Pedro Pascal Characters - Tumblr Posts - Page 3

Even though it hurts, this is absolutely beautiful! 😭❤️

... And Nowhere to Hide feat. Frankie Morales & f!reader

Summary: An alternate ending to All Pent Up & No Where to Go in which Frankie really blows it. To find out where this all started, start with that fic.

Pairing: Frankie & Mouse | Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI) | Word Count: 3,190

PLEASE READ BEFORE CONTINUING Content Warnings: could be viewed as DDDNE, toxic relationship, alcoholism, broken relationship, domestic violence [not overt but could be viewed as such], hurt, drunk driving [don't do it!], ending of a relationship, body insecurity, adultery, cheating, there are no happy endings in real life bub.

Author's Notes: Even though this is an AU ending to All Pent Up & Nowhere to Go, I'm seeing this as the end of Frankie & Mouse. The original ending to that fic always felt like it didn't fit right and now that I am moving on from writing weight fics, this seemed like the right OTP to torpedo. I'm not sorry but I hope you'll forgive this beef anyway.

Thank you to @strang3lov3 for brainstorming this with me, and to @bitchesuntitled, @mothandpidgeon and @neverwheremoonchildfor their eyes and love.

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“That’s why you had to hide it then, huh?”, he yelled again, this time, sadness and hurt clearly in his voice. He didn’t know how to tell you the deep hurt he felt, thinking you were hiding seeking pleasure on your own from him; thinking you didn't want him anymore and could replace him with a fucking vibrator, “Wait till I’m not home and then fuck yourself? Don’t need me anymore?” 

You saw his body language show more than his words could say. He was hurting and had been hurting for a while. You had no clue that he was making this whole big change for you, and now you’d basically told him that after all that hard work, you’d replaced him. No, you had no idea what was running through his head. All you knew was that you were tired of being rebuffed and ignored and wanted to give yourself some much needed pleasure and release and he was mad at you for it. 

“How fucking dare you! You barely even look at me anymore – let alone touch me – and you want to give me shit for wanting to - to feel good?”, you yelled back, standing up from the bed. His face fell and his big brown eyes widened. Your emotions were getting the better of you, and you could feel the hot tears begin to flood your eyes. Your voice cracked. “What is happening, Frankie? Talk to me!” 

He said nothing. He just turned and hurried out of the room, and you heard the back door slam shut and the garage door open. You waited to hear the truck start, but nothing came. You grabbed your things from the bathroom and bedroom and settled into the guest room. 

*****

Frankie stormed out of the house, slamming the door as hard as he could on the way out. He ripped the door to his truck open and got in, choosing to forgo  buckling his seatbelt as he pulled out of the driveway. 

How could you? How could you just lay on your shared bed, looking so beautiful and untouchable while you made yourself feel so good. Without him. He tried to forget how sad your eyes were as you pulled back your hand after his rejection. His pride wouldn’t let him linger on that because his pride was not going to let him turn the truck around and throw himself at your feet, begging for forgiveness. 

He pulled up to the regular bar the group would all hang out at, and sat for a moment. Frankie pulled out his phone, expecting to see missed calls, but all that showed up on his screen was the alert from their doorbell cam, announcing his departure. 

His heart ached. He was getting healthier and back in shape and he should be happier. But he wasn’t. He was feeling worse about everything and drinking more to offset it, and even if he didn’t want to acknowledge it, a small part of him knew that this was all on him, not on you.

He wanted so badly for you to give him a sign, anything, to come back to the house and make it right. He told himself he didn’t want to go to the bar again and drink until his broken soul was numb and he knew by being here again, he was putting another nail in your relationship’s coffin.  His fingers twitched on the steering wheel, as if to let him know the bar was just right there - all he had to do was go in and he could forget all of this, at least for the night. Frankie didn’t know how long he’d sat there, but he was brought back to reality as a loud group of people exited the bar to smoke. He sighed, biting back the sick feeling making his skin feel wrong, and went into the bar. 

****

Frankie was downing his third beer when a hand came onto his shoulder.

“No Mouse?”

Frankie looked up and saw Natalie, one of Santi’s previous conquests, looking back at him. He cleared his throat and shook his head, looking back down at his beer. “No.”

He heard her pull the stool next to his out and moved it closer to him. “Trouble at home?”, she asked, sitting down. He could feel how warm her body was against his, making the ache in his chest feel deeper, reminding him that he was here and you weren’t.

“I-uh..”, he cleared his throat again. “It’s not been great.”

Her hand came up and sympathetically rubbed on his. “I’m sorry to hear that, Frankie.”

He nodded, eyeing her, then took another sip of beer.

“Well, you look great.”, she says a little too enthusiastically for Frankie, and he only sighed in response. 

“Look, Natalie. I’m not gonna be great company. I just wanna cool down before I go back home and… and…”, he dropped his head in his hands. “I don’t fucking know what I’m gonna do. I don’t know how to-”

“Frankie.”, Natalie interjected. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. It’s pretty clear what’s going on.”

He looked up at her, brows furrowed in confusion. “You’re doing something for yourself, to make yourself feel better, and Mouse isn’t happy.”

Frankie wanted to correct her. He wanted to tell her that it was on him, that he was doing this for you and he felt like shit, and he wanted nothing more than to go home and hold the most important person in the world to him - you. 

But he didn’t. Instead, he accepted the shots Natalie ordered, and let her say horrible, untrue things about you, all because he was getting his ego stroked. 

So he said nothing, just nodded along. He didn’t put his barriers up and tell her to move her chair away. He didn’t stop her hands from touching him. He didn’t stop her from crawling on his lap, and he didn’t stop her when she kissed him.

Worst of all, he didn’t stop himself from taking her to his truck and doing everything he’d wanted to do with you to Natalie in the backseat.

*****

Natalie was still in the backseat of his truck, pulling her bra back on and Frankie was drinking down the two day old, open bottle of Gatorade to wash the taste of her out of his mouth. 

Frankie’s head was swimming. The alcohol was working its way through his system.

The dread that washed over him was sobering for a moment as he put the lid back on the bottle and caught a glimpse of Natalie in a rearview mirror, warm soft light from the street lamps illuminating her silhouette. She smiled up at him and crawled into the front seat.

“I was thinking-”

“No.”, Frankie said, sharper than he intended, shaking his head and feeling the alcohol swirl his vision. His tone softened, “This shouldn’t have happened.”

There was silence from the seat next to him. He couldn’t bring himself to face her, so he slurred in a harsh whisper again, “This shouldn’t have happened.”

There was the sound of a sharp breath followed by, “Are you fucking serious?”

“Natalie, I-”

“Are you fucking serious, Morales?” Natalie’s words were accentuated with a slightly drunken lilt and cold laughter. “Oh my god!”

He growled and looked up at her angrily. “What did you fucking expect?”

“That you’d be done with that little fuckwit and wake up!”

Frankie stared at Natalie, aghast and trying to fight the alcohol in his system and find the right words to shut her down, but she was quicker.

“Look what she did to you! Your little feeder is mad you won’t eat and kicks you out!”

Frankie sat with his mouth slightly agape. He knew that was not what happened but he couldn’t spit it out.

“Oh come on, Frankie!”, she scoffed in a laugh. “I’ve known you for how long? And since you’ve been with her, you got fat. Like fucking fat! She made you fat because she’s a freak and who fucking knows why you put up with it!”

“Get the fuck out.” His soft tone was menacing.

“Or what?”, she challenged him, her drunkenness emboldening her. “You can’t go back to that. I won’t let you, Frankie. She doesn’t deserve you! I can’t just let you go back to someone who asks to be called ‘Mouse’ over her real name! There’s something wrong with her and she needs help, acting like this is healthy to do this to you. You have to see-”

“I am doing this for her!”, Frankie shouted, cutting Natalie off. His eyes had softened and were now pleading and his voice dropped to a lower volume. “I’m doing this for her.”

“Frankie, I ca - you don’t have to defend her. I get it, and I want to help -”

“Just get out.”

Frankie’s drive from the bar was - in short - chaotic. He’d stopped at a corner store and picked up a case of beer, then drove out to a quiet look out, downing one right another the other.

He tried to drown the heavy lump of dread as he watched the sky lighten. Something told him could find a way to fix this if he could think of the right words to say to you, and if he could get the water in the shower hot enough, he could scrub Natalie from his skin like it never happened. 

The drive to your shared house was confusing. The street signs were unreadable through his tears and beer fueled haze and his stomach felt nauseous from the smell of Natalie permeating the truck cab. He couldn’t remember what colour meant stop or go, so he just drove by muscle memory alone.

*****

You’d tossed and turned all night long, unable to get comfortable. Any time you found yourself finally drifting off to sleep, the pangs of anxiety reverberated in your body, making your limbs ache and your skin feel too hot and too cold simultaneously. 

The light coming in from the window told you it was very early in the morning. The dredges of sleeplessness made your body feel heavy, making getting out of bed that much harder when you heard Frankie’s truck pull up.

As you padded down the hallway, you heard the back door open and Frankie’s heavy footsteps on the mudroom floor. You turned the corner into the kitchen and watch as he toed his boots off, looking slightly unsteady on his feet. The hair popping out from around his hat seemed more mussed and his clothing looked like he’d slept in them. He was clearly drunk and you were furious with him for driving home like that. It wasn’t the first time he’d done it as of late, and it wasn’t the first time he’d come home with his tail between his legs, drunk and pleading.

“Are you drunk?”

Your harshly spoken words cut through the heavy silence and Frankie looked up at you, eyes weary and desperate.

“Mouse - baby…” 

His words were slurred and desperate, and his voice was rough and sounded like he was in pain. He turned his body facing you and you saw that his lips looked reddened and worried and something on his neck. It was a hickey or bite mark, framed with a hint of red lipstick. Realization washed over you and you felt sick. 

Frankie reached out a hand to you, watching your face fall and pull away from him. “Baby, no, please!”

“What did you do…” Your words came out in a broken whisper and Frankie lumbered towards you, reaching out. Instead of falling into his hold, you shook your head and turned away towards your bedroom. 

“MOUSE!”

The volume at which he yelled your name made you stop in your tracks and turn around, and what you saw made your stomach churn. Frankie’s fists were clenched by his sides and he was breathing hard. His whole body seemed to be tense, like a snake would coil up before it striked, and his face was twisted in anguish and rage.

You froze. This was not your Frankie - it was just Frankie, drunk and looking the way he’d described his dad. You watched in abject horror as he moved towards you, and both of you stared into the other’s eyes.

Frankie broke the connection first with a sharp sob followed by his voice cracking with his slurred words. “Don’t look at me like that! Please, Mouse - I can explain, baby!”

You shook your head, face twisting in hurt, confusion and anger. You couldn’t keep going through the cycle of fighting, Frankie getting drunk  and having to bear the brunt of it. You stood your ground, yelling back at him, “You’re fucking drunk again - I don’t want to hear it -”

Frankie shook his head. “Just fucking listen to me!”

You couldn’t hold back the tears any longer and sobbed, “Get out!”

Natalie’s words about how you were the villain were leaching into his mind, peeling back the rational thought and fueling the insecurities he carried. You were the one who did this to him. You were the one who was forcing him to change. Everyone else could see it - why couldn’t you? You deserved what he did because now you knew how he felt every time you went out in public and other men’s eyes danced over your body and he just had to sit back like a cuck and let it happen. 

His breathing was growing rapid, and his eyes were fixed on you like a bull seeing red. As you turned to go into your room, Frankie lunged forward and reached out, grabbing your arm. He yanked you away from the bedroom door. 

“Don’t you EVER walk away from me when I am talking to you!”

“Let go! You’re hurting m - “

“You don’t get to to tell me when to leave my house!”

“Frankie! Stop it!”

You pushed him back and turned around, but his arms came around your waist, pulling you back into him. His hot, beer soaked breath painted the side of your neck and face.

“Mouse! I just-I just wanna talk… that’s all, baby.. I love you and i don’t wanna let you go-.”

He was cut off by your elbowing his abdomen, and it gave you a chance to get away from him. You ran into your room and slammed the door and locked, then stood back and watched the door shake from Frankie’s fists pounding on the other side. 

Grabbing your phone, you dialed the only number your trembling hands could.

Will answered his phone groggily and all he heard was your panicked crying and Frankie screaming in the background. 

*****

The morning was a blur. Will arrived with Benny quicker than you could have hoped for. Will and Benny had finally managed to drag Frankie from the house and out into the detached garage, but just barely. Based on the damage he’s inflicted on his friends who were trying to help, Benny was scared shitless as to what he would find on the other side of your bedroom door.

You’d finally opened the bedroom door when you’d made Benny promise that Will would keep Frankie out of the house. As soon as he was in the room with you, Benny’s concern had him kneeling on the floor in front of you, asking over and over if you were okay… if Frankie had hit you… if you were hurt… and each question, you could only shake your head. The reality of the situation was settling in, knowing this was not something you could just come back from easily and Benny held you as you cried.

Will had called Santi over to keep Frankie in place in the garage. The last thing he wanted was for him to get back into the house and see that Benny was helping you pack enough of your stuff to tie you over for a few days. 

Santi went into the house to get some water and found you standing at the kitchen table, wiping your eyes as you packed some important paperwork you weren’t sure you wanted to leave behind. He had no idea what to say, so Santi said nothing. 

He grabbed a cup from the cupboard and the pitcher of water from the fridge, leaving you in silence. 

*****

You’d left that day and moved in with Benny and his two cats - Butter and Bagels. Frankie’s infidelity had come fully to light with Natalie laying it all out for Santi and then Frankie confirmed it all, solidifying your choice to leave.

The break up had affected every part of the group, and while you assumed that you were in the right for walking away, Will shocked you when he told you to forgive and get back with Frankie.

“You don’t get it. Honey, I know he fucked up, but you’re better than that. You want loyalty, you have to be loyal, Mouse.”, he’d said sternly to you from across the table at a Denny’s. “You don’t leave a man when he’s down, and Frankie has seen some shit. You belong together, Mouse. You know that!”

It was a given that when you told Benny what Will had said, he drove straight to his house, barged in and punched Will square in the face, breaking his nose. 

Santi had sent you a bullshit text telling you that while he was sorry for what happened, Frankie was his brother and he needed to stand with him. He wished you well and said he’d be around if you needed anything. You angrily toyed with the idea of sending a curse-laden response, but instead just blocked his number and deleted the message. 

It had taken six months for you to begin to feel like yourself again. You’d joined a social group in the apartment complex and made a few acquaintances in the laundry room. You’d even switched to a new department at the accounting firm, allowing you to work from home.

Home. You had a home again. Benny’s apartment was finally home for you and you were cautiously optimistic for your future. 

The bar you’d frequented with the group was now considered non-existent to you. Benny even vowed to not darken its doorway in solidarity, so the two of you had found a new dive to hang out in. 

It was a little further out of the way, but it was quieter, and less of a bar and more of an all-night bistro. It didn’t hurt that the bartender there was easy on the eyes, what with his shorter hair, the small offset blonde patch in the front and his jewel-toned southern drawl crackling light lightning across the bar. 

You hadn’t gotten the courage to speak to him, let alone hold eye contact. At least not until one evening, you’d bravely wandered in - sand Benny - and sat at the bar instead of the booth you normally did.

The bartender turned around and put his weight on the counter, leaning slightly towards you, and with his cheshire grin, he asked, 

“And what can I get for you, little bird?”

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This fine piece of art got brought up in a discord server not long ago. When I saw it got reposted I had to make sure to save it so I could read it

🥵

Jett you beautiful soul! I have never wanted a sweaty Javier Peña more than I do right now!

Pump - A Javier Peña One Shot

Summary: A man starts coming into the gym where you work, and you find you can't keep your eyes off him when he starts to pump...

Pairing: Javier Peña x GN!Reader (No name, confirmed sex, age or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub.)

Word Count: 2.6k

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️ “Don't hurt me, cadejo."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Warnings/Triggers: PWP/Javi wearing the tiniest satin shorts ever made/cock outline/possible peek of a ball/very pervy thoughts over a very sweaty Javi 🥵

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ.☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: I saw this amazing fanart of Javi, and the thots just thotted the fuck out of me... 🫠

MAIN MASTERLIST | JAVIER PEÑA MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

His visits are the fucking highlight of your day.

You find yourself searching for him as you meander through the gym with an added bounce in your step, stack of laundered towels in hand as you drop them around the equipment like newspapers tossed on garden lawns.

Rows of clunky weightlifting machines stand proudly, their chrome frames gleaming under the dim fluorescent lights.

Tattered, vinyl-covered benches line the perimeter of the room, each one bearing the marks of countless hours of use by sweaty bodies and muscled lunkheads striving for physical perfection.

The sound of heavy metal plates clinking together fills the air as the group of agents, from the local DEA office across the steamed pavement street, load up barbells and dumbbells, their focused expressions a melee of pinched, taut brows and refined muscles.

Despite the seriousness of their profession, the moderately sized gym is a tatty haven where they can unwind and bond over their shared passion for catching dangerous narcos and pumping iron in machismo camaraderie.

The walls in Manny’s Gym are adorned with curled edge motivational posters featuring slogans like No Pain, No Gain and Train Hard, Fight Easy, with iconic muscle men of the current era plastered over them like Arnold Schwarzenegger, Franco Columbu, and Lou Ferrigno, serving as constant reminders of the grit and determination required to succeed in both the gym and the field.

The air is always thick with the unmistakable scent of musky sweat, mingling with the earthy aroma of old leather from well-worn punch bags that hang from the ceiling like dangling scrotums swaying in a pendulous rhythm.

Steamy showers and weak powdery deodorant permeates. It’s a heady concoction that hints at the countless hours of exertion and dedication that's saturated the space.

A scent that you’re all too familiar with and breathe in like starved oxygen.

The wooden floor creaks beneath your sneakers as you make your way further into the gym, the sound echoing off the walls.

As you approach the rows of clunky weightlifting machines, the tangy scent of metal fills your nostrils, accompanied by the faint whiff of oil used to lubricate the gears.

Despite his gruff exterior, Manny himself hosts a warm and welcoming demeanour to the regular gym goers, always ready with a word of encouragement, or a pat on the back for those who train under his roof.

He takes great pride in the sense of community that’s flourished within the gym, fostering a supportive environment where the local Bogotá law and DEA alike choose to pump here.

It’s not exclusive, your regular Joe Sixpack will frequent on occasion, but the familiar faces make it far more easy on the eye as you bask in the array of sweaty limbs on the daily.

They give you wolf-whistles and jeers as you shimmy on by handing out towels and sweat bands with a beaming, enticing smile.

But you don’t pay them no mind when they flirt back and grin with glistening rows of hungry teeth like you’re ripe for the plucking. A juicy peach bobbing in a swamp full of toothless alligators. They're physically respectful despite their obvious leers.

Most of them aren't really your type anyway. Stiff, upper pale bodies with honeyed hair falling in waves; the Americans are all the same Mattel crafted hard plastic.

Whereas you prefer something more dark and velvety rich like Colombian coffee that goes down easy and smooth and leaves a heady aftertaste on your lips.

There's one man in particular you'd like to drink down, whom you’ve noticed coming in a few times in recent weeks.

It’s hard to forget him with those tiny, satin shorts he wears in a stark canary yellow, and riding dangerously high up his lean, caramel thighs.

A break in the tight denim jeans that wrap around his legs when you’ve spied him leaving the gym, freshly clean and dressed after a hard workout, and heading back into the office.

Package stuffed tight up in there, poor thing; the brilliant tightness restricting and choking around that hefty bulge all day.

A neatly trimmed moustache adorns his upper lip, thick and fluffy, adding a touch of rugged charm to his otherwise clean-cut appearance. His standard issue DEA gym t-shirt seems a little on the small side, hugging around his golden biceps and riding skintight across the broadest set of shoulders you’ve ever seen on a man his size; a complete opposing parallel to the trimness of his waist. He’s like an inverted triangle.

It rides up a little over his tiny belly; a galaxy of dark hairs trailing down into his shorts that makes you lick your lips every time your eyes fall onto that hairy column.

His dark brown hair, slicked back slightly and curling on the nape, glistens with sweat, adding to his aura of intensity and focus. He exudes an effortless confidence as he moves from one exercise to the next.

The Latino-looking man focuses on a combination of strength training and cardio, showcasing his versatility and athleticism needed for the job he does.

And you find yourself enthralled in his routine, interrupting yours as you covertly watch him from behind the small desk trying not to flood it with your drool.

He usually starts with a set of heavy deadlifts; the sound of his puffs hissing through his teeth and reverberating through the gym as he lifts with perfect form.

Next, he moves on to explosive plyometric jumps. Clad in those tiny, satin shorts that hug his muscular thighs, his powerful legs propel him effortlessly into the air before landing with precision. You can’t help but watch as the muscles and cords in his thighs ripple with each slam of his soles on the floor.

Throughout his workout, he maintains a steely determination and laser-like focus with punishing chocolate eyes, pushing himself to the limit with each repetition; sweat glistening around his brow and temples and falling in tracks.

Despite the intensity of his workouts, there’s a relaxed confidence in his demeanour, reflected in the easy, fluid movements of his svelte body as he moves through the reps.

You watch his back move and shift, broad shoulder blades folding in and out as they flex under the snug fit of his fading t-shirt. His posture is upright and nonplussed, conveying a sense of self-assurance.

Standing at an average height, his frame is lean, yet powerful, and you can’t help but let your thoughts drift into murky territories as your eyes wander all over him and drink him up like a quenching soda on a sweltering day.

You know very little about him, only hearing his name muttered by the other agents as he addresses them pre-work, out or when they stop mid-way through to discuss, what you can only assume, is the cases they’re working on.

The dusty jukebox in the corner playing the current Billy Idol hit drowns them out somewhat at this distance.

But they call him Peña, or Javi as they sometimes greet him through lazy Spanish chit-chat.

He called you cariño once as he passed, mouthing a good morning to you with little effort.

He speaks with a soft, deep cadence; a gravelled grizzle wrapped around his pert lips, which is almost muted and out of full earshot.

But the one thing that's unmistakably loud and clear, is the grunting that pelts out of him.

Particularly when he does bench presses, or those barbell squats with the large weight resting on his shoulders. A deep, guttural grunt ruts out of him that sets your skin alight and makes your genitals want to break out the pompoms and start cheering his name doing high kicks.

They flow unabashed out of him as he pants and hisses. And you like it when he does those squats the most, watching as he parts his feet steady, and slowly lowers his pert ass down towards the floor, rendering those tiny shorts to almost disappear entirely into the rounded crack of his cheeks.

Fuck...

Javi focuses on his reflection in the mirror, lips curled back under that buoyant dark fluff lining his top lip, and teeth clenched in a snarl as he breathes out and grunts loudly with every push upwards from those strong thighs that tense and quiver.

As you observe him from across the gym, you can't ignore the undeniable attraction you feel towards him as it licks up your spine; it makes you clench and sweat just watching him and the fantastic sex-like faces he makes in the mirror.

His sculpted physique and rugged good looks are certainly appealing, but your eyes betray you and head further south at the constant movement inside his flimsy shorts.

Gaudy in their brightness, you see past them at the way they flout their thinness like they’re almost fucking see-through. You like the tease of how low they sit on his svelte hips. A simple tug and they’ll be round his ankles with ease.

You can make out the perfect outline of his heavy, flaccid cock hanging between his legs. Curves and ridges imprinted against the material like muscle memory. Flopping about so uncouthly as he moves like it’s battering you in the face.

Jesus fucking Christ.

With your task temporarily forgotten and brain slowly sluicing out of your ears, the sight of his cock outlining around the thin satin draws you in further. A third arm beckoning you in. Punching against the material with every movement from his hips as though you're mesmerised and drunk on the wildly pornographic view.

You’re pretty certain he’s not wearing any underwear, which is only confirmed by a fuzzy, pink sack peeping out at you some time later when he works on the bench, and draws his leg up.

You swallow dryly as you stare at it, and wonder instantly what it would taste like as you imagine running your mouth around its swell.

Tasting damp, matted pubic hairs sticking to your tongue, with a salted sweat and mixture of his own masculine musk on your tastebuds, and the more you ponder it, the more it makes your mouth water.

You just want to push him back on the bench, naked from the waist down except for his faded white sneakers on, ribbed thick socks pulled up to his shins, and spread his legs wide.

You want to slide your inquisitive tongue all over those sweaty, heavy balls of his and watch his cock throb and pulse before taking it deep into your throat.

A tight clench and a hiss. A pucker of a fluttering hole as you tease it with your tongue. Lips and hips bruised in unison.

Googly frog eyes stare out at him in wonder. A noise at the back of your throat registers, something inhuman between a gulp and a hiccup as he rises up again off the bench.

Humming and sighing audibly as he presents that ass out at you, shorts flapping around his cock lewdly in the mirror’s reflection as he squats again.

As you observe him from across the gym, you feel the pull of heavy want flooding your body in a stifling and suffocating heat. It makes your toes tingle and your heart thrum a bit harder. White noise steams inside your ears.

The dull, aching throb between your own legs makes you shift uncomfortably in the chair as you gulp and swallow at the spectacle.

With each lift of the weights and every drop of sweat that glistens on his brow and moustache, you find your mind sinking further into a perverted swamp of lust and unbridled thoughts running amok over your amygdala.

In your mind, Javi’s pushing you up against the mirror, face crushed against it, trailing bites down on the back of your slick neck like a dog in heat. Your breath fogging against the reflective sheet as he pins your wrists to it with his hands, leaving misty fingerprint smears on the polished glass.

You can taste the sweat on his top lip, fuzzy and damp, and it's damn delicious as he pushes his crotch into your ass. Hard and thick under those flimsy, lacquer-like shorts, leaking a patch of pre-cum soaking into them that blooms and darkens the silk.

His hands let go of your wrists and work their way down your arms, tickling gently and sending prickles to bubble and blister against your burning skin. He skims over your belly and hovers above your waistband; his hot breath inside your ears in gaspy, mouthed moans as he breathes out.

He whispers how much he wants you, how much he wants everyone to watch him fuck you up agasint this mirror, before he slips his nimble, thick fingers down inside the front of your shorts, grinding and rubbing himself against you.

He’s pulling down his satin shorts to let his hard, thick cock bounce out at you, pumping its uncut, rosy head inside his giant hand. Weeping and sticky, it shines at you as his fingers and thumb smear in the secretions, and you watch as he licks his fingers free of his own greased drippings.

You lick your lips ready for a taste as he guides the bulbous head towards your mouth as you sink, thudding to your knees. Feel him weighty and warm in your palm, squeezing just under the head and sliding the skin back to reveal that succulent bulb as you lick the tip and taste glassy bubbles flowing from him before swallowing him down deep.

Suck it, cariño, yeah like that… Tómalo todo. Trágatelo profundo. Si… aah, si. Fuck... (Take it all. Swallow it deep. Yes, aah yes.)

Lost in your thoughts, you barely notice when Javi actually glances in your direction; his dark eyes meeting yours briefly with a knitted brow and pink pout, before returning to his workout.

The brief exchange sends a thrill of wanton excitement coursing through your veins, igniting a spark of curiosity and anticipation that you can't ignore as it pulls tight between your legs and makes you pulse.

As the DEA agent finishes his workout and begins to gather his belongings - he carries a modest blue duffle bag, although never takes anything out of it's fullness - you can't help but feel a pang of disappointment at the thought of him leaving you so riled up for another day.

He grabs his worn water bottle and squeezes a stream of water into his mouth, swallowing deep and plentiful mouthfuls of the jet, and wipes at his lips with the back of his hand when some of it trickles down his smoothly shaved chin.

You watch him pick up the towel you’d laid out, wipe his face off and that onyx-like stare is in your direction again. Two pools of dark tar sucking you in.

A wet, slithery thought creeping in between your ears makes a mental note to take that towel when he's done and defile the fuck out of it.

He finds something in your eyes, perhaps something that excites him, or repulses him. You’re not sure. You’re yet to embark on any formal conversation beyond a simple greeting out of politeness.

As Javi makes his way towards you, passing the desk towards the showers, you're convinced you see a small smirk prick at the corners of his lips.

Another wanton thought bolts its way into the filthy pit of your mind. You see yourself rising up on the balls of your feet in the shower block and presenting your behind out to him and he bends you over further to touch your toes.

You feel his grip around your waist as he slides in and packs you out, stretching you around him. Knees buckling and being drowned by the spray from above as he fucks you hard against the cool, mildewed tiles in the shower block.

You feel like your spine will crack with the pressure, but you don’t care as he pulls you back, hammering up into you. Fingers grazing around your throat, teeth biting into the ball of your wet shoulder.

So fucking tight, just like I love it, baby...

You're gasping his name as your orgasm rips through you and he spills himself inside of your hole with Spanish expletives howling in your ear.

His thick, plentiful come seeps out of you; leaking, pouring. So much pumped into you as he grunts into your ear - shuddering with a high-octane thrill as his moustache tickles against your skin.

You’ll think about this again - about him - when you're at home later; that towel shoved between your legs and soaked with your own leakings.

You catch the hazy scent of Javi as he passes by the desk, subtly inhaling the stench of his sweat; an intoxicating, potent blend of musk and masculinity that leaves you feeling breathless.

A primal aroma that grabs you by the lapels to shake the cock-addled stupid out of you as you catch a glimpse of that package swaying and bobbing around in his tiny flaxen shorts to torment you further.

And once more you swallow around a constricted gulp as he meets your wandering gaze.

“Hasta la próxima vez, cariño.” (See you next time, honey.) He simply husks, as he tosses his duffle bag over his shoulder and struts towards the showers.

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed this sweaty story. Please consider re-blogging so others can enjoy it too. Thankies! 🖤

MAIN MASTERLIST | JAVIER PEÑA MASTERLIST

**This is a re-creation of my original post from my old deactivated blog, therefore the links on the old post will no longer work. This is the most up to date version.**

Oh I love this so much!!! I’m loving that we get to see Ezra and Little Bird flourish 😍🥰

Pointing Fingers feat. Ezra & f!reader

Summary: Will has an opinion and you have a need for comfort. Part 4 of There are Other Fish in the Sea

Pairing: Frankie, Ezra & Mouse | Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI) | Word Count: 2,964

Content Warnings: verbal fight, words said in anger, digital penetration (f receiving), mentions of Watership Down (childhood trauma)

Author's Notes: Strides are being made. Will is a big floppy donkey dink.

Thank you to @strang3lov3 and @noxturnalpascal for brainstorming this with me, and to @bitchesuntitled and @mothandpidgeon for their eyes and love.

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Dating Ezra was something else. Since that first night in the apartment, you’d both agreed to go slow and get to know each other further. He’d admitted to you that he, too, was nervous, given he hadn’t been in a solid, actual relationship in a while, spending the last decade in and out of ‘dalliances of convenience’.

“Situationships?”, you asked, trying to suppress your grin.

“Situa- Little Bird!”, he exclaimed, faux-chiding you as his eyes danced with a laugh. “How on earth do you know such a bastardization of the English language?”

Throwing your hands up in surrender, you laugh. “That’s what they call it!”

“Oh yes, they!”, he mock-scolded you. He stands up at the table in the coffee shop and leans over.  “They! The ones who hold the power to command society in their hands!”

At that moment, you didn’t care that other patrons in the coffee shop were looking at you. The squealing giggle you let out spurned Ezra on and he gave you a gleeful, mischievous grin.

Standing up straight, he raised his arms as if he were giving a Shakespearean soliloquy, and declared,  “They! The ones who decide on all of humanity’s terrible statistics and give us their opinions on our horrible habits!”

Dating Ezra was something else, and you were loving every minute.

***** 

You arrived home one evening after a date, and upon walking in the door, Will was sitting in the living room. He stood up and you felt like you couldn’t breathe. You’d avoided him since that lunch you had at Denny’s. 

“Hello.”

Will crossed his arms across his chest and gave you a parentally-critical look. You fought the beg-for-forgiveness feeling that he elicited in you, dropped your purse and jacket on the bench by the door, and mirrored his stance, crossing your own arms. 

“Hi.”

Benny let out an irritated sigh, getting up from the couch. He turns to Will and points. “I’ll leave you to it, but if I hear so much as one unhappy sound coming from her, I’ll break your nose. Again.”

Benny went into the kitchen to give the two of you privacy, and you stood awkwardly squared off with Will.

After a tense few seconds, Will cleared his throat.

“Ben says you’re seeing someone.”

You nodded, looking down at your anxious, tapping foot, then back up. “Yeah. Yes. I am, yes.”

He hums in response, nodding his head once. You noted his jaw had tightened slightly. You didn’t feel intimidated anymore and your patience was running thin. How dare he show up unannounced and try to throw his weight around. You didn’t owe him shit. 

“And you’re happy w–”

“What do you want, Will?”

Your interjection earned you Will’s raised brow and cold stare. When you didn’t back down, he dropped his arms and stepped towards you.

“I want to make sure you’re okay–”

“Bullshit.”, you snapped. “You came here because Frankie came whining to you about me telling–”

His eyes widened under furrowed brows as his head tilted. Will raised his finger to his mouth in a shushing-motion. “Mouse - don’t. I am just checking in.”

No. He was not allowed to come in and tell you to be quiet in your own home. “Oh come on! This is not ‘checking in’! You come here to interrogate me because-”

“Mouse–”

“--you think I am doing everything wrong by trying to–to move on and have a life that you don’t approve–” “Mouse–”

“-- of and who the fuck do you think you are, Will? My dad? You aren’t! You wanted me to stay with a guy who cheated on me and drank himself into sleeping with Santi’s sloppy fucking seconds and– “

“Mouse, I–”

“He wasn’t good for me anymore!”

Will walked up to you and held your shoulders. His eyes looked over your face sadly. This did nothing to soothe your temper.

“Mouse, honey–” Will’s voice was softer now and his thumbs rubbed your shoulders as he tried to get you to calm down. “He hurt me, Will, and you wanted me to go back to him!”, you snarled, shoving his arms off you and stepping back.

Will looked down, as if he were trying to collect himself and let out a sigh. When he raised his head again, his icy blue eyes were staring daggers at you. 

“You’re so fucking stubborn!”, he yelled. 

“Oh, I’m stubborn? You fucking come here to pick a fight with me, your own cousin, over a relationship that ended last year! You’re the fucking stubborn one!”

“Big fucking deal, Mouse! He fucked up and he apologized! You didn’t even give Frankie a chance! He loves you and you’re killing him!”

You felt your face grow hot and you clenched your fists. “What the fuck did you say?”

Will took two strides towards you, his hand jutting out and gripping your shoulder. His eyes bore into yours and he spoke in a low and terrifying voice. “You owe Frankie better. You are better than this. You can’t turn your back on your family- ”

Benny came sprinting into the room and pulled Will back from you. “You’re done!”

Will turned, shoving Benny off him and turned back to you, pointing aggressively. “I hope you know what a fucking joke you are, Mouse!”, he yelled as Benny grabbed him from behind, hauling him to the door. “You are a fucking piece of shit for doing this to him! You’re dead to me!”

The disgust and burning rage he’d left you with was threatening to pull you apart. You needed a release - a knife to the cord trap that had you tethered. You needed Ezra.

As soon as Benny had him out of the apartment, you grabbed your purse and jacket, and took off out the door. Hearing Benny loudly ripping into Will as he dragged him down the stairs, you went the opposite way to the building’s emergency exit and out into the cool night air.

****

Ezra’s door opened to your hasty banging, and his face grew concerned when he saw you.

“Little B–”

His words were stopped when your mouth landed on his, your hands gripping and pulling him into a feverish kiss. The force that you threw yourself on him sent the both of you stumbling back into his apartment. He sensed the desperation in you, and when you pushed to deepen the kiss, he yielded. It wasn’t until his own need and fervor matched yours that he moved up off the console table you had him pinned against, his hands furiously working to rid you of your jacket.

You parted, both panting through reddened mouths. Chest heaving, Ezra knew what you wanted and, as much as he wanted to launch himself at you and give you what you were demanding, he couldn’t ignore the shards of pain in your gaze.

He held his hand up, gently pulsing it towards you as a signal to slow down. “As much as I am sorely tempted to fuck you senseless, Little Bird… I must ask what is happening?”

You felt the heat creep up in your face and you realized what you had done. Your hands dropped to your sides, fingers fidgeting in and out of fists, and you looked up, blinking, to stop the tears.

Ezra lowered his hand and stepped towards you, eyes sympathetic, and he clicked his tongue and pulled you into a hug.

*****

“Remind me again why your cousin is so invested in getting you and-and that man back together?”, he asked softly.

You sat tucked into Ezra’s side with his arm around you securely. You sighed, eyes fixed on the glow of the TV.

“Will was the only dad-archetype I ever had. What he said was gold and, even though he was wary of me and Frankie dating at first, I think he liked keeping it, you know, all in the family…”

“He knew things were bad with us, but he… he told me to tough through it because he knew what Frankie had seen when he was deployed and I needed to be his-his anchor… or whatever.”

Ezra hummed in response, nodding as his thumb gently rubbed circles on your arm.

“I don’t know why really… I just know that based on tonight, he’s made it clear what I am to him.”

“Words spoken in anger are rarely honest. We spew all sorts of nonsense when we hurt with the intention of hurting others, Little Bird.”, he murmured as he pressed a kiss into your hair, then laid his cheek on your head and pulled you in tighter.

His words reverberated in your skull. Was Will hurting? You’d never stopped to think about how badly your and Frankie’s break up had hurt everyone. Sure, you knew they were affected, but hurt? 

You silently mused for a moment before asking, “How’d you get so smart?”

Ezra chuckled softly. “Experience, mostly. I spent my youth hurting people, Little Bird. Using my words to hurl daggers at anyone who I saw fit. I drove away a lot of good until I allowed myself to admit that I was hurting.”

You sat back and looked at him. He finally turned and you saw the weariness of guilt on his face for just a moment before he smiled softly. 

“I say this because you are hurting, Little Bird, and as much as you want to lash out and seek comfort in carnal things, you need to let those wings heal first.”

His hand came up and gently held your face. “And heal you will, Little Bird.”

*****

Sleeping in the same bed as Ezra had excited you. At least until he fell asleep and you laid in the dark in a strange bed, staring up at the ceiling. His soft breaths accented by the occasional light snore were an upgrade to the sound of the pipes rattling in your apartment with Benny, but it wasn’t enough to calm your mind. 

You quietly slipped out of bed and padded softly into the living room. The dim light from the streetlamp outside lit the room enough that you could make your way to the couch. Turning on the table lamp, you grabbed the book on the side table, looking at the cover: Watership Down. You hadn’t read this since your elementary school days and your interest was piqued. You flipped it open and on the first page there was a scrawled message:

Ezra,

Happy 10th birthday! May all your days be spent hopping in a field carefree.

Love, Mum

October 30th, 1990

You smiled. You assumed based on this that his mother had never read or knew the plot of this book and just saw the illustrated rabbits on the cover. Then again, it had been so long since you read it…

*****

Ezra found you on the couch, sipping a glass of water, his old copy of Watership Down on the couch next to you. He kissed you softly from behind the couch, then leaned his weight on the back of it on his elbows. His fingers gently slipped through your hair. 

“I awoke and found myself bereft of you. And yet here you are, seeking comfort with Hazel and his warren.”, he muttered into your hair with a kiss, feigning irritation with a small grin.

“You’re mom gave you this.”, you stated, holding the book up.

He nodded. “That she did.”

“Did she know what this book was about?”

Ezra looked down and smiled to himself. “I believe she did.”

You stared at Ezra, a little confused.

He sighed and turned his head down, eyes on the couch. “My mother - above everything - believes that life’s best teacher is failure. And failure only happens with risk. Risk starts with asking questions, and questions are prompted by a need for knowledge… her choices of books for me were part of that.”

“Smart woman.”

Ezra chuckled and stood up, stretching. He let out a groan as his sleepy joints popped and cracked. Looking at him, you couldn’t help but admire his form, backlit by the window behind him. He caught you ogling him and his smile seemed to rival the warm light silhouetting him. 

“You’re gonna read for me.”

He sauntered around the couch and sat heavily beside you. 

“Am I now?”, you smiled back.

“Yes, you are, Little Bird.”, he breathed as he leaned in and kissed your neck. His hand slipped across your waist and he pulled you closer to him.

His voice was low and gravelly.  “Go on, now. Read.”

You sighed and opened the book, trying to at least make your voice as appealing and melodic as his, but knowing it was a futile effort. 

Chorus: Why do you cry out thus, unless at some vision of horror?

Cassandra: The house reeks of death and is dripping blood…

“You skip that part.”, he huskily grunted into your neck. 

“The primroses were over. Toward the edge of the wood, where the ground became open and sloped down to an old fence and a brambly ditch beyond, only a few fading patches of pale yellow still showed among the–”

Ezra’s mouth nipped, sucked and kissed at your neck a little more fervently and the large hand that held you close slipped down between your crossed legs, palming your mound, causing you to pause.

“Keep. Reading.”

You’d lost your place as his middle finger pushed his boxers into your slit. Ezra smiled against your neck.

“So easily distracted…”, he cooed with a grin. 

He pulled his hand away and pulled the book from your hands, tossing it to the side. He then maneuvered you onto your back with him wedged on his side between you and the back of the couch. Your arm closest to him was under your head, allowing his head to rest on your upper arm.

As his fingers trained down your body, he kissed you. It was just as fervent and demanding as his mouth’s assault on your neck moments ago. His hand reached the waistband of the boxers and gently pushed underneath. A soft moan passed from your mouth to his as his fingers, no longer burdened by fabric, gently touched and pet your folds. 

“You tell me… Little Bird, you tell me that you want this… that you want me…”

“I want this- you. Fuck yes. I… I-oh fuck, Ezra!”

 His long, thick finger circled and pressed down on your clit, pulling slick up from your hole.

“So very special, Little Bird… so responsive.”, he grunted again, nudging his nose against your jaw to gain access to your neck. 

You could feel his erection pressing into your thigh as he adjusted, dropping a leg over yours to pull your thighs apart a little further. Your hand darted down to his cock, assuming he would want it, but he pulled his head back and shook it subtly. 

“No, sweet girl. I want to watch you fall apart unburdened by my needs.”

He danced a finger around your hole and watched with heavy lids as your lips parted, soft, panting sounds escaping. “Keep singing for me, Little Bird.”

Your hand then moved on top of his, holding his wrist as he began to prod his finger in and out of you. Moving from his wrist slowly, your hand covered what it could of his.

You hadn’t been touched like this in… ever. This was sensual and didn’t feel rushed or forced. You almost allowed another moment to compare Ezra to Frankie, but the way he pushed in a second finger blanked your mind. Your body responded by arching your back slightly and the low whine that peeled out of your throat had Ezra’s cock seem to harden further against your thigh.

“That’s it,  let me in…”

Ezra pulled his hand back and adjusted himself beside you to have more leverage. He pulled down the boxers, and you lifted your hips to allow him to remove them completely. He hovered over you, knelt between your legs, holding his body up on the armrest above your head, and leaned down to kiss you again. 

His fingers found your sex again and pushed two fingers into you, finding a rhythm. Your hands gripped his impossibly broad shoulders and you panted and moaned into his mouth. He sat back, eyes trained on his fingers disappearing over and over in you and he licked his parted lips.

“Please… sweet girl, let me… fuck!- let me see you cum.” 

His pleading voice and the way his eyes watched you was adding to the tightening coil. His thumb found your clit again and lightly rubbed small circles. 

Your body tensed and Ezra’s brows furrowed; he let out a low groan as your core fluttered and squeezed his fingers. 

“Please… please, Birdie… lemme see…”

He’d lost the ability to loquaciously vocalize his every thought and was reduced to under enunciating his words as he watched you fall apart.

You cried out, eyes clenched and your hands gripping each of his wrists. He panted along with you, murmuring praises.

“That’s it… there it is… my sweet Birdie…”

You came down and he pulled his fingers from you, wiping them on the discarded boxers, and he laid down on the couch again, pulling your back to his front.

You laid together for a moment, breathing in tandem. Ezra kissed your shoulder softly.

“Thank you.”, you murmured.

You could feel his smile as he pressed another kiss. “I should be the one thanking you. I was the blessed party that got to watch you succumb.” 

You let out a laugh, a real, full, genuine laugh, and Ezra joined in. You felt a peace in your heart that was slowly flooding the rest of you. 

It didn’t matter if this wasn’t going to last - in this moment, you felt free.

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ACK! This was amazing! 🤩 Absolutely loved all the riddles!

Riddles

18+ account - minors do not interact

dave york x f!reader

Word Count: 3600ish+

Rating: E Summary: You realize your husband may not be who you think he is (the most typical Dave York summary) - no kiddos in this universe and Dave was never married to Carol.

Warning: established relationship, teasing, flirting, praise, dirty talk, pet names, fingering, semi-public smut (private balcony opera box baby!!) smutty flashbacks

Random Comment(s):  I know nothing about the Opera and Vienna. Researching this made me feel like my boyfriend needs to take me to this hotel. Right? Readers dress was inspired by Lupita Nyong'o’s 2014 Oscar Dress. Also, the riddles I use in this story were TOTALLY leveraged from the world of Google. There is a Chuck Bass quote in this story, you’ll recognize it when you see it.

xx

Vienna, Austria

Dave had surprised you with tickets to Vienna for your birthday. He knew that it had been a dream of yours to attend the Vienna State Opera since you were a little girl. He had truly outdone himself by booking a suite in the Hotel Sacher Wien. The suite stretched across much of the top floor allowing you to enjoy the comfort and amenities of the hotel, but with privacy and peacefulness. The first day you got here your jaw dropped when you saw the top-floor views. As you stepped out on your patio, you were greeted with stunning panoramic views of the cityscape. You could see iconic landmarks such as St. Stephen's Cathedral with its towering spires, the Danube River winding its way through the city, shimmering in the sunlight, and the majestic Schönbrunn Palace surrounded by lush gardens. The city skyline stretched out before you, dotted with elegant buildings and bustling streets. You couldn’t believe that Dave stayed in places like this all the time, you couldn’t help but feel a little jealous. Your job barely required any travel as you worked for a non-profit foundation in Boston, but Dave traveled extensively all around the world.

“Dave, this is so beautiful,” you gasped when you felt him pull your back to his chest and wrap his arms around you as he licked at your neck.

“I’ve got something more beautiful right here,” he murmured before he picked you up and threw you on the giant king-sized bed and fucked you over and over again until the both of you were too spent to do anything else but lay in bed the rest of the day. There was no sightseeing on the first day of the trip. You didn’t care because he was one of the most beautiful sights anyway.

You were doing your nighttime routine as you got ready for bed tonight. You two had been here 4 days, and tomorrow was the night you would watch “L'Elisir d'Amore” at the Opera. You had noticed that your Dave had seemed especially… distracted tonight. If you were being honest with yourself, you felt he had been slightly distracted this entire trip. Dave was a DIA operative so he tended to keep his emotions guarded and hidden. You assumed his job naturally made him paranoid, since he was cautious and strategic in his interactions, always watching and analyzing the people around him.

When you first met Dave a few years ago, it felt like he was so mysterious. It had thrown you off since you had grown up being an Ambassador's daughter and had been used to the discretion required in roles like this since you had grown up with the Foreign Service. But, you had never dated someone as reserved as Dave who didn’t let his guard down… ever. It was probably the military training in him. Over time he became more open with you, allowing you to see a deeper, more intimate side to himself, but at the end of the day, he was still a fairly guarded individual with others.

You stepped out of the bathroom and tightened the belt on your robe and found Dave sitting on the patio, sipping a glass of wine and watching the city come alive below.

He felt your presence before you sat down next to him and turned his face towards the palm of your hand to place a quick kiss on the center of it.

“Hi, handsome,” you murmured against his neck before placing a soft kiss behind his ear.  

His eyes were fixed on the horizon as his brows pulled together in thought.

“Is everything okay?” you asked

“Everything’s fine,” he quickly told you.

“You sure?” you gently pressed, rubbing your hands lovingly up and down his chest.

Dave’s eyes fell briefly closed before he finally turned to look at you to lean forward and crush his lips against yours. You whimpered at the sensation of his lips on yours because you loved kissing Dave, he had a way of always making you feel drunk off him. You pressed your lips harder against his feeling that you were already losing control when you started to feel yourself get dangerously wet.

His cell phone rang and he pulled away from you looking frustrated since you could see that he was already very hard and straining against his pants. When he took a look at his screen, you could have sworn his jaw set in a harsh line.

“Sweetheart, I have to take this. I’ll be back,” he said as he quickly squeezed your hand and stood up to go inside your room. You turned around and noticed he picked up his hotel room card, put on his shoes, and ended up leaving the hotel room.

It was odd, but you also knew his job required privacy and strict confidentiality protocols in order to protect sensitive information. You decided to focus your attention back to what was in front of you. At night, the city really lit up, casting a warm glow over the rooftops and creating a magical atmosphere. You could see the flickering lights of cafes and restaurants and heard the faint strains of music drifting through the air.

But now you were distracted. Why was work calling him if he was taking paid time off and currently out of the office?

xx

You had dozed off last night when you realized that Dave’s call was going to take much longer than anticipated. You didn’t remember what time it was when you felt the bed dip and felt Dave caressing your hip, his lovely fingertips tracing the edge of your panties as he kissed your shoulder and whispered you goodnight.

You woke up and stretched lazily and rolled over to feel the pillow beside you and realized Dave wasn’t there, but there was a note left on his pillow.

My perfect girl turns a year older today. Let’s play a game. I have blades but I’m not a knife. Want to cool down? Give me a whirl…

-DY

It was a riddle, he knew you loved them. You had shared on your first date that you and your family would play a lot of brain teasers and word association games while you were growing up. You smiled running your fingers over the note. He had given you an easy one.

There was only one fan in the hotel room, and it was in the living room. You walked over to quickly flip the switch and let the breeze hit you while you saw a piece of paper fall from the top of the fan. You bent over to pick it up. It was a certificate to go downstairs to the hotel spa and get yourself a massage and facial. You looked at your watch and realized that you had to move quickly, your appointment was soon.

After your 2 hours at the spa were finished, one of the receptionists handed you a card to read. You were giddy, it was your next riddle.

I swirl, I twirl, fine and neat. I'm not made of skin or snow. I come in many styles and hues, and can make you feel like new.

-DY

This one would be harder to locate, but you had told Dave that you would probably buy a dress for tonight's show a few days ago. You remembered telling him that when you had passed by a shop not too far from the hotel. You quickly left the spa to go to the store and were greeted by an attractive male staff manager.  

“Hello Mrs. York,”

You raised your eyebrows at him in surprise.

He chuckled. “Your husband showed me a picture of you and said that my job today is to devote my attention to finding you the perfect dress for this evening. Would you like some champagne?”

You smiled at him brightly. “Please, and thank you,”

You spent the next hour drinking, swapping stories with Killian about the men in your lives, and trying on a few dresses. You hated shopping, but this experience had been more fun than usual, and you were trying to soak up your “Pretty Woman” moment as long as possible.

“Holy shit, that’s the dress,” Killian said with his glorious accent once you put on a dress his colleague had handed to you.

You looked at yourself in the mirror and decided he was right. Also, when you looked at your watch, you realized you needed to get back to the hotel to start getting ready.

“Did Dave leave a note with you by any chance?”

“He did, he said you get a head start this time and that your next clue is somewhere in your hotel room,” Killian responded while he checked you out and handed you the note.

You waved goodbye to Killian and his staff and opened up your note once you stepped outside.

Born from the sun’s kiss and earth’s tender grace. I age with patience and care, a treasure concealed, my essence rare.

-DY

You walked up to the hotel and quickly hopped in the shower to ensure you would make it to the Opera by 7:00 PM. Once you were done getting ready, you started searching the room for the item and you found the bottle of wine hidden inside the decorative vase on the table in the dining room.

You picked up and read the bottle, Weingut Schloss Halbturn Cabernet Franc. It was the bottle of red you two had drank last year at a DIA gala event and you had told Dave how much you had loved the taste since it had been bold and structured. Taped to the bottle was your final riddle of the night.

Meet me here tonight. Make a wish, but don’t take a drink.

-DY

xx

You walked to the famous Opernbrunnen fountain and went to the standing in the grounds of the State Opera House. You stepped out wearing your dress that had a plunging neckline, a full skirt with pleats and a long train, all made of a shimmering light blue fabric. You were wearing minimal jewelry, letting the dress speak for itself and your makeup soft and natural, with a pop of color on your lips. You stood in front of the fountain in awe, it was just as stunning as you could have imagined.

You felt somebody tap your shoulder and turned around to find an utterly fuckable man in front of you.

Your husband looked delicious as always wearing a three-piece single-button tuxedo with a black contrast peak lapel. “You’re simply stunning, Mrs. York,” he motioned with his finger for you to twirl around for him, so you did. “Something this beautiful deserves to be seen on someone worthy of its beauty,” he murmured, motioning to your dress.

The comment made you want to cry, but you didn’t want to mess up your makeup. “You look pretty handsome yourself, Mr. York,” you said as your lips met his for a quick hello. “Thank you for today and all my gifts. But, I missed you today,” you pouted.

He hummed, pressing his lips more insistently on yours. “Happy Birthday, Sweetheart,”

He pulled out of his pocket an individually wrapped Bouchard chocolate. You beamed at him. He knew your vices all too well.

“I know you much you love dark Belgian chocolate, so I thought you could have a snack before the show,” he smirked.

“But, what if I wanted something else in my mouth?” you teased.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled your body tightly to his. Dave brushed his lips along your ear as he rocked his hips against you.

“Do you feel what you do to me?” his voice was low, raspy, and it sent shivers down your spine.

“Yes,” you whispered shakily as he pressed his impressive erection against you harder to prove his point. You moaned when his hands moved down your waist, to your hips, and back down to cup your ass.

“Let’s get inside before I get arrested for fucking you in front of this fountain, yeah?”

You giggled while he continued to grip your ass.

“Ready?” He asked

“Yup,” you replied, popping the P for dramatic effect as you both turned to go inside.

xx

“Dave,” you whined, pushing his hand away when his fingers slid high up your thigh and grazed your panties under your dress during the second act while you two were sitting in a private balcony box,

He brushed your hair to the side, and kissed your neck, “I just want to see what’s under this dress,”

You laughed. “Dave come on, the other private balcony box isn’t that far away from us,”

You knew it was a weak protest and that you didn’t sound serious at all.

“But, baby, you’re wet. I can feel it, and I can smell it.”

You inhaled slowly, your chest rising and your lips parted at his words.

“You know how much I love your pussy. Fuck, I wish my tongue was inside of you right now,”

“David,” you moaned.

“Fuck,” He loved it when you called him by his full name. It was because he associated it with sex. You only called him David behind closed doors.

He slid his hands under your dress again and then slid his fingers into your panties, stroking his index and middle finger along your slick, hot center.

He watched your tongue slide out to wet your dry lips. He was winning. You spread your legs wider, demanding his attention.

Then finally he slide his fingers through your soaked pussy.

You moaned throwing your head back, giving into the pleasure as his fingers inched deeper inside of you. Your moans turned into keening cries as he continued and your hips rocked against his two fingers. You realized your moans were starting to blend with the sounds of the characters Nemorino and Adina. The opera singers were delivering powerful performances that enhanced the intensity of David circling your clit with his thumb quickly in harmony with the music.

“Are you going to be good for me?”

David's words were blending with the "Prendi, per me sei libero" duet currently happening in the background.

“Y – Yes, I’ll be good for you David,” you whimpered as he continued to pump his fingers inside of you working you steadily towards release.

“I can’t wait to spend the rest of the night, licking every inch of you,”

The image he had implanted in your brain made you clench around his fingers harder.

“Oh, I can feel that you like hearing that. You’re being so fucking good for me, my good girl,”

“I’m so close,” you cried out closing your eyes.

“Let me hear you, baby,” he told you as he moved faster, hitting your more sensitive spot.

The music continued to swirl around you, enveloping you in its spellbinding beauty, as you were swept away by what you were feeling.

“Open your fucking eyes, and look at me while you come,”

“Oh fuck, David,”  you opened up your eyes to see the absolutely wrecked look he had on his face. You bit down on his shoulder, as hard as you could when you felt your body explode and you felt yourself convulsing around his fingers with your release as the final notes of the opera echoed through the hall and the audience erupted into thunderous applause.

He tangled his hand in your hair and pulled your head towards his mouth to pull you in for a deep kiss. He slowly pulled out his fingers once he saw you had calmed down with your breathing and put them in his mouth to lick them clean.

“You taste so much better than Chocolate, baby, But, I’m not done with you yet,” he said with a wild grin.

“Mmm,” you breathed. “Is that a promise or a threat?”

He kissed you softly. “Both,”

xx

You woke up the next morning to a lovely ache between your legs and Dave was still completely passed out. After the show ended, you two were originally going to grab a late cocktail, but you were both aching for one another after Dave’s performance in the balcony opera box that you went back to the hotel immediately. As Dave undressed you, you couldn’t help but feel like something was slightly different. He was always insatiable for you, but last night there had been a desperate urgency and longing in the way he kissed you, touched you, and buried himself inside of you on the floor because he couldn’t wait to get on the bed. It was almost as if he was coming back from war and needed your touch to feel like you were really here.

“I love you,” you said as you felt intense pleasure building inside your belly while he thrusted inside of you deeper and deeper.

“Say it again,”

“I love you,” you repeated.

“Fucking again,” he said possessively.

It wasn’t like him to need the validation. It was out of character for him to request reassurance.

“Fuck, you’re everything to me David, I - I love you so much,”  you moaned out pushing your hips upwards, wanting to feel his cock buried deeper inside of you.  

“That’s it, you can take it,” he growled as he as he drove into your soaking cunt over and over again on the floor at a brutal pace. “Let me feel you come on my cock, baby,”

You felt your orgasm course through your body and then David quickly joined you as he emptied himself inside of you.

You two laid together quietly while he rested his head on your chest and then he put one of his hands over your rapidly beating heart.

“God, I fucking love you,” he whispered.

You looked at your phone and noticed you had received a text message from Carol who was married to one of Dave’s colleagues.

Carol: Did you and David hear the news? Susan Plummer was murdered yesterday in Brussels. They think it was a robbery.

She had sent you an article link as well. The article explained that details were still emerging but so far it was suspected that she was stalked by a robber to be attacked and stabbed with a knife in her hotel room.

You were shocked, Dave worked closely with Susan and they had known each other for many years. You quickly got out of bed and were about to call Carol on the patio when you bumped into a chair in the dining room that dropped the pack of Bouchard chocolates on the ground from Dave’s tuxedo jacket.

You couldn’t help but keep staring at the packaging of the chocolates that had scattered below you. You picked one off the floor and inspected it closely. Your father had been the Ambassador of France and a respected diplomat, so you had spent some of your childhood living there. You distinctly remember that whenever your parents craved certain Belgian chocolates, you all as a family would make a road trip out of it and go to Brussels or Bruges. You remember your brother one day being annoyed at the idea of leaving since he was trying to hang out with his friends.  

“Dad, this is like 3 hours away, we can get chocolates here in Paris,” he complained.

“I’m craving Bouchard. And, you can’t get Bouchard anywhere, only in Brussels. It’s made there and only sold there.”

“What a wonderful fun fact,” your brother said sarcastically.

“I’ll let you drive,” your father bribed.

Your brother's eyes lit up, realizing your father was going to drive his Ashton Martin instead of using the chauffeur service that was offered to him through his job.

“Deal,” your brother said.

“Shotgun!” you screamed.

Your parents chuckled as you all left the residence.

You had been so distracted last night that you hadn’t even thought to question how Dave could have found Bouchard in Vienna. Because why would you?

Vienna to Brussels was approximately a 1 hour and 45 minute flight. And you hadn’t seen David all day yesterday since he had set you up on your mini birthday scavenger hunt.

You felt a throbbing headache beginning to form and felt a profound sense of unease as your brain started to spiral.

1 hour and 45 minutes

The constant travel and lack of predictability in his schedule all the time with work.

1 hour and 45 minutes

The times he would sometimes come back home with injuries that he brushed off as accidents.

1 hour and 45 minutes

The isolation and uncertainty you felt at times about his whereabouts and activities.

1 hour and 45 minutes

The way he fucked you last night with so much raw intensity. A silent declaration of his devotion.   

You closed your eyes. Deep down, you knew that you had always questioned the true nature of your husband's work. But, you didn’t want to believe that his suspicious behavior meant what you thought it could mean. There had to be a reasonable explanation for the situation.   

As you slowly picked up your feet to walk back towards the bed, you looked at your husband's sleeping face and thought back to the first riddle he told you on your first date.

I am the whisper in your ear, but you refuse to hear me clear. I speak the truth you try to hide. What am I?

Denial

And that’s when you realized what this birthday trip really was. It was his alibi.

xx

Additional Comments:

Okay, also you can totally buy Bouchard outside of Belgium, but I just needed to create that illusion for the story. Also, I’m not as smart as reader. My ass would have bumped into the chocolates and just popped one into my mouth… and thought nothing of it. Oops?

I just… oh my god…

😭😭😭

I read the warnings and I was still not prepared. Your writing is beautifully heart wrenching ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

WHERE YOU LEFT ME

Pairing: Frankie Morales x reader

Summary: You meet Frankie for a date and reminisce about your relationship.

Content Warnings: MAJOR character death. No movie AU but fuck Tom. This is overall angst heavy and please take care of yourself. Grief & loss, sadness, memories, I think that’s it? It’s just overall a bittersweet and tragically lovesick story. There’s no physical descriptions of reader other than wearing a black dress at one point and having hair that tickles Frankie’s nose. no y/n used

Authors Note: hello my babies I am finally dropping this. It’s been an idea I had for months and I almost scrapped it but then I thought, no! Post it anyway! So here we go. It’s heavily inspired by Tim McGraw by Taylor Swift but it’s not required to listen to it to read the story. (Although if you’re like me and love a good cry, i recommend listening) I’ll meet you at the end of this with tissues and candy, okay? 🩵 thank you @pr0ximamidnight for beta reading this for me and I’m sorry for making you sob. || wc: 1.3k|| beautiful divider by @/saradika-graphics 🩵

“Hi honey, I missed you. Hope you aren’t too mad I’m runnin’ late.”

You smile and sit next to Frankie on the ground right on top of the red picnic blanket, food spread out from corner to corner. The assortment of favorite sweets and dishes makes you smile harder, getting comfortable right next to him.

“Finally went out shopping today for the first time in a while. I hadn’t seen my friends in so long, I’m surprised they answered when I offered to go out. We took the backroads home and it reminded me of when your truck used to get stuck back in high school, those long ass nights we should’ve been home studying but you wanted to go for a drive. You’d take us out to the lake and dance with me. Remember that? It was fun before my dad caught us and chased us back to the truck.”

You giggle and rest against him, blinking a few times as a breeze of cold and crisp October air rushes by you. Licking your lips, you continue.

“I found a note from years ago when I was looking for those one pair of shoes you know I hate wearing, the ones I have to wear when-”

You cut yourself off, not wanting to bring up that day. Not yet.

Pulling the folded piece of lined paper out of your coat pocket, you sniffle from the chilly weather and begin to read aloud the note. “This was from the day you were shipping out for basic and god was I pissed at you. We woke up and realized summer was gone, we were adults.”

“Frankie, when you read this you’ll probably be on the way to Texas, and I’ll be in Georgia, right where you left me. I told your mama I’d write to you every chance I got, and I mean that. That also means when I’m mad at you for leaving. I hope when you’re lying awake in your cot at night, you look up and our song starts to play, that one Tim McGraw song. You remember what I was wearing, the perfume embedded in my skin, the way my hair tickled your nose when you’d hug me.

By no means is this a goodbye letter. I’m in it forever with you, Frankie. I want you to come back home safely so we can start the family we’ve always wanted. Why did you have to leave me? Why was this the best solution for us? We were making it, we were fine. We were good. I was happy with our little apartment and my shitty 9-5 job while you worked on cars. Promise me you’ll come home safe. I need you here with me.

I love you endlessly, you have no idea. You make it hard to be mad when I remember how you’d tell me my eyes put the stars to shame every time I looked at you. That’s still a lie to this day. I’m already counting down the days until you’re back with me and I thought it would somehow make it easier but it doesn’t. I’ll be waiting right here for you, wearing that little black dress you love so much.

We’ll start our family and get that house on the outskirts of town like you told me we would. I already have dog names picked out for the dog we’re gonna adopt too.

P.s. the ring doesn’t have to be too expensive.

Love you always.”

Taking a deep breath in, you wipe your tears on your corduroy brown pants, looking around at all the people walking by in the distance. Grabbing a green grape from the plate next to your leg, you chew it up and rest back against your hands, the soft blanket shielding you from the cold ground.

“I got a new job a few months ago, I forgot to tell you. I'm in HR now which is fun. I get to listen to people complain about who ate whose lunch, hire more clowns who hope to climb the social ladder, that kind of thing. It has its good and bad days. Honestly though, it makes me forget about all the shit I have going on in my head. I get to focus on everyone else but myself for a day. I know, I know, an office job?”

You sit up straight and cross your legs before continuing.

“I needed something to pay the bills and I couldn’t stay a waitress forever. The tips were good but I couldn’t afford our apartment on that alone. Robert still calls me from time to time asking if I want a Friday night shift. I didn’t think he’d remember how I used to love those. You’d come in after being with Santi and Ben all day and want beers while you stayed until we closed, always wanting to be near me with what little time we did have. Just seeing you sitting on that barstool watching college football, eating those disgusting cheese sticks was enough to make me keep going for the night.”

And it was.

Frankie being there when he was off duty meant a lot to you.

You kneel down in front of him and you can feel the tears pricking your eyes once more as your scarf blows to the right a little.

“I left a note on your mama’s porch the other day. I know she doesn’t live there anymore but I just, it was the first time I’d gone back to your street since, ya know. By now I’m sure you know what I wrote in it, but just in case you don't. I hope you still think about me when you think Tim McGraw. It’ll bring you back to that place of us out there by the lake with my head on your chest, dancing all night like two lovesick teenagers. I hope it makes you happy, Frankie. I hope you know it means everything to me, still. After all these years.”

You finally crack and break down, leaning your forehead on the picnic blanket, the tears soaking into the fabric immediately. Muffled and choked out sobs leap from your lips and you clutch your throat, trying to calm yourself down enough to breathe.

“I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to you, Frankie. You left me here with n-nothing.” You fiddle with your fingers and rub the spot on your ring finger where a ring should be sitting. Yet only a faint line from the ring Frankie won you out of a quarter machine was left. It didn’t feel right wearing it without him so you gave it back on that terrible day in September when the entire month seemed flooded out by tears. You tucked it right in his jacket pocket before you left.

That was the worst day of your life.

You sigh deeply and touch the cold granite headstone, the smallest picture of Frankie looking back at you.

“I love you so much. I’ll be back tomorrow to change your flowers. It’s my first winter without you here and I can’t stop thinking about how cold you must be, baby. I wish you were back in our apartment in my arms how you used to let me hold you.”

Laying down until your face was pressed against the ground, you sniffle again and whimper out as you think about him being cold.

“Frankie, I'm so sorry. I’m sorry I can’t get you out of that wooden box. I hope wherever you are in the universe, you’re safe and warm and can feel all the love I still have for you. There’s just too much left over and I’m not sure what to do with it, honey. What do I do with it? What do I do with all this love that was supposed to last us forever?”

You never did get the ring but you got an endless supply of memories from knowing him and loving him. Truly loving him.

You curl up into a little ball and hold yourself while you continue to cry, twiddling a leaf between your fingers. Eventually the whimpers turned into soft and broken hums of that one Tim McGraw song.

Hugs and kisses and tissues are complimentary 💚

L!!! This was so good! 😍

The ending had me cracking up 🤣

Biology

“Uncle”!Joel Miller x afab!reader | w/c: 5.4k

Summary: Joel hurt his back at work, so you've been helping him around the house until he heals.

Content/Warnings: able-bodied, female sex anatomy, and inherently fem!reader. No description of reader, everything is neutral (ex. “your bottoms,” “the curve of you” — nothing is specific in the way “you” are described). Age gap (reader early 20s, Joel in 50s). EXPLICIT MATERIAL PRESENT. HEED THE WARNINGS. WEIRD boundaries are crossed…you're not blood-related to Joel, but you were raised like you were. You call him “uncle.” Pet names (baby, darlin’, sweetheart, etc.). Pussy pronouns (she). Innocent touches until it isn't. Sexual tension galore. Slight dub-con. Icky Joel. Icky reader. Pussy grinding. Dirty talk. Slight degradation (“bitch” is used only once). Multiple orgasms. P in V unprotected. Reader is on top. Lots of teasing about the nature of yours and Joel’s relationship. If there’s anything that should be up here but I missed or I made any improper tags, please let me know!

A/N: Hi, my loves! This is slightly different than what you’re used to coming from me… All I can say is, you’ve read the warnings! Don’t bite if it is not your flavor! But for those who do like, I really hope you enjoy! And to my love @strang3lov3, thank you for prompting this and encouraging this side of my brain to finally stop hiding in the shadows. And thank you for your eyes on this and the mood board as well. I love you.🩶

masterlist | notifs blog

“Hey, hon, when you headin’ over to uncle Joel’s?”

You glance at the timer on the oven. “In about ten minutes after these cookies cool. Need something from me?”

“Can ya grab my toolbox before ya leave? Forgot it there the other day,” he replies. “Figured you could get it since you’re already goin’ there today.”

“Sure thing. It’s not the heavy one, is it? Because I don’t know if that old man’s back is ready for a heavy lift like that yet.” The timer on the oven beeps. You slide on your oven mitts to pull the tray out. “Made two batches by the way. How many you want? I’m taking some to Uncle’s, too.” 

About a week ago, Joel had a contracting accident. Some newbie wasn’t watching the older man’s back as Joel climbed up a wobbly ladder, and the next moment, Joel’s footing slipped. He landed right on his lower back, a piece of wood perched on the ground, sitting at just the right spot on the floor to render him immobile. Tommy, Joel’s younger brother, and your father, his best friend since before you were born, are the only two Joel trusts to get the job done perfectly, so Joel put them two in charge until he heals. 

Bed rest, the doctor had ordered Joel, for at least three weeks. It’s been one so far, but with you offering to be his nurse — one that forces him to stay in bed unless he needs to eat or use the restroom — he thinks he just might be back to work by next week. If you’ll let him, that is. 

“No, it’s the small one, hon, you got it,” your father reassures you. He lovingly slaps his growing belly as the trays hit the kitchen counter. “Y’know, darlin’, ever since you moved back, I’ve been gainin’ some weight. Can’t imagine what you’re doin’ t’ Joel over there.”

Your lip pulls up in a smirk. “Joel is in good hands, y’know. And technically, I don’t have to leave you any,” you say with a challenging brow, pulling the cookie trays out of his reach. 

“No, no, I’m not sayin’ that,” your father’s eyebrows raise in worry. His daily cookie is very important to him. “You can leave me like… five… or six.” 

“I’m just gonna leave you a whole batch. The six are gonna be gone before I even leave the house,” you tell your father as his hand subconsciously reaches for the cookie tray. 

He scoffs, “Ya have no faith in me.”

“So what’s in your hand already?”

“Whatever,” he mumbles, walking away with a mouthful of warm cookie dough and melted milk chocolate chips. 

“Uh huh,” you yell back. “Gonna be leaving in just a sec. I’ll see you later.”

It takes less than ten minutes to get to your uncle’s house. You unlock the door using the spare key he gave you as a teenager, and immediately, nurse mode is activated. 

“Uncle Joel!” You yell, exasperated. He turns around from his place in the kitchen, painfully slow. He’s going to make his back worse. “What do you think you’re doing?” You place the fresh cookies on his dining table along with your keys. You cross your arms angrily for good measure. 

“My coffee’s cold. I was warmin’ it up,” he huffs, annoyed.

“Bed, please.” Your hands find his waist, and you guide him back to his room. “You know I’m here around this time. You didn’t wanna call me first to see where I was?”

You ease him in a sitting position at the edge of his bed. He grunts as his ass meets the mattress. He grumbles his response. “Need to start gettin’ back to everythin’ independently, y’know that, don’tcha?”

“Is your memory going with your back, too, unc?” 

“‘Scuse me?” He looks at you incredulously. 

“Three weeks were the doctor’s orders. Not one,” you tell him, putting your foot down. 

He lays himself down with another wince at the motion, no acknowledgement to your words. God, he’s so stubborn. 

“I’ll go make you a fresh cup,” you tell him, feeling sympathetic for the man. His work is his life, and it’s not going to get any easier with age. 

Making your way back to his kitchen, you wash out the coffee pitcher, replace the grounds and the filter, and do some light cleaning as you wait for the bitter, brown liquid to brew. 

It’s only been five minutes since you returned to the kitchen, and the painful moans and groans from his bedroom have only gotten louder. You search around the place and find the heat pack you bought a few days ago and pop it in the microwave. You grab some pain meds, fill up a glass of water, and just in time, the microwave sings to you, telling you your contents are ready. 

Ignoring the coffee for a moment, you make your way back to Joel’s bedroom. His eyes are closed, but his entire body is tensed up in pain. Poor guy. You knock at his door to catch his attention before entering. “Unc?”

One eye peels open. “Yes, nurse?”

“Funny.” A sarcastic laugh leaves your throat. “Come take these.”

He makes no move to get up. 

You set the painkillers and the water on his bedside table, the heat pack wedged underneath your armpit. You start to reach for Joel to help him up, but he stops you. “I got it,” he grunts. You let him have this win. 

You hand him the glass of water first, then the pills. He swallows the painkillers in one big gulp, swallowing down the rest of the water in another. He eyes the heat pack in your arm. 

“Do you want-”

“Yes,” he says immediately, reaching for the soft warmth. 

“Lay down first, I’ll put it underneath you.”

Without another word, he positions himself. His body jerks when your soft hand slips underneath his back, pushing him to lift a little while you slide the heat underneath. “This okay?”

“Mhm,” he forces out, eyes clamped shut. It’s not okay, you think. 

“How would you feel on your stomach?” you suggest. 

“Dunno. Never tried.”

“Well, then.” You set the heat pack down, and it’s your turn to crawl, uninvited, into his bed. You walk on your knees towards the opposite, unoccupied side, adjusting the pillows in a way you think might be the most comfortable. This isn’t your first rodeo dealing with an old man’s back; you’ve got your dad. This is, however, your first rodeo dealing with an old man more stubborn than a screaming goat not getting his way. “Come on.”

“No.” 

“What do you mean no?” 

“That ain’t gonna be comfortable.”

“How do you know?”

“I jus’ do.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose and take a deep breath. “I swear to God. I will flip your ass over myself if I have to.”

“You’re bossy,” he spits.

“So you’ve said.” 

Not giving him a chance to prepare, you hook your one hand at his side and your other on his hip, and you pull him towards you. It doesn’t fully flip him over, but it does the trick in getting him to finish the rest of the action himself — albeit, with a very strained yelp from the back of his throat. 

He groans for a few minutes more as you adjust some flat pillows underneath his belly and then prop the lukewarm heating back right at the base of his spine. You’ll probably have to heat it up in ten minutes again, but it’ll do for now. You stay in your spot for a minute, and already his pained noises begin to subside. 

“Better?” You know it is. You just want him to admit it. 

And when a single huff with zero protests from the grumpy man reverberates around the room, you know you’ve won this round. 

“I’ll go get your coffee now,” you hum. 

A soft rasp of your name has you spinning back around as you reach the room’s threshold. 

“Hm?”

“Thanks,” he tells you. 

“It’s what I’m here for, unc.”

You put his fresh cup of coffee in a thermos this time. You can’t imagine how often he’ll get up being in this position, but at least the freshness will be there with every sip he does end up taking. 

“How’s it going?” You ask him as you set his coffee nearby. You feel the heat pack on his spine, and it’s as you called it to be by now: room temperature. “Want me to reheat it?” 

“‘M okay,” he replies, voice groggy. He must’ve fallen asleep. 

“Okay.” You stand there for a moment. You can tell the heat helped, but his body isn’t entirely relaxed. He’s still tense, as if a nerve or something is being pinched. 

You recall your memory from a while ago before you moved back with your dad. Your brother, who is a mixed martial arts athlete, had a sparring session that hurt his back, nearly in the same area as Joel. He had you running his massage gun over his muscles nearly every night for a month straight. “It needs to uncoil somehow,” he told you. An idea crosses your mind then. 

You saunter to Joel’s en suite bathroom in search of some type of lubricant. Sitting loud and proud on the center of the bathroom counter is a little bottle of Equate’s Personal Liquid Lubricant. Your brain falters for a second, the bottle of lube throwing you off your original plan. That is absolutely not the kind of lubricant you were looking for. Shaking away the image from your mind, you bend down to look in the cabinets underneath. Bingo, a bottle of Aveeno body lotion. This should do. 

You invite yourself onto his bed for the second time today. “Let me give you a massage.”

“What?” His head turns to you now, utterly confused. He definitely heard you wrong, he thinks. 

“Let me give you a massage,” you repeat. “It’ll help.”

A massage actually does sound nice right now. But you’ve been nothing but bossy this last week while Joel lays here helplessly. He’s bored. And he’s had enough. “It ain’t gonna help.”

“How do you know?”

“I jus’ do.”

Jesus. Haven’t you had this conversation before? You mentally slap your forehead. Again, leaving him no other options, you reach for his flannel atop his shoulders and begin to pull them down. 

“Hey, hey, wait, now what in the hell-” He tries to stifle back a laugh as he wriggles in your hold, trying to playfully push you off without hurting himself more in the process. 

You quickly release his clothes, hands up in surrender where he can see them. You’re just realizing now just how forward your action must’ve been. “How am I gonna massage you-” 

The embarrassment written all over your face has Joel tearing up as he tries to hold his wheezing laugh in. With his eyebrow quirked at you, he responds, “If you wanted me naked, kiddo-”

“Jesus, ew! Really?” An unbearable heat spreads across your cheeks. Your eyes are downcast, looking everywhere else but him. “It- it’ll be better if I can directly touch-”

Only then do you feel the bed shaking with his laughter. He’s fucking with you. And here you were, about to offer something that would relieve a whole lot of pain. “Oh, fuck you,” you scoff, pulling yourself up and making your way off of his bed. 

“No, okay, wait,” he laughs, trying to catch his breath. “Jus’ messin’ with you, who am I to deny a massage?” He raises his eyebrows once, twice. Still messing with you, seeing how far his taunting with you can go. 

“You’re disgusting,” you deadpan. 

“‘M not the one tryin’ t’ massage her uncle,” Joel says as he attempts to shrug his shoulders at you.

“I’m gonna leave now.” One foot makes it to the ground before Joel speaks again. 

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, ya can’t take a joke? I’m only messin’ around. Come back. Gonna leave me hangin’? In pain? C’mon, nurse.” His tone falls softer, sweeter. You can hear the shit-eating grin in his words. And, fuck, why is it making you heat even further, in places beyond your face? In places you shouldn’t be?

“Fine,” you relent. “Stop saying weird shit then.” You still can’t look at him. Not after the way your body decided to react in the shift of energy. An abrupt shift of energy, as far as you can tell. 

He’s your dad’s best friend. Your uncle, for crying out loud. Not by blood, but still. There’s never been a feeling beyond that. Sure, you’ve had your silly little school girl crush on him during your young teenage years, but that was your hormones being your hormones. You grew out of them. Even your own father can’t deny the conventional attractiveness of his best friend. 

Plus, suggestive commentary is bound to make anyone feel hot. It’s basic biology. Your response is nothing. It doesn’t mean anything. At least, that’s what you convince yourself of when you climb back into your uncle’s— no, into Joel’s bed, trying to ignore the way your panties stick dutifully against your throbbing core.

Joel leans onto his side as you get yourself situated, unbuttoning the bottom half of his flannel, so you can flip up the bottom to reach his lower back. After the bottom half of the buttons are undone, he lays back on his front. “Here,” he calls your name. “Jus’ lift it up from the bottom.”

You scoot closer to him, standing on your knees, and you reach over to grab the hem of his flannel, pulling it up as gently as possible, exposing just enough to be able to reach the irritated areas. You frown at what you see. Inflamed skin, purples and yellows dancing all across his lower back, forcing him away from the very thing he lives for. He may have been a stubborn bitch this entire week, but that doesn’t stop the sympathy you feel for the man. 

You put some of the lotion in your hand, rubbing it between your two palms to warm it up a little. You place your hand on the side closest to you first, moving in circular motions and adjusting your pressure ever so often. “Let me know when the pressure is good.”

So far he hasn’t said much, a slight groan here, an exhale there. You feel a knot as you move lower, so you increase your pressure. You’re met with a literal moan, and you swear you have to bite back your own vocal response. “Fuck,” he sucks in a sharp breath. “Yeah, jus’ like that, ‘s perfect, darlin’.” 

“Okay,” you squeak, your thighs clenching together to attempt any kind of relief to the heat between your legs. 

After a few more passes over the area — and a few more indulgent, harder presses of your palm to pull more angelic sounds from him — you switch to the other side. Except, at this angle, you don’t really have as good an angle as you did before. Your leg swings over his ass, bracketing him in between your thighs, before you can even register the move your body just made. A soft gasp falls from your lips as you feel the new angle you’ve just given yourself. 

“Joel?” You call sweetly. Innocently.”I- I’m not hurting you or anything, am I?”

Hurting? No. Putting him through Hell? Close enough. 

Joel has done many questionable things in his lifetime. Getting involved with taken (married or otherwise) women, couples who wanted a third… Joel has lived through it all. Mainly in his younger years, but nevertheless. He has done and seen many things. But none of these things have ever included getting a fucking hard on for a girl — a woman? — he practically had a hand in raising. You call him uncle, for crying out loud. 

His physical response means nothing. It’s basic biology. The tender yet skilled touch of your warm hands directly against his even hotter skin, lighting every single nerve ending on fire, forcing the blood to course through his veins, to make its way down south— 

“Christ-” he snarls as you practically sit on him. His mouth shuts instantly as his eyes shoot open. He didn’t mean for that to come out. “Y-yeah,” he corrects. “‘M alright.” 

“Just- just let me know,” you tell him. He can hear the shake in your voice. He can tell biology is doing a number on you, too, based on your tone alone, if the heat engulfing his rear as you try your best not to make contact with it isn’t enough to go by. 

He focuses on his breathing as best he can as your hands push slightly past his jeans, getting underneath the seam of his boxers, and then immediately softening your touch as you run your fingers up his spine, awaking a chill he never knew was possible until now. You rub beyond the exposed area of his lower back, reaching his shoulder blades and entirely up to his shoulders, forcing the flannel to rise with your hands. He’s so broad and warm, and you would absolutely be drooling all over him by now if you weren’t so shocked at how tight his muscles really feel. How has this man not gotten any injuries sooner? How was he still doing all this heavy lifting? You dig the pads of your finger tips further into the thousands of tiny knots you feel, and his body jerks in actual pain this time. 

“God damn, girl,” he snaps. “What are you doin’?” 

“How the fuck do you even function?” You sound genuinely horrified. 

“What-”

“Your shoulders and neck are fucking covered in knots how do you even-” you cut yourself off with a disappointed click of your tongue. “You need to flip over.” 

Fuck. 

“Why?” He asks defensively. 

“I’m gonna break these knots. I need to start from the front.” 

“Ya ain’t gettin’ anywhere near my neck, I swear to God-”

“Quit being stubborn. What did I say earlier? I’m gonna flip you myself if you don’t-”

“Alright, fine, gimme a sec,” he bites. Joel takes a deep breath, at war with himself for how he’s going to handle his next course of action. 

Whatever happens next, there is no avoiding the fact that you will be made aware of the bulging erection between his legs. You can know about it, that’s fine, but the second you make contact, he doesn’t know if he’ll have the strength to control himself. Which is why he rips off the band aid quick. Flipping himself over with you still hovering over him, he tries his best not to touch you. Though, the second he’s comfortable, his focus is on your waist, grabbing you immediately and missing the way your eyes widen at the tenting fabric of his jeans. He pulls you higher up to sit on his lower tummy. 

You squeak out a little gasp as he adjusts you, and fuck it makes the pulsing between his legs even worse. He releases you, bringing his hands back to his sides. 

“Comfortable?” you whisper. You try so hard not to use your voice, worried that it’ll reveal just how turned on you are by this situation you’ve put yourself in. He gives you a single nod, and with that, you lean to grab more lotion. 

The angle you are at forces you to lean the front of your body onto Joel to be able to reach his shoulders. You can feel his body tense underneath you; you can hear his labored breathing as your hands further push away his flannel, working away at each knot. 

You lean forward further, giving yourself the ability to reach just below Joel’s neck. With this action, your hips shift, pressing down against Joel’s belly in a way that sends a sudden jolt of butterflies through your core. Your hands freeze in their movement, breath and fingertips stuttering as your entire face and neck heat up. You sneak a quick glance to Joel, and his eyes are still relaxed. He didn’t notice. 

It takes you a moment to start your movements back up again, but when you do, you can’t help the way you repeat exactly what you did before — allowing yourself another experimental roll of your hips against his soft abdomen. Only this time, you’re way less sly, for the whimper of pleasure you thought you could hide slips right out, right for his sharp ears to take note of. Shit. 

“Y’ alright there?” His eyes are trained on you now; he knows what you just did. Joel sports a quirked eyebrow as he waits for your response. 

“Mhm,” you rush out, ignoring his piercing gaze. 

It takes every ounce of willpower for you to run over the knots in his shoulder again without driving your hips into him, but even the push and pull of your arms is a full body movement, and you feel it. You feel the growing wetness in your core, the growing heartbeat that his bare tummy no doubt can feel now. 

Your body is splayed across him, the warmth of you leaking through your bottoms and onto his hot skin as you pathetically try to play off the fact that you aren’t grinding your wet cunt across him right now. With a rasp of your name, he takes a sharp breath in. “What are ya doin’?” He grunts, pained. Conflicted. 

This is so wrong. But it feels so good. Your arousal — how utterly desperate you are for the older man underneath you — is shone all over your face, brighter than any other feeling of disgust or wrongness you’re trying to convince yourself of. But the internal battle is still there, though, and it forces your hips to come to a full stop. It forces cries of apologies from your lips. It forces regret. 

“I- I’m sorry,” you choke back a sob. “Please, I- this is so wrong, I’m so stupid, uncle, I-” 

God damn it. Joel is too damn hard to deal with this shit now. “Oh, Jesus Christ, will you cut the fuckin’ uncle bullshit?” He finally snaps. His hands spring to life, finding their way up your thighs, tightening once they reach your hips. He forces you to move again. “Ya think I wanna hear that fuckin’ word while you fuckin’ soak me? Huh? While ya rub on me like a fuckin’ bitch in heat?”

“Shit,” you moan, the strength of his hand making the assault against your mound all the more intense. “Joel, please,” you cry, your fingers shaking as you hold onto his chest. 

Your thighs begin to tremble as he maintains a rough pace to your movements, his bed creaking with every shove of your hips against him. His grip on you is one of steel, the pads of his fingers digging into your flesh, no doubt leaving tiny bruises as a reminder of today’s actions. 

He is fucking covered in you — the slick of your desire pooling through your bottoms and into his skin, making each grind smoother. He licks his lips at this, his eyes dark as he drinks you in from above; your own eyes glossy and a sheen of sweat along your skin. “Look at ya, darlin’,” he murmurs, voice low enough to send a fresh wave of arousal pouring from your hole. “Fuckin’ soakin’ me, baby. Needed me that bad, did ya? Was tryin’ t’ tell ya earlier,” he grunts, “Y’know ya just had to ask.” A lazy smirk pulls across his lip. 

You let out a whimper at his words, your hips finally rolling alongside his own guidance, instinctively searching for more friction. “Atta girl,” he groans, “That’s it, fuck- makin’ a fuckin’ mess a’ me, darlin’.” 

You’re panting now, the rhythm and pressure mixed with the filth of his Southern drawl ignites every single nerve ending throughout your body. He watches you with a dark intensity, the brown of his eyes replaced with pure black lust, his eyes unable to stray away from the pleasurable desperation filling your features. 

“Gonna come like this, sweetheart?” He taunts, driving you into him even harder. 

“Mmm- my God, yeah- yes,” you cry out, eyes rolling back as the coil in your belly finally tightens, your breathing ragged as needy moans escape your lips. 

With a final roll of your hips and the utterance of a that’s my girl, the coil finally snaps, pleasure crashing over you, coursing through your veins as you come all over him, your slick unable to stay within the limits of your clothes, leaking and dripping down the sides of him and onto the mattress below. Your thighs convulse around his waist, his hold on you continuing your thrusts, dragging out your orgasm until your own hands find his and rip him away from you.

“Ya ain’t done yet, sugar,” Joel gruffs, grabbing the globes of your ass cheeks and dragging you down, letting you feel his ignored and now raging erection. 

“Never said I was,” you purr, a soft moan blessing his ears at the feel of his bulge against your ass. He can feel your smirk against his chest. 

Body still trembling, Joel lifts your ass in the air, sliding your bottoms down over the curve of your body. The stickiness of your panties pulls off with a wet squelch, the cool air of the room mingling with the wet warmth of your bare pussy, the stark contrast forcing chills to run through your veins. 

“God,” he murmurs as you give a little wiggle of your ass in the air. “Pretty as a peach, huh, darlin’?” He guides you lower, pushing you down onto his bulge. The hardness of him beneath you immediately sends a fiery need to your core. Your hands move on their own as you pull your body up, reaching for the buttons and zipper of his jeans, undoing them with ease despite the eager shake of your hand. You pull the jeans down just enough to let his cock spring free, thick and angry and leaking. 

“Oh, fuck,” you swallow your gasp. “God, I need you so bad,” you whine, already lifting up to line the tip of him to your swollen cunt. 

You sink down with a breathless moan, your head flying back as your hands grip onto his tummy to keep you from buckling. 

Joel’s breathing stutters, his moans filling the air as you practically choke his cock. “Shit- so fuckin- fuckin’ tight.” His hands find their home on the meat of your ass, holding you tight, grounding himself from coming like a damn teenager.

You move slowly at first, savoring the way he feels inside of you, how big he is. God, you don’t think you’ve ever taken anything quite as long and as thick as him. Your heart skips a beat at that, knowing that he’s ruined you for anyone else. 

It isn’t long before the raw need takes over, and you move faster, hips rolling back and forth as you ride him, the wet sound of skin against skin as you alternate to a bounce ever so often. 

Despite the risk of hurting his back even more, he can’t stop himself from gripping you tighter, his nails digging into your flesh as his hips buck up into you, starting their own rhythm, meeting every one of your thrusts. The sensation is overwhelming with the size of him; it’s a perfect mix of pleasure and pain, mixing sweet whines of ecstasy with whines of overstimulation, and it’s the best music to have ever graced his ears. 

“Look at ya,” he grunts. “Fuckin’ made for this, weren’t ya? Fuckin’ made for takin’ this cock, huh, sweetheart?” 

You nod weakly at his words. They send a flutter down your belly to your pussy, and his mouth is all it takes to send you to your second brink of collapse — your heart beating rapidly in your chest as you move, as he drives himself into you without abandon. 

Every thrust pushes you further to the edge, the sting of the stretch, the sensation of being so full — it’s almost too much to bear. He can hear it in the way your cries change. It’s becoming too much. 

“Y’ can take it, sweetheart, almost there,” he grunts. His hands take over in guiding your movements, urging you faster, harder, bringing you both to the cliff’s edge. 

“C’mon, baby, can feel her squeezin’ me, know she wanna come, baby. Breathe, doll, jus’ let go,” he rasps, his words coming in staggered.

The wet tightness of your walls, both the feel and the sound, causes Joel to fall first — a low, guttural groan filling the room as he fills you with his hot, thick spend.

The sensation of him pulsing inside you, unloading everything he’s worth, sends you over your edge, your pussy clenching around his cock as you come, the sensation rippling through you, shredding your vocal cords as you scream out in pleasure. 

Everything goes dark for you, nothing but the fuzzy sound of Joel’s sweet praises at the top of your head as he guides you through your come down. 

“Did so fuckin’ good f’ me, darlin’,” he murmurs. “Sweet girl.”

For an asshole, who knew he could be so sweet? 

You roll off of Joel as soon as your heart steadies, your entire body on fire from all the exertion. You can feel Joel’s body stiffen as you use him for support. His back is killing him right now.

A few moments pass as your eyes slowly start to close, but the deep gruff of your name stops you from dozing. 

You turn your head to the man beside you. “Yes?” 

For the first time today, it’s Joel who can’t make eye contact with you. “Can you, uh… can you-” he clears his throat, trying to rid himself of his awkwardness. “Can you warm up the heat pack again?” 

Your smirk lifts your cheek before you can even try to stop it. “Come again?” 

He lets out a frustrated huff. And he can’t turn away from you. His back is killing him right now. “My back-”

“Yeah, what about your back?” 

“You fuckin’ little shit-”

You giggle as you flip onto your side, your hand holding your head up to get a better look at him. “Your back is hurting, baby? Need me to get the heat pack for you, hm?” 

He doesn’t respond. He just has the deepest, most grumpiest scowl known to man on display. 

“Oh, come on. You need my help, is that it? Need to hear you say it, unc.” You emphasize the last syllable of your sentence, a belly laugh threatening to escape you. 

Oh, two can play at that game. “Yeah, baby, I need your help. I need the help from my beautiful, beautiful niece, hm? My beautiful, needy niece whose pussy gets all soaked jus’ thinkin’ ‘bout me, huh? Gets all wet and needy thinkin’ ‘bout her uncle-”

Your resolve finally snaps, your eyes clamping shut as you cover your ears, loud la la la’s coming from your mouth as you ungraciously roll yourself off of his bed. “Enough, fine! Fine! Fuckin’ nasty,” you groan as you make your way to the kitchen. 

“‘M not the one who started it, sweetheart,” Joel says, a triumphant smile plastered across his cocky face. 

“I made you cookies by the way,” you yell after a beat. “Want one?” 

Joel’s hand reaches for his belly. He doesn’t need one, that’s for sure. “Yeah,” he responds not a second later. 

You come back to his bedroom, heat pack in one hand, no cookie in the other. You hand him the heat pack. You make him adjust it himself. 

“Where’s the cookie?” He asks, a tinge of impatience on his tongue. 

“Oh, I thought you were gonna come down and get it.” 

He looks at you incredulously. 

“I just figured you wanted to start being more independent and all. Given how strenuous you were being a few moments ago,” you offer with a faux innocence.  

“I swear to fuckin’ God, when I get my hands on you-”

“Your hands on me? Yeah? When?” You start making your way out of his bedroom. “Come get me if you wanna show me a lesson. Know you been dying to all week.” 

If he can fuck you the way he did, maybe full-time bed rest isn’t what Joel needs. He needs to stretch and move around; he needs to activate his muscles, especially being on the older side. It really is basic biology.

I would absolutely love to hear what you guys thought of this! Any and all your love and commentary truly keeps me going and motivated even when the writer’s block is at its strongest. Wouldn’t be here without you all. I have so much love in my heart for you! Talk to y’all soon🩶

I cannot get myself to write for Joel or for TLOU without mentioning the horrors occurring in Palestine. Please check out the links in my navigation + bio to learn about the situation in Palestine and also learn about some ways in which you can help🇵🇸. Reading and interacting with those links takes 5 minutes of your time at the bare minimum.

Leaf divider by @saradika-graphics

Oh my heart!!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️

This was so beautiful!

𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

summary: it's been years since Dieter last saw you, his childhood friend and the unrequited love of his life. still, he doesn’t blame you for leaving.

pairing: Dieter Bravo x gn!childhood friend!reader

warnings: angst but with a happy ending! mentions of drug use and alcohol but nothing graphic. w.c: 1.0k

an: for @punkshort AU August writing challenge, I was given the prompt, “childhood friend with Dieter Bravo” thank you so much for hosting! huge thanks to @ghotifishreads for letting me talk your ear off about this little idea that took on a life of it's own and for reading this over. ilu!

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⋅ 𝐃𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐨 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

Dieter rubs a hand over his face as he steps from the SUV into a throng of flashing lights and frantic screaming. It was the premiere of his first directorial and writing debut; a lot was riding on this.

Sure, he'd won an Oscar and various other award nominations, but this was an entirely different beast. This movie was special to him. It was the first script he wrote after getting "clean." He always scoffed at that word. Clean. Was he pure and holy now simply because he kicked hard drugs to the curb?

He takes a deep, slow breath, adjusts his velvet purple suitcoat, and moves down the red carpet. He autographs cards and pictures, takes selfies, and banters with a few fans before moving on to the press.

It doesn't feel right being here alone, he thinks, his left side feeling raw and exposed like a wound that never healed. 

After rewriting the script several times, he has his assistant mail it to a few studio execs before having them print out one last copy. He wrote down your name and told them to send you the script. He wanted to deliver it to you in person; it felt like the right thing to do, but he couldn't be sure you ever wanted to see him again after what he put you through.

He's stronger these days. Mentally and physically healthier. He's lost a bit of weight now that he's no longer downing pills and chasing them with alcohol. It took him a while to get used to feeling again. Sitting with the uncomfortable thoughts and not letting them take control. He's proud of himself. He thinks you would be, too. 

You.

Seeing a large open field littered with red flowers while driving home from rehab for the second time kicked him square in the gut. Flashes of his youth came back in vivid, blinding colors.

Chasing his dog, Dali, around the yard. Playing with you in the field of wildflowers behind your house. His throat tightens.

You.

You were his reason. The sun he revolved around—inseparable childhood friends.

When you first met Dieter, he was covered in chalk dust, drawing funky, green aliens with big eyes on the sidewalk in front of his childhood home. You'd just moved in next door, and your Mother told you to go make friends. He looked at you in awe as you stood before him, the sun creating a golden crown around your head. "Wanna be friends?" you blurted before kneeling and pestering him about his chalk alien.

From that moment on, you were forever linked. Dieter never wanted anyone else.

From scabbed knees and hide & seek to strange body changes and long school days. Consoling Dieter after he's pushed into a locker, copying each other's homework, watching Dieter shine on the theater stage, and spending almost every minute together that you could.

He wondered if you ever felt the love he held for you—the love that surpassed sibling bonds and grew stronger every time he laid eyes on you. The love that made him self-conscious and shy away from speaking his truth despite years of yearning. He couldn't convince himself to jeopardize the friendship or that you might possibly feel the same.

Cut to Dieter asking you to move to LA with him to be his assistant once his star power steadily rose. 

To the elaborate movie sets and lavish premieres, to the long nights and unspoken feelings. 

To find Dieter on the floor with vomit spilling from his lips to the empty bottles of pills and booze splayed around his Hollywood Hills home. 

The bickering, the raging parties, and the friendship that was slowly dying. 

The shell of a man he used to be. 

You were never around when he needed you the most after he drowned himself in booze and pills. He never blamed you. He was often inebriated, covered in a mess of sweat and other fluids. You could only stand to see him self-medicate for so long. 

"I can't keep doing this," he remembers you saying as tears welled in your eyes and your bottom lip trembled while he sat in a crumpled heap at the foot of his unmade bed with that usual glazed look. "I can't keep trying to save you."

He remembers wanting to argue, to save whatever piece was left. He tried to chase after you, but his brain and body were still under the haze from the night before, limbs heavy as lead weights, and they no longer listened to his commands. 

How your face twisted with a devastating sadness made his heart shatter. He never meant this to happen, for it to get this bad.

Had Dieter known the repercussions, that the last image he'd have of you would be wiping fallen tears that he caused from your cheeks, he would've gotten clean eons before. He would've let this version of himself die without a second thought. He wanted to be the man you counted on, with your best interests at heart. 

The man you knew him to be.

—

Just as he's about to step into the theater, he hears a voice call his name—a voice that would wake him from the dead. 

You.

His heart aches; it bursts with unnerving energy as he watches you approach. His gaze never leaves you as you glide across the room to where he stands, frozen. Could he be hallucinating?

"Hi D," his nickname sounds like heaven as it leaves your lips. He never wants it to end; he wants to hear it forever. "I'm sorry I didn't reach out sooner. I needed to make sure I was in a good headspace to see you again." You nervously wring your fingers, and Dieter can't stop himself from reaching out and locking your hands together, calming your combined anxious energy.

"It's okay," he whispers, throat tight, holding back elated tears, "I'm glad you're here."

A smile tugs at your lips, eyes shiny with your own tears. "Me too."

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated! follow @ozzieslibrary for new fic updates!

Loooooove it!!!!!

Love me some dark twisted Dave 😍😍😍😍

dirty laundry ༄ dave york one shot (18+)

-> pairing: dark dave york x female reader

-> word count: 2.8k

-> summary: it’s a hot august week at the york’s lake house, which also happens to be the week you and your husband got married one year ago. your father in law — dave york — finds you changing in the laundry room and decides to give you a celebration of his own.

-> warnings/tags: father-in-law dave york, infidelity, dubcon, NON-CON, age gap (reader is 21, dave is nearing 50), SMUT 18+, heavy degradation(whore, slut, bitch), humiliation, dumbification, unprotected piv, sir kink, rough face-fucking, forced creampie, talk of pregnancy, reader is under the impression that she endures forced impregnation, hair pulling, slapping, spanking, semi naive reader, dave is not a cutesy nice man in this.. he honestly has no concern for readers feelings or pleasure. so please, if themes like dubious consent + non-con + blatant cheating are not ur forte, protect ur peace and scroll away!!

-> a/n: okay okay hiiiii. when i decided to participate in @hellishjoel ‘s #hotdilfsummerchallenge, i had a few ideas in mind. one happened to be this! but i felt more comfortable writing for joel and was confident in what i had planned. basically, this is opposite of that. no fluff or happy ending.. or even happy anything. so i wanted to share! thanks again kylee for letting me participate <3 and thank you to my beloved dearest @sweetpascal for aiding me yet again, i love u 🤍

let me know your thoughts!

DARK CONTENT BELOW: READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR THE CONTENT YOU CONSUME.

A huge part of growth, means acknowledging your mistakes.

When you failed your first semester of college, you knew it was from lack of trying and partying six days a week. So, you studied more and partied four days a week instead. When you slammed your brand new Mercedes into a flag pole, you knew it was from scrolling on Instagram which caused you to push accelerate rather than stop. So, you never went on your phone while driving again.

When you fell in love your sophomore year and decided to get married at twenty, you knew it was because you needed the well-off grad school bachelor, Daniel York. So, inadvertently, you settled. Now, a year later, you're sobbing in his family’s lake house bathroom because he somehow forgot that tonight was the eve of your wedding anniversary.

You feel like a complete and utter idiot. And for once in your life, you just might be. Staring at your reflection, you examine your appearance. You look effortlessly amazing today, after spending the day out on the boat. Hair, body and face all faintly sun-kissed. Your skin freshly shaved, legs and arms lathered in your favorite oil.

This was your final attempt to see if Daniel would stare at you with the same look of admiration he had so long ago. Your first attempt to ask him about starting your own family. Tonight was the night, and you were determined.

Briefly peeking out of the guest bathroom and down the hall, you decide you can rush into the laundry room only a few doors down. Everyone should seemly be downstairs, finishing up a game of Monopoly. You had the pleasure of winning two games in a row, pissing of the frightfully competitive York family. That’s when you decided to call it a night and head up to get ready for bed — bidding everyone a goodbye as you kissed your husband atop his head.

Wrapping your robe securely around your waist, you make your way towards the closed door and enter just as the dryer sings the most obnoxious 45 second tune that confirms the load is finished. Rich people shit, you mutter to yourself. Grabbing your bikini and sundress to hang up first, then laying out a sheer white silk sleeping dress with baby blue lace trim.

Looking back at the closed door, you conclude you should be fine to just throw it on before laying yourself out on your shared bed. Ready for your husband to see you so open and willing to be used by him. As your robe falls to your feet, a slight creek fills the silent space.

Whipping your head back and grabbing the nearest towel to cover yourself, you're met with an alluring glare from your husbands own dad. Your father-in-law, Dave York.

"Dave wha- what are you doing?" You question with a panic laced tone. Completely thrown off by the way he's leaning against the now locked door, hands in his wrinkle-free perfectly fitted black work slacks. His lack of response is louder than the faint trickle from the utility sink your bare-ass is pressed against.

Dave saunters over to you, his pristinely polished shoes clinking heavily with every step despite the minimal weight he's using. It's a commanding presence, shows how he doesn't have to storm over to establish authority. His handsome body towers over you and the faint hairs on your spine rapidly rise at the feeling of his warmth nearing your own naked body. Aside from the small washcloth that covers your crotch and arm across your heavy tits.

His veiny calloused wedding ring-wearing hand reaches next to you, finding the lace on your nightgown satisfyingly soft.

"Look at this, angel. Did you plan on wearing it for my inconsiderate son?" He remarks, looking into your wide eyes as his fingers continue to twist and feel at a piece of clothing that is filling you with an overbearing amount of embarrassment.

"I d- you weren't supposed to see that." The nervous confession brings a crooked grin to Dave's face.

"It's real pretty, just like you. Sexy even.... but I wouldn't waste my time putting something like this on for Daniel." Shaking his head at your frazzled state and utilizing that dismissive tone he does so well.

"W-why?"

Pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance at your innocent unknowing voice, Dave reaches a hand to slowly move your arm that's covering your plush chest. "Because, he left 10 minutes ago. Waved bye to me as I pulled into the driveway."

Now you're really fucking confused. Your husband never goes off without texting you to let you know, and why would he leave you alone at his parents home? Especially on the night prior to your anniversary.

"I don't understand. Did he tell you where he was going?" You probe at him, not processing the way his rough fingertips are skimming over your navel, up across your chest. Suddenly, you yelp as he pinches your pebbled nipple and grips under your adjacent perky breast. Your hand quickly grabs at his wrist, but he slaps it away — holding it at your waist.

"You really have nothing going on in that head of yours, huh? Just floating around being the perfect little wife for my son, is that right? Too stupid and blind to see that your husband cheats on you every living moment and only married you because you're nothing more than a sweet voice who’s gentle on the eyes." His painful out-of-pocket words paired with the twisting of your nipples has heavy tears brimming at your lashes. "Kind of him to make sure you're gentle on his old mans eyes too.... we always did share a type."

"Fuck you," you spit at him. You've never dared be rude to Dave, or anyone for that matter. But his condescending temper, sudden violations to your privacy paired with the already upsetting feelings you've been enduring today was a breaking point. As you rip your hand from his grasp prepared to rush out of the room, he grabs your throat in a vice grip. Landing a brutal smack on your cheek that causes your head to turn from the impact, just for him to use that same hand to yank your hair back to a straight position. Body now pressed against your own — you feel the washcloth protecting your femininity drop at your bare feet in terror.

"Hmm. Never heard you cuss before, sweetheart. Thought I taught my son to train his wife better than that."

A heavy tear streams down your now red swollen cheek, as you take in the hurtful message your father in law is clarifying. You're nothing but a piece of fuck meat, a trophy wife. But clearly not honored enough for your husband to use you. Humiliatingly, the way Dave's clothed body is up against your own, has your exposed cunt throbbing and leaking down your legs for him. You were good enough for Dave York, and that was an honor within itself.

"'M sorry," you murmur at the feel of his covered thigh spreading your leg and nudging into your soaked pussy.

Dave chuckles at your nearly cock drunk state, "haven't even touched you and your leaking on my dress pants. No wonder he keeps you around, you're just a perfect little slut willing to please."

"Y- yeaah," you sigh lightly humping his thigh, even though Dave didn't even ask a question. Something within you just wanted him to understand your body was his to use, despite both your sacred dedications to other partners. People so close to you. His son, your husband. Your mother-in-law, his wife.

He swiftly moves his thigh from between your legs, pinching your cheeks so they're puckered willing you to look at him with those glossed over doe-eyes he fucking leaks over. "Use that head and address me properly."

Your head swarms for a second, worried of his reaction to an incorrect title. Testing the waters, you whine, "yes, sir." The words muffled by the tight hold he has on your face.

With a sinister grin on his face, Dave pushes you down on the solid tile — hand still threaded through your hair to ensure your head movement is in his control.

"Look at that, your brain does work. Let's see about that mouth."

Yanking the zipper down, he pulls his semi-hard cock out and slaps it on your cheek, precum smearing slightly. As you eye his cock, you come to the realization that he's slightly bigger than his son at half mast, and you're gonna have to calm yourself to handle a monster like that.

"Are you gonna show me how good you take a cock down your throat? With those dick-sucking porn worthy lips?" Dave peers down at you. He has started to jerk himself to full length, his thumbs barely touching around his width.

"Yes, sir. I am."

The way your eyelids flutter up at him, so docile and unaware of just how vicious Dave intends to be on your needy body. It unlocks that fundamental primal male urge that he normally suppresses during sex.

"Open your mouth, bitch." As your tongue lolls out of your mouth obediently, a dribble of spit going down your chin to your neck to your tits gleams in the soft light. Dave grins as he stuffs two fingers in your mouth, touching at your sensitive uvula. You instantly attempt suppressing your rare gag reflex, body unprepared for his actions. "Nice job, knew you were meant to have your mouth filled."

Dave rips his fingers from you and smears the thick string of saliva across your face — slapping you across the face, rather gentle than before. As he grabs his cock and lines it up with your mouth, you inhale deeply. Seemly more aware of how Dave likes to be. Callous, straight-forward and dominant.

Before you can suck him into your mouth, Dave spits right on his cock — some of it landing on your moisturized lips — just to slam himself down your throat. Your eyes spring open looking up at him, polished hands gripping at his slack-covered thighs. You feel your left over slick on his right pant leg. The taste of his long day is heavy on your tongue as his balls nuzzle at your chin. You're overwhelmed with his scent. The hair at the base of his cock tickles your nose, stud piercing almost getting caught.

"Riiiight there, that's fucking it. What a real fucking whore."

Dave lets his head fall backwards, eyes on the ceiling as he feels you sputter around him, your spit dripping heavily down his balls and onto the tile between his legs. He's unsure on how long he looks upwards, until he feels the digging of your fingertips into him. When he looks down, your eyes are bulging — about to roll into the back of your skull. So he pulls off of you.

Your belligerent cough is almost too loud for comfort, so Dave jerks his cock and plops his full balls into your mouth. And like the eager girl you are, you suck them into your mouth. Licking at the seam between them, letting them bounce off of your tongue. You lick downwards, tonguing at his delicate perineum. That small but dirty act makes him groan loudly. Loud enough for someone on the second floor to hear.

Realizing he's getting too comfortable, he goes back to filling your mouth. Alternating between shallow fucking of the throat and just letting it bulge inside. His big hands wrapping around your neck to jerk himself through the thin hump of protruding skin.

When he hears the shrewd screech of his name from the mouth of his wife downstairs, he pulls out swiftly and yanks you up, hoisting your leg onto the counter. Prodding his cock head at your now unbelievably soaked entrance.

Your mind is hazy and disorientated concerning what's about to happen. You feel like you've barely had any time to process the fact that your father in law is treating you like a common street whore. So, when he pushes into you, a wailing shriek escapes you.

Dave slaps his heavy hand around your mouth from behind, pushing in balls deep but not before releasing a moan of his own.

"Better shut that mouth before I stuff something in there... good god. How is that cunt so damn tight? You're snug around me, guess you're not a slut after all. Tight pussy but loose throat, just how I like it."

Dave proceeds with his relentless thrusts into your aching cunt. You don't remember the last time you were filled so thoroughly. It makes you forget how fucked up this situation truthfully is.

As Dave's cock is slamming into your cervix over and over, you feel your lower stomach tightening. He feels it too. Dave has been holding in his orgasm since you first fell to your knees and gave him those fuck toy eyes. So before you can cum all over him, he grabs you by the neck from the front and puts your ear right by his mouth so he can relay his special message.

"My son told me you've been begging him for a baby... how sweet. You just wanna be a mama, huh? Or maybe, you think having one will fix your relationship. Just reminds me how stupid you are. If a kid could save a marriage, my wife and I would've been happy ever since she pushed that little shit out. But, I'm gonna make it even better for you, sweetheart...."

Dave pushes to the hilt as you cum around him, whimpering behind his hand. Eager to hear his words, simultaneously terrified.

"Gonna cum inside and get you pregnant myself."

You scream into his hand, trying to push him away from you, trying to get yourself away from his spearing cock. All your effort does is push him in deeper, your body going lax at how stuffed you are.

"Don't fight me, angel. Just take it..." You feel his warm cum spilling into you, your body quivering. "Good... so good. I already feel your body sucking up my cum.. eager for it. Eager to be round with your father in law's baby. What will it call me? Grand-dad?" He snickers into your ear as he releases your body. You just lay there, half your limp limbs hanging off the counter.

Dave watches his thick white liquid drip out of you, and down your inner thighs. He pats your ass and tucks himself back into his slacks.

"Don't worry too much. Daniel looks just like me, he'll never find out his kid is actually his half-sibling. That is unless you tell him. You want him to find out you were on your knees being a slut for his, daddy?" Dave questions you. You don't speak a word. Just staring at the piped detailing on the cupboard that holds all the scented detergents.

"Just go, please. So I can clean myself up." Those few begging words take the reminanets of your little energy.

Dave grabs your now wrinkly nightgown and robe, pulling you off the counter so you're forced to stand in front of him. Body spent, his finger prints have left slight indents on various parts of you that you're positive will bruise in the days to come. You realize now, there's no way your husband can see you uncovered for weeks.

"You're gonna put this slutty outfit on and walk your ass into his room, with my cum dripping down your legs. He's been waiting for you, sweetheart."

Your jaw drops at his demand. Disgusted yet your cunt clenches at the filth of it all.

"I thought you said he left?"

Dave just smiles at you like you're a mindless child. You almost fall to the floor in despair at the discovery of what a lying sick bastard Dave has revealed himself to be. You don't know what to do. You've caught yourself up in this twisted game and as of now, there's no way out.

So, you throw the soft lace over your head and run your fingers through your hair attempting to fix your appearance. As you unlock the door, Dave places a gentle hand on your waist and kisses the top of your head. You hear him inhale your scent before he pushes you out of the door and watches you meander to his son's room, a slight limp in your legs.

You look at him, distain on your face as you open the door to find your husband scrolling on his phone. With an arrogant look spread across his face — "Where have you been?"

Dave hears the click of the door lock setting in place. As he walks towards the stairwell, he can't help but laugh at the memory of his vasectomy he received many years ago.

thank you truly for reading! let me know your thoughts below or in asks!! reblogs are greatly appreciated <3

HOT DAMN! 🥵

And him wanting her to stay?! 🥰🥰🥰🥰

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝

summary: the world crumbled before you could experience the touch of another. Joel does his best to keep you innocent for as long as he can.

pairing: Jackson!Joel Miller x afab virgin!reader.

warnings: 18+ mdni. established, undefined relationship. PUSSY RUBBING. fluids galore. just the tip. perv!joel. unspecified age gap. fingering. dirty talk. overstimulation. male masturbation. FEELS. Joel is a conflicted old man. reader is able bodied. no Ellie. w.c. 2.9k

an: i watched a porn clip and instantly went rabid thinking about jackson!joel.

-> follow up to a glimpse of heaven but it's not necessary to read the first part.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐅𝐢𝐜 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐬 ⋅ 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

Like most of Jackson, the house you share with Joel is quiet and calm when night falls. Rain softly patters against the window as you lie in bed, wide awake. Another night of fruitless sleep under your belt.

You huff irritatedly, your hand collapsing against the mattress as you bitterly kick your bedspread onto the floor. Your oversized shirt clings to your body, your skin dewy from the exertion, and you're close to crying. Your limbs are wrought and overworked after hours of touching yourself with no orgasm to show for it.

Your hand won't cut it; it isn't enough. It can't reach all those sensitive spots that make you float among the stars.

Warmth pools in your abdomen as you think of one that's the perfect size.

A hazy hue of yellow light pours under your bedroom door as it spills from the room across the hall.

Joel.

It takes a long time to get to know someone, but they tend to meld with your soul once you do in one way or another.

From the start, Joel was intimidating. He was so frayed around the edges that you were afraid he'd completely unravel in the middle of your journey. He didn't seem to care for your company as the two of you traveled across the plains to Jackson, hesitation poisoning every fiber of your being, but you kept on with the strange man since no one else was willing to trek across the states. You desperately needed a new life, a fresh start away from the Boston QZ, and Jackson sounded like the perfect spot.

Over time, Joel opened up, conversing little by little as you drove for miles across the now barren US. Usually, after you had a close call with raiders or the lone gunman, he'd go silent, the weight of protecting someone other than himself sinking further into his soul, consuming that much further.

What you never expected was for him to be your first touch.

Sweltering tension slowly grew like a wildfire. Catching each other's curious stares, lingering fingers, and salacious banter until, one night, he slid a cautious hand into your panties. He claimed your untouched sex when you confessed over a roaring fire and a bottle of whiskey that you'd never been with another. His weathered hands were gentle as he sunk his fingers into your core, watching with rabid fascination as you came for the first time, gasping from his touch.

The following day, as he drove you across the interstate with the sun slowly rising, he made sure you knew that wouldn't happen again. "I'm much too old. Don't wanna waste your time with a mean ol' grump like me."

You didn't bring it up again.

One month after settling into Jackson, picking bedrooms, and deciding who would do which chores, Joel had his first taste of you.

It wasn't supposed to happen.

You chewed your dinner slowly in the modestly sized dining room across from Joel. You were so lost in thought that he was concerned enough to ask what was wrong.

"What does it mean when a man eats you out?" you naively pondered, causing him to choke on his veggies.

Joel had never looked so red before as he took a long drink of whiskey. You instantly apologized, explaining that you overheard a group of women conversing while you tended the communal garden.

He raised a hand, curbing your frantic rambles. "S'ok. Figured you'd be learnin' things. Just didn' think I'd be the one you'd ask."

"But I trust you."

His jaw twitched at your words.  

Later that night, Joel fell to his knees at the edge of your bed and tossed your legs over his broad shoulders. "Never tasted a pussy so sweet," he mumbled against your glistening folds as you ran your fingers through his graying curls. You came multiple times on his tongue, grinding his whiskered jaw while he hungrily lapped at your soaked folds like he was dying of thirst.

You didn't bring it up again.

It's warmer in Jackson now. The sun hangs longer in the sky. Snow boots and jackets are stowed away until the next freeze.

You slink from the warmth of your bed and pad sockless across the hall. Lightening flickers brightly under the starry sky. The night rain storm slowly whirls through the city, soaking everything in its path.

Joel's door is open. A soft smile tugs at your lips; it's his way of saying he's still up. He keeps it ajar while he reads before rolling onto his side and bidding goodnight to the world.

Three soft knocks alert Joel from the guitar-building manual he's currently reading. Dread clouds his mind for a moment, wondering why you'd be knocking on his door at this time of night, but he takes a deep breath and grounds himself in the softness of his bed.

"Yeah?" he calls out. His tone is rough around the edges after a long day on patrol.

You poke your head around the door with a timid smirk. He looks at you over his reading glasses before marking his spot and laying his book on the side table.

You don't say anything as you stride into his room. He notices your oversized shirt swaying at your knees before you climb into his bed and curl against his side like a cat. 

He drapes an arm around your shoulder, unconsciously pulling you closer.

"'Nother bad dream?" he questions with a low rumble.

You shake your head. "Can't sleep."

You nuzzle your face into the crook of his shoulder and feel him nod, understanding the endless struggle for a night of peaceful sleep. It's improved since moving to Jackson, but the dreams never end.

Silence fills the bedroom except for the soft pitter-patter of rain against the roof. Joel leans against the headboard, sighs through his nose, and lets his thoughts drift. He's content to sit with you in his arms for as long as possible, even if that makes him selfish.

He wonders if you hope to find someone to settle down with, someone less ridged and mentally maimed, someone less him.

The thought drives a stake through his heart.

He'd be crazy to say he didn't love being around you. Your laugh and lopsided smile took the first brick out of his impenetrable fortress when you spied a deer and her calf frolicking in an open field in Kansas. From then on, it became easier for him to let his walls down.

When you came to him with those big doe eyes and urges about wanting to know what it's like to be touched and desired, he gave in each time despite his reasoning.

He would masturbate each time after getting his hands on you, also thinking about the early days when he'd catch glimpses of you changing or the time he first saw you naked while showering at the YMCA. 

He's still trying to figure out what to make of you. Friends? Lovers? He certainly didn't mean to fall head over heels. Love had no place in his heart, but he'd be a fool to say he wasn't extremely fond of you.

"Can you make me feel good again?" your lithe voice broke the silence.

Joel stops breathing. Your question doused him like a cold bucket of water. He knew this would come back and haunt him.

His hand curls tight around your shoulder as he wrestles with the devil on his shoulder. "Told ya we shouldn't keep doin' this, Sweetheart," he reasons, trying not to break your heart.

"But I can't make myself feel as good as when you've done it. I've tried!" You whine, burying your face into his chest.

"S'not that I don't wanna," he admits, soothing your soft cries. "S'just, you're too precious to do that wit' someone like me."

You lift your head and brazenly brush your lips against the exposed skin of his collarbone, earning a low groan as he curls a large hand around the back of your neck. He tugs you away from his skin, your lips still forming a tight 'O', and pins you with a stern gaze.

"Joel, it hurts." Your watery eyes and trembling bottom lip are his downfall.

"Lay back, Sweetheart, and spread your legs," he orders with a husky tone.

You don't make a noise; too afraid he'll stop if you do. Your cunt beats against the gusset of your panties as you lay on your back, spreading and bending both legs at the knee, just like he taught you.

A warm breath fans down your face as he shifts down your body before kneeling between your legs and tracing teasing fingers over your covered mound. His nails lightly scratch along the worn cotton, making you suck in a frantic breath. He slips a practiced hand beneath the crotch of your panties and deftly explores your folds, gently rubbing small circles on your clit after wetting his fingers with the arousal that's pouring from your cunt.

"Oh, she's achin' real bad, huh?" he groans as your opening clenches beneath his wandering touch.

"Joel, please, I need-" You gasp, hips wantonly grinding against his hand, desperate for any type of friction.

The muscles in his jaw ache. It's only natural you'd be wanting more.

Before he thinks twice, Joel draws his cock out from his sweatpants. Your stomach cramps at the sight as it smacks against his belly; he's massive.

His cock hangs heavy between his thighs like a solid, dangerous threat. It weeps from the dusky tip, shiny liquid dripping from the crown as he squeezes his hand around the girthy base peppered with dark gray, wiry hair.

"Got somethin' that'll make you feel good, sweet girl." he grits, tapping his cock against the covered crux of your pussy. It thwaps devastatingly against your clit, forcing a gasp from your lips as mind-numbing pleasure races up your spine and leaves you staring dumbly up at him.

"S'that what you need? Need my cock to keep 'er from achin so bad'?" his cock is searing as it lies in wait atop your panty-clad mound. You swear you can feel his blood pumping steadily into his shaft.

He cautiously thrusts his hips, sliding his length along your cotton-covered mound. Your slick arousal seeps thru the material, wetting the thin cotton and creating a sensuous touch as he glides along your cunt.

He shoves your shirt up over your chest, exposing your breasts to his hungry gaze. He licks his lips, "Such'a beauty."

Your cheeks flame at his words. Having such a man say things about you makes you lightheaded.

Joel groans as your panties practically are now see-through from your combined fluids staining the cotton, "Oh, baby." You whine at his pet name. "I got ya. Keep those legs open, just like I taught ya. S'good girl."

He keeps a steady pace, sawing back and forth over your extremely soaked mound. Your puffy pussy lips stick to the soaked cotton, leaving nothing to Joel's imagination. He glides easily along your slit, your juices smoothing his path until your arching your back and chanting his name like a prayer.

Watching you orgasm under his touch is enough to drive him wild. He throws all sense of logic out the window. He's okay with being selfish again.

"Let's get these off, yeah." He hooks two fingers under the elastic and slides your panties off before his words register in your euphoric haze. "Feel even better without 'em."

He swallows hard at the sight laid out before him. The sheets splay and curve around your naked body, making you look like an ethereal being sent to test his limits.

"Gonna give 'er a kiss, Sweetheart," his deep timbre vibrates your body as he draws close and touches the bulbous tip of his cock to your exposed folds. Blood rushes to your cunt instantly, bordering on the edge of pain. You cry out from the intense contact, and arousal slips freely down your crack as he traces his cockhead up and down your soaked slit.

"How's she feel?" He anchors his head, looking down at you from under his lashes.

"S'nice," you half whisper, half moan. The wanton bliss slowly consumes you the more he rubs against your sticky folds, keeping a hand locked around his girthy base, his crown glistening with your combined arousal.

Your eyes tear open, back arching like a bow, when he cants his hips and taps his cock square in the center of your cunt.

"M'not gonna fuck you, sweet girl, wanna keep you whole," he declares, holding true to his word despite the overwhelming need to claim you.

He can't be the one to sully you. "Ain' much left'a this world that's as sweet n' pure as you."

Your core quivers as his dusky, throbbing crown glides along your glistening seam. He tentatively explores uncharted areas, brows furrowed with concentration, fighting with inner demons who want to claim, corrupt, and mold you for only his touch.

His name leaves your lips with a mess of desperate, frustrated moans, "Please, Joel."

He snaps out of his haze. He's done almost everything he can to keep you safe and protected in this new way of life. He'll be damned if he doesn't grant you anything you ask for.

"S'hurtin' somethin' fierce, huh?" He grunts, angling his hips until his cock lines up with your fluttering hole. "Bet she needs somethin' big'er than fingers to ease 'er throbbin'."

His cock catches on your opening, forcing a hiss through his clenched teeth. As tight as you are, he can't stop from pushing into your warmth. He blocks out any sense of reasoning that's shouting from the back of his mind as he slowly nudges his cock into your weeping, inviting hole.

Joel goes brain-dumb momentarily, watching in immoral awe as your core ever so slowly swallows his fat tip and breaches your quivering hole, forcing a raspy whine from your throat.

So warm, safe, and wet.

Joel's never felt anything like you. He wants to bury himself, slide his cock as deep as he can, claim every inch, endlessly fill you with his cum, and keep you only for him.

You frantically reach for him, hands clutching the air as he rubs a callous thumb over your clit while keeping a steady hold on the base of his cock.

"S'all she's gonna get," he states, returning to his senses and hissing when your cunt tightens. "S'just the tip."

A soft begging whine bubbles from your lips as you extend your arms, needing something solid to hold before latching onto his wrists.

Your hips move on their own, desperate to feel his length completely shunted in your velvet warmth, but brute hands envelop your hips and pin them to the bed.

He shakes his head, salt and pepper curls fraying across his forehead. "Don' be greedy now." He tuts, narrowing his gaze down at you.

A garbled mess of nonsense tumbles from your lips as your fingernails dig into his muscular, hairy forearms.

"I know. S'big, huh?" He lands a solemn thumb on your clit, rubbing tender circles around the tiny bud. "Stay wit' me, sweet girl. Wanna feel you come on my cock."

Your mind spins. It's all too much, and yet, not enough. Your head tosses from side to side, and you're frantic to survive, breathing hard and fast, waiting for the drop to come and, at the same time, never wanting it to come.

"Don't I deserve it? Keepin' you safe all this time." Joel muses, stroking his cock in time with his teasing thumb. His eyes never leave where he's splitting you open. He's barely penetrating you, but it's enough to know if he had, you'd be struggling to take him.

"Come on, Sweetheart. Let go f'me," he urges, his touch growing faster. Severe, tightly drawn circles tease you closer to the edge.

Your stomach flips. A heaviness settles in your throat, your heart lodging in the tight confines, your blood pumping faster and faster. A lithe whine slithers free, escaping into the dimly lit room and burrows into Joel's mind.

His jaw clenches, and a dark growl rumbles from his chest, "Thatta' girl. Make'a fuckin' mess'a me."

Your dripping hole quivers and throbs around his swollen tip as you come with a silent scream, body locking taut, trying its best to engulf his length entirely.

Joel curses, jerking his length with long, steady tugs and rubbing his weeping, cream-covered tip around your soaked folds before his spine goes straight, and he yanks his cock from your core, curling in on himself and spilling his seed all over your belly with a deep, gravelly moan.

You sag into his sheets, spent with a shiny thin layer of dew and white ropes of spend painted across your abdomen.

"Shit." Joel curses, breathing heavily as he holds himself by his hands, which press into the mattress by your head, keeping you locked beneath him.

You hold his studious gaze. His dark eyes ruminate, tinged with mood, as his gaze drills down into your very core, threatening to demolish your soul. You resign that this was nothing special. Just night, another night you won't talk about again.  

Joel eases off of you with a grunt, his bones aching from the tension despite the brief, pleasurable relief, and tucks his cock back away into his sweatpants. He shuffles to the bathroom momentarily before returning with a damp washcloth.

He wipes the cloth over your belly and between your thighs, cleaning the combined arousal from your skin before chucking the rag into the hamper with a sigh.

"I know," you mutter, grimacing as you roll onto your side and sit up, tugging your shirt down. "I won't mention it again."

A solid, warm hand on your shoulder stops your retreat. "Stay," Joel whispers with soft, yearning eyes. "I wan' you to stay, sweet girl."

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated! follow @ozzieslibrary for new fic updates!

Well now I want McD’s breakfast AND Joel taking care of me! 😍🥰😅

Golden Arches - A Hungover Joel Miller Drabble

Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Pairing: No Outbreak Joel Miller x Female Reader Word Count: 700 Summary: After a night of stoned and drunken debauchery Joel surprises you with your favorite hangover cure. Warnings: No outbreak Joel, a dash of smut memories, domestic fluff, mainly Joel's POV until the end, McDonald's breakfast, Sarah and I have the same favorite drink, marijuana use, alcohol.

A/N: And yet another entry into the @ohheypedrito and I talk about something and then I make it into a story. It's cute, it's short, and it makes me really want a spicy Sprite.

Masterlist

🥞🥞🥞

He wakes up, head pounding with eyelids weighted by exhaustion. The beam of sunlight slicing in through the curtains fries his brain. He stretches and groans trying not to disturb you as he rolls out of bed, feet planting against the floor, broad naked body swaying back and forth finding his sleep drunk balance. He shuffles over to the chair in the corner and slides his flannel pajama pants on. 

Foggy memories of last night awaken him. Your bubbly laughter floating across his backyard as he sings along to the song in your ear. The ashtray sitting on his knee that you ash the joint into. The taste of whiskey and ginger on your tongue diving into his mouth. Your hands in his hair as he sank to his knees and ate you out as you swang on his porch swing. 

He grumbles out of the bedroom, wiping his large hand down his face, rubbing his sparse beard against the palm of his hand. His lungs deflate with a cavernous yawn. He’s so hungover, he can only imagine how badly you’ll suffer the wrath once you wake up. 

He picks up his shirt deposited on the kitchen counter top and pulls it on. His eyes adjust to the sun shining on the patio, he gently shakes his head when he spots your bra laying in the middle of the green grass, light blue satin fabric glistening with morning dew. 

Better pick that up before Sarah gets home. 

He wonders where your pretty dress ended up as he gulps down a drink of water and takes two Advil. 

The time on the microwave tells him he better hurry, breakfast will be over soon. He checks on you, smiling at the sight of your naked body all stretched out in your peaceful slumber.

Keys jangle in his hold as he stuffs his wallet into his pocket, puts his sunglasses on and slips his feets into his sneakers. 

The Texas heat is already stifling, sweat already gathers at the back of his neck as he climbs into his truck. The engine revs and he pulls away from the home he’s made with you. 

___

He parks in the driveway thanking his luck he made it right before the kitchen switched over. The truck smells of oily and sweet breakfast food, his mouth waters. 

He gathers the cup carrier and food, holding the brown paper bag in his mouth while unlocking the front door. The house is silent, you must still be asleep. 

He puts a cup filled with Hi-C Orange in the fridge for Sarah. Hoping the surprise of her favorite drink will calm her disappointment that she missed out on fast food breakfast while at her sleepover. 

He walks to the bedroom, excited to surprise you with your favorite hangover cure.

___

“Sweetheart,” he whispers against your forehead, placing a kiss against it.

You grumble, turning away from him. 

“Baby, it’s late.” 

Your grievance rumbles louder pulling a chuckle out of him. 

“Come on, I got you something,” he shakes the bag. “You gotta get up.”

Intrigued by what he surprised you with, you muster the strength to roll over, eyes lighting up at the sight of Sprite happily bubbling in all of its delicious effervescence. 

“Pancakes?” your ragged voice ekes out. 

He nods and stabs the straw in your Sprite before handing it to you. Sitting up, you wet your throat with the zesty carbonation.

“I’m sorry for this,” he apologizes before cracking the curtains open earning a hiss from you closing your eyes tight. 

You reach for the bottle of Advil on your bedside table chucking two in your mouth praying for a reprieve from the pain beating against your head. 

“Move up,” he grabs his coffee, and places a foot on the bed. You scoot forward, he sits behind, his back resting against the headboard. You settle your body against him. “Come on now, eat.” 

The smell of black coffee on his breath mixes with the maple syrup and buttery goodness of your pancakes, you feel golden just like the arches of your favorite hangover cure. 

I loved this so much!!!! 😍😍😍😍

Love me some soft!Dave 🥰

The Prenup (dave york x f!reader)

18+ account - minors do not interact

dave york x f!reader

Word Count: 6.3k

Rating: E

Summary: You and David York are two of the top divorce lawyers in Boston and are on opposite sides of a high-profile divorce. Both of you are at of the top of your game and have never lost a case. How will you navigate your feelings, as your personal and professional life intertwines?

Warning: sexual tension, flirting, mentions of divorce, mentions of infidelity, mutual pining, smutty flashbacks (oral – f receiving, and p in v sex), emotional cheating? language, sexual touching, nipple play, smidge daddy kink (papi), dirty talk, praise, oral (f – receiving), implied p & v sex

A/N: This is my contribution for Shortie's AU Challenge. I am channeling my inner Shortie; she always blesses us with long one-shots and so I decided to make this WAY longer than necessary. In order not to spoil too much, I include more of my thoughts at the bottom of this one-shot. P.S. David York is slept on in this fandom. We need more Dave. Justice for Dave. He’s not the Pedro boy that gets the most engagement but you best believe I inhale Dave York content. I can at least promise that this story is less angsty than my Riddles one-shot.

@punkshort

xx

Boston, Massachusetts

"Order in the court! I expect professional behavior from both counsel."

You leaned over the table, a smirk tugging at your lips as you tilted your head slightly. Your eyebrows arched in playful defiance. "Your Honor, I find it hard to believe that my colleague can actually think my client's request for a fair division of assets is unreasonable. The prenup clearly outlines significant financial disparities."

There was a slight curl in your lips, as you shot a glance at David.

David folded his arms, leaning back, his posture exuding an air of confidence that only amplified your irritation.  "Oh please. The prenup was signed willingly. This isn’t some poorly drafted agreement meant to confuse an unsuspecting spouse. You're making it sound like my client ambushed yours with a signed blank check."

His tone was casual, but his piercing stare ignited a flicker of annoyance in you.

You rolled your eyes, curling your fingers into the palm of your hand to keep calm. "In clear language, the prenup asserts that the assets acquired during the marriage should be shared equitably, especially given the increased at home contributions my client made."

You leaned in slightly, trying to assert your point, and fighting the reflex to slap David across the face. He was insufferable.

David leaned forward, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes, as if he thrived on the tension. "Increased contributions? Or should we say—you’re overstepping the boundaries of what was agreed upon, possibly driven by desperation? How does it feel to lose control over such a simple matter?"

His arrogance made you want to roll your eyes again, but it only infuriated you more to admit how effortlessly attractive he was, the way his eyes glinted with challenge.

Judge McCall sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I need you both to stop this sparring. Focus on presenting your evidence and keep your arguments above board, please."

You smirked, unable to resist a final jab, your voice smooth with a hint of sarcasm. "You’re right, Your Honor. I wouldn’t want to outshine my opposing counsel with simple logic and reason."

It felt satisfying to deflate his bravado, even if only momentarily, as you savored the incredulity that flickered across his face.

"Logic? That's rich coming from you. But I appreciate your attempt. It’s adorable." David said with a cocky grin.

Your irritation spiked, a mixture of anger and unwelcome attraction flooding your senses.

"I will hold this court in recess until both of you can conduct yourselves like the professionals you claim to be." Judge McCall recited, his authority cutting through the tension with an audible snap.

The gavel struck down, echoing through the still air, and David shot you a playful glare, a smirk still taunting his lips. You had never lost a case in your entire career, and neither had David. You both knew the courtroom was only part of the battle, and the real game was just beginning.

xx

The door to your office opened with a soft click, and the ambiance shifted as David strode in with an air of confidence. His tailored suit trailed the sharp edge of professionalism, but the way he leaned casually against the doorframe suggested an unspoken familiarity with the space.

"You know," he began, his tone light yet persuasive, "I think we both know how this could end. I hate to say it, but dragging this out in court might not do wonders for your reputation." He raised an eyebrow playfully, his voice dropping into a more intimate register. "I wouldn't want to see you embarrass yourself,”

You couldn’t help but smirk at his audacity, a blend of annoyance and intrigue igniting within you. “Are you suggesting I just roll over, David, I thought you were my opposition, not my advisor,” you shot back, with a playful tilt of your lips.

He took a slow step closer, the tension thickening as he casually brushed a nonexistent speck off his sleeve. "Oh, I'm just saying," he replied, maintaining eye contact, "sometimes less is more. Why put on a show when we both know the outcome will be the same?"

The words hung in the air, laced with subtext, and you felt the familiar heat rise within you. You leaned back in your chair, crossing your legs, an instinctive response to his proximity. He walked further into your office, the heels of his polished shoes clicking against the hardwood floor. “Let’s talk about the upcoming court date. It would be much more—shall we say—expedient for both of us if you considered settling,”

You met his gaze fiercely, your heart racing despite yourself. “We’re not settling,” you said as you broke the gaze and focused on the papers on your desk.

“I’d hate to see you standing before Judge McCall trying to explain why you pushed for something that was never going to be achievable.”

“And what’s your angle here, David?

He chuckled softly. “No angle, I just think settling would be much more dignified, don’t you think?”

“You call it dignity, I call it capitulation.”

“Maybe. But consider this: sometimes surrendering is the real strength,” he countered, inching closer. The scent of his cologne filled the air, warm and inviting, mixing with the tension spiraling between you both.

“You’re making it hard for me to keep this cordial,” you quipped, crossing your arms defensively.

“Cordiality is boring, sweetheart,” David replied.

You tilted your head. “And here I thought we were supposed to be adversaries. Are you trying to butter me up?”

“Only when I think you can handle it,” he shot back with a grin.

“Let’s just stick to business, shall we?” you finally said, clearing your throat, but the breathlessness leaking into words contradicted your polished demeanor.

“Of course,” David replied, his smirk lingering as he stepped back, though the heat of the moment hadn't faded. “But I’ll be waiting for your call about that settlement.”

A smile danced at the corner of your lips. “Don’t hold your breath,”

David turned around to leave your office. “Hey,” he said casually, glancing back over his shoulder. “Make sure to say hello to your husband for me.”

You started twirling with your wedding ring and looked at the framed photograph that stood prominently among the clutter on your desk. It captured a joyful moment: your husband, with his infectious smile, and your two kids, their faces alight with laughter as they played in a sun-drenched park.

You raised an eyebrow. “And you can tell your wife I send my apologies,” you shot back.

With a wink, he replied, "I'll make sure to do that," before stepping out, leaving the moment hanging in the air.

Later that night in the gentle glow of the moonlight filtering through your curtains, you laid nestled in the warm cocoon of your bed, your eyelids growing heavy as the day's thoughts began to dissolve into a soothing haze.

As your drifted nearer to the edge of sleep, your husband quietly slipped into the room, and laid himself beside you, pressing his chest against your back, and you felt the warmth of his body against yours.

He held you close, tracing delicate patterns on your shoulder and you smiled faintly in your sleep, as you dreamt of David.

xx

“You're referring to the alleged infidelity?” you sighed, during the divorce deposition.

“Alleged? She was having sex with him in the guest room,” David’s client, Brian shouted.

The atmosphere in the room shifted as Brian's outburst hung heavily in the air. You could almost see the gears turning in David's head as he prepared to capitalize on this. “The infidelity is a clear breach of the marital agreement. Susan’s actions demonstrate a blatant disregard for the exclusivity of their marriage as agreed upon in the prenup,”

“So, you are saying that infidelity requires financial penalty?” you responded.

David nodded.

“Using your reasoning, any infidelity on your client’s part... would have to be held against him as well.”

“What are you suggesting?” David said.

You leaned forward, a determination sparking behind your eyes as you countered, "While infidelity might affect a court's perception of asset distribution and alimony in some cases, we must consider the full scope of the situation,” You turned to Brian and your voice dripped with feigned innocence. “Brian, why don’t you enlighten us about the child you’ve recently fathered?"

The room went silent, and David's confident demeanor cracked, just for a moment. Confusion flitted across his face, followed by a dawning realization that spoke volumes. He looked between you and Brian as he tried to piece together the implications.

Brian, setting his jaw, shifted uncomfortably in his chair looking anywhere but at David. The silent admission echoed ominously around the room, and you could feel the tide turning.

David's expression morphed from baffled to outright shock. It was evident he had no knowledge of this fact, and you could barely suppress the satisfaction bubbling within you.

You allowed yourself a small smirk, relishing the moment of vulnerability in David’s otherwise poised structure. “It seems,” you said, a teasing lilt to your voice, “that the narrative of infidelity might be more complex than David presents.

The tension in the room was palpable as Brian finally broke the silence. “I need a minute,” he muttered, rising from his chair. His voice was strained, and you could see the torrent of emotions battling within him as he hastily exited the room.

As the door clicked shut behind Brian, the tension in the room hung like a thick fog. You could hear the faint rustle of paper and the slight shift of chairs as Susan looked towards you, her smile massive.

“I need to use the restroom,” she said quietly, standing up. With a nod, she disappeared through the door, leaving you and David alone.

Once the door was fully closed, you straightened in your chair and produced a set of settlement papers from your briefcase. You slid the papers across the table toward David, maintaining eye contact, your expression earnest.

“You should consider working with Brian to get these signed.”

David arched an eyebrow, his earlier confidence returning. “And why would I do that?” he asked, crossing his arms defensively.

“Because,” you said, your tone measured, “the veil of infidelity has grown quite thin. The implications of Brian’s recent revelation could shift the entire landscape of this case,”

"You think I’m that easily swayed? Just because of this,”

“Not swayed, David,” you clarified, your voice steady. “But consider the risk. With Brian's infidelity on the table, the courts will take a more compassionate view on Susan’s actions, especially if she can demonstrate that her infidelity was a response to his. You must be aware that it’s not just about the stark facts; it’s about perception.”

David laughed lightly, though there was a hint of incredulity in it. “You think I’m going to roll over just because you’ve pulled a few tricks? I’m not going to settle. I’m prepared for court.”

With a casual flick of your pen, you leaned back in your chair, fully aware that it was David who now had to rethink his strategy. You were about to respond and tell him how ridiculous he was being when you felt a sudden vibration of your phone that disrupted your focus.

You glanced at the caller ID and your expression shifted, a fleeting moment of apprehension before you answered. It was your best friend, and she never called you during work unless it was important. You saw that she had previously texted you the words: “SOS”

 "Hey, what’s up?" you said, your voice steady, masking the tension that was beginning to build in the pit of your stomach. As her words spilled through the receiver, your gaze drifted, the papers in front of you blurring into the background.

Though you tried to maintain composure, you felt your anger rising. Your jaw tightened and your grip on the phone became a little too intense—a subconscious attempt to anchor yourself against the rising tide of emotions. The corner of your mouth twitched, materializing a thin, forced smile in response to the painful snippets you were hearing. You were usually an expert at concealing distress, but the cracks were starting to show.

Across the desk, David, a perceptive observer, noticed the change in your demeanor. "Are you okay?" he asked with concern.

You opened your mouth, preparing a response, but the weight of your best friend’s revelation hung heavy in the air. “I… I have to go,” you finally said, your voice a touch unsteady.

Without waiting for a reply, you ended the call, your fingers shaking ever so slightly as you set the phone down. You grabbed your things with a sense of urgency, your thoughts racing as you struggled to mask the emotional storm that threatened to break free.

As you hastily gathered your belongings, your mind still reeling from your best friend’s news. Before you could even process what was happening, David moved around the table.

In a moment that felt surreal, he reached out and cupped your face in his hands. The warmth of his touch was unexpected, and your heart raced—not from fear, but from an unbidden rush of conflicting emotions. There was no mistaking the intensity in his eyes; they held something that lingered just below the surface. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

For a fleeting second, you were taken aback, caught in an emotional whirlpool, the boundaries of professionalism blurring. But just as quickly as it had begun, it all came crashing down. Feeling an impulse to restore the distance between you both, you pulled away, your heart pounding in your ears.

“David,” you said, your voice firm but still trembling from the unexpected intimacy of the moment. “This isn’t the time for this,” you said, desperate to reestablish the professional tone.

Reaching for the door, you paused for a moment and just as you were about to turn the knob, you turned around.

“Just sign the papers,” You gestured to the settlement papers spread across the table.

xx

As you stepped through the front door, the familiar scents of home wrapped around you like a comforting blanket. The sound of upbeat music filled the air, accompanied by the rhythmic thud of feet hitting the floor. Curiosity piqued, you followed the sound into the living room.

You found your mother in workout gear, energetically following along with an intense fitness video. The living room was transformed into a makeshift gym, with colorful mats spread out and water bottles conveniently placed nearby.

As your mother turned, sweat glistening on her forehead, her eyes landed on you with a mixture of shock and amusement. "You’re early… and you look like shit!" she exclaimed, barely missing a beat in her workout routine.

You raised an eyebrow, smirking as you leaned against the doorframe. "Thanks, Mom,”

"You know my friends and I are having a lip party later. I know you’re not into that, but you can join us if you want. Raul takes the fat out of our butts and injects it into our lips."

"That gives a whole new meaning to talking out of your ass," you shot back, laughing lightly.

Your mother with her mismatched socks and wild hair, always had a way of saying quirky things that would catch most people off guard—but you were used to it. At just sixteen, she became a mother herself, cast out by her parents, left to navigate a world that felt impossibly large and unforgiving. She transformed her pain into a life full of unconditional love and support for you.

Growing up poor wasn’t easy, but your mom embraced it with a stubborn resilience that only she could muster. You remembered the nights when she’d hustle through her graveyard shifts at the diner, fluorescent lights flickering above her as she poured coffee for strangers who hardly noticed her. Yet, you always knew that beneath those tired eyes was a fierce determination to give you a better life. While she often struggled to make ends meet, she tirelessly saved every penny to make sure you had a chance to go to college.

The day you graduated from college, and later stood on the steps of Harvard Law School, you could see her there, your biggest cheerleader, her face lit up with a mix of pride and disbelief, all the sacrifices of her past culminating in this moment. She was at an age where she would get some cosmetic tweaks here and there, even though she didn’t need it at all. For you, funding those little indulgences she so joyfully embraced felt like a small token of gratitude rather than an expense – whether it was a new skincare regimen or a visit to her favorite clinic for a ‘facial’ – also known as botox. Some may have called it vanity, but you simply understood it as her way of feeling confident.

Checking the time on your phone, you sighed, "I really need to shower and then pick up the girls…"

She waved a hand dismissively. "I’ll handle the pick-up. You go freshen up."

You hesitated, feeling a twinge of guilt. "Are you sure? I’m here,”

Your mother helped you and your husband with the kids, she lived about 15 minutes away and she had loved stepping into the role of grandmother, even though your daughters called her by her first name. Her request.

She caught your eye and smiled, a playful glint in her gaze. "I’m sure,”

As you turned to head towards your bedroom, she called out, “Hey! Should I whip you up a drink while you’re at it? Maybe a martini?”

You half-laughed, glancing back at her. “Mom, it’s 3 PM,”

“Exactly! That’s practically early evening somewhere,” she shot back, hands on her hips. “What’s more self-care than a little liquid relaxation? Plus,” she added, winking cheekily, “by the time I bring the girls back, you’ll be rejuvenated and ready to deal with them!”

“Right, because a tipsy mom is the kind of energy they need,” you replied, shaking your head as you turned towards your bedroom.

“Hey, if you’re going to raise the next generation, you should at least do it with a buzz!” She called after you, and you could hear her giggling as you walked away.

You felt so excited when you stripped out of your clothes, you couldn’t remember the last time you came home this early. This day was exhausting, you told your office you were taking a half day. In the soft haze of steam, the bathroom felt like a sanctuary, the air thick with warmth and the sound of water cascading down. You stood under the showerhead, letting the soothing streams wash away the stress of your day, though your mind was elsewhere.

David.

Thoughts of the case filled your head, swirling like the steam around you.

David.

Thoughts of him touching you today and wanting to feel his lips on yours.

David.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn't hear the quiet creak of the bathroom door nor the gentle sound of footsteps on the tiled floor. It wasn't until you felt a warm presence behind you, a familiar weight against your back, that you fully came back to the moment. The water poured over you, glistening on your skin.

Your husband enveloped you in his arms, his chest pressing against her back. "You've been working too hard, you know that?" he murmured, his breath warm against your ear, sending a shiver of surprise through you. You had been too caught up in her mind to notice him coming in, but his touch grounded you.

“One of my cases took an interesting turn today; I have opposing counsel by the balls, so I think the long nights will stop,”

He slid his hands down your sides, feeling the smoothness of your wet skin, his fingers trailing over your curves. "The balls huh?” he continued, his voice low and teasing. "I’m not settling, sweetheart,”

You turned around to face your husband, David.

“How about we settle on a more hands-on approach instead?” Your voice was soft yet laced with suggestion.

David’s eyes darkened, his lips curling into a wicked grin. With that, he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss that made your head spin. The warmth of the water mixed with the heat building between you as your hands explored the contours of his body, pulling him closer.

It was hard to believe that ten years had passed since the whirlwind of chaos that had introduced you to David.

You were opposing counsel on a high-profile divorce case involving your notorious rockstar client and his fashion designer wife who David had been representing. Both clients were as volatile as they came, their passions spilling over into the courtroom and beyond. During the initial meetings, you remembered the palpable tension that had filled the air, not just between your clients, but also between you and David.

You had clashed from the very start. Every strategy session was a battle of wits, each trying to outmaneuver the other. You would suggest a course of action, only to have him counter it with a sarcastic quip that ignited your irritation. Meetings turned into a game of sparring, with the courtroom as your battleground.

But amidst the stress and hostility, something unexpected had begun to simmer. There was a spark—a magnetic pull that neither of you could ignore. Late nights pouring over case files morphed into stolen glances and fleeting touches. The tension that once felt like conflict took on a new energy, an unspoken understanding simmering beneath the surface.

You remembered the night it happened. You both stayed late, tensions high from a particularly nasty spat with your clients that threatened to derail the case. The office was dimly lit, shadows dancing across the walls as you argued, the air crackling with frustration. And then, in a moment of surprising heat, your lips met. It was reckless, unexpected, and utterly intoxicating. You pushed aside a few scattered files, the sound barely reaching your ears as his hands found your waist, pulling you firmly against him. His lips were warm and insistent, coaxing a frantic response from you that left you breathless. You ran your hands along his arms, feeling the taut muscle beneath the fabric of his shirt, a contrast to the softness of the kiss. He proceeded to pull your panties down and his head disappeared under your skirt as he settled his face between your thighs. Your elbows buckled, and you collapsed against the desk as he licked, stroked, and sucked, sending waves of pleasure through you. You cried out, overwhelmed by the sensations. Trembling, you felt him secure your hips with one arm and he made you come harder than you ever had.

When you recovered, he pushed inside of you filling you up with one thrust and set a pounding rhythm and your mouth opened to let out filthy sounds because you were so lost in the sensations that you forgot that you were supposed to hate him. You were a panting, aching mess, as he made you beg, made you want, and fucking tortured you before he let you come. Finally, he hit that magic spot, and you experienced a pleasure you had only read about and you clenched violently on his cock screaming his name, while he whispered filth your ear. Moments later, David was groaning out as his release hit him and he kissed you hard, moaning into your mouth. 

In the days that followed, you plastered on facades of professionalism, even as your heart raced at the thought of what had transpired. It had clearly just been stress relief. You didn’t talk about it. But sometimes, you would catch David’s eye across the conference table, and the memories of that night would flicker in your mind like a vivid flashback, stirring emotions you didn’t know how to articulate.

And, the irony was thick; your clients, once dead set on ending their relationship, had begun to reconcile. They called off the divorce and worked through their differences.

After the final negotiation session where your clients seemed more like a united front than ever, you both stepped out onto the balcony of your office for some fresh air. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the city skyline, and for a moment, you both leaned against the railing in silence, the weight of the past few months hanging between you.

Finally, David broke the silence, turning towards you with a mixture of nervousness and determination in his eyes. "We should talk," he said, his voice low and steady. "About everything."

Your heart raced as you turned to face him, the memory of that night flooding back. “What is there to talk about?” you replied, trying to keep your tone light, but the tension was palpable.

His gaze bore into you, unflinching. “I know we haven’t acknowledged…what happened. But I can’t pretend it didn’t happen,”

You swallowed hard, trying to manage the whirlwind of emotions. “It was a mistake,” you said instinctively, but even as the words left your lips, you knew it was a lie.

David stepped closer, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Was it?” he challenged, but then softened his tone. “Look, I don’t want to make things complicated, but we’ve shared something…unique. And now that this case is winding down, I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to explore between us.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “You mean a—”

“A date,” he pressed, a hopeful smile breaking through his serious demeanor. “Just you and me. Away from the courtroom, these files, and all the bullshit,”

You stared at him, searching his face for any sign of insincerity, but all you found was kindness. A thrill ran through you. Yes, it was reckless. Yes, it was complicated—but there was something about David that made you want to take a chance.

“Okay,” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’d like that.”

David’s smile widened, a sense of relief washing over his features. “Great. How about dinner tomorrow night?”

You nodded, a mix of excitement and anxiety bubbling within you. “Tomorrow sounds perfect.”

You and David hadn’t been in court together since that last case, and you still used your maiden name professionally, so a lot of people didn’t know you two were married. Your current clients knew as it had to be disclosed, and Judge McCall was very aware – in fact he was the one who had married you both all those years ago.

“Tell me,” You breathed between kisses and returning to the present, your lips aching for more of his touch. “How do you plan to win this case?”

David pulled back just enough to tease you with a raised eyebrow. “By any means necessary, of course,” he murmured, trailing his lips down your jaw, igniting every nerve in your body.

You felt a rush of adrenaline as you pulled him closer, your fingers tangling in his damp hair. "By any means necessary, huh?" You challenged, your voice a sultry whisper. "That sounds dangerously like a promise."

David chuckled, his breath hot against your neck as he nipped at your skin lightly, sending tingles down your spine. "Oh, I always keep my promises," he replied, his tone low and teasing. "And right now, the only thing I want you to focus on is me,” he whispered. “And I’d much rather you focus on how good it feels when I—”

You interrupted him with a bold kiss that silenced his lips against yours. As your lips parted, you looked at David, his brows knitted in concern, and suddenly, the playful atmosphere shifted.

“What?” you asked, genuinely curious.

He hesitated for a beat, his expression serious as he brushed a lock of wet hair off your forehead. “I was worried about you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I saw you take that call earlier, and you looked... off.”

You felt a lump form in your throat, the weight of your day crashing down like a tidal wave. “It was Carol,” you replied.

David’s eyes searched yours. When you took a deep breath, the words spilled out. “Sam is cheating on her with some twenty-two-year-old girl from the gym.”

Your husband’s expression shifted, a mix of anger and disgust flickering across his features. “What?” he said through gritted teeth, his jaw tightening.

You, Carol and Sam had all met in undergrad, and they were college sweethearts. They were some of your oldest friends and you couldn’t believe Sam was willing to throw everything away for a fling.

“Yeah,” you nodded, the frustration at the situation washing over you. “She’s worried about their kids. I mean, they’re really young, and the whole situation is just so tacky,” you confessed, the anger evident in your voice. “I didn’t expect it from him. It’s just—”

“Difficult to digest,” David finished for you, nodding slowly.

For a moment, silence enveloped you both, thick with the weight of emotions. You clung to him. Finally, you spoke again, your voice almost a whisper. “I hate seeing her go through this. It just makes me think...”

His gaze held yours intently. “Think about what?”

“About how unpredictable relationships can be. How everything can change in an instant,” you said.

David stepped back, releasing your hands gently. His expression flickered with concern. “You’re not worried about us, are you?”

As the last drops of water cascaded off your shoulders, you took a moment to breathe. You hesitated, the question lingering like a charged current in the air. “No, I just—”

David stepped closer, his hands reaching out to cup your face. "Because I can assure you, I’m never going to do that," he interrupted, his thumb brushing against your cheekbone.

Just as you opened your mouth to respond, he gently placed a finger across your lips, quieting your thoughts.

"Never,” he repeated. “Besides, I don’t believe in divorce,”

“But you’re a divorce lawyer,” you rolled your eyes.  

“It’s a job,” he chucked softly. “You and me, that’s forever,”

“You’re just saying that because we never signed a prenup, and so it would cost you a lot of money,” you teased.

David came from a very wealthy family, and he had made his own money with his career as a lawyer. So, when you two got engaged, you told him you were happy to sign a prenup as you didn’t feel entitled to his inheritance and you didn’t want his family or him to think you were with him for the wrong reasons. You knew how messy things could get during divorces and it felt pragmatic to check all of the boxes. Ironically, you don’t think you had ever seen him be so offended by something you said. He told you that he felt that too many people entered marriages thinking they could devise an escape route if things got rough, and he didn’t want you both to enter this marriage expecting a divorce. It was a bold proposition coming from a divorce lawyer – but surprisingly you two never ended up signing a prenup.

“I love you,” he chuckled, dipping his head to capture your lips once again.

The sincerity in his words sent a comforting warmth through you, and you felt a slight smile creep across your face. "I love you too," you murmured, pushing away your previous doubts.

With that, you turned off the shower. David stepped out and handed you a towel, his eyes never leaving yours. The soft fabric felt luxurious as you wrapped it around your body, attempting to shield yourself from the chill.

He took a towel for himself.  As he dried off, you took a moment to admire him, feeling an overwhelming sense of gratitude flood your chest. Each muscle, each curve, every scar told a story, and he was beautiful and yours.

David finished drying off and tossed his towel, moving closer to you again, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. "When are Molly and Alice getting back?” he asked, leaning against the bathroom counter casually, his posture inviting. “How much time do we have baby?”

You bit your lip, a teasing smile playing on your face as you considered your next words. “Well, I’d say we have about thirty minutes before my mother and the girls return,” you replied smoothly.

 “Thirty minutes, huh? That sounds like just enough time for—” he paused dramatically, his gaze flicking from your eyes to your lips, “—some strategic planning.”

“Oh, strategic planning, is it?” you shot back, raising an eyebrow.

With a swift, deft motion, he tugged your towel away, letting it drop to the floor. The rush of cool air sent a shiver down your spine. He swallowed hard and your mouth watered when you looked down at his rock-hard erection.

He leaned forward taking one of your nipples in his mouth and sucked hard, his tongue swirling in circles as he cupped your other breast and teased your other nipple with the pad of his thumb. You whimpered, losing yourself in the sensation of him nipping at your nipple and licking at your breast. You ran your fingers into his hair, pulling and tugging at him as he started to suck hard.

“Oh my god,” you cried out a little too loudly, and he popped you out of his mouth with a grin.

“God you’re beautiful,” he murmured, staring at you and then carried you to the edge of the bathroom counter. The cool marble met your exposed skin—a stark contrast that sent another jolt of pleasure through you.

“David!” you gasped, half surprised, half thrilled, as he set you down and positioned himself between your legs, his body just inches from yours and he began to tease you with his fingertips, sliding them along your slick, as you gasped and tipped your head back slightly.

“Such a messy little pussy,” he teased, looking up at you, eyes dark with desire. “You’re so wet for me,”

“Well then fucking do something about it, papi,” you growled.

You saw his cock twitch because he not-so-secretly loved it with you called him that. It wasn’t a common occurrence for you two, but you loved to pull it out when you needed to get his attention.

“Mmm, love it when you’re a little mean with me,” he said, as he dropped to his knees, his face was suddenly between your legs, and his hands pushing your thighs apart. “Because then I get to watch you get so nice for me,” his lips brushed against your core and you gasped, a wave of pleasure surging through you as he slowly flicked his tongue against your sensitive clit. You could feel the heat pooling low in your abdomen, the pressure tightening as he continued to tease, swirling his tongue in delicious patterns.

“Unngh… so good,” you managed to stammer, your fingers slipping into his thick hair, guiding him closer. You could feel the familiar tension building, the longing for release intensifying as he drove you wild.

“Just good?” he teased, pulling back slightly to blow cool air against your slick folds, sending a fresh wave of sensation through you.

“David, please,” you begged, feeling yourself practically vibrating with need. “Don’t tease me—”

But he was relentless, burying his face back where you wanted him most, sucking and licking with a fervor that had you arching off the counter.  You could feel the overwhelming warmth pooling in your belly, the tension coiling tighter with every flick, every thrust of his tongue, and with a soft cry, you felt yourself teetering on the edge. “I’m—David, I’m so close—”

With that, his fingers joined the mix, slipping inside you, curling perfectly to hit that sweet spot that had your back arching and your breath stuttering. Your moans turned to cries as he worked his magic, pushing you to the brink.

“Come for papi, baby,” he urged, his voice thick and muffled against your core as he kept the rhythm steady, coaxing your orgasm to its peak. “Let go for me.”

And then you did. The tension shattered into a million pieces as waves of heat washed over you. You cried out his name, your legs shaking as the world around you dissolved. Each pulse and throb sent you spiraling deeper, his mouth and fingers working you through the overwhelming sensation.

As your breaths slowed, you could feel David’s warm body pressed against your own, his forehead resting against your thigh as he breathed in your scent, savoring the moment.

“Was that strategic enough for you?” he teased lightly, glancing up at you with a satisfied grin.

You couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up from your chest. “I think you nailed the plan, counselor.”

He rose to his feet, capturing your lips in a heated kiss that tasted of you, and you pulled him in tighter, feeling the hardness of his cock against you.

As he positioned himself between your legs once again, he pressed his cock against your slick folds, teasing just at the entrance but not pushing inside yet. The anticipation made you arch your back, seeking more of him.

“David, please," you breathed, the desperation in your voice clear.

“Please what?” he taunted, his lips curving into a playful smirk. “You want more, baby?

You nodded pathetically, your body thrumming with need as you bit your lip, watching him with pleading eyes.

“Tell me what you want,” he purred, letting the tip of his cock tease against you, driving you mad with desire.

“Fuck me,” you gasped, the words almost spilling out in a whimper. “Please, David.”

With a satisfied grin, he leaned forward, shoving himself inside of you. “Whatever you say, counselor,”

xx

The emotional cheating warning was a lie to keep you guys on your toes! Was it obvious that they were married the entire time? I’m a softie so I love soft!dave when he’s in love with his wifey and fucking feral for her.

Shortie is our rom-com queen! So, for her AU challenge, I took inspiration from the movie Laws of Attraction. This is how I envision Pierce Brosnan and Julianne Moore’s characters turning out maybe 10 years down the road. Also, I had to add the mother (with my own spin) in this one-shot because I thought she was the funniest person in the movie, so I wanted to add some humor in the one-shot. The lip party is a quote from the movie.

If you haven’t watched Laws of Attraction – do it! Pierce Brosnan is soooooooo Papi Chulo in it 😉

Holy shit!!! This was so fucking good!!!!

The Ring

hi: you know i write filth. you can't be surprised by the depravity of this but even i'm a little embnarassed abouit this one. My plan is to write an infidelity fic for each of the PPCU characters.

pairing: Dave York xf!babysitter (university age)

trope: Dave York x thef!babysitter

summary: Carol York sees more than she bargained for when she spies on her babysitter she thinks is a thief.

warnings: infidelity, age gap, absolutely disgusting talk, babysitter kink, light bondage, pinv, pina, degredationn, other shit but I've probs forgotten.

word count: 5k

rating 18+

wanna see my other stuff?

Carol York giggles to herself, adjusting the dark straps on the navy lingerie set she wears. She looks herself over in the mirror, pleased with her reflection. She and Dave are celebrating their eleventh wedding anniversary today and she wants to look extra special. He's been working so hard lately, with such long hours. 

He thinks she's still at work and is coming home early to grab the girls from school to drop them off at Carol's mother's for the evening. What he doesn't know is that Carol is going to be here, waiting for him when he gets back. She's taking him out to his favorite restaurant and then she's going to bring him to a fancy hotel and fuck his brains out all night, just like when they first met. 

She pulls on her dress for the evening, fluffing her hair when she hears you walking through the house, live-in nanny extraordinaire. The only one who can get her kids to eat vegetables and go to sleep on time. The Nanny who cleans when the kids are at school and prepares healthy snacks. But there's something about you Carol doesn't trust. Something that haunts her when you're around. She thinks its maybe the way your eyes don't quite hers when you speak to her. And then one day it hits her as she searches in her jewellery case: you're a thief. Carol realizes it the week she can't find the emerald ring she used to wear every so often.

She's convinced you stole it during your "tidying" of their room last month. She's pretty sure she caught you that day, your face flushed, stammering about how the room needed dusting. You may fool everyone else, but you don't fool her. Even Dave seems taken in by your performance, citing that the house seems to be working like a well oiled machine with you around. 

But now she has a chance to catch you in the act. You don't know she's still at home. She’ll hide in her walk-in closet, get footage of you stealing and then show it to Dave. Then they can both fire you. She grabs her phone, setting it to silent and with a thrilled little giggle Carol goes to the walk-in closet, pulling the doors closed behind her. The slats are tilted, giving her a narrow view of the bedroom a bit blurred at the edges. 

She kneels at the closed door, waiting for you to enter. Her hip bumps into the locked safe Dave insisted on keeping their valuables and gun in. With two young girls he's paranoid and she can't help but agree. She's getting settled into a kneeling position when you walk in shortly after, a laundry basket tucked under your arm. You're humming to yourself and Carol watches as you begin to put away the laundry in the dresser drawers. 

You're wearing a skirt and short blouse, looking effortlessly cool. Carol watches like a hawk as you put away her husband's undershirts in the dresser, bunching the socks, smiling gently to yourself. You’re a pretty thing, she’ll give you that. Even if you are a thief.

"You're still here."

Carol nearly gasps at the sound of Dave's voice. She'd been so focused on you that she didn't even notice him enter the bedroom. He's still dressed from work, black trousers and his grey dress shirt with tie. He loosens the tie, letting it fall onto the dresser.

You glance up from the laundry basket to shine a smile his way. You haven’t even glanced at the jewelry case and now that Dave’s here there’s no way you’ll try.  Carol feels stupid about her plan now because he can't exactly emerge from the closet at this point. She has to wait until you both leave the room. 

"Just finishing up the laundry then I'll be out of your hair," you chirp pleasantly to Dave. 

"No need to rush," Dave says walking further into the room. 

"Where are the girls?"

"In-laws."

"Ahhhhh so that's why Mrs. York told me I had the night off." 

Dave nods. He watches you folding and putting away the laundry for a few moments. He presses his hip against the dresser, his head tilted to the side. Carol feels her heart race at the sight of her husband, so handsome and strong. She’s so lucky to have a husband like him; hard working, a good father, a provider.  

"Where is Mrs. York?" You ask politely, folding the shirt and placing it in the drawer.

"She says she's going to be home late," Dave sighs looking at his cellphone. "At least another hour."

Carol smirks glad he doesn't suspect her plan. She just wishes she wasn't cramped in this closet though. The second you leave she's jumping out and tackling Dave to the bed. Dinner can wait.

Carol knits her brows when Dave darts a smirk in your direction. She watches as you continue to face away from him, folding laundry and placing it in the lower drawers. You bend over at the waist, the curve of your ass just showing.

What a slut, Carol thinks. Dressing like that for work?

She's confused when Dave crosses the room, coming to stand behind you. Her eyes bug out of her head when her husband's large hands go to your body to slide along your hips. She expects you to pull back from him, disgusted. But instead you twirl around to face him with a smile on your face.

"I'm sorry, Mr. York," you say with a breathless giggle. "You must be disappointed."

His hands come to the top of your blouse, starting to undo the buttons. You and Carol both watch with a shaky inhale as he pops the last button and rolls it off your shoulders. You shrug it off, letting it fall onto the floor beside the laundry basket.

Dave pushes you up and out of your bra, your dusky nipples hard. He pinches them, making you whimper while he smiles. He’s wearing a smile Carol has never seen before and she doesn’t like it. He unhooks your bra at the back, sliding the straps down your arms and getting you to stand there with your chest exposed.

“Maybe you could cheer me up," he says lowly, cupping your breasts. He bends over to lick each one, holding you by the waist as you arch into him. Carol feels her eyes widening and her heart sinking with every passing moment.

“You’re the boss, Mr. York,” you breathe with your eyes sparkling. “Just tell me what you need.”

Dave stands up straight, smirking at you as his heavy palm goes to your shoulder.  He barely presses you down before you're falling to your knees in front of him. Carol's stomach drops as you grin up at him.

She watches as Dave runs his finger through your hair, gathering it into a ponytail in his fist while you fumble with his trouser zipper, pulling it down and reaching inside. 

This can't be happening, Carol thinks. She feels rooted to the spot, forced to watch what's happening.  Her husband of eleven years is cheating on her in her house they’ve shared. In her bedroom.

You're pulling his stiff cock out of his pants and Carol can see how hard it is already. You shift, making your breasts bounce as you gaze up at him. You’ve adopted a wide-eyed, playful look.  Dave grips his cock at the base, tapping the head on your wet bottom lip.  

"You want me to cheer you up, Mr. York?”

Dave nods, guiding his cock towards your pouty mouth. You lean forward and lick the tip, earning a pleased groan from Dave. Carol can only watch as you grin up at him before taking him into your mouth all in one go. 

“That’s it,” Dave groans, his head tilting back. “You know just how I like it.”

He continues to hold your hair in a loose ponytail with his right fist, watching you work your mouth on him. The room is full of wet sucking noises and the odd whimper. Your eyes are closed, your face relaxed as if this is normal behavior. As if being on your knees, swallowing her husband's cock while he throws his head back and moans is part of your job description. 

He pulls your mouth back and forth, tugging your hair in his grip. You just moan around his fat dick. He smiles down at you, something dark and lusty. His hips move forward faster, his sliding further and further.

"That's my good little babysitter," Dave groans above you, his hips jutting into your mouth. "Take it all, just like we practiced, sweetheart." 

Carol feels her stomach clenching painfully, like she's got period cramps. This isn't the first time you've done something like this together. This is practiced. Your hands are going to his balls, kneading gently. You break from sucking his cock to suck on one, earning a guttural groan from Dave.

“Look up when you do it,” he orders. When you do he taps his cock on your cheek, letting it rest on your face as you continue to drool around his balls. He watches this, nodding and tugging your hair so you pull off of him.

“Swallow it now,” he says, his grip in your hair tightening. Your mouth moves back to his cock, taking down your throat. He feeds it to you quickly and you don’t gag, you don’t hesitate you just tilt your head back and let him use you.

“This is what you’re made for,” he grunts down at you, watching your tits bounce as he fucks into your mouth.

You moan around his thick cock, eyes opening to stare up at him while you nod. You look completely subservient to him kneeling there with your hands in your lap. Your nose is smashed into the hair at the base of his cock and you inhale deeply moaning in delight. 

Carol is disgusted to see drool starting to escape the corner of your mouth as his fat cock continues to feed itself down your throat. But if anything Dave seems excited by the sight. He tilts back, forcing your mouth to move faster. 

"Cock-drunk already," he says with a grin. "Missed it didn't you? Missed swallowing my cum?"

Your eyes are half open, but you nod emphatically up at him. Dave watches you suck a moment longer before he removes himself from your mouth. Carol can see his cock is shiny with your spit. You look disappointed but Dave comes to grip your chin with his long fingers. 

"On second thought. It's my anniversary. I think I deserve something a little better than your mouth, don't you?" 

You nod briskly and he helps you to a stand before spinning you away from him, the front of your legs pressed against the side of his bed. Carol watches as he tugs off his trousers, then his briefs. All go in a pile next to the laundry basket.  

His fingers slide up your skirt, tugging your pink lace thong down. From where she still kneels in the closet, Carol can see they're damp with your arousal. Why the fuck are you wearing a thong to work? But then just as quickly as the question comes to her the answer does as well. Because she's been fucking your husband. 

Your body bends to accommodate the way the fabric stretches over the round of your pert ass. He tugs the thong off completely, his hand coming to graze the curve of your ass.

"We said we weren't doing this anymore," you sigh dreamily,

"It's my anniversary," Dave says as if that answers everything, his fingers coming to slide between your legs. “And I gave you a nice present last time, didn’t I?”

He unbuttons his shirt, tossing it onto the floor. He stands naked behind you, big and muscular. Carol had always thought Dave was incredibly sexy and even now she can't help but think it.  

Dave’s hand goes to press between your shoulder blades, urging you down onto your belly on the mattress. He lifts up your skirt, taking his time to enjoy the view of your naked ass and slit. Carol jumps a bit when Dave's hand comes to swat your ass. You moan and Carol sees from her seated position that you're covered in your own slick. Dave notices as well. 

"This all for me?"

"Uh huh." 

Dave takes both your ass cheeks and spreads them wide before letting them fall, clapping together. He groans, stroking his cock a moment. Carol feels her face draining of color as her husband kneels beside the bed, his face level with your ass. He darts forward, gripping another handful of your ass. His mouth goes to your other cheek, kissing and then nipping the smooth flesh there. Your arms are folded under your cheek. Carol can see the smile there as he touches you. 

"Like a ripe little peach," he groans as you giggle. Dave's eyes go to your glistening cunt before adding, "and a juicy little peach too." 

Carol can barely watch as her husband kisses his way down your sex. You're folded over the bed and you arch your belly against the mattress, making your cunt more appealing. He begins to give it sloppy kisses, groaning as he eats you out from behind. Carol watches mesmerized by his actions. He's never done this with her. Only ever does missionary, cowgirl, doggy. Oral sex by either partner is brief. 

His fingers come to circle your clit as his mouth and tongue works your hole. 

"Dave --- it's so --- mmph," you lose track of what you were going to say. Your hips are rolling against the bed. Your hands are tangled in the sheets you folded earlier this morning and you writhe over them as he devours your cunt. 

"So fucking juicy," Dave growls between licks.

Your face is bliss, mouth trembling as you grin at his words. "Whose pussy tastes better?"

"Yours," Dave replies with a slur, he doesn't even hesitate. He's holding your legs further apart so he can taste more of you, cunt drunk. "This fucking pussy drives me wild. Best I've ever had." 

"Yeah?" You keen, smiling victoriously. "You like my pussy best?" 

"Yeah. Especially when she comes all over my face."  

Your eyes are shut and you moan his name as you release. Carol's face burns as she listens and watches.  Dave laps up your arousal while you whimper in the aftershocks. Dave grins down at you before standing. He taps your ass instructing you to get on the bed. 

"Take off your skirt."

You strip down hurriedly tossing your clothes onto the ground before resuming your climb to the center of the bed. 

Our marriage bed, Carol thinks feeling helpless. Part of her wants to cry, the other part is fascinated by this different version of her husband. It compels her to keep watching, even as her stomach acid churns. 

Dave looks at you, naked and gorgeous. His cock is thick in his hand, hard while he strokes it.

"Show me."

You fold your legs up on your chest, holding them there as Dave watches, looking smug. Carol watches as Dave crawls onto the bed. He straddles his knees on the bed on either side of your waist. Then he takes your wrists and pulls them above your head. You smile serenely up at him. 

"Are you gonna finish inside me this time?" You ask with your eyes glittering excitedly. 

This time, Carol thinks. You've done this before. 

"You know I can't do that," Dave says shaking his head. "Too risky."

"Thought about that," you say as Dave begins binding your wrists together with your wet panties. 

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," you nod, testing the strength of the panties and finding you can't get loose. "I thought of a way we could avoid any risk." 

Dave isn't really listening. He takes your bound wrists and connects them to one of the decorative iron leaves in the headboard. Something Carol bought because she thought it looked elegant. Now all she can see is how easy it hooks the fabric, keeping you in place with your arms above your head. 

Dave brings his hands to your breasts; enjoying how they look in this position you’re in. He brings each nipple into his mouth, flicking his tongue over them until they become straining points again. 

"We have to be fast," you groan as you watch this. "We don't have much time."

Dave grins at you before reaching down for his phone on the floor. He taps away on it before smiling at you. 

"Just bought us some time."

Carol looks down at her phone in the dark, seeing the silent notification pop up. She looks at Dave waiting for the reply and she picks up her phone. 

Hey baby. Mind picking us up a bottle of that from last summer? I wanna celebrate our anniversary the proper way.

Carol feels disgust rising in her throat as she reads the message. Both Dave and Carol know that specific vintage is only sold in specialized wine stores in midtown. Midtown is forty minutes away. 

She types quickly, a desperate desire to convince her husband not to keep going. She doesn't know why, but she thinks if he can stop right now there's a chance she can forgive him. 

Of course. Happy to make you happy.

"Perfect," Dave says aloud, about to drop the phone when your second message comes through. 

I Love you so much! I can't wait to see you when I get home!I can't wait to celebrate eleven years married to the love of my life!  

Carol sends off the message, anxious as Dave reads it. She watches as his posture changes and his face drops. He glances over at you, lying on the bed, arms raised and body willing. Dave blinks slowly, frowning back at the text. Carol recognizes the expression in his face: guilt. 

"You know what, this actually wasn't a great idea," Dave mutters. 

"Why not?"

Dave shrugs with the magic of the moment gone. Carol feels a pathetic hope twisting within her as Dave goes to unhook your wrists. 

"But we were having fun."

"I know." 

"Don't you want to hear my plan?" 

Dave shakes his head. You look disappointed, almost angry as he unbinds your wrists. When you’re loose you reach for his middle, stopping him from crawling off of you. 

"I wanted you to fuck my ass tonight." 

Dave stiffens, his movements slowing as he asks you to repeat yourself. You grin up at him, your hand reaching for his cock. 

"I know you heard me, Mr. York," you coo sweetly, starting to jerk his cock against your belly. "And I want you to do it bare. Want you to cum inside me tonight." 

All the air is sucked out of the room. Carol feels like she's going to be sick. She has to do something, has to make her presence known. 

"You can't say shit like that," Dave whispers. He's still straddling your waist, his wet cock rubbing against your belly. 

"Why not?"

"Because then I'll have to do it." 

"Good," you whisper back before giggling.

Carol hates the sound of your girlish giggle, all high pitched and annoying. Dave seems torn. She silently pleads with him to make the right decision. She can’t come back from watching him fuck the babysitter in their bed, she just can’t.

"I can't," Dave finally says in a husky murmur. He pulls his cock from your hand.

Carol's eyes flood with relieved tears. 

You seem irritated, but you're not giving up. Your hand returns to slide along his cock, still resting there on your belly. You part your legs as well, rolling them.

"You're telling me you've never fantasized about fucking me in this bed, Dave?" 

Your voice is low and warm and sultry. Dave groans, hips starting to roll.

"Of course I have, but---"

"Then do it," you urge, smiling seductively. "Cum in your slutty little babysitter." 

Dave's head drops between his shoulders, eyes slammed shut. His erection is rock hard and Carol can see the pre-cum that beads from the tip. 

"It'll be like our own secret anniversary," you tell him sweetly. "The first night you fucked my ass."

Carol is lightheaded with rage. This isn't something Dave even wants anymore! He brought it to with Carol once and when she turned him down he cited that it was no big, deal and that he was just curious. But Carol sees the way his eyes glitter and his cock begins to throb. 

"You know you want it," you coo while urging his cock between your legs. "And I want it too. Want you to fuck my ass with your big dick, Dave." 

The head of his cock is breaching your cunt, slick and waiting. Dave slowly moves overtop of you, his face going to your neck. Carol can see the hesitation in him. 

"Want to feel you fuck me full of your cum," you tell him, urging him inside. 

Dave groans against your shoulder, his hips lifting and flexing as he pumps himself between your legs. Carol watches as his cock disappears between the folds of your cunt. You groan as he stretches you, pressing himself to the hilt. You pant heavily, your mouth finding his ear. 

"My ass feels even tighter than my pussy, Mr. York."  

Dave gives a loud moan; his hips are driving into yours quickly. And now his fingers come to circle the pearl of your clit. He murmurs something muffled into your neck that Carol can't hear, but you grin, rolling your hips against his. 

"And then you'll finish in me?"

Dave nods. You grin, allowing him to rub your clit as he pumps himself into you.

“Harder,” you beg, your tits bouncing as he punches your whines out with each drive of his cock. Carol watches as your body jolts under his with each thrust, your face morphing into obscene pleasure. Your body tenses as Dave delivers another brutal thrust. 

"This is all I wanted," Dave grunts. "Making the slutty little babysitter beg for my cock."

How often do you fuck her husband? It's that why you were flushed that day in here? Do you secretly ride his cock when he's in the office working from home? Does he fuck you from behind on the couch he and Carol watch television on? Does he lick your pussy at the dining table the York's have their family dinners on? 

Carol comes back to herself to see Dave repositioning holding himself on his forearms, driving into you relentlessly.

"That's it, choke my cock," Dave urges you, looking down to see your breasts jiggling for him. "Show me why I keep you around."

Your brows knit together and your fingers curl around his biceps as he drops his fingers and just begins to fuck you in earnest. Carol watches as his balls slap against your ass, slick and loud in the quiet room. Finally you twitch around him, your eyes rolling back as your orgasm takes you.

"Want your anniversary present now Mr York?"

“Yea.”

Dave urges your body to the right of the bed, Carol's side. He doesn't even look guilty anymore, he looks hungry. You make a noise of approval as he presses your legs up to your chest, folding you in half. Carol watches this all helplessly from where she kneels in the closet. 

Don't do it Dave. 

But he does do it. He leans himself against the back of your thighs, tilting you up. He gathers your copious release already trickling from your cunt down your to your ass cheeks and he covers his cock in it. Carol watches as Dave tilts his head forward. She’s confused at what’s happening until she sees a string of saliva dropping down the slit of your ass, lubricating it.

You’re breathing quickly, watching the best you can from your constricted position. He nudges the head of his cock against your puckered entrance and then with without ceremony he pushes himself into your tight hole. Dave hisses loudly as you welcome him, your body arching in his grip. Your hands are still on his biceps, your legs in the air. He plugs you, resting for a moment, enjoying how it feels. 

He balances on his hands on either side of you.  You moan helplessly under him when he begins to move again pushing himself in further, your hole gripping him snugly. From where Carol sits she has a front row seat to her husband cock disappearing into your ass. 

"This right here," Dave grunts, "is the best fucking gift I've ever gotten."

Wet noises fill the air as he pulls slightly out and then thrusts in deeper, both of you giving a low moan as he does. 

"Don't know if I can go back to fucking your pussy," Dave grunts, pressing himself to the hilt as you mewl underneath him. "Gonna have to fuck this sweet ass every time."

"Fuck me however you want, Mr. York," you whimper.

Carol watches your face smiling dreamily as Dave buries himself in your ass. You really like this you're not just doing it for his benefit. Carol watches as Dave pulls himself out, then urges you to flip over onto your tummy. You do so without question, burying your face in the pillows and presenting your ass to him. 

Dave groans slapping your ass cheeks and watching them ripple. He's panting heavily, the veins in his broad body popping. Carol recognizes the signs of her husband turned on out of his mind. He eyes the discarded panties in the sheets and grabs your wrists, pinching them together behind your back. You say nothing as he wraps the lace around your wrists again. You're completely at his mercy, your body on display for him, your wrists tied at your back. Dave takes a moment to marvel at this, sliding his hand between your thighs to gather more of your slick. You whine at the contact, pushing your ass out. 

You're fucking shameless, Carol thinks as you gently rut your hips, making your ass pop for him. A fucking slut. 

Dave curls over you, guiding his cock to your back entrance once more. He pushes your spine, lowering you so that he can press firmly against you. He pushes himself in quicker this time, still hissing at the tightness as he pushes through. 

"So full," you groan into the pillows when he sheaths himself completely. Dave bares his teeth in delight, circling his wiry hairs against your ass, moving within you.

"You're so deep," your whine, turning your head to the side. "I can feel you so fucking deep." 

Dave looks pleased with himself. 

"Ever take a cock this big?"

"Uh uh," you whisper, shaking your head. "And never had it feel this good." 

Carol can only watch as Dave's cock saws in and out of your tight hole now, your body rippling as he rocks against you. He's on his knees behind you, hands on your waist to hold you in place. You're both sweating, writhing on the sheets that Carol herself bought last spring. Dave's hair is sweaty, stuck in parts of his forehead. 

“Such a tight little hole,” Dave grunts, going onto one knee and thrusting faster.

Carol almost laughs darkly seeing him in the same position he was when he proposed to her. But he wasn’t fucking her up the ass in the bed during that.

You're a drooling mess under him, bouncing on the mattress as Dave fucks himself deeper into your ass. The headboard is slamming against the wall, clacking in time with Dave's furious pounding. 

More squelching sounds fill the room, combining with Dave's guttural groans and your desperate whines. He grips the lace around your wrist, holding it as he tilts back; fucking you and watching his cock disappear. 

"Such a little slut," Dave growls, slapping your ass with his free hand. "Can't get enough of this married cock, can you?" 

He slaps your ass again and you buck under him like some slutty horse. Dave gasps lowly, his hips jerking. 

"Next week I'm working from home, you're gonna dress up in that little costume I bought you. Understand?" 

"Yes, yes," you breathe. 

Dave sits back on his heels, his big hands on your hips. He fucks slowly into you, taking his time to extend the sensation of being buried inside you. He maneuvers you back and forth along his turgid cock like you’re his own little cocksleeve.

"You're gonna come into my office and I'm gonna fuck your ass while you wear it. Gonna fuck your ass in every room in this house." 

You can’t even reply. Your tongue is lolling out of your mouth, your eyes rolled back. Carol feels sick, swallowing the rising bile when you suddenly cum. Your thighs are shaking and your cries are almost a shriek and cause Dave to smile widely. 

"Uh huh, you cum with this cock in your ass you slut," Dave instructs. He's got your hair in his grip again, he's tugging you, jerking your head back. "Gonna fuck you through it."

Your entire body is shaking now, your arousal sliding down your inner thighs as Dave continues. Your whining, your body still rolling, still urging Dave to keep going.

"I wanna fuck you when she's home," Dave rasps, his hips thrusting forward and back in a frenzy. "When she's in the shower I want you here on the bed. Gonna need to keep quiet while I pound your pussy. Wanna fill my slutty little babysitter so you have to finish the rest of your shift stuffed with my cum." 

He's rambling now; Carol recognizes the signs that her husband is close. All the things he's saying are just falling over her like a crumbling ceiling. 

"Anything you want," you shudder, still cumming as he continues. You're completely fucked-out, gooey and loose. You're not fighting anything, just laying there letting him pound himself deeper and deeper over and over. 

"You like having a married man's cock in your ass?"

"You like fucking the babysitter?" 

The two of you laugh out loud at this obscenity and for some reason that's what sets Carol off. Not that you're fucking each other in her bed, but that you're laughing together. Dave looks down at you fondly.

“You liked that ring, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

The ring? The one Carol can’t find? The one she went crying to Dave about because it belonged to her grandmother? Carol feels her cheeks turning into angry red circles.

“You’re gonna get another one tonight,” he promises. “Because I’m about to ruin you, little girl. You won’t be able to sit down for a week.”

Dave pushes you down brutally, and now he takes his hands and spreads your cheeks. You croon desperately, muttering how you want him to fuck you hard and how you can take it. He pulls out slightly, watching your hole flutter, desperate to be filled. 

"All for me," he murmurs as he shoves his cock back into you.

You moan at the intrusion, your body falling into sync with his. With all his strength he fucks you into the mattress, grinning when you cry out in ecstasy. His hips are pounding into you from behind so hard that the slaps of your connecting flesh crack in the air. 

The bed is shaking with the force of your fucking; the two of you grunting back and forth until Dave's thrusting begins to taper. He's going to cum. 

"Happy anniversary to me," Dave shouts into the air, his body arched over yours like some kind of animal as he ruts deeply, about to release his creamy load in your ass.

“Happy anniversary to us,” you gasp under him. “Can’t wait to celebrate it again and again.”

The two of you are laughing before movement out of the corner of Dave’s eyes catches his attention. He turns just in time to see his wife Carol exit the closet a wild look in her eyes. Dave can see the safe in the closet is open, confusing him. He realizes what's happening just in time for Carol to pull the trigger. 

Ahhh! I loved this so much!!! 😍😍😍😍

The Laredo Javi gifs made me do this. I was powerless against them.

Main Masterlist

The Secret Place

Pairing: Javier Peña x best friend f!reader

Rating/Warnings: E - 18+ only! Post S3 Javi, Laredo, no age gap, friends to lovers to no contact to friends and lovers like no time ever passed, filthy fluffy smut, Chucho being the best and also a troublemaker, brief mentions of narcos and sex workers (Javi uses the word whores, paraphrasing the people who bother him about Colombia), drinking questionable whiskey, oral (f and a tiny bit of m receiving), boob in mouth action, PIV with a condom *and* on the pill good job guys, sex in an old treehouse probably not a great idea irl. Reader is described as having dark, prominent nipples and genitalia, grown out black pubic hair, heavy hanging breasts, thick dimpled thighs and a fleshy waist and belly. Her hair (on her head) is not described, nor is her skin tone (she does not blush or redden). Both Javi and reader speak Spanish, which is in italics.

———————————————————————————

“Javier Peña. Long time. Back for good?” You reached out for a friendly handshake.

“Nah, for evil.” He winked, holding your hand in his a little more firmly, a little bit longer than he would anybody else’s. You acknowledged it with a fond squeeze, undetectable to curious eyes.

“Sounds about right. Catching up with everybody?”

“Trying to avoid it.”

You laughed, hand on your hip. “No surprise there either. Well, I just came over to your table to ask the handsomest man at the wedding for a dance.” You smirked.

“I’m not sure that’s me, cariño,” Javi said, eyebrow quirked and jaw tensing skeptically.

“Never said it was, Javi. I was talking about Chucho.” It was your turn to wink.

He huffed out his nostrils and shook his head with a smile as you turned to his father with outstretched arms, yelling, “Take me for a spin, viejo! Let’s remind your boy where he got all those smooth moves.”

“He won’t know what hit him, mija,” Chucho laughed, standing to take your hands. “Watch my beer, Javier.”

“You got it, Pop.” He nodded at the older man, whose eyes were crinkled shut in laughter at the way you twirled onto the dance floor and beckoned to him. Javier nursed his own drink, dark eyes following you under heavy lids as you and Chucho spun around the floor.

After several songs, Chucho bowed out, making his way back to the table, and Javi lost track of you.

“You’ve still got it,” he murmured to his father around the lip of his beer bottle.

“Damn right!” he crowed. He took a long sip of his beer, looking out at the wedding reception, and sighed. “Listen, I know it’s been a long time, but—”

“—Pop, don’t.” Javier cut him off, shooting him a stern look.

Chucho raised his palm. “Let me finish, son. You know it was always her. I know it was always her. Hell, all of Laredo knows it was always her.” He stared intently at Javi’s face. “Folks weren’t as surprised as they acted when things went sideways with Lorraine. Doubt Lorraine was.”

“Yeah.” Javi looked at the table, ran his thumb along the label of the bottle, the condensation on the glass making the paper ball up and peel as he rubbed over it. “Everyone knew. I was an idiot, fucked it up.” He swallowed the dregs of his beer and stared through the empty brown glass, his own frowning distorted reflection wobbling back at him.

“You got that right,” Chucho chuckled, running a weathered hand along the brim of his white cowboy hat. “Was saying, mijo, it’s been years. Don’t you think you’ve punished yourself long enough?”

Javi scrubbed his hands down his face, careful not to muss his hair and ruin any of the photographs, incur the wrath of a coven of tías like he had at Danny’s wedding. “The shit I’ve done? A life sentence wouldn’t scratch the surface, Dad. Things change, life goes on. Looks like your dance partner left, anyway.”

“She sure did, pendejo!” Chucho laughed from deep in his belly. “Why the hell d’you think I’m talking to you about it now? Our girl fue al lugar secreto, she told me to tell you.”

Javi’s guts stuttered, and he tried to school his features into a convincingly stoic look. “The secret place, huh? Not sure I even remember where that was.” His eyes were pulled to the clock on the wall. 9:40.

“No manches, Javier. You know exactly where it is.” Javier avoided his gaze. Of course he knew exactly where it was.

Chucho turned to chat with a relative while Javi rolled his empty bottle on the tablecloth. Several songs played through, the party still boisterous. From across the dance floor, Javi locked eyes with Lorraine, who smiled brightly. She waved, and Javi groaned, feeling obligated to stand and cross to his ex would-have-been wife.

“Lorraine.”

“Javier. You look good.”

“Thanks. You too.”

“Oh gosh, you think so?” Lorraine tucked a lock of loose blonde hair behind her ear and flushed. “The kids make me feel so haggard sometimes. They sure keep me busy!”

Javier gave a half smile. “Sounds like it. I’m glad you, uh, got the life you wanted. I’m sorry, for… all of it.” He pursed his lips and glanced at the clock again. 9:57.

“Yeah, I know,” she nodded. “I forgave you a long time ago, Javi. Lord knows I wasn’t entirely innocent. And now I have Randy; I have the kids. It would’ve been wrong, the two of us.”

“Definitely,” Javi snorted, dimple deepening in his cheek. “Well, just… thought I’d say… something. You really do look good, Lorraine. I’m glad life’s treating you well.”

Lorraine smiled soft and a little bit sad. “Thank you. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Javi gave her a tilt of his chin in farewell as a blur of a child crashed into Lorraine’s legs before striding back to his table.

“Taking a piss, Pop,” he muttered to Chucho, who was still deep in conversation with whichever cousin. He clapped a hand to his father’s shoulder.

“Sure you are, son,” he replied, patting his son’s hand without looking back at him. “Dile que I owe her another dance. See you in the morning. I’m cooking breakfast.”

Javier rolled his eyes and bit back a reply, just squeezed gently and made his way out of the reception hall into the night. 10:10.

———

“Took you long enough, Peña.”

“Mierda. How the hell did we used to do this every day?” Javi grunted, swinging precariously on the old knotted rope as he clambered into the treehouse.

“For starters, we weren’t fucking old,” you laughed, taking a drag of your cigarette. You offered it to Javi as he pulled the last of his body through the hole in the floor and flipped the hatch shut, sending the hanging lantern swinging.

“Nah. Tryin’ the gum thing.” He flopped onto the wooden floorboards and tried to find a comfortable way to angle his wide frame in the small space. Their lugar secreto.

“¡No mames!”

“En serio.”

You spit on the floor and stubbed the cigarette into it. “Well shit. Good for you, Jav. Must’ve taken a lot of willpower — I don’t imagine you have any less need for vices now.” You grinned at him.

“Yeah, no fucking kidding,” he sighed. His fingers tapped on the ground, antsy.

“You’ve always been a stubborn asshole, though, so if anyone could do it, it’d be you,” you said with a cackle.

“Vete a la chingada,” Javier grumbled warmly.

“Quite the mouth you’ve got on you, Javi,” you tutted, turning to sit with your back against the opposite treehouse wall and stretching your legs out parallel to his.

“You know better than most how true that is,” he said, eyebrow quirking suggestively.

“Sucio,” you chided. “Glad to see some things haven’t changed.”

Javi smirked, sat silent. He let his head tip back against the wall, looked up at the stars through the open hole in the roof of the old treehouse. The wood there had rotted through years before the two of you found the place, when your necks and shoulders had ached from sunburns and monkey bars instead of tension and grief. Back then, before Laredo was haunted, you’d climbed up here and patched each other’s hurts with bandaids, hugs, shitty liquor, and eventually, after some years, soft touches, kisses, hot skin sticky and desperate against hot skin.

“You’re not gonna ask me about Colombia?” he said eventually, leveling his eyes back at you.

You shrugged. “Do you want to talk about Colombia?” you asked.

“No.”

“I figured as much. No, I’m not going to ask you about Colombia.” The treehouse was silent again.

“I came home, few years ago. Went back.” Javi said, eventually.

You hummed thoughtfully. “Why?”

He cracked his knuckles. “Got in some shit. DEA told me to leave. Then they asked me to come back. So I did.”

“You done now?” you asked simply.

“Yeah.”

“Feel like a hero?”

Javi gritted his teeth. “Feel like a piece of shit, usually.” He clenched his hands into fists, released them, repeated the action without looking up from the toes of his boots alongside your knees.

“Well, hey, at least you don’t look it,” you offered, and Javi couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re much better looking than you were in the 70s, even if your clothes haven’t changed.”

“Fuck you,” he snorted. “You didn’t seem to have any complaints back then.”

You scrunched your nose at him and stuck your tongue out. “I didn’t know any better back then. You’re not the only one who expanded their horizons, Peña.”

The smile slid from his face and he bit at his lip, a sneer creeping into his expression. “You too with the brothel shit, huh? Christ. All anybody fucking wants to talk about, what narcos I shot and what whores I fucked.”

“Did I say any of that, Javi? Jesus. Don’t try to pick a fight with me, it won’t work. I’m glad you were fucking around down there. I’m sure it was hell. Sounds like burying your traumas in warm pussy helped bring you back alive. I’m grateful for that.” You looked at him plainly, like it was the most obvious reaction in the world for you to have, like his confusion at your response was the strange thing.

“Besides,” you added, “I’m sure you treated them well. I know better than most, right?” You waggled your eyebrows at him and his frustration and surprise melted away, dripped out of his mind.

“So, I was memorable?”

“Stop fishing for compliments.” You whacked one of his boots with the back of your hand, and he tipped it back toward you, pushing at the hem of your skirt with his toe.

“You were memorable,” he said quietly.

When you glanced at him, moonlight brightening the piloncillo brown of his eyes, his expression was softer, less closed off. Echoes of a younger Javier, your playmate and closest friend and confidant and co-conspirator and lover, here in your secret space like he’d never left, never grown out of Laredo, never been hardened by the cruelties of the world.

Your Javi.

“So you definitely remember what we used to get up to in here, then?” you teased, reaching for a lidded crate shoved into the corner and pulling out an ancient bottle of whiskey.

Javi’s mustache twisted up at the corner. “I remember you were a handsy drunk,” he said, grabbing the bottle and twisting off the lid, taking a slow pull from the mouth of it and wincing. “God, this is awful.”

You laughed and took the bottle back from him, taking a sip of your own. “Beggars couldn’t be choosers! We didn’t have many options for sneaking liquor.” The whiskey warmth flowed through your body like bitter sunshine. “And handsy, hm? I don’t think I was usually the one to start anything.”

Javi pawed at the bottle, downing another gulp, and you watched his Adam’s apple slide down his taut, tanned throat. “Hm, maybe not,” he mused, rocking his jaw to the side and letting his eyes rake down your body. “But I always made sure you finished,” he grunted.

You grabbed the whiskey for a final slug and capped it, sliding it back against the wall before pressing yourself up to your knees. “Is that a habit you’re still holding onto, Peña?”

You leaned forward and placed your palms flat on the ground, crawling, partly seductively and partly pragmatically because you couldn’t stand upright in the treehouse, along the length of Javi’s legs. You knelt immediately next to him and reached out to smooth the red and blue plaid collar of his flannel, then cupped a hand to his cheek.

Instinctively, Javi turned into your touch, letting his eyes close for a second and giving a gentle kiss to the meat of your thumb. He looked back to you and let his face rest in the cradle of your palm.

“Still holding onto it. Held on to everything that had anything to do with you.” He worried at his plump lower lip with his teeth, then tongued at the plush cleft there.

You swung one leg over his lap and sat in a straddle across the tops of his thighs, denim of his jeans scratching against the bared skin under your dress.

“Should’ve held on to me, Jav.”

Javi placed his hands at the flare of your hips, splaying his wide thick fingers to knead at the flesh there, more plentiful and pliant than the last time he’d touched there. Where the world had made him rough, shattered, sharp, you’d been tumbled like sea glass. Smoother, softer, light shining right through you, spilling onto him.

“I should’ve.”

“I could’ve held tighter too.”

“I wouldn’t have let you.”

“You’re right.”

“That’s a first.”

You both snickered, and you let your body rest against Javi’s chest. He threaded his arms around your waist and pulled you tight to him, pressing the bridge of his nose into the shelf of your collarbone to inhale deeply.

“It was always you. You know that, right?” he breathed against your skin.

“I do. I knew then, I know now. Things happened how they happened. It’s been a long time.” You spoke the words into the dark waves of his hair, tickling at your mouth and chin.

Javi’s voice was smaller than it had been, more hesitant. “Do you think…” He paused for a beat. “Do you think it’s been too long? Or, not long enough?”

“I don’t know. Me vale, Javier. I don’t give a shit. ¿Sabes?” You ran a finger in a small circle around the top button of his shirt.

“I don’t know if I do,” he answered honestly. His grip on your hips tightened slightly, and he scooted you just an inch or two further up to the apex of his thighs.

“I think it’s a series of miracles that you’re here and I’m here and we can still manage to squeeze our ancient asses into this treehouse,” you said frankly. “I don’t need to figure anything else out right now. Tonight? It’s enough for me to know we’re both still here, that this is still here.” And when you said this, Javi knew you didn’t mean the treehouse, but the real lugar secreto, the secret place that lived inside you both, where neither of you had ever let go of the other.

“Lie back against the wall, cariño,” Javi ordered in a soft, even husk.

You climbed off his lap and crawled back to the place you’d been sitting before, legs out in front of you.

“Knees up,” he rasped. You obeyed, skirt of your dress slipping down your raised thighs to pool at your waist. “Let them fall open nice and easy for me, baby. Just like that,” he murmured, coming up onto all fours and rubbing a thumb on your ankle bone as you let your knees drop outward.

Javi failed to bite back the moan that fell from his mouth as you spread before him, only a slip of your black thong visible as the thin wet gusset nestled into your sex, dark lips and an Eden of black curls devouring the fabric. He, too, wished to be devoured.

He reached his hands up under your ass, hooking his fingers into the floss of your underwear and peeling them from your center, wiggling them down your legs and tossing them aside. Javi carefully lowered himself to his belly, flat across the floor, his body longer than he used to be so his knees were bent and his feet rested against the opposite wall. He looked up with wide, curious eyes, asking silently for permission.

“It was always you, Jav. Still is.” You carded your fingers through his thick hair and he growled.

Javi slid his hands along your thick thighs, trying to memorize the feel of every new dimple and stretch mark on the once-familiar canvas. When he reached the end of your legs, that divine join, he used the breadth of his shoulders to press your knees even further apart, sliding his forearms under your legs to grip around your hips.

Your folds pulled open languidly as your legs spread, stretching glossy strings across your entrance, the long dark sticky swollen petals of you blooming like something rare and tropical, heady and intoxicating. Javi nudged forward, nose brushing through the course hairs as he nuzzled its strong curve against you, dragging it in a lazy back and forth over your clit. Your pussy fluttered and you drew in a sharp breath through your nose.

“Looks like she remembers me too,” Javi chuckled darkly.

He pressed sloppy open-mouthed kisses to the creases of your thighs, over your puffy mound, running up and down along the seam of you, puffing hot wet air over your asshole to see it clench and quiver.

“She wants you to stop teasing,” you whined, but your complaint was cut short with a gasp when you felt a broad lick along your slit, Javi sliding the flat of his tongue through you and flicking at your clit with its pointed tip.

Your legs fought to fold closed on Javi’s head, but his arms kept them pinned open, on display for him, bisected and dripping. He ran his tongue over and around every fold, prodding and sucking and nibbling, stretching you gently with his teeth and slotting his lips with yours in an intimate, hungry kiss.

His tongue moved through you instinctually, patiently, reverently. A disciple, attending to the temple of his deity. Javier Peña did not believe in God. He believed in worship.

Javi slid one thick finger, then another, through your shining slick, swirled them at your clit before pressing them inside of you up to the knuckles. He relished the groan that clawed out of your throat, the clench of you around his digits, as he pumped them in and out, fingertips dancing on the spongy spot that made you writhe for him. He watched your face, lips parted and panting, brow glistening, both exactly as he’d remembered you and more perfect and beautiful than you’d ever been before this moment. And you’d always been perfect and beautiful.

He dropped his face again to suck the bead of your clit between his soft lips, alternating slurping around the hood with laves of his tongue as he continued to thrust and curl his hand inside you. The obscene thick wet sounds of your pleasure wove with mingled moans and soft gasps. Javi felt, sensed, the small escalations in your as they built on each other — the flickering tense of your leg muscles, the tightening of your stomach, your affrettando breathing. He increased his efforts, dribbling a stream of spit onto you, into you as he stuffed his fingers into your pulsing cunt over and over again.

“Oh, oh, Javi. Fuck, Javi. I’m…” Your legs began to shake, some overwhelming and impossible pressure building deep inside you. Javi didn’t slow, just lavished prayers into your pussy and ground his hips against the old creaking floorboards.

“I know, baby, I know,” he chanted over you, “I’m here, baby, it’s me, I’ve got you.”

Your fingers were thrust into his hair and twisted around the soft dark strands, and you tugged, pulling a guttural roar from Javier’s chest. “Dámelo, mi vida,” he snarled. You felt the irresistible urge to bear down on Javi’s hand, walls seizing up around his fingers until that delicious pressure burst. You arched and shrieked as a dizzying pulsing gush erupted from your cunt, cascading over the man between your thighs as he groaned, swallowed and suckled desperately as he rutted into the floor. The sensation continued to crash over you, waves smashing against a cliff without end. Your vision was flashing, teeth chattering violently as you keened and bucked at the overstimulation. Javi withdrew his fingers from your channel and slid them around your clit, using your release to slip rapid circles around the swollen pearl until the world around you exploded, a razor sharp orgasm ripping through you on top of a final wave of warmth that poured out from your wrenched body.

Javier looked up through long lashes, his pupils blown and lips swollen and red. He was dripping with you, drenched and devoted, as though he’d been dunked in a baptismal font.

You gestured faintly at him, not able to move your hands beyond a small wave up your body. Javi got the message, clambered up over you and let you throw your sagging arms around his neck so he could roll with you onto his back and drape you over him. You melted against his chest, still panting, and he ran his hand over your shoulders, down your spine, over the curve of your ass. His cock throbbed against the zipper of his jeans, straining painfully in the tight denim, but he tried his best to ignore it. To just hold on to you.

“I think I owe your informants a thank you card,” you wheezed finally, breath slowing closer to its normal pace. Javi snorted into your crown, kissed your forehead at your hairline.

“Quite the mouth, huh?” he teased softly, and you pinched at his waist through his shirt with a chuckle. “Mierda. That was…” Javi trailed off, running a hand through his sweat-curled hair.

“Yeah. It was,” you agreed, neither of you needing to finish the sentence. You reached up to touch his face, the deep furrows that creased his skin there smoother and shallower now. “So. Mi vida, huh Peña?” You smirked up at him.

Javi’s cheeks pinked and he bit at the inside of his mouth, bashful as if he hadn’t bathed in you minutes before. “Too much?”

“Nah, I liked it. Did you mean it?”

Javi paused before answering, looking down at you almost meekly. “If I did?”

You smiled against him. “Then I like it even more. Kind of how it’s always been here, right? How it’s always been for us.”

He smiled back with relief. “Yeah,” he huffed out. “Yeah, it has been. Could still be, maybe? It feels like… like we… fuck. It feels like this is the first time in a long time I’m where I belong. Here, with you.”

“Between my legs?” you said with a laugh playing at your eyes.

“Sí, yes, Christ, forever.” Javi groaned again, licked the taste of you from around his lips, nostrils flaring when his dick twitched insistently. You clocked it.

“Enjoyed yourself, guapo? Need some attention?” You rolled your hips slightly, pleased when Javi sucked in a breath through his teeth and shivered.

“Are you… can you…” he stuttered out, and you shushed him with a finger to his lips, which he kissed.

“Can I stand? No,” you chuckled, shaking your head. “But I want to stay right here in your lap and let you fuck me, Jav. Te quiero.”

Javi sat bolt upright, holding on to your body as he scooted to the wall and leaned back against it. “We’re gonna be so fucking sore tomorrow. Fucking in the treehouse.”

“We don’t have to,” you offered breezily, teasing. “If it’s too much for you in your old age.”

“Don’t you dare. Pinche chiflada. Yes, we fucking do,” Javi objected immediately. “Besides,” he jabbed with a pointed finger, “we’re the same age.”

You laughed at his urgency. “Ahí está. ‘Atta boy, Peña. You’re overdressed, in that case.” You moved to unbutton his flannel, revealing more of his smooth, freckled chest. “This is a nice shirt, by the way. You looked handsome as hell tonight.” You undid the last button and slid his shirt off his shoulders, running your hands over the firm rounds of his muscles.

“Not the handsomest, though?” he smiled, leaning forward to nip at your collarbone.

“Nope, sorry. That’s always gonna be your pops,” you said with a shrug.

“Pendeja,” Javi muttered. “Can we stop talking about my dad right now, please?” He fumbled at your dress clumsily. “This needs to go.” You guided his hands to the buttons that ran down the back and chuckled against his ear as his fingers flew over the closures and he yanked the thin cotton up over your head and discarding it to the side.

“Fuck, querida. These tits…” Javier lunged toward your chest, starved, pulling one brown nipple into his mouth and moaning around it while he palmed the weight of your other breast in his hand, lifting and squeezing. You tipped your head back as he swirled his hot tongue around and over, coaxing you to a peak, then pulled off with a slurping pop. “Gorgeous. Even better than I remember,” he groaned, wiping spit from the corner of his mouth with his thumb.

You wriggled your naked body back on Javi’s legs, eliciting a whine of protest before he realized your hands were deftly unfastening his belt. He reached down to assist and you swatted him away with a laugh. “Let me have my fun, huh?” you chided, slipping your finger through a belt loop and giving his jeans a firm tug before undoing the button at his waist. You smirked at the thatch of hair peeking out from the fly. “No chones? Hussy!”

Javi’s dimple deepened, his lip curling. “Always prepared, baby.”

You shook your head. “You’re still a menace, Peña. Pero, speaking of prepared, I’m on the pill, but…”

Javier cut you off. “Tranquila. Wallet.” You reached into his bulging front pocket and slid out the weathered leather, opening it and fishing through until you felt the telltale foil square.

“Thank god. I’m sure we have some stashed up here still but I don’t know I’d trust them to hold up,” you huffed with a smile, and sat back on your heels in front of him. With practiced ease, you tore open the packet, wiggling it at the man in front of you. “Now you can take your pants off.”

Javi didn’t break his gaze, just lifted his hips and slid his tight jeans down his thighs. You pulled his boots off for him, one at a time, then yanked his pants the rest of the way down his calves and over his feet, socks coming with them. You hurled them into the corner and let your eyes rest on Javier’s nude form. He brought one fist to his base and gave himself a few slow tugs, watching you watching him.

You crawled your way up over his body and relished the way his thick cock bobbed in anticipation, the way Javi’s stomach muscles quivered under your hungry stare. Glancing down at the blushing tip of him, you couldn’t resist when you saw the gleam of precome beading at his slit, and you dipped down to taste him, his distinct salt and musk making you dizzy with want. Javi’s hips bucked wildly at the unexpected touch of your tongue. You flicked your tongue over his frenulum, licked down his shaft to the seam of his balls, and back up along a delicious pulsing vein before taking his fat head into your mouth, giving a firm, but brief, suck.

Javi gasped, biting back a moan and sucking air in through his nose with a shiver. “Can’t… do… that…” he managed, his voice graveled and tight. He grabbed your chin between his thumb and forefinger to and pulled your head up level with his. “Need you too bad. Need to be inside you, cariño. Now.”

You pulled the condom from the foil and pinched the tip, then unrolled it down Javier’s throbbing length til the ring was snug around his base. His eyes didn’t leave your hands until you finished, and you reached up to his shoulders and eased yourself to straddle across his strong thighs, his latex-covered cock wedged between your stomachs. He was breathing heavily, sweat starting to pool at the dip of his throat. He brought both hands to the sides of your face, hooking his thumbs under your jaw, and looked into you with his big dark glassy eyes. They reminded you of the night sky that shone through that hole in the roof, the way if you let your vision unfocus it felt like you could see the deep blacks and browns reveal themselves to be layers and layers and layers of stars. You felt like you could see on forever, see the whole universe.

Javi brought your forehead to his, his nose pressed next to yours, and gently rolled his hips into you, the slight friction reawakening your still-sensitive clit and releasing a fresh stream of slick. You lifted up and brought your hips forward, bringing one hand from his shoulder to grasp him firmly and slide him through your folds before angling him at your entrance. Faces still flush together, breathing each other's air, you let yourself sink down onto him, both exhaling soft whimpers of pleasure as you stretched around his girth until you were fully seated in his lap, your channel squeezing around him greedily.

“Oh, fuck,” you whined. “Oh Jav, oh fuck. I missed this. I missed you.” You let your face drop to his neck, dangled yourself from his broad shoulders, and ground your hips in slow circles against his belly. Javi dropped his hands from your face and grabbed onto your sides, guiding your movements and digging his fingers into your skin, like he needed to be sure you were really there, needed to mash into your flesh and bone to know you weren’t an apparition, not some whiskey-conjured ghost in his empty apartment in Bogotá.

He let his head fall back, giving you space to lick and kiss at his neck while you rode him lazily. “You feel so good, baby. Christ,” he rumbled, words crawling out from deep in his throat. You pressed your open mouth to his collarbone, dragging your warm wet lips over the slice of it, sighed deeply. Javi could feel your legs shaking as they bracketed his own, fatigued from your earlier pleasure, and he slowed you to a stop before lifting you from his cock.

“Acuéstate,” he whispered, grabbing his forgotten flannel with one hand and fluttering it over the floor before turning you in his arms, nudging you onto all fours facing away from him and encouraging your cheek and forearms to rest on the brushed cotton.

“Mm,” you hummed sweetly, closing your eyes and wiggling your hips invitingly. Javi had to squeeze himself tight at the root, tried not to lose his mind when you presented your glistening pussy, swollen and stretched and desperate for him. “Need you, Javi.”

He sat up on his knees and pushed into your fluttering hole with a single thrust, crushing into the ring of your cervix and forcing a sob from your throat.

“¿Estás bien?” he panted, quaking with restraint as he held himself flush to your ass, letting you catch your breath.

“Oh fuck, yes. Cojeme duro, Javi,” you rasped beneath him.

He wasted no time. Javi withdrew quickly and slammed back into you, a deep wail spilling from your open mouth. He set a breathless pace, one hand clenched around your hip and the other spread possessively over the base of your spine. The brutal snap of his hips would’ve driven you forward across the floor if he hadn’t been holding you in place with such bruising force. His heavy balls swung and slapped against your bare skin with every thrust, and you could feel his sweat puddling at the sway of your lower back as it ran from his face and chest. The air was thick with the lewd squelching sounds of your bodies smashing together and the chorus of your breathy, rattling prayers and curses and cries.

Javi’s hips began to stutter, and he tensed his thighs and ass to try to control his thrusts. “Not gonna last. Need you to come, querida. Give me another, come on my fucking cock. Please, baby,” he rambled, an edge of desperation tinting his words. He slid a hand between your legs, bringing the rough pad of his finger to your clit to press and swirl frantically as he pounded into you. He could feel when you clenched around him, so strong he could hardly stay upright. When Javi hunched over you and pressed a hot, panting kiss between your shoulder blades, you broke apart with a hoarse scream. A burning climax crashed through you, your body going rigid with electricity, the overwhelming squeeze of your cunt ripping a howl from Javi as he came so hard his vision went white. He spurted with staggering jolts, thrusting weakly until your body went limp in his hold.

As the last of his seed dribbled out, Javier lowered you both gently to the floor, curling around your body as he pinched at the bottom of the condom and slipped his spent, softening cock from your clutch. He tied it off, set it aside, and laid back down to wrap around you again. You wriggled back into him and he tucked his arm into the plush fold of your waist, hand splayed over your panza and fingers tickling softly, no sounds but the breeze of your breaths and the thrum of your heartbeats in your ears. Eventually, you rolled over to face him, wincing as you turned.

“Won’t even have to wait until tomorrow to be sore,” you griped, rubbing at your neck. Javi reached out and covered your hand with his, dwarfing it, and massaged the knot that had started to form there with a firm thumb. You melted under his touch. “No regrets though,” you added with a reassuring snicker.

“Good,” he smirked, brushing his knuckles over your cheek. “Probably should put some clothes on before I get a splinter in my dick, though.” You snorted and nodded, sitting up to let him extricate himself and re-dress. Javi pulled his jeans up, not bothering to button them, and shoved his arms back into his shirt, leaving it hanging open. You scooped up your dress and pulled it over your head, your underwear nowhere to be seen. Javi sat back down against the wall and stretched one long leg out in front of him, bending the other at the knee. “Come here,” he said, his words lazy and syrupy.

You walked on your knees to the vee of his legs and turned to sit between them, letting your back rest against Javi’s warm, wide chest. He hooked his chin over your shoulder and nuzzled at the base of your ear with the tip of his nose, looped his arms around your ribs and squeezed you tight to him.

“My dad said to tell you he owes you a dance,” he muttered, dragging his teeth lightly over your trapezius muscle, his mustache ticklish against your overstimulated body.

“Ha! I knew it,” you said with a clap.

“Knew what?” Javi sucked at the thin skin at the base of your throat, just enough to make a small bruise begin to blossom there.

“We had a bet about you.”

He stopped peppering your neck with affections to look at you curiously. “A bet? What kind of bet?”

You cackled. “When I told him to tell you to meet me here, Chucho said you’d come running after me right away. I said you’d try to play it cool, sulk for a while, then when you got too desperate you’d tell him you needed to take a leak and disappear. If he was right, I’d buy him a six-pack. If I was right, he had to take me dancing.”

“Shit,” Javier chuckled under his breath. “That’s… yeah, that’s pretty much exactly what I did,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“You’re predictable, cabrón, what can I say?”

“I did talk, a little bit.”

“To Lorraine?”

“Damn,” he laughed. “How’d you know?”

You grinned and turned your face to rub your cheek against his skin, closing your eyes. “Like I said, predictable. Did you brawl?”

Javi hummed thoughtfully. “I apologized. So did she. It was… fine. It’s okay between us, I think.”

“That’s good,” you murmured, not moving from where you were snuggled into him.

He took a few deep breaths, and you waited patiently for him to say whatever it was he needed to work up to. He pressed his face to your shoulder again and kissed it softly. “I owe you an apology, too,” he exhaled against your skin.

You turned to look at him, to cup his face in your hand. “You don’t, Jav. You don’t need to apologize to me.”

His mouth began to move in protest. “I should’ve—“

“Basta.” You pressed a finger to his lips to still them, shaking it at him admonishingly when he tried to nip at it. “No should’ves, none of that. Everything brought us back here, right?”

Javier ticked his jaw, licked at his lip thoughtfully, before conceding with a half nod. “Nuestro lugar secreto survives,” he said with a soft smile.

“It does,” you agreed, running your thumb soothingly along the lines of his face, over the two creases permanently etched between his eyebrows. “You were gone, but you were still here, you know?”

“I thought about you. All the time.” His voice was quiet, somber.

“I know,” you grinned.

Javi huffed and snorted. “Oh, you already knew that, huh? How so?” he teased, pinching at the underside of your arm.

You squirmed away from his fingers, giggling. “You’re too predictable, ¿recuerdas?”

He sighed dramatically, quickly gave up his game in favor of hugging you close again. “I think you just knew me too well. Still do.”

“I know because I thought about you all the time, too,” you admitted, sitting back against him and tilting your head to look out the roof and up at the night. Javier did the same. “Eres mi vida también,” you said towards the sky.

“I fucked up tonight, though,” he rasped against the shell of your ear.

You stilled, raising an eyebrow in question. “¿De qué manera?”

Javi pressed a palm to your cheek and turned your face to his once more. “I didn’t kiss you yet.” You threaded your hands through the curls at the nape of his neck and pulled him to you, your mouths melding as easily as your bodies had. The kiss wasn’t heated or frantic; there were no clashing teeth and wanton cries. It was slow, soft, familiar. Two parts of a whole, slid back together where they were meant to be.

“So…” Javi breathed into your mouth between slips of tongues. “Pop is cooking a big breakfast. Want to come by the ranch?” He drew back enough for his eyes to focus on your face.

“Mm, a famous Chucho breakfast sounds great. What time should I come over?”

Javi grinned devilishly. “Right now.”

You rolled your eyes, shoving at his chest before kissing him deeply once more. “I don’t know what I was expecting,” you snarked. You both stood, joints creaking, both hunching over to avoid smacking into what remained of the ceiling. Your eyes scanned the treehouse for your missing thong while Javier pulled on his socks and boots, then fastened his clothes and tucked his wallet back in his front pocket.

“Missing something?”

You turned to answer him, seeing your underwear hanging from the tip of his index finger. He spun them around and smirked. “I’ll trade you for one of those cigarettes.”

“Keep ‘em,” you said with a wink. “We quit. We’re gonna try the gum thing.”

Javier beamed at you, sliding your panties into his back pocket. “Don’t have to tell me twice. You ready?” He lifted up the hatch.

“Mhm. But take that condom with you - there’s a trash can by the fence.” When he’d grabbed it, you flicked off the lantern, plunging the treehouse into darkness, moonlight just catching on the rough fibers of the rope below.

“Let me go down first,” Javi said, lowering himself through the hole, his boots finding a sturdy knot a few feet down, descending a short way before hopping to the dirt.

You grinned down at him from the treehouse. “You want to help me down? Tan caballeroso.” You dropped a pair of sandals to the ground and started to clamber down the rope barefoot.

“Of course, mi vida,” Javi said warmly, looking up at you with a wide, crooked smile. You’d made your way down a few knots when he added, “I’m also appreciating the view.” You shook your head and let go of the rope, jumping into Javi’s waiting arms and falling into another languid kiss before your feet found solid ground. When you bent down to grab your sandals from the dust, your skirt suddenly flew up, a hand cracking sharply over the bare flesh of your ass cheek, and you squealed, flying upright and glaring back over your shoulder.

“Shameless,” you tsked.

“Claro,” Javi shrugged, unapologetic. “But you love me.”

“Yeah,” you mused, slipping your sandals on and closing the short distance between your bodies to ruffle his hair. “I sure do. Always have.”

Javi leaned into your hand and purred, content for the first time in a very, very long time. “As long as I’ve loved you,” he said, quiet and firm. He nosed a kiss to your cheek and laced his fingers through yours. “Ready to go, mi vida?”

“Been ready for a lifetime, Peña. Take me home.” You walked hand-in-hand down the winding dirt road that led to the ranch, your path together lit, as it always had been, by a sky full of stars.

—————————————————————————

Some random taggies:

@timelordfreya @mothandpidgeon @hellfire-state-of-mind @maggiemayhemnj @beefrobeefcal @yourcoolauntie @jolapeno @whocaresstillthelouvre @schnarfer @jennaispunk @wordywarriorwrites @ameerawrites @survivingandenduring @freelancearsonist @artsy-girl-76 @goodwithcheese @javierpena-inatacvest @bluestar22x @carusolikey @beldroxramscal @tonysopranosrobe @toxicanonymity @for-a-longlongtime @luxurychristmaspudding @magpiepills @gasolinerainbowpuddles @oliveksmoked @sp00kymulderr @rebel-held

This has me swooning!!! 😍

Gah I love Frankie!

convenience

summary: he was within arm’s reach. that’s all.

warnings: suggestions of harassment, alcohol consumption, language, innuendo

a/n: no thoughts, frankie morales and his broad shoulders only. poorly edited so forgive any mistakes you find. i’ll go back and fix soon.

you rarely come to the bar alone. tonight is an anomaly.

Keep reading

This was so fucking good!!!!

Such an original idea having been put together! Listen, I will read DBF fics all day long but the twist at the end?!?! OH MY WORD YES!!!!!!!!

YES YES YES

Guilty Pleasure | Series Masterlist

Pairing: dbf!Joel Miller x reader Summary: You're home from college for the summer, staying with your parents in Austin, TX. So is your dad's best friend, Joel Miller. Series warnings: Age gap (reader is 22, Joel is 43), masturbation (f), use of sex toys, oral sex, PiV, anal, hair pulling, dirty talk, getting caught, playful use of 'daddy', outrageous flirting, groping, reference to m/m, Joel's arms should always come with a warning. No outbreak!AU.

Part 1 You don't remember Joel looking like this - or you reacting so strongly to him. Part 2 After having gotten yourself off twice to the thought of Joel, your paths cross again in the kitchen. Part 3 Sunday dinner with your parents and Joel is... weird. But also hot. Part 4 Somehow you end up in the car with Joel for five hours. With all that heat outside, you just can't be held responsible for what happens next. Part 5 One thing you weren't prepared for: the sight of Joel using the pool in the backyard. One thing *he* wasn't prepared for - you needing some help to put on SPF. Part 6 An open bar and Joel in a tailored black outfit mean trouble at your father's garden party. Enough reason to do something you haven't done before.

Part 7 You've thought about this moment so many times. Now you're actually standing there, your hand on the doorknob of Joel's room, and you can hear his heavy breathing already.

A/N: If you know me, you're probably just as shocked as I am to see a dbf!Joel fic by my hand. Totally get it if it's not your thing. However - if you've read and enjoyed other fics by me, you may wanna give this one a try after all. Thank you to @magpiepills @legendary-pink-dot @lotusbxtch @sin-djarin @mountainsandmayhem

@qveerthe0ry @perotovar

encouraging me to write a wild idea that suddenly came to mind. This came together shockingly fast with ideas and feedback from all of them, so thank you babes for supporting and enabling me!

And yes, of course this series is named after the Chappell Roan song 'Guilty Pleasure' because of allll the reasons.

👉If you want to receive notifications when I post new fic, please follow @longlongtime-updates

I never even noticed that! 🤣 Makes me love him that much more

Charlie breaking into laughter when pedro goes "I'm fucking killing people!" Lives in my head rent free

Agree. Fuck that rule. 🤣

GIVE ME JOEL MILLER AND THAT TOOL BELT ASAP!

tool time

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: cock worship, self imposed denial, blue balls for all, that tool belt, pet names (darlin', baby), mentions of oral sex and p in v, very brief mention of alcohol, no/pre-outbreak TLOU, no use of y/n. word count: 3k summary: He was always there to pull you both back from the brink, though you weren't sure there was any saving you this time. And it was all because of something as simple as a tool belt.

A/N: it has been one year to the day (and almost to the minute) since I published sleepless in 2023. happy anniversary to the fic that started it all. thanks to all of you for sticking with me, and thanks to Joel Miller for always being That Man.

thank you to @sp00kymulderr and a conversation months ago at this point that inspired this fic 💛

follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future fics

"Y'Starin'?"

You were. From the moment he walked in, actually.

Then, from the moment he slung that thing low around his hips this morning, you knew you were done for. Four weeks of pain and struggle, all for nothing.

The best laid plans, you guess, as you grunt back at him with a shrug.

It was on you, really. You were probably setting yourself up for failure the moment you had your first grownup sleepover with one Joel Miller. Sensible people don't do that to themselves. Not when they have rules to keep to. They may have been your own rules, but that was besides the point. Rules were rules, and you never did like breaking them.

Watching Joel move and shift, his bulge in his denim framed neatly by the leather of his work belt, you had a feeling breaking this particular rule wouldn't upset you for long.

Six weeks. That was the rule. Just two painful weeks away. Six weeks, and then you'd be free from this forced celibacy you'd put yourself into. It was a test for yourself more than anything - always too eager to throw yourself into intimacy with people who didn't care and, if you were being honest, with people who you didn't care about either. You figured if you wanted different, you'd have to make it different.

You just didn't account for the first man in your life after a months long dry spell to be Joel Miller.

From the day you said those words into his mouth - six weeks, give me six weeks and I'm all yours - he'd been all in. He told you he could wait as long as you needed, and from the moment he said it you believed him. The problem was, from the moment he said it, you also wanted to fuck him about it.

But you couldn't, because that was exactly the rule you were trying to keep to. No sex for six fucking weeks.

You weren't even sure why you picked six weeks in the first place. The exact whys of it all went out of your head the moment Joel committed to your stupid, self-imposed rule without question. Those reasons why grew further from you each and every week he calmly stopped your dates from going too far with a gruff don't wanna break your rules, baby.

Even when you were forced to stay the night after one too many drinks, or when a make-out session got too heated, there he was to pull you both back from the brink.

Though, you weren't sure there was any saving you this time.

And it was all because of something as simple as a tool belt.

You'd seen him in it before. It wasn't new. It was quite old, and worn, actually. Usually you'd simply see him throw it into the back seat of his truck, or onto his counter, or over his shoulder. On one occasion you'd caught him on his knees, belt strapped around his hips as he fixed up a broken cabinet in his garage.

It did the same to you then as it did now, but this time it was staying on and not being hastily discarded with an oh shit, I'm runnin' late.

Now, he stands and shifts his hips, legs crossed at the ankle, the bulge in his denim so perfectly framed you're sure the sight will be burned into your vision for ever.

"You're doing that on purpose."

Your eyes are looking through him. Fuck knows you can't look at him. Not right now, not when two billion reasons not to break your one rule couldn't hold you back from just doing it.

"Doin' what?" he asks in a voice so innocent you almost believe him. Until he shifts once again, hips rocking in your direction, the denim bunching between his legs over his soft bulge.

"Stop it, Joel."

"Stop doin' what?"

Maybe he doesn't have a clue what he's doing to you - what he's been doing to you every day for weeks. Maybe he's oblivious, or too innocent and pure and good to know just how ravenous you're feeling for him right this moment, or maybe he's hoping he isn't seeing the way you're looking at him, ready to devour him in one, so he stands some chance of getting to work on time.

Yes, you could be strong and ignore the way his hand engulfs the coffee mug he's drinking from - strong but delicate in a way you know it to be by how he lets his fingertips dance up and down your side in the dead of the night. You could look past how his eyes flick down your body, stood stiff and still as far away from him as you can get in your tiny little kitchen. You could even ignore the way he licks the dregs of coffee from his lips, swiping his hand across his chin as his cup clinks down on the counter.

But then, those strong, delicate hands find purchase on his belt, hooking through a loop you saw him tuck a hammer into that day in his garage, and - as though you hadn't decided from the moment he put the belt on his hips - the last crumbling ruins of your resolve crash to the ground.

"Fuck it."

"Darlin', you -"

You cut him off with a kiss - striding across the kitchen to grab him by the shirt before he could even realize what was happening.

"Shut up," you breath into his mouth, silencing him more with the pressure of your lips on his than with the words on your tongue.

Joel, still trying to be a gentleman, keeps his one hand planted on the counter, the other on his belt, white knuckle gripping as he tries to keep up with your frantic kisses. You bite and nip at his lips, the fire in your belly not letting up even though you're well aware neither of you have time for this. And, though his hands are still, he kisses back with a fire to match, setting the ruins of your rules ablaze right there on the kitchen floor.

But then you're gone, and he's chasing a mouth that's no longer there.

His eyes snap open just as you slip down his body, your hands releasing from his shirt to slide down the length of his torso as you descend.

"Darlin', I -"

"Shut up, Joel," you growl again as your knees collide with the kitchen tile. It's not comfortable, and it's certainly not romantic, but it's what you need, so you'll take it.

"Your rule, baby, I don't wanna -"

"Fuck my rule, Joel."

Your eyes drop from his to the belt in front of you, then lower still to the soft lump in worn denim. You'd only been this close in your dreams - and there had been a lot of them lately. Waking up wet and sticky between your legs after a Joel sleepover was something you were now well accustomed to. While the you of your dreams could make the man come in two seconds flat some nights, the real you - the one on their knees in their kitchen - didn't have a clue what got his blood pumping and his heart racing.

You press a lingering kiss to the front of his jeans anyway. Just to see, really. Then, by the way his eyes widen, pupils blowing black in his warm eyes, and his breath hitches, you have a feeling you won't have much trouble at all finding out what makes Joel Miller tick.

You chain together another kiss, and then another, and then another, pressing your soft lips to the rough denim as you listen to his ragged breaths.

"I -"

"Shut up."

You don't want him to speak. You don't want him to be sensible, or to stop you, not when you've already waited so long. Not when his cock is right in front of you, separated by nothing but a zipper and some fabric.

You press a firmer kiss to him, breathing deeply and letting your eyes slip closed as you inhale. He always smells so clean in the mornings, but this time it's mixed with something else. The soft scent of his laundry detergent is still there, but there's the earthy smell of his leather belt, just a few inches away from your face. It smells of wood and dust and metal - the fixtures and undoubtedly a few errant screws and nails dumped into the pockets and pouches accounting for the latter. Then there's something else too, as you take another breath, groaning against the denim that you nuzzle your face into, feeling him twitch beneath your cheek.

He likes this. If the stiffening lump beneath your lips, pressed against your nose, rubbed against your cheek is anything to go by, he likes this a lot. Who could blame the man, really. He'd waited as long as you had. Four weeks for you had been four weeks for him. Four weeks of you trying to break through his resolve, to crack him so he was to blame for your broken rule and not you. Four weeks of you edging closer and closer to his waistband each time you kissed on the couch. Four weeks of your hips shifting back into his crotch every night you went to sleep.

"You smell so good, Joel," you groan into his crotch, letting your head rest against his thigh as you sink lower on your knees. Your head feels floaty on your shoulders, and you wonder if he can feel the hot warmth of your breath against his cock through his jeans.

His thighs tense beneath your palms as you steady yourself on him. You should probably slow down, you think, but no sooner is the thought in your head when your fingers are already creeping up and up to stroke across the soft leather of his belt.

You want to pull it off and pull his jeans down and finally taste him. You want to leave it on, slung around his hips as it is, holding onto it to anchor yourself to him as he slides into you. You want to feel it slapping against your ass as he fucks you, face down into the mattress screaming his name.

Instead you pull, tugging his hips closer to your face. He grunts above you, shifting his own hips again as his cock swells in his pants, undoubtedly uncomfortable in the confines of his jeans. You want to take it out - you could take it out. You could see it for the first time right now, right here. You could taste it if you wanted to. You'd imagined it enough.

But you don't.

Even through your desperation, there were things you still wanted for that first time with Joel Miller. Fantasies of the belt, and the need you had for him right now couldn't sway you from that, at least.

You'd have him stripped bare, and you would be too. Hands and mouths and tongues would explore first. And then, when the desperation got too much to bear, he'd slip into you like he'd always belonged there, sliding down to the root and burrowing himself in you.

"I don't want you to do anything you'll regret, baby," he whispers, holding your hand against his thigh, stilling you for just a second.

You could sob at how good he is, even now as you try to ruin him on your knees.

"How could I regret this," you murmur, white hot heat radiating off his cock as it throbs right beneath your chin. "Please, Joel. Fuck my rule. I don't care. I just want you."

You watch as his resolve begins to crack, shattering first in his eyes as he spares a heated glance down at you between his legs.

"Fuck."

You begin in earnest then. Your hands that were stilled go back to kneading, pawing at his thighs, reaching round to grab a handful of his ass as you press kiss after kiss to his cock, dampening the fabric of his jeans with your saliva.

"Wanted it for so long," you breath. "Need it. Fuck, Joel."

You're babbling into his crotch. You know you are. You don't care. All you care is about the wet heat between your legs and the cock in front of you, swollen and desperate as you are wet and dripping. In this moment you're made for each other, your pussy desperately clenching around nothing, as he throbs, pulsating with each kiss you press to him.

He gasps suddenly and you're pulled out of your trance, looking up at him as a wet patch blooms on the front of his jeans.

"Baby, you can't -"

"Don't you want to?" you ask breathlessly. "Don't you want to know what it's like?"

"I do - jesus fuck - I do, we just don't got the time."

You groan into his crotch. He's right. Of course he is. Still, you don't stop. He can feel your breath hot on him through the denim, you're sure of it. You want - need - him to know how much you want him. You need him to carry it with him all damn day until he's aching and desperate and ready to fuck you the moment he sees you.

He's not looking down at you the next time you cast your eyes up. Instead his head is titled skyward and his jaw is open in a soft moan you can barely hear from the blood pumping in your ears. The hand that was on his belt has joined the other, gripping the counter, twitching as if itching to grab at you when you run your teeth over the now solid mass in his pants.

"I want you," you whisper. "Wanted you for weeks."

You let your hands take over, cascading up and down his strong thighs, scraping nails down and dragging delicate finger tips up. With one more kiss to the heavy weight at the front of his jeans, you bring your hand up to cup him, palming the heat between his legs and gasping at the feel of it.

He feels so heavy, and warm, and perfect in your hand.

"Fuck," you hiss, squeezing gently at his covered cock. "Joel."

"Unngh."

He's wrecked. If his breathing and the way he can't look down at you is anything to go by, he may be past the point of no return. It sends a thrill through you, ruining your clean panties even more as the realization strikes you.

You could make him come like this.

And you shouldn't. The sensible part of you knows that. You know he doesn't have anything else to change into, and you know that time is rapidly ticking away by the ache gradually throbbing in your knees.

But, you could - and that just makes to too hard to resist.

So, you continue on, pressing kisses to his cock, wishing desperately you could cradle the heft of his balls in your hand as you took his head into your mouth. Your teeth nip at his thighs, scrape gently across the sides of his bulge. And then, your tongue slips out from between your swollen lips, and you lick gently at the precum seeping through his jeans.

You moan. Whine, really. Whimper, if you were being really honest with yourself. The rough fabric on your tongue and the bitter salt of his precum on your tongue almost have you coming right there on the kitchen floor. You quiver instead, holding it back as you spread your legs, desperate for relief that you don't have time for.

"Fuck, baby, you're gonna make me -"

The vibration of his phone in his pocket, twinned with a harsh beep, startles both of you. You look around, confused for a moment, before Joel scrambles for his back pocket.

"Tommy, hey," he says, clearing his throat. Tommy's voice booms back down the receiver. He's outside. Sorry I'm late, he says, and you could laugh if you weren't so painfully turned on and wrecked from the few minutes you'd spent on your knees acquanting yourself with Joel's cock.

"Yep. Uh-huh. Be out in a sec. Sure."

There's nothing but silence and the sound of your breathing when he hangs up. You can't bring yourself to get up any more than he can bring himself to walk away.

"We gotta get goin'," Joel finally says, hearing an impatient beep of a car horn outside.

"Tonight," you say with certainty, still on your knees. "You're fucking me tonight, Joel."

He helps you up, fingers twitching as they hold your waist. You don't have time for what you both want. Even a kiss could turn into something neither of you could pull back from now. You move to the door, together and desperate and messy in ways neither of you can say out loud, because the clock is ticking.

"Joel," you say, holding back a smile as you walk to your car. "Might wanna check the front of your pants."

He looks down, his cock still hard and uncomfortable in the confines of his jeans. He'd hoped the short walk to the door would releave some of the pressure, but it doesn't. And then he sees it - the dark bloom of wet denim, evidence of the twin effort between you and his cock to ruin his day in the best possible way.

Joel shifts his tool belt, letting it sit lopsided on his hips. You can see by the look in his eye that he wants to push you up against your car and kiss you like he means it. You can see by the way his fingers grip that loop in his tool belt once more, holding onto it for dear life, biting at his inner cheek.

"Tonight," he growls, when he presses a chaste kiss to your cheek, before stalking away to the waiting shadow of Tommy's truck.

You watch the leather of his belt slap against the full meat of his ass with every step, and you smile. Just one more day - ten more hours - and the denial would be over, the belt would be off and you'd finally, finally, get what you so desperately wanted.

Fuck your rule.

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🤣🤣🤣

Did not expect that ending LMFAO

Hope no one sees me cackling in my car and asks what’s up

Married Joel Sits on You feat. Joel Miller

Summary: Joel has a question for you. My contribution to my own Married Joel Sits on You challenge.

No Outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader | Rating: Teen | Word Count: 615

Content Warnings: joel sits on reader, possible collapse of popchair imminent, fire pit recklessness, mentions of marital weight gain

Author's Notes: thank you to me for being such a menace. not read or proofed by anyone but me so you get what you get.

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This was not what you had envisioned your Saturday night to be. 

It had started out normally -  sitting in your neighbour’s backyard around the firepit, chatting with him and his wife and his brother and his brother’s wife. It had been pleasant, downright agreeable and gratifying even. At least it was until Tommy bid you and the rest of the group good night and he and Maria stood up and left.

You were left alone with Joel and Tess. Their exchanged glances from the otherside of the fire pit left you feeling a little nervous. 

Tess smiled at you, her face’s shadows flickering and dancing, carving a sinister visage that you hadn’t been aware she could hold, and her voice was lower and seedier.

“We been neighbours for a while.”

You nodded, almost too politely. “Yes.”

A silence fell over the three of you, then Tess stood up and made an exaggerated stretch.

“Well, if that’s the evening, I’ve had it. I’m gonna turn in.”

She gave Joel a look and a head nod towards you, before giving you a curt smile, and leaving to head inside.

Joel’s fingers nervously strummed on his knees as he raised his brows with a tight mouthed grin, and you returned one in kind, leaving you both sitting in silence once again. You had no idea what Tess’s ominous actions were indicative of, but you could feel the nerves come off Joel in waves, and that heightened you own.

You finally decided to cut the hush between you and cleared your throat. “Ahem uh, I.. I think I should also turn in - myself… and leave, too… and go home - to my house. Over there. My house -uh, home.” Your voice was trying so hard to keep the nervous timber at bay while you motioned to your property behind the fence.

Joel looked at you wide eyed, almost scared, and his mouth opened to protest. His need to keep you there must have taken precedence over basic host etiquette because as soon as you went to stand up, Joel jumped over the firepit and sat on you, pinning you to the flimsy popchair.

You could feel his heart racing as your face was pressed against his back and you felt his whole weight on you.

“I need you - “, he huffed and you felt the vibrations from his deep voice reverberate through his back.

You stiffened. Sure, you’d watched him through the blinds in your bedroom as he mowed the lawn, and caught him running out the front door in nothing but his boxers to chase the newspaper boy who threw the morning’s paper a little too close to the bay window out front. But once he and Tess were married a few years back, you’d tried to stop because marriage had been good to Joel. His mental health and financial stability had improved, and he seemed overall a happier person. Tess made him happy and kept him taken care of and the only drawback seemed to be the effect it had on his waistline which was now pressing you uncomfortably into the creaking chair. 

“Joel - I think we shouldn’t-”

“No, please - hear me out!”

He cranked his head back to try and look at you. “I didn’t want to ask this in front of everyone and even Tess thinks this is a good idea.”

Butterflies or some other sort of fluttering insect bustled in your core, but you tried to maintain whatever decorum you could. 

“T-Tess thinks it’s a good idea?”

“Yeah, she said you’d be perfect but I didn’t want to take advantage of you.” He then sighs and finally says, “I need you to help me with my taxes.”

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I’m so glad you liked it!!! 🥰🥰🥰 I’m sorry your cat got scared 🤣😂

That is definitely the wink I was imagining 🫠

Broken Hearts Mended

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x You, Joel Miller x You

Warnings/Tags: 18+ Minors, get out! Language(at this rate, just expect it. That's just me), Pregnancy, Dieter trying to fix his past, sad!Dieter, dad!Dieter, smut, pinv, oral(m!recieving), wedding crasher!Dieter, TIME TRAVEL, OFC

a/n: This is for the Roll-A-Trope Challenge by @burntheedges I got Time Travel! Never dabbled with that before but it was fun and sheesh, Kate- this is the longest story I've ever written! This could be considered a part two of Some Broken Hearts Never Mend but can be read as a standalone! The OFC is based off my bestie IRL @hessofather - thank you for being you, for helping me with the witchy stuff, and love ya bitch! Thank you @beefrobeefcal and @jay-zzle(for the moodboard &) for your eyes on this one! Love you both!

Masterlist||AO3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

He’d been staring at the clock for an eternity or what felt like an eternity. Today was the day, the day Dieter’s been dreading since he found out. 

Today is your wedding day.

In typical Hollywood fashion, a friend of a friend let it slip when the wedding was. Saturday afternoon, 3 pm to be exact. Mark was supposed to be on standby to ensure Dieter stayed at home today and didn’t do something stupid, but what Mark didn’t expect was to be locked in the pantry with Dieter sitting outside.

“Dieter, come on man,” Mark pleaded, “Think about this before you do something dumb.”

“Would it really be that bad if I went?!”

“Yes,” Mark sighed, “Dieter, you need to let her go. If you go to that hotel all that will happen is you make a fool of yourself and embarrass her!”

“Embarrass her?!” Dieter scoffs, looking at the closed door with offense. “I got sober for fucks sake! For her and she didn’t even let me see my kid! Instead that bastard is playing daddy to my Lexi! My peanut!”

“Dieter!” Mark shouts, slamming his fists against the door, “Let me out and let’s talk face-to-face about this.”

“Sheesh Mark, calm down,” Dieter says, glancing at the clock, “If I go, maybe she’ll see me and remember how much she loved me. I gotta try right?”

“Dieter, please,” Mark sighs, “Don’t do this. It’s not a good idea.”

“I have to try, Mark.”

“Damn it, Dieter!”

More punches are being thrown at the pantry door as Dieter slowly backs away from it.

“If I don’t try now, I’m just going to spend the rest of my life wondering what if!” Dieter shouts, “Mark, you gotta understand that man.”

—

Dieter was able to bribe a waiter into letting him in through the kitchen, he had tried the front but the hotel staff quickly guided him right back through the front door. The place was gorgeous, decked in all navy blue, gold, and white, and the flower petals spread down the aisle he stood in front of. Joel is standing next to the officiant, fiddling with the gold cufflinks on his wrists. The bridal song began and everyone looked back at Dieter.

He stood there frozen, unsure of what to do until he heard the door behind him open, he turned slowly. There you were, standing before him in a gorgeous flowy white gown.

“Dieter?” You asked, confusion painted across your face before it turned into a silent rage.

“I- I need-“ he began, trying to think of what to say.

“Jesus Christ,” your father muttered under his breath before shouting for security.

“Wait-“ Dieter gasped, as two men in suits grabbed his arms pulling him towards the hall, “Please! Let me just ha-“

“Wait!,” you shout panicked, before clearing your throat, “Sorry everyone,” you announce, “Let me just take care of this real quick then we’ll be ready to get this wedding started.”

Dieter was dumbfounded. You were actually going to listen to him. You wanted to hear what he had to say. He knew it! He still had a chance. You let go of your dad’s arm and looped it around Dieter’s, leading him out into the hallway with a polite reassuring smile to your guests.

In another life, this would be the way it went. You in your gorgeous wedding dress, walking down an aisle on his arm, smiling politely to your guests before he whisked you away to ravish you the entire night. Once the doors closed, you stepped away from him clearing your throat.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing here?” You hiss, the rage in you tipping over its boiling point.

“I wanted to-“ he starts softly before you interrupt him again.

“Wanted what Dieter?!” You seethe, “Did you not feel it was enough when you showed up at my home? My work? Lexi’s fucking school?”

“I didn’t think-“ he winces, knowing immediately those are the wrong words with the laugh you let out.

“No Dieter, you didn’t fucking think,” you scoff, “You’ve spent the past six years not fucking thinking and it’s shown plenty!”

“Baby-“ Dieter tries again.

“Don’t you dare call me that!” You stop him, “Dieter, you need to leave. I’m marrying Joel and Lexi finally has a dad who wants her and loves her.”

“But I do love her,” Dieter says, tears blurring his vision, “That’s why I stayed away from you both. I love you both so much, I didn’t want you wrapped up in my shit and I’m trying to change!”

You shake your head with a sigh.

“You just have to give me another chance,” he whimpers, the tears steadily falling down his face.

“No,” you say quietly, “You’ve had enough chances.”

—

You were officially done with his shit and let him know he’d be hearing from your lawyers on Monday. His heart broken, his mind felt numb, and Dieter’s legs began to move. He felt like pins and needles were pricking all over his skin, trying to ignore the feeling, he began to speed up. He’d be fine as long as he kept moving. His chest felt like there was a weight on it, trying to catch his breath.

He needed to find somewhere with air conditioning, maybe it’s the heat finally getting to him. Standing outside a store called Vixen’s. Huh, he thought, a sex shop would be the perfect way to distract his mind. A dinging sound chimes as he enters the store.

“Good afternoon!” A cheery feminine voice calls out from the back, “I’ll be right with you.”

Dieter stood next to a counter, focusing on his breathing. The place smelled like sage, rose, and lavender. This was definitely not a sex shop. His hands held onto the counter in front of him as he closed his eyes and took in the sweet aroma of the shop. Whatever it was, it was working to help calm him down.

“Sir?” A feminine voice called out to him, “Ya alright?”

Dieter looked towards the voice to see a short woman with auburn hair standing next to a door that stated Employees Only. He gave a short nod, signaling he was okay. He just had to focus on his breathing.

“Fuck!” She gasped, flailing her hands in the air, “It’s you! C’mere!”

“Huh?” Dieter asked in confusion, trying to catch his breath.

“C’mere!” She said more sternly, motioning for him to follow her, “Been expectin’ you to show up any day now and you’re finally here!”

Dieter began to follow the stranger apprehensively down a hall, passing multiple doors, as she began to talk more.

“The names’ Willow Vixen. Now that you’re here, maybe I can finally stop using the rose.” She states, wrinkling her nose, “Not my favorite but that’s what the ball suggested for your arrival. Considering it doesn’t give me much of a time frame I figured fuck it and just started making sure it was around at all times.”

“Ball?” Dieter asks, his legs taking over, continuing to follow Willow until they meet a door that has her name on it, “I’m sorry but do I know you?”

“Not yet, Dieter,” Willow hums, grabbing a key ring from her belt loops, and unlocking the door, “When we get inside I’ll explain.”

Once she opened the door, he was hit with a powerful smell of sage and rosemary. She ushered him in, closing the door behind her.

“Sit,” she commanded, pointing to a table in the middle of the room.

He wasn’t sure what he was even doing here. Following a stranger into some back room of a store sounded like the beginnings of some ritual sacrifice and by the way her office was set up, it looked like it, too.

The room was dim before Willow fluttered about lighting candles while humming, beginning to shed more light on her space. He could see a table covered in an emerald green cloth with four chairs surrounding it, and a crystal ball sat upon a perch in the middle of it with dozens of candles surrounding it.

“So… uh,” Dieter hesitates, hands scrubbing through his hair. The fuck is he doing here? He should leave. Willow continues to hum while she lights more candles by a thick open book sitting on a desk, flipping through the pages before she stops.

“Ah-ha!” She announces with a joyous clap, “Would ya look at that! Found it on the first try.”

She looks up to see Dieter still standing by the door with a nervous energy about him.

“Gah damn it, Dieter,” she grumbles, approaching him, “Ain’t gonna hurt ya. I’m here to help ya. Now go on, sit,” Ushering him to the table, lightly patting him on the shoulders, “Let me just get a few more things ready before I truly start this process, alright?”

“Help me?” He asks, watching Willow move in the space around them. She grabbed a bottle and began spritzing it around the chair he sat in.

“Duh, I told ya,” Willow said with a raised eyebrow smirking, “Oh wait, maybe I didn’t? Did I?”

Dieter looked at her in bewilderment, continuing to watch as she placed the spray bottle of liquid beside him and grabbed incense instead, placing them in their holders and lit them.

“T- tell me what?” He asked nervously, placing his hands in his lap and beginning to fidget with his fingers.

“My apologies, sir.” Willow bows, “I am a witch! Well, kind of a-a witch. I’m a witch practicin’. My great great great great grandma was one and it kinda skipped a generation or two cause my folks decided we should follow Jesus instead. Ya in any sort of religion? I’ve been involved with… too many.”

Dieter shakes his head. Fuck, this is how it ends, he was right. She’s gonna sacrifice him.

“I’m spraying lavender right now to try and get your ass to calm down,” she states matter of factly picking the bottle up again, Dieter flinches when she sprays some directly onto his hair, “Your energy is thick with nerves. Now what was I sayin’?” She asked, stopping in place and staring at the table cloth.

“Oh yeah! Sorry, I have a disorder where my memory ain’t the best. Think Dory from Findin’ Nemo,” Willow smiles brightly, “I’m a witch and this here crystal ball-” she taps a finger against the clear ball in the middle of the table, “-showed me to be expectin’ ya.”

“Sh-showed you?” Dieter asks, cocking his head to the side with wide eyes.

“Yeah!” Willow exclaims, “Showed me you comin’ here, us doing some magic and then you fuckin’ off to whatever it is you’re tryin’ to change!”

“Wait,” Dieter stops, eyes widening, “What am I changing?”

“Beats me,” Willow shrugs, fanning the incense around before plopping down in the chair across from him, “Alls I know is I’m supposed to help ya get there.”

Dieter looks at her and then the ball in between them. It starts sparkling inside as the clear crystal becomes dense with a weird purple fog, swirling around the inside of the crystal.

“Oh shit! It’s doin’ the thing again!” Willow shrieks in excitement, bouncing in her chair, “I told ya the thing showed me what I needed to do! Maybe it’s trying to show you what you need to do.”

Dieter stares at the ball before the swirling fog reveals you lying in your shared bed years ago. He remembers this morning clear as day, it’s the morning before he went to that stupid party and relapsed.

“It’s her,” he chokes back a sob, “What kind of sick fucking trick is this?!”

“It’s not a trick!” Willow protests, “I’m tellin’ the truth! Just watch the damn thing!”

Dieter continues watching the fog swirl within the ball, seeing himself join you in bed. Dieter perks up as he watches himself undress you and begin worshiping you like the goddess you are. Willow clears her throat turning her head.

“Ope,” she murmurs, cheeks becoming flaming red, peering at the ceiling out of privacy, “Don’t think I’m supposed to watch this bit.”

Dieter is entranced, watching the two of you, reliving that entire day. Except in this version he never leaves the house, he stays home with you instead. That’s what he should have done, stay home and hang out with you instead of go to that stupid fucking party.

The purple fog disappears and the crystal becomes clear again, leaving Dieter even more confused.

“Wait!” He shouts, gripping the ball with both hands, “Come back! Show me more!”

“Now hold on just a damn minute,” Willow scolds, pushing his hands off the ball, “Don’t break my damn ball. It’s the only one I got.”

“But I want to see more,” Dieter lets out a pathetic whine, “How can I see more. Make it show me!” He demands.

“Not how it works, bub,” Willow huffs, “But, from the looks of it that’s where the ball wants me to send you.”

“S-s-send me?” Dieter stutters out with a scoff, “How are you gonna send me back to the happiest time of my life?”

“Time travel, duh,” Willow snorts, “The hell do you think you showed up here for?”

He looks at her with bewilderment. How the fuck is this girl supposed to help him go backwards in time?

“Now, now,” Willow says, clicking her tongue in annoyance, “I recognize that look. Ya don’t believe me,” she adds with a roll of her eyes, “I’ve got everything ready.”

She stands making her way to a small tea kettle, filling it with water from a jug before placing it on her desk beside the book. Willow moves through her office with a practiced ease, opening and closing cabinets, grabbing the things she’ll need for this ritual. Taking one last glance at the book on her desk before clearing her throat.

“Now, I’m gonna brew this tea for you to drink. It’s got some cloves, rosemary, garlic and cinnamon in it,” she explains, plunking and sprinkling the herbs in the kettle, “Oh shit!” She laughs, opening a desk drawer to pull out a small hot plate, “Ain’t gonna get very far without boilin’ it.”

Dieter watches as she softly hums, flitting about the room as the tea gets ready.

“Now, I got white sage and mullein burning already,” Willow explains pointing at each, “Helps with clarity.”

He nods, still confused and a little scared. He has no clue how this is supposed to actually work. Time travel isn’t real, this isn’t some movie like Back to the Future. Although, he thinks tilting his head, would be pretty cool to drive the DeLorean. His thoughts are interrupted by Willow chanting something over the tea right as the kettle lets out a shrill whistle. Willow pours the tea into a little cup bringing it over to the table, placing it in front of Dieter.

“Ain’t gonna lie to ya,” Willow grimaces, “Probably gonna be nasty as fuck with the herbs I had to use but it’s what the book said to use.”

“Probably not the worst thing I’ve ever ingested,” Dieter shrugs, “So how’s this work? Do I just drink it?”

Willow nods, “I said the spell, I have the scents going, all you have to do is keep an open mind,” she continues with a smile.

Dieter nods, staring at the cup. What’s the worst that could happen? His life is already fucked. At least he can say he tried if it doesn’t work, grabbing the cup and downing the drink. Willow was right- it’s rancid, he begins to cough placing the cup back on the table.

“Now what?” Dieter asks with a grimace, glancing at Willow.

“Now,” a grin spreads across her face, “We wait.”

- - -

The sun’s rays shone through the curtains causing Dieter to wince as he woke the next morning. How was he supposed to know if the ritual worked? Willow said they just had to wait. Wait for what though? Hearing a soft groan next to him he peeked one eye open at the sound, looking around he noticed this wasn’t his room. Well, more so not his room anymore. The soft yellow walls and white curtains had all been replaced after you left with dark grays.

Glancing next to him, he felt like his heart stopped. There you were, snoring softly next to him. Maybe he was dreaming and his mind decided to torture him, it wouldn’t be the first time it had happened but then you reached for him. Your hand laying on his chest above his heart. Dieter didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, shout with joy or all three at the same time. His palm reaches out, gently touching your face.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers to your sleeping form as he rubs the apple of your cheek with his thumb, “I was such a fucking idiot.”

You crinkle your nose and let out a huff as you sleep. A grin plastered across his face, he can’t believe it actually worked. If he ever sees Willow again he’s going to have to thank her. She may not know what for, with traveling back in time, but he’ll thank her anyway. 

“You’re staring,” you let out a sleepy grumble.

“Can’t help it,” Dieter whispers, grinning like an idiot. You open an eye to look at him, raising your brows.

“Why are we whispering?” You giggle, scooting closer to lay your head on his chest, listening to the thump of his heartbeat.

Dieter takes a deep breath into your hair, shrugging his shoulders, wrapping his arms around you and holding you tight. Afraid if he loosens his grip you’ll be gone again. His hands begin to roam under your shirt, feeling the softness of your skin, the roundness of your belly. You’re still pregnant, grinning to himself as he sits up and moves you to lay on your back, rubbing his hands down to your hips. You’d always complained of them hurting with the added weight of Peanut, their little Lexi who would be coming into this world.

“Mmm,” you let out a soft moan, as his hands gingerly massage your hips, your fingers digging into his thigh, “Dieter.”

He couldn’t stop smiling, unable to believe this is actually happening again. Being with you, being back in your shared home, being here during the happiest time of his life. Dieter leans over your belly, pulling up your shirt to expose your bump, placing a soft kiss there.

“I love you,” he breathes out, his voice cracking before trying to get a grip on his emotions. 

“Babe?” You ask, concern lacing your voice as you reach for him, “What’s wrong?”

“Missed you,” he says, kissing your bump again, “Both of you.”

“Babe,” you laugh, “All we did was go to sleep.”

“Yeah,” Dieter huffs, rolling his eyes, “Just went to sleep,” he hums, lifting your shirt more to uncover your breasts, his lips placing a trail of open mouthed kisses until he meets one of your nipples, sucking it into his mouth. You let out a soft hiss as your fingers tangle in the soft waves of his hair. There’s one thing Dieter knows he can’t fuck up, sex. He’ll figure the rest out later.

You moan as he spends equal time on each of your breasts, sliding a hand down your front into your underwear. Dieter lets out a groan when he feels the wetness already collected there. He needs this, to you it was yesterday, to him it’s been six years since he’s felt you around his cock.

“I need you,” Dieter grunts, pushing you on your side, flopping down behind you and pushing his boxers down. His stiff member pushing into your ass.

“Jesus, Dee,” you giggle as he quickly pushes your underwear down enough to get to your core, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Please don’t,” he whispers into your neck, slipping his length between your folds, coating himself in your arousal. Dieter grips his dick, slowly pushing into you, simultaneous moans spilling from both of you.

“Fuck, baby,” you moan, throwing your head back against his shoulder, “So fucking big.”

Dieter pants, feeling your walls constrict around him, stopping himself when he’s fully sheathed inside of you. He doesn’t want this to end before it’s even begun.

“Oh god,” he whimpers, grabbing your hand, lacing your fingers together, “Missed this.”

“Dieter,” you pant, hips squirming against him, “I need you to move, baby.”

He nods against your head, slowly pulling out, his tongue laving against your pulse point as he sharply pushes back in.

“Fuck,” you cry out, gripping his hand tighter. He knows it’s your favorite so he keeps the same rhythm, pulling out slowly before plunging back in. He can’t stop the words flowing from his mouth as he thrusts into you. His pace grows quicker as he speaks.

“Please don’t leave me,”

“I need you,”

“I love you,”

“I won’t fuck up again,”

“I promise,”

“I love you.”

Every phrase punctuated with a sharp thrust into your wet heat, producing a moan from your lips.

“Dieter,” you moan, “I’m gonna come, baby, I’m gonna-“

Dieter can feel the fluttering of your walls, gripping you tighter he moves faster, unable to control himself any longer.

“Fuck,” Dieter groans, “Look at me, baby.”

Your head lolling against his shoulder as his hips snap into you, he grips your face turning you to face him. Slotting his lips over yours, smothering your cries as your orgasm rips through you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Dieter grunts, grinding his hips into you as your walls constrict around him, warm ropes of his come painting your insides. He kisses you softly while both of you try to catch your breath.

“You okay?” You ask, eyes gazing up at him.

Dieter nods, keeping his arms wrapped around you.

“Bad dream,” he murmurs into your hair.

“I’m sorry babe,” you give him a sympathetic smile, giving him a quick kiss before moving off of him with a hiss, “Wanna go look at stuff for the nursery?”

“Hmm,” Dieter hums, wrapping his arms around you again before you can leave the bed, “Let’s stay in bed all day.”

“We just woke up,” you squeak out with a giggle, as he pulls you back against him, “Already need a nap?”

“After that workout?” He laughs, kissing your neck, “Uh… yeah!”

Dieter’s eyelids are heavy. He felt calm, more at peace than he has been for years, having you back in arms, the comforting weight of you next to him. The hint of your perfume surrounding him, causing him to quickly drift back to sleep.

- - -

“Dieter wake up!” Mark shouts, “Time to go.”

Dieter jumps, how long had he been asleep? The room is dark as Mark flings the gray curtains open allowing the sun to burst in.

“What the fuck?” Dieter groans, covering his face with the pillow next to him, blocking the sun from his eyes. His sleep-addled brain hasn’t registered what’s happened.

“Come on, man,” Mark says more sternly, grabbing the covers to pull off of Dieter, “Gotta get Peanut.”

“Peanut?” Dieter asks, flipping the pillow off his face, sitting up taking in his surroundings, “No, no, no. This isn’t right.”

He looks around at the gray bedding, the curtains, the walls. Where’s your house? He was just there, wasn’t he? Was it just a dream after all?

“Yes. Peanut,” Mark says, giving him a confused look, “Lexi, Your daughter.”

“I know who Peanut is, Mark.” Dieter snaps, “But she won’t let me see her.”

“Dieter,” Mark scolds, “Do not tell me you've been using again.”

“What? No!”

“You’ve had your daughter every other week for years now.” Mark explains, “Are you sure you're not using anything?”

“You mean, I have custody?” Dieter asks, beginning to choke up, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. 

Whatever Willow did, it worked, well kind of. If Dieter had some sort of custody of Lexi that means he must have changed something going back in time.

“I gotta go see Willow.”

“Willow?” Mark asks, shaking his head, “Dieter, you don’t have time to go on some wild goose chase looking for whoever it is you’re talking about.”

Dieter rushes out of bed, grabbing random clothes he finds throughout his room to throw on, running down the stairs to find his crocs.

“Dieter!” Mark shouts after him.

“I gotta fix it, Mark,” Dieter yells back, finding his car keys, and opening the front door, “I gotta fix it!”

—

“Willow!” Dieter bellows, bursting into Vixen’s, “It worked! It kind of worked!”

He hears a crash a couple aisles over and a gah-damnit!, before Willow appears at the front of the shop.

“The hell you comin’ in here yellin’ about?” Willow asks, rubbing the top of her head, “You made me drop a jar of Dragon’s blood on my damn head. I do not need any more feminine power right now!”

“Sorry,” Dieter chuckles, “I think we need to do the ritual again. I have custody!” 

“Custody?” Willow asks, confused.

“Custody of my kid, Willow!” Dieter says, gripping her shoulders giving her a little shake, “All I did was fall asleep, had a crazy vivid sex dream about my girl and now I have custody! I’ve never even met my daughter!”

“Alright, alright, alright,” Willow says, wiggling out of his grip, “Don’t touch me and I don’t wanna hear about your weird sex dreams but come on back.”

He follows her through the dark hall, to her office, the white sage and mullein is lit, the tea is brewed while Willow chants the magic words. He chugs it again. The warm liquid tingled in his throat as it went down.

“Not as bad the second time,” he sputters out through a cough, “Should you make extra so I can take it home?”

“Not how it works,” Willow chuckles, “Gonna have to come see me. Door will always be open.”

“I don’t understand how this is working at all,” Dieter admits, “All I did was go to sleep?”

“Maybe in your sleep is when you’re traveling,” Willow shrugs, “I won’t lie, I’m not sure how it works either. Remember, I’m new at this.”

—

Dieter leaves Vixen’s, feeling on top of the world as he makes his way to your house. He cannot believe he’s about to see his kid for the first time, well maybe not the first time but it is for this Dieter. He pulls up to the address he found saved into his phone under your name, taking a deep breath before getting out of his car.

He makes his way to the front door. It’s a different house than the last time he showed up, hoping you’d forgive him for running off and taking forever to get his shit together. Taking a deep breath he presses the doorbell, hearing the chime inside.

“Daddy!” He hears screeched from behind the door before it opens. A little girl looks up at him with wide brown eyes and soft curls.

“You came to get me!” She exclaims, grabbing his hand with both of her little ones and pulling him through the entrance.

“Y-yeah, I did,” Dieter murmurs, unable to stop staring at the back of her head. Her hair bounces with every step she takes as she continues babbling at him about something.

“Hey Dieter,” you smile at him from the couch with a book in your hand, “She’s been super excited for you to get her this week. Thank you again for keeping her an extra week.”

“Extra week?”

“Please don’t tell me you forgot,” you groan, “Dee, you promised me you wouldn’t forget! This is super important! Joel’s taking me to meet his family.”

“Joel?” Dieter asks, clenching his jaw, fingers flexing of his free hand against his thigh. Of course, Joel is still present. 

You study his face, taking in the tension rolling off him in waves, putting your book down and getting off the couch.

“Peanut, baby,” you say in a sweet tone, “Why don’t you go upstairs and get your stuff ready so you can go have fun at Daddy’s?”

“Okay,” she chirps, climbing the steps to the second floor. Leaving the two of you alone.

“Dee?” You ask, approaching him, “You doing okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” Dieter lies with a nod of his head, “Just forgot you have plans next week.”

“Look,” you start, gripping his hand, “I know this whole thing is weird for you but I know one day you’re going to find someone to love,” Dieter’s thumb begins to rub against your fingers softly, noting the absence of a ring on your hand.

“You don’t get it,” Dieter scoffs, shaking his head, “It’s you. I want to be with you.”

“We tried Dieter,” you say, giving him a sympathetic smile, “We just aren’t meant to be.”

- - -

When he wakes next, Dieter is blinded by the brightness of the room, closing his eyes again, not ready to get up.

“Daddy,” a little voice says, poking his cheek with tiny fingers.

He groans feeling a weight on top of his chest. He can hear you humming softly downstairs in the kitchen, little fingers continue poking at his face trying to wake him.

“Peanut,” he chuckles, “Why are you poking my face?”

“Time to wake up!” She announces, standing up on chunky legs before plopping her butt back down. Dieter lets out a grunt before opening his eyes, spotting the soft yellow walls of the room. He can’t stop the smile forming on his face. He’s back to where he wants to be, this timeline seeming to be much better than the present.

“Come here,” Dieter playfully growls, tickling Lexi’s sides. Her high pitched squeals echoing throughout the house.

“Breakfast is ready!”

“Hear that Peanut?!” Dieter asks enthusiastically, “Momma made breakfast!”

“Breakfast!” Lexi shouts, throwing her arms up in the air, “I hungry!”

Dieter scoops her up as he gets out of bed, carrying the toddler with him down the stairs to the kitchen.

“Morning,” you hum, smiling at both of them, “The contractor was supposed to be here earlier but he overslept so said he’d be by soon.”

“Oh?” Dieter asks, setting Lexi down into her booster seat as if he’s done this every day, “Who’d we hire again?”

“Dieter, I swear,” you laugh, rolling your eyes, “You’d be so lost without me.”

“You have no idea,” he murmurs, kissing the side of your head as he grabs the plates of food you had set out, giving one to Lexi and sitting down next to her to eat his own.

“It’s Miller Bros,” you huff, “And no, they’re not like the Mario Brothers from Nintendo,” you add after seeing Dieter’s head perk up. You always were good about knowing what was on his mind.

“So, what’s the plan for today?” Dieter asks, stabbing his fork into the eggs, “Besides the contractor coming, I mean.”

“I don’t know,” you say, shrugging. The rest of the meal went on, the scraping of silverware against plates and random chatter from Lexi the only things to be heard. It was eerie how quiet you were, Dieter stared at you as you scrolled mindlessly on your phone. He can’t pinpoint what’s going on but he feels there is something different here. Lexi finishes her breakfast, scooting off her booster and running off to watch TV.

“Is everything okay?” Dieter asks, fidgeting with the fork in his hand, he can’t risk losing you but he needs to know the answer.

“No,” you admit quietly, “I just- I don’t know what to do anymore Dee.”

“What do you m-“ he tries, the doorbell chiming interrupting his sentence.

“That must be the contractor,” you sigh, “Wanna start the dishes while I get the door?”

“Uh, yeah,” Dieter nods, “Sure.”

He gathers the dishes, rinsing each item before putting them in the dishwasher, hearing you speak with the contractor.

“I’m so sorry ma’am,” the contractor says with a gruffness in his voice, “Would’a been here earlier but my idiot brother wrote the time down wrong.”

“No worries,” you reply in a cheery tone, “You deserve the extra sleep, you work so hard.”

Dieter hears a deep chuckle from the man and a thank you, you’re too kind darlin’. It makes his stomach twist, he knows who this is. Joel fucking Miller. Can he not escape this guy?

Dieter slams the dishwasher closed, pacing throughout the kitchen. In his present time, the man is there. Now in his supposed past the man shows up too?! He wishes he could call Willow but a quick google search shows that Vixen’s doesn’t exist just yet, groaning as he tosses his phone onto the counter. What is he supposed to do?

He sees through the doorway how you look at Joel, the sparkle in your eyes, the way you seem almost bashful as Joel continues to talk about the most mundane things. Dieter can’t help the idea that’s popped into his head as he makes his way to the couch, sitting with your shared daughter as she watches cartoons.

It wouldn’t be the craziest thing he suggested, he’s Dieter Bravo. He’s definitely said worse things in interviews. He continues watching the two of you, the slight smirk on Joel’s face, the shy smile gracing your own.

Maybe if you fucked Joel you’d get it out of your system.

Dieter sees the attraction to Joel, of course he does. He’s rough, burly, and has that southern charm about him. The way his shirt hugs his biceps, his jeans clinging to his thighs. Joel clears his throat and Dieter snaps his head up, finding Joel staring directly at him, having been caught ogling he can feel his face turning a shade darker. You smile at Dieter, covering your mouth while a giggle escapes your lips.

“I’m gonna get started on the bathroom,” Joel says, eyeing Dieter on the couch, “Don’t let me interrupt your morning, Hollywood,” he adds with a wink.

You make your way to the couch, curling into Dieter’s side.

“So,” you giggle, with that sparkle still in your eyes, “Joel, huh?”

“Joel,” Dieter smirks, wrapping his arm around you, nodding his head. He brings you closer to his side, kissing your temple, before he scoops Lexi into his other side, keeping both his girls close to him.

- - -

“Dieter,” Mark says, giving Dieter’s shoulder a shove, “Need to wake up, you’re home.”

“Home?” Dieter grumbles, scrubbing his hands down his face, he feels metal on one of his fingers. Eyes popping open, he spots a band on his left hand. Married. He’s married?

“Yeah, home,” Mark chuckles, “And don’t worry. I took care of everything so the three of you could spend some time together for the next couple days.”

Dieter grins, saying your name out loud quizzically, he needs to make sure it worked this time. Mark nods, he gets to spend time with his girls. His girls. Dieter hops out of the car, grabbing the duffle bag from the backseat.

“Thanks for the ride Mark,” he hollers as he makes his way to his front door, shaking with nerves as he stands there. Taking a deep breath he opens the door to find the house covered in darkness, flipping on the light he takes in the room before him. Toys, books, and small shoes scattered around. His smile grows wider as he hears a noise from upstairs.

You must be upstairs waiting for him. Dieter sets his duffle bag down next to the door before flinging his crocs off on his way up the stairs. The door of the master bedroom is opened by a jar and he can hear grunts coming from within.

Fuck, Dieter thinks, manly grunts can only mean one thing.

He tiptoes to the door opening it more, seeing you naked on your knees before Joel. His thick cock in your mouth as you bob your head faster along his length.

“S’it baby,” Joel groans, throwing his head back as you take more of him down your throat, “So fucking good at that.”

You’re moaning as he grips your head, holding you on his cock.

“Fuck,” Dieter whispers, feeling his dick twitch with interest, watching you gag on Joel’s length. Joel’s head snaps towards the doorway.

“Ya just gonna stand there Hollywood or ya gon’ join?” Joel smirks, eyeing Dieter up and down, “We’ve missed you.”

You moan, pulling off Joel's cock with a soft pop, twisting your body to see Dieter.

“Hi baby,” you purr at him, “Glad that you’re home.”

Dieter stands there frozen, watching you stroke Joel’s shaft with a sly grin.

This present time is nice, Dieter thinks with a smirk on his face, I can live with this.

When you need to brainstorm with friends on a story and then their idea just plays on loop in your head… windsock and all

NSFW under the cut all thanks to @beefrobeefcal ❤️❤️❤️