#it all started in san antonio

[mvffinhamster]

ttrpgs fuck you up

everyone says “try out dnd”, including me but dude believe me, dnd fucks you up, ttrpgs fuck you up

there’s this person in your head and you can only scream about them to the other five idiots with their own little guys in their heads

and sometimes you can’t even scream at them because first you have to reveal the backstory you came up with and you don’t want to do that immediately

ttrpgs fuck you up because they make you daydream about your little guy and what happened with them AND YOU CAN’T STOP THE THOUGHTS

try out dnd (or any other ttrpg), they say… but what they don’t say is that it’s all emotional damage

and the worst part of it is that you enjoy every fucking minute of that emotional damage

ttrpgs fuck you up.

[sylus923]

.

[gutsby]

Wants and Needs

Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Joel x Reader

Summary: Bills are high; your dad’s boss wants to help. How you pay him stays between you and him—for now.

Warnings: 18+. Protected piv. Explicit power imbalance in an exchange of sex for money, so dubcon, technically. Soft dom!Joel. Sex toys. Squirting. Oral (f!receiving). Overstimulation. Daddy kink. Age gap. Praise kink.

Note: Bohanan’s is a steakhouse in San Antonio, TX.

Word count: 8.4k

You wanted a car. Joel needed to cum.

It wasn’t the arrangement a girl your age should’ve made, but what could you do? Your dad drank half of your college funds away, and your mom was long gone.

The next best thing was Mr. Miller, your father’s boss. He’d understood better than anyone what money could buy. What it might do. For him, it was pleasure. For you, it was a future—or what little remained after bills and loans and exorbitantly-priced car repairs bled you dry.

You took the job at the firm on a whim. You didn’t want to be a lawyer anymore, though your dad and Joel were. You didn’t want to be done with law school, though 3L had already long since ended, and that dreaded so-called ‘minimum competency’ test was drawing close on the horizon. In short, you couldn’t afford to pay for bar prep.

With Joel, you could.

It was true that tax law paid pretty well, but a part-time job would never really be enough when your family was treading water at all times. Your dad liked to gamble and drink, and your brothers got all of their brains from him.

You got the short end of the stick, plus the receiving end of another. Lucky for you, Joel’s felt pretty good going in.

Today you were somewhere south of Austin. Your truck wouldn’t start last week, so you’d agreed to come along on this business trip knowing full well what you planned on asking your boss as soon as you had a moment alone.

“CDP hearing at…9:45.” You checked the itinerary twice.

“Alright.” Joel nodded.

“Lunch with Javier, Ezra, and Dave at twelve.”

“Mhmm.”

“Phone call with Revenue Officer Acacius at 3:30.”

“For the…?”

“Martells.”

“Okay.”

“I finished Lucien Flores’ Form 433-F for your review and left notes—” You stopped to tap your finger on a short white pile of papers between you and Joel on the desk, “—in the margins. Still need bank statements from him.”

“Lovely.”

Joel eyed the stack at first, but his gaze strayed a little.

“You should probably plan to talk strategy with my dad before Mayor Garcia’s audit tomorrow, too. Looks like a couple non-cash contributions are being disputed now.”

For a second, your eyes flitted up to him, too. It was brief.

“Sure. When’s your daddy free?” he said.

You blinked, then scanned the schedule.

“Looks like five…or six, maybe. He’s got a consult with—”

“I wasn’t talking about your father.”

You looked back up. Joel was smirking, of course. His hand had drifted a comfortable, innocent distance past the papers and across the table, to you. The pair of you happened to be in one of the glass-paneled conference rooms nearest the hotel lobby, so he had to be discreet.

He never let his fingers stray too long on yours in public. Presently, his thumb grazed your knuckles extra slow.

Posing a question, maybe.

You didn’t have the time to be tactful now, unfortunately.

“I need $2,700.”

Joel, your boss, your daddy, whatever, had to pause at that. He didn’t move his hand immediately, but he did stare harder. Longer. He searched your face for the joke.

“$2,700?” he repeated.

“Yes sir,” you answered out of habit, wincing only a little, “My truck stopped running last week, and it’s just…a lot.”

The cost. For Joel, it wasn’t even a drop in the bucket, but in your world, it was a make-or-break, fuck-your-whole-budget-for-the-next-six-months kind of bad. Suddenly, your cheeks felt warmer than they did before, and you forced yourself to look away. Peering out across the wide and gently rolling terrain of San Antonio and trying to pretend there was something thrilling to see. You’d almost forgotten how much you hated asking this.

“I can make the deposit tonight—” Joel started.

“No,” you interrupted. You wanted to turn but couldn’t. You just shook your head and kept staring out there, “Not now, I mean…I need to earn it over time, I just…”

You stumbled over the words. It was like your lips, your tongue, and your teeth were all suffering from the same sort of embarrassment pervading the brain, and you couldn’t bring your mouth to form the sentences right.

I’m not asking for a handout. I need to earn the money.

However ‘earning’ may have been grossly misconstrued in the context, it was a labor all the same. You didn’t love it, but you didn’t hate him, either. Joel was nice, albeit old enough to be your father, and it didn’t seem that he was nearly as predatory or perverse as he could’ve been. You’d been working for him for two months now, and the idea had been your own when the cash had gotten tight.

Back in April, you’d explained to him, calmly, that you couldn’t take the bar exam unless you got some extra money quick. That you wouldn’t accept his charity, but you’d pay him back in other ways. Joel had been against it at first—you were the daughter of his best friend, after all—but eventually, his carnal needs won out over his sense, as every other man would’ve done, you guessed.

At first, you’d started slow, but that hadn’t lasted very long. You fucked him regularly now, though never had you asked for an amount of cash this big out of nowhere.

Joel blinked and put a hand on his hip, like he always did when he wasn’t sure what to say. The silver in his soft, dark locks shone more in this light. He’d lost the smirk.

“You’ve done…plenty.” Now sounding sheepish.

You tried to protest again; Joel stopped you.

“I mean it. Hey, look at me,” he said next.

You did, hesitatingly. You turned from the window, and out of instinct, folded your arms over your chest. Joel paced closer to you and then he was watching. Pausing.

Brushing your arm with his and glancing once over your shoulder to make sure no one else was around to see.

He leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to your temple.

When he pulled away, your skin was practically ablaze.

“Mr. Miller—”

“Joel,” he corrected, quiet, “And you’ve done enough. Let me cover the car just this once, okay? Sweetheart?”

You didn’t realize you were pivoting again. That your gut was doing somersaults and your heart was ready to climb up and out of your throat. Your neck was burning.

It wasn’t even anger you sensed was simmering under the skin until you turned back to him, and your eyes flashed with ire before the words were even spoken.

“I don’t need your pity, Mr. Miller. I said I want to pay.”

“It’s Joel. And I said you’ve done enough, so—”

Ire morphed to something more in a blink.

You didn’t mean to say it, but you did.

“Fine,” you huffed, suddenly exasperated, “If you’re so fucking opposed to me paying my way for this one simple thing, I’ll get another guy. Forget I asked.”

It was a low blow, for sure. Joel knew how badly you’d wanted this to stay between just you and him—and he would never dream of seeing you ‘earning your keep’ with anyone else. His expression said as much as soon as he’d heard your words; his whole face hardened at once.

But then you’d turned to leave. You didn’t care what he wanted to tell you, and if you did, you certainly weren’t brave enough to stick around to hear Joel say it then.

So you left. He had a full, busy day ahead of him anyway.

You woke up wet.

In an effort to avoid your boss, you’d run errands all day. Buried your nose in a sea of Civil Procedure notes as soon as you got a second alone, almost vomited seeing the Erie Doctrine, and went back to your hotel room to try and study there. Once you had, you napped instead.

Now your clothes stuck to your skin; the sheets around you were soaked. You peered over the big white duvet holding your body interred and saw smoke overhead.

Or steam.

Yes, definitely steam. It was drifting from the bathroom, where the door was thrown open. You shifted up to sit.

“Tess!” you yelled, “Shut the goddamn door, I’m boiling.”

As a law clerk, you weren’t afforded the luxury of a suite to yourself, so you shared it with the other new grads on work trips like these. Tess Servopoulos loved long, hot showers and never closed the fucking door. You groaned.

And, feeling depleted of all energy from your studies and the stress and the steam searing every inch of your skin, you flopped back in the bed. You kicked the covers off your legs. You’d just lifted a hand to wipe the sweat from your forehead, when an awful, fresh realization dawned.

You glanced at the clock—3:37.

“Fucking hell,” you hissed.

You were supposed to meet your dad at two to get some paperwork signed. You needed to have that filed with the court by four. He was probably engaged somewhere else by now, whether it be a client, a conference, or a couple white lines in the bathroom of a partners-only club downtown, and you wouldn’t have a hope of reaching him here. You rubbed your face and groaned again.

You’d set an alarm for 1:30—you knew you had.

Where the hell was your phone? Why was it so warm? What if he’d called? Aw fuck, he’s probably blown that thing up to hell and back by now. Maybe he was drunk. He had to be. Where was Tess? Where were your pants?

You’d made it up to your feet, clumsily, and faced a full-length mirror. Your bottoms were gone. You closed your eyes and screamed inside, remembering why they were.

“Glad you’re getting some use out of this.”

The second you heard it, your lids flew open. You turned.

And, standing in the warm yellow glow of the bathroom light—holding the culprit, your vibrator, like a prize—was Joel. Naked as the day he was born, save for one thin towel around his hips, and grinning. Moisture glistened on his chest and pooled about his feet, and his hair was smooth, tamed, and combed back neatly from his face.

He waved your silicone toy in the air, and immediately, you regretted giving him your room key the other day.

“I thought we agreed you’d wait for me—”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Your voice was thick with sleep. Joel’s own was slow, dulcet, and kind as it always was, even when teasing. When you grit your teeth, he just set the toy aside.

“I’m sorry. Bad timing. I saw your—”

“No.” You threw up both hands at once, suddenly out of breath and fucks to give, “You know what? I don’t care. You need to go. I have to be down at the courthouse—”

In twenty minutes. You cut yourself short and hurried off to find shoes. You could wear other pants. Ask another attorney to sign the forms if you couldn’t reach your dad. Forget that his boss and yours had just caught you with the vibrator he’d bought you last month and try not to feel too humiliated knowing he knew what you’d been doing. It didn’t matter—Joel didn’t matter. You slid on a mismatched pair of slacks and set off toward the door.

Then you had to stop. Joel beat you there, quick as ever.

“Listen. Hey.”

“Will you stop?!”

You pushed at his big and wet, stupidly broad chest. You felt the small grey hairs on his pecs tickle your palms, and for a second, you thought you heard a chuckle.

“You’re gonna make me late—”

“Hey, hey,” Joel said again. Of course it sounded fatherly, “I already signed the POA for Morales, hon, you’re good.”

You’re good.

“You what?” You stared at him in disbelief. How did he even know you needed Frankie’s power of attorney signed in the first place? You figured your dad would’ve mentioned it, but still, it wasn’t really Joel’s form to sign.

“The case is mine now,” he clarified, reading that look, “Wasn’t my first pick, but it is what it is. And your dad—”

Your dad was probably lagging wildly behind on his own caseload, so he’d pushed one off on his friend. Again.

“You can’t keep picking up his slack,” you gritted out, “One of these days it’s gonna bite you both in the ass. You know he shouldn’t be forcing these jobs on you.”

“I offered.”

“You caved.”

“He’s my best friend, what do you expect me to do?”

“Not let him use you! He’s making you feel bad for him.”

“And what if I did? What if I did pity the bastard?”

You scoffed. Then winced, inwardly.

I don’t need your pity, Mr. Miller.

From the look on Joel’s face, he seemed to be remembering the same. He shook his head.

“That’s not…” he trailed off. He rubbed his jaw with his hand and started to move from the door, deflating some.

His other arm extended to you, wordlessly, and already anticipated what was sure to follow. You swatted him off, then walked to the bed. You considered sitting but didn’t. Instead, you crossed your arms like you always did and turned away, facing the window with a cool, flat affect.

By now, Joel knew better than to take that for what it seemed. He crossed the room to you, treading softly.

His voice turned gentle again, like an apology: “Honey…”

But your gaze was already fixed outside. You frowned.

“Darlin’,” Joel continued, undeterred, “Come on.”

And you didn’t need to see his face to hear the rest: ‘Look at me, please,’ with eyes all comfort and warmth.

“Don’t you have a phone call with an R.O. or something?” Briefly, you recalled Acacius and a stream of other items from the checklist you’d covered that morning, and you had to stop yourself then from straying too far. You blinked once, just as Joel was approaching from behind.

“I cancelled,” he said.

You sighed, “Mr. Miller…”

You knew he hated doing that.

“Joel,” he pressed. Adding, “Something came up.”

You wouldn’t even ask. You shouldn’t care. You felt him standing there, fanning hot breaths across the nape of your neck, and you really couldn’t have taken that worse. You visibly tensed, hands balling into fists at your sides, and—hell, he wouldn’t quit moving now, would he?—Joel bent down. He hesitated, as if gauging your reaction in time, then descended further. He kissed your shoulder.

You cracked; it never took much from him.

For all your inane, ancillary plays at feigning indifference, one movement of Joel’s mouth and your resolve was lost. You clung to words, weakly, but all the rest fell away.

“We don’t…want your charity. Me or my dad. Alright?”

“I know.”

Joel kissed your skin again, then pulled at the strap of your blouse. It fell limply away, and his lips reattached.

Exactly when he’d walked you back to the bed, you couldn’t be sure. By the third or fourth kiss, your stomach was tight, knees weak, and your eyes drawing closed; it didn’t matter to you or to him what had passed before. Your bodies found the bed and blended together.

Tangling, in a way. Tearing blindly at clothes and not saying too much apart from Joel’s soft, sweet words:

“That’s it.”

“I know.”

“Good girl.”

Good girl when he kissed you. Good girl when he stripped you bare. Good girl when his hands roamed the broad, naked expanse of your body and let your own do the same to him. Good girl when your fingers hooked the outline of the towel and tugged it away, your vision filled with a sight you’d come to like more and more each day.

“That’s my girl,” Joel murmured. He cradled your head while you gripped his base, “‘S’yours, baby. All yours.”

Yours. Mine. You weren’t sure you had the sense or self-possession to even know what that meant, especially here. Joel wasn’t a boyfriend. He wasn’t a lover, at least not in the traditional sense. He wore dark wool suits like your father and worked from dawn until dusk every day, practicing law for longer than you’d been alive. Still, the smile above you was sweet. It coaxed you gently as you slid your hand up and down his length, like he sensed this was more like a lesson for you. Learning experience.

“Remember, spit a little first,” he instructed. Then, to demonstrate this point, he brought his fingers to his mouth and wet them quickly. He slipped his touch down to yours and met your gaze while he joined you there.

He rubbed and slicked himself up and he did it with ease. You followed his lead and watched his face contort—crow’s feet pinching even tighter at the sides of his eyes as pleasure began to pool in his gut. He looked pretty. You’d never thought to tell him this, but Joel really had an unparalleled face. It was an old and beautiful thing. For this reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to tear your gaze away, maybe to wet your own fingers. Instead, you slipped your hand between your legs, where his hips had come to rest. You worked a slow, light touch against your folds; you were drenched, and it didn’t take long for your fingers to be, too. You moved them back to Joel’s cock.

“Like this?” you ventured.

The man answered with a grunt, at first. Then a grin.

“Yeah. Yeah,” Joel nodded, quiet but emphatic. Trying not to smile too big as he let your touch take over for his, “Just like that, sweet pea. Get it nice an’ wet for daddy.”

You wanted to whimper at that. Something must’ve flashed in your eyes at the intonation of the last word, and the look must’ve suffused your whole expression, because the next thing you knew, Joel was lowering his body to yours. Petting your hair, letting you rub on his shaft as fast as your soft, lithe hands could manage.

“Feel that, baby? Feel how much daddy missed you?”

You did.

Your brow pinched, and you wanted more of that. More from him: those tender, edifying words of praise being mumbled your way while your touch worked him over. Maybe you could’ve helped it, but then again, in this state, maybe you couldn’t—you whimpered for him.

Wriggling your hips against the bed to get your warmth pressed flush with his own, and squeezing him tighter:

“In me, daddy. Please.”

You angled his cock in your trembling grip to plead as much. You knew he liked being the one to push in the first time, so you didn’t move too far with that push, but you begged him with your gaze. You felt him tense a bit.

And just when you sensed he might let you have your way, he moved off. Down. Sliding his torso away from your own, to go lower on the bed, and smirking again.

“I think she needs my tongue first, doesn’t she?”

You wanted to nod. Instead, you flinched. You crawled away from his hold before it could secure itself firmly on either one of your legs, and you had to snag your bottom lip between your teeth to contain that blossoming need. It almost spilled from your mouth in a moan before Joel’s could reach your lower half. Then you scrambled to sit up

“No,” you choked out.

This wasn’t new. While you shook your head, Joel lifted a brow and stood from the bed. He reached behind him.

The night stand.

You closed your eyes.

“This isn’t…supposed to be for me.” you sighed.

In a second, Joel was back where he started, and you didn’t have to steal a glance through your lids to know what he was holding. Slotting himself gently into place.

“Don’t,” he started, sharp, “—say that. I mean it.”

You knew he meant it, but you also knew better than to accept at face value what he said, moving down on you.

This wasn’t part of the deal. Joel’s money was meant to serve his pleasure, not yours. Letting him take you any other way seemed to blur the lines between transaction and affection, and though you’d done this before, it still didn’t feel right. You couldn’t bear having his focus here.

Evidently, though, he could. He’d snatched your vibrator from the night table and lowered his torso to your legs, lips twitching the tiniest bit. ‘Open up. Let me see her.��

Joel was on his stomach, eyes glowing with intrigue.

“Let me see how much she’s missed me, baby.”

The grey matter in your brain might’ve trickled through your ears—the whole thing went to mush at his words. You pushed at his hands, then the top of his head, but clearly, your will was weak. You wanted this. Needed it.

“That’s a good girl. Let daddy have it,” Joel drawled.

You wanted to cry. Or maybe hide. His index and middle fingers prodded at your folds, pulling them apart, and for a moment, you could’ve sworn you’d stopped breathing. Joel kissed the slope of your mound with a quiet kind of reverence. The salt-and-pepper stubble on his chin brushed your clit, and your back arched reflexively. Then, remembering why you’d come to this arrangement in the first place, you felt a wave of guilt supplant that pleasure.

You clawed at his head and shook your own, weakly.

“No. W-wanna make you feel good,” you choked out.

Not me.

Not here.

Just let it—

“Fuck,” you keened through your teeth. Joel’s lips made contact with your slick, drooling cunt and, in a second, sucked your nub in between them. He flicked his tongue.

Joel groaned, then pulled away to meet your gaze.

“Feels plenty good f’me,” he assured you in a murmur. Eyes glossy, “She’s so fuckin’ sweet, honey. So pretty.”

Then, as if to punctuate his point, he slid his tongue down the whole wet mess of your slit, and he moaned. He curled the muscle and invaded your sticky, sensitive, precious warm flesh with vigor and force—maybe a little desperation—and you whined at the feeling. Your toes curled tight. It was doubtlessly a sight to see: Joel’s old and weathered head against your young and supple skin, the wiry greys of his chin rubbing your cunt like no man’s his age should’ve been. He took you gently. Forked his fingers over your folds to hold you open for him and then, over and over and over again, just licking stripes. Squelching noises only seemed to goad him on while he buried his nose and savored your taste without reserve. Your stomach clenched with that pleasure, then swelled.

“That’s my girl—so good for me,” Joel said, as though reminding you, gently, it was okay to relish the feeling.

Once more, he suckled your clit in his mouth, rubbing the tip of his tongue in a quick back-and-forth motion, and the next sensation hit without a breath of warning.

Your belly twisted again, then flushed with hot pleasure.

“My— fuck,” you cried, shuddering with a climax you didn’t know was coming. You held his head and whined.

Joel’s tongue didn’t stop. Your vision blurred. Whatever reprieve you might’ve hoped to find came in the form of his lips drawing back, momentarily, only to sponge little kisses on your still-pulsing heat. Your body jolted back.

“I c— I’m done. I’m done,” you blurted out.

Joel nodded against you. Humming through his kisses:

“I know. Keep going.”

Keep going.

So simple.

Still, you couldn’t breathe. Your sight was inundated with stars. You felt Joel’s stubble on your slit again, only this time, the pleasure was tripled. Your legs trembled, and your hands made fists in his hair. Joel kept on kissing.

And kissed again, again, and again, until your fingers in his locks pulled taut to the roots and your hips were bucking up in his face: ‘Too much, t—oh fuckfuckfuck.’

Then came a buzz. Skirting your legs in a blink, before diving to meet Joel’s mouth on your clit. You shrieked.

“I know, I know,” Joel joined, as though soothing a wound while he maneuvered the vibrator. Lifting his head and then kissing your thigh, “I know. You’re alright.”

You wanted to sob; you felt ready to burst. You trusted Joel’s judgment but had never been subjected to this sort of pleasure. What if it was more than you could take?

“I’m here.”

Joel’s words were slow to crawl off his tongue, but their intent was clear. You writhed once more, and he was kissing your skin, rubbing your thighs, and taking the toy to your clit with a warm, devoted touch. He wasn’t cruel.

He had a glint in his gaze when you met it, like he knew you wouldn’t accept this feeling alone—but he wanted you to. He wanted the indulgence to be your own and an end in itself. There was care in his touch, tender praise with every caress, and you guessed this was intentional. Joel needed you to know this was more than only his.

You felt more naked than you’d ever been: soaking the sheets with your last release, fresh arousal trickling out, Joel’s spit mixing with your nectar and sweat and pressing you down in the bed. And nudging you, gently.

“‘S’okay, baby. You’re alright. That feels nice, doesn’t i—”

“Kiss me.”

It came out faster than you could even try and stop it. You weren’t sure why you said it. The words were acerbic on your tongue—you hated ever sounding needy—but then your mind and your mouth and your worries were all silenced at once when Joel came clambering up for you.

His lips were wet and grinning as he kissed you. He held the vibrator hostage between your legs while his body pressed tight against yours. His movements slowed.

Then, as if he’d crawled in your head and read your mind:

“It’s okay to need me, baby. It’s okay to want this.”

His hips made that assurance even clearer. Joel reached down and took the vibrator again, increasing the friction between your groin and his while he pressed the buzzing toy to your clit. You whined into his mouth at the feeling.

Your eyes rolled back, and the pleasure soared. This morning, you might’ve bristled at the words he’d just spoken, but here, in this bed, it felt okay. It felt safe.

Joel felt safe, for once, and you weren’t sure how to keep that idea from sticking—how to reconcile the notion of swapping sex for cash with a man for months on end, and then this. Your stomach churned. He held your face and kissed you more, and your clit throbbed and ached. Before you could ponder your thoughts a second longer, a white-hot pleasure washed over, and you came again.

“Good girl,” Joel cooed.

Throbbing even more this time.

“That’s a sweet girl. That’s my baby.”

All but aching with desire. Feeling it double.

“Cum for daddy, that’s it. Keep going.”

Feeling it trickle down your legs.

“She’s feelin’ real good, huh?”

You could barely breathe.

You whined. Felt something splinter between your thighs and then more of it, more of you and that slick, oozing pleasure and Joel’s groans, overjoyed—‘Making a fucking mess’a daddy, isn’t she? She feel that good?’—and by ‘that good’ you guessed it was more than normal.

This was more warmth than usual. Somewhere in the midst of your own mind-numbing pleasure, you’d let out a spurt, sticky and wet. It now coated the hairs on Joel’s tummy, and while his skin shone, his eyes were brighter. He flitted a look to you, gaze flaring, and slid down. Low.

Back to where he was before. Moving the buzzing pink bullet aside and letting his mouth assume its place.

Of course, you yelped.

“Joel!”

You winced, both from saying his name and feeling so raw. Joel grinned at the sound and suckled your clit.

It was drenched. You and Joel, too, were doused all over and practically gleaming under the rays of late afternoon sun then pouring through the window. For a second, you cast a look outside like you had before, but it was only to brace your body for the bliss at hand. You stared and felt a crude, carnal shockwave seize you head to toe. It traveled fast and made you release, again, or else just continue the same flow as before—and this time, into Joel’s waiting mouth. He lapped at you feverishly now.

He squeezed your legs and licked you dry. He worked in merciless circles, like his life might have depended on making you stay at this peak. All the while, you were tearing at his hair. Riding his face as your body fell apart.

That was alright. This pleasure was yours for now, but there was still time yet to make it worth his while, you reasoned in a half-intoxicated state. Your legs vibrated as you started to crawl—limp—back up in the bed and, numb with elation and a desperate need to please, you stretched your arm toward the night stand. You huffed.

You reached blindly but got it. The box. Weak fingers found the first plastic strip and tore yourself a square. Then, lifting it to Joel, you ignored the last stabs of pleasure between your legs. This was fun, but still his.

“Go on,” you told him, breathless, “Fuck me.”

Joel quirked a brow. He took the condom, still panting himself. He brought the latex to his tip out of habit, then:

“Yeah? Are you sure?”

“Uh-huh.”

Your head was swimming. Somewhere entrenched in the furthest recesses of your brain you could feel it, that dizzying, self-centered pleasure. You pushed it back.

You suffocated it, and you spread your legs wide for him. You let him lay you down and tug the rubber over his cock, then nudge at your hips to situate himself in just the right way. How he liked it. He seemed to be content, and your heart swelled. In this airy, buoyant state, you felt more at ease to speak, sure that he’d understand.

“This should cover some of it, right?” you panted out.

Joel slowed.

“What?”

You sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, eager to keep going. But you steeled yourself, just barely, then.

“Sex. Now,” you said, “It’ll cover some of my car repairs.”

Instead of nodding like you’d expected, Joel only blinked. Then you opened your mouth to speak again, and his body stopped you cold. He planted a hand beside your head on the pillow and raised his hips; you felt his heat leave with it. You reached for his backside immediately, to try and pull him back into that pre-missionary position he’d held, when Joel brushed you off. His face was hard.

“Money?” he quipped.

“Yeah,” you started, then remembered how you talked outside of the bedroom, when he seemed more serious, “We’ll go again. All week. You can even put it in my—”

Joel balked, like you’d just slapped him across the face.

“No,” he said, sharp.

“No,” he repeated, more to himself this second time. Almost as though he couldn’t believe what you were suggesting—and making him guilty by association.

Joel clenched your pillow like a vice and shook his head.

“You’re not getting paid for this,” he finished, and when your gaze penetrated his, confused, he squeezed harder.

“Thought you wanted it.” Joel added, almost shamefully.

“I do! I do…I just—” you sputtered.

“What? Think you need to offer up a week and a half of fucking to make it worth my time? Is that what this is?”

Well, in a way, maybe.

You weren’t sure what to say. Former dizzying bliss was dwindling fast, and now you were facing him cold. Sober.

Increasingly irritated, again.

“I just need money, Mr. Miller—”

“It’s Joel, hon,” he bit back, for the fourth time that day. His eyes flared with something more, maybe annoyance, but then he was tempering it just as fast. He ran a hand through his damp grey hair and shook his head, pausing, “It’s Joel. I know you need the money, baby, but it’s—”

“It’s what we agreed,” you protested, “What I need—”

“Well it’s not what I want!” Joel barked.

Anger surged again, and this time, evidently, the feeling was harder to keep at bay. He was scarcely able to rein in his features, settling on a grave little scowl instead of a frown, and he sucked in shorter, shallower breaths through his nose. You felt him let your pillow go.

“Forget it—the cash.” Joel grit his teeth even tighter, “Forget these payments and the goddamn allowance I’ve had you on. I can’t do that anymore. It’s not right.”

Your heart sank.

You didn’t know what to say.

Luckily, Joel’s voice resumed on its own.

“Whatever you want, whatever you need, sweetheart…”

He stopped. Silence followed, then stretched on for one full, terrible minute. In that interim, you could see his chest rise and fall fast. He was trying to slow it down.

“Whatever you need paid off, I’ll do it. Anything. You don’t have to touch me again. It was wrong of me to allow that in the first place,” he rejoined, tone cooling.

Sounding guilty, too.

Above you, Joel didn’t seem keen on holding your gaze, so he fixed his stare someplace on the headboard instead. Then he moved off your body, slowly.

In spite of the distance he attempted to give, he was still crowding your space. Looming large and bare and weary as you’d ever seen him, knees shuffling back awkwardly through a mass of cotton sheets while his eyes shifted low. Away. The rest of him filled your lungs with a heady cologne scent and your stomach with a thousand tiny blades—you were hurt that he wasn’t sticking to his end of the bargain. You were mad that he was trying to claim the moral high ground now, after everything you’d done.

Mostly, though, you were just upset that you felt like you were losing someone close. That Joel Miller was more of a confidant, friend, and father figure than your own dad had ever been, and that got all fucked up over money. Your lips pursed, and something stung behind your eyes when you reached for him again. Your throat stung, too.

“The reason I agreed to do this,” Joel went on, and the ache in your head worsened when he winced from your touch, “was ‘cause I didn’t want you getting ‘help’ from anyone else. I was selfish. And that’s not an excuse…”

He started to move off, hand dropping from yours.

“…but it’s the truth. I’m sorry.”

At length, Joel found your gaze, and the eyes said it all over again: I’m sorry. You might’ve believed them, too.

But you were you, and you couldn’t help but press:

“Why?”

Your voice was small. Joel was trying to stand from the bed, but you grabbed at his hand again and made him meet your eyes. Confusion was painted across his own.

Kneeling in front of him, curious, you tried to clarify.

“Why’d it have to be you?”

Judging from Joel’s expression as soon as you did, you got the sense that this question made him feel dumb. He frowned, but he held your stare and answered anyway.

“Because I wanted you first,” he replied, “Before all this.”

Your stomach twisted. He did?

You didn’t need to ask twice to know what that meant. What he’d said, in words and with a look, was enough. Still, it was always in you to know more, to be sure, so you crept a little closer. You let your hands roam up and—

“No,” Joel said, as soon as your fingers reached his side.

You’d just wanted to feel him, maybe prod him further on what he’d just said through acts that didn’t require verbal articulation, but he refused. He backed up in bed.

“This isn’t about—” he started, low.

“Sex. I know,” you answered for him. Then your touch grazed his thigh, and you were dying to have more. To be told in a way you both knew and understood. To touch, “You want me to believe you really…liked me before?”

“More than you know.”

There was that blunt, open pragmatism in the Joel you’d always known. Perhaps guided by natural inclinations, or else your hand on his leg, drawing higher. Moving closer.

Showing skepticism through your eyes and the hint of a playful, disbelieving smile starting to curl at your lips.

“When you met me?” you teased.

You’d known of Joel for years, and had met him a couple times as a teenager at various firm holiday functions. You probably hadn’t exchanged more than ten words altogether before starting law school a few years back.

“Hell no,” Joel answered, fast, “When you started work.”

His gaze was timid again. It was fixed on his thigh where you’d started to slide your index up the warm, muscled expanse of his skin, and though you could tell he was more than hesitant, you wanted to know. Wanted to feel.

It wasn’t so easy convincing a man you’d been working for—and fucking, largely without feeling—to pay bills that you wanted him here and now. But you needed to try.

That maybe, somewhere along the way, you’d come to want him, too. That cash wasn’t the only thing at stake.

You crawled between his legs, then straddled his hips.

Your lips smiling still as you did: “How much?”

Joel blinked back. Dazed.

“What do you m—”

“How much did you like me? When did it start?”

Joel sighed when your heat rubbed his. He tried grabbing ahold of your hips, when you glanced down and saw he’d already discarded the last condom. You couldn’t have that if you wanted to continue this talk.

You reached back and grabbed another.

“Darlin’,” Joel said, strained, “We shouldn’t…”

��Says who?”

You’d already worked the rubber halfway down his length when his heavy-lidded gaze locked with yours. You saw lust there, mixed with worry. Curiosity. You kept going.

“Says your dad, if he ever finds out what I’ve done to his little girl,” Joel replied, closing his eyes at the feeling.

You had the latex worked down to the base of him when you smiled. Felt him seize your hips, lids fluttering open to find you in their soft, glossy stare, and you felt better. Like clockwork, you went together and joined, at last. You felt Joel squeeze your backside and groan when you first sank down to take him whole. You shuddered, too.

But you tried to steady your voice as you spoke.

“Semantics, Miller,” you told him, only faltering a little, “Things you are ‘doing’ to his little girl. Not just ‘done.’”

There, you had a point. Surely your father would have had some choice words for his business partner and best friend if he knew how far Joel’s cock was currently stuffed inside your tight, wet cunt. It might even piss him off, if he weren’t too drunk to receive the news himself.

Joel blinked hard, signaling that he knew this too, and presently watched your body swallow all eight inches at once, after you’d raised yourself up to just the tip and sank back. Your ass fell to his groin with an obscene sort of squelch, and your walls involuntarily clenched. You both let out sounds of pleasure, and held on tighter.

Your hands on his chest for stability, while one of his own held your hip and the other fumbled around for your clit, gliding through the sheen of your arousal on his front. You rocked your hips and felt how much it really was—how you’d drenched his whole abdomen with your last release. You smiled at this and stared, pleased with the pretty, sticky display you’d laid bare all over Joel’s belly.

When Joel wasn’t watching you ride, he stared there too.

“Not so ‘little’ anymore,” he mused quietly. Then he looked up to find your eyes, seeing them as glazed as his, “And I ‘like’ you, hon. Present tense. Not just…‘liked.’”

Alright.

“How much?”

You wanted to say it with some confidence. Nonchalance. Then Joel’s cock nicked a particularly sensitive ridge inside your walls, and that thought was gone as quick as it had come. You gripped the flesh of his upper chest and rolled your hips harder. Let out your breaths in little fractured whimpers while you rode him more. Another sweet feeling twisted low in your gut.

With just a glimpse of that, Joel moved his hand from your heat up past your hips and waist, to squeeze one of your breasts. His fingers were wet. You could feel them, equal parts warmth and wanton yearning as the pads pinched your nipple and gave it a firm tug. He grunted.

Clearly, there was more to it than just the touching and feeling for him—Joel’s eyes drank in the sight of your skin as it glistened with the arousal he’d just smeared. He thumbed at the wet, stiff peak and swallowed. And, just as you were about to adjust the rhythm of your hips bouncing on him, his free hand joined the first and pulled you down. You cried feeling his cock wedge deep; your hands fell to either side of his body when he yanked your face down to his. He fucked up into you from underneath

You squealed, soft, “Joel!”

He kissed your open mouth. Made you lay flat overtop him while he fucked your dripping hole. You whimpered.

“Joel—” Again.

“I like you so much, sweetheart,” he said, in answer to your last question, lips close, “Does she like me too?”

As if to save him the trouble of a swift reply in words, your body told him instead. You squeezed around his cock, and with another desperate cry, bit his shoulder. He hammered your poor, aching pussy with a groan of his own, and he held your body down to his. Grinning.

Kissing the side of your head while he pounded away. Stroking your hair, “Is that a ‘yes’? She like her daddy?”

Drool was bound to slip out of your mouth any second. Your lips were locked in a permanent ‘o’ while he drilled from under you on the bed. Still, you managed to nod.

“Uh-huh—oh, fuck, fuck, da-ddy. Yes, daddy.”

You squeezed your eyes shut as another blistering wave seared your insides. Joel was relentless with his thrusts now, driving himself in and out without stopping or slowing. He must’ve known you were close. He was too, judging by the sounds of his grunts and hushed tone.

“Let daddy take care of her then, baby. All of her. OK?”

His words trickled through your ear as sweet as honey. His cock was less kind, but that was okay—you liked it.

You loved him here. Taking care of you. Her. Everything.

And, in this half-coherent state of fuckdrunk pleasure, you were tempted to give in to whatever he begged.

It would be so easy. Joel cradled your face in his hand, practically beaming with pride while he fucked you over and over, and your legs were spread, walls were stretched, eyes practically rolling back, and you felt more secure than you’d been in ages. Joel could care for you.

He rubbed his thumb over your cheek and hummed.

“Daddy’s got you,” he said, voice all warm assurance.

Nudging you closer and closer to your peak—and perhaps some other form of surrender. Release.

Submission?

Joel wouldn’t be so bad for that.

He could fuck you well and leave you content. Make you forget what it meant to be strapped for cash and saddled with guilt and worry over bills every month. Joel could provide, for now. His eyes said as much; his fingers threaded through your hair and rubbed your scalp. He cupped your face, all fifty-six years in his own looking as handsome as they’d ever been. He felt good. He felt safe.

You were hot. Your legs trembled and ached.

“Is that something you’d want?” he pressed.

And, still holding Joel’s gaze with a heavy-lidded, fucked out look of your own, you surprised yourself by nodding, slowly. Your body was spent, but the curve on your lips, then his, was sincere; Joel nodded back as he grinned.

“Yeah? You mean it, sweetheart?”

He flipped you both over and got on top, never breaking apart. You wound your legs around his back and let him cup your cheeks again, and from this angle, you felt it. You wouldn’t try and fight it now; you just kissed him.

Then you came for a third time, walls clenching and squeezing and gushing again, smearing Joel’s front as he fucked you right through it. His groans were a little more subdued than yours, but in their timbre, you could hear his desperation. He emptied himself inside you, in the condom, and kept holding your face all the while.

You felt a low pulse between your legs. Then another. And another. And another. Joel’s hips began to still, his hefty greying belly bumping lightly against your skin while he drained what was left in his balls, and you swore that his bones might’ve creaked from the sheer force of those final thrusts. He seemed exhausted. Somehow, though, the man looked even better in this state—haggard and worn as he was, the face above your own was soft. Smiling, faintly, and kissing you constantly.

You couldn’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it; you were far too tired and fucked out of your mind to protest right now.

Joel trailed a path with his lips from your chin to your ear. He kissed the hinge of your jaw and sank himself deeper.

“Mr.—” But you caught yourself, shortly, “…Joel.”

He lifted his head, not apologetic in the least.

“Maybe just one more—” he started.

“No,” you finished for him, sharp.

Still smiling, but with your eyes on him in a thinly veiled threat. Joel accepted that and kept his dick where it was.

What followed was gradual but natural enough. A little awkward as you broached that uncharted territory of remaining in the other’s presence after the deed was done, but Joel didn’t seem like he wanted to leave the bed, and you had nowhere else to go until dinner with your dad at eight. There was a moment you wanted to separate your body from Joel’s, if only to slip off to the bathroom by yourself, but the man just held you closer.

“You think your old man will mind if I joined tonight?”

Here the fuck we go.

“He’ll kill you.”

You pushed hard against his hold without getting so much as an inch of give. Joel had to fight back a chuckle.

“Oh, yeah? Why?”

“Because,” you began in a huff. Wriggling with very little success in his arms, while you were pinned in missionary, “I smell like you. You smell like me. My dad’s a drunk, but he can sniff stuff like that out in a heartbeat. Too risky.”

You punctuated those words with a still more serious look, but before you could nudge at his chest again or say something more, you were forced to swallow a scream. Joel’s grip tightened even more, and he moved to stand up from the bed—with you still in his arms and impaled on his cock. He started to walk to the bathroom.

“Great. Shower’s got plenty of room for the two of us.”

“Joel!”

“Glad I don’t have to keep reminding you of my name.”

His voice was smug. Your gaze was hard. Joel was still hard himself, amazingly, and you almost groaned when you felt the head of his cock bump somewhere soft and sensitive inside. He toted you into the big, bright room.

“If not tonight, how ‘bout tomorrow? Just you and me.”

He would never stop this shit. He reached for the faucet.

“Still too dangerous. You know that,” you chided. Your resolve only wavered a little when you felt the hot water start to pelt at your back. Joel closed the glass door, “Besides…I need to focus on figuring my shit out right now. Work and bills and getting myself a rental car soon.”

Joel paused. He turned, still holding you.

Then, just as swiftly as he’d stepped inside, he carried you right back out of the shower. You whined in protest.

He took you over to the bed and set you down. He left to find his wallet and keys. You might’ve been tempted to voice your displeasure in some other way—namely, by marching back to the bathroom, locking the door, and bathing alone—but before you could speak a word, Joel was back. He looked down at you and held out his fist.

“What’s—”

“Your dad and me’ll be up to our eyeballs in bullshit working the Garcia audit tomorrow—and I know you don’t want him seeing us leave together anywhere—so we can meet at Bohanan’s at six. How does that sound?”

You blinked.

“I don’t…have a car.”

Joel opened his hand. Keys dropped out.

In a single glance, you could see they weren’t his.

Joel drove a garish Super Duty F-450, not an Audi. The cogs were quick to turn in your head, but clearly not fast enough, because Joel was closing your fingers over the keys before you could breathe so much as a syllable to him. When you did, it came out more like a stutter. Palpably mad but far too rattled to get much out:

“Joel, I-I can’t—”

“I’ve been meaning to buy one anyw—”

“You’re insane,” you started to push the keys back, and for some reason, your heart was thudding extra hard as you did. You went on, unblinking, “You don’t…need to.”

“I want to.”

Joel’s hands were warm when he pressed both of his palms to secure yours between them. He could probably feel the way it shook a little, but he didn’t seem to care. His gaze was too busy trying to find, and hold, your own while you swallowed and stared and racked your numb brain for any words of defiance. At length, nothing came.

All you could do was meet that look. In the soft brown irises above, you could see it all—the need to comfort, and care, and provide where he could, offer better than the hand you’d been dealt and maybe, interspersed with those feelings somewhere, a simpler need in him to give.

For once, you wanted to believe it.

Fun fact: This fic was inspired by true events‼️💯 My life 😫🤪😤😈 Like reader, my truck is also busted as SHIT and needs $2,700 in repairs!!!! Unlike reader, I will not be sucking and fucking Joel Miller to recoup my losses (not asking for donations, just wanted to give y’all a giggle at my misfortune LOL)

[wwwyzzerdd420]

I really just do not get women At All

[javier-pena]

three's a crowd

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader x Joel Miller

Word Count: 9.9k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You’re in love with Frankie and he is in love with you, but you both have no idea how to act on it. Until Joel Miller comes along.

Warnings: friends to lovers | alcohol consumption | smoking | pining | jealousy | reader’s hair can get wet without it being an issue | Joel is kinda sleazy in this (but reader is very much into it) | mentions of cheating | protective Frankie | threesome m/f/(m) | a surprising amount of biting | the oral fixation in this is insane, I’m sorry | it’s all about hands and fingers | voyeurism | semi-public sex | cuck!Frankie but also not really (guess you’ll have to read it to find out what that means) | nipple play | (brief) fingering | (very brief) masturbation (m) | unprotected p in v sex | rough sex | spanking | orgasm delay | overstimulation | creampie

Notes: I started writing this fic in June and it was supposed to be a fun little summer thing and then stuff happened and now it's October - but here it finally is. There isn't really much I can say about it except that Dani @alexturner saved the whole thing by pointing out that the final fic wasn't really like what I had talked about while discussin the idea with her and after editing it, it's much, much better. I also had a lot of fun talking about Frankie's and Joel's backstory with you, Dani 🤭 maybe I'll write that one day ...

“D’you wanna fuck her, Miller?”

BEFORE

It must have been two years ago, or maybe it was three. Your hair was longer, you had just broken up with your boyfriend of five years, had just moved to a town where you didn’t know a single soul. “A fresh start is what you need.” That’s what your therapist said to you when you cried your heart out after Derek dumped you and moved in with his new girlfriend a week later. But she hadn’t been talking about this, moving halfway across the country, all the way from Maine, where the winters are cold and the air is always salty, to Texas, where it almost never snows and the tornado sirens make you run for cover.

That’s how you met Frankie, sweet, smiling Frankie. Your truck broke down in the grocery store parking lot and he jump-started it. He stuck out to you because he was wearing a pale blue baseball cap, bleached from countless summers under the hot Texan sun, and not a cowboy hat like all the other men around. You bought him dinner at that steak place that would become your favorite, and after three shots of tequila you opened up to him. He held you when you started to cry, took you home, slept on your couch when you asked him not to leave.

You’ve been friends ever since.

He showed you around San Antonio, he flew you to Enchanted Rock in a helicopter he rented, he even took you to Mexico where you found out he speaks Spanish fluently. He helped you fix the roof of your bungalow when it started leaking. You, in turn, took him to the cinema, made him watch horror movies that made him squeal, dragged him along to a rodeo, taught him how to ride a motorcycle when he told you he had always wanted to learn. The two of you just clicked. It felt right.

Now, after three years, you can’t imagine your life without Frankie in it. You don’t remember who you were before him, and you don’t want to. He’s your best friend, and you’re his. Where one of you goes, the other follows. And of course, people mistake you for a couple, of course they ask, “And what about your girlfriend here?”, they say, “You’re lucky to be dating such a nice young fella”. You always laugh, correct them lightheartedly. But sometimes you wish they were right. You love Frankie as a friend, more than you ever thought you could love anyone, but sometimes you want more.

You almost got that more about a year after meeting Frankie. One of his friends, Santi, was in town, and you went out with a group before taking advantage of the hot tub that came with Santi’s motel. There were drinks involved, one thing led to another, and suddenly you found yourself straddling Frankie, wearing nothing more than a bikini, your fingers tugging on his curls, his hands roaming all over your body. It didn’t go any further than that, and the next morning he dropped you off at your house with his usual, “See ya ‘round.” He never talked about it and neither did you. He was probably regretting it and you didn’t want to lose him over something like this, so you left it all unsaid.

He started dating someone soon afterwards, first Arabella, then Bessie, and you hated them both, even though they were probably decent women. Luckily, neither relationship lasted long because it hurt. You didn’t tell Frankie, acted perfectly civil around them, but it felt as if your heart had been dropped from a great height and had shattered against the pavement. You had to ease that pain with a couple of meaningless one-night-stands but they couldn’t take your mind off Frankie buried deep in another woman when it should have been you. And when you told him about Billy and Carson and Hank and Landon and Clara to provoke him to do something, he just shrugged it off and said, “I’m glad you had a nice evening.”

Frankie is single now, and so are you, and life is good. It isn’t always easy, but it’s a far cry from how it was in Maine. You’ve made peace with the whole Frankie situation, realizing it might just be enough knowing you’re the most important person in his life, even if you’ll never have him completely. This way, there also won’t be a messy breakup, hurtful things said in anger, actions you can never undo. You’re content with being Frankie’s best friend, and that should be enough.

It's summer now, one of the hottest on record. The AC in your bungalow broke and Frankie wanted to help you fix it, but then he got busy at work. That was almost a week ago, and you use these circumstances as an excuse to hang out at Frankie’s place as much as possible. He doesn’t mind. He has a big pool in his backyard that he always shares with you, and he loves your company. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he’s putting off fixing your AC on purpose.

You’re floating on your back, eyes closed, the sounds around you muffled by the water. Frankie is lounging in a chair by the side of the pool, resting in the shade after a hot day. Every time you glance over at him, his eyes are closed. That gives you the freedom to truly look, to see him how not many people are allowed to see him.

You take a deep breath and dive, floating weightlessly for a few seconds. It’s so easy to imagine this to be your life, Frankie to be your boyfriend. If he were, nothing would be different. You’d get to use your shared pool, watch him doze in the shade, help him prepare dinner later, laugh at his corny jokes … Your heart squeezes when you realize you have all of that and still it isn’t enough. What’s missing is riding him by the side of the pool, your bodies sticky with sweat. What’s missing is kissing his neck while he’s watching the brazier. What’s missing is knowing he’s yours and you’re his, come what may.

There’s a shadow by the side of the pool, and you scramble upwards, breaking through the surface with a gasp. “What?” you ask, smiling up at Frankie, shielding your eyes from the sun with your hand.

Frankie gives you a thumbs up. “Just making sure you’re not drowning.”

You’re treading water as you say, “Would you jump in and rescue me if I was?”

He laughs. “I’m pretty sure you’re a better swimmer than me.”

“I’d make it worth your while.” You wink at him.

He lowers himself into a crouch so he’s closer to the surface of the water, closer to you. “How?”

“Ever heard of mouth-to-mouth?”

He laughs one of those laughs that comes from deep inside his chest and shakes his whole body. “Leave it to you to make saving someone’s life sound sexy.”

“But it is sexy,” you say emphatically. “Imagine pulling me from the pool, your big, strong arms wrapped around me. I think you’d stay calm and collected; you’d know exactly what to do. Any woman who doesn’t fall for you after that would be a fool.”

Frankie dips his fingers into the water and flicks some of it in your direction. You squeal and try to duck, but the drops still hit you in a quick shower. “Shut up,” Frankie laughs.

You use your whole hand to try and shove the water back toward him. You miss. “Stop it,” you tell him, no weight behind your words, a broad smile on your face.

“Hey!” he shouts. “Don’t make me come in there, young lady.”

He always makes you laugh when he calls you that, the air of authority he puts into his words. You’re not that much younger than he is, but he always acts as if you’re 20 years his junior, while you have started calling him “gramps” to rile him up.

You propel yourself backward, away from him toward the opposite side of the pool. “You’re too chickenshit.”

“Oh, just you wait.” He starts to pull his shirt over his head, his cap that he always wears getting caught in the hem of the neckline. You really try not to but you can’t help looking at his soft belly, the white skin such a stark contrast to his tanned arms. You wonder what it would be like to touch him, what sounds he would make in response to the difference in pressure, if you were using your nails or –

“Am I interruptin’ somethin’?”

You don’t mean to, but you squeal at the sudden appearance of a strange man next to Frankie. You were so preoccupied staring at your friend you didn’t notice someone else approach.

Frankie lowers his shirt. His cheeks are slightly flushed. “Joel!”

You glance between the two men, but neither of them offers an explanation. Instead, a heavy silence settles itself over this already muggy afternoon.

Finally, the stranger, Joel, speaks. “Is this a bad time or –?”

“No, no,” Frankie quickly assures him while you bite down a harsh, “Yes, it is”. Frankie runs his palms down his shirt, trying to smooth the creased fabric. “I just … I had no idea you were in town.

“Well, I am,” Joel replies in a tone of voice that rubs you the wrong way. “I thought I’d drive by, see if you’re home.”

Frankie glances at you, seemingly only now remembering your presence. “This is Joel Miller,” he says in an oddly formal voice. “We sometimes work together.”

“Hi.” You raise your hand out of the water to wave at Joel, the smile you put on not reaching your eyes.

If you had to guess, you’d say Joel was older than Frankie by at least five years, maybe even ten. He’s taller too, broad-shouldered where Frankie tends to fold in on himself. His graying hair is slightly too long, but his graying beard makes him look handsome, especially when he gives you a twisted half-smile as if he’s fully aware of what he just interrupted and is taking pleasure in your discomfort and annoyance. You want him to leave but with a clench of your stomach you realize you also want him to stay.

“She your girlfriend?” Joel asks without pretense, nodding at you in a way that makes you clench your fists.

Frankie chuckles awkwardly, a sound you only heard a few times before and always hated. He lifts his cap with one hand to scratch his scalp, then shakes his head. “No, we’re just friends.”

Joel shifts, rolls his shoulders ever so slightly. “Nice to meet you, just friend of Frankie’s.”

Can’t say the same about you, you want to say but if there’s one thing you learned from your years spent in the south is that there is nothing more important than hospitality. “You too,” you say instead, and start kicking the water, doing laps in the pool. If you ignore him, maybe he’ll leave soon.

But Frankie opens a beer bottle for him and Joel sits down in the lawn chair next to him, taking a big swig. You try to ignore them as best as you can, but you can’t keep your ears from straining to catch snippets of their conversation.

“… between jobs … just a couple o’ nights …”

“… go out tomorrow … bar in town …”

“… broke up with me ‘cause she … her friend …”

Sometimes Frankie laughs in a way he only does when he wants to impress someone. Usually, you can see it too, usually you admire the same people but there is something about Joel that makes alarm bells ring in your head. And you don’t like the way Frankie behaves around him. You don’t want to call it submissive because you hate that word, but it feels as if he’s putting up a front for Joel, not saying what he really wants to say, not doing what he really wants to do.

But then sometimes Joel’s eyes are on you, his gaze hooded, and he doesn’t look away when you catch him staring. There is something in the brazen way he does it that makes you crave more, and you’re a little bit disgusted with yourself for wanting that. You don’t know this man, and you don’t like what you glimpsed so far, but when he asks, “Any chance of you joinin’ us, sunshine?” you’re so very tempted to say yes.

“I wanna shower first,” you answer, pushing yourself up on the edge of the pool. Joel’s eyes immediately shoot to your chest while Frankie’s are glued to his bottle, his fingers busy picking at the label.

“Don’t keep us waitin’,” Joel says in a tone of voice that grates on you and makes you tighten your jaw. You want to flip him off, and he knows it too because he raises his half-empty bottle to you. You wish Frankie would say something, or at least acknowledge your presence, but a loose thread on his jeans has caught his attention now. Your chest tightens with annoyance and, even though you’re loath to admit it, hurt, and you huff at Joel before grabbing your towel and making your way toward Frankie’s house. You feel Joel’s eyes burn a searing mark into your back.  

You have no right to feel the way you do, you tell yourself as you work shampoo into your hair. Frankie can be friends with whomever he wants to. This is his house and he can let himself be treated however he sees fit. And you’re not dependent on him to defend you against a jerk like Joel, you can manage that all on your own. Besides, it’s not as if Joel is going to be around for long, he will most likely leave after another beer or two, so there really is no reason for you to get so worked up about it.

And yet …

You turn off the water with a quick jerk of your hand.

Stepping out of the shower, locating a fresh towel, it’s like second nature to you. You briefly bury the face in the soft fabric, inhaling the clean scent of Frankie’s detergent, a scent that will always bring you comfort. Then you pull one of the several dresses you keep at Frankie’s house over your head before using the towel to superficially dry your hair. It comes away smelling like him, which sends a pleasant shiver down your spine.

You’ve come to terms with it, you really have. Yes, you sometimes dream about kissing him, yes, you can’t stop fantasizing about what the two of you would be like as a couple, but what you have is nice. And it feels like it should be enough, which should count for something, right?

“Took your sweet time in there, sunshine.”

You jump, only registering Joel’s presence leaning against the opposite wall as you pull the bathroom door closed behind you.

“There’s a half bath next to the kitchen,” you tell him, avoiding his searing gaze. “You know, if you need to go.”

You try to scurry down the hallway and back out into the garden, but Joel pushes himself off the wall and steps into your way. “I don’t,” he answers. “I was looking for you.”

You sigh and look up at him, hoping he’ll notice your mild annoyance. “Why?”

“Frankie’s busy with dinner.” His gaze sweeps you from your damp hair down to your bare feet, widening as he notices your dress is slightly too tight at your chest. “And you look like good company.” Before you can come up with a snide remark, he’s two steps closer and his hand is suddenly resting on your waist, his palm hot to the touch even through the fabric. “You’re certainly prettier.”

The sudden contact, his brazen approach catches you off-guard. It’s been years since a man has treated you like this, and many years more since you were free to do with that whatever you wanted.

“Come on.” Why is his voice so low suddenly? “Cat got your tongue?”

You roll your eyes. “N-”

But before you’re able to finish the second short sound, the thumb of his free hand is on your bottom lip and he starts to pull it down. “Let me check.”

Before your brain can consider all your options, you bite down on his finger, hard, out of reflex, drawing a hiss from him. He pulls back, steps away, shakes his hand. But that sleazy half-smile is still firmly fixed on his face. “Oh, you’re a little fighter, is that it?”

You take a step closer to him in an attempt to intimidate him, but he doesn’t budge. “I just don’t like it when people touch me without my permission.”

“I bet that sweet little pussy of yours is tellin’ a different tale.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You shove him, both palms hitting his chest, and he loses some ground.

He tries to snatch your wrist but you’re too fast for him. “Careful, sunshine. Don’t irritate me.”

“Why?” You push your chin forward in defiance. “What are you gonna do about it?”

“Oh, I have some ideas.” Joel reaches for your waist again, but you manage to step back quickly. He balls his hand into a fist. “I just ain’t sure you’d like them very much.”

“Didn’t your mother teach you manners?”

“I’d like to teach you some,” he shoots back.

The sound of Frankie clearing his throat makes you jump. He’s standing behind Joel, just inside the sliding door that leads into the garden, a cocktail shaker in his hand, an apron covering his chest. “Drinks are ready,” he announces, his voice tense. Then he turns around, leaving you to wonder how long he’s been standing there and how much he heard.

Your stomach curls tightly with shame. Not because of anything he might have overheard or because of anything you did, but because you liked the way Joel talked to you, you liked that he decided he wanted you and went for it. You liked being close to him, feeling his uninvited touch on your body, hearing him say those lewd things. And all the while you forgot about Frankie, for the first time in months.

Joel glances at you and some of the shame must show on your face because he says, “If I kissed you right now, do you think he’d punch me?”

And just like that you’re back to feeling the slow grating of annoyance, like nails scraping down a chalkboard. “Don’t flatter yourself,” you huff before pushing past him and stepping back out into the garden.

The evening light is softer now, the heat feels less oppressive. The sun has begun to dip toward the horizon, and Frankie’s shadow is long against the grass as he waits for you to rejoin him by the pool. You want to put on your brightest smile for him, want to show him how much you appreciate everything he is doing for you, but with him you never have to pretend. Your face lights up when you see him whether you want it to or not, your steps quicken, your heart feels full of happiness. Even someone like Joel can’t ruin that, no matter how hard he might try.

“All clean?” Frankie has a lopsided grin on his face and a martini glass in his hand. When you nod, he hands it to you. “I made it just the way you like it.”

“Thanks, honey,” you tease and playfully kiss his cheek.

“This one’s for you.” Frankie hands Joel a tumbler full of amber liquid.

Joel raises an eyebrow. “Just whiskey?”

“You seem like a whiskey kinda guy,” Frankie answers with a shrug before taking off his apron and hanging it over the backrest of his lawn chair.

“What are you having?” you ask, sitting down on one of the sun loungers Frankie keeps next to the pool.

Frankie lightly shakes his beer bottle. “I’ll stick with this for now.”

You glance from him to Joel and then back to him as both men remain standing, clutching their drinks. “Well, this is nice and relaxing.”

“Sorry,” Frankie mumbles and lets himself fall back into his chair. “Long day.”

Joel chuckles and steps forward, but instead of choosing the chair next to Frankie’s, he sits down on the sunbed right next to you. The rough denim of his jeans scrapes against your naked thigh and you scoot away from him, clearing your throat. Joel doesn’t seem to have noticed; his eyes are fixed on Frankie.

“You never told me you had a nice place like this,” he says, vaguely waving his hand at the pool and the manicured lawn. “I would’ve come over much sooner.”

“Where do you live?” you ask before Frankie can say something.

Joel chuckles before taking a sip from his whiskey. “You know what would go great with this?” He pulls a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of the back pocket of his jeans, conveniently having to lean against you to retrieve it. You push back, refusing to make yourself small. He holds the pack out to you first, but you shake your head. He doesn’t offer it to Frankie.

“She asked you a question.”

Your eyes snap from the sight of Joel lighting a cigarette, the filter hugged firmly between his lips, to Frankie, who has his elbows propped up on his knees, a thumb and forefinger wrapped around the neck of the beer bottle, holding it precariously.

Joel takes a drag from his cigarette and exhales slowly. The smoke tickles your suddenly very dry throat. “I live here and there,” he finally replies. “Wherever work takes me.”

“Okay, so where do you currently live?” you probe.

Joel waves his hand around. “Y’know …”

“What he means to say is that he’s currently between houses,” Frankie clarifies, a slight tension in his voice you haven’t heard before.

“Oh, so you’re a bum?” Is Frankie’s face lighting up with satisfaction at your comment or are you only imagining that?

Joel takes another drag. “I’m whatever you want me to be.”

It was bad enough that he had no regard for your boundaries when Frankie wasn’t right there next to you, but he can’t expect you to just take it now that Frankie is this close. You try to stand up, but his hand closes around yours and pulls you back down next to him, the force of it making some of your drink spill.

“Hey!” you protest loudly, but he only slings his arm around your shoulder.

“His girlfriend just kicked him out,” Frankie goes on, pretending he didn’t notice what just went down. “He cheated on her with her best friend.”

“Couldn’t have been a very good friend then.” You pick Joel’s heavy arm off your shoulders and let it fall down next to you.

Joel shrugs. “If I see somethin’ I want, I take it.”

“Must be lonely, going through life with that mindset,” you observe, watching him as he stubs out the cigarette against the tiles surrounding the pool.

“Depends on what you want out of life, I s’pose.”

You glance up at the slowly darkening evening sky, currently a soft, darkening blue, then take a sip from your very strong martini. “And what is that?” you ask, watching a bird glide across the sky.

“D’you wanna fuck her, Miller?”

AFTER

“Yes.” It comes out rough and breathless and eager, and suddenly your blood is rushing in your ears. You have no idea when the evening shifted to this, but you suppose it was inevitable from the moment Joel walked in. You just didn’t think Frankie would be the one to ask the question.

You glance at Frankie, sweet Frankie, who always respects you, always treats you like you’re royalty, and you see something in his gaze you’ve never seen before, a sort of strangled curiosity, like he’s desperate to find out where this might go, but unsure if he can handle the way there. You smile at him, and you nod, and his pupils dilate immediately, setting your heart pounding. That’s all he needs from you, and all you need from him.

Frankie puts his beer bottle on a small table next to his chair, leans back, crosses one leg over the other, ankle resting against his thigh. “Tough luck, pal,” he says, and next to you Joel stiffens. “You can kiss her though.”

For a moment, you’re right back there in high school, a bottle pointing at you, your friend Ines grinning at you from across the circle, Billy licking his lips nervously. But you’re all grown up now, you’ve played these games a million times, should know their rules by heart. Then why are your hands so sweaty?

Joel doesn’t waste any time, doesn’t even wait for you to turn toward him. His hand is already at the back of your neck while your eyes are still on Frankie, and his lips have found yours while you’re still trying to decipher the look in Frankie’s gaze. The kiss is rough, almost unpleasantly so, and you can taste the nicotine and whiskey on Joel’s tongue that claims your mouth with hungry licks. Joel’s whole body is pushing against yours, and you push back, pressing your chest against his, making his concentration slip briefly. You use this moment of inattention to gain the upper hand and bite his lip, less violently than you bit his finger but hard enough for him to inhale sharply. Maybe even hard enough to draw a little bit of blood.

Joel shifts, tightens his hold on your neck, and pushes up against you even more, like he’s trying to get you to lie down and submit to him. Resisting his efforts gives you a feeling of power you’re unable, maybe even unwilling, to control. You’re still trying to come to terms with the newness of the situation, with the shift that has taken place, but you know exactly what you want, and that is not to give up one inch to Joel without making him work hard for it.

Joel’s hand is on your naked thigh now, tough callouses rubbing against smooth skin. Just like his kisses, it almost feels too violent, but then you remember Frankie’s hands roaming your body in that hot tub, the way the water hadn’t managed to soften his skin. You remember how much you wanted him that night, and suddenly you wish Joel would touch you more.

As if he can read your thoughts, Joel’s hand is suddenly at the underside of your breast, cupping it through the fabric of your dress, his thumb finding the nipple so confidently as if he has touched you a million times before. Your body responds to the touch immediately and you lean into it, your lips parting in a stifled moan. The pad of his thumb rubs across your hardening nipple, rolls it through the dress and the bra you’re wearing, and you should push him away, make him feel like his efforts are futile and he has no effect on you whatsoever, but it’s been too long. Too fucking long. You’re on fire, unpleasantly so, feeling like you’re burning up too fast, like the flames have barely touched you and you’re already turning to ash. You press yourself into Joel’s touch as your jaw slackens, and he grabs your breast and squeezes it roughly while pushing his tongue into your mouth with the sole intent of making you gag.

“Hey!” Frankie’s voice is sharp, but when you flinch away from Joel and glance over at him, he’s still sitting in his chair holding his bottle of beer.

Your ears feel hot with shame as you refuse to acknowledge Joel’s presence and avoid Frankie’s gaze. Frankie was the one to suggest the kiss, Joel made the first move – then why do you feel such shame? Like you’ve been caught cheating? Why do you feel it’s wrong to –

“What?” Joel asks, interrupting the spiral you’re about to slide down.

Frankie squeezes the neck of the bottle, his skin making a wet sound against the glass. “We said kiss.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see that sleazy smirk return to Joel’s lips. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with a little second base.”

Frankie seems to consider this, his eyes fixed to the ground beneath his feet. You wish you could tell what was going on in his mind, but your heart is still racing like you’re being hunted for sport and your body is screaming for Joel to put his hands on you again, and all of that is too much to read Frankie.

Frankie holds out a hand to Joel. “Cigarette,” he says, and Joel obliges. You watch Frankie light it up and take a deep drag, a sight so unfamiliar it makes you eager to commit it to memory. “So you really wanna fuck her then?” he finally asks.

There is a pressure low in your abdomen that makes you shift against the lounger.

Joel only laughs, crude and hoarse, as if deigning that question with an answer is below him. “Where did you get that idea from?”

Frankie takes another drag, a short one this time, before glancing directly at Joel’s crotch. You follow his gaze to find a bulge there, one that definitely wasn’t there before, straining against the stiff fabric. When Joel’s eyes find yours, you make sure he sees you lick your lips. His jaw twitches.

Frankie leans back comfortably in his chair, some of the ash from the cigarette landing on his pants. He brushes it off with a flick of his wrist. “I’ll let you fuck her. But you’re gonna do exactly as I say.”

You think you must have entered a parallel universe or another dimension. For a short while at least. None of it makes sense: the cigarette in Frankie’s hand, the way he talks and what he says, that man next to you who is nothing more than a stranger, who had his tongue in your mouth two minutes ago, and that all of this makes you wetter than you can ever remember being. But then Frankie’s eyes meet yours, dark pupils blown unfamiliarly wide, and yet there is something in them you recognize – this isn’t a stranger who is looking at you, this is your best friend. No matter what happens next, he’s going to look out for you. All you need to do is trust him.

Next to you, Joel shifts, adjusting his crotch. He licks his lips. “Yeah.” He nods. “Okay.”

Your eyes are on Frankie now, heart racing in your chest, mouth completely dry, as you wait for what comes next. Your brain is running hot trying to go through all the possibilities of what Frankie could have Joel do to you, but all you come back to is Frankie kneeling in front of you, spreading your legs. Joel is nothing more than a shadow beside you, watching with a hungry gaze.

Frankie leans forward and reaches out his hand as if he means to touch you, but then stops himself and leans back. “You don’t have to do as you’re told.” The softness in his voice catches you by surprise, but he goes on before you can analyze it. “To start, do whatever you’re comfortable with.”

You glance at Joel, at how stiff his shoulders are, and you face him, trembling fingers pulling his shirt up where it is tugged into his jeans. Up and up you pull it until he has to raise his arms for you to get it off, and then you finally see his body betray his nerves as his chest flushes a deep red. There is a scar on his left collarbone, old and slightly brighter than the skin around it, there are some sparse, dark gray hairs on his chest, and his stomach is so much firmer than Frankie’s, so much less inviting.

Joel huffs and your gaze shoots back up to his face. “Kinda boring, don’t ya think? Pullin’ off my shirt when you could’ve done anythin’ to me?”

You won’t let him get to you, not like that, not when Frankie’s eyes are on you. “There’s no shame in me enjoying myself by taking things slow,” you retort. “I know your first move would’ve been to stuff two fingers into me but where’s the fun in that?”

“Oh, you’re gonna see where the fun in that is when you’re comin’ ‘round ‘em,” he replies with that infuriatingly sleazy smile darkening his face.

You lean in just a tiny bit closer. “Only if Frankie lets you.” God, that thought turns you on so much your head starts to spin.

Once you recover, Joel’s right hand is cupping your jaw, his grip firm, while his thumb rests against your lips. “Someone should stuff that mouth o’ yours.”

You open your mouth then, until his thumb is only pressing against your bottom lip. You let it slide in past your teeth until you can feel it on your tongue, heavy, tasting like nicotine. You close your lips around the digit and suck on it, your cheeks hollowing, your tongue massaging it. The corner of Joel’s mouth twitches. Somewhere to your right, you hear Frankie’s chair groan.

The sound of Frankie’s voice interrupts you. “I want you to take off her dress.”

With a wet plop, Joel pulls his thumb out of your mouth and then starts pulling at the straps of your sundress, pushing them down your shoulders.

“Slowly,” Frankie adds, his voice calm as if he’s talking to a semi-feral animal.

Joel moves you so both your feet are planted firmly on the ground, then shifts so he’s behind you. He finds the zipper at the back of your dress and begins to pull it down, torturously slowly as if there is something he wants to prove to Frankie. As more and more of your skin is revealed, he brushes over it, calloused fingers making you shiver. His hands feel so much like Frankie’s, and yet not at all like him. Frankie would be soft and gentle too, but he wouldn’t scrape you with his short nails, he wouldn’t tremble like it takes everything in him not to devour you whole.

The fabric of your dress glides down your shoulders and back, and comes to rest around your hips. It isn’t anything Frankie hasn’t seen before – your breasts are still covered, after all – and yet there is something in his gaze when you look at him, a strange kind of longing, like desire that has been kept in check for so long it has become second nature to him. You can see it in the flare of his nostrils, in the darkening of his eyes, in the way his bottom lip trembles briefly before he darts out his tongue to wet it. And yet he sits there, watching, his body unmoving like it has been trained not to give in.

“Take off her bra.”

Even Frankie’s voice is controlled and even. You shift, pulling back your shoulders and pushing out your chest in an attempt to get him to break, but his gaze shifts from you to Joel as he waits for the other man to follow his orders. Joel doesn’t need to be told twice. He flicks open the clasp at your back with one hand and your bra falls away. You push out your chin, willing your face not to heat up.

Frankie’s throat works as he swallows, a small crack in the otherwise impenetrable wall he has put up. “You’re perfect …” His voice, too, cracks on the second syllable and he coughs. “Wouldn’t you agree, Joel?”

Joel doesn’t reply. Instead, he cups one of your breasts again and squeezes the nipple tightly between his thumb and forefinger, making you arch you back as a small stab of pain shoots through you. Now that the protective barrier of fabric is gone, you can feel just how rough his skin is against your sensitive spots, how his callouses catch in places your own fingers smoothly glide over. Your head falls back against his shoulder as he pinches your nipple again, as he begins to roll it roughly, pull on it from time to time to hear you hiss.

Joel’s chest rises and falls against your back, hot skin pressing into hot skin, his breath caressing the back of your neck. He runs his nose from your earlobe all the way down to your shoulder, then back up again, but before he reaches the starting point, he sinks his teeth into your neck and bites down, drawing a shivering gasp from you. And then he doesn’t let go. He bites down harder, holding you in place, while cupping your breast with his entire hand, kneading it until your world tilts.

You’re not aware of how desperate you are to find purchase, but the garden and the pool and the sky above right themselves when your hand finds Joel’s thigh. The denim is rough beneath your palm, but he is a rough man so it doesn’t surprise you. What does surprise you though is how hard you have to fight to keep yourself from bucking your hips.

“Joel, stop.”

For just a short little while you had forgot Frankie is there with you, but his voice reminds you with brute force. And when Joel does as he’s told and you are left with nothing to distract you, all you can do is look at your best friend, at his fingers wrapped around that cigarette, and wonder what it would feel like to have him play with your nipple instead of Joel. The painful way your heart constricts at that thought utterly catches you by surprise.

Frankie takes a final drag on his cigarette, flicks the butt away, and clears his throat. “You’ll only do what I tell you to do.”

You shift, the fabric of your underwear rubbing against your clit sending a bolt of desperation through you, mixing with that unbearable longing to create a heady, dangerous cocktail. “Frankie, please.”

Frankie takes you in, and you have no idea what he sees, but he runs his thumb across his bottom lip and asks, “Do you want him to touch you?”

Joel runs his fingers up and down your arm, his touch so light it feels like torture. You try to squirm away but he keeps you trapped against his chest.

You exhale shakily. “Yeah.” There’s a brief moment of hesitation, one that makes your heart flutter as you decide whether you should keep going. You do. “God, I’m so wet.”

Joel’s wandering fingers close around your upper arm like a vise.

But Frankie keeps up his walls. “Show me how wet she is, Joel.”

You don’t think there has ever been a moment in your life where you were more turned on, a single moment where you were less in control of your body and your desires. You try to stand up, your legs trembling like you just finished a marathon, hands wrapped around your dress, ready to pull it all the way down. Joel doesn’t even let you straighten your back. He pulls you back against his chest and wraps an arm around yours before running his free hand down your stomach, not seductively or teasingly but as if he has a task to fulfill. You’ve barely registered the sensation of his fingers against your lower stomach before he has pushed them past the fabric bunched around you hips and into your underwear, and this time you lose the battle against your own body. You roll your hips into his touch as your eyes flutter shut, you push and push, moans and whimpers urging him on. He doesn’t need to be encouraged – he rolls your clit beneath his index finger, just like he rolled your nipple, before dipping it lower, pushing past the muscles at your opening and up into you.

Before you can make sense of it all, he removes his hand and holds up two fingers right in front of your eyes, glistening with your slick. Your chest heaving, you try to catch your breath.

Frankie’s eyes are wide open. “What does she taste like?” he asks, his voice rough as if he hasn’t used it in quite some time.

Joel rubs his thumb against his index and middle finger, toying with your slick. “Don’t you want to find out for yourself?”

Frankie nods so slightly you can’t be sure it really happens, then hides behind a smirk, and you feel something unbearably insisting curl up tightly in the pit of your stomach. “You tell me.”

Suddenly, Joel’s fingers are at your lips, pushing into your mouth. You open up, surprised by the sudden intrusion, and then his thick digits are pressing down against your tongue, making you gag. Tears are filling your eyes, and spit drips out of your mouth as you feel Joel’s hot breath against the shell of your ear.

“Tell him.”

You can’t, not even if you wanted to. Not because you can’t taste yourself on Joel’s skin, not because you can’t talk with his fingers filling up your mouth, but because Frankie flies out of his chair, brow furrowed and fists clenched. Before he can come to your aid, you close your hand around Joel’s wrist and push his fingers even deeper into your mouth, not breaking eye contact with Frankie, not even for a split second.

Joel presses down against your tongue and you suck on his fingers eagerly, but none of that matters to you. The only thing you care about is the red flush creeping up Frankie’s neck and into his cheeks, and the way he keeps closing the distance between the three of you until he’s standing right there, close enough for you to reach out and run your hands up and down his thigh.

Frankie’s hand is warm and heavy as it closes around yours, pulling Joel’s fingers out of your mouth. You gasp, unable to prevent a thin thread of spit from connecting your lips to Joel’s hand. It winks out of existence a second later when Frankie’s mouth clashes against yours, drawing another gasp from you, one that releases months and months of pent-up longing, one that originates deep in your chest but almost dies on your lips, stifled by wonder.

It isn’t a soft kiss, it isn’t even particularly well executed since your teeth clash painfully and Frankie pushes too hard too quickly. He also tastes more like Joel than himself, of beer and cigarettes, but none of that matters. He could have given you a small peck on the cheek and it would have been the greatest kiss you had ever shared with anyone. You feel his breath against your cheek, a shaky exhale, and before you can stop yourself, you find yourself fisting his shirt, fingers clenched so tightly you will never be able to let go again. That is all you ever wanted, all you ever prayed for, and now that you have it, you never want to lose it again.

Eventually, Frankie pulls back ever so slightly and whispers against your lips, “Summer, that’s what you taste like,” and it’s such a corny line it should have you rolling your eyes, but instead you crane your neck and seal your lips to his again, high from the feeling of your tongue in his mouth. He huffs and pushes up against you, but he’s not close enough – there’s still so much space between you. You reach up and grab the collar of his shirt and pull him even closer, but suddenly rough hands grab your arms and hold you back forcefully.

“I wanna go first.” It isn’t a request, that much is clear.

Frankie pulls back and smiles down at you, his face soft and open, searching for any indication you don’t want to do this anymore. Even though you’ve never wanted anyone as much as you want him right now, the thought of him watching while Joel fucks you, utterly in control of the situation, makes you clench around nothing. Frankie can tell – he switches back to his neutral mask in the matter of a second. “You didn’t do as you were told …”

It isn’t a threat, but it might as well be.

Joel hooks a thumb into your mouth and pulls down your bottom lip. You try to bite him again, but he is prepared this time, holding you in place. “Let me come in her mouth at least.”

Frankie grabs Joel’s wrist again and pulls his hand away from your face. “No.”

You have never heard him use that voice before, that kind of voice that makes you snap to attention, that voice that commands people to follow him. You shift, trying to rub your thighs together, but it’s just a primal reaction you have no control over. All your attention is on Joel trying to pull his wrist out of Frankie’s grip, and on Frankie holding him in place, the muscles in his arm straining.

“I’m going to sit back down, and you’re going to fuck her.” Frankie’s voice is so calm it sends a shiver down your spine. “Slowly,” he adds, letting go of Joel’s wrist. “And if you make her come before I tell you to, there’ll be consequences.”

Every muscle in your body tightens. You’re too wound up to rationally consider what Frankie is proposing, too wound up to think about how much you want this and what that might mean. You glance behind you to catch Joel’s reaction, to see if he’s just as affected by Frankie’s proposition as you are, just in time to watch him lick his lips.

“And I get to fuck her however I want?”

Frankie’s gaze shifts to you. It’s nothing more than a glance, a quick check-in, and you nod, just as quickly, just as imperceptibly.

“Yes,” Frankie answers.

Next thing you know, you’re up on the lounger, knees and hands braced against the soft pillows, faded from long summers under the hot Texan sun, focusing on the sounds of Joel unbuckling his belt. You feel your throat tighten at those sounds, leather scraping against skin, metal clicking against metal, but your mouth is too dry to swallow. Joel unzips his jeans, then there’s a rustling sound, followed by a deep, needy groan. It’s enough to make your heartbeat stumble over itself with excitement. You try to turn your head and glance behind you to see what he is doing, but Joel catches your movement and forces your head down, firm grip at the back of your skull.

“Stay.”

To your right, you hear the sound of Frankie shifting in his chair. He doesn’t intervene.

Joel grabs the bunched-up fabric of your dress with both hands and begins to tear it with quick, jerking movements, ruining it. It falls away and glides down to the ground where it comes to rest next to the lounger, leaving you almost completely exposed to Joel. And Joel doesn’t hesitate. He pushes the thin fabric of your underwear aside and sinks into you with one deep, calculated thrust you can feel in your chest.

Your fists clenched, your head hanging low, you try to take it, but his thrusts send shudders of pain up and down your body. It’s not unbearable, and it shouldn’t surprise you; he fucks like he does everything else – rough and with an edge of violence to it – but the stretch is uncomfortable, and the thrusts are greedy, so much so you wish he had surprised you after all.

“Slow down,” Frankie orders, and you lift your eyes to him. A muscle twitches in his jaw, and when Joel does as he’s told, he watches you closely, searching your face for any signs of the discomfort lessening. You shift, your body adjusting to the feeling of being so full, and when Frankie asks, his voice low, “You okay?” you realize that you are. You’re more than okay, actually. Two more shallow thrusts from Joel and you’re completely relaxed.

“Yeah,” you answer, just for Frankie to hear and his lips quirk up in a smile.

“We’re good,” he tells Joel.

Joel’s open palm lands against your ass cheek catching you unawares, as does the moan you let loose at the sudden burst of pain. Frankie swallows, or at least you think he does – you can’t be sure with your eyes flutterin shut. You push back against Joel, eager for more, pulling him deeper inside of you with a greedy clench.

“The way you’re clenchin’ ‘round me makes me think you’ve never had dick before.”

Joel’s voice comes out restrained, the words are punctuated by more slaps, one harder than the last. Their meaning is lost on you as you are reduced to a babbling mess, unable to retain anything that is happening outside of your desire for him. You gush around his cock, hot and wet and wanton, and somewhere between the thrusts and the grunts, you hear a chortle.

“Greedy little thing, aren’t ya.”

That chortle is what pulls you back into yourself, and you risk another glance behind you, hoping that this time he will let you see. He does, and you watch him pound into you, both hands on your hips, denim pulled just low enough to free his cock, dark hairs curling just above it, streaked with bulging veins. He has one knee braced against the lounger, one foot firmly planted on the ground. You almost hate yourself for being so affected by that sight, but you can feel everything tighten, your body begging for release.

“Fuck,” you groan, your voice breathy. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna –”

With a condescending smirk, Joel reaches for your clit. “Go ahead, sunshine.”

You close your eyes, focusing on how you’re clenching around him. You’re so, so close, you can almost taste the release on your tongue. Your mouth hangs open, a moan begins to emerge from someplace deep inside your chest and –

Joel’s hips falter and still, and you can feel yourself flutter desperately around him, but it’s not enough. You glide along his length, coming down from the edge, frustration blossoming in the pit of your stomach. Joel’s fingers rest uselessly against your swollen clit, still as the rest of him, and whenever you try to grind yourself against them, his touch lessens.

“Joel …,” you whine, opening your eyes to look back at him.

It’s not Joel your gaze lands on. It’s Frankie, standing right there next to the lounger, one hand on Joel’s head, fisting his hair, pulling on it so his chin is raised high, his neck exposed, a thick vein pulsing near its base. Joel is breathing heavily, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t try to free himself, while Frankie looks down at him, darkness clouding his features.

“You’ll do as I tell you or I won’t let you come inside of her.”

Frankie lets go of Joel’s hair with a shove to drive home the point. Even now, freed from his restraint, Joel doesn’t fight back. He glares at Frankie as if he’s imagining beating him bloody, but he does like he’s told, removing his fingers from your clit to dig them back into your hip. He picks up the pace again, thrusts a little shallower than before, drawing a sigh of relief from you, scratching that undefinable itch Frankie restraining Joel like that triggered in you. That itch you don’t want to examine too closely right now but that you know you’ll return to.

Frankie pats Joel’s shoulder, two firm raps against the straining muscles. “Good boy.”

You clench so hard around Joel he must notice, but he doesn’t remark on it. He resumes the steady snapping of his hips while your eyes fall shut and drop down to your elbows, those two words floating around your mind like an echo.

Good boy.

A desperate little whimper escapes you, one at least Frankie seems to hear, because he runs two knuckles up and down your spine in a movement that is meant to calm you but shoves you toward the edge with a violent jolt. He must know what he’s doing to you, there is no way he hasn’t noticed. And it should fill you with shame, it should make you resent him, the way you lie bare before him, showing him the most vulnerable parts of yourself, but it only makes you want him more. You open your eyes to find him standing right next to you. This close, you can see how tight his pants stretch over the bulge you hadn’t noticed before, how you think you can even make out a dark spot of precum forming against the fabric. You lick your lips.

“Frankie, please.” Your voice is rough and broken, laced with desperation.

Joel shoves into you so violently you feel the thrust in your throat, but he doesn’t say anything.

Frankie leans down and places a soft kiss against your temple, then runs his thumb across your furrowed brow. “Just tell me when you’re ready.”

You whish you could tell him you’ve been ready ever since he suggested Joel should fuck you, but you can only laugh, a broken sound followed by a hard swallow.

Frankie straightens his back, his eyes bright with excitement. “I see.” He makes his way back over to his chair and sits down, the wood groaning beneath his weight. “Go ahead, Joel.”

Joel picks up the pace, making every thought, every doubt you might have, instantly disappear from your head. His fingers find your clit again, rubbing you hard, and after that it doesn’t take long at all. After that, you let out a deep moan and push back against Joel so hard it makes him lose his rhythm, but it doesn’t matter. You’re coming, pulling him deeper into you as he fucks you through it, letting you squeeze him as you sink deep into pleasure, losing track of your body’s movements.

You come back to the surface when you’re spent, and everything feels sore and tender, but Joel doesn’t stop. There is a burning between your legs now and you hiss, reaching back for him.

Frankie is there next to you again, cupping your cheek. You have no idea when he approached, what made him leave his role as spectator this time, but you instantly relax when you feel his touch on him. “Just a little more,” he murmurs, calming you. “You can take it, I know you can.”

You watch him squeeze the bulge in his pants, and giving it another, harder squeeze when Joel grabs your wrist and pins it to the small of your back. The proof of how much he’s affected by you is enough to chase away the discomfort and rekindle the fire in the pit of your stomach. Your eyes glued to the bulge in Frankie’s pants you wonder what it would be like to feel him thrust into you, chasing his release, to feel him take what he needed from your body, fueled by how much you want him in return.

Finally, Joel stills and spills into you, groaning as his orgasm sparks through him. But your eyes are locked to Frankie’s, as neither of you dares to look away.

THE OUTCOME

The neon sign of the motel casts deep shadows into the cabin of Frankie’s pickup. Your gaze is fixed to the flashing letters, promising vacancy. A car rushes past, its tires whispering against the concrete, still hot from the Texan summer day. You try to ignore the tightness in your stomach, but when a door falls shut with a rattling bang somewhere nearby, you feel that sound like a punch to your gut.

“That was fun,” Joel says from the backseat. He stretches his legs, kicking his foot against your backrest. “If you ever wanna repeat that …” He lets the offer hang there in the air between you.

Frankie grabs the steering wheel tightly, the wood groaning under his skin. “We’ll know where to find you,” he finishes the sentence.

Joel braces both hands against your backrest and leans forward so his lips are close to your ear. “I think I’ll stick around for a while, so if you ever wanna grab some drinks, sunshine …”

Only half-listening, you reply, “Whatever,” fighting down the nausea you’ve been feeling ever since you climbed into Frankie’s truck.

“Whatever,” Joel echoes with a huff, opens the backdoor, and climbs out. “You know, I’ve had better,” he adds, before shutting the door with a loud bang.

“Hey!” Frankie barks, but you shake your head, and Frankie lets him walk away.

It doesn’t matter what Joel says to you. You couldn’t care less. Because as soon as Frankie starts the car, he’ll drive it straight over to your place, say goodnight without really looking at you, and tomorrow, he’ll pretend that none of this happened. Just like he did before. And as much as you hate that thought, you’re going to have to live with it.

As Joel climbs the stairs to the second-floor landing of the motel, you say, “You’ll want to take me home now, right?” It’s best to get it over with as quickly as possible.

The wood groans again, but this time from Frankie loosening his grip. He takes off his cap and runs his fingers through his ruffled curls. You don’t look at him, but you study him out of the corner of your eye, trying to read his face. He puts the cap back on, then slings his arm across the backrest of your seat. “Actually … I was hopin’ you’d come back to my place.”

The nausea you’ve been feeling pricks up its ears with interest and then curls up into a tiny ball, tugged away in a corner of your stomach. “Oh?” you say. And that’s all you manage before he closes the distance between you, his left hand cupping your jaw, his lips brushing against yours, tentatively, asking for permission. You give it to him by fisting his shirt, pulling him toward you, by smiling against his lips, exhaling all the tension in one short giggle, full of relief. He strokes his thumb across your cheek at the same time as you open up for him so he can brush his tongue against yours. You find yourself mirroring him, hand on his cheek, thumb running over the stubble there, relishing the feeling of him being so close.

You pull away first, and he follows you, mouth slightly open, chasing another taste. “What are we gonna do at your place? Do you have more friends who want to fuck me while you watch?” you ask, high from the feeling of his tongue in your mouth, from that promise that he won’t forget about any of this in the morning.

A neon flash lights up Frankie’s face, once, twice, as you watch his cheeks darken with a flush. He takes his time, studying your face closely. “No,” he says, his voice a low rumble, so unfamiliar it draws a smile from him, “I want to fuck you myself.”

If you enjoyed the fic, I'd love to hear from you 🥰 feel free to leave a comment or drop into my inbox anytime ...

dividers by @saradika-graphics

[barcaatthemoon]

"How about a kiss for old time's sake?" with Diana Taurasi please?

see you again || diana taurasi x reader ||

your time at uconn was often forgotten. it had been your ticket into the wnba, but it was your break from being a benchwarmer that solidified you as a household name level player. you went straight from uconn to san antonio. that was the only team you had ever played for, and when they made the switch to vegas, you followed.

the end of your career was coming, and you could feel it. the aches were getting to be overwhelming, but you had given it your all. you had sacrificed a lot to play basketball, and the announcement hadn't really shocked anybody who knew you. you had broken off the bench under the tutelage of becky hammon, and now you were retiring with her as your coach.

"i come back from winning a gold medal, and all i fucking hear about is that you're quitting." diana sounded bitter, and understandably so. aside from games, the two of you rarely spoke with each other. there was no interaction, nothing reminiscent of how you had been in college together. "fucking rookie."

"i'm nowhere close to being a rookie anymore di," you sighed. diana refused to look at you, but you couldn't take your eyes off of her. "i'm sorry for announcing when i did, but it would have come out eventually. i didn't mean to steal your thunder, it was supposed to be a quiet release."

"yeah, like the end of the wnba's ultimate underdog story could ever be quiet or subtle. you were the last one, who the hell am i gonna shoot shit with during games now?" diana asked. you knew that it was more than trash talk that she'd miss. the two of you never recovered from your breakup, not fully. the two of you still kept different friend groups with very little overlap because of how things had ended.

"the new girls are good, and besides, you should start looking to coaching at your old age," you teased. it wasn't completely a joke, not like it had been whenever you had first burst onto the wbna scene. diana had been your favorite senior during your first season at uconn as a freshman, so she had a few years under her belt when you were wallked on.

"shut the hell up. i heard your knees the whole game, sounded like a damn rusty door hinge." diana shoved you playfully. both of you laughed a little at her comment, easing the tension a bit. "i gotta get out of here now. how about a kiss for old time's sake?"

"find me when you're not mad at me anymore, okay?" you grabbed onto diana's jaw and pulled her in for a kiss. it wasn't quite the same as what you remembered, but there would always be an addictive familiarity when it came to diana for you.

[storiesofsvu]

Communication Error

Alex Blake x reader warnings: mild language, hurt/comfort kinda, usual BAU type of situations and violence.

The BAU had been in San Antonio for nearly two weeks already, the team had been called in a little earlier than usual but the case was striking right from the start. You’d spent hours droning over case files, evidence, cold cases and every chance you seemed to get at the unsub he was always a step ahead of you. The final straw was when he broke pattern, kidnapping the daughter of his murder victims rather than leaving her at the scene.

Tensions were running high, press, locals and the upper brass all beating down on the BAU to figure things out quickly and safely. You’d been in close quarters all week, there was not a moment to be had to oneself as everyone was bunking with someone else and everyone was on edge. There had been far too little sleep, an overconsumption of caffeine and definitely not enough food.

It was safe to say everything about the situation was escalated.

It didn’t even matter that you happened to be working the case with your girlfriend, you and Alex had barely had a moment of peace and definitely not a moment of privacy since arriving and no one else on the team knew you were together. JJ and Garcia had been sharing a room up until a pipe burst in their bathroom on the first and now all four of you were crammed together in one dingy hotel room. You were ‘forced’ into sharing the same bed but your subconscious spent the entire time you managed to get sleep fighting itself in a reminder that you shouldn’t exactly be cuddling. Unable to properly communicate over the week lead to both of you being on edge and there was no relief of a little hand hold, a tender kiss pressed to the other’s temple in reassurance or soft ‘I love you’s’ in moments of need.

When you finally caught up with the unsub in a warehouse on the outskirts of town everyone was on high alert, vests on, guns at the ready and attempting to make a plan about what was going to go down. Garcia had found a back entrance into the warehouse, one that it seemed the unsub was unaware of and it was certain you would be going in through there to retain the element of surprise. Problem was it was only big enough for one person to finagle their way through.  

“Wilson!” The local swat team leader called out and your head shot up.

“Yes sir?”

“I’m givin’ you the lead with this, you comfortable doing that?”

“Yes sir, of course.” You glanced over to Hotch, watching as his jaw tensed ever so lightly before giving you a once over and a trusting nod.

“Are you sure about that?” Alex suddenly asked and your brow furrowed at her, unsure if she was directing your question to you, Hotch or swat.

“I have complete confidence Wilson can do it.” Hotch replied, “I’d expect everyone on the team to trust my judgment.”

“This unsub is convoluted,” Alex continued, “he twists things around, he’s incredibly hard to read, and according to the profile he’s not afraid to take anyone out to get away.”

“And she knows all that.” Aaron nodded toward you and you returned the gesture while swat continued to fully suit you up.

“I just think that maybe a more experienced member of the team should be going in.” Alex protested and this time your head shot up to hers, a mixture of hurt and offended drawn across your face.

“Excuse me?”

“This guy, he’s duplicitous, he’ll talk riddles around you to draw your attention away from what he’s doing to get the jump on you.”

“Oh, so you’re not just doubting my ability to do my job, now you’re calling me stupid.”

“I think it’s a bad idea.”

“And for every second we stand out here while you berate me we’re wasting time and losing the opportunity to save that girl. I’m suited up, I know what I’m doing and last time I checked I didn’t need your vote of confidence to do my job.”

You glanced towards Hotch who simply stood his ground, nodding to you once again before you turned back to swat to get your ear piece put in and were quickly guided around the building. There was only a beat of silence before Alex spoke up again.

“Hotch I really think this is a bad idea. She’s the newest to the team, she’s barely worked three full cases, there’s been more paperwork than unsubs—”

“Blake.” He cut in, voice stern, “you’re out of line. Wilson has almost four years of hostage negotiation with NYPD under her belt, not only does she have a very good understanding of what she’s doing, she’s the best out of all of us to go in there. I wouldn’t even put my own skills above hers today. So you can either head back to the cars, or you can join us in having your team member’s back.”

Alex took a deep breath, sucking down any and all responses she had but Hotch didn’t miss the way her nostrils flared, her eyes tense as she bit her lip and shut up. Instead her hands went back to her hips, one already stationed ready over her gun as she tried to control the way her heart was hammering in her chest. While she certainly hadn’t known about your specific role with NYPD and was a little less worried about you being in there alone, she still didn’t want you getting hurt. You’d been in deep with this one, relating a little too much to the kidnapped victim and she was worried about what you might do to get her free. Now all she could do was wait.

She honestly wasn’t sure if it was the way her blood was pumping so loudly in her ears, or if there really was that much static over her earpiece. She could hear your hushed voice crackling through every so often as you cleared the first couple of rooms, making sure to check in with your team, she faintly heard something else and by the way Morgan’s eyes shot toward the warehouse she was certain you’d found the unsub. This was the part she hated the most, she wanted to be in there with you, or at least in your ear, guiding you through what could very much help you talk this guy down if your own tactics didn’t seem to be working. It was driving her insane that none of them could hear what you were saying, it was clear you had adjusted your radio to attempt to keep the audio button pressed down, pinched between your belt and hip but it still kept cutting in and out.

If you had asked, she could have sworn they were standing outside of that goddamn building all night, the anxiety coursing through her body causing her muscles to tense, nearly aching by the time Reid’s head shot up.

“She’s coming out!”

In reality it had been just over forty minutes. But those forty minutes had been absolutely agonizing as she prayed for your safety while still trying to focus enough to stay sharp and do her job.

The door to the warehouse booted open and the unsub was the first to appear, cuffs on his wrists, hands on his head. You had one hand sturdy on his shoulder while the other one was being clutched by the girl on your side. Swat hustled in, quickly taking the guy down to the ground while they did a more thorough search before escorting him to the car. The team relaxed, the tension surging through them finally beginning to melt away as you glanced around the lot, beginning to lead the girl over to them.

Somehow, you heard it first and your ears picked up that it was coming from behind you, a shot fired from the roof of the warehouse. There was a cacophony of yelling, screams and very sudden nearly panicked rush of movement. All you could think of was making sure that the girl made it out in one piece, shoving her in front of you as you nearly hit the ground, enveloping her in your embrace.

“GO!” Hotch’s yell was barely audible over your ringing ears, “Morgan take the back.”

Gusts of air raced passed either side of you and a rock must’ve been kicked up, your arm began to sting, pain beginning to prickle through your body. You heard another couple of shots ring through the night air and wrapped tighter around the girl.

“He’s running.” Alex’s voice was suddenly at your side, her hand gently resting on your shoulder and you were able to relax, your hand still tightly clutched in the girl’s.

“Then go!” You urged her, waving in the proper direction.

“You’re hit. I’m not going anywhere.” She insisted and the pain in your arm suddenly increased by a tenfold.

“I’m fine!” You assured her, glancing down to see the tear in your shirt, looking to the ground in front of you, you spotted the bullet, still in one piece and nearly as clean as it had come out of the gun.

“No you’re not. You’re bleeding.” Alex’s fingers delicately tugged at the fabric of your sleeve trying to get a better look at it.

“It’s barely a scrape! Go help the team.”

“I don’t care!” She nearly snapped back and when you finally looked up and caught her gaze there was a misting of tears in her eyes, “you are what’s important to me right now.”

“Okay.” You nodded softly, standing to your full height and scooping up the girl with your non injured side to carry on your hip over to the medics.

Alex couldn’t help herself, chewing on her fingernail as the paramedic urged you into the back of the ambulance for better lighting. She could feel her leg shaking and finally succumbed to the pressure, beginning to pace, her feet kicking at the gravel a welcomed distraction until the medic jumped down from the bus. Her head shot up, catching the moment you dropped down to sitting on the back of the rig, an orange juice in your non injured hand.

“You okay?” She asked timidly, approaching you.

“Yeah.” You nodded, gesturing toward the bandage on your arm, “just a graze, no stitches necessary.”

“Oh thank god.” She let out a huge breath, the relief flooding through her body all at once so intensely she had to drop down beside you and you were quick to catch her trembling hand in yours.

“Alex… I’m fine. We’re both fine. We’ve both seen and handled worse.”

She made a meek noise, avoiding your gaze as her fingers tapped a rhythm on her thigh and against your palm. A brief silence over took the back of the rig while she calmed herself and made an attempt at sorting her thoughts.

“I’m sorry.” She finally spoke, “I was out of line.” She risked a glance up at you, “please know that I have never and will never doubt your abilities, you’re incredible at what you do. I was just scared. I guess… I guess I was putting personal thoughts above professional ones, and I had no idea about you being a hostage negotiator.”

“It never came up.” You shrugged, “and I shouldn’t have snapped back either.” You smiled softly, squeezing at her hand, “it’s been such a long week, we’re all exhausted. And I know that’s no excuse…”

“Still a contributing factor.” She finally cracked a small smile and you laughed softly, leaning in to leave a gentle kiss on her cheek.

“How did two people with careers built on clear and concise communication skills end up sucking at it when it comes to outside of work?” You asked with a laugh, pulling one from Alex.

“I don’t know.” She softly squeezed your hand, “it’s something to work on.” Her hand wrapped around you, pulling your head to her so she could leave a tender kiss on your temple. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The sound of a boot on gravel broke through your little happy moment and both of your heads shot up to find Hotch standing in front of you, a brow raised in your direction.

“If you’d like you can keep pretending the entire team didn’t already know, but in the future I’d hope it doesn’t affect any of our cases.”

“Yes sir.”

“Sorry sir.”

“And I expect that paperwork on my desk by the time we land.” He eyed you for a moment before his lips split into a small smile, “good work today Wilson. I’m glad you have someone like Blake to have your back, even if she does get a bit pushy at times.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that burst from your mouth as Alex let out a scoff, Hotch turning away with a gleam in his eye.  

_____________

@svulife-rl rl @clarawatson @hbkpop @momlifebehard @itisdoctortoyousir @temilyrights @alexxavicry @evilregal2002 @ladysc @dextur @disneyfan624 @augustvandyne @supercriminalbean @lex13cm @happenstnces @whiteberryx @geekyandgay98 @onmykneesformarvel @inlovewithemilyprentiss @desperate-gay @amypoehlfey @overtrred28 @emobabeyy @leftoverenvy @daddy-heather-dunbar @regalmilfs4me @scorpsik @riveramorylunar @h-doodles @maybe-a-humanbean @rustyzebra @s1ut4nat @inlovewithmiddleagewomen @tommyriddleobsessed @ollysmulti @kmc1989 @irishavengersassemble @ara-a-bird @hopedoesntknow @dj-bynum3718 @venromanova @noahrex @imlike-so-gaydude @nachofriess @cx-emerald-cx cx @momily @moonlightjxuregui @gamma-rae-bursts

[teezersfics]

Money, Revenge & Sex ~ Choi San

“Oh, and my name is San, in case you need to moan.”

♡ EROTICA ATEEZ ♡

Warnings : Pirate-Cowboy!Dom!San, Cowgirl!sub!reader, unprotected sex, little mention of abuse. Plot at the beginning and the end, mostly plot based. Plot-twist(?), no proof read.

Word count : 3.1 k

I hope you like the...........plot?!?!??!? 😬

Sitting at one of the stools at the tavern, you are scanning the crowd, trying to find the most anticipated faces. The Pirate King and His Crew, one of the most deadly pirates to exist in the present world. Who were rumoured to be on the shore of Puerto Escondido, (Mexico), around this week, for a secret mission, and, you suspect, what can it be.

Lord Antonio, the most popular and wealthy dealer of South Mexico, asked ATEEZ, a Pirate group consisting of the most deadliest crew in this world, for help, to gain power over the southern ports of Mexico. He asked for this favour some years ago. By providing some of the best types of products from all over the world to Mexico, by eliminating all the cunning Mayor's of the towns alongside the southern coast, to bring him the control of those towns. Initially, Antonio's intention of gaining the power was to provide good amenities to the people of the coast, avoid them from facing assaults and loots from other pirates, etc.

But, as time passed, Antonio grew greedy for more and more money. He started keeping all the money eventually, growing his domination over the ports and trades happening in South Mexico. When the news reached the Government, they sent the Navy to gain back control, and execute Antonio. But, with all the power he had, he fooled the Navy, and killed many Navy officers. He crushed all of the attempts of the Navy and the government.

There was a deal, happened between ATEEZ and Antonio, that whenever ATEEZ pays a visit to Mexico, Antonio will pay them 1/4th of the profit he gained every month. But, he broke the deal, only paying for the first two months, later on he pretended to be busy, to have gone somewhere, tried to hide and what not. When ATEEZ heard all the news about how much Antonio has turned the tables with his promises and declarations, and how much serious crimes he committed, that he had a big bounty on his head and also an execution order.

It's been two years since Antonio has been deceiving many, including ATEEZ. Because of non-frequent visits at Mexico, it was not possible to carry out the execution mission of Antonio sooner, but now was the time. And that is why they are here, in the Tavern, disguised as some of the local Mexican men, so that to fool Antonio's men from recognising them. Well, this plan was secret, but one of the men of Antonio, sailing in sea for fishing, saw Destiny(ATEEZ's ship) from far, letting their men know that ATEEZ were here.

The vibe of the tavern party, is something that you adore with your heart. The whole tavern is filled with melodic voices of Vihuela, Accordion, Trumpet, and other instruments. People having glasses of tequila and beer in their hands above their heads, bodies grooving to the music, the dim lighting in the Tavern coming from few of the candles and oil lamps here and there. But, your eyes are trained on one particular person.

A man, buff, wearing only a piece of black jacket, with fringes attached to it, flowing independently on his torso, studs decorating the linings of the jacket. The jacket, doing bare minimum to hide his upper body. You wonder why did he even wore the jacket for? Wearing tight leather pants underneath, a Black cowboy hat on his head, completing his look. A black scarf around his neck and mouth, making it hard for everyone to see his face. But, the way his eyes are just so inviting, so captivating. It's like a Maelstrom is sucking a ship inside of it, and the crew can do nothing but see helplessly, getting sucked in. Especially, his TITS. More distracting than his eyes. The way his fringe jacket is doing nothing to cover his chest. As if he is just showing, he ‘tried’ to cover up, but well…….

The fact that you can actually tell he is Pirate. As a dealer yourself, you've had quite the experience dealing with pirates. And, pirates can be easily recognised by the sword wounds, types of tattoos, their build, rough-torn hands scratched by the splinters of the heavy ropes that they heave, and more other things.

Basically, you figured it out that pirates are already here, blending in with the crowd, wearing Mexican costumes and accessories to blend in with the crowd, mostly covering their faces. The way they are swaying to the music, as if they are pre celebrating their revenge victory over Antonio.

As, they are grooving to the music, you can't help but continuously scan him, the way his body moves to the music, the way his muscles flexes when he raise his hands up in joy. You can't help but feel the need to touch that body of his. Also, the tequila you had, slowly has started to kick in your nerves, making your grow more bolder and risk everything just to have a chance with him. Chugging down the last sip of your tequila, you join the dance.

Without wasting time, you get straight to the point, dancing a little too close to him, almost all over him. But in a way your back facing him. It doesn't takes long for him to study your moves and spins you around by your arm almost making you collide with his chest, his hands goes straight to your lower back, holding you while without wasting time your hands are on his chest, finally feeling the contours of his buff chest. So round and heavy in your hands that you forget dancing for a moment. But his hands on your back, helps you get back to the beat, moving you along the music. Without anything else in your mind, you start dancing, moving your body along with him. It was as if you were not following the rhythm, but you were following him, following the way his body moved.

Your hands were all over his torso, but not for much. Your hands were itching to go lower and sooner you were tugging on his pants and belt. Caressing his upper thighs. He got the hint and finally he spoke, mouth over your ear, even though he was wearing mask, you could still feel the warmth.

“Tu nombre, bonita?” (your name, pretty?) He asked.

It was quiet funny because he was purposefully speaking in Spanish to keep his disguise on. But, you just laugh at it.

“You are good at Spanish.”

His brows are furrowed, not quiet getting what you meant.

“Ofcourse, because I live here!”

You roll your eyes, you get that they have a mission, but it's still funny for you. Also, letting him know that you know him is dangerous move, because he is Pirate after all, he can kill you right away if you slip.

Eventually, his hands starts getting lower, now on your hips. Your bodies a literally pressed together. Oh, how bad you wanna take that scarf off his face. He literally smelled like tequila, some intoxicating herb, and sweat. He was taking over your mind.

‘If I don't get fucked by thus man right now, I might go more Feral.’ Thus was your thought process at the moment and you unknowingly grind forward on him. It was as if your body decided to do it on it's own. Not sure if he'd like it or not, String of ‘Sorry's’ come out of your mouth. But, his grip remains firm on you.

Rather, he buries his head in crook of your neck. He whispered,

“Seems like, you will make me do, what I am not supposed to right now.”

Goosebumps all over your body, you exactly knows what he means. But, you want him to do, exactly what he is not supposed to. So, you swirl your hands more on hiUs body, especially his tits, and you feel how his nippels perks up in some seconds. It's the limit for him.

Holding your wrist he drags out out of party. One of his men see him, stopping him to whisper something in his ear.

“What are you doing? It's not the time.” He says.

“Don't worry, I'll be right back.” He assures the other man with a wink.

He takes you to one of the storage rooms, at the back of the Tavern.

As soon as he closes the door, he wastes no time in pinning you to the door, taking his scarf off and kissing you. Open mouth from the start, he was so desperate to have his mouth on you. So rough that, you were constantly falling out of breathe. His both hands cupping your cheeks, shoving his head in yours. Tongues inside each others mouths. But you pull him away because you didn't get the chance to see him properly.

You were already drowned in his eyes, but now that you see his full face you are mesmerised. You are seeing such a handsome pirate for the first time. The moles on his face, sharp features, the scar on his lips is like the cherry on top. (Imagine Toji's scar)

You don't wait to kiss the scar on his lips, slowly, licking it, he is surprised but soon takes control, biting on your lower lip again and again, now hands on your hips, massaging them, which brings out a moan from you.

“Fuck, your moans are so pretty. Can't wait to hear you moan my name.”

“Then tell me what's your name.” You cock an eyebrow at him. But, it can't beat the perfect smirk on his face.

He drags you to one of the tables in the room, bending you immediately. His hands work on your long skirt, pulling it down along with your panties. You are shocked by his speed. You wanted to get fucked so badly, but he was more into this business than you. While at the same time you removed your shirt. But, as his hand comes to your clit, a long sigh leaves your mouth. Making your legs shiver. It's been a long, very long time. He rubs on your clit, later getting to your folds. He is surprised.

“Oh look, how wet you are already.” You can hear the squelching sound from his rubbing on your folds. But, your legs are not wide enough for him. So he spreads your legs with his own, making your entrance easier for access.

“Hmm, that's more like it.”

He enters one of his finger in your hole, getting a yelp from you. His finger just continues to enter you more and more. You saw his fingers were long, but they feel longer inside you. When he starts thrusting his single finger inside you, it's already numbing your head. You lay your head on the table, cheek flat on the surface.

“Oh fuck-” is all you can say.

“It's just the start, bonita.” He says sliding in another finger. You moan, the feeling is too amazing that you bang your fist on the table. You back was arching, giving him the best angle. He comes down to reach your ear.

“You are a mess, just on my finger. What will happen when you take my dick?” He chuckles right over your ear, sending goosebumps right to your pussy. But, it was a mind blowing feeling when he started scissoring inside of you, as if your pussy would explode anytime with pleasure.

You can hear the sound of the shuffling, he unbuckles his pants, removing them halfway down. Palming his cock through his boxers, he throws his head back, with the thought that next minute his cock will be inside you. He is getting you ready to take him, thrusting his fingers harder on you. It almost feels as if you'd come on his fingers already. But his motion stops. Finally removing his boxers, he strokes his hard dick, spreading his pre cum all over his length.

He spreads his both fingers that are still inside you, making your hole wider, which makes you scream in both pain and pleasure. He rubs his cock on your folds, using your wetness as lube. It's already too much for you. He comes down to you again, to whisper in your ear.

“Oh, and my name is San, in case you need to moan.”

He goes back again, now slowly pushing his cock in. You can hear him sigh loudly.

“Gosh, one of the tightest pussy I've had in a while.” This had you already clenching around him.

After a moment he starts moving. “Fuck San. You- you are too big.”

His thrusts are shallow at first, but sooner he starts gaining momentum. He starts ramming into you and all you could do is grip the table for your dear life. If this keeps going on, the table is gonna leave scratch marks on your stomach. You can hear him groan from behind.

“Ah, San….San fu- fuck.”

“You enjoy getting fucked like this, don't you.” He scoffs. He knew the power he held on you. The loud noises of skins slapping on each other, the squelching sound of your pussy, his groans everything was so overwhelming. You turn your head a slightest bit to get a view of him, and oh! The way his chest is fully covered in sweat, his hairs sticking to his temple because of sweat, droopy eyes. Oh! How much you wished that you kissed him right now and roamed your hands in his hairs. This position was amazing but you wished it was more convenient, also, your legs can give out at any second. He seemed to have noticed that.

“Is this position causing you trouble baby?” He whispers in your ear.

“You wanna see me better? Wanna see how I fuck you?”

All you could do is nod.

“Very well! Then let's switch. You will stand up for me, right baby?”

Nodding, he removes himself from you and you sigh at the feeling of emptiness. But standing up you face him and the next thing you know he lifts you up by your hips and sets you on the table.

Spreading your legs wide by his large hands, he lines up his cock on your clit. Pecking you quickly on the lips he said.

“Let's get this done. Okay?”

He enters you again and your head falls in the crook of his neck. It's just you are not used to his size. The most beautiful man you have ever fucked. How much you wished he stayed around for much more or you could get to see him more. The sudden urge to mark him yours raised and so you started leaving hickeys on his neck and chest as he pounded in you.

But, when he unexpectedly traced the long scar on your torso, it made you visibly flinch. Something that you considered as your biggest flaw.

“A scar, this long, as if you were scraped by a sword.”

“Hmph, yeah. It was a sword.”

“Who would do this to such a beautiful lady like you.”

You take a deep breath.

“M- My father.”

“Why?”

“Be- because I am doing my w- work by going against him. So he tried to kill me because, he- he thinks I am his competition.”

“How insecure he can be. But, it's okay baby, no one can hurt you when I am here.”

The way he speaks, it makes you cling more to him, to rely on him. He is a complete stranger with no business in your pain, but he still assures to protect you. Now is the time. You can tell him what you want to, right at this moment. This can be, he can be your chance of fleeing away from here. And so you finally say it.

“S- San, I know where the key is- the key to Antonio's grand safe.”

He couldn't believe his ears that he stopped his movements.

“What are you saying?” He is purely confused.

“I know you are from ATEEZ, and I know you are here to revenge Antonio.”

He shaked his head, still believing this was fake.

“This fuck so good, I am hallucinating.” He said, trying to make sense of the situation.

“No San, I will help you get to the safe and locate Antonio.”

“Why?”

“Because I want justice too and wanna flee away from here.”

He scrunched his eyebrows, not knowing which question would get him all of the answers he needed to know. So he asked.

“How do you know about all this? Who are you?”

“Because, I am Antonio's daughter.”

The room is dead silent. His grip tightening on your waist. You just wish this doesn't go downhill. But, when he starts to move again, you yelp sudden thrust. His head in the crook of your neck, and you can feel him smile.

“I decided to fuck right women, I guess?” He scoffed. The way all of the weight from your shoulder vanished.

“If I didn't approached you, this moment would have never happened.” You reply to him, and he laughs.

He slowly increases his speed, coming to the climax. His thrusts are fast and deep, trying to reach as far as possible into you. This had you moaning loudly, into his ear, moaning his name, which is driving him more crazy.

“Shit- San, I am close.”

“Do it, cum for me.”

After few more thrusts, you both hit your climax, cumming into you, he hit a few more thrusts to ride out both of your highs. Removing himself from you, he gets dressing shortly while you lay back on the table, exhausted from the sex.

After he is dressed, he helps you get dressed, shocking you, because you didn't expect him to help you. You thought he would rather ask for the key and Antonio, and get back to his team. He notices you expression.

“What? Don't you wanna get ready, we have a mission.”

‘We’, oh! How you hope this ‘We’ remains forever.

Later, that night, they were able to get the key with your help, and get back all of their money. The remaining money, that neither ATEEZ owned nor Antonio, they rained that money upon the town at the dawn which rightfully belonged to towns’ people, later capturing Antonio, tying him up, and throwing him in middle of town's Square, letting people decide his fate, which they did by beating him up, submitting him to the government, leading to his public execution. No matter how bad he treated you, he was still your father, you still felt bad. But now you had nothing you can call yours in the town, and San knew it. He offered you to join Destiny, Ateez's crew, and you accepted.

You are standing in front of the ship and the man you are going to spend the rest of your life with, him, offering you a hand to step on the ship, him and his crew, Welcoming you aboard, to start a new life.

[bad268]

Can you please write a Pezzy x gn! reader for the truth or hydrate stream, where the reader admits that they’d date Pezzy & find him attractive (and maybe make some suggestive jokes), and how he & the others would react? I love your writing, by the way, keep up the great work!

Confess or Drink (Pezzy X Reader)

Fandom: RPF/Miscellaneous

Requested: Clearly (did I start this the same way as the last one? Yes. Why? Because it’s from the same video, but trust, I did change it lol)

Warnings: Mentioned reader being on Adderall

POV: First Person (I/me)

W.C. 1547

Summary: A little too much alcohol and a little too much confessed.

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(^Pinterest)

“What’s up gamers? How y’all doing today?” Droid started off as people began flooding into the stream. I was grabbing a couple of drinks from the fridge as the guys bantered back and forth before sitting next to Pezzy, closer to the computer to read the chat. “Someone wanna explain bruh? It’s a lot.”

“Bitch, it’s your thing!” Grizzy laughed along with Puffer and Pezzy while rolled my eyes and cracked open a Mike’s. 

“Geez, we’re doing truth or drink,” Droid explained, going into deeper detail. Puffer, jokingly, started snoring, so Droid said, “Aye, quiet down in the back, yeah?”

“Chat says it's a slumber party,” I laughed, pointing out since the message was highlighted. 

“Guys, take your shoes off, stay awhile. Slumber party!” Pezzy joked, enthusiastically. “Are your feet stinky?”

“Please don’t. I do not need chat spamming about feet for the next 2 hours,” I groaned as I leaned back. Droid was already pulling his shoes off and trying to smell them. “Can you not?”

“I can smell them from here actually! Those actually smell,” Puffer complained. Droid tried to smell his feet again, and he made a face before putting his shoes on.

“You realized they stink?” I asked rhetorically, chuckling as I took a drink. “Okay, what are we doing?”

“This is the dealio,” Droid started. “Truth or drink. If someone doesn’t want to answer a question, they have to take a shot.”

“Oh, this was meant to be hot sauce?” Grizzy asked, looking at the box.

“Yeah, it's a Hot Ones game,” I laughed, leaning over Pezzy to point at the box.

“He’s a pussy, dude,” Pezzy stated.

“Y’all keep it at 89 fucking degrees in this house. You think I want hot sauce right now?” Grizzy emphasized.

“That’s all Pezzy, bruh,” Droid muttered.

“Ok, ladies,” I interrupted. “Let’s just do the first card. Puffer can start ‘cause he’s at the end. Simple.”

“And this is why we have you,” Pezzy laughed. “Keep us on track.”

“Oh, yeah have the person who relies on Adderall to keep y'all on track,” You responded sarcastically. “Makes sense to me.”

“Okay, guys. What is the most embarrassing thing you’ve done?” Puffer read off the card before turning his attention to the rest of us.  

“I shit my pants in a car ride home with my friends,” Grizzy said immediately. We all started talking over each other until Grizzy interrupted us, “I was like 8, bro!”

“I got one,” Puffer paused as Droid said that he knew it. “I fell in the San Antonio River.”

“OH! What the fuck?!” Droid shouted. All of us started laughing as Puffer told the story of the bike breaking and flinging him into the river. “There’s no ladder, so once you’re in, you’re in.”

“My dad took me to the track,” Droid started, going into a long story about how he shit himself immediately after arriving home. “I think I was just relieved to be home and I made it far enough.”

“Mine was when I was in school and I trusted a fart too much,” Pezzy began. “I had to call my mom and say I shit my pants.”

“Holy shit, guys! Literally!” I laughed as I finished my first drink. “While I did not shit myself after age 6, I ‘fell’ into the fountain in Las Vegas during the national anthem once for $100. Try explaining you’re broke to the police and them not believing you.”

“That’s crazy dude,” Pezzy laughed.

“Crazy? I was crazy once-”

“NO stop!”

~

“Who would you trade lives with?”

“Puffer?” Droid and Grizzy eyed him.

“Nah, I’m good. My answer is I’m good,” Puffer said fast.

“I think I’d be down to swap with Pezzy,” I chuckled, looking over to him. I held up my drink as if to cheers with him. “What do you say?”

“I’m down,” He agreed, clanking his bottle with mine.

~

“Who have you fantasized about in your life that you shouldn’t have? No celebrities allowed,” Pezzy read. 

“Pezzy. Next question,” I said quickly.

“Why? Do you not want to admit who you’ve fantasized about?” Puffer laughed causing the rest to start laughing as well.

“What? I answered already,” I replied confused, ”It’s y’all’s turn.”

“Wait, you’re blushing!” Grizzy pointed out as he started wheezing.

“You’re answer was Pezzy?!” Droid shouted in disbelief. Everyone was still cracking up, and Pezzy was leaning back against the couch, hiding his face behind his hands.

“Yes!” I shouted back. I leaned forward as I pointed back at Pezzy. “Have you SEEN him? He’s hot!”

“Can we not talk about this live and drunk?” Pezzy intervened.

“No! This guy thinks it's so random that I find you hot!”

“It’s because of his nose right?” Droid shouted as he pointed at Pezzy, “I fucking told you! I knew that shit was pleasing someone!”

“Okay, I’d rather not talk about my sex life on live, my guy,” I drew the line. Despite being pretty drunk, I knew that would be a slippery slope.

“Well, it looks like you’re gonna have to. What was your most recent porn search?” Droid asked. Everyone started complaining, saying they were going to take a shot.

“I will take the shot dude,” I laughed, already downing the Crown. “Wait I got a question. Do any of you dabble in the hentai?”

Immediately, the boys responded with “Yes.”

My eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets as I cringed at all of them. “Y’all are fucking gross. Do y’all feel disgusting afterward because damn that's actually nasty.”

“I have gone so far down that rabbit hole, it is not even funny,” Pezzy admitted. 

“You are really feeling those drinks, huh” Grizzy laughed. 

“Yes, I am,” Pezzy responded definitively.

“We did not need to know you that personally, Pezzy,” I laughed, taking a shot.

“Seems like you wanted to know him pretty personally,” Puffer muttered as he took a drink.

“Yes, but not that kind of personally,” I laughed. “I’m gonna head out before I destroy my career more than I already have. If someone wants to follow me,” I jokingly coughed out Pezzy’s name, “I’ll be in my room.”

“I don’t think I want to continue living in this house, knowing what you two will be doing in there,” Grizzy grimaced as he stood up and left the room. 

“Meg’s gonna pick me up. Yall can stay the night if you really need out,” Puffer offered as Droid ended the stream and started cleaning up around the living room. 

That’s when they all noticed that Pezzy was still sitting on the couch. He was not making any move to move either, so naturally, Droid, being the nosey guy he is, asked about it. “Are you really gonna let this opportunity go? They practically asked you to meet in their room.”

“We’re both drunk,” Pezzy groaned. “I’m not gonna take advantage of them like that. We’ll talk in the morning or something.”

“Are you sure you’ll even remember it in the morning?” Puffer asked as Grizzy came back with water bottles for everyone.

“The love of my life just admitted that they found me hot. I will definitely remember this in the morning,” Pezzy sighed before standing and heading to his room for the night.

The next morning, the house was eerily quiet when I walked into the kitchen. There was a note on the table, saying that Grizzy and Droid went to Puffer’s house for the night. I just shrugged to myself and moved around the kitchen. I opened a bottle of Sprite and left it open on the counter while I started making breakfast. Not anything too complex, just simple eggs.

It did not take long for Pezzy to come walking into the kitchen and sit at the island. I turned my head back to see him with his head resting against his forearms on the granite. I chuckled to myself before asking, “How do you want your eggs?”

“Scrambled, please,” He groaned as he turned his head to look at me. That’s when he noticed that his view was blocked by the Sprite bottle. “What’s with the Sprite? Isn’t it a bit early for soda?”

“Flat Sprite is the best cure for a hangover,” I replied as I mixed up and cooked the eggs. “I think I ran out of ibuprofen last time, and we could split it if you want. We’ll need to talk about last night at some point. Grizzy and Droid won’t be back until later.”

“Why don’t we go for lunch?” Pezzy offered as he took a couple of drinks of the Sprite. “We could take the bike.”

“I literally just made eggs,” I groaned holding out the pan for him to see that they were almost finished cooking. 

“Give it to the dog,” He laughed, standing up to wrap his arms around my waist as he leaned his head on my shoulder. “It’ll be my treat.”

“As long as I get to rev your bike at least once, I’m down,” I countered, leaning back into his chest. 

“You can rev it all you want,” He smirked, rubbing his face in my neck.

“Okay, you ruined it,” I laughed as I pushed away from him. “Go get ready while I give this to the dog.”

~~ Part 2 ->

~~~~~

© BAD268 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

[viking-raider]

Lucky Bear

Summary-> Sy's coming down from anesthesia after a procedure and shows his true feelings about you.

Pairing-> Austin "Sy" Syverson/Reader

Word Count-> 564

Warnings-> PG: FLUFF, Cotton Candy Fluff, Light Teasing

Inspiration-> This Instagram Video

Author’s Note-> This is a work of Fiction!

Divider by->  @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

-> If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST as well as my @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!’ Ao3-> DRAGON_DWELLER

You helped Sy through the automatic doors of the hospital, arm hugged around his lean waist and a hand gripping his thick forearm as you guided him towards the parking lot.

“How are you feeling, Bear?” You asked, helping him navigate the step down off the curb.

“Humph.” Sy grunted, leaning his shoulder against yours as the bright sun shined into his blue eyes.

Chuckling, You let go of his arm to pull your car keys out of your back pocket and press the unlock button. “In we go, Bear.” You cooed, opening the passenger door and before you could stop him, Sy flopped his beefy, six-two frame into his seat. “Easy.” You gently scolded him, then closed the door and hustled around to the driver’s seat.

You glanced over at Sy, starting the car, and found him looking at you with a million mile stare, since his anesthesia still hadn’t completely worn off yet. “Hi.” You smirked at him. “Are you hungry?” You asked, cocking your head.

Sy slowly shook his head. “Maybe.” He mumbled, blinking rapidly for a moment, before blankly staring again.

“All right.” You laughed, amused by the vulnerable state he was in. “Are you sleepy?”

“Yeah.” He sighed, nodding.

“Yeah, I’m sure you are.” You nodded back. “We’ll go home and take a nap.”

Sy’s brow twitched and a slight look of confusion filled his Aegean eyes. “You know where I live?”

“I do.” You answered, biting back a grin and giggle.

“Does my wife know, that you know?”

You closed your eyes and pressed your lips together, the giggle sounding in your throat before composing yourself. “I do know where you live. I live there with you.” You informed him, lightly. “And I’m your smexy wife, Austin.”

Sy’s eyes grew at your words, lips parting in a soft ‘oh’. “I got to marry you?”

“Yeah.” You replied, nodding slowly. “We are married and have three kiddos.”

“You’re…” His wide unblinking eyes scanned you. “You’re so beautiful. How did I get you?”

“Well, my dear Bear, it was a Sunday night in San Antonio and I was trying to enjoy a night out with a few friends, when this Southern boy, dressed in his Army fatigues, came up to me and asked if I ever tried the best BBQ Texas ever produced.” You told him, with a fond upturned corner of your mouth. “Obviously, I had not, and he insisted on taking me to get some. I couldn’t resist that handsome smile and mischievous blue eyes. So, a rack of ribs and a couple drinks later, we were almost inseparable. If you don’t count five deployments in six years, with a proposal in our fourth year together.”

Sy’s numbed brain processed your words. “Thank you.” He said, his features softening.

“For what, Sy?” You frowned, shaking your head.

“For putting up with me. Loving me. Waiting for me and marrying me.” He told you, his expression faltering.

Your heart skipped and you leaned over, hugging your arms around his shoulders. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, Bear.” You whispered against his bearded cheek. “Now,” You pulled back, giving his forehead a peck. “Let’s get you home and rested up.” You said, turning towards the steering wheel and pulling out of the parking space.

“Yeah, home.” Sy agreed, his eyes still adoringly on you, feeling like the luckiest man.

[harrysgal]

I DIG YOUR CINEMA (5)

harry styles x yn aspiring filmmaker — social media AU

About the smau: yn starts posting videos on youtube and is trying to build a career as a filmmaker. Things are going pretty well for her and she starts getting more attention when she creates content about shows she goes to. She’s also a fan of Harry’s music and some of his fans start getting suspicious when his team starts interacting with her.

Disclaimer: The story it’s set in 2021 and it will follow their relationship through the LOT leg in the US. Since this is nothing but fiction, I will be following some of the real timeline but also adding my own stuff. On top of that, I won’t be basing myself on Harry’s actual posts.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

PART 4 — THE VIDEO // MASTERLIST

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I DIG YOUR CINEMA (PART 5) — FROM SAN ANTONIO TO DALLAS

liked by bestfriend, sisterinlaw, cuteguy and 63,157 others 

yourinstagram sightseeing tonight 😍 getting to know these cities only gets better and better guys 

view all 9,105 comments

harryfan7 was this before or after dinner with harry? 😏

↳ harryfan3 stoppp. my heart cant take it ↳ harryfan11 no bc the idea of them walking together and stopping to take pictures it’s just so 🤏

lookitsnyoh 🦭 pillowpersonpp 🦥 anthonypham 🧸

↳ harryfan not the teddy bear!!! 

harryfan117 MISS SARAH JONES IS HERE user8 whats with all the emojis guys!! let me innnnn  user1 YOU’RE BACK 🥰 bestfriend its not the city its all you baby bc you light up the world like nobody else

↳ harryfan that was just… ↳ harryfan5 HEJAHDH NO YOU DIDNR ↳ yourinstagram ….  ↳ yourinstagram i dont even know how to react  ↳ bestfriend wish i could say im sorry or embarrassed but im actually not 

cuteguy Looks amazing!

Sep 10, 2021 •

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liked by user1, user4 and 517 others

cuteguy congrats darling ＠yourinstagram 

view all 75 comments 

harryfan60 see?? she isn’t dating Harry

↳ harryfan58 I fucking knew it  ↳ harryfan62 hope this pr nonsense stops 

user14 little sus but alright ig  randomguy cool bro  user44 dude there’s no way she hasn’t cheated on you lol user3 you guys are so fucking disrespectful can you pls leave this man alone???

↳ user26 I mean he’s the one who decided to go public so… 🤷‍♀️ ↳ user3 his ig being public doesn’t automatically mean you’re supposed to be rude tho. 

user36 Am I the only one who finds this picture adorable?

↳ user38 me too!! i was looking for a nice comment about it lol thanks! ↳ user36 I mean they definitely look like a couple and idk it’s a cute pic :( ❤️ liked by author 

Sep 10, 2021 •

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liked by annetwist, bestfriend, cuteguy and 63,879 others 

yourinstagram update time: went out for a run and my lungs got on fire. view was great though. zero complaints. also the show last night was INCREDIBLE. 

view all 13,719 comments

bestfriend shut up you actually went for a run?? 

↳ harrystyles I wouldn’t call that going for a “run”.  ↳ bestfriend okay that actually makes more sense now ↳ yourinstagram excuse me????? 

harryfan OMFG harry interacting with yourbff??? 

↳ harryfan5 I KNOW! where are you ＠bestfriend are you still alive???  ↳ bestfriend no  ↳ bestfriend but im pretending to be cool about it so 🤫 ↳ harryfan OMFHAJDHPAHDJ ILY

cuteguy 😍 user7 yessss! two days in a row!!!! thank you!!! user1 looks so prettyyyyyy! hope you’re doing okay <33

↳ yourinstagram i am!! thank you love <333 

yourbrother Won’t believe you’ve moved your ass to be healthy until I see it.  

↳ yourinstagram the fact that you dont believe me wont change the fact that it happened :D

harryfan15 harry is such a stalker. interacting with her posts when he doesn’t even follow her lol harryfan25 Anne started following her!!!  user10 Not to rush you, but are we getting more videos anytime soon? I was so used to getting one every week… :( user25 So… She’s officially dating that cuteguy, isn’t she? 

↳ user17 What? Who said that?  ↳ user25 TMZ updated that article of her and Harry having dinner with this picture of them ↳ user17 Oh… Where can I see this picture? ↳ user25 She’s tagged on it. ＠cuteguy posted it  ↳ user13 i wouldn’t believe (or read) TMZ guys ↳ harryfan68 funny how you won’t believe TMZ when it’s about this guy but you’ll believe them when it’s about harry ↳ user13 lmao I’m not in that fandom so I couldn’t care less about her dating harry or not. 

harryfan13 SO WE ARE ALL GOING TO IGNORE THE FACT THAT HARRY AND YN WENT OUT FOR A RUN TOGETHER?????

↳ harryfan60 Yes bc no one actually believes they did. Next. ↳ harryfan68 hahaha you ate this one 

Sep 10, 2021 •

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liked by harryfan, harryfan2, harryfan3 and 4,375 others 

harryupdates A fan met Harry in San Antonio today! 

According to the fan, Harry said he was on a tight schedule so couldn’t stay for a chat, but agreed to take a quick picture and thanked her for going to the show. 

view all 675 comments

fanwhometharry “Thank you so much I hope you enjoyed it”, those were his words exactly :’)

↳ harryfan27 OMG IT WAS YOU?? YOU’RE SO LUCKY ↳ fanwhometharry I know!! Thank you!!! ↳ harryfan24 was he alone??  ↳ fanwhometharry No, he was walking with his personal trainer and Yn ↳ harryfan52 his personal trainer also has a name btw and it’s Brad  ↳ fanwhometharry Sorry, I don’t keep up with his personal trainer 🤷 I only know Yn bc I watch her youtube videos ↳ harryfan9 don’t apologize they’re always finding something to complain about lol happy for you!!

harryfan72 How convenient… He always agrees to take pictures when Yn is around 🙄 

↳ harryfan68 right??? almost as if he WANTS people to spread the word… 

harryfan13 I KNEW I WAS RIGHT AND THEY WERE TOGETHER

Sep 10, 2021 •

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liked by annetwist, bestfriend, cuteguy and 61,574 others 

yourinstagram DALLAS! you are sooooo so pretty <3 we arrived yesterday and im already in love. it was a sunny afternoon so i went out for a walk, and as i was on my way to buy some flowers to myself (bc i wanted some so i got some) i had one of those surreal moments thinking about how lucky i am to be where i am right now. im always waiting for this feeling to eventually go away so i can come back to my “old life” and my “old self”, but now im kinda considering that as time goes by and i get to know more and more places, it will actually only grow bigger and bigger, right? :’) 

(in that case, feel free to unfollow me now bc the annoyance will only grow bigger and bigger as well — consider yourself warned.)

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sisterinlaw The summer vibes are gorgeous! harryfan42 WAS HARRY WITH YOU????  user1 another post??? feels like going back to the old times im so happy!!! harryfan64 this girl won’t even post her face and she got like 4k new followers in one day 

↳ harrystyles82 It’s the Harry Styles effect  ↳ harryfan64 glad im not the only one who sees it 🤡

harryfan YN? DID YOU ACTUALLY JUST SAY I WANTED SOME SO I GOT SOME??? 

↳ harryfan5 i saw that too i was like… okay 😂 ↳ harryfan9 hahaha I hope she actually did get some tbh  ↳ harryfan13 ME TOO!! ↳ bestfriend yes. she 100% did ↳ harryfan9 😲 ↳ harryfan lmaoshuahsjbjh  ↳ harryfan17 wait ＠bestfriend she 100% say “i wanted some so i got some” or she 100% got some?  ↳ harryfan23 oh god i cant believe this is a real conversation you guys are having HAHAHA

user17 please keep feeding us with your random cute posts!! <3 i love them!! bestfriend fgs ＠yourinstagram have some manners  bestfriend i thought you didnt like exposing yourself like this  bestfriend also… your mom is on instagram so…  bestfriend PLEASE 

↳ yourinstagram omfg shut upppp ahusdhjahj ↳ yourinstagram stop encouraging the nonsense behavior??? ↳ yourinstagram you KNOW i meant the flowers ↳ yourinstagram i wanted some FLOWERS so i got some FLOWERS ↳ bestfriend yeah i know 💐 ↳ bestfriend sorry its just too funny sometimes 💋

loveynrry did anyone else notice yn hasn’t liked THAT picture yet? 👀

↳ user4 which one? ↳ loveynrry the one @/cuteguy posted ↳ user4 ohhhhhh 👀 ↳ user4 also did you notice yourbff doesn’t follow him ↳ user9 shit ＠user4 i hadn’t noticed that  ↳ loveynrry i did, yeah… thats why im sus about him ↳ user4 I mean, I trust yourbff judgement soooooo…… 

Sep 11, 2021  •

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— — — — — 

PART 6: PHILLY AND DC

— — — — — 

[whatsnewalycat]

I Know

(Second Part to Bunny)

Summary: It didn't take you long to figure out that your new co-worker, Javier Peña, is a former client from your days working a phone sex line. But does he know who you are?

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 5.3k+

Content / Warnings: professor javi, former phone sex operator reader, professor reader, co-workers, seduction, yearning, dirty talk, smut, smoking, swearing, drinking

Notes: Hi, pals. LOOK I TOLD YOU I WOULD DO A SECOND PART TO THIS!!! True to my word, baby. Hope you like it.

There’s such camaraderie in a cigarette. 

At the social hour after New Faculty Orientation, smokers gather on the sidewalk outside the University of Texas San Antonio’s John Peace Library. Liquor-fueled mouths babble on, letting off thick plumes of exhaust into the cloudless sky. Blue ribbons of smoke dance off the ashy orange tips of cigarettes between puffs. 

All these academics broken off from the crowded meeting hall into bite-sized chunks, generally determined by field of study, familiarizing themselves with the colleagues they’ll come to rely on. Within this horde, you ask yourself: Who will have a lighter when I can’t find mine? Who will commiserate with me over a smoke when I have my first work-related breakdown? Facilitate those necessary micro-therapy sessions that get me through the hardest days? 

Dr. Natalie King, whose poison of choice is menthol flavored, chatters on about her excitement to be working at her alma mater—a proud Roadrunner, through and through, eventually asking, “Where did you work before this?” 

“This is my first job out of my doctoral program.” 

It’s mostly the truth. You take a drag off your cigarette, then blow a chimney stack out the corner of your mouth. 

“Oh, straight into academia, huh?” she smirks, and when you grin, she comments, “Brave girl. Well, if you ever have any questions about the clinical side of things, feel free to reach out to me. Lord knows us gals have to stick together in such a male-driven field.”

A flash of light catches your eye, the glare of sun off the library door opening. An attractive, dark-haired, mustachioed man steps out into the bright, buzzing Texas sun. He slides on a pair of yellow-tinted aviators and pats his shirt pockets, fishing out a little white and red box. He plucks a cigarette from the pack and meanders up to your two-person sample study in women’s psychology, asking Natalie, “Got a light?” 

She nods and starts digging through the purse hanging off her shoulder while the man shifts his weight to one leg and pushes the cigarette between his plush lips. He takes a cursory glance around at the other smokers as Natalie curses under her breath.  

“I got it,” you pull a lighter from the pocket of your slacks and hand it to him. 

“Thanks,” he murmurs around the filter and lights the tip, inhaling until it’s a glowing ember, then gives it back to you. 

“Dr. Natalie King,” your companion introduces herself, sticking her hand out to him. 

He gives it a firm shake and says, “Javier Peña,” then turns to you and holds out his hand. 

You take it and tell him your name through an exhale of thick smoke, meeting his dark eyes through the sunglasses. He holds your gaze for a moment, then steps back and brings the hand to his hip, jerking his head towards the library, “What’re you two in for?”

Natalie answers that you’re both Doctors of Psychology, then goes on to explain which classes she’ll be teaching when the 2002 Fall Semester begins next week. 

While she does this, you tilt your head at him, trailing your eyes along the sharp edges of him. The steep slope of his nose, the squared off corners of his jaw, the defined muscles of his neck. He holds himself like there’s a restless energy burning beneath his skin, shifting his weight from leg to leg, eyes working over his surroundings. On guard. 

There’s something about him that piques your interest. His voice, warm and deep and smooth, unearths nostalgia from deep within your gut. You mentally sift through acquaintances, friends of friends you might have met at a party, people from your hometown, et cetera, trying to figure out how you know him. It’s strange because you think you would remember meeting someone so handsome. 

Your eyes flick to his left hand. No wedding ring. A shiny silver wristwatch catches your attention, though, when it jiggles a little. You glance up, find his eyes locked to yours, and don’t look away until Natalie asks him what he’s teaching. 

He pinches the cigarette between his lips and takes a long drag, exhaling words warped by smoke, “Criminal Justice.” 

“I see,” Natalie drops her spent torch on the ground and grinds it into the sidewalk with the toe of her brown loafer, then crosses her arms, “What were you doing before this?”

“Not much the past few years,” he cocks an eyebrow and shrugs, “Helping my dad out on his ranch down in Laredo, but I was DEA before that.”

“Oh wow, ok.”

You frown, “What did you say your name was again?”

He flicks his gaze to yours and answers, “Javier Peña.”

Recognition punches you in the gut. Your face gets all hot and you drop your eyes to the sidewalk, “Oh, ok. Well. Great to meet you, Javi.” 

You stomp your cigarette out, turning to Natalie with a sigh, “Should we go back inside?”

“Sure.”

Don’t look don’t look don’t look—fuck. 

Your eyes betray you. They snap to his. Those dark eyes, studying you with precision, narrowing just enough to twist your stomach in a knot. 

Natalie starts towards the library doors, and you trail behind her, ignoring the burn of his stare following you inside. 

—

Throughout the next couple weeks, when your paths cross, his gaze lingers. 

Sometimes you don’t even notice he’s there until your brain’s ancient hardwiring sends out a primal pulse of warning, making your nerves to crackle. During workshops and interdepartmental meetings. While walking the halls. In the faculty parking lot. And, of course, on your smoke breaks. 

You wonder what information he obtains in those small moments before your heart thuds and face flushes, urging you to put as much space between yourself and his meticulous gaze as possible. 

Each instance summons the ghost of his voice as you walk away, greeting you with a cool, “How’s Bunny doing tonight?” 

Asking you, “Can you do something for me, sweetheart?” 

Asking, “Are you touching yourself? Let me hear it.”

It forces you to revisit the evolution of your intimacy, how the two of you gradually went from “It’s nice hearing your voice,” to, “I thought about you all week,” to, “I missed you.” 

“I missed you, too. Don’t suppose you make house calls, do you, Bunny?”

These memories start to bleed into your thoughts with alarming frequency. 

You think about him when you brush your teeth in the morning. When you go to sleep at night. Every free moment in between. When you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, you wonder, “Does he think I’m attractive?” Then scold yourself for giving a shit. 

“It doesn’t matter,” you lie to yourself, “He wasn’t talking to me, he was talking to Bunny.”

—

Only a few students and staff roam the campus at this time of day, when overnight dew still clings to the blades of grass hidden from the sun. This particular spot, a tucked-away path between the Biosciences Building and a parking garage, usually only has one visitor each morning: you. 

Every once in a while, the hum of a car engine sounds from behind the big oak tree you’re propped up against, followed by the slam of a car door, then the echoey shuffle of shoes against concrete as whoever makes their way to wherever. 

Mostly, though, it’s peaceful. 

You raise the 22-ounce styrofoam cup of watered-down gas station coffee to your mouth and pause, gauging the heat of the steam that brushes your lips. Too hot. Lowering the cup to your lap, you spot a robin a few yards away. It hops across some damp grass, tilting its head this way and that; its keen, beady eyes scan for movement below the earth’s surface. 

A deep breath expands your lungs and your eyes drift closed. You concentrate on the cool ground beneath your legs. The oak tree holding your body upright. Your head rolls back against it, like you’re trying to soak up some of its fortitude for the day ahead of you. 

The dry scuff of footsteps on the cement sidewalk tugs at the edge of this meditation. They come to a stop nearby, then you hear a familiar timbre ask, “Mind if I join you?” 

Your eyes snap open, spine straightening as you squint towards the source: Javier Peña. 

Heat trickles through your body as you survey him. The navy blue fabric of his fitted suit stretches across his broad shoulders in a way that’s really not fair. Sunlight douses him in brightness, and his dark eyes seem to glow in the warmth. He shifts his weight to one leg and plants a hand on his hip, glancing around before he pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and plugs one into his mouth, then holds the pack out to you. An offering. 

Against your better judgment, you nod in approval. 

A little smirk makes the dangling cigarette bob between his lips. He saunters over to where you’re seated, visibly relieved when the shade of the oak tree falls over his body. With a quiet grunt, he sits down next to you, unbuttoning his suit jacket, resting his back against the sturdy tree. 

Again, he holds the red and white pack of cigarettes out to you. You take one, murmuring, “Thanks,” as you shove the filter between your lips and light it. 

He does the same and takes a sharp inhale, exhaling blue smoke, “Nice spot you got here. Quiet.” 

“Yeah,” you chuckle, heart thumping loud and hot behind your ears, “How are your first few weeks going?” 

“Fine,” he shrugs and flicks ash from the tip of his cigarette, “Pretty different from what I’ve been doing these past few years.”  

“Right, on the farm?” you inquire, purposely getting the vernacular wrong to throw him off your trail. 

He doesn’t correct you, just nods, “Although, some of these kids are stubborn as cattle.” 

You laugh at this, “It’s been an adjustment, huh?” 

He hums in accord, and you can feel his eyes on your profile, studying you. 

Your insides twitch. Skin tingles. You take a drag off your cigarette, then say, “Yeah, same here. I’m straight out of school, so it’s pretty surreal being on this side of the fence.” 

“I bet,” he murmurs, “Wha’d you do for work?” 

“Customer service, call center stuff.” 

You’re not sure why you didn’t just make something up. Say you did manual labor or clerical work or something. 

Maybe it’s because you know how earnest he is, and any potential lie would feel like poison in your throat. Maybe it’s because the space between you feels electric and sacred. 

Maybe there’s a small part of you that wants him to figure it out. 

“How’d you like that?” he asks as he blows a cloud of smoke away. 

“Well,” you sigh, looking down at the coffee cup pinched between your legs, avoiding his gaze, “I liked it, actually. I talked to a lot of different people. It was interesting. Plus, the paycheck was nice.” 

Again, he hums in acknowledgement, then chuckles, “Hopefully this gig pays better.” 

“Yeah,” you snort, “A lot better. It was fun while it lasted, but this… this is my purpose, you know?” 

You glance over at him now, and his eyes lock to yours. The intensity of his stare inspires tiny flutters from deep within your core. Right when you start to ask yourself, “Does he—?” Javier nods, “I know.”

These two words give you a head rush. Your mouth gapes, and his gaze flicks to the open space between your lips. It lingers there for a beat too long before he looks away and takes one last drag off his cigarette. He crushes its glowing orange cherry into the earth and murmurs, “I better get going.”

“Oh—yeah, ok,” you frown, following his form as he rises to his feet and brushes grass from the seat of his pants, “It was nice talking to you.” 

Javier smirks down at you, those devastatingly warm brown eyes softening when he asks, “See you around?”

“Sure thing,” you smile. 

He stares at you for a moment, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, then turns and leaves the way he came. 

—

Later that night, your office phone rings. 

You pick it up and pinch the receiver between your ear and shoulder, “Hello?”

“What’s up, Doc?”

A knot twists in your belly. Your eyes flick to your closed office door, then to the lecture notes scrawled on index cards all spread across your desk. 

“Hi, who am I speaking to?” 

Like you don’t know. Like the rich notes of his voice don’t instantly send shivers down your spine. 

“Javier Peña,” he answers. In the background, there’s a clink, followed by the slosh of liquid pouring into a glass. 

Nostalgia hums thick beneath your skin. Hundreds of conversations flash through your head and shimmer between your legs. You lick your lips and ask, “What can I help you with, Professor Peña?”

“Just wanted to hear your voice again like this,” he murmurs, then clarifies, “Over the phone, I mean. I missed it.” 

A few things happen in quick succession within the confines of your body. 

First, your heart swells. You curl the cord of your phone around your index finger and smile. He missed it. He missed you. 

Then, an odd feeling dims your brightness. Like you’re naked in front of a crowded room. Exposed. You sit up straight and whip your head around the empty room. 

Finally, the peacekeeper inside you tells you to calm the fuck down. This doesn’t definitively prove he knows. Maybe he’s confused you for someone else. Or maybe he’s playing a joke on you. 

It’s fine. 

A wet swallow sounds on the other end, then he continues, “I didn’t know you’d be so attractive in person, though… Bunny.”

Shit. 

Electricity floods your veins and short-circuits your brain. 

“I—I don’t know what you mean,” you let out an exasperated chuckle and push your chair out behind you. The coiled cord of your phone works as a leash as you pace the width of your desk, “Professor Peña, I’m not sure who you think I am—”

“Don’t do that, sweetheart. Don’t bullshit me,” he purrs, his voice sure and steady, “I know.” 

Shock steals your tongue. Your eyes clamp shut. Chest aches. Hands tingle. You take a deep, shaky breath and try to harden your tone, “Know what, exactly?”

Javier ignores your denial, just says, “Come over.”

“Javi—” you start to protest, destroying all pretense as you stare up at the ceiling. 

He doesn’t say anything. The line is silent as he waits for a better response. 

Eventually, you ask, “Why?” 

“Why what?” 

“Why are you doing this—What do you want?” you drop your voice to a whisper, “Look, if you’re trying to blackmail me—”

“Blackmail you?” he scoffs, “Do you really think I’d do that?” 

You scoff, “Well, I don’t know—”

“I promise it’s not like that, sweetheart. I’d just like to have a drink with you in private, so we can… talk.” 

“Now who’s bullshitting?” 

The speaker crackles with an airy chuckle, “You got me there.” 

“So… what do you want with me, Javi?” 

You hear the metallic flick of a lighter. A sharp inhale. His words are fuzzy with smoke when he asks, “Haven’t you wondered what it would be like?” 

Heat flickers deep inside you. You imagine his hands gripping your body. His mouth hot on your skin. You lean against your desk and shrug, “It doesn’t matter.” 

“That’s not an answer.”  

You don’t trust yourself to say anything. 

He takes a drag off his cigarette, then says, “All that talk about what we would do if we were together. How well you’d take me. What that sweet little cunt would feel like wrapped around—”

“Javi, it was a job,” you whine. It holds little conviction. 

He’s quiet. The low, airy hiss of his lungs drawing smoke. Then, “Are you saying it wasn’t real?”

Heat rises to your face. You open your mouth to lie, but you breathe the truth instead, “No.”

“Then come over.”

You bite your lip, looking down at your lecture notes with indecision. 

“Please.”

With an exaggerated sigh, you concede, “What’s your address?”

—

Javier’s one-bedroom apartment is small and tidy. The stark white walls are void of decoration, but the tasteful home furnishings, all wood and bronze and leather, tell you this choice is less “sad bachelor pad” than it is “I want my fucking deposit back.” 

What was intended to be a dining room area has been made into a home office. A large chestnut bookcase lines one wall, displaying various textbooks and whodunit novels alongside family photos. A matching chestnut desk butts up against the adjacent wall. Stacks of papers and notebooks, most aptly described as an “organized mess,” sit atop the deep wood finish. 

You lean on the kitchen counter opposite him and watch him pour room-temperature whiskey into two low tumbler glasses. Each nerve ending in your body buzzes with anticipation. You try to think of things to say, small talk to make, but it all seems flat. Disingenuous. The words all die on your tongue. 

This doesn’t seem to bother him, though. 

He slides a glass across the counter, then rests his elbows on the surface, eyes flicking around your face as you take a sip. 

“What?” you chuckle after swallowing the burning liquid. 

He shrugs, “You’re just… much more beautiful than I expected.” 

“Oh yeah?” you smirk, meeting his eyes, “What were you expecting?”

He licks his lips and smiles, this big, brilliant, sly smile, “Real answer?”

Fuck, he’s handsome. 

“Always,” you grin in return, batting your eyelashes at him as you lean closer onto the counter. 

“I imagined you so many different ways, and none of them seemed right,” he confesses, face falling into a frown, “I expected disappointment.”

“Oh,” you wince and nod, dragging the tip of your finger along the rim of your glass, “Well… are you disappointed?”

“No,” he tells you firmly. Your eyes snap to his, and he asks, “Are you?”

“No,” you breathe, searching his face. 

A hum sounds from his throat. The air between you is thick and magnetic. It clings to your skin and makes you shiver. 

“Tell me something, sweetheart,” he coos, his vocal cords catching an edge, “No bullshit, alright?”

Your heart gallops. You swallow hard and nod for him to continue. 

“Do you want to fuck me?”

Everything seems to tilt. Marionette strings pull your spine taut. Your tongue traces your lips before you take a swig from your drink. You can’t look at him, but feel his gaze burning your face.  

The counter creaks as he pushes off it. He works his way around it, slowly, deliberately, each step amplifying across your tingling skin, until he’s inches away, hovering there. Heat radiates from his body and pulses between your legs. 

Javier purrs your name. 

You look over at him and meet those warm, dark eyes, all hooded with want. They drop to your mouth and seem to study your lips. It’s like something tightens around your lungs and squeezes every ounce of air from them. 

“I, um…” 

It comes out barely a whisper. 

His throat rumbles in response. He brushes his knuckles against your cheek, making you shiver, and says, “Look at you, so shy all of a sudden.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

He nods in acknowledgment, but he scoots closer. Drags the pad of his thumb along your bottom lip. A shudder racks your body and you whimper. 

“I didn’t ask you if it’s a good idea, I asked if you want to fuck me,” he murmurs, hot gaze flicking between your eyes and mouth. He slides his hand against your abdomen. It stays there as he steps behind you, pulling you into the heat of his chest, “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t, though, would you?” 

“Javi—”

His lips press a damp spot into your shoulder, the warm tips of his fingers slipping under the fabric of your shirt, drawing soft circles on your bare skin, and he hums, “Hmm?”

You gasp as his touch ripples deeper, jolting your insides, making your eyelids flutter, “We really shouldn’t.”

But you reach back and place your palm on the nape of his neck, gently coaxing him to continue. He leaves a trail of slow, heated kisses to your thudding pulse. The wet velvet of his tongue rolls against you. 

“Oh my god,” you breathe, threading his hair through your fingers, pulling him closer. 

A pleased rumble sounds from deep inside him. His lips form a seal, sucking the tender skin of your neck. You moan at the wave of pleasure that gushes down your spine. 

The hand at your navel slides over the zipper of your pants, following the curve between your legs, applying firm, flush pressure. He holds it there while dragging his tongue up your neck, then catches your earlobe in his teeth and tugs. 

“Fuck,” you gasp, and he releases. 

“Come on, sweetheart, say it.”

You let your head fall back on his shoulder and roll your hips against his hand. He draws it away and mutters in your ear, “All that dirty talk over the phone, now you can’t use your words?” 

“Fuck me,” you whisper, pushing back into the bulge in his jeans, grinding into him. 

He sucks in air through his teeth and grazes your cheek with his nose, “What’s that?” 

You chuckle and drag a finger along his jawline, “You heard me.” 

“Maybe I wanna hear it again.”

“Oh yeah?” you twist around to face him, hooking your hands at the back of his neck. 

He drinks you in with this lustful gaze that settles on your lips and nods, then takes a step closer, backing you against the counter, pressing his body into yours. 

“Is that what you want?” you drop your voice to a sultry whisper and tilt your head, “You want me to tell you how wet my pussy is for you? How it’s begging to be filled by you?” 

A groan escapes his chest and you grin. 

“That’s it, isn’t it, baby?” 

“It is.” 

Your teeth catch your bottom lip for a moment and you shrug, “Do you wanna feel how bad I want you?”

He nods. 

“Go ahead, baby.” 

Javi searches your face as a hand slips under the waistband of your pants, then under your panties. A thick finger slides between your lips, down the gooey middle of you, and he rasps, “Holy fuck.”

You gasp at the gentle way his touch explores you, moving up and down your folds, spreading your heat. 

“That feels good,” you breathe, looking up through your lashes to meet his eyes. 

He rubs your clit in soft, concentric motions, holding your gaze, his mouth gaping open when you whimper and nod in approval. Each flick of his wrist accumulates hot and sticky and alive at your core, prodding your pulse, warming your skin. Quiet gasps fall from your lips. Your eyelids flutter and you rake your fingers through his hair. 

“Do you like that?” he asks, all rough edges, “Like the way I touch you, baby?”

“Yes,” you whine, “I love the way you play with my pussy, Javi, feels so fucking goood, oh my god—”

His lips crush into yours. You clamber closer, kissing him back, heated and needy, both of you making all these throaty, desperate noises as your mouths meet again and again, licking, tugging, kissing. His touch between your legs quickens, your entire body starts to sweat and tremble as pleasure twists inside you. 

You’re overcome with this aching need for more. 

“Javi—please,” you beg between kisses, hooking a finger under his belt, “I want you.” 

His throat rumbles. He captures your lips in another kiss before grabbing your hand and leading you to his bedroom. 

When he flips on the light switch, it reveals a few cluttered surfaces and a four-post bed. You pull your shirt off over your head and shuffle out of your pants as you absorb everything. The suit jackets hanging on the corners of his dresser’s vanity mirror. A stack of mystery novels on his nightstand. The white comforter, rumpled like he tried to make his bed but he’s not very good at it. 

So much proof that this person who only existed as a voice in your life for so long is flesh and blood. 

It’s surreal. 

“Did you ever think something like this would happen?” 

You turn to see Javier unbuttoning his shirt, gaze drifting along your body. His pants lay in a pile beside him. An amused smile spreads across your face when you notice his cock standing at attention. He shucks the shirt off his shoulders as you step towards him and slide your palms up his smooth chest. 

“What, that I’d fuck a client?” 

Javier nods. His hands land on your waist and he guides you back towards his bed, planting a few languid kisses on your jawline, mustache tickling your skin. 

“No,” you chuckle, “I had a very strict no meeting policy… as you know.” 

The backs of your legs butt up against the bed. You land on the bed with a soft bounce and crawl backwards to allow him space to follow. He does, running his hands along the curves of your body, leaving a trail of wet kisses down your neck, your collarbone, your sternum. 

As you tell him, “You were my favorite, though,” he reaches around your back, unhooks your bra, and tosses it aside. 

“Was I?” 

His heated palms slide up your ribcage, over the slope of your breasts, and he squeezes them. You gasp, eyebrows threading together, and nod. He drags his tongue across your nipple, then closes his lips around it and sucks. A burst of pleasure soaks your insides, sharpening when his teeth catch the bud and grind down. 

“Ffffuck,” you whine, meeting his eyes as he moves to the other nipple, licking, sucking, biting. Every motion drips hot down the middle of you. 

“Do you like playing with my tits?” you coo while combing your fingers through his hair, making it stick up every which way, “You do, don’t you, baby?” 

His eyelids flutter and he moans, nodding, then opens his mouth wider and takes more, hollowing out his cheeks as he sucks. 

Your head falls back with a moan, “So fucking good, yes—”

Javi comes off you with a pop and rolls your nipples between his fingers, “So hot.” 

You watch him work his way up your body, leaving kisses on your sternum, your collar bone, your cheek, your lips. Your hands slip around his shoulders and you arch your back into him, wrapping your legs around him, soaking up the warmth of his skin, your lips and tongues meeting again and again, exchanging soft moans, hips grinding his cock between your bodies. 

“I need you,” he says, eyes all wild and black, “Fuck, I need you—”

“Take me.” 

He steals another kiss from your lips before sitting up to pull off your underwear. While tossing them aside, he drinks you in, sliding one heated palm up and down the curves of your body, purring, “Look at you. Fucking perfect.” 

You whimper at his praise, at his reverent touch making your nerve endings buzz. He strokes your clit with his thumb, mouth hanging open as your whole body shivers and writhes in reaction. 

“So sensitive, mi conejita,” he murmurs, the head of his cock nudging against your entrance, “Do you want it?” 

“Yes,” you nod, arching your hips, “I need it—I need to feel you inside me, Javi, please.” 

A noise surfaces from deep in his chest, then he breathes, “Fuck, say it again.” 

You thread your eyebrows together and bat your lashes at him, shifting your voice into the lusty, airy tone you know gets him going, “I need to feel you inside me, Javi. Need your cock to fill me, make me whole—”

“Fuck,” he groans, hips rocking forward just enough to breach you. A jolt of pleasure shoots up your spine and you moan. 

“Do you want more, baby?” 

You lick your lips and nod frantically as he works your clit faster, the tip of him teasing you. Pressure builds in your chest and pulls your muscles taut. You roll your hips and try to get more of him, more movement, following the heat pounding through your veins. 

“Need more of my cock, baby, that’s what you need?” 

“I need more of your cock,” you breathe, eyelids fluttering at the growing fire deep in your belly, “Please please please, Javi, plea—”

“You’re gonna come for me just like this, aren’t you?” his voice only amplifies the feeling, making your heart race, and then he rasps, “Fuck, baby, do it, let me feel you, let it go.” 

You do. 

It overtakes you, flooding you with pleasure, your whole body shaking from the force while Javi strums your clit fast and hard, cooing, “That’s it, mi conejita, that’s it, come for me baby. Doesn’t that feel good?” 

You whimper and nod, unable to form words until your orgasm peters out and leaves you panting, staring up at him. He meets your gaze. His cock pulses inside you. 

Seeing him like this, his hair all disheveled, skin dewy with sweat, dark eyes fiery and enamored…

“Come here,” you sit up on your elbow and bring a hand to his chin, coaxing him closer. He follows you down to the bed and kisses you with force, a groan vibrating on your tongue as you drag it against his. 

He starts to roll his hips, filling you more and more with each thrust, the thick length of him electrifying your walls. 

His lips don’t leave yours. Neither of you pull back to murmur filth to the other. The only noise in the room comes from your humid bodies pressing together, from whines and moans traded through panting breaths as you renew the kiss again and again. 

You push back against his thrusts, digging your fingers into the broad expanse of his shoulders, losing yourself in the feel of him stretching you, the heat of his skin clinging to you, his mouth against yours. 

Pleasure builds, hot and demanding, between your bodies. He fucks you faster, pumping into you at a frenzied pace that makes you gasp and nod, pulling you higher and higher. His hand grips your jaw and he stares down at you, searching your face, his puffy lips forming an ‘o’ as he watches your face contort. 

Neither of you seem in control of the noises escaping you. They’re frantic and breathy and sharp. 

At once, it’s like you’re sucked up into a vacuum. All the air evacuates your body and your muscles clench. The noises stop when you reach the crest of the wave, and when ecstasy crashes down, you let out a choked sob, convulsing around him. He groans, low and guttural, hips stuttering as he captures your lips in his and spills inside you. 

A few languid kisses pass back and forth before he rolls off you. You follow the persuasion of his arm curling around your shoulders and tuck yourself into his side. He holds you here like this for a while, staring up at his ceiling while your breathing returns to normal, and eventually he asks, “Why was I your favorite?” 

You shrug and watch your fingertips draw swirls into his chest, “You wanted me to be me, not your idea of me.” 

He hums, grazing his thumb against your shoulder, then says, “I think that’s true for both of us.” 

“Yeah?” you shift to meet his eyes. 

He nods, dropping his gaze to your mouth. You draw closer to kiss him, slow and soft, and when your lips part, he murmurs, “Mi conejita.” 

[patito-oward]

Always Been You

masterlist

Prompt: And the other is about how Pato falls in love with the reader, just how he says "oh yeah she's THE ONE"

since this prompt was pretty vague I took a lot of liberties with it, but I still hope you like it :)

Summary: After being dumped by his long term girlfriend, Pato realizes everything he’s ever wanted in a relationship has been right in front of him

WC: 4.1k

It happened very suddenly. Here’s the thing, Pato didn’t mean for it to happen at all. On the list of things he had planned for the year, this was definitely not on it. A 500 win? Definitely. A championship? Yep. Extending his contract with Mclaren? Right again. But starting the off season by being dumped by his long term girlfriend and realizing he’s in love with his best friend was not anywhere in his mind.

It all started at the last race of the season, Pato was leading the championship, and granted he got a podium on this race he would finally have his championship victory. To celebrate and support, almost everyone he knew came to Nashville. Pato rented out a block of rooms at a hotel, and one of the many people who showed up for him was his childhood best friend, YN.

So maybe it all started in 2008, when YN and Pato were in second grade and met on the playground at recess. YN was sitting on the swings reading a book when Pato approached her, he was new to San Antonio and didn’t have any friends, and wanted to know if they could be friends. From then on the two were inseparable. Pato was a daredevil at heart, and would often hurt himself, and YN would take the delicate time of walking him to the school nurse and kissing his injuries better. Pato always made YN laugh, and made sure she was never sad, no matter what happened in YN’s life, Pato was there everyday to make her smile.

As they got older their relationship changed, it lost a little bit of their childish innocence, but they grew so much closer. YN was at Pato’s first win in karting, and she was more excited than he was. When YN’s childhood dog died, Pato was at her house at 6:00 AM and spent the whole day with her, trying to cheer her up. They’d even started their own holiday traditions, every year on Christmas Eve, the two of them spent the day making cookies together and exchanged presents. YN had practically become family, she didn’t have the best home life, and the entire O’Ward family was so loving that she ended up spending more time with them than her actual family.

The two dated for a few months in eighth grade, and were each other’s first kiss, but when Pato began racing for F4 and was in France every weekend the two agreed it was best they just stayed friends. Since then that is all they had been, things in YN’s home got significantly worse as they went through high school and despite whatever Pato may have felt, he knew she needed his friendship and wasn’t willing to risk their relationship.

With Pato coming up through Indycar and YN being a full time student and having a job, it was easy to assume the two would drift after high school, that was never the case. They still saw each other everytime Pato was in Texas and Pato made sure YN made a couple of races every year. She remained his biggest supporter as he went from her hometown best friend to the most popular driver in Indycar.

Fast forward to now, things were going pretty perfect for Pato. He finally won the 500, he’s about to win the championship, and he’s got a great girlfriend, Maria. He figures he’ll marry her, he does love her, she’s supportive and nice and insanely hot. They’ve been dating for over a year and things have been going really well. The only time they’ve ever really fought is over YN, when she found out there was a “history” between them, and in hindsight Pato realizes maybe he should’ve told her sooner, but he never really thought about it. Yeah they’d dated for a few months a lifetime ago, but she’s always just been his YN, he doesn’t even think of her like that anymore. YN was one of the most sure things in his life, and sure for awhile he always thought what if?, but that was in the past.

All that being said, he didn’t think twice about inviting her to Nashville to watch him possibly win the championship. YN wasn’t able to make it to the 500, or any other race this year, and he wished she was there. She knew more than anyone how much this had meant to him, coming up after losses she was always the person he went to, and he wanted her to see him now that it had all been worth it. YN was reluctant to come, but after a lot of begging from Pato she agreed.

Thursday night he made sure everyone he invited out came to dinner with him at a steakhouse. There were 20 people at the restaurant, but Pato ended up with Maria sitting next to him and YN sitting across next to Elba. Maybe Pato should’ve realized it, the tension in her shoulders and how Maria’s smile tightened as he laughed at YN’s jokes, but he didn’t. So Maria sat there all night, and she really tried to be understanding, but she felt as if she was third-wheeling her own relationship. She had to listen to a million inside jokes she didn’t understand, and watch as his family fawned over YN.

It was at that dinner she realized that she’d spent a year dating a taken man. Pato was too good of a man, she knew he wasn’t doing it on purpose, but it became undeniable. As she watched him, she realized everything she felt for him, he felt for the woman across the table. At first she felt possessive, the need to prove that he was her partner, and that no matter what he’d chosen her over YN, but as time passed she felt less possessive and realized that there was no way to continue the relationship. It wasn’t fair to her, she deserved a man who loved her and only her, and Pato deserved to be with the person he loves.

After the dinner, they headed back to the hotel where Pato, who was utterly clueless of her realization, continued to be the perfect man, only making it so much harder for Maria to leave. She didn’t know how long she should let it go on for, if she broke things off now would she be getting in his head and ruining the weekend for him? Would continuing a relationship she’s already checking out of be just as cruel? Could she stand the rest of the weekend watching her boyfriend making heart eyes at another woman?

After sleeping on it, or rather not sleeping very much at all, she’d come to the conclusion that a clean break was best for everyone. They ordered breakfast to the room and as they sat at the small dinette she knew she had to bring it up.

Pato was halfway done with his breakfast, but she hadn’t eaten much at all, mostly just pushing her food around with her fork. “Pato, I think we need to talk.”

It’s rare that she’s this serious, and Pato knows that can’t be good, his silverware clatters as he sets it down and looks up at her. “Uh oh, what’s wrong?”

She hesitates for a moment, not knowing the best way to start the conversation. “It’s YN.”

Pato’s shocked, he doesn’t know what he expected but it wasn’t that, “What about YN?”

She figures there’s no reason to beat around the bush, “You’re in love with her.”

Pato’s a lot of things, surprised for sure, but also shockingly defensive and angry. “What? Babe, that’s ridiculous. I know you were upset about us in middle school, but I swear there’s nothing going on! I would never even think about cheating on you!”

She rested her hand on top of his, “I know you would never cheat on me, and I know you said there’s nothing and I believe you, but I saw the way you looked at her, and how she fit into your life, and it makes so much sense because you love her.”

Pato doesn’t really know what to say to that, “I love you.”

“But you are in love with her. Listen I love you, Pato, and you’re such a good man, but it’s not fair to either of us to continue this relationship. Not when your heart clearly isn’t in it.” Maria struggles over her words, voice cracking and eyes watering, but a soft smile is on her face as she says them.

“Are you saying what I think you are? You’re just giving up?”

“Pato, I’m letting you free, tell her how you feel, you deserve that kind of love.”

And maybe what she’s saying finally resonates with him because the best thing he says is, “I never meant to hurt you.”

She lets out a broken laugh at that, a single tear rolling down her face, “Oh, Pato, you never could, we aren’t meant for each other, but we still had a lot of fun, right?” He nods at her.

After that she’s on a plane and back to her home before he knows it. Pato’s sad, he feels a little empty, someone who had been such a big part in his life just walked out leaving the biggest mess in her wake. He thought about her words, but shook them off. He loved YN, of course he did, but it wasn’t like that, she was like a sister to him.

Although it’s not his sister he messages asking if she wants to come over. YN is at his hotel room within a minute of him sending the “you busy?” text. YN asks where Maria is, but all he has to say is “gone.” and YN knows to drop it.

YN knows him better than anyone, knows that he has an irrational fear of being destined to fail at every relationship. She knows he has never actually broken up with a girl, only ever been broken up with, and she knows he spent over two years single because he was afraid of being hurt. But she also knows that there’s no way anyone could spend more than an hour with him and not be in love with him, God knows she is.

It’s the way he knows her, inside and out, but it’s also the way he makes everyone around him laugh, and spends hours interacting with his fans to make them all happy, and how caring he is with animals and babies. YN is only human, how is she supposed to feel when her insanely attractive best friend is doting over her niece?

YN puts it all aside because she’s his best friend first, she’d made that promise to herself a long time ago and she’s always kept it. She sits with him and watches Friends reruns with him, he’ll talk when he wants to, but until then she’ll be by his side.

They don’t end up talking, the one good channel the hotel room has switches from Friends to Modern Family, and then Pato has to go practice. A quick google search helps her find the best tacos in Nashville, so while he’s gone she runs out to get them dinner. They had dinner plans with his parents and Elba, but YN texted Elba long ago to let her know that plans were changing. He’s a superstar, so of course he doesn’t let his life affect him and it still the fastest person in the first practice, YN thinks that’s a good sign.

When he returns he seems to be a little better, talking to YN about track conditions over their dinner. YN has had enough of waiting for Pato to bring it up, and she can tell he’s feeling better, so she has to work up the courage to ask him what happened.

“Are you going to tell me what happened with Maria or am I supposed to guess?”

His smile drops, turning into one that’s much smaller and forced. “She just left.”

“No explanation? She just woke up and was gone?”

“Oh, she had an explanation but it was bullshit. She probably just got tired of me, it's no big deal.”

YN furrows her brows at that. “Pato stop it, you’re so great anyone would be so lucky to be with you. Maybe there was some merit behind what she said.”

“Well she said I was in love with you, but I told her so many times we’re just friends and that’s all we’ll ever be.”

YN’s stomach sinks at that, it’s not like she expected him to confess his love, but he didn’t need to friendzone her that hard. “Oh.” Is all she can think to say.

“I mean you’re great, but you’re like a sister to me!”

YN forces out a laugh, “Right.” She also can’t help but feel like maybe it’s her fault this all happened, was her pining really that obvious? “Well then, she’s stupid for leaving because she’s not going to find anyone better.”

Pato’s smile is genuine for the first time since the conversation started, “Thank you, you’re the best friend I could’ve asked for.”

“Right, and don’t forget that when you’re trying to figure out what to do with all your championship earnings.”

He lets out a real laugh at that, a stark contrast to how mopey he’d been the rest of the day. “One, greedy, and two, I’m not buying you anything else. I'm tired of you getting mad when I spend money on you.”

“Pato, a graduation gift is fifty bucks, not a two thousand dollar tennis bracelet.”

He leans back in his seat and shrugs, smirking as he says, “Yet I’ve never seen you not wearing the bracelet.”

YN’s eyes go to her wrist where, sure enough, the bracelet was, just like everyday for the past three years. When Pato gave her the bracelet she refused to take it, saying it was too much and he needed to return it. After arguing for ten minutes she thought he’d finally agreed to take the bracelet back, but found it later sitting on her dresser. “What can I say? You have good taste.”

The rest of the night mirrored the morning, but had a much different tone, the two of them sat sprawled out on the couch quoting the episodes of Friends that were on, having seen them so many times they were known by heart.

When YN went to her own hotel room Pato realized how empty the place felt again, something he hadn’t noticed all day. He chose not to think too hard about how effortlessly YN took up space in his life.

The next morning, Pato had already scheduled to have everyone meet in the lobby so he could take them to the track for the day. YN had clearly told everyone about Maria because despite some odd looks no one asked about her and he was grateful for that. He didn’t think twice when everyone began to split into different cars and he pulled YN along with him, or when they arrived at the track and Pato sent most people up into a suite, but brought YN and his immediate family to the pits. Maybe that’s how it’s always been, and how it’s supposed to be.

Pato gets swept up in work for the rest of the day and YN gets to spend some real time with her second family. As soon as they’re alone, Elba doesn’t hesitate to start interrogating her.

“What happened with Maria?”

“Apparently she told Pato he’s in love with me and just left.” YN shrugs as she says it, still a little puzzled by the whole thing.

“Huh.”

“What? No ‘huh’ I know what that means just tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I just thought Maria knew by now and didn’t care, maybe she’s not as smart as I gave her credit for.”

“What do you mean? Knew what?”

“Come on, YN, Pato’s been in love with you since you were nine, I wouldn’t want to be dating him.”

YN is struggling to process what she’s hearing, and automatically turns to deflection. “He is not.”

“Oh my god.” Elba starts giggling maniacally.

YN has no clue what could be funny, “What!?”

“You’re in love with him too!”

“I am not!” Despite her refusal, YN can feel and Elba can see the heat rising up her neck.

“You totally are! All this time I thought you had to know it’s so obvious, I mean, he follows you around like a puppy, but you had no idea!”

“Ok, keep your voice down.” YN puts her hand over Elba’s mouth really not wanting anyone else to hear their conversation. “Even if I did like him, and I’m not saying I do, he does not feel the same. I mean you should’ve heard how hard he friendzoned me yesterday.”

Elba looks sympathetic then, “Babe, I think my brother has spent so long denying himself what he wants he doesn’t even know what that is anymore. I love him dearly, but relationships are not his strong suit.”

“Then I guess we’re at a stalemate because I am certainly not going to be the one to ruin our friendship.”

Elba’s exasperated, “Oh my god, you two are exhausting!”

By the time Elba finished her intervention, qualifying finished resulting in Pato getting the pole. Mclaren has been dominant the last few weekends, and this weekend is no different with all three cars in the fast six. Pato is in the driver’s lot, getting ready to head back to the hotel, everyone else had dispersed from the track, and Felix has tracked down Pato and is calling after him.

“Hey, Felix! What’s up?”

“Bro, you’re about to win this fucking thing.” There’s nothing but excitement from Felix for his best friend.

“I know, I just hope tomorrow is a clean race and we can bring this thing home.”

“You’ve got this, I know it. Hey, where’s Maria been all day?” Felix says it like he’s just realizing she’s not around.

“Who knows. Yesterday morning she woke up determined that I’m secretly in love with YN and got on the next plane out.”

“So you guys are done?”

“Yeah about as done as you can be.”

“And YN?”

“YN is my best friend.”

“No, I'm your best friend.”

“Sorry, Fro, even you lose to YN.”

“I don’t want to win what YN is winning.”

Pato rolls his eyes and stomps his foot, huffing, “And what exactly is YN winning?”

Felix puts his hands up in self-defense, “Listen, all I’m saying is if you looked at me like you do YN, I think Emille would feel threatened.”

“Very funny.” Pato kicks the ground, staring at his shoe, he thinks about his relationship with Felix versus his with YN, sure it’s different, but him and YN have so much history. “Look, I don’t know what I feel for YN, but I don’t care either because she’s too important as a friend for me to lose her.”

“Mate you’ve been practically dating for years, I don’t think making it official will ruin anything.”

With that last piece of advice Felix takes off, leaving Pato alone with his thoughts. The whole drive back to the hotel and the rest of the night he spent thinking about YN. If everyone closest to him is saying one thing, how could they all be wrong? He thinks about everything they’ve been through together.

His first win in karting when she was the first person he ran to when he got out of the car; how she comes to every family reunion and often traveled to Mexico to spend time with his family; their senior prom when she was sad about not having a date, but she was the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen that night; except for Christmas mornings when she’s in her pajamas and he gets to watch her eyes light up as they answer presents together. Maybe it’s been in front of him all along. What’s been missing from all of his other relationships has been right there.

It’s a lot to take in, but it doesn’t really matter because, like he told Felix, he wouldn’t risk their friendship if she doesn’t feel the same. He can handle a trail of failed relationships, but he could never handle losing YN. He went to bed that night knowing he had to just focus on the race and on bringing home the championship.

The next morning he’s awoken by a knock on the door. “Patricio! Open up, room service!”

He knows who’s behind the door before he opens it, there’s only one person who cares enough to bring him breakfast. When he lets YN in he sees the bag full of takeout food from a nearby diner. “Breakfast of champions, for the champion.”

Of course she’s already decided he’s a champion before the race. No one has ever believed in him as much as her. “Calm down, I don't want you to jinx me.”

“Au contraire my friend, a jinx would mean you’re winning by luck, and you are winning by sheer talent.”

It always amazes him how smart she is in the morning, he knows no more than 5 words for a solid hour after waking up, and she’s always speaking a million words a minute. “7AM is too early to be speaking another language.”

“Aw, pobrecito, ¿estás cansado?” She knew very minimal spanish, but had picked some up from time spent with his family, and used it pretty exclusively to tease him.

“You’re so not funny my brain hurts.” He is slouched over the table with his head resting on his arms.

She begins to unpack the food in front of him, “Alright, come on, time to wake up you’ve got a big day.”

The smell of eggs and bacon is what gets him to lift his head and start eating. He tries not to focus on the fact that she got him exactly what he eats every race day because that’s a can of worms he doesn’t want to touch. Regardless he eats the meal, and is sad when she pulls out her pancakes and begins to eat with him. She offers him a bite which he takes, but they both know he won’t eat any more than that because he doesn’t like big meals before a race.

After they finish, YN starts picking up their trash and Pato thanks her, “You take such good care of me, can’t believe you brought me breakfast I’m not worthy.” She’s glad for her back being turned to him because she can feel how much she’s blushing.

The rest of the day goes by in a blur, leave it to YN to be the eye in his hurricane, bringing calm before the storm. The race was close, a shitty pit stop meant Pato had to make some big passes to make up position, but Pato ended up pulling away with the final race win of the season and the championship.

YN and Elba leave the suite a few laps early so they can be on pit lane when he gets the win. After his victory lap and celebratory donuts he pulls into pit lane. Immediately his crew is flooding around him as he struggles to get out. Once he does there’s a giant group hug around Pato. Rossi and Fro also both make their way to his pits to congratulate him.

When Felix pulls Pato into a hug he whispers into his ear, “Why haven’t you gone to your girl yet, she’s waiting for you.”

Felix’s words had weight to them, all these people were surrounding him, but none of them had been on this journey with him as long as her. She waited for him for the last 15 years while he chased a career and different women, and now he’s at the peak of his career, having everything he ever wanted, and she’s not the one by his side. It hits him like a ton of bricks how bad he wants her to be the one celebrating this win with him, and every win for the rest of his life. Walking over to YN he pulls her into a hug, hoping that everything he’s feeling can be conveyed through the touch.

YN is in his ear, “I’m so proud of you, I always knew you could do it.”

He can’t find the right words, so all he says is, “I’m so glad you’re here.” he’ll explain later.

Holding her in front of thousands of people, Pato isn’t scared of losing their friendship anymore. He’s not sure of a lot, but he knows they’ll be ok, and that he’s loved her since before he knew what love was.

[copperbadge]

Hi Sam! You mentioned being in Texas. Did you get to see the total eclipse?

I did! That's actually why we were in Texas.

I have wanted to see a full solar eclipse since I was about 20, but I've never had the combination of time and means -- couldn't afford it, or couldn't get to where it was total, or couldn't take the time to get there. So two years ago I saw one was coming and said, "this time I'm making it happen." Two days later R called and said, "Do you want to meet up in Texas for the eclipse?"

Our plans had to shift over time, and I won't lie, that was stressful for all of us. I had originally planned to ask R and his wife to chip in half for the rental place, but decided to just cover it myself because they're either divorced or in the end stages of the legal divorce proceedings and R isn't making much money. I remember my mother being poor and trying to take us on nice trips, and I can afford it. Baby U didn't exist when we made these plans and he's traveling with her without a partner for the first time, which has caused wrinkles for all of us (he couldn't get a rental car because he waited too long, so he took a Lyft to Fuckall Nowhere, Texas, like a 2 hour drive, and now has to try and get one in FaNoTX to get to his next stop in San Antonio). The rental was a little more intense and uptight than we anticipated but the people seemed nice in person. I have had Some Stress.

And honestly, it was all worth it.

I don't think a full solar eclipse is life changing for everyone the way some people say, but I do agree that partial eclipse simply doesn't compare. They're too different as experiences. When totality hit and we could see it hit, everyone gasped and was silent for a second and the burst into noise -- cheers, swearing, exclamations. I almost started crying and then began laughing instead because next to me R said "OH MY GOSH" and U echoed softly "oh my gosh" even though she's too young to understand what's going on and was looking at her sippy cup, not the eclipse. We just stood there in awe. We were in a kind of shock for a few hours after.

I'd been dropping some "hot from a PBS documentary" eclipse facts on an older woman before the event, at the little lunch party our host threw, and she'd taken to calling us William Shatner (R) and Carl Sagan (me) and from behind me, halfway through totality, she said, "Carl Sagan, you didn't tell me it would be like THIS."

In future, I will do any travel with R very differently, but it was worth it to see him and the baby and experience that with them.

Also having coparented a toddler for the weekend, I am again glad I don't want and never had kids. She's a joy, but she's a very dribbly joy.

[rockpaperscissuhs]

HISPANIC HERITAGE MONTH + BAND OF BROTHERS:

ANTONIO C. "TONY" GARCIA

Born October 15th, 1924, in Inez, Texas

Died August 18th, 2005 (age 80), in Burlingame, California

Tony Garcia was born in Texas but he grew up in Cheyenne, Wyoming. His parents were from Mexico and had immigrated separately into the States. Tony and his siblings grew up speaking English and Spanish. He decided to drop out of high school in order to enlist, and even borrowed a friend's prescription medicine to cover up a heart murmur for his Army physical. He was accepted for training in 1943, and he served a Technician 5th Grade with Easy Company from Holland all the way through the end of the war. After the war, Tony returned to Cheyenne where he finished high school, then he moved to San Francisco, working and attending college. Later, he met his wife, Nancy, and started a family. They were married nearly 60 years, and had four children together. When he wasn’t working at the department store warehouse which he managed for three decades, he enjoyed spending time with his family, traveling, dancing, and reading. He was described as a kind, generous, and gentle man, with a “playful sense of humor that belied his quiet demeanor.” The Band of Brothers series bible describes him as “very gung-ho and game” and a “family man and extremely compassionate.” He kept in touch with several of his friends from Easy, and he participated in many Easy Company reunions and events in the U.S. and in Europe. His family has said that he was very reluctant to talk about his combat experiences, but he did like to talk about the people he met, and the families who helped him. Appears in Episodes 3-5 and 7-10, portrayed by actor Douglas Spain

Sources below

SF Gate Obituary for Antonio Garcia

[pearlessance]

Fishnet's & Old Fashioned's [part two]

[part one]

Summary - Tommy Miller reallizes Joel's right; he's got it real bad for that scary chick.

Pairing - Tommy Miller/goth!bartender!Reader

Warnings: explicit sexual content MDNI, begging, dom/sub undertones, switch!Tommy and switch!Reader, tongue piercings, nipple play, dirty talk, semi-public, hair pulling, vaginal fingering, kneeling, body worship, boot worship, oral sex, face fucking, face slapping, overstim

[crossposted on AO3]

SWITCHING HYSTERISIS

It’s an effort to keep himself from the bar until the day of your date. He reminds himself countless times, that it’s only three days. It’s only two days. It’s only one day. But you've bewitched him, burrowed into his brain and made a home there. And so Tommy hopes you’ll text him before Tuesday. He checks his phone ten times more than usual, wishing you were thinking of him even half as much as he’s thinking of you. But no text message ever pops up, and he gets no missed calls. 

Until Tuesday at nine in the morning, when you send a text message with your address, and Tommy starts rushing around to get ready. He puts on his best pair of Levi’s, and a cotton t-shirt that fits a little too tight on his biceps (black, of course, to match you). He combs and gels his hair, and wears a nice silver chain that Sarah got him for Christmas two years ago in an attempt at fashion advice. He brushes his teeth—twice, and still chews a stick of gum afterwards. He sprays his most expensive cologne and hangs a new black ice, tree-shaped air freshener in his truck.

He gets to your apartment ten minutes early and sees you waiting outside. Tommy can’t get out of the truck fast enough. He meets you on the sidewalk, holds out his hand, and immediately lifts your arm and indicates for you to spin in a circle so he can truly appreciate the dark mystery you exude. “Goddamn, girl,” he says, eyes raking over your long, fishnet-covered legs. You’re wearing a pleated black skirt that’s just a little too short, with a velvety crop top and platform boots with a bunch of silver buckles. The very same ones, Tommy remembers, that you wore that night he got on his knees for you. 

You smell like cherries again, sweet and earthy and delicious. You’re giggling softly when you face him once more, laughing at the awestruck expression on his face. “You don’t look so bad yourself, casanova,” you say, and it’s the closest thing to a compliment he’s ever received from those pretty crimson lips. It makes him feel dizzy.

Tommy opens the door to his truck for you and waits while you climb inside. “Hope you cleared your schedule, baby,” he tells you. “Got the whole day planned out for us.”

“I guess it’s a good thing I turned my location on then, so they know where to find my body when you’re done with it.” 

You say it so flatly that he can’t help but laugh. “Oh, darlin,' you think I’d leave that sweet little body behind?” He lets his gaze dip from your face to your cleavage, on full display all for him, and allows his attention to linger there for a moment longer than necessary. “Never.”

“How romantic and necrophiliac of you.” You say it with disdain, but the sun is high in the sky and he knows the warmth on your cheeks isn’t because of the weather.

He does have the whole day planned out. You stop at a local coffee shop on the way to San Antonio, and it surprises him when he orders a black coffee and you order something vanilla flavored with more milk in it than actual coffee. It makes him laugh and reminds him of Saturday night when he discovered that you wore pink panties beneath all your black leather and lace. It makes Tommy wonder what other parts of your life are filled with color, making up for the lack of it in your wardrobe.

He takes you to one of those fancy museums, just like he wanted, and it’s even better than he imagined. Tommy genuinely enjoys himself, even though he’s so out of his element it isn’t even funny. He’s the only person in the whole place in a pair of jeans, but you don’t seem to mind at all. You laugh at the jokes he makes about some of the weirder paintings, and when you see one inspired by those witch trials he learned about in high school Tommy listens to you talk about it for fifteen minutes. 

And the strangest part is that he’s enraptured by it. He loves hearing you talk, especially when you get excited and your hands start moving as you speak.

The weather is nicer when you’re finished—the sun has warmed the morning chill away and you decide to walk to the next attraction. Tommy takes you to that fancy cathedral and watches you gush over that, too. You look so pretty like this, he thinks—with wonder in your eyes and sunlight in your hair.

It’s weird to be this attached so quickly, he knows. You’re just some bartender he met a couple of weeks ago, and you know next to nothing about each other, but Tommy Miller wants to learn everything there is to know about you. He wants to learn more about those witch trials and about the gothic architecture in Europe you’re super knowledgeable about. He wants to listen to The Misfits and learn the lyrics, wants to find fishnet stockings and pink panties in his laundry.

But he doesn’t want to weird you out, and so instead he gives you a toothy grin and laces his fingers through yours. 

It startles you a little, at first, and you scowl at him. But then your scowl turns into a glare with a little smile, and you wrap your free hand around his elbow and step a little closer. 

Tommy Miller’s heart flutters, as if he’s some youthful boy falling in love for the first time and not the goth girl obsessed old man he really is.

He takes you to the fancy restaurant he made reservations at, and asks more questions than you can keep up with. You tell him about your parents and your best friend, and when he asks you about how you spend your time outside of work he laughs when you say, “I’ve been doing a lot of indoor gardening lately.” And then your easy energy fades, and Tommy’s laughter stops. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” he says. “You’re just…”

“Just what?”

He parrots your words from that night on the hood of your car. “Surprising.”

You flush deeply, and you share a look that lets Tommy know you’re thinking of the exact moment he is. 

Pressure builds low in his belly at the thought. You’re in such a fancy place, eating some beef dish that he can’t pronounce, and you’re both thinking very inappropriate, filthy thoughts. 

The rest of the night goes so smoothly that Tommy doesn’t even realize the sun has set by the time you’re finished talking. And even on the drive home, he discovers that he just can’t shut up. He wants to know everything there is to know about you. And when he pulls up to your apartment, he can’t shake the feeling that this date wasn’t long enough. Twelve fucking hours later, a million questions and a million answers later, and he still selfishly wants more time with you. And so when he gets out of his truck and opens the door for you, Tommy asks, “Can I walk you to the door?”

You narrow your eyes only slightly, suspicion evident on your face. But for the first time in his entire life, Tommy doesn’t ask with the intent to get inside. He just wants to soak up these last few moments with you. “Yeah,” you finally answer. “That would be nice.”

He slips his arm around your shoulders, holding you close, and presses an innocent kiss to your forehead. “I had a real nice time with you, vampire girl,” he admits. Tommy thinks real nice is putting it lightly, but he only just convinced you to go on a single date with him and he doesn’t want to scare you off.

It’s comforting when you linger outside your apartment door and say, “Me too. You know, I actually…I’ve never been on a real date before.”

Tommy nearly doubles over. It’s criminal, he thinks. You should’ve always been treated like goddamn royalty, and any other person you’ve ever allowed close never deserved it. He didn’t ask about your past relationships, but Tommy knows that much for certain without an ounce of insight. “Aw, baby,” he groans, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “I hate that so much. You’ve got no clue how much I fucking hate that.” He lifts his head, only to fall to his knees before you. Tommy anchors himself by putting his warm, calloused hands on the back of your thighs, letting himself feel the soft skin and the rough fabric of your fishnets. 

His face is level with your navel, and he presses a kiss to the exposed skin between your skirt and cropped top. It almost makes him moan when you thread your hands through his hair, black-painted fingernails scratching lightly at his scalp. “That’s what I’ve got you for,” you say. You pull his hair at the roots, forcing his head back, forcing him to look up at you through hooded eyes. 

If any of his friends were to see him right now, Tommy knows he’d never hear the fucking end of it. But he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care because his cock hardens every time he’s on his knees for you. Never thought he’d be the kind of man to want a woman to take charge—but here you are, and Tommy Miller has never experienced something so fucking erotic in all his life. Your words make him smile. “Yeah, you do,” he beams. “I’ll take you on a hundred dates, each better than the last.”

You turn those siren eyes on him and he feels a little like he’s been inducted into some sort of ritual. He doesn’t mind, though. Is ready and willing to do and be whatever you want. Your voice is low, hardly a whisper, as you ask, “Do you usually fuck on the first date, casanova?”

He inhales a ragged breath but it doesn’t do a single thing to ease the ache in his chest. Tommy licks his lips, hopes you’ll invite him inside both your apartment and your heart because you have catastrophically devoured him. He wants it, wants you, so badly that it hurts.

But he doesn’t want it for one night. He wants it for far longer than that. 

And so he tells the truth. “Sometimes,” he says. “But I can’t do that with you, vampire girl. Ya mean too much to me.”

His confession makes you smile. A sweet, pretty little smirk that’s not quite devoid of corruption. “You want to, though. Hm?”

Tommy groans, squeezes his eyes closed, and presses his forehead against your hipbone. “More than fuckin’ anything, sweetheart.” He kisses that sliver of skin again, this time an open-mouthed kiss that leaves moisture in the wake of his lips. “Have no idea what I wanna do to you.”

He slides his hands on the back of your thighs up further, sighing in contentment. He grabs two fistfuls of your ass and discovers you wear nothing but fishnets beneath your skirt and the realization makes him ache. He squeezes the supple flesh between his fingers, wishing so badly that he could worship you the way you deserve. “I could guess,” you say, taking on a teasing tone. “Come here.”

What is he to do but obey your every command? Tommy rises to his feet and shudders when your hand finds the bulge in his jeans. You��re touching him— touching him, and he thinks he might fucking die. It’s strenuous to fight the urge to rut his hips into your hand, to beg you to give him something.

Christ, you make him so fucking weak.

He towers over you, easily by a foot, and you have to crane your head back just to look up at him. “You can give me a kiss goodnight, though, can’t you? Strong enough to do that?”

Tommy takes you by the throat and forces you against the door to your apartment. His lips crash against yours, hunger and greed in his every movement. His cock throbs almost painfully in his jeans, and he presses it into you so you know just how badly you torment him.

A keening, desperate whine leaves the back of your throat. He uses the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, to savor the taste of you. That metal barbell tastes just as good as he remembers. Your skirt lifts the smallest bit, and Tommy wedges his knee between your legs and grins when you begin to grind down against the rough denim of his jeans. “Don’t go breakin’ the rules now, vampire girl,” he whispers against your cheek. “I know you want it, too. Just as fuckin’ bad. Ain’t that right?”

“Oh my god,” is all you say in answer. Your cheeks are flushed and that pretty wine color on your lips has smeared. Tommy knows it’s likely on his face too, yet he goes back for more. He kisses you again, harder this time, taking your bottom lip between his teeth and dragging it out. You moan into his mouth, hips canting over his thigh.

The denim begins to darken, wet heat soaking through his jeans. “Oh, sweetheart. Look at that. Pretty pussy’s just fuckin’ cryin’ for me, ain't it?”

You nod frantically, and Tommy presses his thigh between your legs harder, chuckling as need overtakes you. You look so goddamn pretty just like this, chasing that high, so fucking close —

Down the hall, a door is ripped open. Tommy takes a step away from you, heart racing behind his ribcage. He watches your flushed cheeks become impossibly redder, holds back his laughter when you cover your mouth with your hand and your eyes widen.

Your chest rises and falls in quick succession while you try to catch your breath, to fight off the shock. 

An older woman dressed in pajama pants and a hoodie has a little pomeranian on a leash. She gives Tommy a tight-lipped smile as she walks past the two of you.

When he hears the apartment’s lobby door slam closed, Tommy glances down at the tent in his jeans and laughs so hard it hurts.

You mirror the sound, and soon it’s not your pretty moans echoing in the hall but instead, it’s your giggles. A sound somehow sweeter to his ears. 

He’s thankful for the intrusion though. Truly. Because if you would’ve asked, he would have gone inside with you. And for the first time in all his life, Tommy thinks he might have a decent shot at this. Thinks he might actually want you to be the first girl he ever brings home to meet the family. His living family, that is.

“I’ll come by the bar this weekend,” he promises, pressing one last kiss to your temple. “I had a real nice time with you, baby.”

You nod and drag your teeth across your bottom lip. “I did, too.”

You don’t invite him inside. Tommy walks down the stairs, wondering if there existed a situation where sleeping together on the first date wouldn’t be a curse. Based on past experiences, it would be, though. The only other serious girlfriend he’s ever had was right after high school. He’d slept with her on the first date, and a few short months later Tommy Miller had sworn off relationships altogether.

But the problem is that it’s never been like this for him. Never felt like this. Not even once in all his life has he wanted someone so badly, has he been this intrigued by what someone else has to say. It’s like you feed his soul, somehow.

Comparing this to any of his past experiences feels foolish, inadequate. 

He makes it through the lobby, past the woman and her pomeranian over in the grass. Makes it all the way back to his truck…and then he hears you call his name. 

He’s never moved so fucking fast. And he’s not embarrassed by it, either. Not even when the woman and her pomeranian give him the dirtiest look as he sprints back across the walkway and into the lobby. He grabs you by the waist, lifting you into his arms, and revels in your easy laughter as he takes the stairs back up to your apartment two at a time.

The door has been left half open in your haste to get back to him, and he wastes no time inviting himself in and kicking it closed behind him. Your limbs are wrapped around his torso, but Tommy doesn’t make it two feet into your apartment before you’re lowering yourself to your knees before him.

And, Christ,  it’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. “God damn, baby. Fuck, fuck, I—”

“We’ll go on another date,” you say, fumbling with his belt buckle. “And technically…technically this is our second one, right? We didn’t fuck on the first date, you just made me cum on the hood of my car. This is the second date.” 

He thinks you look real cute when you try to reason with yourself. But Tommy’s starting to believe that reasoning has become irrelevant when it concerns the two of you. But he still needs to hear it, still needs to know you want this. So he says, “Tell me what you want, vampire girl. You gotta use your words.”

“You, Tommy. I want you.”

It makes his heart stop dead in his chest. Everything, everything has been sacrificed, given in offering to his most precious goddess. And he knows in this very moment that there will never be any going back from this. He knows he will never, ever be rid of you. Knows he’ll see you forever in his dreams, his nightmares. With just those few short words he relinquishes all control. 

But he can still take some back.

He grabs a handful of your hair and pulls your head back. There’s a frenzied look on your face that heightens everything for him, knowing you want this just as bad. Tommy understands your insatiable desire all too well. And so he decides that for tonight, for you, he’s not holding anything back. He’s giving you everything, bearing the best and worst parts of himself to you here and now. “Nah, baby. No hands. Use your fuckin’ teeth.” 

A wicked, sinful smirk tugs at your lips. You do as he says, sticking your hands between your soft thighs. You look like Persephone embodied as he watches you drag the zipper of his jeans down with your teeth, obeying his command. 

Controlling? Sure. But Tommy isn’t cruel, and so he decides to help you. He shoves his jeans and boxers down just enough for his cock to spring free, and he admires the look on your face.

He knows he’s been blessed. Given a gift most men can only dream of. But he’s never been more thankful for it than the moment you lick your lips and then lick him.

Tommy’s never been with a girl who has any piercings, let alone one in her mouth. And he now knows that in this, too, there will be no return for him. 

Because how could it ever feel better than this?  

There’s a bead of precum dripping from the tip, and you lick it up greedily. You familiarize your tongue with every inch of him, running it down the vein on the underside of his cock. It’s a teasing caress, but Tommy never wants it to fucking end.

When you finally take him into your mouth, wrapping your pretty, wine-stained lips around him, he lets out a groan and nearly falls back into the wall. You feel so fucking good as you swallow him down. Your mouth is so warm, so wet, that the barbell is a solid contrast to the softness of your tongue.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Yeah, there you go. Just like that—fuck.” 

Your hands remain tucked firmly between your thighs. Pretty, obedient girl. You use only your lips and tongue and it’s like euphoria, like heaven. It feels so good that he just can't help himself. 

Tommy cradles your face between his hands and guides your mouth around him, shoves himself even further down your throat. You choke and your eyes begin to water, smearing all that black eyeliner down your cheeks, but never once do you give him any indication you want to stop.

He fucks your face unabashedly and it’s even better than any of his fantasies ever were. He feels you swallow him down impossibly deeper, feels the vibration in your throat as you moan around his cock. Spit trickles down your chin, and the image is filthy and obscene and it will be forever scarred into his fucking brain. “You take me so good, baby. So fuckin’ good. Sweet little mouth was made to have a cock in it, huh?”

Two seconds more and he’ll cum down your throat. Tommy forces himself to pull away, forces himself to take a goddamn breath. His cock is aching, hanging heavy between you, covered in your saliva that still connects him to your mouth. It looks like something right out of a porno, he thinks. 

And when you smile at him, pride shining on your tear-stained face, he nearly loses his balance.

He’s in an absolute fucking freefall. And he wants to worship at your demonic altar. 

You stand to your feet, and Tommy’s mouth is back on yours because he can never tire of kissing you, of swallowing up that cherry poison. He drinks you in deep, uncaring of the spit that smears across his chin, humming in contentment because, beneath your ambrosia taste, there’s a little bit of him that lingers. 

There’s a black couch in the center of your living room. You push him down onto it, leaning over to kiss him a little deeper. He tries to pull you into his lap, but you smack his greedy fingers away from your hips. “No hands, casanova. Remember?” 

He fucking loves this shit.  

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, mirroring your idea and shoving his hands beneath his thighs. The leather is cold against the heated flesh of his knuckles, and within seconds he’s fighting the urge to pull them out and touch you again.

You bite your bottom lip contemplatively, but he can see the heat behind those siren eyes of yours and knows without a second of doubt that he would do anything you ask of him. Doesn’t matter how filthy, doesn’t matter how vulgar—because it’s you.

He doesn’t even flinch when you lift your shiny black boot and press the platform into his chest. Instead, he keeps his eyes trained on yours as he tastes the iron of the buckles, metallic on his tastebuds. He’s slow in his pursuit, the leather smooth beneath the flat of his tongue as he weaves it between the straps.

Your eyes darken, pupils blown wide. He’s in absolute awe as your hand slides lightly down your chest, over the swell of your breasts, down your abdomen. Tommy watches it disappear beneath the black fabric of your skirt and has never been so envious of a hand in all his life. 

His voice comes out docile and meek as he says, “Lift your skirt. I want to see it. Please.” 

“You think you’ve earned it?” Everything about you draws him in; even your wicked, evil words. “Because I don’t think you have. Start over, casanova.”

It’s the most degrading, salacious thing he’s ever done, but he does it. He starts at the base of your boot again, right over your ankle, following the wet path his tongue has already created. His cock is so hard it hurts. When he finally makes it past your boot, he sinks his teeth into the soft flesh just above your knee. You let out a gasp of surprise but it quickly turns into a whimper, so Tommy does it again. 

He bites harder, sucks a bruise into the softness of your thigh, shudders at the feeling of your fishnets in his mouth once again, harsh and coarse but so unbelievably satisfying.

“Tell me something,” you say breathlessly. “Are you as good with that mouth of yours as you are with your hands?”

He smirks, the promise of tasting you from the source enough to make goosebumps rise over his skin.

“And don’t lie, casanova. I’ll know if you do.”

“Only one way to find out, vampire girl,” he says. “C’mere.”

You move your boot to rest beside him on the couch instead, placing both hands on his shoulders for balance. He surges forward, dips his head beneath the edge of your tiny little skirt, and fucking moans at the heady taste of you. Better than Ambrosia, better than an Old Fashioned, better than fucking anything he’s ever had in all his life.

He knows he’s not supposed to use his hands. But Tommy Miller’s never been much of a rule follower, and so he grabs your ass and pulls your closer, pulls you in until you fall on top of him. 

He licks up that sweet wetness, tongue sliding through your pussy and circling your clit. You shiver and shake when he sucks it into his mouth, rolling it between his lips. All he wants, all he’s ever fucking wanted was to make you feel good. But somehow he feels like this is almost for him, a gift, a stolen moment in time he’ll never understand what he’s done to deserve.

Your hands are in his hair and you’re moaning his name and as much as he loves them, Tommy reaches a hand between your legs and rips apart your fishnets. He doesn’t want anything separating him from this, doesn’t want anything getting in the way of this miracle given to him by God himself. 

No part of you remains untouched because Tommy Miller is ravenous for you. He licks through your folds with a flat tongue, circles your clit with the point of it. He can feel it pulse in his mouth, and he can't hold back the groan that leaves him. He laps at you like a man starved because he believes he has been. All these years without you, all these years missing out on this.

You gather your skirt in your hands, holding it above his head. You look so pretty from this angle, a dark goddess in eternal bloom. He cannot get over it, your demonic sorcery. It brings him to his knees where he could spend the rest of his life happily.

A part of him wishes you would take charge in this, too. Wishes you would take your pleasure with his mouth however you want it, wishes you would take what you deserve. Because Tommy wants to feel it, wants to fucking taste it, wants to know what it’s like to make you cum on his face so he’ll never forget it.

He pulls away only long enough to shift his body off the couch and onto the floor. “Ride my face, baby.”

You tilt your head, and Tommy recognizes that wicked gleam in your eye. Knows you’re about to make him work for it like you always do, hopes you’ll always make him work for it because he enjoys the chase perhaps a little too much. Somehow, that makes it all the more exciting. “Where are your manners, casanova? Ever learn how to say—?”

“Please,” he interrupts. Because never in his fucking life has he needed something so badly. He doesn’t care that he’s begging, doesn’t care that he looks a fool. “Please, baby. Please, I need it. I fuckin’ need you so bad.”

You don’t leave him waiting long. And it feels like a breath of fresh air to have you in his mouth again, to taste you. Your slick covers chin but he loves it. Loves it. Loves it even more when you thread those sharp claws through his hair and begin to grind your pussy against his face. 

Tommy sticks out his tongue, keeps it wide and flat, and hooks the tip just a little so it catches on your opening every time you shift down. His nose nudges your clit with each tilt of your hips, and you reward him for it with pretty sounding moans 

The sudden thought strikes him that he could cum just like this. Hands free. Tommy fucking Miller thinks he might cum with just the taste of you. 

Devoured doesn’t even begin to cover it. 

“Oh, god. Fuck, that feels so good,” you say, and he feels pride swell in his chest. Your hips move faster, grinding harder. Shameless in their pursuit, chasing that familiar high.

Tommy just pulls your closer, hums against your pussy to try and get you there. 

It works. Within a few short minutes, your breathing goes ragged and your hands tighten in the roots of his hair. “I’m gonna cum, fuck, Tommy, I—oh, God .”

A rush of liquid invades his mouth and trickles down his neck. It’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. Tommy thinks you cum even prettier when it’s because of his mouth and not his fingers.

He wants to make you cum forever. Wants to make you cum in every room in your apartment, in every room in his house, in his truck, in the bathroom of the restaurant you ate at today. He wants to bend you over that bartop and fuck you until you know no words but his name, wants to fuck you senseless.

The suction of his lips around your clit doesn’t lessen until your breathing evens out and every stroke of his tongue pulls a pretty, overstimulated hiss from your mouth. You try to push yourself up on wobbly legs but fail, and Tommy is glad for it because you stumble right into his lap. Right where you belong.

His lips are still wet with your slick as you lean in and kiss him, tasting yourself in his mouth. He can feel you smile against him and he can’t help but mirror it. “You’re fuckin’ incredible, baby. You know that?”

You shift backward, sliding your ass down his legs. His cock lays against his abdomen, the tip flushed crimson, veins prominent and pulsing with need. You bite your lip as you admire his erection while he admires you. He tries to catch his breath to no avail because you reach between your bodies and take his cock in your hand, running your fingers over it slowly. 

The touch is featherlight and affectionate. It’s not meant to be pleasurable for him. It’s for you and your own playful curiosity, and yet you’ve strung him so high, wound him so tight that every soft caress of your fingertips sends shockwaves of electricity down his spine.

You lean your head over his lap and he watches your spit drip onto his cock, landing just on the underside of the head. With your thumb, you spread it across the tip and Tommy’s hips buck up into your hand. You giggle and it’s somehow the cutest and most maniacal thing he’s ever heard in all his life. “You poor thing,” you murmur, counterfeit pity laced in your words.

“Jesus, fuck.” Tommy groans when you slide your thumb across the sensitive head again, thrusting into the palm of your hand. His skin feels too tight, his blood too hot. “C’mon, sweetheart. You’re gonna kill me if you keep doin’ that.”

You do it again and laugh when the muscles in his abdomen visibly tighten. “Mm. Feels real good though, doesn’t it?”

“Know what’ll feel even better?”

No answer comes in the form of words. Instead, You shift back up his lap, hike your skirt up your belly, and slide the head of his cock through your wetness. “This?”

He moans with his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He can feel himself losing control, can feel his grip on restrain wavering with each pass through your heat, coating him in your slick. The sight of himself so close, so fucking close is almost too much to bear. Each time his cock glides over your entrance his hips lift, pressing himself into you, desperate to feel just how tight you are. But your timing is too perfect and his is too restless. “Careful, now,” he warns.

Still, your malicious intent persists. “What’s wrong, casanova? You want something else?” You sound so innocent, so pure. Tommy knows you’re not. “I suggest you take it, then.”

He does. 

Tommy takes your hips in a bruising grip, lays you back against the hardwood floor, and in one smooth movement, he sinks into you deep. If he thought your mouth was heaven, this is some sort of nirvana, a garden of Eden meant for him and him alone. He lets out a sigh of relief and breathes it into the hollow of your throat. “Fuck, baby.”

He can feel you stretch around him, can feel your nails sink into his back. “It hurts,” you say around a whine. 

Leaning back just enough to see your face, to assess just how you’re feeling, Tommy smiles upon the realization that you like how it hurts. Like the pain of it, like the bruising momentum of his desire for you. He rocks into you slowly at first, delighting in that pretty crease that forms between your brows, in the way your lips part and your legs wrap around him. “S’alright, sweetheart,” he coos. “You can take it, can’t you?”

You nod and he picks up the pace, burying himself as deep within you as your anatomy will allow. Tommy presses his mouth to your collarbone, bites the soft skin, sucks another mark there to cement his existence within you. The sting of his teeth only seems to heighten everything for you; moans growing louder, your thighs tightening around his waist. “Yes, yes—don’t stop, don’t stop.”

He hooks his hand around your left thigh and presses your leg up, opening you so he can get impossibly deeper. His hips crash against yours, and your staccato moans are music to his ears. The best symphony he’s ever heard, his very favorite melody.

One of your hands attempts to wriggle between your bodies but he just slaps it away. 

“No hands, vampire girl. Remember?” His tone is mocking and mean but it only makes your pussy grip him harder. “When you cum it’s gonna be because of me. You understand?” You nod in answer but he wants more, will always want more of you. “Say yes.”

“God, yes, yes, fuck —right there. Yes, I understand,” you whimper in answer.

Tommy likes telling you what to do, likes having you at his mercy. But he also likes giving you exactly what you want, and so he takes his free hand and finds your clit just like you’d planned to. He circles it gently, feels it pulse beneath his fingertips. “You feel so good, baby,” he coos against the shell of your ear. “Pretty little pussy was fuckin’ made for me, huh? Ain’t that right?”

Again, no answer comes in the form of words. You’re too shrouded in bliss, too fucked out. Your pointed nails are almost painful against his back, even through his cotton t-shirt. Tommy sits back on his knees and his cock nudges that sweet spot inside of you with the new angle.

He admires the way his cock looks as he fucks you with it relentlessly, glossy and covered in your slick. He knows he won’t last long because the sight alone is almost enough to do him in. But he wants to hear you. Wants you to beg for it. And because he promised himself there would be no inhibitions when it comes to you, Tommy does the most unhinged thing he’s ever done to a woman. 

The crack of his palm against the side of your cheek echoes in your apartment. You let out a sound that’s full of both surprise and lust and one of your hands abandons its assault on his spine to cradle the point of impact.

Tommy’s hips slow, and he’s waiting for you to shove him away. 

But all you do is smile up at him. A pretty, girlish smile that holds no wickedness at all. It’s pleasant and warm and so submissive that it makes his chest pull tight. 

“Asked you a question, darlin,” he says lowly. “You should answer when I’m talkin’ to you.”

“I’m sorry you’re right, you’re right —oh god, you’re gonna make me—!”

“You think you’ve earned it?” The words are spit venomously but hold no salt. He’s going to get you there first like a gentleman, of course he is. Still, he can feel his own release creeping up on him and he holds back as hard as he can. 

“Please,” you whimper, and it’s the prettiest word he’s ever heard in that perfect mouth of yours. “Please, please please—!”

“You’re so cute when you beg. Say it, baby. Tell me who’s pussy this is. Tell me who she belongs to. Tell me who makes her feel this good.” He circles your clit faster, thrusts his hips a little harder. 

It feels like a relief when you say, “It’s yours. Fuck —it’s yours. All yours, Tommy, I promise.”

That coil wound around his spine finally snaps. Because it feels so good to hear you admit it, to hear your resolve wilt and wither. 

His.

“Cum with me, baby,” Tommy says, and you don’t hesitate. Your fishnet-covered thighs turn into a vice around his waist yet still he persists, obscene sounds filling the room. He feels your pussy tighten around him and immediately follows you there, spilling deep inside of you. “Yeah, that’s it. Good fuckin’ girl. Goddamn, baby— fuck.”

“I’m yours,” you whimper, deep in the throes of bliss. The words are a fucking gift. Your thighs tremble and your chest flushes and Tommy realizes just how bad he missed this. How bad he wants to make you cum for the rest of his life, how bad he wants to hear you moan his name, how bad he wants to moan yours. 

You come down slowly and you do it together. It’s easily the most intimate thing he’s ever experienced as he runs his fingers lightly through your hair, pushing the messy strands behind your ear, the pad of his thumb stroking your cheekbone. You smile up at him as you catch your breath, and he can’t help the sentiment as it slips out. “You mean so much to me, vampire girl.”

Crimson stains your cheeks and you press your face into his palm to try and hide it. “Shut up,” you say—but Tommy feels like it’s a phrase of endearment coming from your lips. 

Normally this is the part he hates. The awkward post-coital clarity that usually leaves his skin crawling, trying to find any half-believable truth that will allow him to leave. Only, he doesn’t want to leave you. And so he says, “You wanna shower together?”

“I hope you like cherry scented body wash,” you reply in answer. 

Tommy Miller realizes he loves cherry scented body wash, in fact. And more than that, he likes taking care of you.

Your bathroom is floral themed. There are maroon hand towels over the sink and the shower curtain is black and decorated with plum colored dahlias. You start to strip off your clothes, but Tommy stops you. 

“Let me,” he says. And then he’s on his knees for you in a whole new way. A way that feels a little more weighted, a little more real. But Tommy finds that he doesn’t mind it at all and is careful as he unbuckles your tall leather boots and takes them carefully off your feet. He slides your skirt down your soft thighs, and then your fishnets. He presses a kiss to your belly and stands to his feet. “Arms up,” he instructs and pulls your top off once you obey. 

Once you’re completely bare, Tommy lets you strip his clothes off of him, piling everything into the laundry bin. And even though you don’t talk it feels heavy and intimate in a way he’s never experienced before. 

He washes your hair for you while you cover him in cherry scented suds, your hands on his skin leaving goosebumps in their wake. But he’s not able to completely relax until after you rinse and dry off, after you change into a pair of black and white flannel pajama pants and an oversized tshirt that says Type O Negative. 

Because before he has a chance to pull his jeans back on you say, “I work tomorrow, but in the afternoon. You can stay the night if you want.”

Tommy grins and says, “You gonna sacrifice me in my sleep or somethin’? Cause—hey,” he raises his hands in mock surrender. “I’m willing.”

You laugh and shake your head and call him an idiot, but shortly after Tommy’s wrapped up in black silk sheets, and you’re wrapped up in him. And he figures there’s no time like the present and so he makes a confession both to himself and to you. “Don’t want this to be a one time thing,” Tommy tells you, tightening his arm around your waist. “I want you, vampire girl. If you’ll have me…I’m yours.”

It’s dark in your bedroom but he feels your lips against his bare collarbone and it makes him shiver in delight. “Lucky for you, it seems like I’ve got a soft spot for cowboys.”

Tommy pulls your soft body on top of his and lets himself drown in the comforting warmth, lets himself sink into the intense affection he has for you. He begins to wonder how it’s possible he’s attached himself to you so quickly, making every other connection he’s had with a woman feel hollow and insignificant. He wonders if the reason he’s never taken a second glance at a goth girl is because this whole time he’s been waiting for you, waiting to find this divine, otherworldly bond.

His eyes begin to adjust in the dark. And on the ceiling right above your bed, he notices a poster. It’s a vampiric-looking man with a neon green guitar in his hand. Tommy points to it and asks, “Who’s that?”

“Peter Steele. Meet the only man you’ll ever be in competition with,” you answer.

He can hear the amusement in your tone and feels a deep appreciation for the subject change, afraid he may admit too much too soon. “I could take him.”

You snort. “He’s dead.”

“What?” Tommy drops his hand to his side. “Now, that’s an unfair advantage. You want me to compete with a dead guy? What can be more goth than dead?”

Your chest shakes as you hold in a laugh. But it escapes anyway, and soon you devolve into the cutest giggles he’s ever heard. Tommy mirrors the sound, and though you don’t get much sleep that night, the apples of his cheeks ache from smiling by the time the sun comes over the horizon.