misstokyo7love

[misstokyo7love]

An angsty Clint!

this house still creaks | clint x f!reader

pairing: clint x f!reader word count: 2,449 warnings: angsty, sprinkle of spice, no spoilers, we’ve only watch the trailer here, barely edited, mistakes are my own estimated reading time: 12 minutes summary: Clint returns to the house you both once shared. Some ghosts still linger no matter how much you move on. ao3: linked

this house still creaks.

You never did like the smell of smoke.

Clint knew that. Still lit up anyway. It wasn’t a habit he had any interest in breaking—not now, and not back then. He sat on the stoop of the run-down place he once called home, knees spread, elbows rested on them, cigarette burning slow between his fingers. The wood under his boots creaked when he shifted, a reminder that time hadn’t been kind to anything.

The porch leaned a little too far to the right. The front door stuck when it rained. And the screen, even though it’d been replaced once or twice already, had a tear in the corner that everyone had given up on fixing.

The air smelled like asphalt and old rain, the street was starting to dry under the weak morning light that fought its way through the grey clouds. Oakland never changed—not really. Just got louder, harder, more cracked around the edges.

Like him.

He exhaled through his nose. Smoke curled and caught the light. Somewhere down the block, a dog barked, sharp and high-pitched and impatient. He flicked the ash off his cigarette and watched it fall, tiny embers dying in the damp. His mind wandered to the last time the two of you had sat there, both of you younger, both of you maybe a little more foolish and blinded to what was ahead.

It had been a Sunday.

That much he could swear by. You’d been barefoot on the porch, painting your toes the same shade of red you liked to wear on your lips. He’d leaned in the doorway, watching you like he didn’t know how this story ended already.

“You look like you’re looking for trouble,” he said.

You didn’t look up as you delicately brushed a polish on your last toe, “Only if you’re stupid enough to ask for it.”

He grinned. Always liked your mouth when it was sharp like that. It made the soft parts that came after feel like something he earned. Something holy.

You squinted up at him, “You gonna hover or come help me fix the fence like you promised?”

The fence. Jesus. He had forgotten about it, again.

“I will,” he’d said, not missing a beat. “Just lemme have my coffee first.”

Your laugh had been a low thing, warm and genuine, like you didn’t know how fast it could all rot. Like the world hadn’t taught either of you to expect the worst.

He’d given you the best pieces of himself. But only for a while.

Clint rubbed a tired hand over his jaw now, the scruff there mostly grey. He blinked hard at the old wood beneath his boots, remembering how your voice used to lilt when you called him by his name. Not baby, not anything sweet. Just—Clint.

That had been enough.

Until it wasn’t.

The job had always been a problem. It started off easy, simple runs, collections, intimidation with a smile. But violence got in your blood. It changed how you moved, how you spoke. How you loved. And Clint? He had a knack for it.

You hadn’t asked him to stop. Not really. You just started going quiet instead.

He should’ve known.

That night, the last one, had come in slow. Like a bruise.

He’d come in late, blood on his knuckles, sweat dried on his neck. You’d been at the kitchen table, fingers curled around a chipped mug, an open book in front of you—he was sure, if he looked, it’d been the same page you’d been on for the last three days. There’d been no music playing. No candles lit. Nothing that made it feel like home.

He’d stopped in the doorway, chest rising and falling with more than just breath. You didn’t look at him.

“Long night?” you asked.

He didn’t answer. He knew he had to let this play out, that there was no avoiding it.

So, the silence stretched.

“I saw you,” you said finally. “At Rudy’s. With Torres.”

Clint swallowed. “So?”

He may need to let it happen, but that didn’t mean he was going to make it easy, fueled by his stubborn pride. Or possibly a last attempt to delay the inevitable.

“You were beating the shit outta that kid. Over what—a couple hundred bucks?”

His jaw tightened; it was more, but you didn’t need to know that, how high the stakes were that he collected for. “He owed.”

You got up slow, like everything in you was tired. Not just your body. Not just your bones. You set the mug down. More quiet.

“That’s what this is now?” you asked. “This is who you are?”

He didn’t know how to answer that. Maybe he already had.

You closed your book, your eyes meeting for the first time that night. There was no anger there, no fire. Just a quiet resignation that scared him more than anything else.

He’d watched you slip past him without so much as a brush of skin. The door had clicked shut behind you, a dull echo in the space where your laughter used to be.

Funny how he thought leaving would hurt less than staying did.

Instead, you beat him to the punchline. You left that night with a bag and your keys and a line he still couldn’t forget:

“I don’t think I really knew you at all.”

Clint snuffed out the cigarette against the porch step, flicked the butt into the overgrown yard. The house was empty now. Had been for years. He came back sometimes when the ghosts got too loud.

He braced to push himself up to his feet. Wincing at the pain in his back that was getting harder to ignore. The wood of the porch creaking under the strain of his weight. He wondered if any of it was salvageable. If he was.

The back door opened with a groan again, as if it were under protest of letting him back in. He shouldered the door into its frame, taking two attempts before it would actually close. Flicking the lock, he ignored the kitchen table and headed through to the stairs, grabbing the bag he’d brought with him as he went.

The bedroom smelled like stale air and old wood. He stepped inside, boots heavy against the loose floorboards. The bed was barely made, dusty and wrinkled, forgotten like the rest of this place. He tossed his bag in the corner and peeled off his shirt, scarred skin catching in the low light.

The mirror over the dresser was cracked. He didn’t look at himself long. Just long enough to remember how your fingers used to trace his ribs, pause on the scar just below his collarbone and make him tell you again how he’d gotten it as a kid.

He undid his belt with a rough tug and stepped into the bathroom, bare feet cold against the tiles. The shower still worked—mostly. The water wasn’t shut off, but it came out weak, but it was hot. Clint stepped in, let it scald.

With the steam whispering at the edges of the drawn shower curtain and filling the space, he tipped his head back and let the heat run over his face. And that’s when the memories came in, uninvited, loud and hard enough to steal his breath.

Your hand on the back of his neck, pulling him under the steam with you. The way you used to laugh when he grumbled about getting your soap in his eyes. How he’d brace one hand on the tile behind your head and press against you, mouth wet and hot, his breath uneven with want.

He could still feel your thigh hitched around his hip as his fingers bit into flesh to hold you tight.

Could still hear the way you used to moan his name—not loud, not theatrical. Just raw. Real. Like you needed him like air.

Clint cursed under his breath and scrubbed a hand over his face, willing it all away. It didn’t work.

The water cooled before he was ready to leave, but he shut it off anyway. Toweled off in silence. Got into the bed and just lay there staring at the ceiling.

The sheets didn’t smell like you. He knew they wouldn’t, maybe he’d hope there’d be some trace of you left. But they didn’t smell like anything.

However, his memory was cruel and unrelenting.

Your back against his chest. Your foot tangled with his. His fingers at the apex of your thigh,s making you gasp and whisper how it was too much, but never really wanting him to stop. The nights you used to turn and kiss him without opening your eyes when he’d slip in late. How sometimes you’d reach for him, fingers twitching until they found his.

It had been the kind of life he never thought he could have. The kind that felt borrowed. Temporary.

And it was.

Clint rolled to his side and stared at the wall. His hand curled into the empty space beside him. His throat felt tight. The silence pressing down hard on him.

He closed his eyes.

And there you were.

He didn’t sleep.

He just lay there.

Remembering the weight of you beside him.

The job he’d done the night before, the one that had him coming here over his apartment. It’d come through no different than any of the others. Local. Easy. No mess, no blood, just a message that needed delivering. Clint liked those the best. The kind where nobody had to scream.

It wasn’t until he’d parked that he realised he was two blocks from where you used to work. The slow prickle of memories working their way through, rooted so far down from where he’d pushed them, reaching for the light. He was slouched low in the driver’s seat, engine idling. Further discomfort in his skin when he realised the diner, the same peeling paint framed the windows. The bell above the door still rang too loud.

He used to pick you up there on the nights you’d work late and grab dinner to go. You’d slide into the passenger seat with a brown bag of food, always grinning, always tired. He remembered how you’d peek into the bag, to steal one of his fries, muttering, “Just one,” and always taking three.

The video rental store was all bright lights and bustle across the street. Clint glanced through the window and saw the guy who ran it still behind the counter, organizing returns. He’d always been odd, always eyed Clint suspiciously—but you? You had a way of charming him out of any late fee, turning on that smile like a light switch.

He used to pretend it annoyed him. It didn’t.

He cracked his knuckles now. The job was done. Message delivered. No bruises this time, just words said low and clear in a parking lot of a strip mall, the kind that promised something worse if they weren’t heeded.

He stayed in the car too long.

He should have gone home.

Instead he watched the corner where you used to wait for him, arms crossed, purse slung over your shoulder, one hip cocked out like you owned the sidewalk.

You probably did.

The fights had started around here, too. Silly ones at first—forgotten pickups, missed dinners, small things that grew teeth. Then it got heavier. He was late too often. Didn’t talk enough. Came home wired or worn down or soaked in something he wouldn’t explain.

You asked him once if he even liked who he was anymore.

He hadn’t answered.

Now he was realising he had flown too close to something bright. Too warm. Too alive.

Maybe you had been the sun.

And Clint? He’d been the fool who thought he could get close without burning.

He’d rested his head back against the seat, eyes closed for a moment. Letting the street noise fade into a low hum.

Maybe some people didn’t get happy endings.

Some people just got ghosts.

The keys jingled in his palm, heavy with rust and years. Clint now stood at the bottom of the steps, looking up at the house one last time. The afternoon light was now bleeding out, replaced with the grey of early evening. He hadn’t planned on staying this long. Hadn’t planned on seeing the sun rise and set at this place again.

He knew it was time.

There was a girl waiting across town. Grace. Her laugh wasn’t like yours—lighter, maybe. Quicker to come. She didn’t ask too many questions, didn’t push too hard, didn’t look at him like she was trying to see through all the bullshit like you did. Maybe he’d learnt to hold back a little more than he did with you, maybe he was smarter now. He wasn’t sure.

She was good. She was kind.

And she was pregnant.

He hadn’t meant to fall in love with her. But he had. Quietly. In the way he carried her grocery bags into the building when he’d see her struggle, even when she’d said she could do it herself, in the way his hand instinctively curved around her belly now without thinking.

He loved her.

And still, as he looked at this old place—the porch, the screen, the cracked paint—he thought of you. Grace didn’t know about this house. It wasn’t a lie, not exactly. Just another thing on the long list of things Clint didn’t share. Things better left in the past. Things that wouldn’t help him be the man he was trying to be now.

He told himself that often.

He had to.

He had a place to find, somewhere with room for a crib and a woman who smiled in her sleep and maybe, maybe, a dog one day.

Still.

He wondered what you were doing now. Where you’d ended up. If you still painted your toes red, if you stole fries from someone else, if they let you get away with it, and if they listened to you hum while you folded laundry.

It had been a while since someone had said your name out loud.

He pressed a hand to the porch rail one last time.

He loved Grace. That wasn’t a lie. And he was, albeit quietly, excited for the baby.

But he would be hand on heart lying if he didn’t still think of you from time to time. About what if.

And maybe that was the thing about ghosts. They didn’t scream. Didn’t scratch. They just attached themselves to the living.

Or the barely living.

They just stayed.

Right there in the corner of your thoughts.

[misstokyo7love]

The first part is already mindblowing.

The Payout (clint x f!reader)

18+ account - minors do not interact

clint x chef f!reader Rating: E

Summary: Clint, a retired “tough guy” for hire, gets lured back into the game with a lucrative job offer: one last job for a life-changing payout. $5 million dollars. However, his plans take a twist when he meets you—his new neighbor who makes him question… everything.

Warnings: Smut (18+MDNI), clint is a widower (implied that his wife died at childbirth), mentions of grief and guilt, angst, language, alcohol use, mutual pining, sexual tension, flirting, feelings, slow burn, family dysfunction (readers parents suck – especially her father), pet names, some violence, any additional warning will be listed in each chapter

A/N: Okay, I have been writing this slowly since the trailer dropped and challenged myself to wait until I watched the movie to put a bow on this. However, I guess I’m impatient and have decided to drop this two parter *PERHAPS* before I watch the movie. I will be writing more Clint once I watch the movie, but it’s sort fun writing a version of a Pedro character where I truly have very limited information on him. I originally wasn’t going to make Clint a daddy but y’all told me to make dat man a single father with a dead baby mama.

Part 1

Part 2 - TBD

Epilogue - TBD

Don’t hate me if I wait until the movie actually drops to release this… but like your girl keeps going back and forth cause I don’t want his characterization to be like SUPER OFF.

[misstokyo7love]

Another fluffy super sweet Frankie story.

Wonderful Tonight (Francisco "Catfish" Morales x F!Reader)

Part Two

Pairing: Francisco ‘Catfish’ Morales x F!Reader Warnings: 18+ (No smut today, sorry, but my blog is 18+ so…). Language. Fluff. Fluff. And more fluff. Mentions of alcohol/drinking. Words: 3.2k Summary: It’s the day of Santi’s wedding and Frankie can’t help but think of your future together. Inspired by Eric Clapton’s “Wonderful Tonight.” A/N: I figured I would take a break from writing Din to try writing Frankie. This has been floating around in my head since attending a wedding last week. Could not stop imagining dancing to this song with sweet Frankie. If this gets enough interest, I may write a part two, who knows. Please enjoy, and thanks for reading!

It's late in the evening

She's wondering what clothes to wear

You stand with your hands on your hips, mentally scrutinizing the dress laying on the bed in front of you. You found it while browsing online weeks earlier, desperately scouring the web in search of a dress for Santi’s black-tie wedding, and it seemed perfect. Frankie assured you as much when you modeled it for him at his insistence the minute it came in the mail. But now that it’s time to wear it for real, you’re doubting your choice, wondering if it’s good enough. If you are good enough.

Your phone beeps from somewhere behind you, interrupting the war you’re having with your mind. A long, drawn-out sigh escapes your lips. Turning, you trudge across the room and grab the device from the vanity, where you had left it while doing your hair and makeup. When you pick it up and see a message from Frankie, your demeanor instantly changes, suddenly giddy with excitement. If you were to look up, you would see the glow he brings to your face.

Swiftly, you unlock your phone and open the message, a picture of Frankie instantly filling your screen. But it’s not the Frankie you’re used to. The one who would never be caught dead in public without a baseball cap, one with his long brown locks peeking out from underneath it, his unkempt hair only visible when he adjusts his hat or is alone with you. The one who practically lives in tight jeans and a mixture of plain t-shirts and button-ups. The one whose rough hands are almost always dirty, covered with grease and who knows what else from long days at the shop.

No. This Frankie has deeply parted, finely groomed hair, only a few stray strands standing upright. This Frankie is dressed sharply in black and white clothes, sporting a tuxedo with a bowtie. This Frankie is clean. Suave. And particularly fucking gorgeous.

But it is your Frankie. His personality shines through the photo, his lips pressed together in a firm line, one eyebrow slightly raised. The little bald patch in his facial hair that you love to kiss so much is visible. His brown eyes are soft as he appears to look at you from the screen. Yes. It’s no doubt him. This is your Frankie.

You melt into the chair in front of your vanity, staring at the image. As much as you know that Frankie hates dressing like this – he’s done nothing but complain about it since the boys first went tux shopping – he looks amazing. It’s different, but you like it. For a moment, you wonder what it would be like, seeing him like this at the end of the aisle on your own wedding day.

You’re so wrapped up in your thoughts of him that it takes you a minute to notice the message accompanying the photo.

Frankie: Help I feel naked :(

You laugh, immediately understanding that he’s referring to the fact he’s hatless. You type out your reply, knowing that no matter how busy he might be, he’s anxiously awaiting to hear from you.

You: Could be worse. You could ACTUALLY be naked. Be glad neither of them is a nudist. Not that I’d complain ;)

You smile as you press “send,” setting your phone back down before grabbing a pair of earrings that you’d left out, reminding yourself that the sooner you dress and go to the wedding, the sooner you can be with Frankie. While putting them on, you hear your phone ping three separate times, several seconds between each message. Confused about the back-to-back-to-back messages, you pick your phone back up.

Frankie: I’d almost prefer that

Frankie: Wait, are nudists weddings a thing

Frankie: Nm would not recommend googling

You literally laugh out loud, imagining what sort of results Frankie had gotten.

You: At least then it would be clear why you’re the best man ;)

Frankie: Ur making it impossible not to miss u, know that?

Your smile brightens. You consider your response for a moment, wondering if you’re cruel enough to tease him.

Yes. Yes you are.

You’re wearing nothing but a pair of black lacy panties and one of Frankie’s button-ups, a not unusual getup after you’ve showered and are doing your hair and makeup. You’d complain about not having a robe, but seeing you in his clothes drives him wild, which you like.

You unbutton the shirt, letting it hang loose, your cleavage visible but nothing too scandalous. Holding your phone high in the air, trying to get as much as possible, you arch your back and take a picture. Pleased with the result, you send it off to Frankie with a message.

You: Here. I’ll make it harder for you.

You stare at the screen, quietly giggling to yourself while waiting for his reaction. You imagine him gawking at the photo with his lips parted, his tongue lightly touching lowering lip. It’s not often that you send him these types of photos often, but when you do, his reaction is always worth it. This time is no different. Within half a minute, your phone starts to ring, an incoming call from Frankie. You laugh then bite your lower lip, letting your phone ring a few times before answering.

“Don’t you have something better to do than call me, Mr. Morales?” you question innocently. You’re not completely certain of the agenda, but it’s probably nearing time for the wedding party to head to pre-ceremony pictures.

“How long before Santi and Yovanna receive their pictures back?” he questions.

You knit your brows in confusion. What kind of question is that?

“I…I don’t know,” you respond, not really knowing much about wedding photography. “A month, I guess. Why?”

“Good. Because it’s going to take that long to come up with an excuse for why I’m pitching a god damn tent in their wedding photos.”

You can’t help but roar with laughter. “Did you miss the memo? Your weekend in the woods with the boys is over.”

“I can’t exactly help it. You know what you do to me.”

You giggle into the receiver. “I guess it is a good thing it’s not a nudist wedding.”

“Yeah, well, looks like Pope’s getting a military wedding unless I can get my little soldier to stop standing at attention.”

“Hm. He’s not exactly a little soldier,” you imply.

Frankie lets out a breath. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Maybe…,” you giggle. “Is it working?”

“I’m telling you right now, babe. You come here looking like that, and I’ll have to fuck you in the church bathroom.”

“Jesus Christ, Francisco!” you exclaim.

“Yeah. That’s what you’ll be saying.”

You laugh. “How much have you and the boys had to drink today?”

Frankie’s been with Santi, Will, and Benny since yesterday morning, having gone out to the lake to celebrate one last time before the wedding. You’re not certain they ever stopped the celebration.

“Enough to stave off last night’s hangover, but not enough to forget how fucking gorgeous you are. I mean, shit babe. I was already excited to see you. Now I can’t wait to tear your dress off you. You are wearing that dress you showed me, right?”

“You rip my dress and I’ll kill you,” you warn with a grin. “It cost a fortune.”

Frankie laughs. “Would be worth it.” He starts to say something else, but you hear someone yell for him in the background.

“Shit, babe, I gotta go.”

“I know. I’ll see you soon.”

“Not soon enough. Listen, babe, I-I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Can’t wait to see you. You’re going to look amazing. I mean, you already do.”

“Thanks. Oh, and Frankie?”

“Yeah?”

“At ease, soldier.”

We go to a party

And everyone turns to see

Frankie is so wrapped up in his duties as best man that you don’t get a chance to talk to him again until the reception. Anytime it seemed like he finally had a chance to see, someone would stop him, forcing him into a conversation he doesn’t want to be in or whisking him away to whatever was next on the itinerary. When the dancefloor finally opens, you watch in hopeful anticipation as he steps away from the head table and moves toward you, your eyes locked on him and his on you.

You rise from you seat and move away from the table, timidly approaching him.

“Hey, stranger,” you greet with a smile. You haven’t seen him since early yesterday, the longest you’ve been apart in months. “I see you found a way to fix your…big problem.”

Frankie chuckles. “Yeah. No thanks to you.”

You finally embrace, giving him a peck on the cheek before holding him tight.

“Your speech was incredible,” you assure him, knowing he was nervous about it.

He pulls back, looking at you with his warm, gentle eyes. “You are incredible,” he replies. “I mean, wow!” He holds you at arm’s length, looking you up and down. “Look at you.”

You feel your face flush and look down, diverting your gaze to the floor as you giggle nervously. Frankie has seen you in every way from wearing jeans and a shirt to sweatpants and a hoodie to wearing no clothes at all. He’s seen you in makeup, he’s seen you sick and miserable, but he’s never seen you like…this.

“You don’t clean up so bad yourself, Mr. Morales,” you tell him, looking up at him from under your eyelashes with a coy smile on your face.

Frankie grins shyly, the dimple on his cheek makes an appearance. He opens his mouth to speak but is interrupted by a familiar voice screaming for him.

“Hey Fish! Fish! Hey!” You watch as Ben emerges from the crowd. He speaks loudly, both over the music and from the alcohol he’s no doubt been consuming. “Where’s your girl and does she know you’re talking to this pretty lady? She’ll kill you, man.”

You laugh, not completely sure if he’s being serious or not. “Hey, Benny.”

“Oh, shit!” Benny exclaims, taking a closer look at you. “I almost didn’t recognize you. Fuck, Fish,”-he slams a hand on his back-“man up and put a ring on her finger before I do.”

“Find your own girl, shithead,” Frankie lightheartedly responds, pushing him off him, causing Benny to stumble a couple feet.

“Who needs a girl when I have my right hand?” He raises his right fist, looks at it and says, “Ain’t that right, baby?” before giving it a kiss.

Frankie gives him another shove while you laugh. God, how you love these boys.

The three of you get lost in conversation, Will eventually joining you, bringing a fresh round of beers with him. Frankie is mostly quiet. Every now and then you catch him gazing at you despite the fact someone else is talking. You don’t question it, considering you spent most of the ceremony ogling him instead of watching the couple.

Hearing a song you like, you try to get Frankie to dance, feeling like letting loose after a drink – the only one you allow yourself to have since you will be driving home. To your dismay, he declines, opting to stay off to the side while Benny drags you into the crowd on the dancefloor.

“You feeling alright, man?” Will eventually questions, seeing him stare at you while you’re with Benny, screaming the lyrics to “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” at the top of your lungs.

“Yeah,” Frankie replies, watching you like he’s entranced. “Everything’s perfect.”

“You two ain’t gonna make us wear this shit, are you?” Will asks

His mouth curves into a smile. “That’s up to her.” He takes a sip of his drink. “But if I get a say, hell no.”

“It’ll be your wedding too, you know.”

Frankie chuckles. “She’s gotta say yes first.”

“Well, you gotta ask her for her to say yes, man,” Will reminds him. “Just fucking do it already. What are you waiting for?”

Frankie doesn’t respond. He honestly doesn’t know why he’s waited this long. Truth is, he wanted to marry you long ago.

The song ends and the DJ announces that he’s going to slow it down for a few minutes. The distinctive guitar riff of Eric Clapton’s “Wonderful Tonight” pours out the speakers.

“Fuck. I’m going to need another drink.” Ben looks at the empty bottle in his left hand, then looks at his right hand. “Come on, sweetheart, we can dance later.” He turns and leaves along with all the other dateless individuals, laughing as you watch him go.

You turn, and your eyes meet Frankie’s. He sets his beer bottle down on the nearest table and approaches you without breaking your gaze, meeting you on the dancefloor.

He holds out his hand. “Wanna dance?”

“I wasn’t sure you’d ever ask,” you reply with a smile, taking his hand in yours.

He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close while you gently grab onto his shoulder.

“You really do look beautiful tonight,” Frankie assures you, swaying along with you.

“I think you’ve said as much a time or two,” you reply with a smile.

“It’s not enough,” he affirms. “And, well, actually, you might just be the prettiest girl in the world right now."

“I’m not even the prettiest girl in the room,” you say, catching sight of Yovanna, who’s dancing with Santi, her white dress shimmering under the dim lights.

“You’ll be a much more beautiful bride.”

“Oh, I will, will I?” you question, an eyebrow raised.

Your heart thumps hard against your chest. Marriage isn’t a new topic between you and Frankie; you’ve discussed it several times and seemed to agree that it’s in the cards for the two of you someday. It’s just a matter of when.

“Mhm.”

“You know, to be a bride, I have to have a groom. Know anyone interested?” You smile slyly, looking up at Frankie.

He pretends to think for a moment. “I might know a guy,” he replies nonchalantly.

“Yeah? Is he handsome?”

Frankie wrinkles his face. “Depends on who you ask.”

You reach up and run your hand along his cheek, feeling his facial hair prickle your skin. “I’m sure he’s sexy. Especially if he has facial hair like this.” You run your fingers through his hair, feeling where it usually curls. “I prefer a hat guy though.”

“Me too,” Frankie jokes, causing you to laugh.

“Is he sweet? Funny?”

He shrugs. “He can be a bit of a dick at times, but he’s alright, I guess.”

“I’m sure he’s perfect.” You smile. “Think he’ll like me?”

“No reason not to.” Frankie smiles, that damn dimple of his appearing once more. “He’ll love you with every fiber of his being. Worship the ground you walk on, even.” His smile slowly fades. He looks down at his feet for a second, his forehead wrinkled. “Only downside is that he comes with some baggage. A divorce. A kid. Some other shit he doesn’t like to talk about. You think you could love him despite all of that?”

You look at him deeply, losing yourself in the warmth of his soft, sparkling eyes. “I will love him for all that he is. I already do.”

Frankie’s eyes grow even softer. “Enough to marry him?”

“He’ll have to ask and find out.”

“Well, how about now?” He starts to step away. “I can just-”

You tut, pulling him back into you. “He’ll have to wait. I’ve heard it’s very rude to propose at someone else’s wedding.”

“Hm. Is that so?”

You nod. “I think so.”

“What a shame,” Frankie says glumly. “Another day then?”

“Another day,” you affirm, smiling. You start to lay your head on his shoulder but pull back and look at him. “Oh, wait. One more question. How is he in bed?”

Frankie contemplates for a second, then nonchalantly replies, “Rumor is, he’s the pussy eating king.”

“Francisco!” you squeal before tilting your head back, laughing at the ceiling.

His smile brightens, realizing how perfect everything is.

As your laughter dies down, you pull yourself closer to him, laying your head on his shoulder. Frankie closes his eyes, resting his cheek against your head while slowly moving with you, dancing in a way he only does when the two of you are home alone together. As far as he’s concerned, there’s no one else in the room. It’s just you and him.

“I love you, Frankie,” you eventually whisper.

“I love you too, babe.”

It’s a wonder you don’t realize just how much.

It's time to go home now

And I've got an aching head

After pulling into the driveway, you walk to the passenger side of the car and open the door, holding your hand out for Frankie to take. He is disheveled, his eyes heavy with sleep, his bowtie undone and hanging around his neck, his shirt untucked with the top buttons unfastened, his hair finally back to a messy state like he likes. It’s a wonder he’s still awake.

“I should be doing this for you,” Frankie grumbles, taking your hand.

You help him out of the car, giggling as he stumbles before wrapping his arm around your shoulder. “Yeah, well, you’ve been living up to your name and drinking like a fish. Now, c’mon. Let’s get you to bed.”

“I like where this is going.”

“To sleep, Francisco,” you clarify, giggling.

Using you as a crutch, he walks with you to the house then up to the bedroom. You guide him down to the edge of the bed, where he immediately falls on his side, collapsing onto the mattress, his head hitting the pillow. Wanting him to be comfortable, you take off his shoes.

“You’re a saint, babe. Know that?”

“Yes,” you reply, a smile on your face as you toss a shoe to the floor. “But I like when you tell me anyway.”

“So perfect,” he mumbles, closing his eyes. “Just fucking…perfect.”

You scoot closer to his head, running your fingers through his hair. “Get some sleep, sweet boy. You can tell me all about how perfect I am tomorrow…when I’m nursing your hangover.” You bend over and kiss his forehead, unsure if he’s even still conscious. “I’m going to grab you some water and aspirin then I’ll come to bed.”

You get up and walk to the door, the light from the hallway pouring into the room as you open it.

“Querida…”

You stop and look back. “Hm?”

“What time is it?”

You furrow your brows in confusion. “I-I don’t know. Sometime after midnight.”

“Another day?” Frankie questions quietly.

“Another day,” you confirm, nodding.

“And the wedding’s over….”

“The wedding’s over,” you repeat.

“So, whaddya say? Will you…marry me?” he mumbles, his words growing fainter the more he talks, obviously fighting sleep.

You smile, holding onto the door as you bite your bottom lip and look at the ground. You’d love more than anything to say yes.

“Ask me again when you’re feeling better,” you reply, looking at the outline of his body. “Ask me then, and I promise I’ll give you the answer you’re hoping for.”

Oh, my darling, you were wonderful tonight

[misstokyo7love]

I need a guy to look at me that way

Materiaslists, 2025 - Harry Castillo

[misstokyo7love]

I just re read this again and it feels like a warm hug. Pure fluff

JAVIER PEÑA X F!READER

SERIES RATING: M

A/N:This began as a Writer Wednesday one-shot.

SUMMARY: Javier graduated from high school in 74', it's 1989. On a sort of whim Javier decides to go to his 15th Reunion, where comes face to face with his high school sweetheart, you.

Part 1 Reunion

Part 2 What if 18+ (explicit)

Part 3 All In 18+ (explicit)

Autumn Drabble Asks (its more of a microfic- just a little moment)

[misstokyo7love]

Breaststroke

18+ MDNI!

Summary: Joel, single dad extraordinaire, is struggling to teach his daughter how to swim. You end up teaching Sarah over the course of a few weekly swimming classes. One fortunate day, Joel accidentally stumbles upon a rather intimate situation involving you in the shower rooms after hours. He’s about to leave, but right before he can, he hears his own name spilling out in a desperate moan from your lips.

TL;DR: It’s more fun to stay in the YMCA (shower rooms) (because that’s where Joel fucks you.)

W.C: ~7.7k

Warnings: Singledad!Joel x swimmingteacher!reader, softdom!joel, accidental voyeurism, mutual masturbation, blowjobs, praise, fingering, unprotected p-in-v, shower sex, pull out and pray, implied age gap, Joel’s got that daddy humour (no outbreak!)

Note: waiter! waiter! some plot with my porn, please! sorry, you freaks, mama had to stretch the narrative before the rawdogging. and sorry for the late upload, the flu was not gucci. hope y'all enjoy as always, though! and if you got any reqs, feel free to send them my way 🤓

@pedrospurplerain

According to HealthyChildren.org, most children in America begin to learn how to swim by their fourth birthday. Basic abilities like floating and treading water can be ingrained in their motor skills at that point, and by the ripe age of five or six, most children will have been able to freestyle across any urine-defiled public pool.

Joel sighed as he watched his five-year-old angel scream and hiss at the local YMCA pool, refusing even to dip a toe into the chlorinated abyss.

“Sarah, pumpkin, you’re not a cat.” He sighed, pinching his curved nose bridge.

Sarah merely shot him a dirty look, the dirtiest a toddler could muster. She crossed her arms over her chest, the bright orange inflatable armbands around her upper arms squeaking as she did so.

“I don’t wanna go in there, daddy.” Sarah humphed.

Joel shook his head, looking up at her from where he sat in the shallow area of the gym’s pool. His little treasure, bless her heart, was stubbornly standing over the ledge and peering down at him with both fear and unwavering defiance.

“Y’gotta, pumpkin.” Joel ran a hand through his wet hair.

Of all the dads in the world, Joel would not say he was among the worst percentile. He certainly tried his best to do anything and provide everything for his little girl; working as many shifts as he could to pay for her school (his kid somehow, thankfully, didn’t get his brains and was starting first grade ahead of schedule), moving into a ‘nicer’ neighbourhood, and spoiling her with all the stuffed toys and lego sets her little heart desired.

Being a single dad wasn’t easy, to put it simply. Joel would’ve thought, owing to karmic nonsense, the universe could have been a bit nicer to him for the measly crime of forgetting to teach his daughter how to swim. But there he was, staring up at a child more hydrophobic than a rabies survivor.

“Can we go home, Daddy? Please?” Sarah stomped her little foot down onto the tiled floor.

“We will, sugar, I promise. Just, not until you at least try to step down here.”

Sarah shook her head wildly.

“No.”

“No?”

“No.” She said, more decisively.

“Says who?” Joel raised a dark brow.

“Me.”

“Remind me again, pumpkin, are you the adult or the child in this relationship?”

“You’re the one in the kiddie side of the pool, Daddy.” Sarah giggled, revealing a toothy grin.

Joel sighed through a smile. God, this kid was too smart for him. She was gonna be the death of him.

Mumbling something to the effect of ‘smartass’ under his breath, Joel treaded to the end and hoisted himself up, towering over his three-foot-nothing daughter and dripping chlorine-infected water down onto the ground.

“You wanna switch places?” He crossed his arms over his broad, bare chest, nodding his head toward the pool.

“Nope!” Sarah smiled.

Joel was about to give up for the day and take his troublemaker home only to return the next weekend, when he suddenly felt a tentative finger tap his shoulder.

He whipped around to see a girl, much younger than him—and much shorter, too, dressed in the standard red lifeguard one-piece uniform. 

“Sorry to intrude,” You began, biting your lip. “I couldn’t help but overhear.”

Joel blinked, not realising he had to reply to your remark like a normal fucking human would. Instead, he opted for the less popular, uncivilised caveman method of furrowing his brows and blinking madly.

He was too distracted by the way your swimsuit clung tightly over your body. Too mesmerised by the droplets of water sliding in slow motion down your curves. Not to mention that disarmingly pretty smile of yours. 

God, he’d been too single for too long.

“Hello!” The reason for his singleness beamed up at you and waddled closer. “I’m Sarah.”

Your smile stretched wider as you bent down to meet her eye level and introduce yourself in return. Sarah repeated your name back to you delightedly, like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

After making a comment about how ‘cool’ her floaters were, you straightened up and met Joel’s coffee-brown gaze.

“Anyway.” You absentmindedly tucked a stray piece of wet hair behind your ear. “Um, well, I overheard your situation. And, uh, just wanted to let you know that the gym hosts free introductory swimming lessons every Saturday afternoon. I teach the classes, actually, and you and your daughter are more than welcome to come, mister…?”

By some miracle, Joel was able to move his mouth and properly communicate this time.

“Miller. Joel Miller.” He managed to say without so much as a stutter, smiling politely at you and sticking out a hand.

You took his hand in yours and shook it.

“Nice to meet you, Mr Miller-Joel-Miller. That Italian?” Your laugh was a sweet sound and, at risk of being completely predictable, music to his ears.

“The only Italian in me, sweetheart, is from the canned ravioli we had for lunch today.” Joel chuckled. “And we’d be more than happy to come, wouldn’t we, Sarah?” 

To punctuate his claim, he flashed Sarah a look.

A frown cut into her soft features, but she relented. 

“Yes, we would.” Sarah sighed dejectedly.

“Great! Um. Here’s the flier.” You produced a colourful leaflet and held it out to Joel. He took it. “It has the times and details and, uh, that’s my phone number on the bottom, there.”

“Thanks, sweetheart.” Joel pocketed it. “We’ll be there.”

“I look forward to seeing you two then.” You smiled again.

Joel would’ve fallen to his knees if you had stayed longer with that damn smile of yours. But you turned around to speedwalk towards the other side of the pool, blowing your whistle and reprimanding a bunch of teenagers running across the slippery poolside.

And if he thought the front of you was stunning, he was quickly shown that your back view was just as providing.

“You’re staring,” Sarah observed, tugging at his arm.

Joel cleared his throat.

“Let’s go home, pumpkin.” He ruffled her hair, much to a fit of giggles, and led his daughter away from the outdoor pool.

—-------

Saturday afternoon did not come quickly enough. 

After a week of late nights spent finishing drywall and early mornings making Sarah’s lunch—because there was no way in hell she was going to eat whatever junk-filled shit the American school system provided in cafeterias—Joel was tired, to say the least.

By three o’clock sharp, he had arrived at the pool with his daughter dressed to the nines in a robot-themed swimsuit and bright green goggles that suctioned so hard into her little face that she looked wide-eyed and cartoonish.

And when four o’clock had rolled around, Joel was happy to report that his daughter had finally worked up the nerve to get in the pool. With your help (and some floppy-haired assistant coach), Sarah had also managed to do some basic swimming manoeuvres without clinging to the side for dear life and frothing at the mouth.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Joel approached you after the session had officially ended, and Sarah was dried off and warm. “Just wanted to thank you. And, uh, Coach Bryan for, you know…”

“No thanks necessary, Mr Miller.” You winked, then bent down to Sarah, who stood beside her father. “You did great, Sarah. Really.”

Sarah smiled sheepishly. Joel chuckled at her bashful demeanour and ruffled her hair affectionately.

“Same time next week, Coach?” He asked.

“Yes, sir.” You saluted him and walked off toward the shower rooms, a towel around your shoulders and a spring to your step.

Joel shook his head, smiling, and took Sarah home in a better mood than he had been that morning.

—-

Joel quickly learned that the swimming lessons were beneficial to both him and his daughter. Sarah was speedily conquering her fear of water, and Joel was… well, Joel spent a lot of time talking to you when you weren’t in the pool. And afterwards, too, when the rest of the kids had already left and there were no other parents to chat your ear off.

“You’re taking a gap year?” Joel mused after one particularly smooth sailing session, taking off his sunglasses and hanging them on the hem of his shirt.

“Yep. Just taking a break after college so I can figure out what I wanna do in life.” You shrugged. “Is being a contractor any fun?”

“Well, sweetheart, I doubt you’d like it very much.” Joel smiled, glueing his eyes to yours with steely resolve. 

He was not going to look down at your body this time. He was not going to ogle the tight fit of your one-piece. He was better than the average man.

Besides, you were definitely too young for him. Possibly even young enough to be his daughter. You’d likely recoil in disgust and horror and, possibly, contact the local authorities to capture him, the creepy older man, if he were to ever make a move.

“Eh. I was open to the idea.” You laughed, shaking your head. “But I guess it’s dominated by big, strong hunks like you, huh?”

“I mean, I—” Joel began, but cut himself off upon realising what you had just said.

He blinked. Did you just flirt with him?

As if sensing that Joel was getting somewhere other than friendly banter with her swimming teacher, Sarah jogged up to the two of you.

“Daddy, I’m hungry. Let’s go home!” She pulled at his wrist.

Joel cleared his throat, offered you a quick goodbye, and led his daughter outside back to their car.

—-

“I promise it’s funny.” Bryan nudged your shoulder, giving you a very indiscreet once-over.

Joel was shamelessly eavesdropping on your post-lesson conversation as he towelled Sarah’s unruly hair nearby. Not to be nosy, of course, just to find out whether he was your boyfriend or not. Out of pure curiosity, really. No ulterior motive whatsoever…

“I somehow doubt that.” You hummed, no amusement evident in your unimpressed tone.

“Okay, so, there’s this ginger, a brunette, and a blonde—”

“I’ll stop you right there, Bryan, is the punchline, by any chance, ‘breaststroke’?”

“Well, shit.” Bryan sighed.

Joel chuckled to himself, giving Sarah one last tousle with the towel before settling it over her shoulders. 

He concluded you either hated your boyfriend, or he wasn’t your boyfriend at all. 

Joel preferred the second option.

—-

“I’m just getting some water. You okay with the kids?” You pulled yourself out of the pool, glancing at Bryan.

“Yep. All good here,” He called back.

With a nod, you draped your towel over your shoulders and made your way towards the deck chair that held your things.

It seemed that the heavens were smiling on you that day, too, because none other than Mr Miller himself occupied the chair beside yours.

And what a sight he was.

Sun-bathing, his sunglasses resting over closed eyes, and his broad, bare, tanned chest exposed to all. 

“Having fun there, Mr Miller?” You smiled, taking a seat on your chair, bringing your water bottle to your lips.

Joel lowered his sunglasses and very discreetly let his gaze travel down your body. 

You bit back a grin. He always thought he was so subtle.

“Absolutely, coach. Need to set a timer, though, or I’ll end up medium well-done.” Joel sat up, facing you.

You snorted at his dad-humour.

“Tan looks great.” You commented, wiping your brow with your towel.

“You think?” Joel smiled, reaching for the can of soda on his side table and taking a sip. “Thank you very much, sweetheart.”

“No problem at all, Mr Miller.” You licked your lips, your gaze momentarily caught on his … form-fitting trunks. “Well, I better get back to it.”

“Yeah. Wouldn’t want to keep your boyfriend waiting.” He pushed his sunglasses back up his aquiline nose.

“My��oh! Oh. Bryan? No. Ew,” You held back a gag. “No. No. God, no.”

Joel chuckled.

“I think you may need one more ‘no’ to prove your point there, darlin’.”

“No.” You played along. “Him and I are strictly friends. Besides, he isn’t my type.”

“He isn’t?” 

“I like my men like I like my cheese.” You shrugged, standing up.

“Don’t say smelly.” Joel laughed.

You opened your mouth but decided to leave your preferences shrouded in mystery as you began walking off.

Well, until you threw him a look over your shoulder, catching him in the act of staring at your ass, but pretending not to notice.

“Aged.”

Joel choked on nothing while you innocently walked away like you hadn’t just made a heavily suggestive remark.

—-

“Daddy? Can I go talk to Amanda for a second?” Sarah asked, her gaze flickering over to a plait-wearing blonde girl nearby.

“Yeah, okay, sugar. Be quick, though. Tommy’s coming over soon.” Joel squeezed her shoulder before letting her run off, her wet flip-flops squeaking against the tiled poolside as she approached her friend.

Joel shook his head and smiled. He was so proud of his girl for overcoming her phobia. Maybe he needed to treat her to ice-cream one of these days–

“Hi, Mr Miller.”

After craning his head, Joel found you standing behind him. Bright-eyed and wearing that same, impossibly tight, lifeguard swimsuit. Thank God for nylon.

“Hey, coach.” Joel offered you a lopsided grin. 

“I just wanted to say, I’ve been really impressed with your daughter over these past few weeks.”

“She’s a fast learner.” Joel moved beside you, still facing Sarah and her little friend but keeping his eyes trained on you. “Unlike me.”

“Does she get it from your wife, then…?”

Joel couldn’t shake his head faster. “No wife.”

And there went his eyes, dragging down your slightly wet body. Christ, it was like you jumped straight out of a Baywatch episode—keep it together, Miller!

“Oh.” You coughed. “So that’s why all the moms flock around you.”

Joel let out a short laugh. “I think you’re exaggerating, sweetheart.”

You took a quick glimpse at the hoard of middle-aged women unabashedly staring at the wide-shouldered man next to you before returning your sights to the wide-shouldered man himself.

“I don’t think I am.” Your lips pulled upward in a small smile. “Well, anyway. Just wanted to catch you before our final lesson next week.”

“Our final lesson’s next week?” Joel sputtered out, sounding way less calm and collected than he had intended.

“Yeah. Unless you want to learn how to swim, too.”

“I think I’m all covered in that department, darlin’.” Joel smiled. “But thank you. For everything. I know this whole shindig is free, but I just wish there was some way I could repay you.”

You clicked your tongue and, if Joel caught that correctly, lowered your voice.

“I’m sure we can find some way for you to pay me back, Mr Miller.” You said innocently, but your half-lidded eyes told another story.

Before he could so much as utter out the first syllable of a reply, Sarah came darting back.

“Okay, Daddy, let’s go!” She took her father by the hand and spared you a glance. “Bye, coach!”

Joel tried to hide both his shock from your very obvious innuendo as well as his disappointment from his daughter’s very poor timing.

He rubbed a hand down the lower half of his face and nodded at his daughter. “Let’s go then, pumpkin.” He gripped her hand and turned to you with a slightly dazed smile. “I’ll see you next week, sweetheart.”

“That you will, Mr Miller.” With a quick wink, you spun around on your heel and made your way toward the shower rooms.

—-

As fate would have it, barely half an hour later, Joel found himself sighing unhappily and looking down at his daughter as he attempted to contain his frustrations.

“We just got home—what do you mean, you left your goggles at the pool?” Joel said through a deep exhale.

“Sorry, Daddy, I didn’t mean to forget them.” Sarah shuffled her feet, her eyes locked on the floor in front of her and her fingers twisting the bottom of her t-shirt.

Tommy stuck his head out from the kitchen, one hand clutching a can of Bud Light and the other braced on the doorframe.

“Yeah, Joel, she didn’t mean to.” He piped in, unhelpfully.

“Shut up, Tommy,” Joel grumbled, shooting him a quick glare.

His brother just smirked and took a sip of his beer.

Joel sighed and turned back to Sarah, pinching his nose bridge. “Look, pumpkin, it’s fine. I’ll just drive back to the pool and get ‘em for you, okay?”

Sarah frowned. “Will you be back in time for dinner?”

“Yeah, Joel, you better be. You’re the one making it.” Tommy let out a dramatic huff.

Joel ignored him.

“Won’t take but a hot minute.” Joel ruffled Sarah’s unruly curls and pressed a quick kiss to the top of her head before turning away toward the front door.

“Say ‘hi’ to sweetheart for me, if you see her!” Sarah smiled up at him.

Joel paused mid-step, his shoes halfway on.

“Hi to who, now?” Tommy leaned closer.

“That ain’t her name, pumpkin.” Joel chose not to look directly at Tommy as he huffed out another sigh and yanked his shoes fully on.

“Ain’t that what you call her, though?”

“Now, who are you callin’ ‘sweetheart’, Joel Miller?” Tommy wore a shit-eating grin on his face.

Joel decidedly ignored him, believing it to be the best course of action.

“Watch my kid, Tommy!” He called as he stepped out of the house.

—--

The pool area was mostly deserted by the time Joel returned to it, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows over the lengthy stretch of lane-roped waters.

Joel walked a slow lap around the perimeter of the pool, scanning the tiles and lounge chairs and the lone lifeguard tower for any sign of Sarah’s goggles.

Nothing.

Turning around, Joel’s eyes landed on the entrance to the womens’ locker rooms. He huffed out a heavy sigh, running his hand through his grey-flecked hair. He would have preferred to not snoop in there in fear of startling any lingering guests, but he decided that there wouldn’t be anyone this close to closing time on a Sunday and, moreover, didn’t want to come home empty-handed and disappoint his daughter.

So, on he went.

The locker rooms were quiet when he tentatively stepped inside, the scent of chlorine and cheap soap clinging to the air. 

Fortunately, it seemed that he was the only one in its vicinity.

And, even more fortunately, Joel immediately spotted Sarah’s bright green goggles lying by its lonesome on a bench near the showers.

Gotcha.

He was ready to make a beeline for them and head quickly home, but upon taking a few steps forward, Joel’s ears caught the distant sound of a shower running.

Turning his head toward the source of the splashing sounds, Joel’s eyes immediately noticed a swimsuit hanging precariously off the shower curtain rod.

But not just any swimsuit. It was a red one-piece with what appeared to be ‘lifeguard’ in bold, along the front.

It was your swimsuit. 

You were in the shower.

Joel pursed his lips. Just his fucking luck. Of course, the inappropriately young girl he tried not fantasising about for weeks was the only other person there.

Mentally chastising himself for even entering the locker rooms in the first place, Joel pivoted sharply and began making his way toward the exit.

He didn’t get very far, though, because, after two intentionally light steps, he heard his own name drifting from the steaming shower.

“Joel…”

He stiffened. Evidently, he was caught. He’d have to apologise profusely and somehow testify that he was not, in fact, a perverted Peeping Tom—

“Joel,” You sighed, followed by … shit, was that a moan?

And at that moment, Joel realised that, alongside the splashing of water echoing from the stall, there was the unmistakable clap and squelch of—

“Joel! Oh… fuck,” Your breathy moan carried easily down the short hall.

You were fucking yourself to the thought of him.

Shit, shit, shit.

If Joel were a better man, he would already be in his car, driving home. He would have forgotten this encounter had ever occurred, tucked it deep into the depths of his mind, granted you a curt farewell for the final lesson the coming week, and proceeded to never see you again.

But Joel wasn’t a better man.

Judging by how quickly his dick came to life to rest, half-hard, against his thigh in his swim trunks, Joel was an awful person.

Well, he couldn’t come home nursing a semi, now could he?

Yeah. Reaching down to pull his throbbing cock out of his waistband was the right thing to do.

At least, that’s what he told himself as he leaned against a corner and slowly slid his fist down his stiffening length.

“Joel! Fuck, your cock feels so good!” Your pitchy whine floated down the room, amplified by the generosity of the tile acoustics.

Joel’s dick twitched in his hand. 

Out of habit, he tightened his grip around his base and fucked up into his fist, squeezing his eyes shut and pretending it was your tight cunt he was jutting in and out of.

And it wasn’t hard to pretend, either. What with the sinful noises you were making a few stalls away, and the desperate pleas of ‘that’s it, Joel, fuck me harder!’

With pearls of precum dribbling down his tip and smearing along his hand with each thrust, Joel felt himself near his release. Judging by the increasingly airy quality of your whines, you were facing the same predicament.

Joel continued to fuck his fist, picturing you in various filthy scenarios. 

You, slowly wrapping your dainty hand around his hard-on and eagerly taking over.

You, on your knees, choking on his cock. 

You, tits smushed against tile as Joel fucked you with reckless abandon under the hot torrents of the showerhead.

Ramming brutally into your greedy fucking pussy, watching as his come-soaked dick disappeared in and out of your tight channel—

“Fuck!” Joel cursed aloud after a particularly enthusiastic thrust.

Suddenly, the water stopped. So did your noises.

Joel stilled. Oh, shit.

“Hello?” Came your voice, meekly. “Is … Is someone there?”

As silently as he could, Joel released his hold on his cock and carefully tucked himself back in his trunks.

Shit. What was he going to do?

Almost immediately after he regained his decency, the shower curtain slid halfway open with a faint metallic rattle, and you cautiously peered out, hiding most of your body behind the vinyl barrier.

“...Mr Miller?” You said, uncertainly, as if half-convinced he was some kind of dreamlike apparition.

Joel cleared his throat and took an instinctive step back.

“Uh—yeah. Just, uh… goggles. Sarah’s goggles.” He stuttered, holding them up weakly. “Her goggles. She left them here. The goggles.”

“Well, thank god you clarified that.” You smacked your lips, a sarcastic bite to your tone. The snarkiness soon faded from your expression once you added, with knitted brows, “you’re in the womens’ showers.”

“Yeah, I—” Joel winced. “I know.”

Silence.

After a moment or two, you opened your mouth to say something else, but the words died in your throat as your eyes fell on Joel’s trunks.

More specifically, the raging bulge making itself known in his lap.

“You’re hard.” You stated, your cheeks flushing a pretty shade of pink.

Joel’s eyes shot wide open. He glanced down, too, and sure enough, he was hard. It was almost as if he was fucking his hand to the thought of you only moments before. Oh, wait, that’s because he was!

To preserve the last shred of dignity in Joel’s inexecusably shameful body, he threw his hands over his groin and attempted to stammer out a valid excuse.

“Sorry, sweetheart—” No, he wasn’t. “—I, um… well, you see, I…”

Your eyes found the faint traces of precum on his right hand.

“Were you … jerking off to me in the shower?”

Yes, yes, he was.

“Frankly, darlin’, I think the better question here is, were you jerking off to me in the shower?” Joel coughed.

Your eyes trailed over his body, lingering again on where he covered his hard-on.

“I was.” Your stare found his. “Your turn, Mr Miller.”

Joel sucked in a breath through his teeth. There was definitely no backing out now.

He nodded slowly. Reprehensibly. 

Shame churned within him as he desperately wished for the ground to open up at his feet and swallow him whole, possibly even spitting him back out into the fiery pits of hell where he so clearly belonged after what he had done. Unfortunately for him, the earth, indifferent to his suffering, remained stubbornly solid beneath him, leaving him stranded in his own mortification.

“Look, sweetheart, I can’t express how sorry I—lord almighty.”

Instead of letting him scramble to finish whatever bullshit he was cooking up, you decided to pull the shower curtain all the way back.

Joel gulped, taking in your newly-exposed bare body, from the soft curve of your breasts to the thickness of your thighs to the seam of your … fuck, to the seam of the same pussy you were probably fingering just moments before; glazed in glistening beads of water under the cool fluorescent lights. 

You were fucking gorgeous. 

So gorgeous, in fact, that Joel felt his cock fully spring to life at the sight of you, standing naked and dripping-wet from the rain of showerhead.

“Let me… let me help you out.” You bit your lower lip, your eyes hazy.

“H-Help me out?” Joel breathed, staggering backward, his hands still persevering to conserve his modesty.

You slowly approached him, stopping when any semblance of personal space was lost, and dropped down to your knees.

Jesus Fucking Christ. 

Joel heard himself swallow.

“Don’t you want this, Mr Miller?” You looked up at him, your eyes pleading and almost doll-like from that angle.

While waiting for his response, your hands softly wrapped themselves around his, guiding them away from his lap to meet his tenting swim trunks head-on.

Joel, meanwhile, was busy trying to convince himself this wet dream of a situation was really happening whilst simultaneously refraining from spending his load in his trunks, because the vision of you, bare and waiting patiently on your knees, looked downright sinful.

“Doesn’t matter if I do.” Joel shook his head slowly, not registering the fact that his grip on the goggles loosened to a point where they fell to the floor in a dull clatter. “This… this is wrong.”

“The way I see it,” You hummed, your hands finding gentle purchase on his hips. “I’m naked. And already wet. And you’re…”

Your eyes flickered down to his bulge and wet your lips. Upon seeing this, Joel’s breath hitched in his throat.

“Ain’t there some—some rule against, I don’t know, a coach fraternising with a parent in this way?” Joel furrowed his brows, distractedly taking your chin in his hands and tilting your head upwards.

“No.” You eagerly let him direct you, moving at his will. 

“You sure?” 

“Positive.” The corners of your mouth pulled up in a small smile.

“What if someone comes—yeah, fuck it, I ain’t gonna keep pretending like I don’t want this.” Joel shook his head, his eyes dragging over you unabashedly.

“Oh yeah?” Your smile only widened.

“Go on then, darlin’.” Joel purred, his voice a low and rough timbre, his eyes overtaken with want. “What was it you said a while ago…? Help me out.”

With his less-than-reluctant approval, you tossed him another heart-stuttering wink, slipped your fingers past his waistband, and pulled him out.

And, fuck, you were not disappointed.

Joel was big, to say the least; in both length and girth, and you may have felt your cunt quivering at the mere thought of the possibility of taking him inside you later, but you were quickly overtaken by need upon seeing the drops of precum spilling from of his head.

With a hand wrapped around his base, you stuck your tongue out to lick a stripe up his length, tasting the salt of his skin and his arousal.

At your actions, Joel inhaled a sharp breath.

“You gonna finish what you started now?” Joel mused from above you, closing a fist around your grip on his cock and bringing it closer to your parted lips. He gently tapped your cheek with his free hand. “Open up for me, sweetheart.”

And you gladly did so, taking his tip into your mouth and swirling your tongue around his head like a fucking lolipop.

“Fuck,” Joel gritted his teeth, tossing his head back against the wall.

Taking his expletive as a sign to continue, you proceeded to hollow your cheeks and take his length deeper, as deep as physically possible without making you choke. 

“That all you can take?” Joel tutted, caressing your cheek.

Much to your determined efforts, you only managed to fit a little more than half of him in your mouth. Because, fuck, was he big.

You whined around his cock in response.

“Shh,” Joel murmured. “‘S okay. ‘S okay, sweetheart.”

His deep brown gaze met yours, and for a second, you could have mistaken the emotion swimming in his eyes as affection. 

“Nice and slow, hm?” Joel said through a satisfied exhale, his brows furrowed at the sensation of being enveloped by the warmth of your mouth. 

His fingers threaded through your hair, coming to grasp at your roots, but remained stationary, waiting for you to make the first move.

You looked up at him through your eyelashes and held that eye contact as you began moving your head back and forth. Seeing his eyes briefly flutter in pleasure, you flattened your tongue against the underside of his cock, feeling it twitch as you continued your movements.

“Fuck, sweetheart. That’s it.” His grip in your hair tightened.

You started to bob your head up and down at a quicker pace as you sucked him greedily, your hand moving in deft strokes along the stretch of his length your mouth couldn’t entertain.

Joel cursed under his breath and guided you on and off his cock in a steady rhythm as he fisted your hair.

And, fuck, he let himself thrust into your mouth once or twice, but upon hearing you gag, resolved to let you take charge of the speed entirely.

“Sorry sweetheart,” Joel breathed. “Sounded pretty chokin’ on my cock, but I guess I went too far, hm?” He sighed, caressing your cheek again.

You moaned with his cock heavy on your tongue, signalling your eagerness to die of asphyxiation from a fucking blowjob, and begun to take him even further into your mouth, feeling his head touch the back of your throat.

“Shit, darlin’.” Joel groaned. “That’s a good girl. Taking it so well.”

A strangled sound escaped from your otherwise occupied throat as you continued to deepthroat a man old enough to be your father.

Truly realising the situation you found yourself in, you felt a needy sensation thrum from in between your legs. Whilst continuing to bob your head around his cock, your hand went to trail down your front and relieve some of that tension you ached to be rid of, rubbing your clit furiously.

“Oh, my poor girl.” Joel cooed, seeing this. “Come on, now. Up you get,” He gently pulled you off his cock (wincing at the loss of your mouth) and up to stand in front of him.

“Not good?” You breathed, resting a hand on his chest while his hands settled on either side of your waist.

“No, sweetheart, it was very good.” Joel dipped his head down so his mouth was less than an inch away from yours, every word releasing as a warm breath against your lips. 

And then he leaned down to capture your mouth in a desperate, hungry, horribly sloppy kiss, licking into you and no doubt tasting his own arousal on your tongue.

You didn’t even register he was walking you backward until your back hit the shower wall.

“Just wanna fuck you now,” Joel mumbled, his half-lidded stare drifted down your bare form before flickering back up to meet your eyes.

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” You smirked, pulling him back into another frenzied kiss.

Joel smiled against your lips.

“So mouthy,” He tutted in that authoritative, paternal voice you’ve heard him use before, in between eager kisses. “I’d like to teach you a lesson, sweetheart, but I’m afraid I’m too fuckin’ impatient myself right now.”

At the sound of that, you clenched your thighs together.

The slant of his mouth trailed down your jaw to your neck, sucking and biting at your wet skin, humming in pleasure as he did so. Simultaneously, his big, calloused hand made their way from your waist down to your lower abdomen, and lower, still, until you felt his fingers ghost over your slick entrance.

You gasped.

“Mr Miller–”

“‘Joel’, darlin’. It’s ‘Joel.’” He mumbled against your neck, his stubble scraping lightly against your skin. “Heard you moanin’ it in here a while ago, I’m fairly certain you know how to pronounce it.”

“Joel,” You obliged, biting your lower lip as you felt Joel’s fingers meander nearer to your core.

“Yes, sweetheart?” 

“You don’t have to… you know,” You glanced down in between both your bodies.

Joel followed your gaze and saw his own fingers hovering close to your aching mound.

“Think I do.” He clicked his tongue. “Need to get ya ready. Wouldn’t wanna hurt that pretty pussy of yours when I… well, to put it bluntly, darlin’, I don’t wanna hurt your pretty pussy when I’m fuckin’ you in a little bit.”

“Oh,” You breathed.

“Yeah,” Joel hummed, nudging your cheek with his nose. “That sound good to you, sweetheart?”

You nodded almost too avidly.

“Good,” Joel sighed, his fingers skimming over your aching cunt and just barely dipping inside your folds. “Just relax, darlin’. I gotcha.”

That was the last of the preamble before you felt one of his fingers slip inside, dragging up and down against your walls.

Normally, if left to your own devices, you were barely satisfied with a singular digit of your own. But here you were, gasping and clenching around just his middle finger.

Content with your reaction, Joel kissed your neck and slipped another finger to crook alongside the first in an even rhythm that began to spark a familiar warmth in your gut.

“There we go.” He mumbled against your skin.

“Fuck,” You whispered as you felt his thumb settle on your clit.

You felt Joel smile against your pulse point. And then, with his other big hand, he gently held your face and titled it to the side to pepper kisses along your jaw.

“You can take another, can’t you? Yeah, you can.” Joel hummed, and before you could respond, you felt a third finger slip inside, stretching you wider. 

Your eyes squeezed shut as Joel’s fingers curled inside you at a faster rhythm while his thumb graciously swiped at your clit.

Blood pounded in your ears. Your breathing shallowed. You were so, so close.

“Joel, please…” 

“Please what? C’mon, baby, use your words like a big girl.”

His fingers only sped up, dragging against your walls so deliciously and filling you better than your own hand could have ever done.

You inhaled.

“Please don’t s-stop.” Your breath hitched in your throat. “I’m so close.”

“You wanna come for me? ‘S that it?” Joel cooed, his breath warm against your skin and right beside your ear.

“Please,”

“Come for me then, sweetheart. Let me hear you,”

With a scream of his name, your orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave, sending you into a light-headed bliss as you clutched his big upper arms.

His fingers only began to slow once your cunt stopped pulsing rapidly around him, and when you caught your breath again, he tenderly slipped them out.

“Made a mess of my fingers, huh?” He mumbled, staring down at how his hand glistened with your arousal.

You felt your cheeks redden.

“I’m sorry–”

“Don’t fucking be,”

And you watched as Joel stuck a finger in his mouth and sucked your slick off it like it was a world-class dessert.

“That was hot,” Was your breathless response.

Intelligent.

“Oh yeah?” The corner of his lips tugged upward as his eyes danced from your own to your parted lips. 

“Yeah,”

A soft, low laugh rumbled in his throat.

“Come here,” Joel sighed, placing a hand on the small of your back and another on the side of your face, leaning down to devour your lips in another messy kiss.

His tongue slid inside your mouth as if starved, licking against your tongue and letting you taste your own pleasure. All while the hand on your face brought you closer and gently stroked the curve of your cheek.

After a few moments, Joel broke the kiss almost regretfully.

He barely pulled away, his lips closely within reach of yours, and his breath mingling with your own as he spoke in a deep, gruff rasp.

“You still want this, sweetheart?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely.”

Joel smirked. “A simple ‘yes’ would’ve sufficed.”

Before you could form a response to his slightly snarky remark, your breath was stolen from you at the sight of Joel tugging down his trunks fully and stepping out of them.

Glancing down, you found that he was still incredibly hard. Almost painfully, by the look of how his cock practically bounced up to his navel. Clearly, your recent oral assistance did nothing to tame the lust in his body.

Joel crowded you up against the wall once more, his tall frame easily looming over yours. One of his big hands went to caress your jawline, angling your head up toward him, and the other went to your thigh, wrapping your leg around his waist.

“Been a while for me.” He sighed, a hint of embarrassment peeking through his tone. “You tell me if I get … carried away, yeah?”

Instinctively, you hung your arms around his wide shoulders, bringing him even closer.

“Yes, sir.” Your lips quirked upward.

“Good girl,” He hummed, his thumb absently running along your bottom lip.

Then, the hand cupping your face went to guide his aching dick to notch against your entrance, sliding against your wet mound.

And, with a shaky inhale slipping past his lips, he sheathed himself inside you. 

“Fuck, you feel good,” Joel muttered lowly.

You let out a whine at the feeling. 

Despite being barely halfway in, Joel was already proving to be more than sufficient, especially from the way your velvety walls were already pulsing wildly around his length.

“I know, I know, I know,” Joel sighed, his thumb caressing where he held a grip on your thigh. “‘S okay, sweetheart. Shh, you can take it.”

In response, you nodded.

And Joel drove himself the entire way, balls-deep, his greying pubic hair tickling the inside of your upper thighs. He gasped in your ear at the feeling of the first full thrust and at the sensation of your channel clamping desperately around him.

He filled you up so fucking well.

“You doin’ okay? Hm?” He mumbled, leaving lazy, aimless kisses along your neck.

“Need more.” 

“Oh? She wants more, huh?” He smirked against your skin. “That what you were imaginin’ in the shower?”

“Y-Yeah,” You whispered.

“Flirtin’ with me for weeks now, and here you are bein’ all shy.” Joel tsked. “Don’t worry, you’ll get more, darlin’.”

Joel began sawing in and out of you at a relaxed pace, letting out low groans of satisfaction. 

With every sloppy thrust, you heard the distant wet thud of your back against the shower tiles, sounding in a steady rhythm. But, despite each measured roll of his hips sending white-hot shivers throughout your throbbing cunt, you found yourself dangerously craving even more.

“Harder.”

“Harder?” Joel hummed coyly.

“Joel,” You whined.

“Careful what you wish for, sweetheart,” Joel mumbled against the corner of your mouth.

You only realised you were moaning obscenely loud when the echo had bounced around the room, and Joel was muttering something encouragingly into your skin.

“That’s it. Y’sound real fuckin’ pretty.”

Joel’s thrusts had picked up the pace. The only sound competing with the volume of your moans were the crude wet slaps of his body against yours.

Slap, slap, slap.

You thanked your lucky stars the shower rooms were deserted after the swimming lessons, because you were sure even if someone happened to walk in on you two fucking like wild rabbits, you wouldn’t let him stop.

And some part of you knew that he wouldn’t want to, either. Not with the way he was breathing airy curses beside your ear and mumbling about how ‘fuckin’ tight’ you were and other such filthy ramblings.

After a particularly harsh thrust, you felt his pace falter and his dick twitch against your walls.

“Fuck,” He whispered sharply.

Out of the blue, Joel pulled out, leaving your slick mound vacant for a heartbeat or two before he spun you around roughly, forcing you to brace yourself against the wall.

And, not long after, he fed you the entirety of his cock again in one deep thrust.

“Joel!” You gasped. 

Your hands, stretched out in front of you and anchored against the wall, scrambled to find a grip on the smooth, slippery surface.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He said from somewhere behind you, beginning to ram into you at a brutal pace as he held you in place with an iron grip on your hips. “Needed—fuck… Needed this.”

With your tits pressed against the tiles and his length kissing your cervix after every drag against your pulsing walls, your vision began to blur and your lower gut began to flutter. 

You were very fucking close.

As if reading your mind, one of Joel’s hands trailed from your hip to your front, sliding down until he brushed your clit. And then he began rubbing the sensitive nub in sloppy semi-circle motions, tutting sweet words as you whined nonsensical syllables.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Let me hear you,” He cooed soothingly.

You let out a pitchy whine, “feels so good.” 

“That right?” Joel mumbled distractedly, using a rough hand on your neck to turn your head toward him despite the awkward angle, and claimed your lips hungrily, licking desperately into your mouth as if it was the last thing he’d ever do, and letting out hoarse noises of appreciation as he did so.

His hips continued to jut into you, setting an erratic, jerky pace.

Slap. Slap-slap. Slap. Slap-slap-slap.

You arched back against him and unintentionally broke the kiss when the overflowing pleasure spiked incredibly high.

“J-Joel,” You breathed.

The man, who was single-mindedly pistoning in and out of your splayed legs, hummed a sound of acknowledgment in response, his warm breath ghosting over your cheek.

“Joel, I’m close,” You whispered, the heat of both your bodies meeting where your back leaned against his front. 

“Are you?” He replied almost casually.

His fingers only sped in their motions, swiping at your clit almost feverishly as he continued to rut animalistically into you; each thrust stretching your aching cunt impossibly wide and oh so easily finding your cervix—

“Fuck!” Your chest tightened.

“Ask for it.” Joel’s gentle yet commanding tone nearly made your knees buckle. 

That, and the manic force at which he was fucking into you.

Slap–slap-slap-slap—

“Go on, baby. Ask.” His nose nudged at the side of your face, breathing in your scent as he tutted lowly, “hate to see you all worked up like this.”

“Shit—please! Can I come, please?” You acquiesced.

You felt the muscles of his rugged face pull up in a small smile against your cheek and his dick twitch inside your tight walls, sending shivers down your spine.

“Be a good girl and come for me then, sweetheart,” Joel said in between strained breaths. “Come all over my cock, I gotcha.”

Your climax came rippling over your whole body, a prolonged resonance that sent you into the territory of overstimulation—much more powerful than your first orgasm—as neither his fingers nor his cock slowed down in their frenzied pursuits. 

So, there you were, chanting his name like a prayer and clenching tightly around his relentless length.

When the fluttering of your cunt subsided, Joel hurriedly pulled out and wrapped a hand around his throbbing cock, fucking up into his fist frantically and cursing under his breath. You all but folded against the wall as you felt his loss, sticking your ass out and waiting for the inevitable.

Soon, his breath caught in his throat, and you felt hot ropes of his come spill over your back.

“Shit.” Joel sighed, gently rubbing along your sides. 

He pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder once he recollected himself a few moments after, still softly trailing his hands up and down as both of your breaths evened.

“You okay over there, sweetheart?”

You nodded weakly, unable to voice your satisfaction with your brains all fucked out.

Joel huffed a short laugh. “C’mon, I’ll clean you up.”

Somewhere behind you, the shower handle groaned with a faint squeak. A dull clunk followed, and then, with a sudden rush, water erupted from the showerhead, dousing the two of you in a sputtering cascade.

Gently, Joel tugged you away from the wall to stand directly under the jet of water, softly helping you wash away any reminders of your reckless impropriety.

He pressed reverent kisses along your jaw, down your neck, and around your collarbone as you got cleaned up.

There was no hidden, lustful agenda to this, as far as you could tell. You assumed it was either a result of his years of fatherhood or some testament to his overall caring nature, but either way, you weren’t complaining. You happily let your eyes fall closed as sheets of warm water streamed down your body, all while Joel’s lips tentatively found yours, then your neck, and his strong hands moved along your body.

“Um…” Joel began after he had turned off the shower, looking at you with his big, soft eyes. “I know this is the completely wrong order of things, but would you like to–”

“Yes.”

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You didn’t even know what I was gonna say.”

“Were you gonna ask me out on a date?”

“Yeah,” Joel laughed bashfully. "Is that... is that okay?"

You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his neck, and rising on your tiptoes to meet his lips in a lazy kiss.

“The answer’s yes.” You mumbled without breaking away for too long.

You felt Joel smile against your lips.

[misstokyo7love]

Getting to know you

Thank you for the tag @oliveksmoked . So far I‘m just a silent fan of all these wonderful fanfics, which more than once made my dark days a little brighter.

Last Song - Ghost in a machine by SZA feat. Phoebe Bridgers. I was listening to Bad Bunny and Milune‘s lastest release and had to change it up a bit.

Last book - If cats disappeared from the world by Genki Kawamura (I read a lot of japanese authors)

Last movie - Anora

Last TV show - White lotus and shrinking

Last thing I googled - Korean skincare product

Favorite color - Dark green

sweet/savory/spicy - All of them

Looking forward to - Next trip. I cant‘t wait to see the ocean again.

Current obsession - I‘m recovering from surgery and I‘m still not back to my old self. Trying to take it easy but I‘m very impatient with myself (not with others though)

Tagging some amazing fic writers that make me laugh, cry and not losing hope in love.

@oonajaeadira @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @javierpena-inatacvest @baronessvonglitter @berryispunk @probablyreadinsmut @auteurdelabre @almostfoxglove @almostempty @punkshort @sunshinehaze1

[misstokyo7love]

I’ll give that a try 😉

Getting to know you...

Thank you for the tag, @tinytinymenace and @slimybeth69 (and I think maybe there was someone else but I can't find the tag sorrysorrysorry).

last song — "After Midnight" by Chappell Roan (Em, are you, like me, just listening to this album on repeat and maybe signing it very, very loudly in the car?)

last book — I just finished "Bleeded Edge" by Thomas Pynchon (which was so so fucking good I'm kmind of upset I gave it to my partner to read because I really want to read it again). I am currently re-reading Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead by Olga Tokarczuk.

last movie — Anora (mixed feelings).

last tv show — Severance, White Lotus, Mythic Quest

last thing i googled — Ha, I just googled how to spell Olga Tokarczuk.

favorite color — olive green

sweet/savory/spicy — I have quite the sweet tooth.

looking forward to — I'm going to a Boy Band Brunch in the city tomorrow with two friends. I see several bloody marys an a lot of Backstreet Boys in my future.

current obsession — learning how to make ice cream.

Tagging some new mutuals. Tell me all your secrets (muah hahaha). Or, you know, just answer the above questions if you feel like it.

@artemiseamoon @burntheedges @misstokyo7love @sunnytuliptime @yxtkiwiyxt @indiegirlunited

[misstokyo7love]

I need a Frankie to heal my insomnia

Insomniacs

pairing: Frankie Morales x f! reader

tags: friends to lovers, insomnia, mental health struggles (ptsd, depression), soft! Frankie, kissing, yearning, swearing, nicknames (hermosa), fluff, idiots in love, no smut, no physical description of reader apart from having hair

summary:  What if you can’t sleep and you call for your best friend to come over and suddenly everything changes ?

word count: 3,1 k

It’s nothing new that you can’t sleep. Dealing with various mental health stuff over the years and chronic pain on top, you should know better. 

You tried every sleeping aid under the sun; meditation, counting sheep, lavender on your pillow and melatonin. Nothing worked, so you started to build your life around it. Midnights became your afternoons to quote Taylor Swift. 

But you were creative, somehow still holding up the hope that it magically gets better or you’ll just get used to it. But it never happened. 

So tonight as the red numbers of your digital alarm clock illuminate your face, mocking you once again, you groan in frustration. You stare at the ceiling, watching the various colored lights of the cityscape dancing around and if you weren’t so damn defeated you would be able to find beauty in this, but you can’t. Not today. You reach for your phone charging on your nightstand and scroll mindlessly through social media. Minutes turn into an hour and you finally sit up in your bed, opening your messages app. It’s 2:30 a.m., who could possibly be awake at this hour? Your international friends? Yeah, for sure. But as you go through your various contacts you stop at one name, smiling to yourself as you press the call button. 

It takes three rings until a familiar deep voice fills your ears. 

“Hello?” the voice murmurs and you immediately feel guilty because you didn’t expect him to have been asleep. His voice sounds exhausted.

“Oh my god. Sorry Frankie, I didn’t mean to wake you up,” you apologize and he chuckles softly at the other end. 

“‘s alright, wasn’t really sleeping just… dozing off. What’s up, hermosa? It’s….” he pauses shortly. “It's, fuck, 2:32 at night. What is going on? Are you alright?” The worry in his voice is palpable and it’s one of the things you admire about him.

“Yeah, it’s the same old insomnia again and I figured why not call the one person that gets my pain?” you say apologetically and you can practically hear his smirk. 

“Us good old insomniacs, huh? Is it your brain or the pain this time?” he asks and you sigh heavily in response. 

“Probably a mix of both…” you sink deeper into your cushion. 

Frankie might be the only person you ever met who understands the struggles that come with lack of sleep. His military background and the resulting nightmares made him an ally in the cruel game that called itself life. The two of you spent countless nights like this, on the phone or texting, watching nonsense over whatever TV channel was on but you’ve never done one thing: late-night meetings. 

You weren’t sure if it was a secret agreement the both of you made that late night meetings were off-limits in all the time you’ve known each other, but tonight something felt different. 

“Hey Frankie?”

“Hm?”

“Why have we never met? At night, when we weren’t able to sleep… I mean, you only live on the other side of the city, not the world.”

The other end stays silent and you think you may have overstepped an up-to-now invisible line by asking. 

Then he clears his throat. “Would you want me to come over? You never asked and I never did, because no way in hell I let you wander alone through the night…” he clarifies and you can’t help but roll your eyes. Of course, ever the gentleman Frankie Morales did not want to risk your safety. 

“Well, what if I’d ask you to come over now?” You hear him swallowing heavily at the other end of line. 

You don’t even know why you’re wanting this all of a sudden, maybe you’ve finally lost your mind. It’s not like there isn’t some underlying tension between the two of you anyway. Mindless flirting and playful teasing is all part of your friendship. 

Frankie is way too trusting for his own good, getting screwed up by his lack of judgement concerning other people and his soft heart, even if he would never let the boys know. They would give him hell about it. But around you he’s let his guard down and you have deep conversations with him about all things going wrong and the few that haven't. He’s one of the few people who know about your troubled youth and strained relationship with your mother. You in turn are one of the few people that know the severity of his PTSD. 

He makes you feel heard like no guy has ever managed to do. He really looks at you when you’re talking and it always makes you feel giddy when he remembers little things you told him a while back. 

You like his attentive nature, but somehow you have never found yourself thinking of him as a potential partner, even if he’s awfully attractive with his broad shoulders and unruly dark curls. His million-watt smile that, if it’s honest, creates little wrinkles around his eyes and makes your own smile widen every damn time in return.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice strained and uncertain. 

“I am,” you say boldly even if you feel anything but.

Fuckin hell, why does your heart beat so fast? 

“Give me 20 minutes,” is the last thing you hear before the line goes dead. 

You immediately jump up from your bed and panic takes over. What were you thinking? What do you even expect to happen when he’s here? Or worse, what if he expects something to happen? No, he would never. It’s Frankie after all, he would’ve had plenty of chances to make approaches but he never has, always keeping a respectful distance. And now you wonder if he only kept it because you made it seem like you weren’t interested in more than a friendship? 

When you first met him, you actually had a little crush on him but held yourself back because you told yourself he was out of your league and he was in a relationship. Then they broke up, but he was in a new one only a few weeks later. It went on like that for a long time until you were taken. Your ex never liked the boys so you kept your distance and the estrangement grew until you broke up with the guy and picked up your friendships where you left off. 

It’s always been so easy to be with Frankie. You could be yourself around him, no need to pretend to be someone you’re not. He saw you in every state: drunk, crying, bed head and pajamas or all dolled-up for another unfulfilling date. He still looked at you the same and it gave you some sort of confidence you’re usually unable to muster. So right now you don’t even think about changing. You stay in your sleep shirt and shorts, no underwear whatsoever, because it doesn’t matter anyway. The only thing you do is brush your teeth and open the messy bun your hair has been in, making it fall loosely over your shoulders.

For a moment you wonder whether he wants anything specific to drink, but as you check your fridge you see that you have plenty of soda and beer - both beverages you know he enjoys. So you sit down on the sofa, only the soft dim light of the standing lamp in the corner illuminating the room and you grow nervous again. Why, you can’t tell. This isn’t different from all the other times you’ve met him, the only difference being it’s late at night. But then you remember the saying ‘nothing good happens after 2 am’ and you get restless all over again until a soft knock on the door announces his arrival. 

With a few quick steps you open the door, but only a crack and Frankie looks at you, tired brown eyes mustering you. He’s smiling as per usual and holds up a plastic bag. “I brought the pretzels you like so much.” 

You open the door all the way to let him in. He’s wearing grey sweatpants, the standard oil cap which has to be glued to his head at this point, and one of his worn-down band shirts. Sometimes you “borrow” one of them when he doesn’t notice. You’re actually wearing one right now. 

“Hi,” you grin as he places the plastic bag on the coffee table. 

“Hi yourself,” he grins back and his eyes wander over your figure for a moment as his smirk widens. “Is that my shirt?” he asks, one eyebrow raised questioningly. 

“Maybe,” you tease back, mirroring his smirk. “You want it back?” 

He shakes his head, lifting his signature cap to run a hand through his curls before he puts it back on. “Nah, looks better on you anyway,” he says and somehow it makes your cheeks turn a bit warmer.

“You want something to drink?” you ask, clearing your throat. 

“Yeah, a beer maybe? But please tell me you’ve got more than the muck from the gas station? Because that tastes like piss,” he complains and you laugh as you walk over to your kitchen, opening the fridge. 

“Well, good for you I have actual beer, some Corona even if you’re feeling fancy.”

“Oh, I feel very fancy, hermosa,” he laughs and leans over the kitchen countertop as you reach for the beer. You feel his gaze on your backside, but decide to say nothing. 

You place the beer on the counter, a soda in your hand, and the noise of it opening echoes loudly through the apartment. He opens his beer with a lighter before he takes the first sip. 

It’s quiet for a moment before you ask, “How’s that girl you were talking about last week? Cindy or what’s her name?”

He shrugs, a lopsided smile on his face. “You’re asking me about my dating life?” 

You frown, tilting the soda can in your hand before answering “Guess so.” 

“Didn’t see her again,” he simply states and something blooms inside of you. Is it relief?

“Ah, okay…” you say, trying not to let your emotions show too much. 

“And… you? How’s that guy you told me about? Jack?”

“Jacob,” you correct, not that it would matter. You met him once and it’s clear that he’s still very much in love with his ex-girlfriend.

“Yeah, Jacob, sorry,” he mumbles, rubbing his neck sheepishly. “How is he?”

“Guess he’s fine…I wouldn’t know, as I only went on a date with him once.”

“Oh.” “Oh?” you scoff and he chimes in with a chuckle. 

“Yeah, what else should I say? He didn’t seem like a good match for you.”

“You know, you never said that about any of the guys I dated.”

“They were all losers.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What?”

“Shit, I‘m sorry…” he babbles but your eyebrows are furrowed.

“So tell me who’s a good match for me then?” You glare at him. It’s infuriating that he even thinks he’s allowed to judge you when he clearly isn’t better with all the girls he’s dated in the past. 

“Someone who really cares for you and sees you for who you are. Someone who treats you right and would do anything to make you happy, you know…” He’s fiddling with the label on the beer bottle. You just watch him, too stunned to speak as his words strike a chord. You know he’s right and that makes it hurt even more. 

“Maybe I’m just not made for a relationship,” you sigh as you take another sip of your soda, mimicking his stance by leaning across from him against the counter. 

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” 

“So what? You’re gonna tell me that there’s someone for me whom I just haven't met yet? That I didn’t search long or hard enough? I am 28, Frankie. I am tired of being in the dating pool. I just want… “ you exhale defeatedly. “I just want someone to come home to and who’s as happy to see me as I am to see him.”

“I am happy to see you,” he says quietly and it makes your heart miss a beat. 

“Yeah, but that’s not the same and you know it.”

“Why not?” he asks back, your eyebrows shooting up as he finally looks up from the bottle in his hand and places it onto the next available surface. “You’re a smart girl, hermosa. Don’t tell me you don’t know?” There’s indignation in his voice.

“Don’t know what?”

With one big step he closes the distance between you, standing so close to you you can clearly smell the last bit of his perfume he’s probably worn during the day and most of all you can smell him. The earthiness, musk and warmth are weirdly comforting as he looks down at you. 

“Do I have to spell it out for you or can you feel it as well?” he murmurs when you finally have the courage to meet his gaze, his eyes dark and searching. 

“Frankie, I–”

Suddenly he’s so close, so all-consuming it makes it hard to think. 

“Tell me you don’t feel it and I stop,” he whispers. You feel his breath on your face and the warm feeling inside your chest spreads further. 

Of course you’ve felt that way before, but you didn’t think too much about it, not wanting to risk this friendship that's so important to you. 

“I won’t,” you croak out and he smirks in response, the cocky smile he always has when he is certain about something. 

“Figured,” he continues before adding, “So tell me, how many of these dickheads do you want to date until you give the one guy a chance that really cares about you?” 

“But.. We are…”

“Friends? Yeah, and I want to be so much more than that to you. Do you really think I would drive through the city at this ungodly hour for just anyone?”

You search for his eyes again, slightly blushing and shaking your head. 

He starts playing with a lock of hair, curling it around his thick fingers which makes you incredibly nervous.

“I woke you up, didn’t I? And now you stand here at 3 in the morning… I feel horrible.”

“Well, I don’t. I’m glad you invited me over. Who needs sleep if I can be with you instead?”

You smile at that. 

“I’m still sorry.”

“No need,” he assures you. “There’s no place I’d rather be right now…” 

And his voice drips with honesty as his eyes lock with yours and the intensity of his gaze paired with his words make your breath hitch. Your eyes flick onto his plush lips which look so much more kissable up close and you bite your own lips. He mirrors the movement and suddenly his big hand rests on your cheek, his thumb caressing your cheek bone as he pulls you a tiny bit closer. You reach for his cheek in return, his patchy stubble tickling your hand and you part your lips as he takes the cue, dips his head and his lips are only a hair's breadth away from yours. 

“Can I kiss you now?” he whispers hoarsely against your lips and you just nod in agreement.

His lips capture yours in a soft, tentative kiss and your stomach does somersaults. You’ve wondered in the past what kissing him would feel like, but nothing could’ve prepared you for this. He knows exactly what he’s doing, his lips moving with purpose without being overbearing. The softness of his lips is a stark contrast to the slight scratch of his stubble against your skin. You practically melt into the kiss and you’re certain that no one has ever kissed you like this, so soft but purposefully determined it makes your head spin.

You tangle your hands in the soft locks on the ape of his neck as you deepen the kiss. He’s parting his lips voluntarily so you can invade his mouth with your tongue as his hand wanders from your cheek into your hair, cradling the back of your head. He presses you against the counter with his body weight as his other hand wanders to your hip, his fingers digging into the tender flesh under his shirt. As your tongues dance feverishly his breathing gets uneven, panting into the kiss and you can’t help but smile softly that he gets so worked up over a kiss. 

“You okay?” you whisper as you part to breathe, your foreheads touching. 

“Yeah,” he breathes “It’s just.. Fuck, I’ve wanted this for so long so I wanna get this right.”

You take his head between your hands, your thumbs stroking his cheeks now. 

“You’re doing everything right, Frankie,” you smile softly and his face lights up.

“Can I maybe take you out on a date first before I ravish you right here in your kitchen?”

You can’t help but laugh at that, an honest laugh not many people are able to elicit from you. 

“I’d love that,” you say softly and nuzzle your nose against his while his thumb draws small circles over your hip where your shirt rode up. 

Suddenly the tiredness comes back to you as you yawn heavily and he creates some distance to be able to look at you. 

“Do I bore you, hermosa?” “No!” you quickly protest. “But I’m tired all of a sudden…”

“No shit, it’s late. Let’s get you into bed, yeah?” 

He takes your hand and leads you to your bedroom where you fall headfirst into the pillow with a groan. 

“Frankie?” you call for him, lifting your head up slightly, his name suddenly sounding so big in the quietness of the night. 

“Yeah?” you hear faint footsteps as if he’s about to leave and the thought makes you sad.

“Would you mind staying?”

It’s deadly quiet for a moment before you hear the rustling of sheets and his weight next to you on the mattress. “Not at all,” he murmurs softly and you scoot closer to him, cuddling into his side as he puts his arm around your shoulders, his chin resting against your head. It feels so natural. It feels like coming home. You yawn and close your eyes again. 

“Thank you,” you murmur softly as your hand rests on his chest. 

“Anytime,” he says and then adds, “And just for the record, her name was Clara.”

“What?” 

“The girl I was on a date with, her name was Clara not Cindy. Not that it’d matter anyway because the only person I go on dates with from now on will be you,” he chuckles softly and you grin widely, even if he can’t see it. 

“Good to know,” you say sleepily and for the first time in weeks you drift off into a deep, restful sleep.

my masterlist - in case you're hungry for more :)

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[misstokyo7love]

I’m sorry. This is so inappropriate, but I can’t help it.

Javier ain’t got no panties on

[misstokyo7love]

Damn, Baby! That is hot

What happens behind Buc-ees, stays behind Buc-ees.

CatCaller!Joel Miller x F!Reader

Plot summary: 56 year old Joel Miller spends his days as a blue collar contractor busy on the job site, though his idea of being 'busy' involves standing around cat-calling ladies all day long. One day he tries his luck with you and he gets more than he bargained for in the process.

Warnings for this fic: 18+ ONLY MDNI. Cat calling (obvs), Joel's a creep, he's a weirdo, but you're into it. Grandpa Joel is technologically inept. Anonymous sex. Unprotected P in V (I'M THROWING CONTRACEPTIVES AT YOU RN, BEHAVE!) daddy kink. Don't look at me. AU - No outbreak. Undefined age gap.

A/N: After the response to my CatCaller!JoelMiller thots (thank you by the way!) I knew I had to turn it into a one shot for you perverts (affectionate, bc me too) so I wrote this on a whim today instead of doing housework. Also don't come for me if there isn't a Buc-ees in Austin, idk, I googled popular gas station chains in texas 💀

Word Count: 2.4k

///

All day long Joel would get distracted, not that he was complaining.

When the boss said their next job site would be opposite a busy all women’s gym, well, Joel found himself half hard just at the thought of it.

From sun up to sun down, he’d be watching all the pretty little things walk on by, each and every one of them just as delectable as the next, short, tall, thin, thick, big or small he didn’t care one little bit. Joel Miller didn’t have a type, his type was ‘anything on two legs with tits and ass’.

Sure, his success rate with these woman wasn’t exactly high, not with the tactics he was using. As it turns out, women don’t tend to like being cat called much these days. Even if you are as handsome as he is, you just can’t get away with shouting out ‘Hey baby nice ass!’ like you used to. Something about the feminist movement or whatever?

Either way it didn’t deter him, it just spurred him on more. The guys he worked with were like-minded, but not as bold as Joel was. Sure, they’d whistle or leer but none of them would be as openly horny as he was.

At 56 years old, Joel figured he had nothing to lose any more, he’d been working a back-breaking job since leaving high school and why the fuck not? He’s a blue collared, red blooded man, after all. Who knows, one of these days he might meet wife number three doing this kind of shit and this time it might stick?

Maybe. Maybe not? At the very least he’ll get his dick wet though.

Its another blistering hot Texas summer day on the construction site. The foreman is yelling out orders from his perch with his ass crack hanging all out the back of his pants. That’s not a pretty sight.

Joel’s sitting inside the parked Bulldozer cabin, door wide open trying to circulate the air while he eats his lunch, it’s stifling inside there as it is.

The sight of Foreman Andy’s pale ass threatens to make his lunch reappear so he focuses on the little box in his lap instead.

Sarah had packed it so lovingly for him with a little note inside that reads:

 ‘To the world’s best grandpa, the only time you’re not complaining is when your mouth is full, so shut up and eat your sandwich. Love, Sarah & the girls’.

Even though his baby girl had long moved out of house and started her own family, she still made sure her old man was taken care of, coming by almost every day to leave little care packages in Joel’s fridge. The only consistent woman that’s ever been in his life, along with his granddaughters now.

He needs a distraction, something pretty to look at, and with it being lunchtime now, a few delicious ladies should be leaving the gym hungry and sweaty any minute now.

Right on cue, he hears a few of the guys below jeering and hollering, his response is almost immediate, head whipping up so fast to find the target of their affections.

And then he sees you.

You’re walking on by right now wearing leggings so tight they should be illegal. You must have just come from a pretty high intensity work out because that grey tank top is darkened with sweat around the middle. And those tits?

Fuck. They jiggle and bounce so perfectly with every step, that sports bra you have on is doing gods work right there.

Joel’s been through a bit of a dry spell recently, even with the phone number he got just last week from another girl who, by her own admittance during their brief sext exchange had ‘daddy issues’. She’d been another one coming out of the gym all hot and sweaty and Joel just had to try his luck. It was a damn shame when she stopped responding to his messages though, maybe five back-to-back dick pics all at different angles was where he went wrong?

Nah, girls love that shit! Couldn’t have been that.

Fuck it. He’s going for it. Joel puts his lunch box aside and scooches forward in the seat until his legs are just hanging out of the open door, spread wide. He waits until you’re just walking by the chain link fence, phone in hand probably texting or snap-talking or whatever it is the kids call it and then he goes for it.

“Hey baby, your legs are lookin’ a little tired, why don’tcha come on over here and take a seat?” He calls out with the filthiest, most lecherous grin on his face that he can muster, grabbing his crotch to really emphasise the extension of his invitation.  He knows he’s being all kinds of creepy right now, you’re probably just gonna ignore him or tell him to fuck off like most of the girls he cat calls do, but if you never try then you’ll never kn—what the fuck?

He was expecting you to cuss him out, he was expecting you to keep walking or throw him a dirty look. What he wasn’t expecting was for you to raise your phone and take a picture of him. He’s so dumbstruck right now, staring gormlessly with his hand still firmly on his crotch as the shutter sound goes off.

Oh god he’s going to end up on the tiktak or the local Facebook page, outed as a predator or something. He can see it now ‘Who’s grandpa is this? Wanted by Austin PD for lewd public behaviour and harassment’. Immediate shame and regret fills him, retreating back into the solitude of the cabin as you continue on your merry way, now with his face in your phone to do whatever you wish with it.

He should have seen this day coming, it’s just desserts really. Joel should have known that some day his behaviour would come back to bite him in the ass.

The rest of the day he’s a bag of nerves, checking his phone every five minutes for outraged or disappointed texts from his daughter, instead it’s just a message from Sarah reminding him to take his blood pressure meds and a tempting text 50% off text message from pizza hut.

If you weren’t taking his picture to out him as a nuisance and a pervert to the entire Internet, what the fuck were you doing with it?

///

By quitting time, Joel is done. He’d mentally clocked out hours ago anyway but he doesn’t waste a single second peeling out away in his truck, kicking up a cloud of dust as his tires screech off the construction site.

He’s halfway home when the gas light blinks to life on the dash making him mutter a string of expletives now that he has to make an unplanned stop and it’ll take him just that little bit longer to get home. Oh well, after today he feels like he needs a drink so he’ll pick up a six pack while he’s filling up the tank.

Joel’s in a world of his own as he’s watching the numbers up-tick on the screen, when the fuck did gas get so expensive? With one hand holding the fuel nozzle and the other shoved in the pocket of his jeans. He almost doesn’t hear the whistle at first, being that he’s deaf as a door nail in one ear, but he did hear the cat call after.

“Hey baby, did you sit in sugar? Because that ass looks sweet!”

Who the fuck is dishing out shitty pick up lines at the gas station and— oh my god, it’s you. Joel sees you when he turns around, standing there with your hands on your hips and a wide grin, looking very pleased with yourself. You look like you’re out on a run this time, wearing a different, but no less tight, pair of leggings and a cropped t-shirt that shows off a delicious little sliver of midriff. He doesn’t know what to think, are you mocking him or something? What’s the meaning behind all of this?

///

Joel’s bold as brass but you’re bolder, apparently. No sooner than when he’d paid for his gas, you sidled on over with a seductive swing of your hips and made your move. You didn’t even give him a chance to ask him your name before you were kissing him, in the middle of the gas station forecourt for everyone to see and who was he to question it?

Hungry licks into his mouth turned into you grabbing his dick over the front of his jeans, which then turned into whispered begs from you about him fucking you in the back seat of his truck.

His cock was already so hard at that point, he couldn’t even think straight, all he knew is that there was a pretty young thing who needed her hole stuffed and that he desperately wanted to be the one to give it to her.

In no time at all, he’d bundled you into his truck and swung it around into the alley behind the Buc-ees, wondering if your mother ever taught you not to get into a car with a strange man or not. Right now, he doesn’t give a shit. He’s just praying they don’t have security cameras back here, or that the clerk behind the counter comes out for a smoke break.

If they did, they’d see the suspension on his truck being tested and pushed to the limit and the tell-tale fogged up windows thanks to the two total strangers who are fucking like rabbits inside.

Joel’s got you flat on your stomach and ass in the air in the back seat, leggings pulled down to your ankles as he rails into you at an impressive pace for a 56 year old. You’re a fucking mess for him, sobbing and whining into the worn leather seat, doing your best to match his rhythm and rock your hips back into him as he stretches you open.

“Shit” Joel hisses through gritted teeth, gripping the rounded globes of your ass tighter as he pounds you into the seat “Ain’t had a pussy this tight in a long time. Fuck darlin’... Look at you takin’ me s’well.”

Your arms are outstretched above your head, gripping at whatever you can as he fucks you hard and fast, your nails bite and scratch into the leather. “Fuck daddy! Yes! Oh god! Harder!”. Joel doesn’t know where you came from but he’s pretty sure you’re a fallen angel, how the fuck did he get so lucky to have someone like you fall into his lap?

The metallic clink of his belt buckle mingles with the slaps of skin against skin as he gives you exactly what you want, taking one of his hands off your ass to grasp the back of your neck, holding it down against the seat, snapping his hips wildly into you as he watches the space between your bodies where your pussy sucks him back in over and over again with ever thrust.

This might just be the best sex of his life, with a total stranger behind a goddamn Buc-ees. Don’t question it Joel, just make her come, give her what she wants so badly like the dirty little slut she is.

His hand slides from your ass around to your pussy, two fingers find your clit with ease, making your moans grow louder and your walls start to flutter around him. “C’mon pretty girl, give it t’me. Come all over my cock. Ohhhh fuck y’feel so good baby....” the rough, calloused fingers of a man who’s worked 5 days a week for nearly forty years are being put to work even more right now, rubbing tight, rapid circles around the swollen bud as he feels you nearing your climax. The way you’re singing for him right now is like a fucking choir, he’s never heard anything so sweet and sinful at the same time.

The noises you make when you finally come are beautiful, high pitched moans of ecstasy as you gush and clench around him, he barely has any time to ask you where you want him to come, mere seconds after you tell him inside, his hips are stuttering, spilling deep inside you with a low groan.

You’re completely fucked out and boneless beneath him, moaning lightly as he slows to a stop once his balls have been thoroughly emptied. Joel pulls out gradually, watching your used gaping hole leaking and pooling onto the seat beneath you. It’s a sight that has his cock twitching already, but he’s not going to push his luck, not yet.

“Y’okay darlin’? Here lemme clean you up... Fucked your pretty little brains out good didn’t I?” Joel coos as he cleans you up with his earlier discarded flannel shirt, he might wash it, he might not, he’s undecided.

It takes you a good minute to respond as he’s helping you pull your panties and leggings back up, already missing the beautiful jiggle of your ass as it disappears back into the spandex.

“Mhm... I’m good... Holy fuck. Y’do this kind of thing often?” You have this stupid blissed out smile on your face as you’re sitting up right, skin all dewy from behind pressed against the leather. You’re a picture right now, and not one he’ll soon forget.

Joel’s tucking his softening cock back into his jeans, answering you with a lopsided grin and a shake of his head “This kind of thing? No not really. Names Joel by the way...” He extends his hand and you take it sweaty palms gliding against his as you tell him your name. “Well good t’make your acquaintance miss. Say... Now we know each other a lil better, can I ask you sumthin’?”

“Sure, what?”

“Why’d you take a picture of me earlier today? I thought you were gonna ‘put me on blast’ as my granddaughters say. Think that means bitch about me on social media.”

His candour makes you laugh, it’s sweet, you think and the knowing that he’s a grandpa just makes him all the more irresistible to you.

“Oh no nothing like that, just wanted a picture of my new boyfriend!” Joel laughing but it quickly dies down when he sees how dead serious you are, you’re not laughing now.

Uh-oh. He should have known something was up with you. The way you're blinking rapidly at him right now tells him you're not all there.

Oh well, at least Mrs. Miller number three is going to be an exciting ride.

///

Npt those that interacted with the og post <3: @letsgobarbs @gothcsz @tammythr @ovaryacted @toxicanonymity @taeslarityy @punkshort @lilac-boo @desuidesu @lostfleurs @professionalpromqueen

[misstokyo7love]

Perfect romantic read

golden kisses (dave york x f!reader)

summary: newly single, dave finds comfort in life’s simple pleasures; among other things.

warnings: short & sweet, unspecified but legal age gap, cursing, food, alcohol, pedro’s insane coffee order, fluff, mentions of divorce, kissing & touching, suggestive smut, soft!dave.. possessive!dave (obsessed!dave actually), 18+ mdni.

notes: this is my submission to jana & daphne’s writing through the seasons challenge. i asked to write for dave york in the fall, and was given this beautiful moodboard and the prompt ‘next time i see you, we’re going to kiss for a very long time.’

to @guiltyasdave & @sizzlingcloudmentality — thank you for organising something so wonderful! jana, tysm for giving me the opportunity to get to know your man & write for him for the first time. i hope you like him, and happy birthday! <3

Simple Pleasures.

The optimistic name of the coffee shop that Dave began to frequent, and coincidentally something his coworkers had encouraged him to indulge in in the wake of his divorce.

You just forget sometimes, York. All you gotta do is take time for life’s simple pleasures, and things’ll get easier.

Easier? He’d scoffed. Sure.

The separation had been straightforward enough. Carol had felt he loved his job more than her, and he supposed — in the end — that she was right. She got the house, got the girls full-time. Dave found an apartment in the city, saw his daughters every other weekend. A clean break, with minimal disruption for the children.

He struggled with the change at first.

The York home had been warm and inviting: tiny sneakers strewn across the hallways, half-empty bags of grapes littering the countertops, Barbie doll heads and plastic unicorns worming their way inside his suit jackets. In contrast, Dave’s new living space was devoid of all life; high up in the clouds, any speck of glitter or fairy dust soon smoothed away by the cleaners.

Simple Pleasures was an independent coffee house, placed conveniently enough on his new route to the office downtown. It meant Dave was spending a stupid amount on caffeine, but he couldn’t quite find it in him to make it freshly brewed at the apartment — somewhere he still couldn’t bring himself to call home.

You were the first thing he noticed when he visited, and the reason he kept going back.

Dave found himself leaving for work a little earlier each day, securing a spot by the window in the summer sunshine. He had no real reason to stop, could get his order in a takeout cup just like every other glum-faced professional in the establishment.

But he didn’t.

He sat and he watched; the way your dainty gold bracelets sparkled in the morning light, the sheen of clear gloss across your full lips, how your face split into a smile when you greeted your regulars. You were younger than him, full of an enthusiasm he could barely remember from his twenties. Slivers of vitality shone in every move you made, practiced and careful in everything you did.

Dave savoured every interaction he had with you; replayed them in his mind at his desk, in the shower, in his bed. He would lie awake most nights, counting down every minute ‘til sunrise. The stress of work commitments and his depressing home life would fall to the wayside the moment he stepped up to the counter to see you. He waited eagerly for the touch of your manicured hand against his, the fluttered lashes, the gentle teasing.

Six shots of espresso over ice, Mr York. I sure hope you’re getting enough sleep.

///

“You wanna go away this weekend?”

Dave feels your body stir as he leans over, lips trailing across your shoulder blade. His hand finds the curve of your hip, dragging his thumb against the soft skin there. It’s early morning; your panties in a heap by the bedroom door, red marks from your nails fading across his back.

You turn to face him, blinking sleepily. “With you?”

“Yeah, pretty girl. With me.”

Dave looms over you, watching you pretend to think it over. He’s memorised every feature: the way your nose scrunches when you laugh, the colour of your eyes when the light hits them just right, the way your teeth sink into your lower lip when you’re anxious — or aroused.

“Where are you taking me?” you ask, eyebrow arching.

“It’s a surprise,” he tells you. “Pack warm clothes, though. And that blue lace you wore on Tuesday.”

Eyes narrowing, you loop your arms round his neck. Dave takes the opportunity to kiss you, tongue sliding into your warm, wet mouth. He groans at the taste of you, breaking apart when you start to giggle.

“Yes, sir.”

You’ve been his for almost three months: eighty-five days, to be precise. Dave is always precise, finding that hidden spot inside you every time he makes you come, knowing when to push you further, and when to hold you close. He knows your limits, respects your boundaries, gives you as much as you can take — even though you always ask for more.

“Y’know, you’re lucky I wasn’t give any shifts for this weekend,” you reprimand him gently a moment later, soft hands sliding against his back.

Dave smirks, bending his head as his nose drags along your jaw. “And why do you think that is?”

“You did not!”

“Baby, I spend enough money in that damned coffee shop to call in a couple favours,” he chuckles, grazing his teeth against your throat.

Summer had slowly given way to fall, the leaves turning gold on the trees; Dave fucking and falling in love with you as they began to drop to the ground.

///

The cabin was awarded to Dave in the divorce settlement. Smooth pine and modern furnishings, sitting prettily on a lake nobody else knew how to find — he’d made sure of that.

“This is all yours?!” you exclaim happily, wandering over to the stone fireplace. You’ve been twisting your hands round your scarf excitedly, darting from room to room, listing off excursions and activities for the two of you to try.

Dave lets himself be swept away by your enthusiasm, even if it does derail his plans to keep you naked for as long as possible. He wraps his arms round your waist, pressing his lips below the shell of your ear. “Ours, until Sunday night.”

You turn to kiss him, tugging a little at his hair in the way you know he likes. He often searches for the words to tell you the warmth you’ve brought into his life, and fails miserably, resolving to show you instead. Dave’s hands wander under your shirt, feeling himself stirring as your tongue slips so deliciously into his mouth.

“We need to make some dinner plans,” you remind him breathlessly a moment later, sandwiched between the back of the couch and the hard, insistent press of his groin. “Go for it,” he mutters, slowly dropping to his knees. He makes quick work of your jeans, kissing the soft inside of your thighs as you quiver above him.

“My meal’s right here.”

///

You do manage to drag him out of bed.

Occasionally.

You sip coffee in his lap on the front porch, sweetly forcing Dave to cut his espresso shots down to three. He watches you pouting, expressing concerns over his health, knowing he’d never deny you anything. He lets you plan the hiking route, pull a beanie hat over his head as you set off into the sea of red and yellow trees, hand-in-hand.

“Would you ever leave the city behind? Move out here permanently?” you ask, pausing to take in the views. Dave only has eyes for you; the way the sweater you’d stolen from him moulds to your body perfectly, your chest rising and falling with exertion, a look of wonder painted adoringly across your beautiful face.

“Not without you,” he replies truthfully, pulling you close.

Two deer move across the meadow below, never straying far from one another amidst the golden haze of the weak sunlight. You lean into him, watching the animals together wordlessly. Dave feels a level of contentment wash over him — here, with you, somewhere so peaceful.

Later on, after some simple mac and cheese and a couple of glasses of red wine, Dave takes you on the rug by the fire. He watches your eyes roll to the back of your skull; gripping his biceps, ankles locked over his lower back. I love you, he confesses breathily as he sinks in deeper. You respond in kind, his hand gentle over your throat, pushing you over the edge of bliss with Dave following soon after.

///

All too soon, Sunday evening arrives.

The drive home is quiet: Dave’s travelling out of state for work for two weeks, the impending separation already swirling round his mind torturously. He’s addicted to you: the scent you leave on his clothes, the soft bite marks on his shoulders, the way your smaller hand fits perfectly in his large one.

“‘m gonna miss you,” you say softly, leaning over the console to splay your fingers across his thigh. “I’ll come over, soon as I’m back,” Dave soothes, moving your hand to press his lips to your knuckles. Eighty-seven days have now passed since you first agreed to go on a date with him, and already he’s considering a browse at Tiffany’s, seeing if he can find something to make you his forever.

You sigh happily. “Well, the next time I see you, I’m not letting go.”

“Oh, yeah? What do you have planned?”

You grin, as vibrant as the myriad of beautiful fall colours outside the window, as full as you’ve made his life since coming into it.

“Let’s just say we’re going to kiss for a very long time.”

[misstokyo7love]

Seems accurate to me

WHICH PEDRO PASCAL CHARACTER... HIGHSCHOOL SPORTS EDITION

The amazing @syd-djarin mentioned PPCU men and the sports they would have played in highschool so obviously I thought too much about it. . .

The amazing mentioned PPCU men and the sports they would have played in highschool so obviously I thought too much about it. . . Share any of your own! And do you agree or disagree with my choices? I wanna know!

[misstokyo7love]

Read at your own risk. I passed out a few times

Pedro Character sex headcanons - Part 1

Part 2 here

My masterlist

You can barely get in the door of Tim Rockford's apartment before he's all over you.  Pressing you against the door as he bolts it shut, then he's kissing down your neck, sliding his hand up your skirt and taking you apart with his thick fingers before he fucks you on the hall table. 

Tim is a busy man and when he finally gets a chance to spend an evening with you he's not wasting one fucking second.

Javi Gutierrez wants to wine and dine you first. You get to his place in Hollywood Hills and he's had his chef cook you a nice meal, and chosen the perfect bottle of wine to go with it. After, you move to his balcony with a new bottle of wine, share a joint and when you finally get too strung out from the flirting touches you climb on him and he makes the prettiest noises as you grind on him, but he's not fucking you out there where anybody could see. He's taking you to bed so he can take his time.

Din had only ever had rushed, transactional sexual experiences. Sex with feelings is totally new to him. He's so overwhelmed and overstimulated, so used to being in his armor and helmet all the time, that just the barest brush of skin to skin contact has him moaning and tensing, biting his lip until it's all swollen and red. He spends so much time attending to your needs and making you feel good, learning how to get you to make the prettiest noises. He doesn't want to be the only one dripping with arousal

Joel is a natural caretaker and service dom. He gets his pleasure from making you feel good. He makes you dinner (he has about five recipes he's really nailed and is confident with), then he rubs the knots in your back until you're loose and pliant and soft under his hands. Then he flips you over and plays with your tits til you're begging for it, before slipping two thick fingers inside you, thumbing at your clit until you squirt all over his wrist. Then he fucks you stupid, til you can't even think anymore. Then he's tucking you into bed, his arm wrapped around your middle with a palm full of titty, kissing your temple and telling you "shh, such a good girl for me. Sleep now and I'll take real good care o' ya in the morning baby."

Javier Peña has an air of dom about him,  but what he really wants is to be taken care of for once. You get to his place and he's all cocky and confident as he brings you off on the couch. But then you climb onto his lap and you're kissing his face, running your hands through his hair and whispering words of praise in his ear as you wrap your hand around him, stroking him before you slip him inside you. He moans so prettily as you circle your hips, pressing kisses to his face, his hair, his hands as his fingers lace with yours. His skin pricks with goosebumps as he finally comes inside you with a choked cry, his arms wrapping around and his face burying into your neck as he's dripping out of you,  down your thighs and onto his lap.

Dave York is a dom in all meanings of the word. But he's a proper dom, a real one. He knows that consent and trust is important,  and that the sub holds all the real power, because they're allowing the play in the first place and setting the limits. 

Dave greets you at the door, makes you drink a glass of water, and is practically fucking you with his eyes while you go over the rules and the limits for today's scene. He's full of praise when you communicate your understanding, when you repeat your safeword, and he's really full of praise when he enters the bedroom five minutes later and you're kneeling on the floor, hands ready and waiting to be tied behind your back before he fucks your throat, before edging you to the most powerful orgasm you've ever had with just his fingers and his voice. Then he tells you how fucking good you are, "you're such a good fucking girl, honey. Look at you,  taking this big cock like a champ. Pussy's so fucking hungry, huh? Don't worry. I'll feed her real good. Make her swallow it up."

Frankie is the pussy eating king,  yes. But it's more than skill. It's his fucking *passion*. He loves everything about it. The taste, the smell. The feel underneath his tongue. The noises you make. Frankie takes his time. He's all slow licks and sucks, soft, whiskery kisses up your thighs until your legs are shaking with want. He toys with you until you can't take it anymore, bringing you slowly to the brink and then backing off, planting kisses on your thighs and knees and tummy until your breathing evens out. When you can't take it anymore, he stops teasing. He dives nose first into that pussy, the intensity of it making your swear and shake as he shows you just how quickly he can get you there, and just how much he was toying with you by making you wait so long. Yeah, Francisco Morales plays with his food.

Marcus Acacius likes to fuck you in the sunlight. He's had a lifetime of dimly lit tents and rented rooms, and he wants none of those reminders when he's with you.  Your union is everything good and powerful and pure. It belongs in the light, in the warmth of day. He loves to take you apart underneath him, his broad shoulders and big, calloused hands making you feel smaller and even more precious, the stark contrast of your soft skin underneath his hands that have known a lifetime of work and battle. 

He kisses you so sweetly, fucks you face to face so he can see the look on your face, the light in your eyes as he worships you, thumbing your clit with his free hand as he braces himself above you with one strong forearm. He's hoping this is the time it takes. He can't wait to see you round and glowing, bountiful as the fall harvest.

Part 2

[misstokyo7love]

I love love love him in that scene.

All the Frankie in Triple Frontier, part 52

[misstokyo7love]

fuckboy

unnamed ppu character x f!reader | wc: 3.5 k | explicit, mdni

summary: you meet this guy at a bar, drink too much and he shows you his questionable definition of making out aka storage room sex. spoiler: it's never just the tip.

warnings: filth, very dubious dub-con, drunk reader, her consent is questionable, gaslighting, manipulating, he's an insufferable fuckboy and needs to go to hell actually, he's a bad lay, unspecified but legal age gap, fingering, rough-ish unprotected PinV, creampie, petnames (baby, cockslut), dick+pussy pronouns, two ass smacks, no use of y/n, reader is able-bodied

a/n: this bitch was supposed to be a tiny drabble. oops. inspired by this post. @iamasaddie, you wanted me to elaborate, here you go, i hope this tingles in adult ways, at least a little bit. thank you for your help with the header <3 and thank you @guiltyasdave for the same as always: everything (aka beta and unlimited support and love 💕)

The bar is brimming, buzzing, the bass vibrates through every single person in the room, raw dogging each one of them, one after another and all at the same time.

He looks ridiculous. Too old for a place like this, hideous but somehow sexy Hawaiian shirt, of course only buttoned up halfway to show off his toned chest and a gold chain necklace, and he wears sunglasses, indoors. Big violet mirrors, aviator shaped, hiding behind them. Hiding his intentions but they are oh so clear.

The guy purses his lips, eyebrows dancing, hips moving side to side and back to front, obviously a preview of what’s to be expected if someone hooks up with him.

It was the blondish-white strand in the otherwise dark hair that made you weak for him. You don't even know why. While the rest of the man screams ‘fuckboy’ the blonde strand purrs ‘baby boy’.

The strand looks so pretty, whenever the color of the lights changes, always tinted in red or orange or blue. The strand looks really pretty in the storage room, too. It begs to be touched and tugged.

So you do. You touch it and gently tug it while he touches your thighs and tugs on your panties. Then he tugs them aside and you whimper when he runs his thumb through your slit without a warning.

“How old are you exactly?” he rasps against your neck, licking your skin while his thumb searches for something. Your clit probably, you think and moan when he finds it for a moment.

“Old enough to drink alcohol,” you mutter and let your head fall back against the tiled wall. The turned over crates bite into the flesh of your ass, empty bottles rattle when he pulls you closer towards him.

“So you're old enough for this bad boy.” He grins at you, a stupid proud grin, and takes your hand away from his hair and guides it to the bulge in his jeans. When you don't start moving your hand, he does it for you, over the whole length and back. “You want him? Wanna see him? You do, right?”

His damp breath brushing your ear adds to the dizziness in your head. Your head is spinning a little from the music and the drinks. Spinning, just like his thumb, that is now circling close enough around your clit to finally feel good.

“I dunno,” you murmur and try to get your swimming mind to focus.

“That's not a no, baby. So you want him. I knew it.” His free hand fumbles with his zipper. The crates you're sitting on quake when he pulls down his jeans. And before you know it, you feel something in your palm. Smooth and hard and hot, heavy, jumping in your hand.

It’s not exactly what you signed up for earlier, when he paid for two of your drinks and sucked on your earlobe. When he said something about you being so cute and making out with him. Just kissing. I promise, baby. I know a place. And then he dragged you along with him into this crammed storage room that smells like booze and sweat.

You kissed, for a minute or so. But now you have his cock in your hand. You look down and his thumb swipes over your clit, making you moan and him twitch. Why do you have his cock in your hand? He feels so heavy and warm. He feels a bit good, actually.

His hand moves to cup your cunt, the ball of his thumb pressing against your sensitive nub and a nimble finger -or two?- is slipping into you and immediately back out. At least that's what it felt like, you're not sure. But you feel yourself clamp down on nothing, chasing what was there just a second ago. His tongue moves over your pulse and a whine escapes you.

“Oh, I know, baby, you like him, right?” He moves closer, trapping you between the cold wall and his warm body, between the plastic crate and his dick. A finger dips into your heat again, deeper now, deep enough for you to be sure about feeling him inside of you. This is definitely not just kissing, but it somehow feels good.

“Baby, she wants me. You feel it, too, right?” His tongue runs along your neck and to your ear, his hips buck and your fingers tighten around his cock. He’s so hard beneath all the hot smoothness.

His fingers are pushing in deeper now and you clench around him. “See? You want me. You're so wet, baby. You know that it means you want me.” He pulls his fingers out and presses them back in, matching his thrusts in your palm with the rhythm of fingering you.

You groan out a curse and start accepting your fate. Fine, then you're getting fingered in exchange for a few drinks. That's okay, he's not too bad at it. The thickness of his fingers is half the battle.

The small blonde strand is catching your attention and lures your hazy mind in. Baby boy. Your body already surrenders to his ministrations and you roll your hips, moaning when he slips in another fraction of an inch.

“Mhmm, jus' what I thought. Desperate, that's what you are. You want more? You feel good?”

You dumbly nod your head because all you're able to think about is the throbbing ache in your pussy and the smooth movement of his cock in your hand. Yeah, he makes you feel good. With a wet sound he pulls his fingers out again.

“I'll give you more then, if that's what you want.” He nudges your hand off his dick and grips himself at the base. “Baby, look. He's excited for you.”

You look between your bodies again and squint to get a clearer vision. Precum. He's leaking. There's a clear drop forming over his slit. No, this definitely is not just kissing. Your eyes meet his again and when you open your mouth to speak he shifts forward and wedges the fat head of his cock between your folds.

You're whining again, your hips bucking into the sensation. A moment of clarity forms between your dazed mind and your nudged clit: Fuck. Shit. No. You don't even know his name.

When you start squirming he grabs you by your waist, firmly but not painfully. He hums, sounding a bit strained now. Slowly, slowly his dick glides back and forth through your slit, pushing at your nub whenever he reaches it.

“Baby, what's the problem? It feels good, doesn't it?” His eyebrows dance and he looks at you like a kicked puppy. “God, you're so messy, listen.”

It's true, you can hear the squelching over the soft clinking of bottles in the crate whenever he guides himself all the way to your entrance, rubbing his shaft against you.

“Yeah, but…” You groan quietly when he moves his hips back and drag himself along your clit. “A condom. You have one?”

He just laughs and continues his movements through your slick folds.

“What would we need a condom for, hm, silly girl? They're just cuddling. She hugs him, baby, hugs him real tight.” He pushes his cock forward to your clenching hole, but never makes the final move, never dips in. Your mind tells you no, yet your body clearly wants it, to be fucked.

“And he likes her. Look, they're kissing.” He draws his hips back, cock in hand, and starts dabbing and tapping and burrowing the thick, plush tip against you. “Just making out, like us. That's okay, right? Kissing?”

He pushes deeper again, only to move back immediately. Back and forth, just his tip rubbing you, just the fat rim teasing and teasing and teasing your aching clit. It looks good, the way he appears and disappears again, all glistening.

“That's okay, yes,” you mutter breathily, trying to suppress another moan. He doesn't let up, keeps the slow rhythm of back and forth. God, you need his fingers again, he needs to numb the pulse inside of you.

“I know it's okay. Feels good, hm?” he whispers sweetly against your lips before flicking his tongue against your top lip. “She feels so good, baby… You like how he feels? Like how my cock feels?”

You nod your head again and meet his movements halfway, tilting your hips so you can feel him prod your entrance a little more. The emptiness inside starts hurting and you whimper with his lips ghosting yours. He smells of beer and body spray, all mixing together with a whiff of arousal.

“I need… I need…” you gasp out and try to grind against him as good as you can.

“You want me to stop? Is it too much?” His movements come to a halt and he pulls away slightly, grinning and hiding it behind a sweet little peck.

You squirm again, this time closer instead of away. One hand clutches his, the one he pumps himself with. You swallow, your tongue darting out to wet your lips. They taste like booze and beer.

“No, no, god, please. I need a lil' more?” You tug on him, trying to guide his hand back right up against your core.

“Oh, I'm not sure, baby…” He gives in a little bit and lets his leaking cock rest against your sensitive nub again. “You really want more of me? Of him?”

You tug more on his hand, frustrated with his hesitation. “Need you inside,” you groan and pull on his fingers, wanting them back in your aching cunt.

“Inside? Are you sure?” He lets you squeeze his fingers into the wetness of your slit, carefully letting his dick follow.

“Yes! Please,” you whine and let go of his hand when he prods you with a single digit. Thank fuck, you think.

“But jus’ the tip,” he murmurs almost apologetically.

Your question about what the hell he is talking about is knocked out of your brain the moment you feel a stretch that’s not coming from his fingers. He presses inside of you. Just the tip, like he said. Like you never meant it. But he stretches you so perfectly on the first inches that you can’t even protest. Until he withdraws himself again.

“That good, baby? That what you want? Say yes,” he pleas, his breath hot against your ear and you feel him shift again. His dick slides all the way through your slit to your clit and back, slowly pressing back into you again.

“Fuck, yes.” It feels good. Better than the aching. You just want to feel stuffed. Your forehead drops onto his shoulder and you whimper when he continues to sluggishly fuck you with his fat tip. “But… a condom?”

He sighs and when he pulls out he stops moving again, leaving you hanging and you pussy clenching desperately.

“This isn't even sex, baby. It's just. The. Tip.” He tilts your head up and looks at you over his stupid aviators. “Listen, we can stop if you don't want this. I'm doing this just for you. Because you asked me to. You wanted more, right? Wanted to feel good?”

Your head nods, maybe a little prompted by his fingers under your chin.

“See, there we have it. You want this and they're just making out. Tongue kissing.” He pushes back in and it feels better than before. But you can't really say if he’s in deeper? You don't care too much. Tongue kissing. It makes sense. “I'm just doing this for you, baby. Because you seem to need it so badly.”

He smiles a friendly and seemingly sincere smile while pulling out and pushing back into you, painfully slow. Like scratching an itch with nothing but a tickle.

“I really care about you, hm?” His whisper fleets to your ear when he drops your face back to his shoulder. The next shallow thrust makes him grunt and your pussy clamps down on him. He slips past the tight spot -accidentally probably?- and you feel full for a second. Filled and good and you want it again.

But he draws back again, moaning into the crook of your neck. “Sorry ‘bout that, baby. But you're so wet. Got a slip and slide pussy there.”

His hips roll and his tip nudges back into you. Again and again, until your fingers are clutching him and your body writhes towards him, desperate for more depth. The edge of the crate cuts into the meat of your ass, the bottles rattling with every small thrust.

There isn't much to it. In your hazy mind this thought appears like a beacon. He's been inside already. The damage is already done, nothing you could take back now. He could fuck you stupid instead of feeding you this sample sized version of sex.

He wedges his hard cock back into your hole and slips out again, leaving your cunt sopping and clenching and empty. You can feel your slick slowly running down your thighs. You rarely ever felt this horny, this desperate for a dick. It’s almost like he teases you on purpose.

“Fuck me,” you whine and command at the same time. “God, just fuck me.”

“You sure? I don't have a condom. Are you clean?”

You manage to scoff at his audacity but… maybe he wouldn't ask this if he wasn't clean himself? That's good. It's safe, somewhat safe.

“Of course I'm clean.” You want to sound confident and pissed off but your voice is whiny and morphs into a moan when he thrusts into you halfway.

“I'm trusting you then. Don't lead me on.” He sounds strained now, strangled, with your snug cunt squeezing him.

A handful more slow strokes and he's buried balls deep. Both of you pant, you because your aching gets soothed and he because you pulse around him. Your body tries to egg him on to fucking move, but he just stays still.

“Shit. She tight.” He lets out a single hoarse laughter before his hips buck just a little deeper into you and you swear he must be somewhere in your guts. “Christ, she’s gripping him.”

He pulls out, almost completely, and fills you back up with one harsh thrust.

“Fuck,” you moan and hook your legs behind his ass when the tower of crates beneath you starts shaking from the impact. And then he starts fucking you, hard. Fast. The bottles rattle rhythmically in time with his thrusts.

His hands dig into your hips when he grabs hard enough to feel your bones. He pulls you onto him, fucking himself with you.

He's not good per se, just slamming into you over and over again, his balls slapping against your ass with every harsh pump. But he has a good sized cock, just an inch too long and a little too girthy. The stretching is never ending, the slight sting hurts just right, and his pelvis hitting your poor, swollen, teased clit is going to finish you sooner or later. You just feel so full. The way he stretches you out on his cock makes you dumb.

“You always do this?” He snarls, using the wobbling crate tower for more leverage. “Getting a guy to fuck you in the backrooms? You just need it that bad?” His thumb somehow finds your pulsing nub and he starts to rub it roughly until your legs quake around his waist from the stimulation.

“Oh… oh fuck…” Your nerve endings are on fire and your muscles twitch and clench. You clutch his arm, nails digging into his bicep when he won’t stop to harshly flick and rasp over your clit. Despite it all, you feel the familiar tug behind your navel. The heat is not building slowly, it’s approaching you violently.

“Don’t tell me you're close already, baby?” You see him grin before your eyes roll back, your vision turning black. “I thought I would be special. But you're just using me. Just want my cock.” He lets his hips snap into you, thrusting in too deep but in a good way. “Little cockslut.”

You whine, wanting to protest but you’re pinned down on the tilting crates, spread over this guy’s girth with your toes curling in your shoes. Complaining is the last thing on your mind.

“You gotta pull out.” Probably the only coherent thought you have left. You’re on birth control, but having this stranger’s cum dripping down your legs later when you're back with your friend?

“For real? A cockslut but not a cum dump? Such a rare breed, aren’t you?” His laughter sounds choked, breathless, the wet slapping of his slicked balls against your ass just as loud as his words. “I’ll pull out, don't worry, baby.”

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other and plucks your leg off of his waist. Even though your muscles are already tense and twitching he straightens it out over his chest. “But first I’ll make you come on him.” Another hard hip snap and the changed angle makes you see twinkling stars on your retina when he hits you deeper. He grins down at you when you cry out your pleasure. “That's right, baby, let me hear you. Let the people hear that you're my little cockslut.”

His lips latch to your ankle that's resting on his shoulder and sucks on your skin as if he wants to brand you. And while he somehow manages to fuck you harder you wonder how many women in this bar have a hickey on their ankles.

And then you stop thinking. His thrusts turn sloppy, sweat forms on his forehead and runs down your leg and adds to your slick. “I’ll make you come so hard. You can feel it, right? Make you gonna black out on my cock, baby.” A nip to your ankle and then a smack on the side of your ass and your pussy starts clenching and choking on his girth. Still he keeps on fucking into you, struggling with how hard your muscles tighten around him.

“I’m… I’m gonna…”

Your yelp makes him grip you tighter and with a last thrust you fall right over the edge. His moans ring in your ears when his hips stutter, but he keeps fucking you through it. Your spasming body is held securely in his arms, preventing you to hurt yourself on the wobbly crates.

“Fuck, that's it, baby. Best pussy I ever fucked, I swear,” he hisses when his hips start stuttering. “Gonna make me fucking come. Gonna come for you. You want that?” He slams into you and somehow prolongs your orgasm with how he spreads your quaking cunt open over and over again. More of that, you want more of this orgasm.

So you nod your head and moan, trembling like the stacked bottles beneath your body. “Yes, I want that, please. Jus’ don’t stop.”

Another smack lands on your ass and he gives you a few last pumps before he pushes into and against you so hard that it makes you wince. Through the pulsing of your walls you feel him throbs and twitch, spitting out his cum so deep into you that you feel stuffed, really fucking stuffed. And it feels so good.

After a second he starts rolling his hips, letting himself be milked by your pussy until he finally and unceremoniously pulls out. He tilts his head, looking at his handiwork over the rim of his aviators. “Fuck yes. She’s so pretty like that, all wrecked.” The tip of his cock squeezes through your swollen and ruined slit once more, slipping into your gaping hole to draw another moan out of you. When he pulls out again some of his cum gets pushed out and starts running down to your ass.

“You… you didn’t pull out?” Despite your anger your body still vibrates and twitches.

“Couldn't. She gripped me too tight. It’s her fault,” he smirks and pets your mound. “But don't worry, I'm snipped, baby.”

He wipes himself dry with his hand, doing a poor job but he doesn't seem to care. Still half hard and sticky he stuffs his dick back into his boxers. “You want my number, baby?”

“Fuck you,” you hiss and search the storage room for some tissues.

“I knew you'd break my heart, baby,” he chuckles and watches you clean yourself. “But I really like you. You're special. Got a perfect pussy, too. Here, if you wanna use me again, I'm all yours.”

He pulls out something off his pocket, like a business card. No name or number printed on it. He puts it on a crate next to you before kissing your forehead. “God, baby, I think I’m in love with you,” he croons with a shit eating grin.

“Sure you are, fuck off.”

He lifts his hands and walks backwards until he reaches the door. “Gonna miss you.” He purses his lips, making a little kiss noise and disappears back into the bar.

You look over your own appearance and see the blank business card. When you turn it around you see it. A fucking QR code. A fuckboy with a QR code. Some more cum leaks into your pulled back panties and you bite the inside of your cheeks.

“Fuck it.” You put his card into your bra. Stupid cockslut.

you liked this? that's alright, we are all filthy little animals here. commenting or reblogging is appreciated, thank you! <3

want more dub-con? maybe you like this short Dave York fic: tainted heart

find my general masterlist here

dividers: as always @/saradika-graphics

[misstokyo7love]

This is absolutely fantastic. Reader is fierce and feisty and challenges Dave pretty good. Can’t wait to see whats coming

Precious Possessions Series Master List

Series Summary: Work conferences were supposed to be boring. A Meeting with a mysterious man sets your life on a very different trajectory

Pairing: Dave York x F!Reader, No physical description except reader has longish hair

Rating/Warnings:🔞 Under 18 do not enter🔞E is for Explicit! Sex, Violence, Dirty Talk, Degradation, Light BDSM, No use of Y/N EVER, EVER, EVER! Not beta'd, sorry!! All funky grammar and spelling stuff is my own fault

I will try my best to update this monthly.

UPDATED 04/15/2024

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Epilogue