette inside his pocket.

You don’t call.

The next days pass in a hurry, with your attention divided between doing your bags and ignoring the heartache that is creeping in. Javi asks you out and you find an excuse, if he doesn’t buy it, he doesn’t say it.

Your room constantly smells like lavanda. At night, you try to fill your head with anything that takes your attention from him until you can fall asleep from tiredness. The sheets don’t smell like him anymore, but you know it from memory and let fill your mind when you feel lonely.

You are strong in your decision, to choose you until the night before your flight. His coat is in your bed and you have been thinking about packing it or not. If you let it here, every summer break it will be waiting to shove in your face what you once had and it is still free in Bogotá. If you take it with you, will be a constant reminder of what you can’t have.

Before you reprimand yourself, you call for a taxi to the other side of town. It is after midnight on a weekday, he must be at home, preferably, by himself. You don’t know what to do if he has someone there.

Paying the driver fast, you sprint out of the taxi to look around trying to find the number in the paper. Javi wrote down his address once in case of emergency, you think that having him one last time is one. You locate the apartment and knock erratically on the door.

The moment your eyes see his, you throw yourself at him and leave all worries free when he kisses you back with hunger.

He tastes like cigarettes and you love it. His mustache tickles the hollow of your throat, as he fastly goes down on your neck. Goosebumps everywhere his hands touch while clumsy undressing you. When you are naked, he pushes you into the wall and you arch your back inviting him to where he belongs.

On his knees, he starts to eat you out letting out a heavy groan when you stretch your arm behind and tug on his hair. He alternates between sucking your clit and twisting his tongue inside you, making your body feels heavy with pleasure.

You try to look behind your shoulder, to find his eyes, missing the heat behind them. He happily obliges, gaining his height back just to hold your head in his hands and look deeply into your eyes before devouring your mouth. It tastes like you and him, like happiness.

“I missed you,” he whispers and you believe it because you missed him too.

The rational part of you is stronger, so you decide to show instead of putting out in words, taking off his clothes just like he did to you.

He fucks you against the wall, biting on your earlobe and breathing his airy moans directly into your ear. On his sofa, he looks into your eyes up close as his hips thrust so deep you let your mouth hang. With his hand squeezing harshly your jaw, he guides you to his bed until your head reaches the pillow.

It is a mix of wanting, needing, and despair as he opens your legs and positions himself back inside of you. The warm lights inside his room make his tan skin glow, you feel heated up by sunlight when he slides his nose on the side of your face, bracing himself as your hips find his.

There are no words, but this time silence is forced by the moment’s intensity. He gasps directly in your mouth, unable to keep his breath and kiss at the same time. His whole skin feels wet, from the thin layer of sweat in his collarbones to your sex soaking him up. 

You place one heel on his back, urging him to give it all to you. He responds by increasing his tempo, going harder until you lock your fingers with his and let pleasure overcome your conscience. 

He frantically searches for his own release, looking at you like you are his. You bring your interlocked hands to your lips and kiss his fingertips while staring back at him. When he spills inside you, is your turn to give his face little pecks in a silent devotion.

His body weight is on you, his face is tucked in your neck. You can feel his fast heartbeat, still high as his needy hand is caressing the side of your face. It feels different than everything you did. It feels like love.

But you have thought about it before and it was just drunk words. Yet, you let yourself feel whatever he wants to give you. He raises his head until you are eye to eye.

He keeps touching you delicately in silence for a while, his eyes never leaving yours. You can’t control the smile that beams from you to him.

The night gets darker by the hour, but you don’t care. His body is constantly touching yours, begging you to stay. It is his turn to say whatever he wants to, he tells you about his week, the mission and how time went by slowly without you. When exhaustion comes, you sleep on the right side of his bed, with his arm on your waist and his face in your hair.

With the first rays of the sun entering between the shutter gaps, you wake up and it takes all of your will to leave the bed without making him notice.

Your flight will be soon. It chokes you to see him so peaceful in his sleep, to know that he will be searching for your heat when the morning comes.

Having mercy, you get paper and a pen and write down a final message. With precision, you paint your lips red and kiss the paper corner before placing it on the pillow.

The way back to the diplomat’s house is sad and dark, even if the sky is slowly brightening with the sunrise. You cry until there are no tears left. Grandma is having coffee in the garden by the time you get there, she sees your puff face and gives you a sympathetic look.

The sun is high in the sky when your plane departs.

now

Javi stopped looking for you in corridors and the streets near his hotel. He is the one who wants closure, yours happened years ago and it is folded in his wallet. It feels bittersweet to find you and not have you, but he lived it before and didn’t kill him.

The years after your departure were busy. One can’t mourn a love that didn’t live to see the light of day when work is suffocating. He found joy in the small victories against the cartels, consoled with the bodies of the many women he slept with over time. The aftermath is what bites him back, the way your eyes avoid his with such precision.

Madrid is pretty in the summer. He likes to walk around until late at night having so much daylight still, calms his nerves and lets him rest once. The only thing left to do is to repack his luggage, but he doesn’t want to be alone in the hotel room on the final night of his stay.

He doesn’t notice how much time passed since he started to walk. It must be late, the sunset is starting. Shades of orange, lilac, and pink are coming together on the horizon, the warmness of the sky reminds him of the red of your lips back then.

Stopping by a bridge, he lights up a cigarette and stays on the sidewalk admiring the dusk. It is peaceful, a feeling he hasn’t felt in a long time.

There aren’t many people around, the street is almost empty, he looks around until his eyes lock with yours. It’s warm, but you are wearing his coat, both hands in the pockets.

He meets you in the middle of the bridge, following the pace of your timid footsteps.

“Hi,” you almost whisper still staring back at him, “I couldn’t stay alone in my apartment.”

“Why?” He stomps on the cigarette and takes a mental note of your traces in the warm colors of the sky, flashes of the bliss on your face back in his apartment appear in his mind.

“You know why.” 

He does. Too many memories flowing, a ghost from a past life that keeps haunting, but in the flesh and front of you. He is your ghost and you are his too.

“You kept the coat.” It is a simple statement, no more than an observation, but enough to make you embrace yourself around as if you were searching for comfort inside of it. “I kept something too.”

For the first time in many years, he opens his wallet and unfolds your note from the last night spent together. The corners have little dents from how much his fingers pressed on, reading it again and again. The color faded a little, just like the mark of your lipstick isn’t vibrant anymore.

He places the note between your bodies and you take it, fingers slightly scrapping his. You read it like it is a surprise as if you forgot whatever you poured your heart into that final time.

Your eyes are glossy, the waterline is full and about to overflow when you look back at him. The sun shines one last time into your skin before disappearing, allowing the night to come.

I am not a morning person but I’d make an exception if Joel woke me up like that! 😍

Wake Up Call

Joel Miller x Female Reader

pre-outbreak Joel x reader

All of my works are 18+ minors dni!

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Joel knows you’re not a morning person, so he often loves to help you wake up in way that you’ll both enjoy.

or

slow, sleepy morning smut with Joel :)

WC: 3200

Warnings: i’m terrible at titles and summaries i know, this is basically just smut (18+), established relationship, fluff, cuddly joel, smut, somnophilia (kinda?), oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected piv, creampie, biting ? (joel bites reader’s shoulder once), a hint of overstimulation, use of a few pet names (sweetheart, darlin’, baby), no use of y/n or description of reader’s physical appearance, moodboard is not indicative of reader’s appearance, joel’s morning voice and joel saying “good girl” in said morning voice deserve a warning. let me know if there’s any I missed! x

a/n: this was my first time writing an actual fic for Joel, so please be nice <3 this was based on some thots that I wrote for an ask that my beloved @sebsxphia sent me 🧡 this was so self-indulgent and I had such a fun time writing it and making the moodboard, I hope y’all enjoy reading!! happy reading, comments and feedback are greatly appreciated 🧡

Joel Masterlist | Main Masterlist

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It’s a Monday morning like any other. The sun is still rising in the sky, languidly illuminating the world in its hazy golden glow, and you find yourself waking up the same way you do most mornings as of late.

Eyes slowly blinking open to the steadily brightening light that’s begun to make its way through the too-sheer curtains that cover Joel’s bedroom window, a broad chest pressed to your back, and soft breaths blown into the crook of your neck and moving a few strands of your hair along with them.

A strong arm is wrapped around your middle; one big palm splayed across the skin of your belly beneath your—his— t-shirt while the other rests underneath your pillow.

You’re growing used to waking up to Joel’s warmth radiating through you with all the nights you spend in his bed these days, his legs entangled with yours beneath the blankets that had been kicked further down the bed in the night, the extra warmth not needed when you’re completely encapsulated by the furnace that is Joel.

It’s still early as the two of you begin to stir, a while yet before either one of your alarms are set to go off and pull you from the comfort of each other’s embrace and Joel’s plush bed, and into readying yourselves for the upcoming workday.

 The arm around your waist tightens as you slowly begin to wake. Joel burrows further into the crook of your neck, scruffy beard tickling at the skin of your shoulder where his shirt has fallen loose in your sleep, the action one that’s grown to be of great comfort for you.  

Joel’s always been an early riser. All the nights spent together over the months that you’ve been together now, he’s always woken up before you.

He has an alarm clock, but you never understand why he bothers to set it in the first place. His internal clock is always waking him up naturally as the sun comes up, and approximately thirty minutes before Sarah wakes up for school.

Not that you’re complaining, though, because you’ve come to appreciate the slow and natural way you wake up with Joel.

His flurry of kisses to any patch of bare skin he can find, and the warmth of his broad chest pressed against your back always wake you up gently. It’s a routine you’ve come to love, miles better than any loud alarm.

Though Joel can never seem to sleep later than the sun, he loves it because it means he gets to spend a few extra moments just admiring your peacefully sleeping form.

He knows you’re not a morning person, that you love your sleep and hate nothing more than to be woken up by the shrill ringing on an alarm.

So, another benefit of Joel waking up before you is that he gets to wake you up slowly, gently, snuggling into you and littering your skin with kisses that he knows will bring about that sleepy smile that he loves so much as you begin to stir.

Joel’s morning voice is gruff and somehow even deeper than it already is normally as he turns to nuzzle his nose into your neck, pressing a feather soft kiss to the skin just below your ear.

“Mornin’ sweetheart. How’d you sleep?”

In your still half-asleep state, you just barely grace him with a sleepy hum of acknowledgement before pressing your body back against his, cuddling further into his warmth and beginning to drift off again, not quite ready to wake up yet.

Since Joel knows that getting up early is not even close to your favorite thing to do, he often loves to wake you in a way that he knows you’ll both enjoy.

So, it’s no surprise to you when you begin to be pulled further from your slumber by the feeling of his arms retreating from around you, the loss of the comforting heat of his body against yours causing the tiniest of whimpers to escape your lips.

Joel smirks—though he knows you can’t see it through your still-closed eyes—those strong arms turning you onto your back before his body is sliding further down the bed.

Before you know it, gentle kisses are being pressed to your knees, leading a trail up to your inner thighs, the wiry hairs of his beard scratching lightly against your skin as he makes his way up towards where your panty-covered core has already begun to flutter in anticipation.

Calloused palms reach under your thighs and they’re no sooner being parted by the width of Joel’s broad shoulders, his plush lips pecking along the skin where your thigh meets your hip. Languidly making their way up to your hip bones, dotting a sweet kiss to both before descending.

Nosing along the cotton of your underwear, Joel sends a shudder through your entire body when he brushes over the damp spot that’s begun to darken the fabric.

Taking in your heady scent with a groan, his lips press a single kiss there before the warmth of his tongue laves against your seam through the thin fabric and pulls another sleepy whine from your parted lips.

Joel’s rough fingers dip under the waistband as he reaches up to pull them down your thighs, letting out a low groan as he slowly reveals your core, all pretty and glistening just for him.

You’re still not fully awake when he licks into you. His tongue white hot as it licks a broad stripe up to your clit, mixed with the pleasant burn of his facial hair scraping against the soft skin of your inner thighs, has your hips bucking against his mouth and quiet whimpers leaving your lips even in your still-sleepy state. Joel can’t help but growl at the taste of you.

His strong arms wrap around your thighs to hold you in place, to keep you open wide for him as he fucks you with his tongue, and it’s only when he sucks your sensitive bundle of nerves between those plush lips that you fully awaken on a broken cry.

With your eyes squeezed shut now from pleasure, one of your hands reaches down blindly into his soft, sleep-mussed curls as his tongue swirls around your clit in firm, tight circles.

You’re already getting close to reaching your high when your eyes finally open and you peer down to see Joel.

The bottom half of his face is slightly obscured under the covers as he makes his way back down to your entrance—the tip of his nose brushing against your clit and rendering you dizzy while his tongue laps up the gush of arousal there, and those deep, chocolate eyes boring into your sleep-hazy ones as one hand leaves your thigh so that one of his thick fingers can join his tongue.

Joel turns to press a kiss to your inner thigh, and you can feel his slight smirk against your skin along with the tickle of his beard as he murmurs a quiet “Mornin’, baby.”

The deep, raspy drawl of his morning voice has you clenching down around his finger as it pushes into you, pulling a breathy whine from you as your own fingers tighten their hold in his hair, and you’re barely able to get out a shaky good morning back to him.

In the tranquil, early morning quiet of Joel’s bedroom, you both can hear just how wet you are for him. The deep groan he lets out mixes with your breathless cries as you both listen to the squelch of his digit sliding in and out of you.

“Ya hear that?” Joel’s lips press again to your inner thigh. “So wet for me, darlin’. Were you dreaming of me?”

It’s all you can do in your hazy state to let out a hum of agreement and nod, not trusting your voice as his words and his thick finger pull you closer to that edge.

Joel’s cheek still rests along the smooth skin of your thigh as he turns his gaze upward to watch your face while his finger continues its ministrations. He nearly growls at the sight—your head thrown back and hair spread messily across his pillows. Brows furrowed and eyes clenched shut in pleasure, your perfect lips parted and letting out the prettiest sounds as he works you over.

“Joel— fuck.” You can’t help the desperate moan that escapes your parted lips as Joel adds in a second finger and crooks them just right. Turning your face into the pillows to quiet the sound—his daughter is still sleeping right down the hall, after all—your hips buck toward him of their own volition and push his fingers even deeper as they prod against that spongy spot inside you that has you seeing stars.

“Doing so good for me, baby.’ Joel praises with one last peck to your thigh, before he turns his head to press a lingering kiss to your swollen clit that sends a jolt up your spine.  

Then, he’s trailing back down toward your entrance, drawing another gasp from you as the tip of his nose just barely grazes your clit. You can’t help but whine at the loss of his fingers as Joel pulls them from your core, your walls clenching around nothing for only a moment before the warmth of his tongue takes their place.

Joel laps up some of your wetness with a groan that sends shockwaves through your core before his tongue presses back into you. The warm, wet muscle glides through your walls, in and out, and you find yourself whimpering in frustration at the feeling—oh so good, but not quite full enough.

It’s enough to have your hands relinquishing their hold on his locks and scrambling to pull him up the bed by his shoulders and begging him to fuck you.

“Joel, please. Need you now, baby!” Your voice sounds breathless and borderline frantic, and Joel can’t help but feel a little pride in just how worked up you get for him.

“Need—”

He cuts off your desperate pleas with a bruising kiss, pulling a needy sound from deep in your throat at the taste of yourself on his lips as they meet yours.

Joel parts from you to glance at the clock on his nightstand. He knows you’ve probably got about twenty minutes now before you each have to get ready for your respective days—before Sarah wakes up for school, and she’ll be knocking on his door to make sure that he’s up and ready to take her there before he heads to work.

Plenty of time to give you what you need.

Joel takes a moment to admire your features—pretty eyes still bleary from sleep, bottom lip swollen from his kiss and from being bitten between your teeth as you tried to keep your moans quiet. Chest heaving slightly in anticipation, nipples pebbled underneath the loose fabric of his t-shirt as you wait for him to make the next move.

He leans in to give you one more lingering kiss, his tongue parting your lips and meeting yours in a languid swirl that leaves you feeling dizzy when he pulls away.

Joel shifts back onto his knees, and you have half a mind to protest him being so far from you before his hands are meeting your hips.

“Turn over, baby.” He instructs you softly, those strong hands moving you with a surprising gentleness as he guides you to lay on your stomach.

You lie with your cheek pressed to the pillow, fingers digging into the sheets underneath it, your body tingling with anticipation as you wait for him to touch you.

Joel hastily removes his boxers, biting back a deep groan as he gives his already-throbbing length that’s been neglected until now a few firm strokes, spreading the precum that’s pearling at the tip as he watches your thighs clench with need.

You feel the calloused palms of his hands begin to trail the back of your thighs, and up slowly over your ass, fingers pushing up the hem of his much too-big t-shirt that you wore to bed along with them and making you shiver as they expose the smooth planes of your back.

Joel’s hands slide back down to part your thighs and make room for him, lifting your hips just slightly, and then he’s positioning himself over you.

With his broad chest pressed to your back once again and your spread thighs bracketing his, he reaches down to run his cock through your folds, gathering up your slick and pulling sharp gasps from you both as his tip bumps against your clit, before he notches himself against your entrance.

His body is a comforting weight against your back, the both of you letting out simultaneous sounds of pleasure and relief as Joel pushes into you slowly. His face rests in the crook of your neck and he groans at the way your tight, wet walls envelope him just right, the muscles already clenching around him as he waits to move.

Hips pressed to your ass while he gives you a moment to adjust to his length, Joel revels in the way you whine at the fullness of him. It’s always a stretch to accommodate his size, but you always take him so well.

“Mm—move, Joel. Please, baby.”

Your words and your hips attempting to buck back against him under his weight are enough for Joel to start moving, arms bracing beside you as he pulls his own hips back, slamming back into you in one quick thrust.

“Fuck!” You bury your face in the pillows to muffle your moans as Joel begins a steady pace.

All of your senses are completely surrounded by him—his scent on the silky fabric of his pillowcase, the hairs of his beard scratching at the column of your neck as he quietly grunts and moans into your ear, the weight of his strong body pressing you into the sheets as his cock fills you up and quickly pulls you back toward the edge of that cliff, more than ready to fall off.

Joel’s lips begin a trail of kisses all along your neck and up to your ear so he can whisper directly into it, that deep drawl of his eliciting a downright sinful mewl from your lips.

“So good for me, sweetheart. Always feel so good.”

His praise has your walls clamping down around him tighter as Joel fucks you slow and deep into the mattress. Both his words and his hips stuttering as he drives into you, bringing you both closer and closer to your highs every time his length prods against that spot inside you that makes you feel like you’re going to come undone.

“So, fuck—fuckin’ tight.” Joel groans as he buries his nose in your hair.

One of his large hands reaches out to cover one of your own that’s still tightly gripping the sheets, the other snaking its way beneath your body to find your clit and you shudder underneath him as the speed of his thrusts begins to quicken.

Face still buried in the pillows, your desperate cries of Joel’s name are muffled as he works you closer to the edge. The feeling of his cock dragging through your slick walls and filling you oh so deep, and the rough pads of his fingers circling your clit, leave your mind feeling hazy—and not because you’re still sleepy.

Joel can tell that you’re close from the way that your moans have shifted into breathless, broken cries, your cunt clamping down around his cock in a vice-like grip that’s driving him to the brink right along with you.

“Such a good girl for me,” He pauses to press a gentle kiss just behind your ear before he continues. “Need ya to come, baby.”

Joel’s words of encouragement, along with his deft fingers speeding up in their assault on your clit, have you falling over the edge with a sob of his name.

“Good girl.” He mutters close to your ear as his hips continue to piston against your backside, fingers still rubbing your clit and leaving you a writhing mess underneath him.

Your loud cries are softened as you bite down on the pillow below you when the pleasure borders on overstimulation. You feel so full as Joel continues to fuck you nice and deep, working you through your orgasm as he begins chasing his own.

With your release soaking his cock, and the velvety walls of your cunt practically strangling his length, his hips begin to falter in their rhythm and it’s only a few more thrusts before Joel reaches his peak.

Pressing impossibly deeper into you, he leans in to bite down on your shoulder through the fabric of your t-shirt to muffle his moans as he coats your spasming walls with his cum.

Joel’s deep, throaty moans mix with your softer sighs as his hips gradually come to a stop, still buried deep inside you as his fingers leave your oversensitive bundle of nerves, hand now retreating from beneath you as he lets his weight slump against you for just a moment.

With a few more kisses to the side of your head, Joel makes his way back down to your neck, and then to your shoulder where his lips press tenderly to where he knows is probably now a bite mark under your shirt, before he slowly pulls out of you.

The weight of him leaves you as he moves back onto his knees on the mattress, taking a moment to admire the mess of you both between your legs.

Joel then reaches for the box of tissues on his nightstand, grabbing a few to clean up the mix of your releases that’s begun to leak out of your core, tossing them into the trash can beside his bed and moving to turn you onto your back.

Body pliant and sated, and practically melting into the mattress, Joel can’t help but chuckle at you as leans down to meet your lips in a kiss so sweet it has you sighing against him.  

It’s only a few moments after you’ve finished, after he lays back down on the bed and pulls you onto his bare chest, that the alarm goes off with the shrill signal that it’s time to start the day.

With a groan, you look up from your spot lying against Joel’s chest to see him already gazing down at you, a small smirk lifting the corner of his lips as he reaches a hand up to run through your hair.

“Guess it’s time to wake up, sweetheart.”

With a dramatic roll of your eyes, your head flops back down onto his pec with another huff of disagreement and the two of you share a breathless laugh before Joel moves to shut off the alarm.

And, though you won’t admit it, you definitely wouldn’t mind an early wake-up call if you got to wake up like this every morning.

•

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Aaaaah thank you for reading!! Don’t hesitate to leave a comment or reblog if you enjoyed! x

tagging everyone who reblogged the original post that this was based on 🧡 : @seitmai @givemeth @lumoverheaven @fangirlbang @onceupona-happilyeverafterlove @regalwhovianbrowncoat774 @twoheartscanyon @sunblchdfly @caffeinated-idiot @fandomimagines2023

and a few others moots who i think may be interested 🫶🏼 : @softiedingo @joelsgreys @gasolinerainbowreads @thepascalofus @ilovepedro

Awwwwwww!!!!

This was so cute!! 😍🥰😍🥰

Thank you anon for this request!

Part Two of A Deeper Purpose

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Now that your daughter is born, Joel is itching for another but you are still feeling a little discouraged with the way your body looks. He quickly puts an end to those feelings.

Warnings: language, fluff (absurd amounts), body worship, smut (18+ MDNI), oral (f!receiving), hand job, breastfeeding (does that need a warning? idk), discussions of pregnancy

WC: 3K

"I want another one, I really mean it."

You dropped your book in your lap and raised your eyebrows at Joel as he stepped into your bedroom and carefully shut the door behind him.

"Are you insane? We just had that one two months ago!" you reminded him.

He frowned at you like he was offended but you could see the corner of his mouth twitch.

"Don't call her that one, she's our daughter and her name is Emma," he scolded before yanking off his shirt and making a face when he realized he had spit up on the shoulder.

You rolled your eyes and tossed the covers off your legs. "Why don't we see how we adjust to being parents before we make any big decisions," you suggested as you walked toward your bathroom. Leaving the door open, you splashed water over your face with a little soap before brushing your teeth, all the while completely unaware of the way Joel was sitting on the edge of your bed staring at your bare legs underneath his old shirt, utterly entranced.

"C'mon, we make such perfect babies," he whined when you emerged, grabbing your arm and pulling you to stand between his legs. You smiled and played with the hair around his ear and he hummed, perfectly content, with his hands cupping the backs of your thighs.

"She is pretty perfect, isn't she?"

"Just like her mama," he replied, planting a kiss on your stomach, which was still a little swollen from giving birth. You grimaced and slipped out of his grasp, trying to hide your discomfort, but nothing ever got past him.

"What's wrong?"

You shook your head and tucked yourself back under the covers, hiding your body from him. "My stomach..." you began, trailing off before picking up your book to distract yourself. Joel's face filled with worry and he quickly stood.

"Are you in pain? Doc said if there's any pain, you gotta -"

"It's not pain," you told him while pretending to focus on your book.

"Then what?"

Joel tossed his dirty shirt into the hamper before stepping out of his jeans. Your eyes drifted over his body while he put on his pajamas and your discomfort grew when you thought about how your own body now looked.

"It's just... it's not the same as before."

"What's not the same?" he asked, tugging a shirt over his head and padding over to his side of the bed.

"My stomach," you said quietly. "My hips. My thighs. Fucking... everything."

Joel paused, his expression softening as he watched you pretend like it didn't bother you as much as it did, but he saw the look in your eye and knew better.

"Baby," he whispered, leaning over and pinching your chin between his fingers so you would look at him. "You're perfect. Don't you dare for one second think badly 'bout the body that grew our little girl." He pressed a tender kiss against your lips before drawing back, his deep brown eyes flickering quickly between your own.

"I just don't feel like myself," you admitted, leaning into his touch.

"That's alright," he assured you, his thumb stroking your cheek. "You will again one day."

"You promise?" you asked, blinking away the tears that were beginning to build.

He smiled and nodded before kissing the tip of your nose. "'Course, I promise."

His hand slid around your waist and tugged you closer with his palm laid flat against your lower back. "Don't think I ever thanked you properly for givin' me our little girl," he murmured, slipping his tongue past your lips. You circled your arms around his neck and allowed yourself to relax into his hold. "Did so fuckin' good, darlin', y'know that?" he whispered in between kisses. "So fuckin' brave, so strong..." His hand drifted further down to squeeze your ass and you giggled. "Can I show you how thankful I am? Will you let me? Hm?"

"Joel," you mumbled when his mouth grazed over your throat. "We can't, you know that."

He hummed and shifted around so your back was pressed against your headboard. "Oh, I know. But there's one thing I can do."

He shimmied down the mattress until his shoulders were wedged between your thighs, leaving a trail of kisses all down your front, through your shirt. When he reached the apex of your thighs he glanced up at you for permission. After a moment's hesitation, you nodded and his face lit up before hooking his fingers around your underwear and peeling them off. Much to your relief, he didn't ask to remove your shirt, and it wouldn't be until much later you would realize he did it for your benefit; so you would feel comfortable and relaxed.

At first, you were nervous, knowing full well you likely didn't look the same down there either, but when you heard a deep groan rumble through his chest before licking a lazy stripe through your folds, your fears began to melt away.

You sighed and leaned back into the pillows, letting your legs fall open and your eyes slide shut while he lapped slowly at your pussy with the occasional moan. His mouth felt so fucking good and his beard burned the insides of your thighs just right that you could feel yourself floating away.

"God, Joel," you rasped. Your fingers began to twist around his curls and he smiled because he could feel your tension and stress melting away under his tongue.

"Taste so good, baby," he said, voice all thick and gravelly. The sound sent a tremor through your body and your mouth fell open when he flattened his tongue over your clit in fast circles. You accidentally pulled too roughly on his hair and he groaned, eyelids fluttering while he pressed his hips into the mattress, seeking just a sliver of relief.

He had to keep reminding himself not to slip his tongue or fingers inside you, the doctor's warning to wait echoing somewhere in the back of his mind and he would never, ever do anything to potentially cause you harm. All he wanted to do, all he wanted to ever do was make you feel good. But he knew things would be different for a while, and that was okay. Different didn't mean worse. Different just meant... different.

"More," you moaned, hips bucking upwards. His tongue moved faster over your clit until his eyes flashed open and caught you watching him with your chest heaving and your gaze dark with desire. He smirked before puckering his lips and latching onto your clit, suckling and flicking the tip of his tongue until you were a writhing mess under him. You slapped a hand over your mouth to stifle your moans and it only encouraged him to eat at you faster, grab at your thighs tighter, rut his hips harder until your body finally tensed and stilled while your climax ripped through you.

He pulled away from you with a gasp, kneeling before you with his cock impossibly hard as he watched you catch your breath. Your limbs were all loose and weak and your legs were spread wide, shiny with your arousal. Your eyes flickered down to the bulge in his pants and you scrambled up, joining him in the center of the bed on your knees as you reached for the waistband of his pajama pants.

"No, sweetheart, that's not -"

"I know," you said, cutting him off and pushing his pants down to his mid-thigh. Your lips latched onto his while your fingers curled around his cock, setting a quick pace straight away. He groaned into your mouth and cupped your face, thrusting into your hand, both of you on your knees for each other with your legs trembling.

"Feel what you do to me, little mama?" he growled as he nipped and bit at your chin. "Ain't nothin' ever gonna change that. Y'hear me?"

You nodded and moved your wrist even faster between you. You could feel his stomach tense against your forearm and you smirked to yourself, knowing he was just seconds away.

"So hard for me, Joel," you whispered, tilting your head to give him better access to your neck. "Can't wait til you can fuck me again. Can't wait to feel you inside me... god, you always feel so good."

He whined and grabbed ahold of your shoulder so he could steady himself. His gasp morphed into a groan against your skin when he came. His spend trickled down your hand, all warm and sticky, then his body sagged with relief.

"Christ," he mumbled weakly before looking down at the mess between your bodies.

"Hold on," you told him, sliding off the bed so you could snatch your underwear from the ground and rinse your hand off in the sink before bringing back a wet washcloth he could clean up with.

"Thank you, darlin'," he said, swiping at his lower abdomen. Once he felt he was clean enough, he tossed the rag on top of his shirt in the hamper and collapsed next to you in bed with a heavy sigh. "Didn't have to do that, y'know."

"I know," you replied, turning on your side and tossing your leg over his waist. You nuzzled into his side and smiled when he pulled you closer. You laid together quietly for a few minutes, enjoying the peace and quiet before Emma woke up demanding milk and a change.

"You take as long as you need, baby," Joel said, breaking the silence. You tilted your head up to look at him questioningly. "Til you feel like yourself again," he explained, then began to lovingly rub his thumb over your shoulder. "Even when the doc gives us the all clear, I want you to know I wanna wait til you're ready, alright? Just know I love you no matter what."

You smiled and pressed a kiss against his chest, unable to respond with the right words to express how happy he made you and how loved you felt.

"So another one, huh?" you asked. He grinned and nodded excitedly.

"Emma told me today she wants a sister."

"She told you?" you giggled.

"Yep. Was talkin' 'bout it before bed. Told her what a great job her mama did makin' her and how much fun it'd be to have a little brother or sister. And, y'know," he said with a dramatic sigh. "She wasn't on board at first, either, but I told her there's plenty of love to go 'round, that she don't need to be so greedy."

"Who woulda thought," you teased, poking him in the chest. "Joel Miller has a certified case of baby fever."

He rolled his eyes and laughed. "It's all your fault. You're the one who started all this."

"I know. Just couldn't help myself, I guess. Now look at us."

Joel turned onto his side and pulled you flush against his chest. "Yeah, now look at us." He leaned down and captured your lips with his, cupping your face gently and taking your breath away. "Happy little family," he added once he pulled back, his thumb brushing tenderly over your cheek as he gazed down at you adoringly.

You bit your lip and gave him a sly look. "We did have a lot of fun trying, didn't we?"

"Oh, yeah," he quickly agreed. "I do miss you knockin' down my door lookin' for me to fill you up all nice 'n good. Made me feel like a prize winnin' bull, the way you were clamorin' to take a ride."

You gave him a mock look of horror and slapped his chest, making him laugh so deep, you could feel it.

"I was not clamoring!"

"Oh, like hell you weren't!" he said, making you both laugh with how passionate he was about it. His arm wrapped around your waist so he could tug you against his hips. "You couldn't get enough. Damn near hauled me outta the bar by my collar one night, you remember that?"

You could feel your face grow hot and your laughter quickly died down at the mention of that night. Joel looked at you curiously, wondering what he said wrong.

"Can I tell you a secret?" you asked meekly.

He nodded slowly with one eyebrow raised.

"That night at the bar," you began, dropping your eyes to fixate on a shirt stain. "I maybe wasn't..."

Joel had a feeling he knew where you were going with it but he couldn't help himself, he just had to hear it.

"What, baby?"

You groaned and flipped onto your back so you could stare at the ceiling when you said, "I maybe wasn't ovulating that day."

A huge grin broke out across his face and he rolled on top of you, caging you in. "I fuckin' knew it! That new girl was talkin' to me and all the sudden you came outta nowhere sayin' you needed help with your goddamn plumbing."

Admittedly, the excuse you had used was a little too on the nose, but you brushed it off.

"Yeah, okay, fine," you said, reaching around behind him to squeeze his ass. "So maybe I didn't want anyone messing with my bull."

He groaned and followed it up with a terrible impression of a bull's snort before diving into the crook of your neck, sending you into a fit of giggles.

"Makes sense now," he mumbled against your skin. "You were so fuckin' greedy that night, had my head spinnin' like a goddamn top the next day."

"Yeah, that was a good night, wasn't it?" you agreed, tilting your head back so he could access your neck a little easier. He hummed and latched onto a spot behind your ear, causing warmth to pool low in your belly once again. When you lifted your hips to grind against his thigh, he sucked in a sharp breath.

"Easy, darlin'," he warned.

"I know, I just miss you so much," you whimpered, grabbing the sides of his head and pulling him up so you could kiss him. And just when his tongue dove into your mouth and his fingers began to rub lightly at the outside of your underwear, a familiar cry rang out from the bedroom across the hall.

"I got it," he said immediately, but you shook your head.

"She's hungry, I gotta do it," you told him. He relented and rolled back to his side of the bed so you could get up and hurry into Emma's room.

You shushed her as you picked her up carefully from her crib, swaying your body back and forth as you walked to the rocking chair. You lifted your shirt for her and Emma instantly quieted down when she latched onto your breast. Once silence filled the air again, you leaned back into the chair and sighed. Knowing full well you would be stuck in her room for the next half an hour, at least, you plucked a pillow and blanket from the floor with your free hand and maneuvered them around yourself to get more comfortable. Once you were satisfied, you glanced down at your daughter and smiled when you caught her watching you intently with very big, serious brown eyes that were the spitting image of her father's.

"So what do you think, sweet girl?" you murmured softly, rocking back and forth in the chair. "You talking to your daddy about a little sibling behind my back? I thought we were a team, you're supposed to be on my side."

All you got in return was a little gurgle but she appeared to be listening and enjoying the vibration from your voice, so you kept talking.

"I don't know, maybe it's not a bad idea," you told her. "I think I just get a little nervous because it took so long to have you, I get worried it might be next to impossible again."

Her eyes began to droop a little and you smiled.

"Then again, you are pretty perfect. And perfection takes time. Besides," you lowered your voice just in case Joel could hear, "I don't think your daddy would mind if it took a little while again."

When Emma fell asleep with that ridiculous milk-drunk expression you had grown to love so much, you quietly changed her and tucked her back into bed before tiptoeing out of her room and back across the hall.

Your bedside lamp was still on but Joel had fallen asleep sitting up with his reading glasses perched on the tip of his nose and a book dangling from his hand. You smiled and slipped the book away, lying it face down and open on his bedside table before carefully removing his glasses.

"What're you doin'?" he mumbled, eyes still closed.

"You're asleep," you whispered before turning out your light and slipping under the sheets.

"No, I ain't. Was just restin' my eyes til you got back."

"Uh huh," you teased. When he laid down flat, he held out an arm for you and you quickly nuzzled into his side with your own arm wrapping loosely around his waist. You took a deep breath, inhaling his distinct and comforting scent before closing your eyes.

After a few quiet moments where you thought he had fallen back sleep, he surprised you by speaking again.

"So, she convince you to have another?"

You grinned and burrowed your face deeper into his side. "Maybe."

He made a pleased noise and kissed the top of your head.

"She made a good argument," you said.

"That she did."

You let the silence envelop you for another moment before adding, "Maybe in a few months we can give it a try. No pressure this time, just... if it happens, it happens."

"That sounds like a plan to me," Joel said happily.

And although you had just said you didn't want to put too much pressure on it, you fell asleep dreaming up baby names, anyway.

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Oh my wooooord!!!!!!

This was absolutely beautiful 😍😭😍😭

I just wanna give Dieter a hug 🥺

A Better Man

Status: One Shot, Complete

Summary: Dieter goes back to a place he knows so well just to get a glimpse of a life he could have had.

Word Count: 2k words

Notes: IDK, I'm way into Dieter again these days, and thought of writing this fic that's full of yearning lol

I pull up to the house slowly, like I’m sneaking up on it. The engine hums under my grip, vibrating through the steering wheel, and I kill it with a sharp twist of the key. The quiet settles in around me, and I just sit there, staring at the place I used to know so well.

It’s funny. I don’t even know why I’m here. I’m not the sentimental type—at least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself for years—but somehow, I always end up right back here. Your house. The one you made a home, way back when everything felt so damn simple.

It’s been a while. The shutters are a different color now, a soft blue. You used to complain about how you never had time to take care of the garden, but it looks… alive now. Somebody’s been looking after it, after you. It’s like the house moved on, but me? I’m still stuck.

I lean back in the seat, staring through the windshield. I remember this place, and I remember you—us. Those days when I’d crash on your couch, no questions asked. The nights we’d laugh too loud, talk too much, and I’d forget, just for a second, about the chaos waiting outside your door. This used to be the one place that felt like it could be something real.

I close my eyes, and suddenly I’m back there, in those moments that play like an old movie I can’t turn off.

–

“You know, I could get used to this,” I said, my shoulder brushing against yours as we sat on the steps of your porch. The air was thick with the scent of your jasmine plant—always too sweet, but you loved it, so I never complained. I looked over at you, trying to hide my nerves behind a grin. “Just you, me, and this crappy little neighborhood.”

You laughed, and God, that laugh—it’s like a shot of adrenaline, better than any drug I’ve ever touched. “You say that now, but you’ll get bored. You always do.”

I wanted to argue, but I just shrugged, picking at the loose thread on my jeans. “Not with you,” I said softly. “You’re the only thing I never get tired of.”

You gave me this look—like you knew something I didn’t. “We’re not like that, Dieter. We’re... something else.”

I tried to smile, but it felt wrong. “Yeah, sure. Something else.” But I wasn’t so sure anymore. Not when everything was changing so fast. I could feel it slipping away, and I didn’t know how to hold on.

–

I showed up at your door, way past midnight. I was drunk, pissed off, and lost, but you still opened up, just like you always did. No questions, no judgment—just you in your pajamas, hair a mess, eyes sleepy but warm.

“Dieter, it’s late,” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes. “What’s going on?”

“I just... I needed to be here,” I said, brushing past you into the living room like I belonged there. And for a while, I think I did. I slumped onto the couch, burying my face in my hands. “Everything’s fucked. I fucked up.”

You sat down next to me, close but not too close. You always knew how to give me just enough space to breathe. “You’ll figure it out. You always do.”

I looked at you, and for a second, I forgot about the headlines, the shitty reviews, the people tearing me apart for the mess I’d made of my own career. “You ever think... maybe we should’ve done this differently?”

You raised an eyebrow, half amused, half sad. “Done what differently?”

I shrugged, feeling stupid for even bringing it up. “Us. This. Everything.”

You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “We are what we are, Dieter…”

I wanted to say something, anything, but the words got stuck somewhere between my head and my heart. So, I did what I always do—I let the moment pass, hoping it wouldn’t be the last.

–

“I’m done, Dieter. I can’t do this anymore.”

The words hung in the air, and I could feel my chest tighten. You stood there, calm but determined, like you’d been preparing for this moment for a long time. I tried to read your face, but it was like staring at a wall—no cracks, no second thoughts.

“What do you mean, you’re done?” I shot back, my voice sharper than I intended. “We’ve been together for years! We fight, we figure it out. That’s what we do.”

You exhaled, shaking your head slowly. “We’re not together, Dieter. Not really. Not in the way that matters.” You paused, searching for the right words, and I hated how composed you were while I felt like everything was falling apart. “I want a real relationship, Dieter. I want to feel like I’m more than just the person you run to when your life is spiraling. I want something that’s going somewhere.”

I stared at you, thrown by how final you sounded. “We are going somewhere. It’s just… complicated. But we can figure it out.”

“Complicated?” You scoffed, eyes narrowing. “Dieter, I’ve been with you through your worst. Through the scandals, the press, and the stretch of weeks you didn’t even call me because you were too drunk or too high to even remember who you were with. And I stood by you, I waited for you… waiting for things to get better, but they never did. And you know why? Because you never wanted them to.”

“That’s not true,” I argued, frustration bubbling over. “I love you, you know I do.”

“But what is that worth?” you said, your voice finally breaking, the tears threatening to spill but held back by sheer force of will. “Love isn’t enough when I’m stuck living half a life with someone who can’t even be bothered to call me just because... You can’t even take me out to a decent meal. The best I get is my couch, or sitting in a Five Guys parking lot, eating drive-thru in your car with the windows tinted so dark that no one sees us. That’s not a relationship, Dieter. It’s barely even anything.”

I tried to speak, but every excuse felt thin and worn out. You were tired of the same old lines, the same old promises that things would change. And deep down, I knew I couldn’t give you what you wanted, not because I didn’t want to, but because I didn’t know how.

“It’s not that easy,” I said, frustration lacing my voice. “I can’t just—”

“That’s the point!” you interrupted, your voice rising as you lost that calm veneer. “I don’t want it to be this way. And I can’t ask you to change your life for me, I won't even want to do that… to put me in your world when I know that no one would believe it if I even tried to scream it out loud that you love me. Who would believe some girl like me? Living this mundane life, far away from the adventures you’re off having when you’re not here, when you’re not hiding away with me.”

You softened for a moment, a flicker of the love we once had shining through the hurt. “I love you too, Dieter. But love isn’t enough. Not when I can’t even call you my boyfriend, not when I’m just the girl you go to hide away when it’s convenient.”

You looked at me, your eyes filled with a mix of sadness and resolve. “I need more than this. I need more than stolen moments and secret meetups. I need someone who isn’t afraid to be with me, who wants to be with me. And you’re not that person, Dieter. You never have been.”

The finality of your words hung in the air between us, heavy and suffocating. I wanted to fight, to tell you that I could change, that we could make it work, but deep down, I knew you were right. I’d always been too afraid to give you what you deserved, and now I was paying the price.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, the words feeling hollow and inadequate. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You nodded, tears spilling over despite your best efforts to hold them back. “So am I,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep pretending that this is enough when it’s not.”

You turned to open the door, and I watched you go, my heart breaking as the door closed behind you. You didn’t even stop to hesitate or even look back… I wanted to run after you, to pull you back and promise that I’d be better, that I’d be the man you needed. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. And that was the moment I lost you—for good this time.

–

I don’t even know why I’m here, but I can’t seem to stay away. I park a little down the street, close enough to see but far enough to not be seen, and I watch through the large windows of your house. It’s early evening, the lights are on, and I can see you moving around the kitchen, your silhouette framed against the glow.

You’re different now. Softer. Happier. And as my eyes drift lower, I see the subtle curve of your stomach, round and unmistakable. You’re pregnant. Again.

It hits me like a punch, the memory of the first time I saw you like this. I remember the way your body changed, how your skin seemed to glow, how you moved with this new grace that had me staring at you like I’d never seen anything more beautiful. You were carrying someone else’s child, but all I could think about was how much I wanted you, how much I wanted to be the one to fill you up, to make you mine in every way possible.

You shift, one hand resting on your growing belly, and I feel it all over again—the longing, the jealousy, the regret. I’d lie awake at night, thinking about you, about what it would feel like to be the one who got to hold you when you were swollen with life, about the softness of your body pressed up against mine. And now, it’s like I’m being forced to watch the life I could have had unfold right in front of me.

You laugh at something, one hand absentmindedly smoothing down your shirt, and there’s this guy—your husband, I guess—walking in from another room. He leans in, kisses you on the cheek, and it’s so damn domestic that it makes me sick. I don’t even know him, but I hate him. I hate how he gets to have you in ways I never could.

I watch as he rests his hand on your stomach, his thumb rubbing gentle circles that make you smile. It’s intimate, tender, and I can’t tear my eyes away. You look so content, so fucking perfect, and all I can think is that I’m the idiot who let this slip through my fingers.

My grip on the steering wheel tightens, knuckles white as I fight the urge to storm up to that door and tell you everything I’ve been too scared to say. I want to tell you that you’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, that I miss you in ways I can’t even describe. I want to tell you that I wish it was me. That I wish I’d been enough.

But it’s too late. It’s always been too late.

I start the engine, but I don’t drive away right away. I just sit there, staring at the life that’s no longer mine, and I feel this hollow ache in my chest that I can’t ever seem to fill. I think about you, about the way you looked at me that night when you said you loved me but that it wasn’t enough. And maybe it never was.

As I pull away, I catch one last glimpse of you through the window, your hand resting on top of your oldest child's head while you spoke to your husband, and I feel like I’m leaving something behind all over again. Maybe one day, I’ll stop coming back here. Maybe one day, I’ll let go of this ghost that’s been haunting me.

But for now, all I can do is drive. Away from you. Away from the life I’ll never have. And I wonder, for the hundredth time, what might have been if I’d just been a better man.