this is the way

30 something 🩷💜💙

[bucksfucks]

but i would kill for you

summary: adam would kill for you. you beg him not to. he obeys and asks for one thing in return; you.

pairing: the creature (adam frankenstein) x reader

word count: 8,783 words

themes: dub-con, non-con (if you squint), this is a dark!adam fic, gore, violence, near-murder, manipulation, coercion, MDNI (18+ ONLY, morally grey reader and adam, both are a little delusional, overall it’s kinda like the blind leading the blind

author’s note: this gave me the tingles

The forest started singing before the trouble came.

Not with birds or crickets or anything living, but with wood.

The trees creaked against one another in the wind like old bones shifting in a shallow grave, and every now and then something further in would crack. Distant and sharp, cutting through the night in a way that made you pause in your small, warm cottage. 

You stood at your worktable, herbs spread out before you in neat, brittle little piles. The cottage smelled of thyme and smoke and a hint of something metallic that hadn’t quite left yet, no matter how long you kept the windows cracked.

You told yourself that smell was your imagination.

You’d lit a lamp and set it by the door, the way you always did when you were alone at the edge of the woods. It cast a small, warm pool over the threshold, reaching a little way onto the packed earth outside and then stopping, defeated, at the teeth of the dark.

Sometimes he stood just past that line.

You’d see the glint of an eye, reflective in the half–light like a cat’s, catching the lamplight and throwing it back at you. The first time, you’d yelped and dropped the basket of drying lavender in your hands, causing the stalks to go everywhere as your heart hammered.

He had vanished between one blink and the next.

After that, you started leaving things.

A crust of bread on the stump. A scrap of wool you’d knitted into a clumsy square. A small cloth pouch of dried yarrow wrapped with twine. Each time, the gifts disappeared by morning, but you always found something in return near the edge of the trees.

A feather, oil–slick black with a strange blue sheen. A stone worn almost perfectly smooth but for a single vein of gleaming white running through it. Once, a wooden figure roughly carved into the shape of a woman with a bundle in her arms the resembled your lavender.

You didn’t see him take anything, but you knew it was him who always did.

The third time you saw him, his one eye shining from the shadows, you’d been gathering fallen kindling.

“You can come closer,” you’d said, pulse beating fast in your throat. “If you want.”

The trees had held their breath and the wind stilled.

He’d stepped half out of the dark then, like it hurt, like the light was a knife. You’d seen the outline of him: much too tall, shoulders too broad, proportions all wrong and yet…not. Not entirely.

Stitched.

That was the word that came to mind. As if someone had sewn a person together from parts that weren’t meant to belong to the same body and then left the seams showing.

“Do you have a name?” you’d asked, because it felt cruel not to.

He’d stared at you, at your mouth, then your eyes. His chest had risen and fallen too fast and too uneven. Then one huge hand had lifted, slow and hesitant, fingertips tapping his own sternum twice.

“Adam,” he’d said. The word came out wrong, thick, like his tongue didn’t quite know where it was meant to go. 

Your heart had stuttered. “Adam,” you’d repeated.

His eye, the one caught in the light, had flared. Then he’d stepped back into the dark and vanished.

That was all. No more words.

Just gifts and glances and the feeling of being watched without malice.

Until that afternoon.

The man from the village had arrived just as the sky was turning the colour of old bruises. He’d knocked too hard and smiled too wide before asking after herbs for sleep, for aches, and for “lonely nights, you know how it is.”

You’d seen him before and you didn’t like him.

You gave him what you could spare, careful, polite. He didn’t offer coin. When you asked for it, he laughed and reached past you to take a little more from the shelf.

You didn’t see his hand until it was closing around your wrist.

“Pretty little lonely thing,” he’d murmured, fingers digging in just enough to hurt. “Out here all by yourself with all these… potions. Seems unwise.”

You’d yanked your arm back, eyes stinging. “Let go.”

He’d squeezed harder.

“Make me.”

Someone had moved at the treeline then. You’d seen the flash of that reflective eye in the dark and had never been so relieved in your life.

The man hadn’t seen it, he’d been too busy dragging you closer, leaning in, breath sour on your cheek.

“If you screamed,” he’d said, “no one would hear.” Before grinning sickly sweet that made your stomach churn. 

Later, you’d sit by the cold hearth and remember the way the shadows had shifted outside. The way the air had changed and how you’d felt suddenly less alone and more in danger all at once.

You had wriggled free finally, shoving him back, telling him to get out, that he wasn’t welcome back here. He’d gone, muttering and eyes mean.

He’d stolen three bundles of dried herbs on his way.

You had seen Adam move then, far back between the trees. He’d taken a step forward, shoulders coiling tight, hands flexing like he was barely holding himself in place.

You’d shaken your head at him, just once.

“Don’t,” you’d mouthed.

His jaw had clenched so hard you’d heard it from the doorway, a crack like a bone breaking. 

He’d turned and followed the man instead of coming to you.

You should have known that wouldn’t be the end of it.

Now the scream had torn through the woods, wrong and twisting and filled with a fear that made your blood run cold. You dropped the your knitting and grabbed your lantern.

The path to the clearing felt longer than it ever had. Every step was heavier, every breath sharper. The sound of someone begging bled through the trees in fragments — words mangled by panic.

“Please—please, I didn’t—I swear, I didn’t mean—”

Another voice cut across it. Low and ragged and barely human. 

“You hurt her.”

Your heart lurched.

You nearly dropped the lantern, knuckles going white around the handle as you stumbled the last few paces and shoved through the undergrowth.

You saw the blood first.

It was everywhere. Splashed up the trunks of trees, spattered over ferns, soaking dark into the leaf–litter. It was fresh and bright and thick and terrifying. It glistened wetly in the lamplight, sticky, and too real.

The man lay on his back in the centre of it, mouth bleeding, teeth pink with it. His nose was broken, mashed off to one side in a way that made your stomach lurch. One eye was already swelling closed while his one arm was bent wrong between wrist and elbow.

Adam had one massive hand around his throat.

He could have snapped it like a twig.

He might have already been in the process of doing it.

The man kicked weakly, heels scraping burrows in the mud. His fingers clawed at Adam’s wrist, nails tearing at skin that didn’t break the way human skin would.

“Please,” he gasped, voice a wet rattle. “Please…I’ll go, I’ll leave her alone, I’ll—”

Adam was breathing hard. Harder than you’d ever seen. Each inhale sounded like it took effort, huge chest rising and falling, shoulders bunched up around his ears like he was holding back some tidal wave inside himself.

You’d never seen his face like this. His features were always a bit wrong, the lines not quite where you expected them to be, scars pulling in directions that looked painful. But now his expression twisted them into something else entirely.

Something terrifying.

His lips peeled back too far, more snarl than anything. His eyes were wide, the whites stark in the darkness, but the pupils blown huge, devouring the light. Every muscle in his forearms stood out starkly against the light of your lantern.

He lifted the man a few inches off the ground by his throat alone.

You heard cartilage pop.

“Adam,” you said.

It came out too quiet.

Your lungs forgot how to work for a second. The lantern wobbled in your hand, sending wild shadows over the three of you.

Blood had sprayed over Adam’s chest and arms. It soaked into his shirt, trickled down the seams of his stitched skin in small rivers. There were flecks of it on his jaw, on his neck, in his hair.

Your insides knotted.

“Adam,” you said again, louder this time, the word catching at the end. “Stop.”

His head whipped towards you.

One eye caught the lamplight full on and flashed, animal–bright. For a heartbeat, he looked like something out of a story used to frighten children into staying in bed at night.

He saw you.

Everything in his face changed.

The snarl faltered and instead, confusion flickered, then dread, then something like shame. His grip on the man’s throat loosened just enough for the man to suck in a rough, rasping breath that sounded like tearing cloth.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Adam said. The words came rough and slow, like they had to fight to get out. “You shouldn’t…see this.”

Your hand tightened on the lantern. Your other hand hung uselessly at your side, fingers shaking.

“You followed him,” you said. “From my cottage.”

Adam’s gaze darted briefly toward your wrist—to the darkening bruise blooming where the man had grabbed you earlier. Something ugly flared in his eyes.

“He hurt you,” he said. Each word was a stone dropped from a great height. “He took from you. He touched you. He laughed.”

He turned back to the man.

“You don’t get to do that.”

He lifted him higher, fingers tightening again.

The man’s legs kicked and a strangled sound forced its way out of his crushed throat.

“Adam, no.”

The word tore itself from your chest before you could think.

You stepped forward, shoes squelching in blood–wet mud. The smell of iron hit you hard, filling your nose, thick at the back of your throat. You wanted to gag.

“Let go of him. Please.”

Adam’s breathing sped up again. His eyes flicked between you and the man, wild.

“I told him not to come,” he said, voice breaking. “I told him I would be here. Watching. I told him not to touch you. He didn’t listen.”

His fingers flexed and the man made a choking, gurgling sound that made bile rise in your throat.

“You can’t kill him,” you said.

He stared at you like you’d spoken in a language he’d never heard before.

“He deserves it.”

“Maybe,” you said, voice shaking, “but if you do this…If you kill him…They will all say they were right about you. That you’re a monster. That you belong in the dark.”

The hand not gripping the man curled into a fist by Adam’s side.

“This is how I protect you,” he said. “This is how I make sure no one hurts you again.”

“Yes, but not like this,” you said. Your heart was pounding so hard you felt it everywhere. “Not for me. Not if it means losing what you are trying to be. I don’t want you to kill for me.”

He flinched like you’d struck him.

The man wheezed, eyes rolling, half–conscious.

“Adam…please.” You swallowed. “I want you to protect me. I do. But not like this. Not…by becoming the thing they all think you are.”

He stared at you.

You could see it—the war. Rage shuddered through him, something old and hot and feral. But layered over it, wrapped around it, was something softer and far more dangerous.

Devotion.

His jaw clenched.

Slowly, grudgingly, he let the man drop.

The man collapsed to the ground in a wet heap, gasping and coughing, clutching at his throat. His broken arm hung crooked by his side.

Adam wasn’t finished.

He grabbed him again, this time by the front of his coat, dragging him up until they were nearly nose to nose.

“You breathe because she asked,” he said, voice low and shaking. “Not because you deserve it.”

The man whimpered.

Adam shook him once, hard, fingers knotting in the fabric.

“You will go back to the village,” he said. “You will say you fell. You will say you were clumsy. You will not say her name.”

The man nodded frantically, or tried to, his head flopping more than anything.

Adam hauled him a little higher.

“And before you go,” he added, voice dropping further, “you will thank her for your life.”

He turned the man’s head roughly toward you.

The man’s eyes were bloodshot, one nearly swollen shut, his mouth red and wet. He swallowed painfully.

“Th…thank you,” he rasped. “For…for my life.”

You didn’t answer.

Adam stared at you while you stared at the man. Something unreadable flickered behind his gaze.

“Run,” Adam told him again.

He let go.

The man fell to the ground with a grunt, scrabbled for his life, then lurched to his feet and stumbled into the trees, half–falling, half–running. His footsteps crashed through the undergrowth until they faded.

The clearing fell very, very quiet.

The lantern flame jittered.

Adam stayed where he was for a moment, shoulders rising and falling like each breath hurt. Blood was drying tacky on his skin now, darkening where it soaked into the fabric of his clothes. 

His hands still shook.

Then, slowly, he turned to you.

The expression on his face undid you.

Raw. Frightened. Hopeful. Terrifying.

“I didn’t kill him,” he said, like a child reciting something he wanted to be proud of. “You asked, and I…I stopped.”

The trembling in your hands spread to the rest of you. Your knees threatened to give.

You looked at him—at his hands, at his arms, at the smear of someone else’s life across his chest—and your entire body flooded with one cold, hard fact.

He could have killed him easily.

He could kill anyone who tried to hurt you. Anyone at all. You, even. He could end them, break them, tear them apart. And now he’d proven he would.

If not for your voice, your request, your thin thread of control, he would have done it.

He had chosen you over his rage.

That was almost scarier than the blood.

You swayed.

Adam moved so fast you barely saw it. One second he was across the clearing and the next, his hands were on your arms, keeping you upright.

“Careful,” he said. “You are shaking.”

His grip was strong, too strong. Even holding back, you felt the promise of force there. He could crush bone without thinking.

You forced your eyes to stay on his face. “You’re covered in blood.”

He glanced down, as if noticing for the first time.

“Oh.”

He sounded genuinely…puzzled. Almost embarrassed.

“It is not yours,” he said, quickly. “I didn’t let him touch me. He doesn’t get that. He doesn’t—”

He cut himself off, jaw tightening.

You pulled in a shaky breath. “We can’t leave it. If anyone sees you like this…”

You didn’t finish.

He understood.

You bent, grabbed a handful of dirt, and reached for his forearm.

He flinched when your fingers touched him, more in surprise than discomfort.

“Hold still,” you said, voice quieter.

You rubbed the damp earth into the splatters of drying blood, working it into the grooves of his skin, over the raised edges of seams and scars. The grit caught on the dried patches and began to lift them, the redness dulling as mud and blood mixed.

It was messy, slow work. Each sweep of your hand revealed more of him beneath—more of the strange, stitched–together skin, pale in places, darker in others. You kept your breathing steady, but your heart wouldn’t slow.

He watched you the entire time.

When you risked a glance up, his eye caught the lamplight again, reflective and bright. It made him look almost unreal, like some night creature you’d summoned instead of someone standing right in front of you.

“You should not touch me when I am like this,” he said, rough. “You might…change your mind.”

“About what?” you asked, even though you weren’t sure you wanted to hear the answer.

He was quiet for a beat.

“About whether I deserve to be near you,” he said finally.

Your throat tightened.

You moved to his other arm. More dirt. More careful, circling pressure. It felt wrong to be this gentle with someone who had just bent bone like it was kindling. It felt inevitable at the same time. You didn’t know what that said about you.

“How did you know?” you asked quietly. “Back at the cottage. When he took the herbs. When he grabbed me.”

Adam’s jaw flexed.

“I watch,” he said simply.

You swallowed. “Always?”

His gaze flicked to your face, searching. “Yes. Always.”

The thought made your skin prickle. You weren’t sure if it was comfort or violation. Maybe both.

You worked the dirt higher, over his shoulder, where a long smear of blood had dried.

Your knuckles brushed his throat as you reached.

He inhaled sharply.

You froze, fingers half–curled.

His voice came out thick. “If you are done, we should go. Before someone comes.”

You lowered your hand.

“Come home,” you said, because it felt strange to call it anything else when he’d been circling its edges for so long.

You turned. His footsteps followed.

He didn’t walk behind you like a protector. He walked very close, beside you, matching your pace easily, his hand hovering near the small of your back as if he wanted to touch but didn’t trust himself to do it gently twice in one night.

By the time the cottage came into view, your muscles ached from tension. The lamp by the door still burned, attracting a halo of moths.

Inside, everything looked too normal.

The overturned chair you hadn’t had time to pick up earlier. The herbs scattered where the man had rummaged. A dent in the table where his fist had landed when you’d told him to leave.

You lit another lamp, brighter, and set it on the table. The cottage filled with a warm glow that felt at odds with the night you’d just lived.

Adam ducked under the doorframe and stood there, enormous and entirely out of place in such a small room.

He looked around like he was half–afraid everything would disappear if he moved.

“You can sit,” you said.

He did so awkwardly, the chair creaking under his weight. You grabbed a bowl, filled it with water from the bucket, and found a clean cloth.

“Give me your hands,” you said.

He offered them without hesitation.

In the better light, you saw there were flecks of bone mixed with the blood under his nails. Your stomach rolled, but you pressed the cloth to his skin anyway, wiping slow, steady circles, rinsing frequently when the water turned pink.

He watched your face, not his hands.

“You asked me not to be a monster,” he said suddenly. “So I tried.”

You swallowed. “You were still…frightening.”

“I am always frightening,” he said. “That does not change. But I did not kill him.”

The words hung between you like something he was begging you to acknowledge.

“You didn’t,” you said quietly. “Because I asked you not to.”

His breath hitched.

“You asked,” he repeated, like the word itself was a marvel. “You ask, and I…stop. Even when everything in me wants…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

You didn’t ask what he wanted. You weren’t sure you wanted it put into words.

You moved from his hands to his forearms, washing away the remaining streaks of red. The skin there felt strange under the cloth—not quite right, thicker in some places, almost waxen in others. Patchwork.

He flinched once when your thumb accidentally pressed harder over a seam, not in pain, but like the idea of you feeling it bothered him.

“You do not have to do this,” he said. “You could tell me to wash in the river.”

“I don’t want them seeing the water stained,” you said. “Home is safer.”

“You do not want them to know what I did,” he murmured.

“I don’t want them coming here,” you said. “For you or for me.”

His eyes brightened at the second part. “You are…protecting me.”

You almost laughed and it came out strangled.

“I’m trying to keep us both from being dragged into the square and burned,” you said. “Take it how you like.”

His gaze flicked to your face, lingering.

“I like that you said us,” he said.

You cleared your throat and stepped back. “Take your shirt off. There’s still blood on your chest.”

He hesitated only a second before obeying, fingers fumbling a little at the torn fabric.

You’d seen his shape in glimpses before, but never fully. Now, as the shirt came away, you saw how many pieces he was made of. How many different colours of skin patched together. How many scars crisscrossed and overlapped.

And under all of it, the sheer, impossible strength of him.

Your mouth went dry.

You focused on the task.

The cloth moved over his chest in careful strokes. There was a dark smear over his heart that took longer to erase. You had to lean closer, bracing your free hand lightly against his shoulder for balance.

His breath stuttered.

“Does it hurt?” you asked, without looking at his face.

“Yes,” he said.

You frowned, glancing up.

His eyes were on you, not the cloth. Dark, wide, pupils swallowing nearly everything.

“Where?” you asked, genuinely confused for a second.

He lifted a hand and tapped two fingers against his chest, just below where your cloth worked.

“Here.”

You swallowed.

Your fingers tightened around the fabric. You kept wiping, though your hand had started to shake again.

His skin was colder than yours, but not dead. There was a heat under it now, like banked coals. Like something waking up.

“I let him live,” he said. “Because you asked. Because you do not want me to prove them right. About what I am.”

“I know,” you said softly.

“You saved him,” Adam went on. “You saved him from me. And you saved me from myself.”

The words landed somewhere deep and dangerous.

Your hand stilled.

“In return,” he said, voice dropping, “I want something.”

Your heart lurched and you lifted your head.

He was closer than you’d realized. You hadn’t seen him move, but suddenly you were standing between his knees, his height bringing you nearly level as he sat. The room felt smaller, the walls closer.

“What?” you asked, though part of you already knew.

His hand lifted, slow, shaking, and touched your wrist again—the bruised one. His fingers circled it gently, thumb brushing the tender skin.

“I want you,” he said.

The words were simple. Raw. Stripped of any pretty attempt at disguise.

Your stomach knotted.

“Adam,” you said carefully, “you’re upset. Tonight was—”

“I was upset before,” he said. “When I watched him take from you. When I saw you flinch. When I saw him put his hands where they did not belong.” His fingers tightened faintly around your wrist. “I did nothing then. I watched. I thought it was not my place.”

His gaze slid up your arm, to your shoulder, to your throat.

“I will not do nothing again,” he said. “Not when it comes to you.”

A tremor ran through you that had nothing to do with the cold.

“I don’t know if I want that,” you said, honestly.

His eyes flicked back to your face.

“But you do not say no,” he whispered.

He wasn’t wrong.

The fear was thick, yes. But under it, tangled hopelessly with it, was something else. The memory of his eye shining in the dark. The gifts on the stump. The way he’d knelt in blood and still looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

You didn’t say no.

His fingers slid from your wrist up to your elbow, then higher, tracing the line of your arm as if he were learning it by touch alone. When he reached your shoulder, he hesitated.

“Tell me to stop,” he said. “Say it. If you say it, I will.”

You opened your mouth.

Nothing sensible came out.

Your silence was an answer.

He heard it.

Something in his face crumpled and then reformed even harder. The gentleness stayed, but it sharpened. Devotion twisted into something possessive.

His other hand came up to cradle the side of your neck. His palm nearly covered it entirely, thumb pressing lightly just below your jaw. Your pulse fluttered against his skin.

“You are shaking,” he murmured. “With fear. With…something else.”

He leaned in, slowly, breath brushing your lips. You could have stepped back. You didn’t. Your feet might as well have been rooted to the floor.

“I will not be gentle if I think you are lying to me,” he said softly. “If you say you do not want this and I still feel you reaching.”

“I’m not reaching,” you whispered, even as your fingers curled into the fabric of the washcloth that was at his shoulders.

He gave you a look that said he didn’t believe you.

He closed the last inch.

His mouth met yours.

It wasn’t soft, not really. It started soft, the way he always tried to be with anything that mattered to you, but there was too much behind it. Too much fear, too much relief, too much wanting. His lips were cool and clumsy and shaking, pressing against yours like he was terrified you’d vanish if he didn’t hold you there.

You made a sound in your throat that you didn’t recognize.

His grip on your neck tightened just enough to keep you from pulling away too quickly, but not enough to hurt. His other hand slid around your waist, fingers splaying against your back, pulling you closer so there was no space left at all.

Your mind shouted that this was wrong, that you shouldn’t be here, that you’d just watched him almost kill a man. Your body overruled it with the simple, undeniable fact that you’d been lonely for a very long time and here was something huge and terrible and utterly devoted pressing against you like you were the centre of its universe.

He deepened the kiss. Not with any skill, but with sheer force of feeling, tilting his head, breathing against your mouth with small, broken sounds that sounded suspiciously like relief.

When he finally pulled back, it was only far enough to rest his forehead against yours, breath harsh and uneven.

“I should not,” he said, voice hoarse. “I know I should not. But when you touched me in the clearing, when you cleaned me, when you stood in my way and told me what to be…”

His hand shifted on your back, sliding up, spanning your ribs.

“I felt like I belonged to you,” he said. “And I wanted you to belong to me.”

He didn’t give you time to answer.

He surged up, rising from the chair in one smooth, towering motion, lifting you as if you weighed nothing. Your feet left the ground with a startled gasp. Your hands flew to his shoulders, clinging without meaning to as the rag dropped to the floor where it lay, covered in another man’s blood. 

He turned and pressed you back against the wall beside the bed. The wood was cold against your spine and Adam was cold against your front.

He pinned you there with his body, not crushing, but inescapable. One hand braced beside your head. The other dragged down your side, fingers curling at your hip, holding you in place.

His mouth found your throat this time.

It wasn’t a bite, not quite. His lips pressed to the skin below your jaw, then lower, then lower still, leaving a trail of chilled heat in their wake. He breathed you in like it was the first clean air he’d ever taken.

You turned your head to the side without thinking, giving him more space.

He made a sound at that. A low, rough noise that vibrated against your neck. You felt his hand tighten at your hip, fingers digging in just enough to remind you what he could do if he stopped holding back.

“You smell like fear,” he said against your skin. “And like wanting. Like herbs and smoke and something that is just you.”

His nose brushed up along your throat, to the underside of your chin.

“You do not push me away,” he said. “Even though you could try.”

Your fingers flexed in his hair, caught there. You weren’t sure when they’d moved.

“I don’t know what I want,” you said, barely audible.

“I do,” he said. “I have had nothing but time to know.”

His hand left the wall and came back to your face, thumb stroking your lower lip, smearing a little of the dampness there.

“I want to take,” he said. “What no one else gets to have. What he tried to take and failed. I want to erase him. I want you to only think of me when you think of hands on you. Of mouths. Of teeth.”

A shiver ran through you so hard he felt it, causing his eyes to darken further.

“You are scared,” he said. “Good. You should be. I do not know how to do this softly for long.”

He kissed you again.

If the first kiss had been a question, this was an answer.

He pressed you more firmly into the wall, bodies flush, one leg nudging between yours without subtlety. His hand cupped the back of your head so you couldn’t hit it against the wood, thumb stroking your hairline in a small, almost absent comfort that made the contrast worse.

You didn’t say yes, but didn’t say no.

You let him.

That was all the permission he seemed to need.

He took what he wanted in the only way he knew how—with overwhelming presence, with all–consuming focus, with the kind of intent that stripped you bare without ever undressing you. His mouth moved from your lips to your jaw to that spot below your ear that made your knees go weak. His hand at your hip dragged you closer against him, aligning you with a slow, unthinking possessiveness that left no doubt he was feeling every inch of you.

When your breath caught, his did too.

“Mine,” he whispered against your skin. The word shivered through you. “You asked me not to kill. You asked me not to be the monster. I listened. Now I am asking you for this, and you are not saying no.”

It sounded like logic to him. To you, it sounded like a trap.

He eased you sideways then, away from the wall, lifting you effortlessly and setting you on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight as he followed, one knee sinking into it, caging you there with his arms braced to either side of your body.

He hovered above you for a moment, looking down, his expression a mess of awe and terror and hunger.

“You are shaking,” he said again.

“So are you,” you managed.

He let out a short, breathless sound that might have been a laugh if it hadn’t sounded so close to a sob.

“I do not know how to want less,” he admitted. “I only know all or nothing. When you leave gifts, I think about them until the next one comes. When you look at me, I remember the exact way your eyes were for days. When you say my name…”

He swallowed hard.

“Say it,” he said. “Please.”

“Adam,” you whispered.

His eyes closed like it hurt and healed him at the same time.

When they opened again, something had fallen away. The last thin layer of restraint, maybe. The thing that had kept him lingering at the edges of the woods instead of crossing your threshold months ago.

He lowered himself until his weight settled, careful but undeniable, around you. His head dipped. His mouth found yours again, more demanding, more sure.

You felt very small and very seen and very trapped.

You didn’t pull away.

His hand slid along your side, up your ribs, fingers splaying against your back to anchor you as he kissed you like he was starving and you were the only thing that had ever filled him.

When he finally broke the kiss, he stayed close, breathing hard, eyes flicking over your face like he was trying to memorize it.

“I let him live,” he said, voice rough and low. “I did what you asked. I will not always. But this—”

He brushed his thumb over your lower lip once more, swollen and sensitive from his mouth.

“This I will not give back,” he whispered. “Not to him. Not to anyone. Not even to you, if you wake tomorrow and decide you were afraid of the wrong thing.”

The room felt too small for the size of what he was promising.

You lay there beneath him, heart pounding, caught between the urge to shove him away and the urge to drag him closer and knowing that either way, something in you had already been claimed.

He lowered himself until his weight settled around you—careful, but not careful enough to hide how badly he wanted to stop holding back. His breath trembled against your cheek as he hovered there, waiting for something you weren’t sure you could give but couldn’t quite take back either.

“Say something,” he murmured, voice low and frayed. “Anything. Just do not turn away.”

You didn’t turn away.

That was all he needed.

Adam leaned in slowly, like a storm lowering itself, tension in every line of his body. His lips brushed yours once—light enough to be mistaken for hesitation.

It wasn’t hesitation.

It was restraint snapping thread by thread.

The second kiss wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t asking. It wasn’t even searching. It was Adam taking a mouth he’d been imagining longer than you realized, a kiss that wasn’t smooth or practiced but overwhelming in its sincerity, its hunger, its confusion about where to put all the wanting without breaking something.

His hand slid up your side, fingers splayed wide as if mapping the shape of you. He paused halfway, breath hitching when your ribcage expanded under his palm with a trembling inhale.

Then he moved again—slow, claiming, tracing the line of your waist like he was memorizing the difference between touching and devouring.

You gasped softly.

His head snapped up at the sound, eyes wild, confused, hopeful all at once.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked.

“No,” you breathed.

The smallest exhale of relief left him, and he went still for a moment—like he needed to anchor himself in that word.

Then something inside him buckled.

His hand tightened gently at your waist before sliding around, pulling your hips closer into the cradle of his body. You could feel the tension in him—raw, unfamiliar, and pressed hard and heavy against your hip—like he didn’t know what to do with it except press closer, closer, closer.

Your hands—traitorous, shaking—lifted toward his shoulders. You didn’t mean to touch him. You weren’t even sure you wanted to. But fear and longing scrambled inside you until your fingers curled in the rough seam where one piece of him had been stitched to another.

He made a sound.

Not quite a growl, not quite a groan—just a deep, guttural noise that vibrated through him and into you.

He lowered his forehead to your collarbone, breath dragging ragged through his chest. His hips worked against yours and your traitorous body responded. His mouth brushed your skin lightly, testing, tasting the heat of you. You felt the faintest scrape of his teeth—not biting, but there.

Your pulse hammered wildly under his lips.

He followed it.

His mouth moved along the path of your heartbeat, up your neck, slow and trembling, until his nose brushed the underside of your jaw. He inhaled sharply there, like scent alone was enough to unravel whatever fragile restraint he had left.

“You smell like you want something,” he murmured, voice breaking against your throat. 

His hand slid to your thigh, squeezing firm enough that the breath caught in your chest. He squeezed again, a quiet, desperate question.

You didn’t answer with words.

Your body tightened under his touch and your breath stuttered.

He felt everything.

His lips parted at your ear, breath hot and uneven. “If you wanted me gone, you would push me. You would run. You would scream. You do not.”

You shook your head.

“That is not no,” he whispered.

His mouth traced a slow line down your neck—not lingering long enough to mark, but deep enough to make your fingers tighten around his shoulders involuntarily.

He shuddered.

“Oh gods,” he breathed, pulling back just enough to look at you, pupils swallowing nearly the entire iris. “Do that again.”

You hadn’t meant to do anything.

But he took the shiver of your touch, the hitch in your breath, the widening of your eyes—he took every small involuntary reaction as proof, as permission, as something to claim.

He took the scent of your slick arousal as permission. 

His hand slid beneath you, curling at the small of your back, pulling you up into him with a strength that made you gasp—made him gasp back, like the sound alone was something he could drown in.

“Tell me you do not want this,” he said, voice shaking, raw, almost angry with need. “Tell me now, and I’ll stop.”

He looked at you like stopping would kill him. You felt the truth of it.

You parted your lips.

But nothing came out.

His eyes darkened, throat bobbing with a harsh swallow.

“That is enough,” he whispered.

His hand slid from your back to your hip, fingers pressing, guiding, pulling you into the shape of him like he finally let himself move the way he’d wanted to in the clearing.

You made a sound into his mouth, something helpless and confused and wanting, and Adam’s entire body reacted like he’d been struck—your spine arching, breath breaking, his hand gripping your waist with a low, unsteady moan that slipped out before he could stop it.

He dropped his forehead to yours, shaking.

“If you knew what that did to me…” he whispered, voice shaking violently, “…you would run.”

His thumb brushed your lower lip, trembling.

Then he pressed you gently down against the bed.

Not forcing, not holding you down.

But settling over you like gravity itself—inevitable, vast, unyielding—eyes searching your face for something he couldn’t name, couldn’t ask for, couldn’t stop wanting.

“Please,” he breathed, the word almost a sob. “Please do not take this away from me.”

You couldn’t answer.

He didn’t wait.

He took your silence the way he’d taken everything else tonight—full, total, desperate—and leaned in until the world narrowed to nothing but his mouth, his hands, his breath, the weight of him above you as he kissed you like he had every intention of learning you inch by inch, breath by breath, until nothing else existed.

His thumb brushed your lower lip again, slower this time, like he was trying to memorize the feel of it. His other hand slipped from your hip to the side of your waist, fingers curling in your shirt, bunching the fabric in his fist.

“You are going to change your mind about me,” he murmured, “when you realize how much I want.”

He pulled you closer, and the fabric of your clothing strained. You heard a faint, protesting sound of thread being tested past its limit.

You barely had time to register it before he kissed you again.

This one broke something.

He didn’t ease into it. He fit his mouth to yours with all the pent–up desperation of months of watching you from the trees, months of gifts left on stumps and nights spent just outside your door listening to you breathe.

His hand fisted tighter in your clothes.

You felt the tug first—then the rip.

The seam at your side gave out with a soft, awful sound. The shirt didn’t fall away, but the fabric tore open just enough for cool air to lick at a strip of newly exposed skin.

Adam froze mid–kiss.

His eyes flew open, widening as he felt the tear under his fingers. He pulled back just far enough to look, chest heaving, hand still gripping the ruined cloth.

“I…” His voice cracked. “I did not mean to break it.”

You should have shoved him away. There was a warning in your chest, clear and bright and urgent: he doesn’t know his own strength, and he has stopped trying to pretend he isn’t dangerous.

But you didn’t move.

His gaze bled from the torn fabric up to your face. Whatever apology had been forming died on his tongue when he saw you hadn’t bolted, hadn’t screamed, hadn’t slapped his hand away.

The look that replaced it was worse than any snarl.

Want. Pure, undiluted, absolutely fixated.

His fingers loosened, but only so he could flatten his hand over the rip he’d made, palm cold against your newly bared skin through the torn edge of fabric. His breath hitched as he felt you shiver beneath his touch.

“That is what I am afraid of,” he whispered, thumb brushing the edge of the tear, so close to your skin it burned. “That if I stop pretending to be careful, I will ruin everything you give me.”

His hand slid up, still over the fabric, smoothing it like he could undo the damage—and in the same motion, pushing the cloth aside just enough to feel the heat of you more directly.

Then, he pushed the fabric. Exposing your skin to his as he watched the goosebumps form. You were bare and exposed and you didn’t hate it. 

Your breath stuttered.

He felt it.

His fingers tightened again, possessive, almost shaking.

“I should not tear what belongs to you,” he murmured, voice rough in your ear, “but I cannot stand that he put his hands on you and I did not. That he tried to take and I stood in the trees and watched.”

His forehead pressed to yours, your noses barely brushing, his hand still splayed firm over the rip he’d made.

“Let me have this,” he said, almost hoarse. “I let him live because you asked. Let me have this because you do not say no.”

The world settles slowly.

He kisses you again—your jaw, then your cheekbone, then just beneath your eye. His lips are cool, trembling. It feels wrong that something so monstrous can kiss with such aching tenderness.

You barely have time to register what he’s doing. How your body reacts to his fingers against the most intimate parts of you. To the way you tip your head back and moan when he takes what he’s been wanting for far too long. 

“It will never be like this with them,” he says softly. “Any of them. Any mortal man.”

Your breath catches as he stills inside of you. Deep and full and shaking. 

“They do not hear you the way I do,” he continues, voice lowering, warming, weaving itself into you like a spell. “They do not watch over you at night. They do not stand between you and whatever would hurt you. They do not fight for you. They do not bleed for you.”

He lifts his head enough to look down at you. His eyes shine in the low lamplight—reflective, uncanny, holy in the wrong way.

“But I do,” he whispers.

You don’t argue, you can’t, not when his hips move against yours. The friction of it causing your fingers to tighten their grip on his hair and shoulders and anywhere else you can reach. 

You can still feel the echo of every moment just minutes ago, your pulse still skittering wildly beneath your skin.

His thumb brushes your cheek.

“You feel safe under me,” he says quietly. “Do you not?”

You hesitate.

Your hesitation is its own confession.

Adam shudders.

His lips ghost over your temple, then lower to your cheek in slow, reverent kisses, each one a vow. He doesn’t stop his movements, edging you closer to your own peak. 

“I can protect you better than any man you have ever known,” he murmurs. “I can learn what you need. I can become whatever keeps you safe.”

You exhale shakily, teeth biting into your lips. He kisses the edge of your jaw.

“I will do anything,” he whispers. “Anything you ask. Anything you do not ask. For you.”

You close your eyes as a warmth—unnatural, forbidden, terrifying—unfurls in your chest down to the deepest parts of your abdomen as you become undone. It shouldn’t feel good. Nothing about this night should feel good.

But it does. And you scream into his shoulder as he holds you. Your name falling from his lips like it’s his the only word he’s ever meant to say. He falls with you. 

And when he feels your breath soften, he pulls you closer—one arm sliding under your back, the other cupping the back of your head with impossible tenderness. He lifts you into him, holding you tightly to his chest.

Only then do the first tears gather in your eyes.

He feels your breath hitch and his grip tightens protectively.

“Do not cry,” he murmurs, kissing your cheek as the first tear escapes. “Do not cry. You are safe with me. You are safe.”

His mouth touches each falling tear, slow and desperate, like he can kiss them away before they can mean anything.

“I am the only one who can keep you safe,” he says, voice trembling. “No one else. No one else will love you the way I will. No one else can.”

Your tears spill faster—some from fear, some from something far more dangerous.

He presses another kiss beneath your eye, then another to your temple, then trails his lips along your cheek until you gasp.

“You do not hate this,” he whispers, voice breaking. “You do not hate me.”

Your fingers curl into his shirt.

You don’t know when you started clinging to him.

But you are.

His breath trembles against your mouth as he leans in, forehead touching yours, noses brushing.

“You want someone to protect you,” he says softly. “You always have. And I can. I will. I already did.”

You swallow hard.

“This isn’t right,” you whisper.

His lips graze yours without kissing.

“I know,” he murmurs. “But you still held me.”

Your breath shudders out.

He kisses the corner of your mouth again—gentler this time, almost pleading.

“You are mine to protect,” he whispers. “Let me do it. Let me keep you. Let me love you in the only way I know how.”

A sob slips free.

It doesn’t sound like fear.

He gathers you even closer, burying his face in your throat, kissing your skin in slow, shaking presses—each one a prayer, a promise, a possession he doesn’t fully understand but clings to with everything he is.

“I will not lose you,” he whispers between kisses. “Say you will stay.”

You don’t say it.

But you don’t pull away.

And that—God help you both—is enough for him.

He holds you as you cry, kissing your tears, kissing your cheeks, kissing the hollow beneath your throat, whispering promise after promise until you’re clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping you upright.

Because some dark, truthful part of you knows:

You don’t hate how he made you feel.

You don’t hate the thought of belonging to something that would tear the world apart to protect you.

You don’t hate the idea of being his.

Even though it’s an act against God, against reason, against everything you were taught to fear.

You cling to him anyway.

And Adam—trembling, breathless, worshipful—clings back.

His lips have just brushed your cheek again, a trembling kiss meant to soothe the shaking he caused, when your hand lifts slowly, shakily, to his jaw.

He stills.

Completely.

Like your touch is the only force in existence that can halt him mid-breath.

“Adam…” you whisper.

His eyes snap open instantly, pupils huge, breath caught. “Yes. Anything. Say it.”

You swallow, the words scraping up your throat like they’re made of shards.

“You can’t kill anyone,” you whisper.

His whole body goes rigid.

You feel the shift—a ripple through every tense muscle pressed against you—like the idea alone hurts him. His hands tighten around your waist before he forces himself to loosen them, remembering how easily he could bruise you.

His voice cracks.

“You want me weak,” he says quietly.

“No,” you breathe, shaking your head, gripping his jaw tighter so he has to look at you. “I want you here. With me. Not hunted. Not feared. Not dragged through the village on a rope because you lost control.”

His chest rises sharply. His brows pull together in confusion, hurt, devotion, need.

“You think I care what they do to me?” he whispers.

“I care,” you say, and the moment the words leave you, something inside him breaks open.

He presses his forehead against yours, breath trembling.

“Say it again.”

“I care,” you repeat softly.

A wounded, worshipful sound leaves him.

His arms wind around you tighter, one cradling your back, the other sliding into your hair as if he can pull your voice into his bones.

You inhale shakily.

“But you have to promise me,” you whisper against his cheek, “you won’t kill anyone.”

He sucks in a sharp breath like the air is suddenly too cold.

You feel him nearly flinch.

“Promise me, Adam.”

His lips part, and he struggles, truly struggles, with the weight of the words you’re asking for. You can see him battle himself in real time: instinct, rage, devotion, fear of losing you.

Finally, his voice emerges—quiet, low, trembling.

“I will not kill…” he whispers, teeth clenched, “if you tell me not to.”

It’s not enough.

Your fingers curl into his hair, tugging just enough to force his eyes to you.

“No, Adam. Say it right.”

His breath stutters. He looks almost sick, as if the promise itself will destroy him, as if the world he built around protecting you is cracking under your demand.

“As much as you let me,” he says instead.

“Promise,” you whisper.

He bows his head into your neck, kisses your skin once—not gentle, not harsh, just claiming—then forces the words out like dragging confession through bone.

“I promise I will only hurt them as much as you allow.”

A shiver ripples through you.

It’s not holy.

It’s not safe.

It’s not sane.

It’s devotion sharpened into something feral.

His breath skates over your throat.

“If you tell me to break an arm, I will break it.” A kiss to your jaw.

“If you tell me to stop, I will stop.” His hand cups your cheek.

“If you tell me they walk away breathing…” He swallows “They will.”

Your tears return—not from fear, not entirely.

Some part of you, the part you’ve been ignoring, the part that warmed when his hands first closed around your waist, the part that leaned into his kisses—recognizes this for what it is.

Power. Over him. Over something that should terrify you.

His thumb wipes the tear away instantly, desperate, frantic, like he caused it and must remove the evidence.

“Do not cry,” he whispers. “Please. I gave you what you asked. I will give you anything.”

You exhale shakily, fingers curling tighter into his shirt.

“But you have to keep your promise,” you whisper, voice barely holding together.

He nods against your skin.

“You said you wanted me to learn,” he murmurs. “Then teach me. Teach me how much pain others deserve for touching what is mine.”

You gasp softly.

His arms tighten.

“And I will do exactly that. No more. No less.”

Your heartbeat stutters.

He hears it and kisses you again—soft, reverent, shaking.

“I protect you,” he whispers. “I obey you.” His forehead presses to yours. “I will not kill unless you say the word.”

A pause.

“And I know you never will.”

Your breath trembles, and you rest your head against his chest—not because you choose to, not entirely, but because some strange gravity is pulling you into him.

He cradles you like you’re breakable.

And in a soft, devastating murmur that makes your spine go cold and warm all at once, he whispers:

“You are mine to save. And I am yours to command.”

[guess-my-next-obsession]

blue. | masterlist

pairing: bfd!joel miller x f!reader

summary: while working at a local bikini bar in austin under the flirty alias, Blue, reader meets a handsome older man going through a divorce. little do they know, they have more in common than their attraction to one another, and her name is Sarah.

series rating: explicit — MINORS DNI

[edit: changed the title/nickname but series remains the same :)]

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

chapter four

chapter five*

chapter six*

chapter seven* (coming soon)

[absurdthirst]

Radio Silence {Joel Miller x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7.9k

Warning: Canon violence, 3 years after outbreak, the cruelty of men, unwanted advances, naked clickers, sadistic leaders, Joel is creative in his revenge, threats of death, guns, killing infected, veiled threats, consent is sexy, unprotected sex, taunting, little bit of public exhibition, cream pie, pictures, death (couldn't happen to a nicer guy)

Comments: Running across a pair of survivors, they are brought back to the radio station you call home. Unaware that your leader is a sadistic fuck, intent on ruling his little post apocalyptic kingdom, Joel and Tommy are stripped and left for dead. Leaving Joel to want to get the ultimate revenge, by taking you.

A/N: Plausible? No. Fun to write? Yes.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Joel Miller MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

It’s been three years since the world as you knew it came to an end. Three years of fighting for your life every single day. The infected are dangerous, men even more so. There’s protection in numbers but even that protection is dangerous. Jeff is insane, you know this, but he’s the leader of the group you live with. For some reason, his word is law, everyone who has ever disagreed with him has mysteriously died in an attack by the infected, or just disappeared one day. You have your suspicions but you can’t voice them. Just trying to ignore the looks he gives you, rebuff the subtle suggestions he makes. One day, he will try to force you, but for right now, you just operate the radio at the secure little radio station your group has decided to make your home. The fence around it was still good and luckily the offices had made good rooms for privacy. “Radio check. This is KYH7” You hum, clicking your radio and listening to the silence. No one ever answers, but you still check every day. Hoping there are others that are still out there. Sighing softly, you switch back the frequencies your groups use on the handhelds.

Jeff strides into the radio room, glad to see you here. You’re always here, trying at all hours to find someone else on the frequency. You still have hope and he finds that to be extremely naive but also cute. “Hey sugar, how’s my favorite girl today?” He asks, smirking at you as his eyes trail along your form. “You ready to head out for the patrol?” He asks, knowing you need to try to make good with him after making one of the other women jealous. At least that’s what he thinks in his mind.

You send him a bland smile definitely not wanting to encourage him, but it’s also not smart to piss him off. “Of course.” You agree, setting down the radio on the charger and you pick up your gun to tuck it into the small of your back. “We need to find some medical supplies.” You remind him.

Jeff trails his eyes along your form when you straighten up. He wants you. He has since the day you joined and he desperately wants to hear you scream his name while he’s buried balls deep inside you. “Let’s head out. I feel the need to shoot infected.” His fingers twitch with pent up aggression and he licks his lips as he makes his way to the door, ready to get out the building.

You, Jeff and two others make your way outside the fences. There’s only ten people in your group and sometimes that feels like nine too many. The weather is nicer than it has been and you are actually happy to be out. Sometimes it feels a little stifling to be in the radio station all the time. “Not as many infected.” Tyler comments as you move through the overgrown path that leads to the road.

Joel wipes his brow as he and Tommy make their way along the road. It has been a couple of years since they fled Texas. Joel was numb as Tommy dragged him away and both of them have fought to survive. He’s done things he’s not proud of but he has nothing to live for now his little girl is gone. They have made friends and enemies during their travels and they have stayed in some camps during their journey after hearing about the quarantine zones in North Carolina. When they arrived in North Carolina, the quarantine zone had fallen and they continued their journey. After hearing a rumour about Boston QZ, they continued the journey to find a place to stay without fighting for their lives. The brothers quickly discovered that the infected aren’t the most dangerous thing in this new world. It’s humans. “You need to stop?” Tommy asks, knowing Joel has been up for hours. He didn’t wake Tommy for the next watch and the younger brother was pissed for the sacrificial bullshit. “I’m fine.” Joel promises, continuing to walk through the exhaustion. That’s why he doesn’t hear them approach. At least that’s what he tells himself later. “Fuck!” Tommy yelps as a clicker comes rushing towards him from the bushes. “Shit!” Tommy exclaims as he pulls his knife from his fire holster and quickly kills his attacker. “Why the fuck is this one naked!“ Tommy turns to look at Joel just as another infected comes rushing out of the bushes.

Joel has seen a lot of strange fucking things since Outbreak but this might be the strangest. The fungal growth over the man’s head looks like a grotesque mask, turning the almost comical sight of a flaccid, moldy looking cock swinging as the clicker rushes forward into something from a nightmare. “Shit!” He doesn’t even have time to pull his own knife before the naked infected man is on top of him, teeth snapping in an attempt to spread the fungus that has killed the majority of the world. Driving him to the ground and making him fight for his life while Tommy rushes over.

Tommy wastes no time pushing his knife into the clicker, watching it slump and Joel pushes it off, taking Tommy’s hand to stand up. “Jesus. Why are they naked? Some kind of cult?” Joel guesses and Tommy shrugs, “who knows. There’s probably more so we better get moving.” He says and Joel nods, adjusting his backpack. The brothers only make it another half mile when they are stopped in their tracks by a group. Joel immediately hovers his hand over his gun, knowing he and Tommy are outnumbered. “We ain’t lookin’ for trouble.” Tommy says, holding his hands up and he nods at Joel to do the same.

You had gasped when you had seen the two men. Excited that there were still people out here. They had been startled themselves, wary, and you know they have every right to be. “Take out your weapons.” Jeff orders, his rifle against his shoulder as he aims it at them. “They are alone.” You point out, your own weapon pulled but hanging down by your side. They look healthy, competent. Something that your group needs desperately. Jeff thinks he’s competent, but he’s really not. You call out your name. “This is Jeff, Tyler, Kiera.” You introduce them. “What are your names?”

Joel is taken back that you aren’t just pulling your guns out to shoot him and Tommy. He’s shocked by how pretty you are. He looks at Tommy, “I’m Joel. This is my brother Tommy.” He answers and Jeff smirks, reaching out to wrap his arm around your waist, “you fellas out here alone?” He asks and Joel frowns, seeing the possessive move. He nods, unsure of where to say yes or no to save himself and Tommy. “Good.” Jeff smirks, lifting his gun, and Tyler follows his action. Joel grunts, lifting his hand away from his gun, “we ain’t lookin’ for trouble.” He repeats, not wanting to die today.

“We aren’t either.” You assure them both. Stepping forward to get away from Jeff’s hand, hating how he tries to act like you two are together. He hisses your name and you look back at him. “They are alone.” You tell him. “They have been out here, they can tell us what they’ve seen.” You want more people in your group, knowing that there is safety in number and Joel is handsome. He has a look about him that makes you think he doesn’t take shit from anyone. You like that. You need it desperately if you are going to escape Jeff’s machinations.

Jeff huffs at you, “come on baby. We don’t need to know what they’ve seen.” He murmurs and Joel’s eyes flick between you and Jeff. It’s obvious you don’t want him and even clearer that he wants you. You huff and shake your head, “at least let them spend the night.” You suggest, thinking Jeff will come around to the idea of them if they spend more time around the group. Jeff hums, unsure of what to do. “Fine. One night.” He decides after a beat.

You smile as you relax, knowing that Jeff can be so mercurial at times. “We should go back then.” You hum. “I’m sure that they would like a fence around them.” Joel’s eyes widen slightly and Tommy grins. “Yeah, yeah, that would be good.” He agrees.

Joel is suspicious but he knows he has to trust people somewhat if he is to survive. He and Tommy need a good night's sleep without a watch. At least they’d be safe from the infected. He sighs and nods, watching Jeff as he smacks your ass. He doesn’t like or trust the guy but he needs one night. One night and then he will go on his way.

“Jeff!” You hisses, whirling around and frowning at the man, but he just chuckles and motions you on. “Lead them back, sweetheart.” He coos, acting generous. “Don’t think we are going to find anything useful this trip.” Tyler and Kiera tuck their guns away and you motion towards Joel and Tommy. “This way. We are in an old radio station.” You explain, “it works for now.”

Joel clenches his jaw, anxious but Tommy offers him a nod to show that they are gonna observe but also be on alert in case shit goes down. They aren’t strangers to surviving in this new world. Joel will do what it takes to protect his little brother. Jeff keeps his hands to himself but he’s made the message clear: you are off limits. The group is silent as they make their way home and Joel eyes the radio station as it appears, glancing at Tommy.

“We have some solar panels, but the batteries are going bad.” You admit as you walk closer to the two new men. Jeff is in the lead, acting like he personally built the sanctuary himself. Throwing a wave to Andrea as she stands guard at the gate to open it up. “Visitors!” He calls out cheerfully. “Right now we only have power during the day, but I’m hoping to find some new storage batteries.”

Joel is tense and Tommy knows shit could go down but he’s choosing to be hopeful. Joel walks through the gate, fingers twitching but he tries to be positive as the gate slides shut behind him. He looks up to see you glancing back at him and his stomach twists with attraction but he shoves that down.

Coming back to the place you are calling home is always a relief. Your shoulders slump slightly and you sigh happily. “I’m going to go check the radios.” You tell the group, smiling at Joel and Tommy before turning towards the building.

The building is a little run down but it’s clear the group has organization. There’s food storage and running water. Solar panels and supplies lined up. Joel is impressed and dubious at the same time. The radio station didn’t have those supplies when the world went to shit so something must’ve happened.

You set your bag down and remove the gun from the waistband of your jeans. Grinning to yourself as you click on the radio. “This is KYH7, radio check. Is anyone out there? I am broadcasting on 275 MHz and hoping to meet other survivors.” You release the mic key and listen for a moment, only hearing static. “Anyone?”

Joel is hesitant to set his backpack down but Kiera asks if he and Tommy are hungry. Tommy nods, “starving. We have jerky but we haven’t eaten anything hot for a long time.” Joel looks over at where you’ve gone. The little room with what looks to be radio transmitters.

“KYH7.” You repeat. “Anyone out there?” The hiss of the static would normally put you in a funk, but there are new people right outside this room. You click off and instead of staying in the radio room, you come out. “Help with dinner?” You offer, grinning at Diane as you come into the kitchen, the former break room of the radio station.

Joel watches you until his eyes meet Jeff’s and the other man narrows his gaze at the older Miller brother. He doesn’t like them and he doesn’t like the way you seem interested in him. He wants them gone.

Dinner is a rather lighthearted one at first. There are guests and everyone in your group asks questions. The two men are guarded until they realize that all you really crave is news about what is going on outside your little bubble. “You came from Texas?” You are impressed by that. “I was in a camp outside of Dallas for a little while.” You admit. “Traveling out of state on Outbreak day.” You give a sardonic smile. “Lucky me.”

Joel nods, mind taken back to the day that Sarah died in his arms. He swallows harshly and Tommy notices, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. You frown and Joel’s stomach twists at the soft look on your face. “We, uh, managed to escape but it was a shit show.” Tommy answers, “we have been on the road ever since. Met some groups but we have discovered that humans are the real danger, not the infected.”

Your eyes flicker towards Jeff and you manage a huff. “I don’t know, I don’t think that’s entirely true.” Everyone scrapes their plates awkwardly as they look away. Knowing that he’s right but not wanting to admit it. Even to your own ears, your protest falls flat. “Where are you headed?” You ask, changing the subject.”

Joel notices the unsure looks of the group and the cocky smirk of Jeff. He knows something is up and it has him on edge. Tommy opens his mouth but Joel cuts him off, answering with “we are heading to Ohio. We heard there’s a QZ there that Fedra hasn't destroyed and the fireflies haven’t blown up yet.” He says and Jeff tilts his head, “Ohio? And you’re in the mountains?” He asks and Joel shrugs, “figured higher ground was the best route.”

“Ohio.” You squash a frown, feeling like he is lying but you don’t know why you feel that way. “That makes sense.” You offer. “The Midwest has some large areas with sparse populations. Like here.”

Joel nods, glad that the lie has been bought, and he digs back into his food. He tries to not act like he hasn’t eaten for days but he shovels his food in a little too fast. Tommy glances at the group, “so how did y’all meet?” He asks, wanting to know how everyone got here.

Everyone gives their story, Tyler and Andrea are siblings, Diane has met up with them about a hundred miles from here. The slow story about how the group had come to be unfolds. “I actually am the one that found this place.” You admit with a small shrug. “I like radios, so the tower intrigued me.”

“And you?” Joel asks Jeff, wanting to hear the man’s story, and he snorts. “I liked her so I followed her to the radio tower with the others.” He confesses, “but she’s playing hard to get. It’s the end of the world and she doesn’t want to be fucked.” He scoffs and Joel clenches his jaw, “might be the end of the world but women still get to choose who they fuck.”

Everyone is quiet, used to Jeff’s comments and you had mostly ignored it and tried to play it off before. Now, you shoot Joel a small, grateful look, happy there is still someone with gentlemanly views in the world. “So for now, we have a safe place, but it can’t last forever.” You admit, shifting the conversation away from Jeff.

Joel nods, noticing the narrowed eyes of Jeff as he stares at the brothers, pissed at the older one’s comments. “No. Eventually a bigger group will find this place, kill you all, and take it over.” He says without a thought and Tommy nudges him in warning. “Especially if you don’t have the right leadership.” He adds and Jeff bristles. “We are doing just fine. No one is gonna take what’s mine.” He says, pointedly at Joel who nods, “I guess time will tell.”

You take a sip of your water. “The showers work.” You offer, desperate to ease the tension that has settled. There’s an unspoken standoff and you don’t like the possibilities of what that might mean. Jeff can be vicious. “I’m sure you’d love the opportunity to clean up some?”

Joel nods, suppressing the urge to groan at the idea of a shower. Even if it’s cold. He doesn’t care. Streams and rivers are freezing and he wants to stand under running water. “Hot water?” Tommy asks and you nod, making him groan.

“That would be amazing.” Joel admits, knowing that it’s been a long time since he’s been able to enjoy a hot shower. “Thank you.” As standoffish as your leader seems to be, you seem too sweet. Good. A rarity nowadays.

Joel groans when he’s under the hot water, looking down to see the dirt swirl and disappear down the drain. He grunts and reaches for the soap, scrubbing his skin until it’s sore to get the grim off his skin. Tilting his head back to wash his hair, he feels relaxed for the first time in - well, he so doesn’t even know. “Fuck.” He grunts, his cock twitching when he thinks about you for a moment. You’re pretty, sweet, and he’s seen the way you watch him. If he didn’t think Jeff would kill him for even thinking about you, he’d be inviting you into his sleeping bag. He reluctantly steps out the shower, making his way to where his bags are with a towel wrapped around his waist.

“Oh!” Your eyes widen when you see Joel, skin still damp from his shower. He’s red and raw from heat and washing but he looks delicious. You swallow and lick your lips slightly. “I was just- I wanted to see if you needed anything.” You try to ignore Tommy as he walks by with his own towel and smirks at you being flustered. “Not that I- um. You’re probably wanting to get dressed and sleep.” The extra sleeping clothes in your hands are worn out but they are clean. “I brought these for you and your brother.”

Joel ignores the look Tommy sends his way and he swallows harshly, willing his cock to not stir again. "Uh, thanks." He mutters, taking the clothes from your hands, and you hover for a moment, "right. Well, uh, goodnight." You rush out and stride off, leaving them to their corner of the station. Tommy chuckles and Joel huffs, "don't start." Both brothers quickly change and settle into their sleeping bags, happy to be within four walls without worry of the infected.

Jeff is waiting by your door when you come back. “You need to stay away from those men.” He warns you, making you sigh as you shake your head. “They aren’t dangerous.” You remind him. “They are nice. But they are going to move on, you heard them. They are going to Ohio.” Secretly, you wish you were going with them.

Jeff reaches for your forearm, dragging you closer, “you stay the fuck away from them. You’re mine.” He reminds you, “unless you want to join the infected outside these walls.” He growls and you nod, swallowing harshly. Your skin aches from how he gripped you, and you nod, stepping back when he releases you. 

**** 

Joel fell asleep quickly, exhausted and struggling to be on alert. He should’ve insisted Tommy sleep first and they took shifts in case these people pull something but he trusts you for some reason. He falls asleep until he is shaken awake. “What-?” He reaches for the knife under his pillow but it’s gone. “Get up.” Jeff demands, gun aimed at him.

“What the fuck?” Joel frowns when he sees the weapon but he holds up his hands as Tommy stirs. “Wha-“ His brother’s eyes widen. “You want us to leave now, we’ll leave.” Joel promises his jaw tense and his eyes narrowing, seeing the anger in Jeff’s eyes. He wonders why the fuck he even let them stay if he was just going to kick them out in the darkness.

Jeff tilts his gun, “get the fuck up.” He orders and Joel huffs, standing up alongside Tommy. “We will get our shit and go.” Tommy promises and Jeff smirks, “you’re not taking your shit.” He says and Joel clenches his jaw, “fine. We will go without it.” He says and Jeff clicks the safety off his gun. “And you’ll strip.” He says and Joel scoffs, “what?” Jeff chuckles, “I want your clothes too. Strip. Both of you.” He orders, hovering his finger over the trigger.

“You son of a bitch.” Tommy chokes out, looking like he’s about to attack but Jeff tuts. “We’ll be left defenseless.” He argues, but Joel realizes why there were naked clickers that attacked them a few miles away. “That’s the point.” He tells his brother, seething in a rage as he narrows his eyes at the sadistic leader. “He wants us dead.”

Joel is furious, blood boils, but what can he do? He’s at gunpoint and outnumbered. He swallows harshly, shaking his head at Tommy as he reaches for the hem of the shirt you handed him. He wonders if you knew this would happen and you gave him soft eyes to lure him into a false sense of comfort.

“She won’t fuck you.” Jeff taunts. “One way or the other.” He feels confident now that he has the upper hand. He always wants control and this world lets him have it. “Saw the way you looked at her, but it doesn’t matter. You’re gonna become one of those fuckers.” He motions outside and smirks. “And when I see you next, I’m gonna fucking shoot you for sport.”

Joel knows he can’t do shit right now. He’ll be killed and won’t have a chance but he decides then and there that he’s going to get his revenge. He pulls his shirt off, dropping it to the floor, and Tommy follows his example. Within moments, both men are naked. Jeff smirks, looking down at Joel, who refuses to cover his manhood. He is pissed and he stands proud. “Because you die, I’m sure you can fuck one of the infected before they bite you.” He chuckles, “now, let’s go. One wrong fucking more and you are dead.”

The radio station is quiet as the three men shuffle through the hall. The padded slap of Tommy and Joel’s bare feet is a distinct contrast to the quiet thud of Jeff’s boots. Outside, the other men are standing near the gate, smirking when they see the brothers stripped down. “Fuck.” Tommy snorts. “Do you keep the women you find?” He asks. “Hoping one of them will eventually fuck you?”

Jeff growls, “they want us. They want protection. We provide…they suck our cocks.” He smirks and Joel scoffs, “not all of them.” He remembers your protest and he know you haven’t fucked Jeff. He couldn’t say that about the others, but it seems unlikely. “We need supplies. It’s what we do. The women don’t like it when we kill people so we do this instead.” He confesses, “and we get to kill you later when you’re infected.”

“I’m gonna fucking kill you.” Joel vows, glaring at the other man. “I’m going to make sure that you regret doing this.” It seems like an empty threat, but he’s resourceful. The first thing he will need to do is find a weapon or a place to hole up until the sun is up. Right now, he and Tommy are vulnerable.

Jeff snorts, “sure thing, bud. You and your bare hands while your cock is out?” He chuckles and the other men open the gates to the station. “Good luck out there. You’re gonna need it.” He smirks, shoving Joel to the ground just outside the gate. Joel and Tommy can’t do anything but stand and watch the gate close. “What the fuck do we do now?” Tommy asks, shivering from the breeze. Joel smirks, “we get our revenge.”

The lock on your door had seemed so flimsy most nights, but it had felt firmer while Joel and Tommy were sleeping just down the hall. You had actually overslept, meaning to be up hours ago.You don’t know why, but you trust them more than the men who are in your group. They were attracted to you, but they didn’t eye you like you were a possession. Now, you dress and open your door, frowning when you see the empty sleeping bags. “Hey, where is Tommy and Joel?” You ask Diane when she comes by with a pot to start cooking breakfast.

Diane sighs, stepping closer to you, “they have ended up like the others.” She reveals and you inhale deeply. “Shit.” Your stomach sinks, knowing they will be dead by nightfall. Diane nods, knowing your thoughts echo her own. She’s trapped here too, unable to go out on her own. “We are going to do patrols later. No doubt Jeff wants to see if they have been infected and enjoy killing them.” Diane sighs, “he will want you to stay behind for radio.”

“Of course he does.” You clench your jaw, furious that he has fucking killed another pair of innocent men. All for their belongings. You sigh heavily. “And catalogue their stuff.” You bend down and pick up a sleeping bag and smell it. It’s a little musty, but you think it smells like Joel. “I fucking hate it.” You murmur softly.

Diane nods, “you’re the longest one to hold out. All the others gave Jeff what he wanted…even me.” She confesses, watching you as you look at their belongings. “Let’s hope they don’t suffer out there.” She sighs, carrying the pot to the kitchen.

You should be surprised that Diane has given in, but you aren’t. This is a world that demands sacrifice to survive. One day you will give into Jeff, when you are worn down and unable to keep resisting. “Fuck.” You don’t know if you believe in God anymore, but you still say a quick prayer for those poor men.

Jeff finds you a few hours later and he leans in to run his hand along your arm. “You need to remember who you belong to, baby.” He murmurs, leaning in to nuzzle his nose along your neck. You flinch and he smirks, “you’ll give in soon enough. They all do.” He smacks your ass, “be a good girl and get the radios ready. We are splitting up to find the brothers.” He grins evilly and you sigh, nodding and stepping back from him.

You check the radios, wishing that you could give them dead ones, but it’s standard to check them before they leave. Today, everyone but you and a guard for the gate is going out and it feels like Jeff is trying to isolate you even more. Sighing when they close the gate behind them, you turn and go back to the radio room, hoping someone will answer. You need a way to escape this place.

Jeff’s voice comes over the radio, “clearing out the valley. Keep in touch.” He orders and the line cuts as he clicks off. You huff and monitor the signal, continuing to check for another frequency. You don’t even think to listen to your surroundings and within ten minutes, you hear his voice. “Well, ain’t you a sight for sore eyes.” He murmurs, his dark eyes meeting yours.

Inhaling sharply, you see Joel standing inside the doorway, his jaw clenched in anger and his body still completely stripped of every stitch of clothes. You swallow harshly, fear and very sharp relief that he looks unharmed clashes in your stomach. You can tell he’s furious. “I- I didn’t know he was going to do that.” You promise, eyes flickering down his body and you swallow again. “Tommy?” You ask softly, hoping nothing has happened to his brother.

“He’s watchin’ the gate and finding our shit.” He informs you, knowing you’re alone. He and Tommy had waited until the group left. Stupid fuckers left one person on the gate and he was killed quickly. “You knew he had done that before.” Joel growls, angry at you for not warning him but he reminds himself once more that Jeff controls everyone here. “He noticed the way you looked at me.” He says as he takes a step closer, “the way you’re lookin’ at me now. Like you’re hungry.” He observes, “but not for food, right sweetheart?”

You shiver slightly, trying to act like you aren’t affected by him, but you know he can see right through that. He shouldn’t be intimidating, standing in front of you naked, but he actually looks more fierce when there is nothing covering the raw strength of his body. “I’m not looking at you in any kind of way.” You lie breathlessly, nipples hardening when he chuckles dryly. “You’re a bad liar.” He huffs, stepping closer to you again. You step back, but the desk is right behind you and you bump into it, jostling the equipment. “I didn’t think that he would do it at night.” You admit. “I hoped to wake you up early enough to leave before he woke up.”

Joel scoffs, “you could’ve tried harder to warn me. Now…you’re gonna have to help me get my revenge.” He murmurs, stepping closer but not close enough to touch you. “He wants you. That’s obvious. I want to make him pay in a way that isn’t death. Can you help me?” He asks and your brow furrows, “what do you want to do?” You ask and and Joel smirks, “I want to fuck you.”

Your eyes widen and you gasp. “He- fuck me?” His cock twitches, starting to harden in front of your very eyes. Thickening as he’s obviously a grower and you bite your lip as you look back up into his cocky eyes. He can tell you are impressed. “He will kill me.” You murmur softly. “If I- if you-“

Joel steps closer, shaking his head and pressing his finger to your lips. “Don’t worry about him. This is your choice. You want me to fuck you or not? If not, I’ll take our shit and go.” He promises, “you decide if you want to help me get revenge.”

You realize he’s not going to force you. He could have already thrown you down by now, but he’s not touching you beyond pulling you closer, his hand around your back and his finger on your lips. Waiting for your answer. Your tongue pokes out, touching his finger and you nod as you lick up the singular digit. “Yes.” You whisper. “Fuck me.”

Your words are all the permission he needs and he surges forward to press his lips to yours. Tommy knows his planned revenge, having found a gun to keep guard. Joel immediately slides his tongue into your mouth, knowing he doesn’t have a lot of time, and he reaches for the hem of your shirt. He pulls back for a moment to lift your shirt over your head and he groans at the sight of your tatty bra. The lace frayed but you’re still sexy. “Shit. You’re beautiful.” He murmurs, kissing along your neck while he reaches behind you to unclip your bra, dragging the lace down your arms. He wants you as naked as he is.

Joel strips you down methodically. It doesn’t take any time for him to be dragging your jeans and panties down your legs, eager to get you spread out. “Fuck.” You whimper, reaching down and wrapping your hand around his hardening cock. “I don’t- there’s no condoms.” You admit quietly. “But I haven’t slept with anyone since before outbreak. I’ve never had too many lovers.”

Joel smirks, “that’s okay, baby.” He groans when you squeeze him, “me neither. Ain’t had much time when I’ve been surivin’.” He slides his hand down until he’s cupping your pussy, chuckling when he finds you already wet. “Hmmm been a while since someone fucked this cunt?” He asks and you nod, whimpering when he slides a finger through your folds. “Don’t worry baby, I’m gonna take real good care of her.” He murmurs, “and I want Jeff to know.” He pushes two fingers into your cunt, wanting to prepare you to take his cock but he pulls them out after a moment. “On your knees by the radio.” He demands, batting your hand away from his cock after he pulls his fingers from you.

You whine at the loss of his fingers, but you don’t argue, getting down on your knees and facing him. Obviously he wants a blow job and after he’s made it back here, he deserves one. Instead of stepping towards you, he shakes his head. “Other way, sweetheart.” He grunts. “I don’t want you to suck my cock. I want to bury myself in your pussy and let your wanna be boyfriend hear how you sound.” He tells you with a wicked smirk.

You whimper, shifting to lean against the desk where the radio equipment is. Joel chuckles at your eagerness, shifting to kneel behind you. He groans at the sight of your body. You’re beautiful. His hands slide along your waist, up to your tits, “he wanted to see you like this but you’re bare for me. Pussy dripping for me.” He murmurs deeply, leaning in to kiss your shoulder. He lowers his hand down to squeeze his cock, pressing it into your crack. “Turn the radio on. I want him to hear you when I split you open.”

You gasp, turning your head to chase his lips for a kiss but he teases you. Pulling back slightly and humming as he continues to position his cock at your entrance. “After he hears you moan.” He chides, taking your hand and moving it up to the desk. “Turn it on, baby. Let him hear everything he’s ever wanted to hear.”

Joel watches you as you fumble to get the radio tuned and Jeff’s voice comes in muffled. He says your name and your hand shakes as you press the button to connect, “he-here.” You choke as Joel nudges his cock against your clit. “Keep the radio on.” He orders as he starts to push into you.

Your mouth drops open and you let out a low moan, making Jeff call your name in confusion. “What’s wrong, what’s going on?” He demands as he radios back, but you can’t answer him. You’re too busy being completely overwhelmed by the feeling of Joel stretching you out.

Joel smirks, loving the low moan you let out and he rocks into you, pushing deeper. He pulls out a little and pushes deep again, loving the way you choke his name. “Joel?” Jeff growls, confused and pissed. Joel chuckles, “it’s me.” He confirms, grabbing your hips to rock into you again.

“Motherfucker!” Jeff hisses, his fury radiating through the radio. “What the fuck are you doing there?” He’s surprised the asshole is alive, let alone in the radio station. You are surprised that Jeff isn’t just cursing up a storm and threatening the man he thought he had sentenced to death through the radio. 

Joel starts to fuck you, his skin slapping against your ass as he squeezes your tit. “Taking what’s yours.” Joel smirks, “and she is loving it. You should feel how wet she is. You can hear it.” He picks up the radio microphone, bringing it down to where he’s pushing into you.

You should be ashamed, embarrassed by the way he is flaunting what he is doing to you. But you fucking love it. Joel has just bruised Jeff’s ego, mortally wounding it, with the slick slapping of his skin as he hammers into you.

Jeff growls down the radio, “you fucking asshole. I’m gonna kill you.” He hisses and Joel chuckles, setting the radio down on the table. “Listen to her. She fucking loves it. Listen to her moan for me. She wouldn’t let you do this. She’s letting me fuck her.”

You whimper, clenching around Joel’s cock be because you know it’s true. You love it, and you never would have let Jeff fuck you. “Yes, fuck me harder.” You moan.

He grunts, rocking his hips a little harder, “she loves it.” His hand comes up to grip your jaw, “tell him you love it. Tell him you wanted my cock.” He orders and Jeff growls down the radio, clearly making his way back to the station but they are too far away.

“Fuck.” You know that Jeff is coming back, but you don’t care. You don’t care that he will be pissed. “I wanted him.” You admit breathlessly. “I love that his cock is inside me.”

Joel smirks, leaning in to bite down on your shoulder. “Listen to her. She fucking loves it.” He pants, sliding his hand down to rub your clit, “listen to her moan for me.” He chuckles breathlessly and Jeff growls, “I’m going to fucking kill you. Taking what belongs to me. She’s mine.” Joel snorts, “she’s mine right now.”

“Never yours, Jeff.” You gasp, tits shaking as his cock drives up into you. The pace makes your voice shake and you grab onto his arm as he holds you. “Never yours.” You repeat. “His. His pussy, his…..woman.” You aren’t his and he might not even let you live, but there is a certain thrill to taunting Jeff. He’s far enough away he can’t touch you.

Jeff pants as he runs, “you motherfucker!” He growls, “I’m gonna fucking skin you alive.” He promises, listening to your moans and skin slapping as Joel takes what belongs to him. “She’s mine now. Her cunt belongs to me.” Joel growls, his hand squeezing your breast and your nails dig into his forearm.

“Fuck.” You whimper again, loving how Joel is touching you. It’s possessive, but respectful. He is fucking you because he wants you. Not to possess you, but he does that anyway. “Yes, yes it does.” You pant in agreement, turning your head and kissing along his jaw.

He doesn’t kiss you back, wanting Jeff to hear every single moan that escapes your lips. “That’s it, baby. Take it all. Tell him how good it feels.” He orders, slapping your clit, “tell him how fucking deep I am in this pussy.” He grinds deep, his other hand pinching your nipple.

“Oh shit, oh shit.” You gasp it out, back arching and whining moans fill the radio waves. Another hisses curse is panted out. “Gonna cut your dick off and shove it down your throat!” Jeff huffs.

Joel chuckles darkly, “she will still belong to me. She won’t be yours. She will never be yours.” Joel declares, his hand reaching down to rub your clit. “You’re gonna listen to her cum for me. Gonna listen to her scream my name.”

Jeff curses and shouts to the group to hurry their asses up. He still won’t get to you in time. Soon, Joel’s gonna cum and then he’s going to leave. “Fuck.” You whine, hips rolling down to meet the sure swipes of his fingers. “I’m so close.” You admit. “So fucking close.”

He leans in to kiss your shoulder, “cum for me, baby. Want you to cum for me.” He orders, “let Jeff hear ya. Let him know who’s fuckin’ you this good.” He orders, rubbing your clit a little faster. “Moan my name so that asshole can hear you without the fuckin’ radio.”

One hand is between your thighs and the other is holding onto your breast, pulling you back against his body while his hips slap harshly against your ass over and over again. The thickness of his cock breaks you open and makes you moan every time he pushes deep. “Fuck, Joel.” You moan, body trembling. “Fuck! I’m gonna- I’m cumming!” You squeal, walls clamping down around his cock as your core floods with liquid pleasure.

He loves how you fall apart, squeezing his cock, and he groans. “Fuck. Fuck. That’s it, baby. Squeezin’ me like a goddamn vice. Fuck, Jeff, you should feel her. So goddamn tight.” He growls, pulling out of you as you shake and he shifts to lay you down. He glances around and smirks when he sees a marker on the table. “Listen to her fuckin’ cry out my name.” He chuckles at Jeff over the radio and he uses his teeth to open the marker. He smirks as he brings the marker to your belly, writing his name on your skin.

You don’t even care that he’s writing on you, don’t care what he’s writing. All you care about is when he slides back inside you. Loving the angle change and you feel him push you through one orgasm and start building you up again. “Of fuck baby, more. Joel, fuck, you’re so good.” You whine, cupping your own tits while he rocks into you as he writes.

Joel smirks, “listen to that. She fuckin’ loves my cock. Didn’t want your limp prick.” He chuckles, listening to Jeff curse him again. “I’m gonna fill her up.” He taunts him, “leave her full of my cum for you to find her.” He tells Jeff and your walls clench around him at the thought.

“I’m gonna kill you!” The threat is screamed over the radio, harsh and slightly unhinged. You know that you will have to kill Jeff, because he will try to kill you if he finds Joel’s left. Still, you think about all the comments, the jokes, forcing the others to give into his demands. Treating the women like his own personal harem. “Yesssssss.” You pant out, “do it. Fill me up.”

Joel wants you to cum one more time so he thrusts deep, lifting your leg onto his shoulder, and he brings his thumb to his lips. Licking it for a second then pressing it against your clit. “That’s it, baby. Tell him who’s fucking you like this. Who’s stretching your tight little pussy out.” His cock twitches inside you, getting close but he wants you to clamp down on him one more time.

The angle is magical, your back arches when he thrusts deep and you let out a scream of pleasure. “You! Fuck, you, Joel!” Your hands grip his biceps and you start squealing every time his cock fills you and hits that spot deep inside you. “Your cock - you’re in my guts!” You feel it building inside, but it’s still a surprise when the dam bursts and you scream his name again while drenching his cock and stomach as you squirt.

“Jesus Christ.” Joel groans, the force pushing his cock from your cunt, and he reaches down to squeeze himself. “Fuck. I’m gonna cum.” He pushes back into your quivering cunt, the squelch audible to Jeff who is cursing Joel and repeating how he’s going to kill him. “That’s it. Gonna fill you up real good.” He promises, chest heaving as he thrusts a half dozen more times, pushing into you when finally he paints your walls with his hot seed.

Your moan is softly, breathless as you feel the heat of his cum fill you up. The angry, strangled sounds of heavy breathing from running coming through the radio, along with shouts of the others to slow down. You don’t regret it though. “Fuck.” You switch off the radio and look up at Joel’s clenched jaw, eyes closed expression as he rides out his orgasm. “Might be worth the risk of death.” You hum. “But you need to get out of here.” You caution him. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Joel nods, glancing around, and he smirks when he sees the Polaroid camera on your desk. He slowly pulls out of you. “Can I?” You nod, giggling at what he’s about to do. “Spread your legs.” He orders and you eagerly spread your legs, exposing the cum dripping from your pussy. “Fuck, that’s a pretty view.” Joel murmurs, clicking the button and he grabs the Polaroid, setting it aside to develop. “Get your shit. You’re coming with us. I ain’t leaving you with that asshole.” He orders, tossing a rag at you from the table and he knows you have minutes to get dressed and out of this place.

Your eyes widen and you scramble off the desk to clean up. “There’s a path that leads to the main road.” You tell him quickly, tossing the cum coated rag aside after you wipe up. “They might check it, but we can make it farther than they can after their run back here. Ohio shouldn’t be too hard to get to.” You plan on grabbing whatever you can from the supplies and taking them with zero regret. These people don’t care about anyone but themselves.

“I lied. We ain’t going to Ohio. We are going to Boston.” Joel reveals, “you know where our clothes are?” He asks and you nod, dressing and grabbing your things. Joel smirks as he leaves the Polaroid on the radio desk. The image now clear. You laying there dripping his cum with his name written on your stomach. He knows you’ll want to wash that off later but right now, he needs to get you and Tommy to safety.

You grab their things and extra ammo, food, canteens. Anything that you think will be helpful that can be easily carried between the three of you. Joel calls Tommy in, the brother dressing in his own clothes quickly, and nodding towards you. If he knew what had happened, he didn’t shame you for it. “We need to go.” He tells Joel as soon as his feet are in his boots.

Joel nods, grabbing as much stuff as he can carry in his pack and he looks at you, “you ready?” You nod, “get me out of here.” Tommy snorts and you guide him through the back entrance just as Joel hears the group opening the gates. “Quick!” You order, escorting them through the back entrance to a part of the fence that has been ripped open that you’ve told Jeff about many times, but he didn’t believe you. Joel holds the fence up for you and Tommy to get under, glancing back as he hears the group approaching the station. 

Jeff growls, “find those motherfuckers. Whatever it takes.” He orders the group, “spread out. I want that fucker alive so I can skin him.” He orders, making his way inside to find you. He enters the communication room and frowns when he doesn’t find you. He thought you’d be tied up, grateful for him rescuing you. You’re nowhere to be seen. All that’s left is a photo on the desk. Jeff picks it up, frowning at the Polaroid until he narrows his eyes. A photo of you, cum dripping from you, and his name written on your skin. On the white strip, the asshole had written “mine.” Jeff growls, slamming the photo down. He will find that asshole one day. “Fuck!” He growls just as he hears screams. “Infected!” Diane yells and Jeff’s eyes widen. In his rush to get back to base, he didn’t realize that he’d summoned the naked infected that he’d left to rot. Within twenty minutes, everyone at the compound is dead while you, Joel and Tommy walk towards a new life in Boston.

[russianblush]

PEDRO PASCAL debuting the Fantastic Four: First Steps trailer

[imdrinkingpedro]

Hot nerds with chalk have always done it for me…

[absurdthirst]

New Year, New Murder {Dave York x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12.5k

Warnings: Arguing, lusting after a married man, murder daddy, assassinations, undercover role-play, crossing a line, infidelity (?), oral sex (female receiving), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, different positions, disgust, self loathing, abandonment, drugging, shooting, Dave being a charming bastard, lovemaking

Comments: Wanting to go into the field as an operative, you keep getting held back by your boss, Dave York. Handsome, married, he's everything you want and you hate yourself for it. Until you convince him to let you work a target with him on New Year's Eve and everything changes.

🎉🎉Happy New Year! I know it's late, but we were recovering 😂

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Dave York MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

“I have the schematics for the building, and it looks like the best exit point is at the north end corner, through the kitchens.” You know that you can count on Dave York to ask a million other questions and try to poke holes in the information that you are giving him, but this is rock solid. You don’t even turn back towards the four men that are sitting around the conference room. You know that they are watching closely. Every piece of intel that you can give can mean the difference between life and death. They know that you want them to come out on the other side of the op, hell, you want to be in the op. “The best possible plan you could have would involve five.” You point out. “Your four man team and a fifth.” Now you turn around. “A woman.” You add. “It’s New Year’s Eve. I would be the perfect cover for Dave.” Your eyes slide over to meet his dark eyes. You shouldn’t be attracted to him, he’s married and worse, he’s turned down every request for you to move to the field.You should hate him, but you find your stomach twisting with that familiar pull that can only be described as pure lust. 

Dave hums at your idea, his stomach twisting at the idea of you out there in the field. He doesn’t want to put his best techie at risk. You are the one in his ear on ops, the reassuring presence that lets him go home every time. You’re smart…and beautiful. Too beautiful. He watches you stand there, the screen behind you displaying the floor plan of the hotel. “I don’t think I need a woman. I will be just fine on my own.” He insists, tapping his fingers on the conference table.

“Of course.” You want to say something sarcastic but you just shoot him a tight smile and turn back towards the presentation. You had known he would turn you down, but you had a try.

You go over the details of the op, showing him the best exits in the building and how to blend in, discussing some of the attendees. Dave nods and takes mental notes, his eyes drifting along your form when you turn your back to him. When you're done, he dismisses the team and stands up, watching you as you shut down the screen. "You have a problem, sweetheart?" He asks, noticing how tense you are.

“Yeah, I do.” You spit out, before you shut your mouth again. It doesn’t make a difference, the team leader is stubborn. “Well?” He chuckles when you don’t say anything else as you pack up your computer with obviously irritated, jerky movements. “What is it?” The mere question pisses you off and you whirl around, eyes flashing angrily. “You know as well as I do that this plan would be better with a woman going in with you.” You hiss. “But for some damn reason, you think I couldn’t handle a little field work.”

Dave scoffs, watching you act like a teenager. “It would work better but then I’d have to focus on not only getting in and out without being noticed, killing the target, and not worrying about you. It’s impossible. You’d bring attention to us and I’d be worrying the whole night about your safety. I feel responsible for you.” He explains coolly even though his stomach twists at the idea of anything happening to you.

You snort and shake your head. “I’ve completed all the training.” You remind Dave. “I would be fine. And I’m not some overly sexy supermodel that would turn heads. But four men by themselves at this party would be unusual, having a woman in the mix would help.” You shake your head and turn back to packing up your equipment. “Nevermind. Be safe, have a good mission and see you next year.”

Dave frowns, not wanting you to be angry at him before the op. “You can come.” He announces before you leave the room. He knows this is what leads to you doing stuff behind his back. Talking to other agencies or teams to be out in the field and he’d rather have you with him so he can protect you.

You freeze, astonished that he had agreed to let you go. Turning and staring at him for a second. “What?” You demand and he rolls his eyes. “You can come on the op.” He repeats. “Dress nice.” He sighs. “It is New Year’s Eve after all.”

You nod, excited to prove yourself, and Dave sees your eyes light up. Fuck, that makes his stomach twist with desire. You’re too fucking beautiful. “I’ll pick you up at nine.” He says and you nod, eager to head home and start getting ready. Dave sighs when you practically skip out of the room. “Fuck.” He murmurs and rubs his cheek, unsure of how he’s going to keep you safe tonight. 

****

Dave knows he can’t just honk the horn for you to get in his car so he parks on your driveway and walks to the front door, ringing the doorbell before he adjusts his cufflinks while he waits for you.

Checking the mirror one last time to make sure that the knife you had strapped to your upper thigh isn’t visible, you try to ignore how much effort you had put into your appearance. Dave is a married man, you shouldn’t want him. He has a wife and two beautiful little girls, so the primping and the lipstick and push up bra you are wearing that match the lace panties under your dress are purely for yourself. That's the lie you tell yourself, anyway. Satisfied, you open the door to find Dave looking positively wicked in a black tuxedo that makes your cunt clench and your body tighten in need. “Hi.” You murmur breathlessly. “Let me get my bag.” You tell him, trying not to imagine this as a real New Year’s Eve date. 

Dave’s eyes drift down to your ass, a soft groan escaping his lips as he admires the dress you’re wearing. You look fucking gorgeous and he knows he can’t touch you. Not because he’s married. He’s divorced. Carol is the one who wanted it. Said she couldn’t handle him going off for days without contact with no explanation and he couldn’t explain it so she said they’re over. He was sad, mainly to lose the girls full time, but he sees them every weekend. He didn’t tell anyone at work, wanting the cover of marriage to get out of BS after work drinks and boring shit he doesn’t want to be involved in. You come back with your purse and he steps aside, letting you lock up your place before he escorts you to his car.

You try not to shiver when he puts his hand on your lower back. Bare skin because of the strategic cutout that you think looks amazing. His hand is warm and you can feel the calluses. It will be something you think about tonight when you are in bed alone with your vibrator between your thighs. “Carol isn’t too disappointed you have to work, is she?” You ask, mainly to remind yourself this man is taken so you don’t spin around and throw yourself at him.

Dave shakes his head before he opens the door, “she’s busy tonight and the girls have a babysitter.” He knows Carol has been seeing some guy at her gym. He’s already vetted him and doesn’t give a fuck that she’s already fucking someone else. He just doesn’t want the asshole around his kids if he’s dangerous. Either agency or civilian. Dave opens the door and you frown at his answer as you slide into the passenger seat. He shuts the door and rounds the car, getting into the driver's side.

“The guys are already there?” It seems now like they are going with your original plan that you had lined out. The team is already in place and you and Dave will arrive separate.

Dave pulls up at the hotel, reluctant to use the valet but he has no choice. There's no self parking and that would make him stick out even more. The valet takes his key and Dave tucks the card into his pocket before he rounds the car to help you out, offering you his hand.

“They are already in place.” Dave taps the comm he has in his ear that he turned off when he picked you up. 

You slide your hand into his, looking up at him with an adoring gaze since the extra valets are watching. It’s not an act, but you can finally not hide how you feel about him, even if he will just think you are one hell of an actress.

Dave hates how you look at him. Like he’s hung the moon and the stars. He’s not an idiot. He knows you have a crush on him and that’s what makes this so difficult. He doesn’t want to hurt you and he doesn’t want to see you get hurt. Yet he knows he’d destroy you. He escorts you into the hotel, following the signs to the ballroom where the event is being held and he squeezes your hand when you enter, “you want a drink, sweetheart?” He asks, knowing he will have a Coke but you can have a glass of champagne.

“I’ll stick with seltzer water.” You murmur softly. “It isn’t professional to get drunk on an op.” You know that sometimes you have to drink but a club soda will look like a drink in your hand. That will do.

Dave nods, impressed by your dedication. Most would’ve failed by now and already been grabbing a glass of champagne. He guides you over to the bar, his hand shifting to your back, and he gestures for the bartender to come over. “Coke and a Club soda.” He orders and the bartender walks off. “So…you see our person?” He asks, leaning in closer.

Instead of scanning the room like a novice would, you glance in the large mirror that is above the bar and gives an excellent view of the large ballroom. “Two o’clock.” You murmur softly, leaning in and looking like you are whispering something loving in his ear. “Grey suit with a maroon shirt and black tie.”

Dave glances in the mirror to the target, his hand rubbing your back as he leans closer and murmurs, "good eye, sweetheart. It's early. We need to wait until he has had a few more drinks before we strike. We need people to be drunk to believe that he fell off a balcony." He whispers, his lips brushing your ear.

You can’t help the soft sound you make, but you don’t think he hears it. It’s loud in the ballroom. The bartender slides your drinks in front of you and you take your club soda with a flirtatious smile. “Thank you.” You hum before you press closer to Dave. “Shall we mingle?” You coo.

Dave nods, his hand caressing your bare skin on your back as he throws some cash down for the drinks and he escorts you into the crowd. You are a natural and he hates how easy it is for you to excel at being in the field. He desperately wants to keep you safe but he’s being selfish wanting that.

Making sure to keep your expression almost bored, you glance around the ballroom. Taking note of the exits and the security that is placed around the room. “Oh darling, look.” You seem excited as you point towards the dance floor. “Cameras are pointed away from the balcony.” You murmur softly. “Dancing.” You say louder. “We should dance.”

Dave knows he should keep you at arms distance…literally…but he’s finding it hard to keep away from you. He takes your hand, escorting you to the dance floor where several other couples are and he pulls you close as the band plays a slow song.

You hum softly to the music as Dave pulls you close. The scent of his spicy cologne filling your senses and making you swoon slightly at the way he holds you. It’s possessive, even though it’s just for show. “A new year, new beginnings.” You murmur softly.

Dave allows himself a moment to pull you close. Your perfume hits his senses and he hisses under his teeth at the flowery scent. "Everything okay?" You ask and he nods, offering you a soft smile, "yeah. All good." He promises, rubbing your back and he squeezes your hand, spinning you around.

You laugh softly, not expecting the move but loving how he guides you around the dance floor. For a moment, he smiles and you can pretend he wants to dance with you and it’s not just a cover. A fairytale moment that has your heart pounding and you smile as you come back into his arms. “Mr. Stephens.” You use the fake name he had gotten the invitation under. “You are too smooth, sir.” You flirt. “Keep that up and you will find a girl breathless over here.”

He wishes his real name had fallen from your lips but you are doing a good job of keeping cover. He feels like he could fail at any moment when he has you looking into his eyes like that. “That’s my plan.” He flirts back, “keep you breathless all night long until you let me keep you.” He says, his words true but his tone is playful and flirty…an act that he is finding too comfortable.

You swallow slightly, hoping he doesn’t notice but you’re sure he will. Dave doesn’t miss anything. “Keeping me would never be the problem.” You try to keep your own tone light and flirty, but it comes out seductive.

Fuck, he wants to keep you. He really does. He murmurs your name, pulling you closer to conceal it, and your sigh puffs against his neck. It’s clear that he could take you as his own but he’s not selfish enough to do that. “Can you see him?” He asks, voice rough with some unknown emotion.

“Yes.” Your own voice sounds wrecked, like you are barely holding onto your sanity but your eyes swing over to the target. “He’s alone.” You murmur. “Drunk.”

“Good.” Dave murmurs, “we will leave him for another ten minutes and then the plan can go into action.” He taps his ear, acting like he’s scratching. “Ten minutes.” He says to the team before he mutes himself again and the song comes to an end. “Let’s make some small talk, make our way over to him.”

“Of course.” You let him lead you off the dance floor, his arm around your waist as you head towards a group of people. At these functions, no one knows everyone, not even the host, so it’s not unusual to introduce yourself.

Dave guides you over to a group, wanting people to see him and know him by a different name. “Great party, right?” One of the guys asks and Dave hums, a smile on his face, “perfect way to see in the new year. Doesn’t hurt that I get to see my girl all dressed up.” He winks at you and squeezes your waist.

You fluster prettily and slap his chest with one hand. “He flatters me.” You hum. “It’s nice, even though he knows he’s guaranteed to ring in the New Year with sex.”

Dave chuckles and leans in to softly kiss your hair, “I gotta treat her good. Kiss her real good when the clock strikes midnight.” He winks and the group chuckle, “you’re a lucky bastard.” One man chuckles. “So…how do you know Peter?” A woman asks, naturally nosey if Dave’s instincts are correct, inquiring about how you know the host of the party.

You have done extensive background checks on Peter Malwick, the person responsible for the party. You smile and turn towards Dave, curling into his side. “Our daughter, Mila, attends St. John’s with Stacy.” You play with the lapel of Dave’s jacket. “Sometimes the men go golfing together while we do the monthly charity bake sales.”

Dave caresses your back, a smirk on his face, “I got a birdie last time we went out and then I got to come home and sample one of my wife’s cupcakes. She’s a dream baker.” He leans in to nuzzle his nose against your cheek and the women in the group coo while the men appraise you. Dave has played this game many times but never with a partner and he finds it’s easier to play the crowd with someone else.

You hum, eyes slipping closed like this is a game you and Dave constantly play. It’s easy to act like you are in love with him. “That was a good day.” You giggle, like you are talking about more than golf or cupcakes. The woman who had asked about the two of you seems positively convinced and you turn your head to drop a kiss right at the edge of Dave’s mouth. “How about you?” You ask. “How do you know Pete?”

The woman goes to speak but her husband cuts her off with a look and he says “oh we are in the same business. He’s a close associate of mine.” He says vaguely and Dave hums, “he’s a very successful man.” The husband nods and pulls his wife close, squeezing her arm in warning.

You notice the move but you don’t say anything, smiling at the couple like nothing is amiss. “Sweetheart, I think I need another drink.” You shake your empty glass for effect. “Shall we go get another?” You look over at the woman with a shrug. “Vodka sodas are the drinks that have the least calories here.” You tell her.

She giggles and winks, “perfect.” Dave escorts you back to the bar and he orders you another club soda. “The stage is set. Just gotta wait for the right moment.” He murmurs, rubbing your back as he watches in the mirror.

“Yes, we do.” You murmur softly, looking over at him in complete adoration and lean into his touch. “It will come soon enough.” Your eyes watch as your target stumbles, spilling his drink. “Very soon.”

Dave hums, leaning closer to nudge his nose against your ear. “We will be here until midnight until we are able to take him out. We need to get him outside on the balcony when everyone is distracted.”

“Ringing in the new year.” You hum, smirking slightly. “Sounds like something I’m going to think about later.” You will go back to your house and spend the rest of the evening thinking about Dave inside you. How you wish you had spent New Year’s.

Dave hums, taking a sip of his drink after it’s set down on the bar. He leans closer to you, his free hand on your lower back as he watches your expression in the mirror. You look a little flustered and he wonders if it’s the op or his proximity. Deciding to test you, he leans closer to run his nose along your neck, breathing in the scent of your perfume.

Your cover slips, or perhaps you just lean into it. After all, you are supposed to be posing as his wife. Your breath hitches slightly and you want to turn your head to kiss him. You want to so badly your lips tingle, but you remind yourself that this is just an act. A farce to sell the fact that you are supposed to be here. “Dave.” You murmur breathlessly. 

He knows what you want right now and he can’t give it to you. If he kisses you, he won’t want to stop and he can’t put you in danger. He leans closer, his lips almost brushing your jaw and he presses a soft kiss to your cheek. “It’s almost midnight.” He murmurs, breath washing over your cheek, “and then we will get our target.”

You snap back to your senses and rock back an inch away from him. “Roger.” You murmur, swallowing harshly and turning your head back towards the mirror to keep an eye on the target while your stomach twists in disappointment. Ashamed of yourself for being upset that Dave kissed your cheek instead of your lips. You have to get away from him. The interview you had last week replays in your mind and you rethink your plan. Right now you just need to accomplish this mission.

Dave hums as he takes another sip of his drink, the clock ticking down and soon the band is announcing the countdown is coming up. “We will countdown, make sure everyone sees us and then we will follow him outside. The guys have already made sure he’s outside, smoking a cigar, so we can do this quickly.” He murmurs again.

“You’re the boss.” You remind him and yourself as you straighten up and reach for the drink that has been refreshed. You wish it did have vodka in it right now as you take a sip, but you know that drinking could jeopardize the mission as well as your sanity. The last thing you need is to beg Dave to fuck you in the bathroom or something. There is a room that has been rented under your alias names to complete the cover as a couple enjoying the New Year’s party, but you have no intention of actually using it. 

Dave can feel how tense you are but right now, he has your safety in mind, and that means he’s solely focused on the op. When the countdown is about to start, he takes your hand and guides you towards the balcony, stopping on the edge of the dance floor as the countdown starts. To anyone watching, you’re a couple cheering in the new year, and so that’s what Dave plays. “Three…two…one!” The cheers are loud but Dave surges forward to press his lips to yours, his hand cupping your cheek.

He’s kissing you. You melt into the kiss for a moment. Giving in to the need swirling in your stomach and you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him close. Letting him in when his tongue slides against your lips to demand entrance. Giving him every part of you while the confetti and streamers fall all around you and everyone starts to sing ’Auld Lang Syne’. 

He knows he shouldn’t kiss you like this but he indulges himself this one time. He pulls you close, pecking your lips as he tears himself away from you, knowing that he needs to complete this op. He takes your hand while everyone is cheering, escorting you to the balcony. Anyone watching would think he wants more than a kiss right now with the way his eyes darken but he’s shifting his focus as he opens the balcony door for you.

You try to control your breathing, snapping back into your operational mindset. The mission is the most important thing and you see the target leaning against the railing, a ring of smoke blowing up into the air from the cigar in his hand. There’s only a few moments to be had before revelers will spill out on the balcony and you need to take advantage of it. You feel Dave’s hand squeeze yours and you give him a small squeeze back. You’re ready. 

The target has already been drugged by Resnik who slipped by the target when he got his drink. He should be disoriented and that’s exactly what you find when you and Dave step out into the balcony. No one else is out there so Dave grabs you, dragging you closer to press his lips to yours as he walks backwards towards the target.

You know what Dave is doing, your eyes open and you’re surprised that he is letting you guide him towards the target. “Shit!” The target drops his cigar over the edge and bends down far over the edge for some reason even though it is falling down to the ground five stories below you. “Now.” You murmur against his lips, the perfect opportunity being created for you. 

He wastes no time spinning around and he slams into the target making him cry out as he goes head first over the balcony railing and a few moments later you hear the bang of his body hitting the concrete. Dave pulls away from you, shifting to look over the edge and he sees the twisted body of the target, blood starting to pour from his body.

“We should move.” You murmur, knowing that the team needs to disperse. None of you need to be around when the body is discovered. Resnik lifts his brows at you, surprised by the kiss the two of you shared but you don’t say anything else and he disappears into the shadows of the balcony.

Dave knows Resnik will handle the rest of the op so Dave takes your hand, “let’s go to the room. We need to have more witnesses that see us go to the room. To sell the story.” He murmurs, unsure if he really thinks it’s needed. If he was alone, he’d be gone already but right now, the kisses have muddled his mind and he needs a moment to reconvene…the room will give him that.

You don’t question him, but you giggle as soon as you enter the ballroom, starting to put on a show for anyone who might be looking. “Take me to bed, baby.” You coo, curling around him and sliding your hand up his chest. “I want to spend the rest of the night with you inside me.” 

Dave wants to indulge in those words, take you to bed and show you how good it can be, but he knows he can’t do that. He’d be risking you, making you his in a way that he’d never be able to forget, and he can’t cross the line but right now, he has to act like he is. “Come on baby. Wanna get you naked to celebrate the new year,”

Anyone who watches you would just see a couple eager to get back to their hotel room. Your steps swiftly carry you away from the ballroom and you are on the elevator before the first screams are heard when someone spots the broken body of the man  you had been contracted to kill. On the elevator, you know the cameras inside will be recording you, so you pull Dave close and wrap your arm around his neck to drag his lips down to yours for a kiss. Continuing your cover as the eager partygoers. 

Dave groans, pushing you up against the wall of the car without care. He knows this is for show and when you are in the room, he will ensure you are okay and he will wait until the appropriate time to sneak out with you. Resnik has orders to cut cameras on his order so you can sneak out. For now though, he slides his tongue into your mouth and grips your waist.

You let yourself get lost in the kiss, knowing that this will be the last time, the only time you get to have him like that. You grind against his hard body and feel him respond. Thrilled that even if he can’t have you, he wants you. Even if it is just physically. You tell yourself it’s for the camera but it’s a lie as you slide your hand down between you and squeeze his cock through his tuxedo trousers.

Dave hisses at your touch, knowing he shouldn’t allow you to do this but it feeds the dirty thoughts he has had about you all night. He’s imagined taking you somewhere, making you moan his name. His hand slides down to squeeze your ass, giving you a taste of your own medicine, and he chuckles when you whimper against his mouth as the doors open. “Come on.” He demands, voice raspy with desire as he takes your hand to drag you down the hall.

You feel like you are on fire, but you know that you can’t take it farther. When you get to the room, you will both revert back to your normal professional relationship, the acting will be over. Dave holds onto your hand even as he pulls out the key card and opens the door. He pushes you inside and you hear the door click behind you as you try to catch your breath.

Dave hears your panting and he snaps. He can't help himself. He spins around and grabs you, pushing you up against the door of the hotel room. His nose presses against yours, his eyes open as he stares at you, "tell me to stop." He demands, needing you to order him to stop when all he wants is to strip you down and do what he's imagined more times than he cares to admit.

Your gasp is breathless and eyes wide when he presses you against the door. His own eyes are dark and you can see the lust swimming in their depth, making your core burn and you can’t deny him. “Don’t stop.” You whisper, wanting him despite knowing that it’s wrong. You just want one night with him, then you will somehow figure out how to live with the shame. 

The permission makes him groan, his lips pressing urgently against yours again. His hands desperate as they grab you, already working on finding the zipper of your dress. It’s wrong. He shouldn’t do this. Shouldn’t touch you. Yet he can’t stop. His heart pounds, all composure thrown aside and he pulls the zipper down.

As soon as his hands start to strip you, your own become frantic. Pushing the tailored jacket of his tux over his broad shoulders and starting tugging on his bowtie. Impressed and frustrated by the fact that it’s real and not just a clip on. You want him naked, you need to feel his skin under your hands. Nearly ripping the buttons of his dress shirt. Your comms is pulled out of your ear and tossed aside, you don’t want the team to hear you. “Dave.” You moan when he finally pulls away to peel his shirt and jacket off while your dress falls to the floor. Leaving you standing in your heels, bra and panties with the knife strapped to your thigh. 

Dave trails his eyes along your form, loving how gorgeous you look in the matching set and he knows you well enough to know that you picked that out with him in mind. He smirks, licking his lips and taking in your figure. You fluster and he chuckles, toeing off his shoes to leave them by the door. “Go lay down on the bed, sweetheart.” He orders, “keep the heels on.” He says as he works on his pants.

You shiver slightly, obeying him and forgetting everything but how much you want this man. You watch as you lay back on the bed, propped up on your elbows as he strips out of his pants and leaves himself in his boxer briefs. You lick your lips and shake your head. “All of it.” You demand, wanting to see him. 

He nods, watching you as he pushes his boxers down. His cock is hard, leaking pre-cum as it bounces when he kicks his pants away. You moan and he smirks, reaching down to squeeze his cock. “You want this.” He states, knowing he doesn’t have a doubt of that. “Tell me what you’ve thought about with your fingers inside that pretty pussy.” He orders, pumping himself.

Your eyes are greedy as they roam over his body, drinking in the sight of him. He’s so sexy, even more so with his cock in his hand as he strokes himself. You can feel your pussy dripping with need and you clench around nothing. “You.” You admit shamelessly. “Fuck me. Over the desk in your office. In the gym showers. Sucking your cock when you come in from an op.” 

Dave chuckles, knowing that your thoughts have been filthy and hearing them spoken into the air has him twitching in his hand. “Take your panties off. And the bra. Wanna see all of you. Keep the heels on.” He demands again, his dark eyes trailing along your form.

You sit up to reach behind you so that you unclip your bra. Tossing it aside after sliding the straps down your arms. You lay back down and lift your hips, shoving the lace down and using the heel of your left shoe to hook the panties on and fling them off. You aren’t shy, spreading your legs for him to get a perfect view of your wet cunt. 

Dave groans, eying your bare cunt. It's obvious you wax and he fucking loves that. He steps closer, looming over you, and he moves so fast your gasp echoes when he surges forward to bury his face in your cunt.

You are completely surprised by the face that Dave is eating you out, you hadn’t expected it. You had expected him to want you to suck his cock. His tongue burns a path through your folds as you tangle your fingers through his short hair and you grind your hips down against his face. “Dave.” You moan, eyes closed as you shudder. 

Your moan has him squeezing his cock in his fist as he tastes the tang of your arousal. Fuck, you taste sweet and sour. He loves it. He groans into your flesh, lapping at it as you moan his name again.

He’s not trying to rush you towards an orgasm, or just get you wet enough to fuck. He’s tearing you apart with his tongue. Each stroke is designed to make your stomach clench and your toes curl as he licks into your aching core. You are already so turned on that every flick of his tongue makes your body jolt, so close to coming apart. “Fuck - I- I’m so close.” You pant out. 

Dave can’t believe how worked up you are and he loves it. He groans into your flesh, sucking your clit between his lips, and he desperately wants to hear you fall apart. He wants to taste you. He doubles down, sucking harder on your clit to push you over the edge.

Your thighs shake and with one more suck on your clit, you are screaming out his name for everyone on your floor to hear. Core twisting and flooding in pleasure, cunt gushing as you buck up against his mouth. 

Dave groans, lapping at your cum to work you through it. Your thighs squeezing his head and he loves it. He laps at you until you push his head away. He smirks, his chin shiny with your slick, and he squeezes his cock as he shifts to kneel on the foot of the bed.

“Fuck me.” You beg softly, needing to feel him inside you. You spread your legs enticingly and all of the reasons that you should push him away are forgotten with the dark look in his eyes. He wants you just as badly as you want him. “Dave, fuck me.” 

He can’t deny you when you beg so sweetly. He hisses and shifts to kneel between your thighs, gripping his cock. He pushes into you, walls fluttering to adjust to him and he loves the way your jaw drops. “You’re gonna take every fucking inch and every fucking drop I give you.” He demands, jaw clenched as he looms over you.

You mewl in pleasure as he notches the thick head of his cock at your entrance and starts to push into you. Mouth dropping open as he stretches you out, your hands slide up to his arms, nails digging into his biceps from how good it feels. It’s perfect, he’s perfect inside you, filling up all the emptiness and giving you so much pleasure from the slow and steady roll of his hips. 

He hisses at how your cunt grips him like a vice. It makes his eyes squeeze shut until he opens them, remembering that he wants to watch you take him. He groans your name as he starts to move faster, your tits bouncing with each rock of his hips. “Take it.” He demands, his hands gripping your hips.

You do take it, all you can do is take it. Moaning, you hold onto his shoulders and start to lift your hips up when he thrusts down into you. Wanting this to be more than just a passive experience. You want to move with him. To give back to him. Your walls clench around him when he twitches inside you and you smirk when he groans your name. 

He knows he should’ve stayed away from you but right now, all he can do is fuck you hard and fast. The sounds in the room are your moans and the slap of skin as he fucks into your tight cunt.

It’s everything you expected, everything you wanted from fucking Dave. It’s harsh and passionate, wonderfully rough. You kiss along his jaw and drag your nails down his back, down to grip his ass to feel as he pumps into you. “More.” you beg, “I want more.” 

He leans down to press his lips to yours, his tongue immediately sliding into your mouth. His fingers bruising until they slide up to squeeze your breast. “Feel so good, baby. Always knew you would.”

You moan, thrilled that he had thought about this. That he had imagined fucking you. It’s wrong on so many levels, but you can’t care when he’s hammering into you like he’s going to fuck you to death.

Dave loves how you take everything he gives. Your moans vibrate against his lips and he adjusts his hips, wanting to make you fall apart for him. He needs to feel your walls clamp down on him.

His hips snap forward again and again, the coarse hair surrounding his cock rubbing your clit and the next thrust pushes you over the edge. Your legs tighten and your back bows up, head pushing back into the plush pillow as you cry out. “Dave!”

His eyes roll into the back of his head when you clamp down onto his cock, soaking him, and your cry of his name echoes in the room. “Fuck.” He growls, working you through it. When you stop shaking beneath him, he pulls out of you and you whine. He wastes no time flipping you over, smacking your ass, “hands and knees, baby.”

Your face is pressed to the sheets but you don’t care. Gathering your knees under you to present your pussy and ass to Dave behind you. You want to feel him again and you whine. “Fuck me.” You beg breathlessly, hating how empty you feel.

Dave chuckles, caressing your ass, and he smacks it as you arch your back. He wastes no time squeezing his wet cock, positioning himself at your entrance, and he pushes into you. “Fuck, you’re so tight.” He growls when he sinks into you again.

You moan in pleasure, unable to articulate how good he feels. He feels incredible inside you. His cock scrubs against your walls and pushes against something incredible inside you from this angle.

Dave caresses your spine until he smacks your ass with his palm. He starts to move inside you, “fuck baby. You feel so good. Is this what you thought about? Imagined when you rubbed that little clit?”

“Yes.” You gasp out, the sound almost garbled as you moan right afterwards. He’s thick and heavy inside you, pushing just right to make your thighs shake up under you.

Sweat beads on his forehead as he fucks you harder, desperate to hear your cries of pleasure, and he chuckles when you whine, tits swaying with each thrust. “Fuck. Need you to cum again for me.” Dave demands, knowing you’ll be torn apart by him and that’s what he wants.

You don’t know how you’re supposed to cum when you’ve already had one orgasm. Usually you don’t have more than one, but he is determined. Grunting and panting behind you as he rocks into you. Making you whimper and whine as your body starts to tense up again.

Dave grunts, pushing into you harder and faster when he feels your walls fluttering. You’re close. He can feel it. “That’s it baby. That’s it.” He growls when you clamp down on his cock like he wanted. “Such a good fucking girl.” He hisses and pushes into you. He’s so fucking close. His eyes roll into the back of his head when he thrusts a half dozen more times and falls apart with a growl of your name, painting your walls with his cum.

The heat floods your core and you moan. Loving every throbbing pulse as he fills you up. It’s perfect and you close your eyes, panting softly. Boneless and limp from the pleasure

You collapse forward into the crumbled sheets and Dave smirks at how wrecked you look. You look like you need the night to recover and he chuckles, playfully smacking your ass before he leans down to kiss your shoulder as he slowly pulls out of you. “Fucking perfect.” He grunts as he shifts to flop down beside you.

Your head is pleasantly buzzing and you feel drunk even though you didn’t consume one drop of alcohol. “Happy New Year.” You murmur softly. “I could sleep for a week now.” You hum, giggling slightly. “Think they would let me keep the room?”

Dave chuckles, shifting to fold his arms behind his head, “maybe.” He is pleased that you are satisfied. He certainly is. “We will clean up and then we will get out of here.”

“Go home.” It’s like a bucket of cold water has been splashed on you. Dave is married. You had purposefully ignored that, or tried to, while he was buried deep since you, but now you can’t hide from it. “You better stop and pick your girls and wife up something nice since you’re away tonight.” You sit up and start to climb off the bed, standing on shaky legs.

Dave watches you stand up and he frowns. It’s on the tip of his tongue to tell you the truth but he can’t. He sits up, his stomach swirling with guilt and he shifts off the bed, reaching for his pants. He cannot put you in danger by keeping you and you wouldn’t want him. This was a one time thing. “Yeah.” He murmurs, “something nice.”

You make your way to the bathroom, needing to wash away your sin, but you can’t, it’s buried under your skin. Guilt nearly makes you retch, unable to look at yourself in the mirror as you start the shower.

Dave redresses, keeping his bow tie untied around his neck, and he shrugs on his jacket. He sits on the edge of the crumbled bed, wringing his hands together. He wants you to be his but his life…it’s too dangerous. He can’t allow you to come into this life.

You shower, scrubbing yourself from head to toe and the water is scalding hot. You won’t cry, you can’t - not right now. Not when he has given you exactly what you wanted. You just have to live with the guilt if it now. Getting out, you wrap a towel around your body, your face washed clean of all makeup.

Dave knows he should stay. He just fucked you. He wants to stay but he can’t. He leaves a note, hand steady as he tells you to spend the night. He will act like you’ve had an argument. After setting the note on the pillow, he grabs his comm and leaves the room with a soft click of the door that you won’t hear. He hopes you will quit and go find a safer job. A husband. A family. Live a normal life. He can never have that.

It takes you a few minutes to compose yourself, knowing that Dave has sharp eyes and an even sharper instinct. He will know if you have any kind of hesitation that something is wrong. When you open the door, you find that the entire point is moot, the room is empty. Your heart twists when you see the note on the bed and you don’t even reach for it. You know what it says. It says that this was a mistake. You swallow harshly and move over to your clutch, your encrypted phone inside. You pull it out and dial a number. Ringing once, it clicks - answered but not one greets you. “I accept.” You say calmly, sure now that you are making the right decision.

**** 

*One year later* 

“So any new year plans?” Dave is asked by the new techie and he sighs, “only a job. Good night to take out a target.” He smirks and the tech chuckles, “damn right. Too many distractions.” He says and Dave nods, his mind taken back to last year when he went on an op with you. His chest tightens and he sighs, “I’ll be ready. Just give me the details.” He says and stands up, leaving the conference room as his mind wanders. He has to focus. 

**** 

The party is in full swing when he arrives, dressed in a jacket and tie, this party isn’t as formal as last year and he knows his target will be trying to win over the donors. He’s a politician. One that fucked off the wrong people and now he needs to be involved in an accident on New Year’s Eve. Dave glances around the room, people laughing and dancing, and it’s eerily reminiscent of the night he spent with you. He hadn’t heard from you after he received your resignation in his email and he wanted to track you down but it was like you’d disappeared. He was worried but he figured you didn’t want to be found. You know how to do it and he respected that, knowing he was in no position to convince you to come back to the team. Right now, he wonders where you are. Do you have a boyfriend? A partner? Are you safe? happy? He hopes you are.

Watching the room, you sip your soda water, eyes roaming over the crowd. Your target is laughing in the middle of a group of people, the congressman fawning over the wealth and power of those grimacing slightly as he continues to run his mouth. You smirk slightly, rolling your eyes at the pretentious ass until you catch the sight of a ghost from your past. Freezing as he moves through the crowd, not spotting you, but he’s also not looking for you either. Dave. He must have been contacted for the politician too but you’ll be damned if you’ll let him take him down.

Dave snakes his way through the crowd, making his way toward the congressman and he remembers how much easier this was last year with you by his side. He has to make small talk when he’s alone. His drink is nearly empty and he smiles at people as he walks past them towards the group fawning over the congressman. He turns his head towards the bar, wondering if he should get another drink and wait for the crowd around the politician to disperse. That’s when he sees you standing there. He murmurs your name, his brow furrowing and he quickly makes his way to the bar.

You see Dave start heading towards the bar, towards you. Sighing softly, you know that he will probably approach you. Wanting to know what you are doing here. “Standby.” You murmur into your comms and click it off so your team can’t hear you, although you know they all have eyes on you. You are the lead after all.

Dave approaches you, gesturing for the bartender, and he doesn’t let the shock show on his face. He’s trained for this. For personal entanglements. “Never imagined I’d see you here. You got a boyfriend who works for Congress or something?” He asks softly, raising his eyebrows.

“Or something.” You arch a brow at him, picking up your soda and shake the ice in it. “What are you having, Dave?” You ask. “I should say I’m surprised to see you here, but I know the guest list and I’m not.”

He turns to the bartender who appears and he clears his throat, “Coke.” He orders and he glances down at your glass when the bartender walks off. “You- what the hell are you doing here?” He asks, confused and frankly pissed that you seem to be putting yourself in a dangerous situation. The congressman is involved with the fucking mafia.

Your eyes flicker over to him before you glance back at the mirror above the bar. It always plays into your favor when venues copy each other on design. “Same thing I assume you are doing here, Dave.” You hum, glancing back at him for a brief moment. “So don’t get in my or my team’s way.”

His frown deepens and he shakes his head, “you’re here in a fucking - you aren’t here for tech?” He asks and you smirk, turning to look at him. “I outgrew tech and another company saw my potential.” Your smirk pisses him off when combined with the fact that you are putting yourself at risk doing this job. “No. No. You aren’t - this is my target.” He growls into your ear.

You sense more than see your team start to move in. Reaching up and tapping your comms. “Stand down.” You murmur quietly. “He’s not going to hurt me.” Dave glances in the mirror, seeing three different men in suits stop from various positions around the room. You tap off the comms again and twist to look at your former boss and one time lover. “Seems like they wanted to make sure the poor congressman got exactly what he deserves.”

Dave clenches his jaw, pulling back from you and he watches the men retreat. “I can’t fucking believe this. I tried to protect you and you’ve gone into the lion’s den.” He hisses and shakes his head, “you don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

“I’ve been running ops for nearly a year, Dave.” You snort. “I think I’m well aware of the dangers of this life.” You see the bartender bringing his Coke over. “Well, this was fun, but let’s not do it again.” You hum as you push off the bar to turn and sashay towards the group of people the congressman was talking to. If you put an extra sway in your step, it was purely coincidental.

Dave watches you go, his dark eyes flicking down to your ass and the memory of slapping it when he was inside you hits him. He swallows a large gulp of Coke and his comm hisses. “holy shit. Was that - goddamn she’s an operator.” Resnik’s voice crackles in his ear and he growls, reaching up to turn off the comm. Leaning against the bar, he watches you flirt with the target and he grinds his teeth, watching in annoyance.

You are aware of the other team now that you know Dave is here. Their formation is typical of their team and you watch them as you laugh at the wildly unfunny joke the congressman makes, offering him a toothy smile and no one notices that the compartment of your ring opens to dump the poison in his drink when you grab his forearm and lean into him to give him a great view of your tits.

Dave notices the move. Shaking his head when he realizes the target has been taken out by you in a move that only a woman could accomplish. Dave huffs and strides over, making his move as he walks past the congressman and bumps his shoulder. “Shit!” The politician yelps as his drink falls to the floor, spilling on his shoes, and Dave smirks over his shoulder as he walks away.

“Asshole!” You call out, furious that Dave has ruined your chance. You have to back away from the target or it will be too suspicious. “Damn.” You hiss, wiping away an imaginary stain. “I better go try to get this out.” You don’t say anything else before you are turning and rushing off towards the bathroom.

Dave feels smug as you rush towards the bathroom and he follows you, stepping into the ladies room when it’s empty for everyone except you. He locks the door behind him and steps closer as you reapply your lipstick. “Poison. I thought you’d be more dramatic.”

“No need when he has an underlying heart condition.” You glance back at him for a moment before looking back at your reflection to meticulously coat your lips. “Less risk when they believe he has a heart attack. The poison doesn’t show up on a toxicology report.”

Dave hums, “true but it’s a little safe. I figured you’d be the kind of assassin that wants a little flair. You are sensible but this is your time to show off. Poison…it’s a little boring.” He shrugs one shoulder, his eyes dipping down to your lips. “I’ve missed you.” He confesses softly.

“You missed me so much you left after fucking me?” You ask, pressing your lips together and turning towards him. You had tried not to let his goading get to you, knowing his vanity and reputation was important to him, but you prefer to fly under the radar and have a solid record of kills.

Dave clicks his tongue, tilting his head, “I had to. I couldn’t - well, it’s a moot fucking point now, but I tried to stay away from you to keep you out of danger. I didn’t want you involved in this way. You could get hurt…or killed. I didn’t want to be the reason you got killed.” He confesses, “so I left before I got in too deep.”

You snort softly. “Whatever, it was for the best, considering that you are married.” You arch a brow. “Carol isn’t going to be pissed that you are ignoring her two New Year’s in a row?”

Dave chuckles, realizing why you are so angry at him. He leans closer and gently brushes his fingers over your shoulder. “I’m divorced. Have been for 2 years.” He reveals with a smirk when he looks at you in the mirror.

Your eyes widen slightly before you school your expression. “Liar.” You hiss, turning away from him. Brushing past him to open the door and Dave grabs your arm, making you yank away from him. Pissed off that he would mock you about this. 

He holds his hands up, “shoot me right here if you think I’m lying but you know me. I didn’t fuck you as a married man. I wouldn’t do that. I might kill for a living but I have some morals.” He says and you scoff, shaking your head. “I still think about that night.” He confesses softly, “a lot.”

Frowning, you watch him closely. He is a liar but you know that he’s not lying about this. His eyes are warm and honest, revealing. “I do too.” You admit. “I felt so fucking guilty because I wanted to do it again. That’s why I resigned.”

“I left you in that room because I was trying to protect you. I’m not a good man. I’ve done bad things and I- I didn’t want to hurt you. I’m divorced. I see my girls every week but Carol has already moved on. I haven’t moved on…from you. I don’t think I ever will.” He admits, “but I’ll walk away right now. You can have the target. I’ll leave and you won’t see me again…if you tell me that you don’t feel the same. That you don’t love me like I love you.”

“You should have trusted me to make my own decision.” You huff. “I know what you do, what I do.” You shake your head. “That shit didn’t matter to me. Just like being showy with my kills doesn’t matter.” You pause and bite your lip. “I’m blown with the target. And I can’t say I don’t love you.”

Dave swallows, his expression neutral but you know by his eyes that he’s surprised. He steps closer, his hands coming up to touch your upper arms. “I love you. I want you. I don’t want to spend every damn day wondering where you are. I want you to come back to the team. Be my partner.”

“You don’t mean that.” You murmur softly and he huffs. “You know I do.” He argues. “Come back to me.” He asks again, stroking your skin. “I want you beside me.” You sway slightly, inhaling his cologne and you hate how he still affects you, even if you love it. “We still have to accomplish the mission.” You point out.

“We can take care of the congressman. You flirt with him, make him sneak off away from security and take him to a private space. We will handle him when he’s alone. Can you do that?” He asks, eyebrows raised as he looks at you.

You scoff. “Dressed Iike this?” You reply, gesturing to your slinky dress. “I could get the man to follow me anywhere.”

Dave chuckles, trailing down your form, “you aren’t wrong there.” He winks and leans in to kiss your cheek, “it’s good to see you again, sweetheart.” He murmurs and pulls back, walking back towards the door to unlock it. “I’ll watch for your signal.” He says and slips out of the bathroom.

You take another moment, unsure of what to do but you trust Dave. He would never put your life in jeopardy. You adjust your tits in your dress and walk out of the bathroom with an air of confidence as you walk towards the congressman.

Dave makes his way through the crowd, his eyes watching you as you approach the congressman. You’re sexy, a small smirk on your lips as your hips sway and Dave swipes his thumb over his lower lip while he leans against the bar he approached.

Walking up the congressman, you practically purr as you wind your arm around his neck. “Miss me?” You pout playfully. “I had to go and make sure I was still pretty enough to get your attention.”

The congressman chuckles, wrapping his arm around your waist to pull you close. “I’m sure you could wear a trash bag and I’d like to see you.” The congressman flirts and you giggle, caressing his shoulder. Jealousy hits Dave but he pauses and reminds himself that you are on an op

“Yeah?” You continue to flirt and some of the group takes the opportunity to escape. Leaving just a few around the two of you. “What do you say that we find someplace quiet?” You hum, reaching up and tracing his lips. “Ring in the New Year in style.”

The congressman smirks, gesturing to his guards to leave you and him alone. The guards hesitate but nod and the congressman takes your hand, guiding you towards the private room in the back. Dave sees this and taps his fingers on the bar, slowly making his way through the crowd.

​​You pretend to be curious about the room. “Did you know this was here?” You ask, pulling away and admiring the sconces on the wall. Giving the teams time to draw in closer. “This is….private.” Turning towards him, you smirk suggestively and crook your finger. “Come here.”

The congressman smirks as he pulls you closer just as Dave opens the door. “Hey man, this is a private room.” The congressman argues and Dave reaches into his jacket. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know-” He cuts himself off as he pulls the gun from his hidden holster and aims it at the congressman in the head, his silencer on.

“What the fu-“ he doesn’t get a chance to finish the comment as you quickly pull away, making him startle and Dave pulls the trigger. The congressman’s head jerks back and his body holds itself up for a split second before he is crumpling back to the floor, dead. “Goddamnit.” You mutter, knowing you have to burn the dress now, just in case there is blood splatter. “I liked this fucking dress.”

Dave chuckles, shrugging one shoulder as he works on holstering his gun. “You look better out of it. There’s a door back here that leads to the outside.” He says and takes your hand, stepping over the dead congressman to take your hand and he guides you to the secret door he saw on the plans.

You tap your comms and give the command for your team to disappear from the party and to head to the safe house. You will give them instructions later on, after you talk with Dave. “Where are we going?”

Dave guides you to the outside and smirks when you ask him, “gonna take you back to mine. It’s not the new year yet.” He reminds you, “we can have a drink and have our own countdown.”

“You gonna disappear this time?” You ask. Still annoyed that he hasn’t told you he had been divorced. You had felt horrible, disgusting, for a long time after that night.

Dave shakes his head, “no. Absolutely not. You’re staying in my bed.” He promises and you smirk, squeezing his hand. He knows he owes you more explanation and he definitely owes you an orgasm.

There is a car that is parked on a little alley next to the building and you know it’s Dave’s. He guides you to the passenger side and opens the door for you. Waiting until you are seated to close the door and round the front of the car to climb in beside you.

He pulls his comm out, tossing it into the tray holder after he opens the door and helps you into the car before he gets into the driver's side. He looks at you as he starts the engine, “should’ve taken you home before.”

“Like you haven’t taken anyone else home since you slept with me.” You wouldn’t blame him if he did. He was single and free to do whatever he wanted, with whomever.

Dave shakes his head, “I haven’t. I - I have been busy trying to prepare to leave the DIA and I - I had to track you down before I left. I have people after me. I’ve made enemies and I don’t want to put you in danger.”

“Yes you have.” You won’t deny it, anyone that is in this business makes enemies. “But it’s better to have someone watching your back too, isn’t it?” You ask. “Dave- I’m a great operative.”

Dave nods, “you are. I shouldn’t have held you back.” He confesses, “I should’ve helped you and let you grow but I was selfish.” He confesses as he drives to his home.

Your brow lifts in surprise at how he is owning up to his mistakes. “New Year, new Dave.” You hum, watching the streets pass by and you wonder where he lives now. Unless he kept the house in the divorce, but you doubt that.

He chuckles, adjusting his fingers on the steering wheel as he makes his way to his apartment. There’s cameras all over the complex but he knows how to manipulate them and how to avoid them. “Just telling the truth. Something new I’m trying.” He confesses with a chuckle.

You hum and look up at the stylish, neat building. “Are you sure you want to bring me here, York?” You ask, aware that he is placing a lot of trust in you.

Dave nods, pulling into his parking space, “I want you here.” He promises and you offer him a soft smile. He winks and cuts the engine, getting out of the driver side to come round to open your door. “You want a drink now that you’re off duty?” He asks, tilting his head as he holds out his hand.

“Sure.” You take his hand and climb out of the car. “I think we’ve earned one. Although, I’m going to need to get rid of this dress.”

“If you want, you can shower and borrow one of my shirts and some boxers….sweats too. Whatever you’re most comfortable in.” He promises and you smile, “thanks.” He makes sure to avoid the cameras as he guides you to his place on the top floor, key pulled from his pocket and soon enough, you’re standing in his living room.

It’s masculine, dark tones and leathers, but it’s clean. Dave is practical and you love that there is the hint of his cologne filling the apartment. “Very nice.” He said his girls visit on the weekends, so of course he wants a place for them. “Very you.”

Dave chuckles and walks over to the door down the hall, “shower is through there. What do you want to drink? Gin and tonic? Vodka soda? Whiskey?” He tilts his head, realizing he doesn’t know what you like to drink.

“Whatever you are going to drink.” You aren’t particular and you look over your shoulder as you start down the hall. “Bring it to me.” You order with a smirk and reach back to unzip your dress.

Dave smirks as you sway your hips when you walk down the hall. Your dress falling down to your ankles and you expertly step out of it, making Dave chuckle. You are a minx. Different from the mousy secretary that he met years ago. He prepares two drums of whiskey and he carries them down the hall to the bathroom where the shower is running.

It had been an invitation and you are glad that he decided to take you up on it. The water is hot and the bathroom surprisingly spacious for an apartment. You watch through the glass as he comes into the room and open the door to take the glass he offers before you tap the edge of your rim to his. “Cheers.” You hum before you pull your hand back to take a sip. You hum at the smooth burn as it slides down your throat and you meet Dave’s eyes through the glass of the shower stall. “Strip.” You order, wanting him to join you, but you want to see him first. 

Dave doesn’t argue. He sets his whiskey down and slowly unbuttons his shirt, stripping off while you stand under the water. “You want me?” He asks, wanting to be sure.

Your eyes run over the revealed skin and you feel your nipples tighten. “I do.” You admit shamelessly. He’s not married, he loves you, you are free to want him as much as you do. “I want you to fuck me right here in this shower.”

Dave eyes you as the water runs over your body. You’re just as fucking gorgeous and his cock is already half hard as he pushes his pants down along with his briefs, kicking them across the bathroom floor and he picks up his glass of whiskey. He has a sip and sets it back down, stepping towards you to slip into the shower.

Your own whiskey is set down in the empty soap dish, turning towards him when he steps into the stall so you can drag him towards you for a kiss. Wanting to feel that intoxicating, consuming sensation you have been craving since the last time he touched you like this.

Dave doesn’t deny you as he leans forward to press his lips to yours, his hands immediately finding your waist. His tongue pushes into your mouth, sampling the whiskey from your tongue, and he groans, cock pressing into your stomach while his hands slide lower to squeeze your ass.

Even though it has been a year, even though you’ve been upset at him and yourself, all of that melts away when he kisses you. Moaning into his mouth as he turns and presses you against the wall, you are already dripping wet and needing him inside you. Reaching down and wrapping your fingers around his cock to pump him.

He thrusts into your grip, unable to help himself and he devours your mouth. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” He groans against your lips, his hands coming up to squeeze your tits. “Gonna fuck you, make you mine again.” He promises and you squeeze his cock, making him groan your name.

You smirk against his lips and groan when he pinches your nipples, rolling them between his fingers. “Dave.” You pant breathlessly. “Fuck me. Now. I - I need you inside me.” He’s hot and throbbing in your hand, making you drip with need.

He can’t deny you anything when you beg him so sweetly. He releases your tits and grabs your thigh, lifting it and he shuffles closer. “Put me in. If you want it, take it.” He orders, leaning in to nip your jaw.

You don’t hesitate. Notching his cock at your entrance and wrapping your leg around his waist. Dave groans when he feels how wet you are and turns to press his lips to yours as he starts to push inside you.

He slides his tongue against yours as he pushes deeper, loving how you whimper and your fingers tangle in his hair. The water hits his back and you are pressed into the tiles as he stretches you out until he is fully inside you.

He feels so good inside you, so thick. Filling you up, and overwhelming your system with the way his cock scrubs up inside you. “Dave.” Your breathless cry of his name is muffled by the water, but he hears it. His lips twisting up into a smirk as he grinds deeper, twitching inside you as you clench around him. “Fuck.” Your arms wrap around his shoulders to hold on as he sets his feet to start moving inside you.

Dave growls, thrusting into you as you are pushed against the tiles. He loves it. He loves you. “Fuck, imagined this pussy so many goddamn times.” He confesses into your jaw, “thought about you so many times.”

You whine in agreement, knowing that despite your conflicted feelings, you had imagined that one night together so many times. You had thought about seeing Dave several times over this year, but you knew that if you did, you would sleep with him, and you hadn’t wanted to risk it. Now you are with him and there is no shame in it. “I love you.” You moan breathlessly, letting him press you against the cold tile wall.

He grunts, “love you too.” His words are washed away by the water, meant for only you and never the outside world. That’s too dangerous. He kisses you softly, rocking into you a little slower as he allows his emotions to show, allowing you to see his vulnerability.

It changes, it turns sensual. Emotional. His tongue slowly slides against yours and he groans into your mouth. Making you answer him in kind, your fingers tangling into his hair as you pull him closer. Giving everything you have to him and he reaches down to pull your other leg up on his hips, lifting you up against the wall as he kisses you.

He doesn’t fuck you hard. He’s slow and he kisses you deeply, passionately, wanting to show you how he feels. He murmurs your name when he pulls back to kiss your jaw, loving the way you clench around him. “That’s it, baby. Take all of me. Fuck. Your cunt is so perfect.” He murmurs, wanting to shower you with praise.

Your eyes slip closed and it’s like you are in a dream. The slow, sedate pace and the steam makes for a romantic air. Something different from the last time you had sex. “You’re perfect.” You counter, turning his head up and kissing along his throat as he rocks into you. “You fit me so well. Fill me up so good.”

“Not perfect. Far from it. But you are perfect to me. Beautiful. So fucking beautiful. Thought it from the first time you entered the office.” He promises, “and I- shit-” He hisses when your walls clench around his cock. “I wanted you from that moment.”

You know that he knew about your crush. “Me too.” You whisper in his ear. “Handsome, smart, rugged, I wanted you. I used to dream about working as a team with you, being lovers.”

“Dream came true baby. I am not letting you go. Gonna be mine. In every way.” He promises, “we plan, we kill, we fuck. We will be unstoppable.” He promises, starting to move a little faster. He wants to hear you fall apart for him, feel it, memorize it in case this is some crazy fever dream. “Fuck, I’m not letting you go now.”

You clench around him, making him growl out your name. Body strong and tightening underneath you as he ramps up the intensity of the thrusts. “No, you aren’t.” You agree, you won’t let him walk away this time. You kiss his lips again and grind down on his length. “Make me cum.” You order.

He doesn’t deny you. His fingers dig into your flesh as he fucks into you, pushing deep, and he grunts against your chin as he watches you. Your eyelashes flutter and he grinds into you, trying to find the spot that makes you fall apart around him.

It only takes him half a dozen thrusts to find it. Squealing in pleasure as your body lights up, his cock pressed deep against a spongy little spot deep in your pussy. “Right there?” He grunts, hissing the words through his teeth since you are so tight around him. “Right fucking there?” As if to prove it to himself, he rocks into that spot again and makes you moan. “Dave, fuck baby, more.”

He rocks into you, teeth gritted as he thrusts deep into the same spot over and over. “Fuck. I need you to cum for me.” He demands and your squeal makes his ears burn when you clamp down onto his cock, soaking him. “Fuck. You are - shit.” He curses, almost struggling to thrust into you with how tight you’re squeezing him. “Fuck, I love you.” He growls, thrusting to fuck you through it until he finds his own pleasure. He thrusts deep, burying himself as he starts to paint your walls with his cum.

“Oh god.” You whine at the feeling of his seed splashing against your womb, loving how full you feel. You hear the fireworks start to explode over the apartment complex and you smile, pressing your lips to his. “Happy New Year.”

Dave smiles against your lips, “happy new year. What a way to start the new year.” He chuckles and you grin, “with a bang.” Dave nudges his nose against yours and he knows he’s never going to let you go now. You are his. His partner in work and in life. “This is going to be the best year yet.” He promises and you hum, caressing his back as the water flows over you. A new year, a new start.

[absurdthirst]

Fight to Get Home to You {Pero Tovar x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12.3k

Warnings: Hate sex, angry sex, derogatory comments, goading and bickering, anger, confusion and stubborn people refusing to talk, baby!, Pero is a girl dad, mandatory Pero bath, holding a baby for the first time, confessions, idiots in love, oral sex (female receiving), mentions of post baby body, lactation, vaginal sex, mentions of virginity, Pero has a heart, loving making, soft kisses and promises, happy endings.

Comments: Riding with Pero Tovar, you hiss and spit at him, even when he slides into your bedroll at night when the men are sleeping. Until the day you ride away to keep a secret from the prickly Spaniard. One that he discovers when he finds you after his journey to the East is complete. Learning that neither one of you really hated the other.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Pero Tovar MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

The fire crackles, sending a warm glow that chases away the darkness that surrounds you. In the dark, you can hear the horses munching on the little brush that you had managed to find, stopping and occasionally neighing softly as they rest. Happy to have the saddles and bags off their backs for a few hours while the men who rode them slept. The snorts of the men sound like bears hibernating in caves, making you roll your eyes and huff silently, shifting under your blankets as you try to settle in to get your own rest. 

A hand slaps over your mouth, making you reach for the sheathed dagger at your hip. “Fight if you want, amiga.” The chuckle in your ear is warm, making you hiss against his palm, other hand reaching around your body to tear at the laces of your breeches. “You seem to enjoy it more when you do.” Pero Tovar rocks his hips against your ass, pushing the hardness that has nothing to do with armor against you. His cock aching ready to sink into your cunt and he knows you are annoyed that he would climb into your bedroll right here in front of the fire where any man could wake up and see. 

Pero pushes his hand into your breeches, knowing you love when he rubs that little pulsing bundle of nerves. He groans when you reach behind you to squeeze him through his breeches, blindly fumbling to undo the laces but he’s already ahead of you. All you have to do is reach in and pull his hard cock out. He groans into your neck when you squeeze him, loving the way you rock down onto his hand. “That’s it, hermosa.” He murmurs as he works on wiggling you out of your pants. “Please.” You beg, knowing you’ll regret it in the morning but right now, you’re soaking wet for him. He chuckles softly against your ear, “I got you.” You whine when he manages to push the material down enough for his cock to slide between your thighs and you reach down to help him notch himself at your entrance.

You choke out a grunt, trying to keep from being too loud as he pushes inside you. The Spaniard's cock fills you, he’s thick and long, making your eyes roll back when his hips are flush against your ass. You don’t know why you let him fuck you, when the sun is up, he ignores you or the two of you spit and grumble at each other. You don’t really like him, but you let him fuck you until your toes curl and your eyes cross in pleasure. “Fuck.” You roll onto your stomach, taking him with you and enjoying the way he presses you down.

He grunts, shifting to kneel behind you, his elbows on either side of your head as he starts to rock into you, pressing you into the bedroll and your hot walls grip his cock. “Fuck, hermosa. You feel - fuck.” He hisses into your neck, “taking everything I give you like a needy whore.”

That’s rich, coming from the man who would fuck every whore available if he had the coins. The first time he had taken you was leaning against a tree, the blood of the men you had both killed still splatter on your armor. “Fuck you.” You hiss quietly.

He chuckles, making you clench around him. His hips press against your ass as he grinds as deep as he can. “No, I’m fucking you, princesa.” He emphasizes and you reach behind you to grab onto his hair, making him growl and his cock twitch inside you.

You should not let him touch you, but you’ve grown addicted to the way he scrubs against your walls and presses deep. He’s handsome, even if you don’t like him beyond the sex. You get along with William, but he is not your type it seems. Pushing your ass back, you yank on his hair a little harder and smirk when he groans into your ear.

One of the men you are traveling with snorts and Pero freezes for a second until the man begins to snore again. He takes that as permission to go hard so he starts to fuck you, thrusting into your tight cunt and the noise of your wetness makes him chuckle into the nape of your neck. “You love it when I fuck you, don’t you, princesa?” He asks, his voice raspy as it vibrates against your skin.

You roll your eyes at his cockiness. “I could do better.” You huff, fingers curling into fists as he hammers away into your body. The sex is amazing but you can’t help but snark at him while he’s touching you.

Tovar scoffs, “your little fingers wouldn’t be able to reach where my cock does. They wouldn’t stretch you out like I do. I wreck this little cunt. And you fucking love it.” He rasps into your ear as he adjusts the ankle, chuckling when you gasp.

You shudder, unable to deny it even if it pisses you off. The best you can manage is a small snort that masks the next moan. The man across from you around the fire shuffles in his blankets but Pero doesn’t stop rocking into you. “You just like my cunt.” You hiss quietly when the other man settles down. “Better than your fist.”

Pero bites down on your neck and you hiss, “fuck.” He chuckles and licks the skin, “your cunt is better than my fist but I still love that my fist doesn’t throw insults at me.”

You snort and clench down around him. “Then fuck your hand.” You spit back, loving how he groans and twitches inside you. “At least until you can find another whorehouse.”

He hisses when you clench around him, pushing deep into your cunt and he is certain the men would hear if it weren't for the liquor they downed from their flasks before finding sleep. "Why would I when I have my own personal whore right here?" He counters with a growl.

His own personal whore. If it would not cause too much of a fuss, you would push him off of you. Instead, you tighten down as hard as you can around his cock, making him choke out a groan. “I don’t remember your coins becoming mine.” You whisper. “Make sure you give them to me on the morrow.”

He smirks against your neck, “I am the one doing all the work here. Maybe if you ride my cock next time.” He chuckles and pushes deep, needing you to clamp down around him before he finds his own pleasure. He may spit fire at you but he doesn’t want you to say he’s a bad lover.

You snort, knowing the cheap bastard would never give you money if he did not have to. You bite your lip, getting close and you wish that you had the type of relationship to demand a kiss, but that was not something you had done in all the times you gave fucked. “Tovar.” You moan his name quietly, about to cum and needing him to silence you.

He knows what you need so he reaches out to cover your mouth with his palm, loving the way your moan vibrates against his skin. “That’s it, princesa. Cum for me.” He demands roughly against your ear, biting down on your earlobe.

The sharp pinch of pain throws you over the edge. Your cry is muffled by his hand as your walls soak him. Clamping down around his cock and trembling violently while you shake in pleasure. Tovar always manages to make you cum, with the exception of one time and that was only because he had been too pent up, still he had rubbed your clit until you came around his softening cock.

The way you clamp down on his cock has his eyes rolling into the back of his head and he groans, "fuck, princesa. Mierda. I'm - fuck." He pants as he thrusts three more times before he's twitching inside you, painting your walls with his hot spend. He's been pent up all day and your heat sent him over the edge.

You hiss against his palm. You will have to sneak down to the river to wash now that he has filled you up instead of pulling out. Tovar hates to pull out, insisting that the herbs you take to prevent your flow makes it unnecessary for him to do so. Preferring to spill inside your cunt.

Tovar grunts as he relaxes above you, his cock softening and he pulls out before he ends up getting caught. He shifts to his knees and tucks his cock away, tying his breeches. Your ass is on display and he can’t help but smack it. “Good as always, princesa.” He chuckles and shifts to stand up.

You turn around and shoot him a glare. “You should have spilled your seed in your hand.” You hiss quietly. “Now I will have to piss and clean up your mess.”

He chuckles, shifting to stand up, “I know you love it when I fill you up.” He smirks, knowing you have begged him in the past to paint you with his cum. Sometimes, when you’re able to, he likes to see your tits shining with his seed but that’s a rare event to have enough privacy for it.

Huffing, you pull yourself up and drag your breeches up your thighs. “I hope your horse stomps on your foot tomorrow.” You growl, stomping off into the dark to go wash your cunt and give him time to settle down before you say something worse.

Pero snorts as he watches you stride off. He would never tell you but he usually sneaks around to watch your back, make sure no one attacks you while you are washing. He’s back under his blankets before you return and pretending to be asleep but he opens his eyes to look at you when you turn over on your bedroll. He never imagined he’d find a woman like you. He can never have you, not completely.

**** 

“I am leaving.” You had almost slipped away in the middle of the night, deciding to take the coward's way out and not have the conversation that you had been dreading. You had been thinking about it for weeks, but it’s time. “Today.” You look up from your seat on a broken log by the river where the horses are resting.

Pero frowns at the need, “leaving? Why?” He demands to know, wanting to know the reason. He doesn’t like the thought of you on your own out there. It’s dangerous. “What are you thinking? You’ll be killed.”

You roll your eyes. “I have saved your ass more than once, I will be fine.” You knew he would bitch about this, having grumbled when you joined the group. Now he was grumbling you were leaving. “I am going back to my home village.”

Pero looks over at William, the three of you the only ones remaining before you venture across the sea to the east. “You do not need to return there. Come with us to the east. We will care for you.” Pero demands and William smirks, having been aware of your dirty little secret but he’s never voiced it.

“No.” You shake your head. “I have made up my mind. If I leave now, I can be settled before the winter sets in.” You bite your lip, smirking slightly even though you don’t feel nearly as confident as you would like. “It will be the first night I’ve had peace since I’ve met you and I’m looking forward to it.”

Tovar shakes his head and opens his mouth to protest but William places his hand on the Spaniard’s shoulder. “Don’t, brother. Let her go.” He isn’t stupid, he knows what has been going on between you. “Besides, I thought you’d be happy to be rid of me.” You chuckle and Pero bites his lip, holding back what he wants to say but he’s spiteful when he says “only your cunt.”

You clench your jaw, biting back the angry words that come so easily when you talk to him. You had hoped that this would be easy, that he would be relieved that you are leaving, but obviously not. Or he truly only did like your cunt for company. “Well.” You slap your thighs and stand up, dusting yourself off. “Then I have nothing left to say.” Your horse is already saddled, like theirs are, and you have made sure to pack some of the rations for yourself, not too much, but enough to get you home. “Don’t poison the buzzards when they eat your carcass.” You snip, swinging up onto your mount’s back. “Be safe.” It’s directed towards William, but it’s meant for both of them. You know that the Irishman will watch Pero’s back.

Pero clenches his jaw, wanting to demand you don’t leave but he can’t do that. It’s not his place to control you, you don’t even like him. He sighs and shakes his head, “don’t die out there, princesa. Your body won’t rot away. It will be used.” He warns you, knowing how vile men can be. That’s why he wants to keep you close but he can’t. You hate him. That’s why you’re leaving.

You don’t say anything else, just nodding to the two men and urging your horse to start walking, turning his head away from the camp. Not looking back before the horse breaks into a run, eager to eat up the distance between here and home. You need to get away from Pero. You can’t be around him and keep your secret.

****

Pero is grumpy and ferocious from that moment on. After returning from the east barely alive, he’s pent up and wondering where the hell you are. William stayed with the General and Pero is alone. He hates being alone. Even if he’d never admit it. He tries to remember what you told him about your village and he remembers that it was at the bottom of a mountain in a valley about four days' ride from where you left. Pero decides to try and find you. He stops in every village, asking for you, to no avail. He sighs and shakes his head, making his way to the next village after spending the night in the whorehouse. He is a man with needs after all. He makes his way to the next village and the priest’s eyes widen when he asks after you, “she lives near the stream.” Pero’s heart pounds and he swings his leg over his stallion after tossing some coins to the priest, “for my sins.” He declares before he rides off. He finds the small cottage, it’s picturesque by the stream, the mountain looking behind it, and he swings off his horse, swallowing harshly. His boots crackle with the gravel as he makes his way to the front door and knocks.

Expecting the tanner to come and take the skins from the animals you had trapped, you wipe your hands and move to the door. It had taken some time to get used to wearing skirts again, but you still wore breeches when you were hunting or working in your vegetable garden. Usually keeping the more feminine wear for when you were going into the village or when the few merchants who would come to you would arrive. “I have quite a few-“ you stop dead as you open the door to reveal someone unexpected on your doorstep. “Tovar.” You hate how your heart pounds and you wonder why he’s here. “What are you doing here?” You demand. “How did you find me?”

Pero inhales sharply, you look just as beautiful as you did the day you rode away from him and William. "I - I wanted to see you." He says lamely, "we went to the east and William remained there so I- I wanted to see you and I-" He cuts himself off and swallows, "it was a bad idea. I'm sorry. I shouldn't - I'll go." He promises, starting to back away from the door when he hears a baby cry.

Your eyes widen, hoping that the baby would have slept through this surprise. “I-“ you don’t say anything else, just turning and rushing towards the screen that separates the bed from the rest of the house. The small cradle you had lain in when you were a baby is now holding your own child and you lean over and coo to her. “Why are you so fussy?” You hum softly, picking up your months old daughter and putting her to your chest while you pull down the front of your dress to give her your breast. “Is my little button hungry?” You coo, smiling when she immediately latches on and suckles hungrily.

Pero can’t help but enter your home, watching with rapture as you cradle the baby suckling on your breast. He frowns at her dark mop of hair and he counts the months. Wondering if - “is she mine?” He chokes out, curious and his heart pounding.

Your eyes flicker up to find him watching you, horror and curiosity burning in his eyes. “No, she’s William’s obviously.” Annoyed that the Spaniard would think that you were fucking anyone else while he spent the months you rode together fucking you. You look back down at her, her little eyes drifting closed and smile softly before you frown and glance at him again. “Why are you here, Tovar?” You demand. “Felt like fighting again? Or do the whorehouses not accept your coin?”

He’s speechless, watching you gently rock the baby and he swallows, his throat dry. “I- I can’t - she’s - a girl. Princesa.” He chokes as he takes a step over to you. “You were alone and I - I wasn’t here to protect you.”

“Yes, she’s a girl.” You narrow your eyes, angry that he seems disappointed that you did not birth him a son. “A girl bastard is better than a boy.” You hiss. “I was capable of protecting myself. I did. I gave birth with the help of a midwife from the village. What could you have done?”

Pero’s stomach twists and he shakes his head, “I never - I would’ve been here.” He promises, “but you left and - did you know? Is that why you left? Why you didn’t come to the east with us?” He narrows his eyes as he accuses you.

You snort and shrug, “What does it matter?” You ask. “It would have been dangerous for me, and I was only as useful as my cunt, so I would have just put both of you in danger.” You don’t add that he never would have known if he had not come to find you. “It is your fault for continuously spilling inside me.”

Tovar has the emotions to feel guilty but he swallows harshly and nods, “you’re right, princesa. I - I shouldn’t have gone. We were nearly killed. Several times and I- I got greedy. Tried to steal and it nearly cost me my life. I am sorry for putting your life in danger and leaving you full of my child.”

You’re surprised that he will admit that he was wrong, Pero never does that. “You? Greedy?” You snort, shaking your head. “I never would have imagined it.” You tell him sarcastically. The baby pulls off your breast and you shift her to your shoulder to burp.

He watches you as you burp her and then cradle her in your arms, rocking her as she sleeps, and Pero's heart lurches. "I am truly sorry, princesa. I - I'll go." He stumbles back, knowing he isn't wanted here.

The sun will set in an hour and you know the inn in the village will charge him an outrageous amount for a bed. You sigh and roll your eyes. “Stay.” You huff softly. “Unless you plan to camp outside.”

He frowns, “I was planning to. I didn’t - I never want to assume that you wanted me here. I figured you’d be spitting venom at me like you used to. I just…I had to find you. I will go if you wish me to.” He promises and bows his head slightly.

As if to protest, your daughter gives a small cry, her face screwing up in anger and looking just like the man who sired her before she settles back down in your arms. You look down at her and then back up at Pero. “You will need to bathe if you are to stay.” You huff. “I don’t want her to get sick.”

Pero is surprised you’re letting him stay but his heart thumps at the news and he nods, “of course. I have been traveling for many months. Let me - I can go to the stream.” He offers, not wanting you to go through any trouble for him when you are giving him a bed to sleep in.

“There is a barrel by the door.” You roll your eyes, aware that the man might be a pig when he travels, but he loves luxury. He paid for a hot bath at every inn you had stopped at. “Bring in water and we will heat it.” You instruct. “The stream will not get you clean enough.”

He nods, secretly relieved, and he sets his satchel down and makes his way over to the door to fetch the buckets of water. He really is filthy. He barely stopped in an inn to find you. He was desperate, especially since he’s alone. He sets the barrel down and watches as you set the baby in the cot, shushing her before you turn to start working on hearing the water for the tub in the corner of the room.

You feel that he is watching you. Making you aware that it’s the first time that Pero has seen you in skirts. “You said William stayed?” You ask as you work. “He’s not dead?”

He watches you as your skirts sway and he thinks you look beautiful. You seem to have a glow about you. Home life suits you. You’re clean and you look comfortable. “He’s alive. He decided to remain in China. He met a woman. She’s a firecracker. He loves her and I told him to stay. So he did.” He explains, “never imagined the poor bastard would be in love.”

Surprised to hear that, you hum. Whoever the woman was, she must have been special. “So now you are seeking another companion to sell your sword with.” You understand, nodding as you move to get the crock of soap and a drying cloth while the water warms. After that, you will make sure that there is dinner for you both. Tomorrow he will be gone and you can continue your simple little life.

He sighs and shakes his head, “I don’t know. I didn’t really think ahead more than finding you. I need - I want to be here. With you. And our daughter.” He declares, “I will go if you send me away but please let me try to be there for mi hija.” He pleads a little, knowing you’ve never heard that from him.

You almost snort, but you catch yourself. Arguing with Pero will just make him dig his heels in. Just to spite you, he will stay longer than he ever planned. Instead, you just hum. “I have not sent you away yet, have I?” You ask, knowing that he would be bored to tears in less than a week.

He shrugs, “I know you hate me, princesa. Even more so now that I left you with child.” He says and you snort, “I left on my own accord.” He stands, helping you fill the tub, and he groans as he starts to strip off the armor after the tub is steaming. “You left because of me. I- I know you still hate me.”

“You made your own feelings about me clear.” You remind him. “You wanted to steal my horse and leave me alone on the road when you discovered I am a woman.”

Pero snorts, working on his chest plate after setting his sword down. “You lied to us. You tried to steal. If you would’ve told us-” You scoff and spin around, “told you? You would’ve dropped me at the next village.” You spit and Pero nods, “and you would’ve been safer. The road is no place for a woman…even one as skilled with a sword as you.”

“I am no longer on the road.” You remind him, grabbing another bucket of warm water and setting it down next to the bath. “My sword is now only for protecting myself and my daughter.”

His stomach twists, knowing he has not earned the right to be called her father or for you to even let him into your cottage. He’s said some terrible things during your journeys together. “Then she will be protected.” He declares and reaches for the hem of his tunic after he sets his boots aside. Your eyes avert as you pour some oils into the hot water and his naked body is on display as he sets his dirty clothes aside.

You don’t look over at him at first, even though you have never seen him completely nude. Your liaisons had never had the privacy or time for such things. It’s not until he steps into the bath that you turn and look, getting a good view of his strong, scarred back and his small but nice ass. “My father died right after I returned.” You tell him. “So I had a home to keep her safe in. That is all that matters to me.”

He nods, groaning as he steps into the tub, “that’s good. I’m glad you had somewhere to live. I - I should’ve made sure you had somewhere to go but I was angry that you were leaving and-” He cuts himself off as he sinks into the water.

“I wasn’t your problem.” You remind him. “You couldn’t stand me, so I have no reason to believe that you would worry about my well being.” You turn towards your table to start cutting up vegetables for a meal.

Pero swallows, knowing he cannot disclose his true feelings. "You hardly felt warm and fuzzy for me, princesa." He reminds you, "you would spit venom at me with every breath you took." He snorts, "but I - well, it doesn't matter." He sighs and reaches for the rag to start cleaning himself.

You snort, busying yourself as you hear him splash behind you. “I know we did not care for each other.” You chop the root vegetables very fine and sigh yourself. “But I do not expect anything from you. Except a civil tongue around my daughter. When you find a wife and have legitimate children, I will not tolerate her being abused for being a bastard.”

Pero scoffs, “I do not wish to find a wife.” He insists, his eyes watching your back as you cut up vegetables. He continues to wash, “she is not a bastard in my eyes. She’s our child and I - I want to get to know her.” He declares, his stomach twisting as he imagines you laughing in his face and tossing him out with the bath water.

It surprises you and you turn around to face him, telling yourself not to look below the waterline. Even if you have seen it before, his cock is not yours to admire. “Have you ever even been around a baby before?” You ask curiously. He’s rough and quick to temper, easily goaded into a fight, which you do not want for your daughter. She will not tiptoe around in fear of her father’s wrath.

He shakes his head, "no. I have not had the chance. I have been too preoccupied with a sword in my hand but-" He lifts his hands from the water, "I would never hurt her. Once I am dressed, I would like to try...under your guidance of course."

“I can show you what to do.” You nod and turn back to your work. The cauldron is one your parents had cooked in all your life and it’s a comfort to know you will cook your own daughter’s meals in them. You bite your lip and move over to the meat hanging in the corner and cut down a larger chunk than you normally would, knowing Pero eats a lot. “She is still just taking my breast to eat.” You warn him.

He hates that his cock twitches at the thought of his child suckling on your breast and that makes him fluster slightly as he continues washing himself. “Would you mind cutting my hair?” He asks, his hair starting to get in his face.

It is almost instinctual to hiss at him to do it himself, but you need to temper your tongue. “Let me get the stew started and I will.” You nod, bringing the hunk of rabbit meat over to chop up for the meal.

He can see your back tense and he knows you are unhappy with him being here but he has a child and he can’t walk away. Not yet anyway. He sighs and continues washing while you work on preparing dinner.

Once the heavy pot is swung over the fire in the hearth, you cut up the remainder of your loaf of bread. Sighing softly when you realize you will have to bake more. “Did you find the black powder?” You had been swayed by the thought of the prize, but you could not risk your daughter once you realized you had missed your monthly.

Pero scoffs, unable to help himself. “I did. I- I was a fool. I tried to sneak it out from the wall with someone and he - well, he was a snake. I ended up in shackles but William saved me. I left with my life.” he shutters as he remembers the monsters and how he was nearly killed in the fight before he left the wall.

You snort. “You have always been greedy.” You muse. “It is nice to know that some things have not changed.” You move over to the trunk at the end of your bed, behind the screen and the leather straps of the hinge creak. Inside are some clothes that your father had. You wear them at times when you are lonely, but if you know Pero, he has no clean clothes. You also pull out the shears that you use when you are sewing and clothes from the trunk. “Are you ready to cut your hair?”

He nods, knowing it's matted and itchy from not stopping after he arrived back from the east. He desperately wants to feel clean and trim his beard. Despite a harsh life on the road, he actually prefers to be clean. And fed. “Yes, princesa.” He says as you come back over with the shears.

You roll your eyes, but he doesn’t see that since you’ve already taken position behind him. “It looks like you did not cut your hair at all.” You grunt, starting to cut off large chunks of his hair.

Pero sighs, closing his eyes, “I got a haircut at the wall but I wanted to find you when I got on that ship. I didn’t care about my hair or clothes. All I wanted to do was find you.” He confesses softly, thankful you’re behind him so you can’t see his face.

“Why?” You frown. “You hated me, but you wanted to find me? It does not make sense. Did William put you up to this?” Your fingers still, tangling in his hair and you wonder if the man had been sent to you by his friend for some reason. William liked to tease you that Pero was charmed by you, even though he had nothing but contempt for you unless he was fucking you.

Pero flexes his fingers, his heart in his throat as clumps of hair flutter to the floor. “I never hated you.” He confesses, “you annoyed me. Frustrated me with your inability to listen and be fucking sensible. But I never hated you. I liked the way you’d spit at me, made my cock hard. I like the way you don’t take my shit. I- mierda. You know I’m not good at this kind of thing.” He shakes his head and opens his eyes, wishing he could see your face.

You are unsure of what he means. He's not good at talking to women? The women who like the dark looks of him have always been a bolder sort and you would watch him charm and flirt shamelessly when he thought you were a man. You were a woman who liked the look of him. Starting to cut his hair again, you swallow harshly. “I didn’t hate you.” You promise. “You seemed to not want anything to do with me unless you were inside me, so I would make you work for it.”

Pero sighs softly, knowing that your fighting was vicious but he never saw the vitriol in your eyes. “You spit venom at me as soon as I discovered you were a woman. It’s not my fault I came to the stream for a piss onto to find you naked and washing yourself. Princesa, I liked the fact that you stood up for yourself. I liked fighting with you because that was the only time you’d talk to me.” He confesses softly, “you’d speak to the Irishman but you wouldn’t even look at me unless it was to fire scathing words in my direction.”

“You made me nervous.” You admit with a rueful sense of irony. “You were handsome and quick, I thought I would be thrown out of your party. I would have been if those bandits had not attacked.”

Pero shakes his head, “I can’t believe…well, that’s history now. I’m here and you’re here and we have a child. I want to be there for her, princesa. I want to be her father if you’ll allow me the chance.” He declares and you pause cutting his hair, making his heart pound in his chest.

“You might not like being a father.” You remind him practically. “You sell your sword and travel. It is no life for a child.”

“I have sold my sword since I was ten and three years old. I do not wish to do it anymore. I’m old. That’s why I wanted to find you. The battle in the east…I was nearly killed several times. I’m exhausted, princesa. I don’t want to fight anymore.” He confesses wearily, “I have enough coins to see out the rest of my life.” He admits, knowing his satchel is full of coins and nothing else. “Do you wish for me to go?” He asks, not wanting to force himself on you.

Running your fingers through his hair, you sigh. “I will not turn you away.” You promise. “I know you will probably build a house, find a wife even though you say you don’t want one, but you can stay here until you decide.”

He nods, knowing you won’t want him to stay too long and he doesn’t answer you as you start to wash his hair with the soap and water you have next to the tub.

“Winter will be setting in soon.” You tell him softly. “I’ve got to put up the rest of the vegetables from the garden and run my traps.” You grin. “The tanner is supposed to come by and get the latest skins.”

“You are incredible, hermosa.” He compliments you, unable to stop himself. “You have done well on your own, especially with a child.” He says and tilts his head so you can wash his hair. “Whatever you want help with, let me know.” He orders and closes his eyes.

“Rest for now.” You murmur. “I know the journey was a long one. You have to be tired.” You had been exhausted after your own trip home and you had not even gone as far as he had. “Then I will order you around.”

He chuckles, keeping his eyes closed as he relaxes in the tub. He has to cut his beard and shave but for now, he rests knowing he’s found you and he isn’t fighting for his life.

Pero falls asleep in the bath. You’ve heard jokes about it, but you have never seen someone fall asleep until now. He starts to softly snore after you finish washing his hair and you decide to leave him there. Getting up from the side of the tub where you were kneeling and moving over to the fire to stir the stew before you take his clothes outside to soak. The clean ones are near his drying cloth and he will see them when he wakes up.

When he wakes up, the sun has set and the fire is going. The water he’s sitting in is cold and his toes are pruned but he wakes up feeling relaxed and safe. Something he hasn’t felt for so long. He grunts and looks around to find you cradling the baby, the pot of stew cooking and he rubs his cheek.

“There’s going to be a man’s voice.” You murmur softly. “He can be gruff, but he won’t hurt you.” You would never let him hurt her even if he wanted to. “He is your papa. The reason you are here.” Your daughter gurgles at you, waving a small fist and you laugh quietly. “I love you so much.”

Pero listens to you, his heart fluttering, and he bites his lip, wondering how he’s going to be a father to the little girl. He’s never even held a child before. He stands up, cold water dripping off of him, and he reaches for the sheet to dry off before he dresses in the dry clothes you left out for him.

You hear Pero and you look up from where you are sitting on your bed. You can’t see properly beyond the screen, but you can imagine. “Are you dressed?” You ask after a moment, wanting to give him privacy.

He works fast and says, “yes. I’m dressed.” His feet are bare and he slowly pokes his head around the screen. “How is she?” He asks, his voice soft and he’s nervous, hoping you will let him hold his daughter for the first time.

“She’s perfect.” You promise, smiling down at her again when she makes a happy noise. “I have changed her. So she is all dry and she’s in a mood to be entertained.” You look up at Pero to see the longing on his face. “Do you want to sit at the table and hold her while I finish cooking our meal?” You offer.

He nods, eager to hold his child, and he makes his way over to the table. He pulls the chair out and sits down, his heart already pounding in his chest as he looks towards you as you carry the baby over to him. “How - how do I-?” He asks awkwardly, unsure and not wanting to hurt her.

It would be amusing, since this is the first time you’ve ever seen the Spaniard panic, but you know his concern is for your daughter. “Hold her neck with the back of your hand, like this.” You shift her and hold her where she can look up at you. “And hold her bottom”

He nods, his palms a little sweaty as he wipes them on his pants before he holds his hands out and you gently place her in his hands, helping him position her. He inhales sharply when you step back and he gets a good look at his daughter for the first time. He takes a moment and then he’s smiling. “Hola mija, soy tu papá.” He introduces himself softly and she coos, making his heart swell.

There have been plenty of times that you cursed Pero. Especially when you were in labor and pushing her out of your body. Now, you feel like you are about to cry from the simple beauty of watching him with his daughter. “Her name is Oriana.” You tell him softly.

He mouths it at first, watching her squirm slightly before she relaxes into his touch, “Oriana.” He coos, unable to stop himself as he leans down to kiss her forehead. “She’s beautiful. You- you are so strong, princesa. Bringing your daughter into the world alone.” He murmurs in awe, knowing he can’t say his daughter when he wasn’t here.

“I grew her for months, pushed her out of my body and she looks just like you.” You snort, shaking your head. “She gets this fierce scowl on her tiny face that is just like yours. And she has your eyes. Staring through me.”

Pero stares into her eyes, her eyelashes fluttering as she watches him, and he can’t stop smiling but he manages to glance over at you, “I’m sorry. The Tovar breeding is strong.” He confesses, knowing he looks like his father and his father before him. “We made her.” He murmurs in awe.

“We did.” You wish you could remember this moment forever. He looks completely enchanted with his daughter. “On the road to the East, you managed to create a legacy.”

“My only legacy.” He sighs, “I didn’t find the riches I fought my whole life for but I did find enough to provide a decent living. I want to provide for her, give you enough coins that you never have to worry.” He declares without taking his eyes off her.

“We will make sure she is cared for.” You promise, not wanting his coin. Watching him with your daughter has changed your view of him. Making you think that he could put down his sword and raise a family. Or at least raise a daughter. “She will inherit this house, the taxes are paid, and the root cellar is starting to be filled.” You smile. “Having her papa around will only be a boon.”

Pero looks over at you again as he gently cradles her, "you will allow me to stay?" He asks and you nod, "of course. But there are rules." He doesn't argue, knowing you are the one in control right now. He must adhere to your wishes so he can be with his daughter, "rules?"

You look at Pero, your brow arched seriously and you start to list off your terms. “You will not fight, either selling your sword or getting drunk and brawling in the tavern like a barbarian.” You start. “Babies cry, often in the middle of the night. You will not grumble or get agitated with her.” You smirk slightly, “you will have to learn to have patience.” Pero nods, and resists rolling his eyes. “Is that all?” He asks, making you shake your head. “No sex.” You tell him firmly. “There will be no sneaking into my bed and planting another child in my belly. You are here to be Oriana’s father and nothing more.”

Pero clenches his jaw for a second, reminded of your haughty nature but he reels himself in and nods, "of course, princesa." He won't argue, especially when his relationship with his daughter is on the line. "I no longer wish to sell my sword. I am too old. I expected to be killed before now. I nearly died on the wall. I will not mock God by putting my life on the line again."

Somehow, you believe him. You nod and sigh. “There is a sleeping loft, but the space is narrow and you will not fit comfortably.” You can tell him this now that you said there will be no fucking. “You will have to share my bed until we can decide how to proceed.

He doesn’t argue, knowing the effort will be futile when you are as stubborn as he is and he wouldn’t mind being able to help when Oriana cries in the middle of the night. He wants to be there for his daughter. He looks down at her and her eyes are sleepy, a yawn escaping her lips that makes him chuckle, and he’s content to hold her as she sleeps.

“She has been sleeping much of the time.” You explain. “As she grows, she will be more active.” You move over to the pot and stir the stew. “Supper is ready, do you want to put her down?”

He nods, cradling her, and he’s nervous but you watch as he shifts to stand up, keeping her in his hands as he carries her over to the cot and he gently sets her down on the sheet, watching her stretch out before she settles down, still asleep. He can’t help but stare at her, seeing your features in her, and she’s beautiful.

You laddle up big bowls of the stew to put on the table with the basket of bread, knowing he will be starving. “I have some ale, or water to drink.” You offer.

Pero knows he shouldn’t drink, especially around the babe, so he says “water, princesa. Thank you.” He groans at the smell of the stew. It’s the first proper meal he’s had since he left the wall. “It smells delicious.” He murmurs, watching as you sit down with two cups of water in hand.

“There is plenty.” You promise him. “We don’t have to be as stingy with our rations as when we were traveling.” You snort to yourself and push his bowl towards him. “Eat. I know you are hungry.”

He picks up the spoon and digs in. He knows he looks ravenous but he’s been on the road far too long and he hasn’t had a proper meal during his journey to find you. He’s hunted and foraged but didn’t allow himself the luxury of an inn during his quest to find the woman who left him on her horse. “It’s delicious.” He confirms when he finally comes up for air.

It’s impressive that he managed to eat so much in so little time. You’ve barely eaten a portion of yours and you stand to pour him up some more. “I’m glad you like it. Cooking on the road when you stop to rest your horses for the night is never tasty, just filling.”

Pero nods, “exactly. I hunted and cooked to survive. My only goal was to find you.” He reveals, his eyes focused on you as you set his bowl down in front of him.

“Why?” That is the part that confuses you the most. He didn’t hate you - you now know - but Pero is not a man who enjoys socializing with people. His main reason for searching for you has not been very clear, clouded by the knowledge now that he is a father.

He bites his lip as he sets his spoon down in the bowl, "I- I missed you." He confesses softly, "I wanted to find you because...apart from William, you are the only person I've felt a connection to in between the killings and the chaos. I missed you." He states plainly, hoping you don't laugh in his face.

Your eyes widen slightly and you bite your own lip. Trying to rationalize that knowledge from what you had thought you knew about Pero Tovar. “I never thought I would see you again.” You confess, reaching out and touching his hand. “I cried as I rode away from you and William, but I thought it was the best thing for me, for our child.”

He can’t argue with that. “It was. Now that I know the truth, you made the right choice. If you had come with us and been with child during…I would’ve killed every monster, man, and being that came near you.” He promises, his eyes flashing as they meet yours. He would have been feral to protect you and the babe in your belly. He squeezes your hand, “you made the right choice, hermosa.”

“Monster?” You frown and tilt your head, unsure of what he means. “What happened on that wall?” You demand softly.

He closes his eyes as the memories flash past his eyes, “they - when we arrived…we were after the black powder but they attacked. Only William and I survived. They attack every sixty years. The Tao Tei. Fucking beings from beyond and they are vicious. We fought them and nearly died before we - us and an Englishman - made a plan to steal the powder. William, he changed his mind and I knocked him unconscious before we left with the powder. The English bastard betrayed me and left me for dead but I was found and arrested. William - he left to fight in the capital and for helping them win, he was offered the powder but requested my release instead. After I was freed, he decided to stay with his love and I came back to find you.” He tells the story solemnly and slowly, brow furrowed as he relives it.

Your eyes have widened as you try to imagine what he went through, mouth slightly opened. He could have died, probably should have if God had not intervened. “I see what you mean by not testing God.” You murmur slightly, reaching for his hand and squeezing it. “I- I am glad you didn’t not die. Either by the monsters or by a hanging noose.”

Pero inhales deeply, looking down at your hand, “I have learned many things but the biggest lesson was to not let go of something you love and that is why I had to find you. Even if you sent me away. I just wanted to see you again.” He confesses, knowing his gruff nature has been pushed aside to allow him to be vulnerable.

“You love me?” Your brow furrows, but you don’t pull away. “Pero- I- you love me?” You never would have imagined that. You cared for him, but you never imagined that he held a fraction of the affection for you beyond physical that you had for him. “Are you sure? I was a bitch to you.”

He bites his lip before he answers, “and I was a bastard to you. I watched you. Far more than should have been appropriate but you are so strong and - and unbelievably smart. You held your own against men in battle and you never wavered in your fight. You fought me verbally but that made me like you more. You weren’t scared of me. For my entire life…since I was given this scar as a child by my father who was drunk and furious that I stepped between him and my mother when he wanted to hit her…people have been afraid of me but not you. You weren’t scared to fight me and I love that. You are strong and beautiful and - and you’ve proven how incredible you are to bring our daughter into the world alone. I love you. Even if you do not return my feelings, I will always love you.”

“I love you.” You know that there is still so much to be uncertain about in this life, but there are never any guarantees. He never hurt you, he pushed you mentally and verbally, but he never hurt you. He’s not a drunkard, even though you’ve seen him drunk. If you can trust him with your daughter, you can trust him with your heart.

He inhales sharply at your confession, certain that you would reject him and laugh in his face, and he swallows harshly, lifting your hand up to his lips so he can softly place a kiss on the back of it. “Then allow me to be the man I should’ve been from the beginning.” He requests as he lowers your hand.

“What man is that?” You ask, curious to see if there is more to Pero than just the gruff and fierce mercenary. You’ve seen glimpses of it with your daughter but you never expected it towards you.

Pero looks down at the wood grain in the table that your father likely made. “I- I want to be the father I wish I had. I want to be the partner I wish my mother had. A good man. An honest man. I want to be a family man and not sell my sword to survive. When I was in my cot on the wall, I imagined being able to die warm in bed knowing I am leaving behind people who will cry for my death. To know that I loved and was loved.” He admits and his dark eyes glaze over and he avoids looking at you.

“Your daughter will grow up to love you.” You predict softly, your heart clenching and raw for the yearning you hear in his voice. “And I will be right beside you. If that’s what you want.”

Pero’s eyes flick up to you and his mouth drops in shock. He never imagined you’d be by his side, that you’d feel the same way. “I do. So much.” He promises and he can’t help but smile softly. You stand up and walk around the table, shifting to sit in his lap and you lean in to nudge your nose against his. He reaches up to cup your cheek and you lean closer, pressing your lips to his. His heart is pounding in his chest and he tilts his head to deepen the kiss.

You have just given him rules and you know that you will break them. You want to break them. They were for when you thought he didn’t love you and only wanted your body for release. Sinking your fingers into his hair, you moan softly into his mouth, not even able to remember if you’ve ever kissed before.

Pero has never kissed you and his mouth is gentle before he turns ravenous, his tongue sliding into your mouth. He moans into your mouth when you eagerly slide your tongue against his and he loves the hungry you return. His cock twitches in his pants but he doesn’t push for more, content to kiss you.

Eventually, you pull away, gasping for air as you stare at him. Chest heaving and your core is soaked because of how sexy that kiss is, how your entire body responds to Pero. Apparently you’ve both been fools but you don’t want to be anymore. “I have changed my mind.” You hum quietly. “I want to have you between my thighs when we go to bed tonight.”

Pero frowns at you, “are you sure?” He doesn’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do. You nod and he groans, his hand sliding from your waist to your ass, “I missed you and I missed your body. Imagined you several times with my fist around my cock.” He confesses, starting to harden beneath you.

“I have not taken anyone into my bed since you.” You admit, biting your lip. “Could you- can it be a little more gentle than normal?” You ask softly. “Since I have birthed our daughter, I do not know how I-“ you break off, embarrassed.

He slides his hand back up to your waist, “of course. I do not wish to take you like I would. I want to show you how I feel about you, hermosa.” He murmurs, tilting his head to press a soft kiss to your jaw.

“Finish your food.” You kiss his lips and smirk slightly. “We will go to bed early so we have plenty of time before our daughter wakes up.”

He nods and you shift to move away but he keeps his arm around your waist. “Stay here, princesa. I want to hold you.” He demands, picking up his spoon and he starts to eat, even faster than before in his eagerness to have you again.

You hum and wrap yourself around him. “You always eat with a hunger I admire.” You chuckle. “Like someone is going to steal it if you look away.”

Pero snorts after he finishes his bite, “because my entire life has been someone attempting to steal food from me. I’ve had to fight for everything I have.” He confesses, “perhaps…being in your home will allow me to relax and enjoy my food.” He admits and takes another bite, slower than before.

“We will have to work for our food, but the village is peaceful. As long as the garden is prosperous and the hunting good, we will not be hungry.” You promise. Your life has been different from his, you have not had to fight for survival. “But if you are to stay, then this will be your home as well.”

Pero caresses your back, “I understand. I know that we will still struggle but I will never let you go hungry. I’ll work hard to provide a life for you and our daughter.” He promises and leans in to nudge his nose with yours, his empty bowl pushed aside as he focuses on you.

You smile and caress his cheek, your fingers running through the thick beard he hasn’t trimmed yet. “Do you want to bank the fire and I will get ready for bed?”

He nods, leaning in to kiss your chin before you shift off his lap. He takes the bowl and carries it over to the bucket of water to rinse it. “Go get ready for bed, hermosa.” He orders and he walks over to the fire to handle it before he retires to your bed for the night. He takes his time and gives you some space, his stomach twisting and he’s nervous. This isn’t some romp under some blankets in the middle of nowhere. This is your home. Your bed. This is love and comfort.

You check Oriana and tuck her in a little more snuggly, “goodnight sweetheart.” You whisper before you start to undress. You untie your skirt and let it drop before you step out of it and hang it on a peg that had been driven onto the wall to hang your clothes. You wonder if Pero will be disappointed in your cunt now that you’ve given birth. It’s not like you had talked to many about the intimacies in a marriage. Waiting for him after you pull off your shift and slide under the covers nude.

He walks behind the screen to find you under the sheets and his heart is pounding in his chest. He’s nervous and that’s an unusual emotion for Tovar. He reaches for his shirt, pulling it over his head before he walks over to the bed. He doesn’t pull the covers away and he shifts to kneel on the bed above you. “You are so beautiful.” He murmurs, leaning in to kiss you softly.

You accept his kiss and his praise, your cheeks heating up. “It feels so strange we are not clawing at each other.” You admit with a sheepish grin when he pulls back, your hand sliding down his chest. “But I feel like this will be special for us.”

Pero smiles and he twitches in his pants, his cock hardening, “I think so too. I want it to be.” He murmurs and leans in to kiss you again as he shifts to lay down beside you. “I want you, hermosa. I want you to be mine. I always wanted you to be mine.” His hand slides along your side.

“I want that too.” You promise, reaching for the laces on his breeches. “I want you to be mine too. We will have and protect each other. Love each other. Pleasure each other.”

Pero pulls the cover down and he inhales sharply at the sight of your body. He groans and leans in to kiss you, kissing along your neck, and he caresses your waist, sliding his hand up until he’s cupping your breast.

This is so much different from the hurried, rough fucks you had while you were traveling together. His touch is gentle, like he has all the time in the world. You lean into the kiss, moaning softly.

He slides his tongue against yours, his cock aching in his breeches as you reach in to take it out and he groans, loving the way your fingers feel wrapped around his cock. “Princesa.” He whines and pushes your hand away, “let me taste you. I’ve never tasted you.”

You smirk slightly and squeeze him softly. Humming when you feel him twitch in your hand. “You know how?” You ask playfully, throwing him a doubtful look. “Eating a cunt isn’t like eating a bowl of stew.”

He smirks, “my first lover. She was a whore that my friend paid for. She spent three days with me. Took my innocence and showed me how to pleasure a woman. She showed me how to taste a woman.” He confesses as he pushes your hand away and he kisses down your stomach as he shifts to lay between your legs.

You bite your lip and look down between your thighs. “You look good there.” You moan, spreading your legs wider and wait to feel his tongue against your cunt. For all your bravado, you’ve never had a man do this for you.

His beard is long and brushes your thighs as he pushes them further apart to accommodate his broad shoulders. He leans in, his dark eyes focused on you as he parts your folds with his thumbs and slides his tongue through your soaking slit. He groans as the taste of your tangy arousal hits his tastebuds and he flicks the tip of his tongue over your clit.

Your eyes close and your head flops back down onto the pillow. “Pero.” You moan softly, not wanting to wake the baby, but you can be louder than a whisper now that you aren’t surrounded by sleeping men. “Oh fuck.”

He loves hearing your moan and it spurs him on. He slides his hands to your thighs, pushing them further back as he laps at your cunt, his nose nestled into the curls above your clit that he sucks on, making your chest heave.

The small cottage is still pretty well lit from the banked fire, the coals giving the open space a cozy glow that radiates beyond the screen. The door is barred and the baby is asleep. It’s the perfect moment and your own hands cup your breasts tenderly, careful not to squeeze so you don’t cover yourself in milk. They are bigger than the last time he had seen them.

He’s determined to show you how he feels about you, to show you that the venom he spat your way was his defense and not your fault. He wants to make you feel loved so he pushes his tongue deep and nudges your clit with his nose, starved for your whimpers and moans as the cabin glows around him.

Your hands slide down and tangle into his hair, rocking your hips up in pleasure. “Pero, oh god.” You whine. “This is- it is fantastic.”

He’s pleased you are enjoying his pleasure and he groans, his hard cock pressing into the mattress and he hisses at the way you tug on his freshly cut hair. He buries his face in your cunt, not caring about the need to breathe when his aim is to make you fall apart for him.

The pleasure coiling in your belly suddenly snaps. It’s so different from when he is pounding into you and making your knees weak with the force of his thrusts. It’s still powerful, making your hips rock up and your throaty cry rips from your throat. “Pero!”

He loves the way you cry out for him, making his cock throb, and he hisses when you squeeze his head between your thighs. He loves it. He loves you. He moans and works you through it until your grip loosens and you relax beneath him. “So beautiful.” He murmurs, kissing along your thighs as you inhale deeply.

Your body is humming pleasantly and you would want to go to sleep any other time, but you miss the feeling of him inside you. “Come here.” You tug on his hair lightly and kiss his lips, not caring that you can taste yourself on them. “I want-“ you push him away and onto his back. “Let me ride you this time.”

He looks up at you as you straddle him and he’s in awe of you. You’re so strong, so capable. You’ve survived on your own without him, giving birth and having your daughter, and he is honored that you’re not pushing him away. He loves you. His hands caress your waist as you settle on top of him, his cock pressed against your pelvis as you lean down to kiss him.

Your lips are pressed to his, moaning softly as you reach between you and wrap your fingers around his cock as you start to lift your hips. You want to keep kissing him, never want to stop, as you line him up and start to slowly take him inside you. His groan being pushed into your mouth is sexy and you give it right back to him.

He groans into your mouth again as you sink down onto his cock, enveloping his cock in your warmth and he swears he has come home. Gone is the frantic fuck paired with hissed insults and in its place is soft love making and murmured words of affection. He wants this. He wants you.

There is a moment where you just need to feel him, stretching you out. It’s not painful, but it has been a long time since you’ve felt this particular stretch and it’s wonderful. Your eyes flutter closed again and you murmur his name.

He kisses your chin as you take a moment before you start to rock on top of him. Your body is hot pressing against his skin and he’s missed you so much. So many lonely nights during his travels to find you have led him to right now and he’s so grateful he found you. “Amor.” He murmurs, “you feel so good.”

“I love you.” You moan softly. “I love you Pero.” Your hands are braced on his chest and you slowly roll your hips, loving how deep he is in this position. “I want you to stay with me. I used to dream of it, you knowing about Oriana and being happy to be a father. Settled and content.” You admit softly. “That you loved me and now you are here.”

“I’m here.” He promises roughly, “I’m here and I’m not going anywhere, princesa. I’m here for you and our daughter. I love you. So much.” He vows hoarsely as he lets you take what you want from him.

You whimper and roll your hips. Leaning down and pressing a kiss to his lip again and moaning against them when he twitches inside you. “You are here.” You pant, nodding as you clench around him.

He caresses your back, “and I’m staying.” He promises, his hands sliding lower to squeeze your ass and he loves the way you moan again when he twitches inside you. “Take what you need, princesa. I’m yours.” He vows softly.

You love how gentle he is. This is a man who never wanted you to take charge of anything and yet he is letting you control his pleasure. “I will.” You promise, kissing him again and sitting up to start bouncing on his cock again.

He watches you in awe, your breasts bouncing as you ride him and his hands caress every inch of skin he can reach. His toes curl when you clench around him and he swears his heart is about to beat out of his chest.

You lean back, closing your eyes and moaning softly. “Fuck.” You whimper after you grind down on him even more. “You- god, you have such a good cock. Every time it feels so fucking good.”

You rest your hands on his knees and his dark eyes are black as he watches you, his gaze drifting down to watch where he disappears inside of you. “It’s your cunt. Tight and wet and hot.” He groans, his fingers digging into your hips.

“You have fucked so many others.” You know he has not been a celibate man. “I- you have been my only lover.” You confess breathlessly. “I do not know why I didn’t bleed our first time.”

He freezes under you, his eyes widening, “I was your first? And I- mierda. I’m a bastard.” He curses himself with a hiss, “I should’ve - why didn’t you say anything?” He demands to know, stopping your movements above him.

“Because I wanted you.” You admit, embarrassed because he looks so upset. “I did not think it would matter. You were not marrying me, and I did not want to give you more to boast about.”

He grips you and turns swiftly so you are beneath him, “I wouldn’t have fucked you in the middle of a forest against a tree if I knew it was your first time. I am many things but I am not an animal, hermosa. You should’ve told me. I would’ve - well, I probably wouldn’t have touched you. I didn’t deserve you. I still don’t. Let me show you how I should’ve touched you that first time.” He begs softly, nudging his nose against yours as he rests his weight on his elbows.

“I didn’t mind.” You remind him, reaching up and stroking his hair covered cheek. “It was our beginning, no matter how you would change it, I would not.” You tell him. “Because if you hadn’t touched me, our daughter wouldn’t be laying in her cradle. But show me how you would have taken me.”

He sighs, knowing he can’t change the past but he feels awful for how roughly he took your innocence. He presses his lips to yours as he starts to move, slowly rocking his hips to show you how he would’ve taken you. His lips are soft and his tongue caresses yours, his body covering yours as he makes love to you.

The pace is even slower than the one you set when you were riding him. Your legs hitch up onto his hips and you moan into his mouth. It’s almost torturous as his cock drags against your walls. Teasing you.

He groans, loving the way you feel beneath him, naked for the first time ever. "Hermosa, mi amor, you feel - it's like nothing I've ever experienced before." He murmurs, kissing along your jaw as he rocks into you.

“You- I love you.” You pant breathless, unable to think of anything else while he slowly breaks you apart. If the rough and harsh pace had satisfied you, this is making you melt into a puddle on the bed. Your cunt gushing around him every time he pushes slowly into your body.

He groans as he presses kisses to your jaw until he pauses, "I love you." He murmurs and he rocks into you. He grips your thigh and pushes it higher, rocking into you, and he hisses when you clench around him. "That's it, hermosa. Want to feel you fall apart for me."

You whine, nodding as he continues to push you closer with every thrust of his hips. Holding you close and making your body cry for that burst of pleasure until it happens. Your squeal is cut short, slapping your hand over your mouth so you don’t wake the baby as you come apart on his cock. 

He smothers your moan with his mouth after he quickly pulls his hand away from your lips so he can taste your cries against his tongue. You clamp down on his cock and he groans into your mouth, his cock twitching inside you as he gets closer. It’s been far too long without your body beneath his and paired with the newly confessed emotions between you, he’s closer than he’d usually be. He pants, his lips hovering against yours as he starts to feel his stomach clenching. He doesn’t know what you want so he pulls free of your warm cunt, his cock throbbing as he paints your mound and lower stomach with streaks of his hot seed.

You whimper, body shaking as he covers you in his seed. Thankful that he had been conscious of the possibility of getting you pregnant again. You hadn’t been thinking although the midwife had warned you that it was easy to do when you are nursing. You had dismissed the information because you hadn’t expected to see Pero again. “I love you.” You murmur softly as he pumps himself of the last drops.

He is cautious to not spread his seed over your skin as he leans in to kiss you, his heart thumping in his chest. “Te amo, princesa.” He exhales, shifting to lay beside you and he wraps his arm around you to pull you into his side. “We shall raise our daughter in love and warmth.” He promises, “and I will always protect you both.”

You know he will keep that promise. Pero Tovar has been many things. A liar, a thief and a killer, but now he is a father. He had done the impossible by surviving China and finding you. The rest of your lives will be much easier than that. Especially since neither one of you truly hates the other. It was just the aggressive form of love.

[katiexpunk]

Midnight Chemistry

Pairing: dbf!/cowboy Joel Miller X fem!Reader | W/C: ~6.5K | Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Summary: You fuck your dad's best friend on a camping trip with him asleep in the other room.

A/N: Well babes, I once again find myself trapped in the hole of dbf! / cowboy Joel. Sorry I've been mia lately. I have been espresso depresso lately, and writing has been difficult. This helped. I hope you all enjoy it.x

Warnings: POV-Switching. Tension. Flirting/Teasing. Age gap but not mentioned (make it your own). Pet names. Camping. Chair Sex. Sex with a parent in the other room. Forbidden lovers. Some fighting/sexual accusations. Drinking. Guilty feelings. The smut is pretty straightforward, just a passionate fuck without a lot of fanfare. Creampie. TLOU au. No use of Y/N. No use of daddy. Reader has female sex anatomy and has slight implied feminine descriptors. Let me know if I missed anything! Masterlist | Notifications | Read on AO3

JOEL

Nothing good happens after midnight. 

He’d heard it his whole life, and he’d believed it. Why wouldn’t he? Every bar fight, every reckless choice, every memory drowned in half-truths and fog always seemed to come alive after twelve.

And here you are in his orbit, confirming it all. 

It’s like you’re eating up all of the air around him, eyes locked on his with something he can’t quite name—a hunger, a challenge, maybe even a warning. 

You smile, pulling him closer. 

Oh yeah, none of what’s happening right now is good, not in the traditional sense, anyway. Good men wouldn’t even entertain this, whatever the fuck this is. 

A good man would veer his gaze. 

A good man would tell you to go to bed. 

A good man wouldn’t have let you get this far. 

Much like what happens after midnight, he’s not so sure he’s good, either, but fuck it. The road to hell is paved with good intentions. 

YOU

“Come on, sweet pea. It’ll be just like old times,” your dad coaxes, with that look in his eyes that you swear only dads can pull off.

You sigh, dragging out the sound for maximum effect, but he’s not buying it. It’s not that you’re against camping, per se. It’s the timing. You’re buried under a mountain of work, and the idea of stepping away—just to battle November mosquitoes clinging to life in the woods—isn’t exactly screaming relaxing weekend getaway.

“Hey, we can make s’mores. For old time’s sake.” He grins, tugging on that nostalgic heartstring he knows you have.

You roll your eyes but feel your resolve start to slip. He knows it, too. The man has a sixth sense for it. Left to yourself, you’d probably spend the evening sipping wine, convincing yourself that going would be nice, that you should go. But your dad doesn’t even give you the chance. He pulls out the big guns—the line that always gets you.

“You know, your mom and I… we used to love camping. She would’ve loved…” He trails off, leaving the words unfinished, their weight lingering in the room.

You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and before you’re ready for them, the words tumble out of your mouth. “Fine, Dad. I’ll go. But if you’re expecting me to kill anything, you’re out of your mind.”

His face lights up, and he claps you on the shoulder. “You sure? You were a pretty good shot back in the day.”

Your stomach twists. All these years later, and the memory still makes your skin crawl. You’re not a vegan or even a vegetarian—you’re just not about to take something’s life yourself. “I’m sure. I’ll go, but I’m not going hunting. I’ll make the s’mores, I’ll play the card games, and I’ll even cook up whatever you happen to kill. But I’m not… I’m just not doing that.”

“Deal, sweetie,” he says, his grin returning as he gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll leave Saturday at 6 a.m. sharp. Try not to be late, yeah? I’ll let Joel know you’re coming along.”

Wait—6 a.m.? And… Joel? Joel?

Your mind screeches to a halt. This is not what you agreed to. Campfire s’mores and father-daughter bonding? Sure. Throwing Joel into the mix? Not exactly in your plan.

You want to protest, to blurt out a thousand excuses and maybe even bail entirely. But you don’t. You just nod, though that funny, fuzzy feeling is creeping into your stomach. The thought of spending a weekend in the woods with Joel… and your dad… leaves your mind spinning.

What could possibly go wrong?

++++

The late afternoon sun catches the black cowboy hat Joel’s wearing, pulled low enough to cast a shadow over his face. The silver threaded through his beard glints in the light, making him look older and annoyingly good in a way that feels unfair. 

His Wranglers, worn and faded, fit just right, and his white shirt is crisp but rolled up at the sleeves, showing off his tanned forearms. It’s cold out, but he doesn’t seem to care. His boots scuff against the gravel as he leans back, one hand resting on his hip, the other steady on the gas pump.

“Your hair’s longer,” Joel says, his voice easy, low enough to carry over the soft hum of the pump. His shoulders shift as he turns toward you, his shirt stretching over them in a way that feels borderline illegal. His whole posture is casual, like he’s completely comfortable with himself.

You’ve managed to ignore him the whole drive, keeping your eyes glued to the passing scenery and answering his small talk with vague nods or single syllables. But now, there’s no avoiding him, not with the way he’s watching you, his hat tipped back just enough to reveal the razor edge of his jaw.

“Uh, yeah, I cut it since the last time I saw you,” you mutter, running a hand through your hair like that’s not the most awkward response ever. Bella Swan much?

“Looks good,” he says, his gaze dropping to the pump as if he’s letting you off the hook. “You look… lawyer-y.”

“Lawyer-y?” you scoff, crossing your arms. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

Joel smirks, slow and infuriating. “Depends. You takin’ it as one?”

You’re halfway through thinking up a comeback when your dad bursts out of the gas station, waving a bag of snacks over his head like he’s just hit the jackpot. “Got the goods!” he hollers, grinning from ear to ear.

You laugh despite yourself as he jogs over and drops the bag onto the truck’s hood. “Almost ready,” he says, rubbing at his wrist with a grimace. “Joel, mind taking over? My carpal tunnel’s acting up.”

Joel just nods, all effortless and understated, and slides into the driver’s seat. In seconds, you’re back on the road. The hum of the truck fills the silence, but you can’t stop noticing Joel—one hand on the wheel, the other draped casually on the passenger seat as he glances over his shoulder to back up. His gaze flicks to you for half a second, and then—of course—he winks.

It’s not the first time. He’s always been a winker, like it’s just part of who he is. Usually, it’s harmless, even kind of charming. But this time? This time it feels different. There’s something else to it, something that leaves your stomach flipping and your mind wandering places it really shouldn’t.

This weekend’s going to be long, and you already know it. You tell yourself to let it go, to focus on something else, but a tiny, traitorous voice in your head wonders just how long Joel might be in other ways.

You shut that thought down fast, dragging your focus to the road ahead. Get a grip, for fucks sake. Your efforts to try and convince yourself that you aren’t into Joel, you’re just horny, fail miserably. 

++++

“Alright, I think this is a good spot for the night. Joel, can you help me pop out the sides?” your dad asks, already moving toward the camper.

“Yeah, sure,” Joel says, his voice easy, warm like the sunset spilling over the campsite.

“I’ll get started on the campfire,” you blurt too quickly, the words tumbling out as you scramble for a task that puts some space between you and Joel. Anything to escape the pull of those chocolate-brown eyes that seem to find yours a little too often.

You grab the logs with more force than necessary, tossing them onto the firepit like it’s a personal vendetta. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” you mutter under your breath with each thud. The sharp cracks and snaps of the fire feel like it’s mocking you, every ember rising in the dark like it’s carrying your secrets skyward.

It’s ridiculous, you tell yourself. Sure, maybe you’d had a crush on him when you were younger—who wouldn’t? Joel Miller, with his broad shoulders, arms like tree trunks, and that rough-edged charm, had no business looking like that in front of impressionable teenage girls. It was practically criminal. And now? Now it was just plain infuriating. No man his age had any right to still be this... magnetic.

You shake the thought off with a huff, stacking the last log and striking a match. It was ages ago. You’re an adult now. You have a real job, real friends, real responsibilities.

You jab the fire with a stick, coaxing the flames higher, like punishing the wood might burn the thought out of your mind. You’re too grown for this. Joel Miller is your dad’s best friend. Off-limits. End of story.

By the time you sit down, PB&J in hand—the kind your dad always makes on camping trips—the fire is crackling high, warming the cool night air. Joel and your dad drop into their chairs across from you, their voices low as they reminisce about old trips and laugh over some forgotten mishap. You focus on your sandwich, chewing methodically, trying not to let the rich baritone of Joel’s laughter stir something you’d rather ignore.

And then Joel looks at you.

It’s not much—just a glance, a soft smile as the firelight flickers over his face, but it’s enough to make your pulse stutter. “You did a good job with the fire,” he says, his voice gentle, easy, but there’s something in it. A thread of admiration. Maybe even... praise.

The words hit harder than they should, settling square in your chest and unraveling something you’d worked so hard to keep stitched up. “Thanks,” you murmur, focusing on the flames and hoping the fire’s glow hides the warmth creeping into your cheeks.

Joel’s eyes linger on you a second too long before he turns back to your dad, diving into another story, but you’re already lost. The tension hums in the air, in you, in the spaces between his words. It’s like the fire’s not just crackling but buzzing, alive with something unspoken, something you’re not sure you’re ready to name.

++++

"Well, I’m more stuffed than a Thanksgiving turkey," your dad says, patting his belly with a grin that always makes you roll your eyes—but secretly, you love it. Not that you’d ever let him know; you don’t need a never-ending stream of bird jokes in your life.

“I should probably turn in,” he adds, draining the last of his Coors with a practiced ease before crushing the can in his hand. “Make sure that fire’s out completely, alright? Don’t need any tickets,” he grumbles, heading toward the camper. His heavy steps creak up the stairs, and the screen door slams shut behind him, leaving you and Joel alone by the fire.

The quiet settles in immediately; the only sounds the crackle of the dying fire and the faint rustle of wind in the trees. Joel leans back in his chair, his beer dangling casually from one hand, his face softened by the flickering firelight. You catch his gaze across the flames, and for a moment, it feels like there’s something unspoken hanging in the air.

“So, your dad tells me you’ve been pretty successful—” Joel starts, but he doesn’t get to finish.

A group of guys strolls into the circle of light, beers in hand, all wearing denim jackets like they’re auditioning for some rugged outdoorsman catalog. One of them, blonde and overly confident, steps forward with a wide grin.

“Don’t mind us,” he says, voice smooth as he gestures toward the fire. “We just couldn’t resist the smell of whatever you’ve been cooking over here. Smells too good to pass up.” His eyes land squarely on you when he says “good,” his grin turning into something sly.

“Must be another campsite,” Joel cuts in before you can answer, his tone calm but edged with something sharp. “Just beers for us.” He takes another sip of his beer—lifting the can with slow precision, his eyes locked on the guy over the rim—like he’s daring him to keep going.

The blonde doesn’t miss a beat, smirking as he tips his PBR toward you. “Well, maybe you’d like to come have a drink with us instead, sweetheart?” he says, tilting his head toward their campsite. “We’re just over there playing beer pong. No pressure, though.”

Joel’s scoff is low and quick, barely audible over the fire. His hand tightens around his beer can, quiet tension radiating off him. Without looking at you, he clears his throat and stands, brushing dirt off his jeans.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he mutters, his voice cool, almost detached.

Your stomach twists as he turns on his heel, heading toward the camper without a glance back. “Night, kiddo,” he tosses over his shoulder, the nickname sharp and slightly bitter.

Kiddo? Really? Your jaw tightens as you watch him walk away, his boots crunching over the pine needles. He knows damn well you’re not a kid, but he’s made his choice clear. Frustration flares in your chest, mingling with something sharper—something you’d probably rather not admit you know you feel.

And maybe that’s why you do it. Maybe that’s why you turn back to Mr. Denim-on-Denim, meeting his cocky grin with one of your own, smile bright. “Beer pong, huh?” you say, letting your voice dip just enough to carry. “Sounds fun.”

Joel’s boots hesitate for half a beat, just long enough for you to notice. And even though he doesn’t turn around, you know he’s listening.

++++

The slam of the screen door echoes through the quiet camper as you step inside, cursing under your breath at how impossible it is to sneak in silently. The steps creaked, the latch stuck—every sound you made felt amplified in the thick stillness of the forest. You stop just inside, exhaling as you prepare to tiptoe to your makeshift bed on one of the side bunks.

But then, the low rumble of a throat clearing freezes you in your tracks.

“Have fun while you were out there?” Joel’s voice cuts through the darkness, low and rough, like a storm rolling in. You glance toward the faint green glow of the stove clock, your eyes adjusting to the shadows enough to make out his silhouette. He’s sitting back in a chair, one leg stretched out, the other bent, his posture deceptively casual. 

Your heart thuds in your chest as you pull the oversized Carhartt jacket tighter around you. His jacket. The one he draped over your shoulders earlier tonight without a word when he caught you shivering, your puffer no match for the chill of the Colorado air. You hadn’t been able to escape the scent of him all night—sawdust, peppermint, and that faint trace of smoke he could never quite shake even though he quit a year ago.

“I didn’t realize I needed a chaperone,” you reply, keeping your voice even, though you can feel the heat rising in your chest.

“You don’t,” Joel says, his tone clipped, his jaw tight as he leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees. “But I don’t think they were exactly looking out for your best interests.”

The implication in his words stirs something sharp inside you. “Oh, so now you’re worried about what’s best for me?” you shoot back, stepping closer, your boots clicking softly against the linoleum. “That’s rich, Joel.”

His head tilts, his eyes narrowing slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” you say, voice firm as you close the distance between you, “that you don’t get to play the protective card when you’re the one sending mixed signals all night.”

His brow furrows, his gaze holding yours, unflinching. “Mixed signals?” he repeats, the roughness in his voice softening, but the tension is still there, coiled tight beneath the surface.

You take another step closer, close enough now to see the flicker of something raw in his eyes—anger, frustration, and something else you can’t quite name. Your fingers brush against the edge of the jacket draped around you, a reminder of how his presence had lingered even when you were trying to distract yourself with someone else.

“Did you fuck him?”

The question falls from Joel’s lips like a hammer, hitting the air between you with a weight that makes your breath catch. His voice is low but rising, edged with a tension that’s almost suffocating. You blink at him, stunned, the words reverberating in the small space of the camper.

“Joel,” you whisper, your voice sharp but quiet as you glance toward the thin wall separating you from your dad. “Keep your voice down.”

He doesn’t move, his jaw tight and his eyes burning into yours. “Did. You. Fuck. Him?” he repeats, slower this time, but no less intense. 

You take a step back, your arms folding across your chest defensively. “Are you serious right now? Do you even hear yourself?” you hiss, keeping your voice low, though it’s laced with incredulity. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Joel leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped tightly as if he’s trying to hold himself together. “What’s wrong with me?” he mutters, his voice still low but brimming with frustration. “What’s wrong is the thought of him touching you, being with you—it’s been in my goddamn head all night.”

You feel the heat rising in your cheeks, part from anger, part from the sheer intensity of his words. “You don’t get to ask me that. You don’t get to be this way when you’re the one who’s kept this…” You gesture vaguely between the two of you. “Whatever this is, in limbo.”

Joel’s eyes narrow, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before returning to you. “You think I don’t want this? You think I don’t feel this?” His voice cracks slightly, the words raw and unfiltered as he rises to stand. “I’m trying to keep this from blowing up, trying to do the right thing—for him, for you—but you…” He trails off, running a hand through his hair.

“Then don’t accuse me of something you don’t even have the right to ask about,” you snap, your voice trembling slightly despite your effort to keep it steady. “You don’t get to claim me, Joel. Not like this.”

His gaze drops to your lips for a brief moment before he looks away, exhaling sharply, his shoulders slumping as if the fight has drained out of him.

“I’m sorry,” he says finally, his voice softer now, almost resigned. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Damn right you shouldn’t have,” you cut in, though your tone lacks the sharpness it had before. 

His hands flex at his sides, his jaw clenching as he looks away, as if searching for the right words. But when his gaze snaps back to yours, there’s no hesitation. “You don’t see it, do you?” he murmurs, his fingers brushing your arms, his gaze locked on yours. “You’re everything. And any guy with a pulse would be a fool not to want you.”

Your breath hitches as his words sink in, striking something deep inside you that you’ve kept locked away for too long. Slowly, your hands reach up, brushing against the rough stubble of his jaw, tilting his face toward yours. “Even you?” you whisper.

Joel doesn’t answer—not with words, anyway. His hands move to your waist, his grip firm, grounding, but he doesn’t pull you closer. He doesn’t have to. His hesitation lingers for just a second too long, and that’s all the permission you need.

You push him back firmly, your palms flat against his chest, sending him sprawling into the chair behind him. His eyes widen slightly, surprised, but he doesn’t stop you. His hands instinctively find your hips as you step forward, sliding one leg over his and straddling him.

For a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you, the heat radiating off his body and the way his gaze locks onto yours, dark and hungry. You grab his face, your fingers threading into the scruff of his beard, and then your lips are on his, fierce and demanding.

The kiss is a collision of fire and frustration, years of restraint finally snapping like a brittle string. His hands grip your hips tighter, anchoring you against him as your body presses flush to his. He groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your lips, and it’s enough to make your pulse race faster.

You pull back just enough to catch your breath, your forehead resting against his. His chest rises and falls against yours, his eyes searching your face like he’s still trying to figure out how this happened—or if it’s even real.

But you’re done second-guessing. You’re done fighting the pull. You tilt your hips against him, testing the waters, and the way his breath hitches, sharp and unsteady, tells you everything you need to know.

JOEL

He isn’t sure which heartbeat demands his attention first—the one pounding in his chest, the one ringing in his ears from your words, or the one throbbing lower, urging him forward. But like any race, there’s always a clear winner, and as his hands tighten around your hips, his choice becomes undeniable. He’s done pretending, done trying to act like he doesn’t want this as much as he does.

He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, a low, guttural groan escaping his throat, because the weight of you on top of him like this is almost too much. It’s torture—sweet, unbearable, and wholly consuming. What makes it worse—or maybe better—is the way you seem to know exactly what you’re doing to him. The maddening curve of your lips says it all: you’re enjoying this. Enjoying him unraveling beneath you.

He swallows hard, trying to keep some semblance of control, but the slow roll of your hips against his is enough to push him dangerously close to the edge. It’s intentional, a tease, and a dead giveaway that you know exactly how he feels—how much he wants you—and that you’re about to take him for all he’s worth.

And fuck if he isn’t ready to let you.

But then, the weight of reality crashes down like a bucket of ice water. The camper is too quiet, save for the faint creaks of the old chair beneath you and the soft rustling of fabric as your movements shift against each other. It’s too close, too confined, and just across the narrow hall, your dad is fast asleep.

Or at least, Joel hopes he is.

The thought freezes him for a split second, the guilt clawing its way back to the surface. This is wrong. He knows it’s wrong. Your dad is his best friend—his closest confidant for nearly thirty years—and here he is, letting that sacred bond dissolve into heat and desperation in a single heartbeat.

He doesn’t move to stop you, though. He should, but he can’t. Not when you lean closer, your breath warm against his ear, and whisper, “Do you like what you feel?”

His hands tighten on your hips, his fingertips pressing into your skin like he’s trying to anchor himself, to remind himself that this is real—and that it shouldn’t be happening.

“I think you know the answer to that,” he rasps, his voice rough and thick with want. He’s trying, God, he’s trying to hold on to some shred of control, but the way you’re moving, the way your body fits against his—it’s breaking him. He knows your dad is just feet away, separated by a flimsy door and thin walls, but the tension between you is louder than logic.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he murmurs, his words barely more than a breath. “Your dad—” His voice catches, his gaze flicking to the door across the hall, like he expects it to fly open at any moment. “He’s right there.”

“I know,” you reply. Your hands trail up his chest, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. “But do you want me to stop?”

Joel’s resolve wavers, cracking under the weight of your words and the hunger in your eyes. “You don’t know what you’re asking,” he says, his voice low, almost pleading. But even as he says it, his hands slide beneath your shirt, his fingers brushing against the bare skin of your waist, as if he’s trying to memorize the feel of you. “If he finds out…”

“He won’t,” you whisper, leaning in until your lips are just a breath away from his. “Unless you make me loud.”

And shit, you’re filthy. A pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be this sexy; it’s kind of intimidating. He groans, a deep, guttural sound that’s part frustration, part surrender, and pulls you closer, his lips crashing into yours with a desperation that feels like it’s been building for years. His hands grip your hips, holding you tight as if to keep you from slipping away, even though you’re right there, pressing against him with just as much fire.

The weight of the moment presses down on him—what this means, how easily it could all unravel if even one sound gives you away. But for now, all he can do is drown in your heat, every kiss, every touch.

"Fuck, baby. Pants off, now," Joel growls, his voice rough and edged with need. The demand sends a thrill racing down your spine, and you can’t help but smirk, satisfied by how easily you’ve unraveled him.

You rise slowly, your hands moving to the button of your jeans as you step back just enough to give him a good view. You shimmy the denim down your legs, kicking them off one foot at a time, your eyes never leaving his.

Joel watches you like he’s starving, his gaze dark and focused, a storm brewing behind it. His hands move to his belt, undoing the buckle with a practiced ease. The faint metallic clink of the buckle is followed by the soft sound of his zipper, and then he shifts in the chair, pushing his jeans halfway down his hips.

Your eyes drop, and your pulse kicks up at the sight of him, hard and thick, his cock curving against his stomach. The dim light of the camper catches on his skin, the glisten of precum beading at the top of him, and the sight sends a fresh wave of heat coursing through your body.

Joel leans back slightly, his legs spreading just enough to make room for you, one hand braced on the armrest of the chair while the other wraps loosely around himself, stroking once up his length. His lips curl into a smirk that matches yours, and his voice is low, almost a growl.

"Now come back here, darlin'," Joel murmurs, his voice rough and thick with desire. His hand wraps around himself at the base, holding himself steady and straight. "Show me just how bad you want it."

YOU

Your breath catches at the sight, heat pooling low in your belly as you step closer. You don’t rush, letting him feel the weight of your gaze, letting him see exactly how much you want him. The camper feels smaller, the air heavier, and the faint creaks of the old chair beneath him only seem to amplify the tension between you. The thin walls, the quiet rustle from the next room where your dad sleeps, only add to the heady mix of adrenaline and desire coursing through your veins.

You straddle him again, your bare legs brushing against the rough denim of his jeans, your hands sliding up his chest. The warmth of his skin radiates through his t-shirt, and his breath stutters when your nails rake lightly down his torso, leaving a faint trail of fire in their wake. His free hand moves to your waist, gripping firmly, his thumb brushing slow circles against your hip bone.

“Like this?” you tease, your voice low, sultry, as you roll your hips against him, feeling the hard heat of him pressing against you, igniting a delicious ache in your core. The friction pulls a sharp inhale from him, his grip on your waist tightening as though holding onto his last shred of control. Each slow movement chips away at his restraint, leaving only raw hunger in its wake.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” Joel groans, his head falling back for a moment, exposing the strong line of his throat. The sight of him like this—vulnerable, undone, and utterly yours—sends a surge of confidence through you, emboldening you to take more, to push further.

You lean in, your lips brushing against his ear, your voice a whisper. “Good.”

His reaction is immediate, primal. His hand slides from your waist to the back of your neck, pulling you into a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue, fierce and desperate. His stubble is rough against your skin, his lips hot and insistent, and the way he devours you sends sparks shooting down your spine. You lift your hips slightly, just enough to feel him notched at your entrance, the anticipation stealing your breath.

When he thrusts up into you, it’s all at once—hot, hard, and unrelenting. A broken gasp escapes your lips as he fills you, stretching you, splitting you open in a way that’s almost too much and yet exactly what you need.

His hand returns to your hips, gripping with bruising intensity, guiding you against him as he sets a punishing rhythm like he’s trying to bury himself deeper with every movement. The chair creaks beneath you, a harsh reminder of how precarious this moment is, how easy it would be for it all to come crashing down.

The thought of being caught—of your dad just a door away, oblivious—makes it all the more intoxicating. Every thrust, every sharp inhale, feels like defiance, like daring the universe to stop you.

“Fuck, baby,” Joel rasps against your lips, his voice raw and trembling. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

You pull back just enough to look into his eyes, your hands sliding up to cradle his face, your thumbs brushing the rough edges of his jaw. His gaze is dark and heavy, filled with something that feels like surrender. “Then let me,” you murmur, your voice low, indecent, dripping with the weight of everything you feel.

The way you say it, the way your body moves against his, has him breaking apart beneath you, every ounce of resistance shattering. And you don’t care. Not about the consequences, not about the wrongness of it all. All you know is the way you feel wrapped around him, the way he fills you completely, and how nothing else in the world has ever felt so right.

Joel’s hands tighten on your hips as you move, his grip firm enough to leave imprints. You lean forward, your lips brushing against his jaw as he groans low in his throat, his head tipping back just enough to give you access to the sensitive skin beneath his stubble. You let your tongue flick over the pulse point there, your teeth grazing lightly.

“Jesus, darlin’,” he mutters, his voice thick, strained, every word trembling with barely contained restraint. “You don’t know what you’re doin’ to me.”

You pull back, your lips curving into a wicked smile, your hips rolling against his with an agonizing slowness. “I think I do,” you reply, your voice dripping with confidence, daring him to deny it.

Joel’s hands move, one sliding up your back, pressing you closer to him, while the other trails lower, his fingers digging into the curve of your ass as he guides your movements. The friction between you is dizzying, every shift of your body drawing a new groan from his lips, a new wave of heat pooling low in your belly. You’re close.

The faint murmur of your dad stirring in the room across the hall sends a jolt of adrenaline through you, the danger of being caught making everything feel sharper, more electrified. Joel’s eyes flick toward the door for the briefest moment before snapping back to you, dark and full of something primal. His jaw tightens, his breath hitches, and his fingers dig into you harder.

“You hear that?” he whispers, his voice low and gravelly, like a secret meant just for you. “He’s right there. You keep movin’ like that, and he’s gonna know.”

The words should stop you, should make you pull away, but instead, they send a rush of heat through you, your body responding with an involuntary shudder. “Then maybe you should stop me,” you murmur, leaning in so your lips brush against his, the challenge clear in your voice.

Joel groans, deep and guttural, his hands tightening their hold on you as he presses his forehead against yours. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he mutters again, but there’s no conviction in the words—only unfiltered desire.

You tilt your hips, taking him deeper, and his response is immediate—a sharp inhale, his body tensing beneath you as his control slips even further. His lips find yours again, his kiss desperate and hungry, as though he’s trying to drown out every reason this shouldn’t be happening. The rhythm between you grows frantic, your bodies moving in perfect, reckless harmony.

Every thrust, every gasp, every whispered curse is a challenge to the thin walls, to the line you’ve already crossed. And with each passing second, the tension builds, coiling tighter and tighter until it feels like the whole world might shatter if you stop.

“You gonna come on my cock, sweetheart?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear, his hands gripping your hips as though anchoring you to him. “Show me how pretty you are when you come for me.”

The words hit you like a lightning strike, sending a rush of heat through your body. You can feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter, your body trembling as the rhythm of his thrusts drives you closer to the edge. Every thrust, each growled word, pulls you deeper into the haze of desire, until all you can feel, all you can think about, is him. 

“Joel—” you gasp, your voice breaking as your hands clutch at his shoulders, your nails digging into the fabric of his shirt. You’re teetering on the brink, every nerve in your body alight, every sensation magnified.

“That’s it,” he rasps, his voice thick with want, his gaze locked on yours. His thumb finds your clit, circling it with just enough pressure to send you tumbling over the edge. “Let go for me, darlin’. Let me see you.”

The coil snaps, your body arching against his as the wave crashes over you, your orgasm ripping through you with a force that leaves you breathless. His name falls from your lips in a broken cry, your hips stuttering against his as pleasure floods your veins. Joel doesn’t stop, his hands steadying you, his movements slower now, deliberate, as though drawing out every second of your release.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” Joel murmurs, his voice low and reverent as he watches you fall apart in his lap. His hands roam your body, grounding you, holding you steady as you come down, your breaths ragged and uneven, your heart pounding against his chest.

You bury your face in his neck, your body still trembling from the aftershocks, and his arms wrap around you like a cocoon, pulling you closer. His lips press softly against your temple, a quiet comfort in the passion you’ve just shared. For a moment, it feels like time has stopped, the two of you frozen in the intimacy of the moment.

But then his hips buck beneath you, the motion pulling a sharp gasp from your lips. The low, guttural rumble that escapes his chest vibrates against your skin, and you realize he’s right on the edge, holding on by a thread.

“Fuck, baby’,” he groans, his voice rough and strained, his hands gripping your hips tighter, guiding you to move again. His breath is hot against your ear, his words tumbling out in a desperate whisper. “I’m so close. You feel so damn good.”

You tilt your hips, rolling against him, and the sharp inhale he takes sends another thrill through you. His movements grow erratic, his restraint slipping with each thrust as he chases his release. His head falls back, his jaw tight, his hands digging into your flesh like he’s trying to hold himself together, but you both know he’s about to let go. 

“Want you to come inside me, Joel,” you say, making it clear it’s not a question.

“Goddamn,” he mutters, his voice breaking as his hips snap up one last time, his release hitting him like a tidal wave. His grip on you tightens as he groans, deep and guttural, his body shuddering beneath you. You feel him pulsing inside you, the heat of his release spreading as he collapses back into the chair, his breaths ragged and uneven.

A cough from the room across the hall breaks the silence, snapping you both back to reality. The thin walls feel even thinner now, and the weight of what just happened settles in the air between you. For a moment, you hesitate, but then you tug your jeans back on, not even caring about the mess on your thighs.

Joel silently adjusts himself, his belt clinking faintly as he fastens it. Neither of you speaks, the charged quiet holding the moment in place, too fragile to break with words. His eyes follow you as you move.

You step toward him, your heart still racing, and lean down to press a kiss to his cheek. His stubble is rough against your lips, and the faint way his breath hitches sends a small thrill through you.

“See you in the morning, Cowboy,” you whisper, your voice soft and sweet, like it’s the easiest thing in the world to say.

His hand brushes lightly against your arm as you pull back, a touch so brief it’s barely there, but enough to make your pulse jump again. He nods, his gaze lingering as you slip toward your bed, your legs still unsteady beneath you.

As you settle under the blanket, your heart refusing to slow and your body still humming with the aftermath of him, you hear the faint creak of his chair as he shifts. You don’t need to look to know he’s still there, watching, caught in the same storm you are.

JOEL

Fuck.

END

A/N Continued: To my darling moots that I have left on read lately, I'm sorry. I love you guys, I just haven't had a lot of emotional or mental bandwidth to be a good conversationalist. I miss you all and will try to be better.x

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Tags (lmk if you want to be removed! No hard feelings if so, ily guys.) // @legendary-pink-dot @syd-djarin @mermaidgirl30 @yxtkiwiyxt @survivingandenduring // @pastawench @punkshort @alltheirdamn @hellishjoel @hotgirlbedtimescenarios

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[absurdthirst]

Right Hand Man {Dave York x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 14.8k

Warnings: 1920s AU, mentions of arranged marriage, domestic abuse, masturbation, voyeurism, infidelity, cuckolding, fingering, vaginal sex, oral sex (male receiving), pregnancy, childbirth, fighting, death

Comments: Positioned as your husband's right hand man, Dave watches. Knowing you are unhappy and you want him. Waiting until the time is right for him to make his move.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

You sigh as you look across the dining room to your husband. The man you’ve been married to for three years. It feels like an eternity. The table is almost as long, positioning you on the opposite side so you have to practically shout to speak to him. He prefers that, you suppose, so he can have his peace and quiet. He’s a rich man, focused on business and not silly little things like books and art and poetry. None of your interests are his interests yet you married him because you were forced. Your parents arranged the marriage to him and you had to go along with it. In this day and age, a girl can’t afford to go it alone. You sip on your wine, expensive, of course. So expensive the dust needed to be wiped off of the bottle. Yet you barely notice the heady taste of it as your eyes flick over to the man sitting next to your husband at the other end of the dining table. David York. Dave, to your husband and those close to him. Your husband’s right hand man in business and the man you think about when your husband is inside of you.

Talking about business over dinner is never Dave’s favorite thing, but it keeps him occupied. Keeping him from glancing down to the end of the table to where you sit. He shouldn’t want you, shouldn’t know every time you lift the wine glass to your lips. Too many times, in his opinion. He shouldn’t hear the soft sigh that seems to reach only his own ears. You are a wife, the wife to, technically, his boss. He shouldn’t want you, but he does and he ignores it just like he has from the moment your husband brought you home to this elaborately overdone mansion to be a virtual prisoner.

You sigh again as Dave completely avoids looking at you. You know he’s loyal to your husband, Edward, but you can’t help imagining him losing control and taking you as his own. It’s what fuels you on lonely nights when dear Eddie is out fucking every whore within a ten mile radius. Any floozy who likes sparkly things. Like damn magpies. You were hurt when you were first married, now you’re just glad they do the job that is supposed to be yours. Outsourcing is what you affectionately call it when trying to preserve your dignity around the other wives when Edward takes you to the country club. Edward has fucked you, of course he has, in his desperate bid for an heir but you’ve been successful to avoid getting pregnant. Using every old wives tale to avoid it, you’ve been successful thus far. Although it’s a special occasion if Eddie does try to fuck you. Usually he’s too occupied with his work or his whores. You down the rest of your wine and stand up, bringing the eyes of the men at the other end of the table to you. “I’m going to bed.” You announce and Eddie doesn’t say anything as his eyes turn back to his papers.

Dark eyes fixed on you, noticing the pretty shade of lipstick you are wearing is wine smudged. Making it look like you’ve been thoroughly kissed. He clenches his jaw at how dismissively your husband treats you, but it’s not for nothing when Eddie murmurs his name. “Escort my wife to her room.” He suggests dismissively, even though it’s not a suggestion. For some strange reason, Eddie wanted you escorted through a home that was also supposed to be yours, but Dave doesn’t ignore the opportunity to spend a few moments with you. “Of course.” He nods and stands, buttoning his suit jacket before walking down to your end of the table.

Your heart pounds as Dave walks past you to open the house and you stumble slightly as you make your way past him and down the hall. Dave walks silently beside you, walking in front of you as you head upstairs to your quarters, and you admire his broad shoulders in his well tailored suit. Opening the door to your bedroom - Eddie has his own suite on the other side of the house - you walk in and turn to look at Dave, "thank you for escorting me back to my room." You say, biting your wine stained lips as the man stands there quietly. You wonder what's going through his mind and you desperately want to break him. To see if he feels the same way you do. The fact that you want to rip that suit off and make him moan your name. He's dangerous and that makes you want him even more, the capability he exudes. You decide to play with fire, reaching for the zipper of your dress as you pull it down, letting your dress slip from your body to pool at your feet, displaying the stockings, garter belt, and bra that are keeping you together beneath the expensive flapper dress that is all the style nowadays.

Every muscle in Dave’s body tightens and he wants nothing more than to jump on you. To devour you whole and make you scream his name while he pounds into you. Still, he shows no outward emotion. He can’t right now. He would lose his advantage and there were still pieces he was moving around the board. “Goodnight, Mrs. Holt.” He inclines his head respectfully and turns around to exit the room, thankful that his suit is cut in a way to hide the semi he’s sporting.

You stare at the door he closes behind him and you inhale sharply. You feel embarrassed and then the anger hits you. You offered yourself on a plate and he won’t touch you. You’ve only ever been with Edward, a deal made by your parents and his when you were a teenager. A deal you never had a say in. You were married off to Eddie as soon as you completed finishing school. Huffing, you decide to get ready for bed and form a plan to seduce David York.

Dave strides back into the dining room to find your husband moving towards his office. “I’m going to go to the club.” He tells Dave and he knows that your husband is actually going to his mistress’s townhouse. He doesn’t know if you are aware of it, but Eddie has taken to an actress and bought her a townhouse to keep her in town. It’s nothing that would probably surprise you, but it’s not Dave’s place to talk to him about his deplorable behavior. If Dave had a wife like you, he would never leave your bed. You would be in his room, it would be shared. Instead of telling him that he needs to stay home and pay you some attention, he nods. “Very well, I will forego my own plans this evening to keep an eye on things here.” He tells Eddie.

You slide into your bed, the silk sheets are luxurious but what good is luxury when you are in a gilded prison? Many would ask why you wouldn't try to leave. You have. You have told Eddie many times that you want to divorce him, to let him be the playboy he is without you waiting on him, but all that got you was a slap around the face. He told you that the only way you'd be leaving him would be in a casket. You nursed your bruised skin and carried on, trying to conceal the pain both inside and outside. Dave has been your only solace, granting you a glimpse into what could be. What you'd want if you weren't trapped in this marriage. You sigh, tossing in your bed, until you decide to get a drink to calm yourself down. Sliding into your robe and slippers, you make your way downstairs to the kitchen. The staff have all retired for the night so you appreciate the quiet as you enter the ornate kitchen to get a glass of water.

Sitting at the kitchen table, used by the staff. Dave sits with a bottle of scotch and a crystal glass. Even though his boss is a piece of shit, his wealth afforded a lot of luxuries that Dave had never known existed. He didn’t have the luxury of being born into the class that you and Eddie lived in. Dave had been born in the slums, scrapping and fighting from a small age for survival. It has served him, while he still was on the darker side of morality, he has risen from his humble roots. Sitting in a wealthy man’s kitchen, drinking his expensive liquor before sleeping in silk sheets. He stares at the amber liquid in the glass, wondering when he had stopped enjoying these things.

Your eyes widen as you see Dave sitting there sipping on what looks like scotch. “I didn’t expect you to still be here. I’m guessing Eddie has gone to see one of his whores?” You ask as you grab a glass and pour yourself some water. Dave’s dark eyes meet yours and you see the answer there. “Well, at least I have some peace and quiet.” You sigh and lean against the kitchen counter as you take a gulp of the water. “You’re still here? To babysit me?” You snort, “or you don’t have a home to go to?”

Dave’s stare at you is narrow, his eyes dark before he looks away. Down at his drink again. “Why drink at home when I can drink this for free?” He asks sarcastically, draining the rest of the scotch and pouring another two fingers. “I’ve got a room here.” He reminds you.

You nod, “yes. You’re the one who can come and go. Me? I’m trapped here.” You down the rest of your water and set the glass on the counter. “I was thinking about throwing a party. We haven’t had one for a while. Get the champagne flowing and Eddie can invite his girls right under my nose.” You chuckle humorlessly, “and I can get drunk and wallow in my self pity.” You sigh dramatically, “unless someone decides to distract me from my turmoil.” You say, undoing your robe and you stare at Dave for a moment, wanting to offer him another chance now that Eddie is gone.

It’s tempting. Fuck, he just knows you would melt under his touch. You’re innocent and it’s very telling that Eddie doesn’t talk about you like he does his other women. He likes that you’re nearly pure. Dave can tell you want to explore and do filthy things. “Choose someone I don’t like.” Dave grunts, making you frown. “Why is that?” You huff. Dave holds his glass up to the light and examines the liquor inside. “Because I’ll have to break the fingers of whoever touches you.”

Your eyes widen and your stomach clenches with arousal at the dark look in his eyes. You know he’s saying it because Eddie would kill anyone that touched you and he discovered it. Especially since he’s growing desperate for an heir to his estate. “Eddie’s right hand man protecting what belongs to his boss.” You snort, “of course.” You scoff and shake your head, “goodnight, David.” You make your way out of the kitchen, tying your robe as you slink back to your bedroom, embarrassment swirling in your gut as you put yourself on a platter for the man again and he refused to touch you. You’ll plan a party. That will distract you from wanting a man that doesn’t want you back.

Dave hisses after you leave the kitchen. Reaching down and adjusting the way his now hard cock is pressing against his trousers. Your nightgown was silky and thin, giving him no illusions and paired with the image of you in your undergarments has him throbbing. “Damnit.” He murmurs, wishing that he was in a position to do what he wants, but he’s not there yet.

****

The party you planned is in full swing. Eddie greets the guests with a champagne toast before the band begins to play and the swinging jazz is loud enough to echo through the estate. You sip your champagne, the tassels of your dress swinging as you sway to the music. You feel happy for the first time in weeks since Dave’s rejection and you’ve kept to yourself since that night, avoiding the man and your husband with experienced precision. Eddie is already off with Jasmine Parker, a socialite who you know is already vying for your position as Mrs. Holt and you are tempted to make it easy for her to take your place but Eddie would never allow it. Your parents are one of the founding families and he wants your status as his crowning glory on his empire. You glance at the couples dancing and kissing or more and sigh, feeling immensely alone. Deciding to take a break, you make your way to your quarters and set your champagne glass down. Stripping out of your dress, you take off your bra and panties and remain in your garter and stockings. It’s chilly tonight so you grab your furs, leaving on your pearls as you lay down and grab your glass of champagne, taking a sip before resting your head on your pillow. The jazz music has faded as you slide your hand along your body, imagining someone that adores you is touching you. Imagining that Dave is the one touching you with those strong capable hands. You whimper as you squeeze your breast, pinching your nipple and sliding your hand lower until you spread your thighs, pressing a delicate finger against your clit.

He’s not working tonight, so where you’ve disappeared to is none of his concern, but Dave looks at his watch when you don’t return to the party quickly. Frowning, he sets his champagne glass down, aware that your husband has no idea that you’ve disappeared from your own party. He checks the power rooms and then quickly makes his way over to your wing of the house, determined to find where you’ve gone.

You whimper, spreading your legs a little wider and moaning as you rub your clit. This is the only kind of pleasure you’ve ever known. Eddie has never made you feel desired or made you see stars…unless it’s his hand hitting your head. You sigh, a soft whisper of Dave’s name leaving your lips as you imagine him touching you. You imagine he’d be rough but giving, wanting to control your pleasure for his own satisfactions.

Your words in his mind, Dave moves silently down the hall to your rooms. He never agreed with having you on the opposite side of the house, but now he understands it. The sounds from the party are non-existent. He hears a moan and clenches his teeth in fury. He had turned down your obvious overtures and now you’ve found some other poor sap to risk getting his spine snapped. Even if Eddie wouldn’t order it, Dave will beat the life out of whoever had touched you. Fist tight to his side, the other hand turns the handle to your room and he barges in, eager to interrupt your little tête à tête.

You gasp, spilling some champagne as Dave barges in the room, fists clenched, and the shock dissipates almost immediately when you see he’s alone. You smirk and tilt your head back against your pillow, continuing to rub your clit as you work yourself up to an orgasm in front of your husband’s right hand man.

He can’t even speak. Nude except for a fur stole and pearls, your hand is between your thigh and the other clutching a flute of champagne makes you look like the classiest of whores. But a whore, you are not. You’re a woman who has been denied pleasure and Dave feels his restraint snap. Flipping the latch to your door so no one else can enter, he strides over to your bed and grabs your hand that’s between your thighs and pulls it away.

Your eyes narrow and you practically growl at him as he stops you from pleasuring yourself. "Are you going to control the way I touch myself too?" You hiss at him but he silences you by sliding your fingers into his mouth. Those dark eyes on yours as he tastes your arousal from your digits and you heave a breath at the lust that slams into you. "I just wanted a taste." He explains after he releases your fingers and you nod, dumbstruck. "Continue touching yourself." He demands, stepping back and you whine, "David." He shakes his head, "I want to watch you make yourself cum." His voice is full of command that makes you gush again and how can you deny him? Your hand shakes slightly as you press your damp fingers to your folds, rubbing your clit as your eyes meet his and your mouth falls open while you work yourself towards your climax.

Your nipples are hard, making his palms itch to fill his hands with your skin. To squeeze them and pinch the sensitive buds. But between your thighs, that is where the real show is. His dark eyes fix on your hand, occasionally flicking to watch your expression again. “Fuck.” He hisses.

You feel powerful, having him watch you as you take your own pleasure. His hissed curse pushes you closer and you keep your eyes on him as you whimper, getting closer and closer until finally, you fall over the edge. His name is not unexpected to fall from your lips but you know you’ll fluster later thinking about this moment. The way he unraveled you without a touch. “Dave.” You gasp as your fingers furiously rub your clit to work yourself through your orgasm.

Dave’s entire body hurts with the desire to claim you. To make you cry out his name because of him. Because of what he does to you. He can’t. You aren’t his. You are Eddie’s, even if the bastard doesn’t appreciate you. Your eyes are closed and there’s a softness to you as you catch your breath. “Beautiful, princess.” He grunts. “Now go to sleep.” He orders, turning around and walking away before he fucks up and crosses a line he can’t go back from.

You stare at him as he opens the door and exits your bedroom. "You bastard!" You scream at him, throwing the champagne glass at the door as you choke on a sob. You feel used now. He watched you in a vulnerable moment and didn't make a move. He's messing with you. Maybe he's testing you on Edward's behalf. You sob as you stumble into your en-suite, feeling so alone despite the hundreds of people partying below. You hate David York.

When he closes the door, Dave sighs. It had been so tempting but he just can’t touch you. 

****

“I will be gone for a week.” Eddie adjusts his collar and straightens his tie. “Business.” The smirk on his face tells Dave the business is that budding little socialite actress that he had been fucking. He nods. “What do you want me to do?”

Edward grabs his briefcase, “you stay here. Make sure my darling wife doesn’t escape. I don’t want her leaving the estate. You understand?” He asks Dave, “she hasn’t given me an heir yet. It’s…getting tedious.” Edward huffs and shakes his head, “I will have to have a doctor see to her soon if she does not conceive when I decide to fuck her next.”

He wants to tell Eddie that it’s hard to impregnant someone if they never fuck them, but he just nods silently. “Knew I could count on you.” He smirks and then chuckles. “Drink the scotch, it will help you get through the week with my boring wife.”

You know that Eddie is going into the city to see the latest woman that has caught his fancy. You don’t care. It’s saving you a week of hoping he doesn’t come to your room to ask for sex. You expect to have the estate to yourself when you see Eddie’s car disappear down the driveway and you make your way downstairs. You’re surprised when you find Dave sitting in the kitchen, sipping a cup of coffee that the housekeeper prepared for him. “What are you doing here, David?” You ask petulantly. Annoyed that Eddie let Dave here to babysit you and make sure you won’t escape.

“Keeping an eye on things.” He knows you are annoyed with him, you’ve made that quite clear by giving him the cold shoulder since the party. As long as you or Eddie don’t know how often he jerks off thinking about you spread out and playing with your cunt. “Here for the week, so deal with it.”

You huff, grabbing a glass to pour yourself a glass of orange juice that the housekeeper squeezed fresh this morning. “Well, it’s going to be a boring week for you.” You hum and lick your lips.

“Don’t mind boring.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “Better than a busy week.” He admits, happy for the downtime, especially since he’s almost got everything prepared to walk away.”

You cross your arms, "well, it's going to be boring for me. Hanging around this house. Nothing to do except drink and read." You sigh, picking up your glass and taking a sip. "Not like anyone here will entertain me."

Dave snorts, enjoying the obvious attempt you are making to goad him. “Poor little rich girl.” He sympathizes mockingly. “Maybe I should send the housekeeper, maids and cook away to give you something to do?”

You narrow your eyes at him, “I did not - you misunderstood me. You always seem to do that.” You huff and shake your head, “you’re infuriating. Following Edward around like his lost puppy. What are you waiting for? Him to throw you a bone? Money? He’s just using you like he uses all of us.” You spit at him, “we are all pawns in his game and you’re doing his dirty work.”

Dave narrows his eyes at you for a moment, not liking your view of him, but then he chuckles. “You think he’s using me, Princess?” He snorts. “That’s rich. Very rich. Considering.”

“Considering what?” You narrow your eyes at him again and slam your glass down, walking over to the kitchen table to press your palms to the tabletop. Your eyes burn into his as you lean over him. “What do you mean?” You demand to know.

Even if you said something to Edward, he wouldn’t believe you but Dave doesn’t think that you would willingly tell your husband this. “Considering…..” Dave smirks at you. “I’m using him. Have been since I saved him from getting beat to death.” He chuckles. “I drink his booze, sleep under his roof….” His eyes drop down to your cleavage. “Watch his wife make herself cum.”

You inhale sharply, shifting to stand up straight. You remember the first time Edward brought Dave home. He said he’d met him at a work function and clicked with the younger man. “You- he said you met at a work function. Wow…he’s even lied to me about that. I don’t think the man is capable of telling his wife the truth. Maybe that’s why she lets other men watch her cum.” You snort and turn away from Dave to grab your drink. It’s refreshing to hear someone say they are using Edward when your husband thinks he has everyone figured out and under his control.

Dave chuckles, watching you pour your drink and take a sip. “I was entertained.” He hums, drinking the rest of his coffee and standing after he folds the newspaper. “But soon, I’ll be leaving your husband’s employment.”

You turn to look at him, trying to hide your disappointment. As much as you and Dave have this - this unspoken thing - between you, you know you’ll die of boredom without him bothering you. You will be left in your quarters without anyone to talk to or spar with. You’ll be utterly heartbroken without him. You hate the idea of him going but you hate the idea of telling him that more. “Where are you going?” You inquire, trying to act like you don’t really care.

“Work for myself.” What you aren’t aware of, is that Edward isn’t very well liked amongst his business partners. Too brash and easy to dismiss. Dave has been watching and acquiring contacts. Networking under his nose. Almost ready to pull the rug out from under him.

“You can’t leave.” You tell him and he snorts, “and why not, Princess?” He asks and you blurt out, “you can’t leave me here alone. I don’t want you to go.” The words are out before you can stop them and you immediately regret them, knowing he’s got the upper hand once again.

“I’m not leaving yet.” He promises, even though he doesn’t know why he is assuring you of that. “Soon you’ll be busy having Edward’s children and raising them.”

You scoff, “he’d actually have to fuck me to get that to happen and even if he did I would try everything to prevent it.” You say without thinking and your eyes widen. “I didn’t - oh God. Don’t tell him that I- Dave.” You plead and he shakes his head, “your secret is safe with me, Princess. Just be a good girl.” He urges and you frown as he leaves the kitchen. Every interaction with the man confuses you even more until you don’t know where you stand with him.

Dave spends the afternoon in Eddie’s office. Using the telephone in there to make several calls and once he sets the phone down in the cradle once last time, he smirks to himself. Tapping his hand on the desk that exudes the image of power and considers buying one for himself once he has his own mansion. Tilting his head when he hears a noise, he pushes back from the desk and stands. Wanting to make sure that you’ve not decided to throw another party last minute.

You sway to the music coming out of the radio and smile at the familiar song. Swaying your hips, you lift your hands over your head as you start to dance, letting your mind go blank as you enjoy the freedom without Eddie in the house. Even if it can get lonely with only the staff to keep you company.

You had made comments about being lonely, but Eddie had always waved it away as you being spoilt because you weren’t being doted on. Watching you dance to the music, no one else on the floor, Dave is struck by just how alone you are. Isolated and confined by the man you had been married off to. His heart pounds and before he can talk himself out of it, he’s quickly moving quietly across the floor to sweep you up into his arms. The staff has gone home, so it’s just you and him in the house.

You gasp as you feel someone grab you and your first instinct is to fight until you see it’s Dave. “Goodness, you scared me.” You confess and he chuckles as he starts to lead you, swaying you to the music. Your fingers flex against his bicep, his jacket discarded somewhere and you feel secure in his arms, you feel safe. This is what you have yearned for during your nights alone. “I didn’t know you could dance.” You murmur, looking into those beautiful dark brown eyes that hold secrets you’ll never be privy to.

“Never done it.” Dave admits with a small smirk. “Watched it plenty, practiced by myself.” He knows you won’t judge him for that, now when you have just been dancing by yourself as well. “If I’m going to be a wealthy man one day, I should be able to dance.”

You like his ambition, the sparkle in his eyes. “Just promise me one thing.” You request as his hand rests on the small of your back. “Tell me, Princess.” He orders and you look into his eyes for a second. “Don’t forget who you are. Be true to yourself.” You urge, knowing what money can do to men. It can corrupt, it destroys. You don’t want to see him change when he’s strong and charismatic and…and sexy.

Dave lifts a brow, surprised by your request and he nods. “Grew up dirt poor and fighting to survive.” He reveals quietly. “Don’t think I’ll ever forget that but when I finally have a wife, kids of my own, I want to give them the world.”

You hate the thought of him married to another woman, giving her the life she deserves and all of him. Having his children. Dave is a rare gem in your otherwise lackluster jewelry box of family, friends, and acquaintances. He’s authentic and you love that.

Your expression falls and Dave frowns, letting go of your waist when you look away and grabbing your chin gently to turn it back towards him. You flinch and that pisses him off, knowing that Eddie had slapped you around too often for Dave’s liking. He could beat on a woman, but too much of a coward to take on a man his own size. “What?”

You push his hand away from your chin. “You don’t care. You’re here to babysit me for Eddie. Even throwing myself at you…you reject me. Lord above, you’ve seen me - well, you’ve seen all of me and yet I’ve seen none of you. Not even your true thoughts and feelings. I feel exposed when you just look at me. It unnerves me and yet it makes me want to beg you to fuck me but God forbid I stoop so low to beg. You’d surely laugh at me and I couldn’t - that would be too much to bear for a woman who constantly lives as an ornament in her own home.” You choke and turn away from him, not wanting to stay and hear him reject you again.

Dave grabs your arm harshly and spins you around to face him again. Making you gasp out in surprise and the retort that he had died on his lips. Surging forward as he crushes you to him, Dave’s mouth falls over yours in a completely devouring kiss. Giving into the emotions and wants that he has been so careful to keep secret until now.

You gasp into his mouth, shocked for several seconds until you melt against him. He kisses you like a man starved of affection. You’ve never been kissed like this. Edward only kisses you in public to keep up pretenses. Your fingers find purchase in his slicked back hair and you press yourself against him as you let him devour you.

Dave licks into your mouth like you are the sweetest treat. Sampling you and groaning at the flavors that make you up. His hands tighten on your body and he starts striding back, guiding you towards the door and pressing you against it while he plunders your mouth greedily.

Your hands slide down to grip his shirt, pulling him even closer as he presses you into the ornate wooden door. “Dave.” You gasp when he pulls back to let you catch your breath and he trails his kisses along your jaw. “Please.” You beg, needing more from him.

You deserve more than a quick fuck against a door. You deserve to be taken apart and shown how desirable you are. “Where do you want me to fuck you, Princess?” He growls, sliding his hand down to cup your cunt through your dress. “Here? On your husband’s desk? Your bed?”

“Oh God.” You can’t deny the idea of him taking you on Eddie’s beloved desk makes you soak your panties but you want to be fucked by Dave in a bed. “Bed. My bed.” You manage to spit out as he bites down on your neck and rubs your pussy through the silk.

He chuckles darkly, happy you had chosen that option. He wants to spread you out. Pulling away, he decides he’s going to show you how much he wants you. Ducking down, Dave flips you over his shoulder and stands straight despite your shriek of surprise. Striding out of the ballroom and towards the stairs that will take him to your room.

Your hands scramble to grip him so he doesn’t drop you but he carries you up the stairs and practically kicks your door open, throwing you down on the bed. You don’t get a chance to move when he is dragging you down to the edge of the bed, pulling off your shoes. “Want you naked.” He demands and you nod, “undress me.”

He’s not gentle. Not when he’s going to see you naked again. The image is burned into his mind and he wants to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. Fabric rips but he just pulls harder in his haste to have you bare. “He’s a fucking idiot.” Dave hisses when he has you out of your dress to work on your undergarments. “I’d be right here. Everyday. Devouring you instead of fucking off.”

His words make you moan. A sound that’s been foreign to you in your prior couplings with your husband. Dave brings out a side of you you’ve never known. His hands work fast to remove your underwear, ripping the stockings and untying the garter belt. When you’re fully bare in front of you, you realize he’s still dressed. “This isn’t fair. You’re still clothed.” You huff, shaking your head at him as he looms above you.

He rolls his eyes but his tie is already gone so he slips the suspenders off his shoulders and starts to unbutton his shirt. “You want me naked, Princess? Over you, inside you like I’ve imagined a thousand times?” He smirks when he moves to shrug out of the shirt. “Jerked my cock raw the night you played with your cunt in front of me. Hottest goddamn thing I’ve ever seen.”

You are hypnotized by him as he removes his clothes. “I - I thought you were revolted by me that night. That you didn’t want me.” You confess breathlessly as he works in his trousers and you are so eager to see him.

“Princess, if you could hear the thoughts I was having…” Dave snorts. “The fucking arguement of why it was so stupid to touch you just then. I would have sold my fucking soul for an hour between those pretty thighs.”

You moan at his words and shift to kneel on the bed, reaching out to unbutton his pants, letting them fall to the floor and you reach into his briefs to pull out his hard cock. “Fuck me.” You choke at the sheer size of him, and you squeeze him. “I would’ve sold my soul if I knew you had this hiding in your pants.” You confess, looking up at him.

He chuckles, aware that for all his boasting, Dave has your husband beat in cock size. “You don’t even know if you can take me, Princess. I know that little cunt is tight.” He smirks. “Why don’t you get it nice and wet by sucking my cock like a good little whore?”

His words should insult you. You should slap him for being so crass but instead, it makes you moan. You moan and shuffle closer, your eyes fixed on his as you take him into your mouth. Jaw stretched as you wrap your lips around the head and taste the salt of his pre-cum that gathered.

“Fuck.” Dave hisses, looking down at where you are taking his cock into your mouth. It’s clear that you have no experience in it, Eddie had claimed you were disgusted by the idea, but it was just him you were refusing. “Relax your jaw.” He grunts, caressing your cheek and then sliding his hand down to cup your chin. Feeling your throat move. “Don’t gag.”

You follow his order, relaxing your jaw and you close your eyes to focus on not gagging as he rocks his hips. You want this to be good for him. You want him to enjoy every second of being with you. Your eyes open again just as he thrusts a little too hard and you gag as he pushes down your throat.

Pulling his hips back, Dave waits for you to catch your breath. “Is your cunt dripping? Throbbing from how turned on you are?” He coos, smirking down at your watery face. “You like it. You want me to use you, don’t you?”

You want him to use you, to make you feel things you’ve never felt before. “Yes. Please Dave. I need - I don’t even know what I need. No one - Edward never- please. Use me.” You beg and surge forward to take him into your mouth again.

Dave grunts, grabbing the back of your head and this time, he isn’t gentle. The way you eagerly open up for him has his hips snapping forward and he ignores the way you gag and gasp, enjoying the way your eyes water and your body heaves. Your cunt will be dripping wet by the time he touches you. Holding onto your head, he starts fucking your mouth, showing you how your husband should have been putting that smart little hole to use.

You choke around him, spit flying from your mouth and you moan when his cock twitches violently in your mouth. This is what you want. Passion. Need. Desire. Not just doing a duty. You moan his name, it's muffled around his length but you love when his dark eyes meet your watery ones and he lets out a dark chuckle.

“You love it.” He hums, rubbing his thumb through your spit. “Fuck, I bet you could cum from sucking my cock. Filthy.” He wants to spill down your throat, but he wants to fill you up more. Reluctantly pulling his hips back, he taps your cheek. “Flip over and push your ass up in the air. Legs spread. I want to see that cunt.”

You gasp, trying to catch your breath as a line of spit keeps you connected to him. “Fuck. Yes baby. I- I want you.” You promise and shift to kneel on the bed, settling down onto your elbows so he can see your dripping pussy on display for him.

Goddamn, your cunt is slick and shiny with arousal and Dave’s cock twitches. He reaches out and slaps your ass harshly, loving how you cry out in surprise. “Fuck.”

You cry out again when he smacks you and you love it. Sometimes Edward would smack your face if you displeased him but this - Dave smacking your ass- has you dripping for him. “Please baby. More.” You beg, wanting to feel more from him.

He chuckles, slapping your ass again and grabbing it with both hands. Squeezing it and pulling your cheeks apart to get a better look. He’s had plenty of women, but none that he’s wanted as much as he wants you. He slides a hand down to your cunt and groans at how wet you are. “Such a little whore, aren’t you? My whore.”

You should slap him for speaking to you like that but you can’t. You moan and nod, “yours, Dave. All yours. Your whore.” You promise as his fingers rub your hole to gather up all the arousal that has gathered there.

Dave groans at how wet you are, sliding two of his thick fingers inside you and hissing at how tight you are.

You pant as he pushes his digits deep and you know you’re going to enjoy this more than your own fingers inside of you. “Oh God, Dave.” You whine as he starts to pump his fingers inside of you. “Yessss.” You hiss when he curls them just right and your thighs shake slightly.

“Fuck, he’s been slacking.” He grunts. “I would have had this cunt worn out. Split open on my cock every night until you can't walk.” You aren’t his, but he would be so possessive of you if you were. Pushing him away, he would be so eager to bend you over and feed you his cock into all your holes.

You gasp at his words, gushing around his digits and his thumb presses against your clit. “Oh God. Oh shit. Da-Dave.” You cry as you clamp down on his fingers and moan his name, “I love - I love it.” You choke as he works you through your orgasm. The first you’ve ever had from another person.

Dave hisses at how tight you get, squeezing his fingers like a vice. “That’s it, Princess. You cum for me. Want you to be cock drunk when I’m done with you.” He’s got no intention of stopping now. Not when you have moaned his name because of him, he’s greedy for it.

You press your cheek against the cool sheets as his wet fingers caress your ass. “David.” You plead softly, “I need you to fuck me. Hard.” You beg, needing more from him. You’ve wanted him for so long. You need him now.

“I’m going to, Princess.” He doesn’t say anything else as he kneels behind you, ready to mount up. He knows that you are about to cheat, but you don’t care. He pumps his cock a few times and notches himself at your entrance, pushing deep with a grunt of your name.

You practically sob as he stretches you out. “Dave. Dave. Dave.” You chant as he stretches you more than Edward has ever. You feel like he’s splitting you in two but you fucking love it. You choke as he starts to move, thrusting hard and fast inside of you. You whimper as he thrusts deep, his fingers digging into your flesh and you swear you see stars.

He’s not gentle, you don’t want him to be. His hips slap against your ass while he ruthlessly buries his cock as deep as he can every thrust. Taking you, possessing you in the only way that he knows how and loving every single time you clamp down around him.

He pants as you push back against him, wanting him to take what he wants from you. “Yesss.” You hiss into the sheets, “that’s it baby. Oh God. Keep - keep going.” You plead as his fingers dig into your hips.

Dave groans, rubbing your hip and then slapping your ass right before he pushes deep again. “Good fucking god.” He hisses. “You are perfect. Fucking perfect.” So innocent, yet so fucking filthy. He twitches inside you. “You gonna cum on my cock for me?”

You nod, frantically trying to show him how good you can be for him. “Yes. Yes. I’m gonna - oh shit, Dave. You’re - it’s so good. I love - oh fuck.” You choke as he rocks into you, “I want you to- to show me what I’ve been missing.”

“This cunt is mine.” Dave growls, snapping his hips forward again. “Not his. Mine. Do you understand?” He rocks his hips and reaches around to grab your tit and squeezes. “Understand? You’re my whore now.

“Yes. Yes. Yours. All yours.” You promise as he squeezes your breast and you whimper his name, “I’m yours baby.” You vow as he fucks you into the mattress. Your wedding band glistens in the lamplight but you don’t pay it any mind, too focused on the man fucking you hard.

Dave grunts, knowing that he is getting close to cumming. Trying to hold back until you finish. Knowing that he needs to prove himself better than the piece of shit you’re married to. He slides his hand down to rub your clit as he pounds into you like it’s the last thing he will do.

Your nails dig into the bed sheets as he thrusts deep enough that you swear you feel him in your stomach and you are glad the staff have gone home so they don’t hear your cries of pleasure. “Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh! Ohhhh!” You squeal as you clamp down on his cock, thighs shaking and you collapse onto the sheets.

You soak him, making him groan. The squelching of his cock loud as he rocks through your orgasm and chases his own. “Fuck, fuck.” He spits out your name. “Gonna cum.”

You should tell him to pull out. To spill on your sheets or your skin. Yet the idea of him filling you up has you climaxing again, clamping down on his cock and he seems to be unable to hold back as he thrusts deep and spills inside of you, painting your walls. “Yessss.” You cry out, closing your eyes and tears push out of them as you moan into the sheets.

Dave growls as he fills you, bending over and covering your body with his while his cum paints your walls. “Fuck.” He pants, his forehead resting against your shoulder and he hisses in pleasure when your walls flutter around him. “You’re perfect.” He murmurs again.

You remain pressed into the mattress, his hot breaths against your skin make you shiver slightly and you revel in the bliss of being touched now you’ve always wanted. Especially by Dave. “God. You too. You too baby.” You murmur, not considering the consequences as you enjoy your betrayal of Edward, the birth of your freedom.

He doesn’t pull out immediately, staying buried inside you. His hand sliding back up to your breast and pinching your nipple. He chuckles when you squeal and nips your shoulder. “Shit.”

“I’ve waited a long time for you to do that.” You confess breathlessly and his chuckle vibrates against your skin. “Me too.” He admits and you turn your head to look at him. “I was convinced that Edward had you keeping me prisoner here for him.”

Dave snorts. “He might have thought that. But I was keeping an eye on you. If I was here, he was less likely to slap you around.” He murmurs softly.

You stiffen slightly at the reminder and Dave misreads and pulls out of you, not touching you as you shift to look at him. “He’s a bastard. I didn’t - my parents promised me to him when I was sixteen. We got married when I completed finishing school. He’s all I have ever known and - and he’s - I don’t think I can survive a lifetime being his wife.”

“I know.” Dave nods seriously. “He’s a bastard and his deeds are worse than you know.” He admits. “I know all his skeletons, and he’s never deserved you. Never deserved to touch you. I know I don’t deserve to touch you either, but I would never hit you.”

You sigh, reaching up to caress his cheek. “I shouldn’t trust you, but I do. You have done nothing but protect me. I know you’ve tried to talk to Eddie about him hitting me. You’ve fought my corner and I am so grateful to you for that, sweetheart.” You confess, sliding your hand down his neck until your palm rests over his heart. “Eddie can never know about this.” You say, “he will kill me.”

He’s a little insulted that you believe that he would let that happen, but he doesn’t push it. Knowing that sometimes seeing is believing. “Nothing will happen to you.” He promises vaguely, sure that you will think that means that Eddie won’t know. “You might be his wife, but you are mine.”

You can’t stop the smile on your face as he declares you as his. “Yours.” You promise, shifting onto your knees so you can lean in to kiss him. “I’m yours, baby.” You promise, “and we have at least a few days to enjoy ourselves.”

Dave smirks. “So you want me to send the staff home?” He asks, curious to see what you want. “Or just limit ourselves to the night when everyone has left?”

“Send them home. I don’t want them blabbing to Eddie about us and I definitely don’t want to miss a moment without touching you while I can.” You say, kissing his neck, “I want my fill of you.”

Chuckling, he reaches down and rubs your tit again. “So we’ll send them home and play house? The little woman gonna cook, clean and let me fuck her?” You snort but Dave knows you know how to cook. You’ve been taught to be a proper wife. “We’ll have a good week, Princess. I’ll take care of you.”

After you explain to the staff that you want a week to yourself to exercise the cooking and cleaning skills you were taught with a promise that they would still be paid, you and Dave are left alone to enjoy each other’s company. You decide to make dinner, getting the chicken from the icebox and you start chopping vegetables to show Dave what a good wife you could be if only Eddie hadn’t trapped you in this gilded cage.

Dave grunts and he walks into the kitchen, finding you in your bare feet and a house dress that he knows you aren’t wearing anything under. Even if it’s not traditionally lingerie, it’s sexy. To see you so relaxed. His cock twitches and he has found himself addicted to you. Fucking you all over the house, but he hasn’t taken you in the kitchen yet. He smirks to himself as he comes behind you and grabs your hips to press you against the cabinets. “Never figured a shapeless house dress would be so appealing.” He groans in your ear. “But I know all you have under it is your wet cunt, still slick from my spit.” He had taught you that a real man eats a cunt and you had begged him for it every morning so far.

You whimper as he kisses along your neck, “fuck. I- I love it. Wanted - wanted you to be able to touch me whenever you want.” You confess as you set the knife down on the counter and turn your head so you can press your lips to his.

Dave has touched you whenever he wanted. Done what he’s wanted with your body and you’ve loved it. Screamed his name every time when you’ve cum and confessed you’ve never cum so much in a week. His tongue slides into your mouth insistently and he presses his hard cock against your ass. Grinding against you as he kisses you and only when you’re breathless does he pull back. “Can you keep making dinner while I fuck you?” He asks, smirking as he slides the material up and sinks his hand between your thighs. “Keep cutting your vegetables while my cock is buried in your little cunt?”

You pant as he rubs your clit and you close your eyes for a second until he withdraws his hand and you whine. "Keep cutting." He demands and you pick up the knife with a shaky hand, moving extra slow to not cut yourself as he rubs your clit while his lips press against the nape of your neck.

“That’s it, Princess.” He praises roughly, loving how you will do anything and everything he asks of you. His fingers work your clit and he pulls his other hand back to work the belt of his trousers open. Foregoing suspenders today. “Gonna feel so good. Might want to eat with you on my cock.”

You pant as he touches you until he’s withdrawing his hand and you whine, annoyed until he lifts your dress higher and kicks your ankles apart, gripping his cock until he positions himself at your entrance. You gasp, nearly dropping the knife as he pushes into you. “Oh shit. Dave.” You moan at the sudden way he enters you.

“Oh shit is right.” Dave grits out. “You’re so tight, Princess. Your greedy little cunt just squeezes my cock tight.” He praises. “So fucking good. Keep chopping.” He orders, drawing his hips back and filling you again, just as quickly. Groaning your name as he sets a steady, even pace.

You cling to the knife, closing your eyes as he rocks into you, and you whimper, loving how it feels to have him inside of you like those. “Fuck Dave.” You whine and he growls, “keep cutting.” You obey, shifting to continue cutting the vegetables, and nearly chop off the tip of your finger as he hits something incredible inside of you.

Dave hisses, closing his eyes as he thrusts into you again and again. He’s already filled you up so many times, he’s sure you’re pregnant. You would have to be, but he doesn’t care. He wants you to be. Just to show the world you are his. “So fucking good, Princess. You gonna cum?”

You groan as he rocks into you, “fuck baby. I- Dave. Oh shit.” You choke, the knife clattering to the counter as he works you closer to your orgasm. “Yes - yea -yes. I’m gonna - oh God!” You squeal, lifting onto your tiptoes as he pushes you higher on the counter and he makes you cum hard.

He loves it. Loves how tight you get and how hard you cum. Soaking his length and squeezing it so damn tight he can barely move as you flutter around him. “Perfect.” He groans and rocks you through it before you relax and he can get his own.

You clench your fists as he tries to move inside of you. “Cum for me, Dave. Need - need to feel it. Please.” You beg, turning back to look at him over your shoulder. “Cum for me, my love.” You order, needing to feel him paint your walls for the umpteenth time.

Dave growls your name, feeling incredibly possessive as he fucks into your frantically. Needing to claim you, mark you as his own again and his hips bang you into the counter as he chases his orgasm. Thrusting deep and stiffening as he pumps you full of his seed with a groan of pleasure.

You moan as you watch him, panting as he thrusts slowly to ride out his orgasm and you love how good it feels to have him touch you like this. Your time is coming to an end. Eddie will be returning in the morning and you know you’ll be aching for Dave when he has to retreat from your bed.

Dave pants, dropping his head onto your shoulder as he catches his breath. “Fuck.” He moans softly, chuckling. “It keeps getting better.” He muses, pulling out of you gently to tuck himself away.

You nod, feeling his cum start to drip as he pulls out of you but you don’t care as you grab the knife and resume cutting up the vegetables. “Dinner won’t be too long.” You tell him as he adjusts his suspenders and lowers your house dress. You desperately wish Eddie wasn’t coming back. That you could stay in this domestic bliss with Dave forever. That’s not going to happen though. Especially when you don’t notice the front door being opened.

“I’m home!” Eddie calls out, making Dave stiffen slightly. “Where the fuck is everyone?”  He shouts. Dave doesn’t look at you, just disappears through the doorway to go greet your husband. “Your wife was bored so I sent the staff home.” He greets Eddie with a smirk that is completely for show. “Let her cook and clean.”

Your back stiffens as you hear Eddie shout out and you hiss as you catch your finger with the knife, blood starting to drip from your skin. You set the knife down just as Eddie walks into the kitchen, Dave’s cum slick on your inner thighs. “Hello darling.” He greets you and comes over to press a kiss to your lips. “Look at you, acting like a domestic goddess.” He mocks you as he grabs your wrist, “can’t even cut some vegetables up.” He scoffs, “I’ll call the staff back right away. I want things done properly around here.” He says as he lets go of your wrist, blood trickling down your finger.

Dave can tell you are upset and he catches Eddie’s attention. “Come let me tell you how everything’s been going.” He tells him. “Have a drink and you can relax. I know you are tired from work.”

You watch the men leave, your eyes burning into Dave’s back as he walks out of the kitchen and tears sting in your eyes. Was this all a game to him? To seduce you and leave you in this terrible marriage. Tears stream down your cheeks and mix with the water as you wash your hand and bandages your finger up, finishing up the vegetables and putting the chicken in to cook while you bathe to wash Dave’s cum from your thighs.

Dave forces a smile on his face while he listens to Eddie boast about the little whore he had been fucking all week. Lying about his prowess when he knows the other man does a shit job with fucking. “Decided I needed to come home and finally get my useless wife pregnant.” He huffs. “Although if she doesn’t give me a son soon, I’m going to leave her.” Dave pretends to look understanding but he wants to choke the man. “I don’t think that you’re gonna be able to right now.” He tells him. “She’s been complaining about womanly things.” He confides.

****

Dinner is served in the dining room, Eddie and Dave seated at one end of the table, you at the other. You had changed into an evening dress and laid out the dinner for you and the men. “Needs more seasoning. It’s a bit overcooked.” Eddie tells Dave who doesn’t glance over at you. You miss those dark brown eyes already. You reach for your glass of wine, downing it, and you don’t know how long you can suffer being prisoner in this house with Eddie.

Dave hums and cleans his plate, eating every bite of the delicious food. Everything was perfect, your husband just enjoys finding faults with you. Dave knows he’s never loved you, never really wanted more than your connections, your name attached to his. “I’m going to stay tonight.” Dave tells him. “My housekeeper has the week off since you were supposed to be back tomorrow.”

“Of course. Stay. You might want to take one of the rooms on the other side of the house.” Eddie whispers and you don’t hear as you stand up, “I’m going to clean up and retreat to my quarters. Dessert is on the counter if you wish to have it.” You tell the men after they stand up and Dave looks at you for the first time since Edward returned. “Goodnight Eddie. Goodnight David.” You say and take your plate to the kitchen to wash it up. You feel a little sick at the fact that the week with Dave will always be in your mind, a taste of what freedom could feel like.

Dave frowns slightly, unhappy that the idiot had ignored his lie that you were experiencing your monthly bleeding. Instead of pressing it, which would seem strange, he just grunts. He has no intention of sleeping anywhere but your bed.

****

You are in your nightgown, ready for bed, when there’s a knock at your door. You grin, thinking it’s Dave and you rush over to the door, flinging it open and your stomach drops when it’s Edward standing there, glass of whiskey in hand. “To what do I owe this honor?” You ask, unable to withhold an attitude - something you’ve picked up from Dave over the week. Eddie steps into your room, shutting the door behind him and you swallow harshly. “I want to fuck my wife after I’ve been gone all week.” He declares and you shake your head, “I am having my monthly bleed. You can’t - you don’t like it.” You remind him of his disgust for your natural cycle - a reminder of your failures as his wife, you suppose. “I don’t give a fuck about that. Need to get you pregnant.” He grunts and steps closer, “lay down. I won’t be long.” He promises, working on removing his suspenders. You know it would be suspicious to argue, to refuse him. You want to scream at him that no one is allowed inside of you except Dave. Only if you said that, you and Dave would be on the line. You could run away, you could push him back, but you won’t. You need to do this and you willingly do it to protect yourself. You shift to lay down on your sheets, staring up at the ceiling as Eddie shoves your nightgown up. There’s no arousal, there’s no pleasure. You wince as he pushes inside of you, closing your eyes as you imagine Dave, the way he looks when he first thrusts into your cunt. The awestruck look in those gorgeous eyes as he ensures you always climax before he does. The look of concentration as he adjusts his thrusts according to your moans. It makes you wet enough to accommodate your husband as he ruts into you. A tear escapes and rolls down your cheek but Edward doesn’t notice. His fingers dig into your flesh and you clench around him, trying to spur him on to finish faster. Eddie grunts several more times before he lets out a low moan, his hot seed coating your walls and you keep your eyes shut, trying to imagine it’s Dave filling you up. He lowers your legs and tucks his cock away. “Keep lying down. Need you to give a son, goddamn it, woman.” He growls and you nod, staring up at the ceiling as he exits your bedroom without another word. You quickly sit up, making your way into your en-suite to wash his cum out of you, scrubbing your skin clean until it burns and finally, you collapse back in your bed and curl into a ball, praying he didn’t get you pregnant, that you aren’t trapped here forever.

Dave scowls from the shadow of the alcove beyond your room as Eddie walks past him. Imagining dragging him back and beating him to death in front of you. Instead, he says nothing, waiting another few minutes to make sure the bastard doesn't decide to come back for another round before he moves from his spot. Silently approaching your door and slipping inside, locking it behind him to keep everyone out. The sight of you curled up on your bed breaks his head and Dave moves over to you quickly.

When Dave curls around you, his strong arms dragging you back into his chest, you break down. Turning, you sob into his chest at the fact that you could never be with him. Eddie won’t let you know. He’d rather kill you than let you divorce him, and now, he’s going to get you pregnant so you can’t leave him. Dave rubs your back, holding you close and kissing your hair until you fall asleep, tear stained face relaxing as you let the man you love hold you.

Dave holds you all night. He doesn’t move, doesn’t shift you away from him. Even if his clothes are not as comfortable as stripping down, he doesn’t let you go. Knowing you need the comfort he can bring you, and he enjoys that you find comfort in him. Never experiencing that until you. He doesn’t even sleep, just continues to rub your back when you shift and murmurs soft words to ease you back to sleep.

****

It’s been a month since the night Edward came into your room and you stare at the calendar on your vanity. Counting down the days until your next bleed and you’re overdue. “Shit.” You hiss, unsure of how to feel. If you are pregnant, you’re almost certain it’s Dave’s. Edward has fucked you in the past three years and your cycle has always been exactly on time. You bite your lip, unsure of what to tell your husband or Dave and when your housekeeper comes in, you request that she has the butler send for the doctor. You need to know for certain if you are with child. After that…you’ll figure it out. While you wait for the doctor, you feel ill and end up lying down on your bed, thinking of Dave. He has to return home more often than not to keep up appearances but when he stays in the house, he stays in your bed. His hand over your mouth to smother your moans as he takes you in the middle of the night while Eddie sleeps. In the daytime, he keeps his distance, barely speaking to you in front of Edward and you miss the days he’d sit and talk to you for hours about everything and nothing.

Dave has his ear to the ground in every corner of the house. Keeping an eye on what Eddie is doing and how you are being treated. There’s been no abuse since he’s been back, although he’s fucked you a few more times. Each time, Dave has come into your room when he leaves, comforting you and holding you while you cry. While he silently continues to get ready for his departure from Eddie’s employment. When the housekeeper rushes to call the doctor, Dave frowns slightly, wondering if you’ve caught something and makes his way to your room.

You wipe your eyes as the door to your room opens and you look in the mirror of your vanity to find Dave standing there. “Is everything okay?” He asks and you shake your head, lower lip trembling. “I- I - I am late. To bleed. I think I’m with child.” You confess, standing up on shaky legs to wrap your arms around Dave, needing his comfort.

Dave’s eyes widen and he immediately looks down to your stomach even as he folds you into his arms. “It is okay.” He promises you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “If you are pregnant, then you are pregnant. I knew it could happen. I will not be upset.”

You sniff, shaking your head, and you cup his cheek. “What if…what if it’s Edward’s? It’s - there’s a chance. I can’t - I’d be trapped here forever.” You choke, starting to panic.

“I doubt it’s Edward’s.” Dave comforts you quietly, holding you tightly and shaking his head. “If it is Edward’s child by some small chance, it makes no difference with my plans. You will not be stuck with him.”

You frown at his words, wondering what he has planned but before you can ask, there’s a knock at the door. You pull back from Dave just as your maid enters to announce the doctor’s arrival. You glance at Dave, anxious for your examination. The doctor orders for you to lay down on the bed, and you wish Dave could come over and hold your hand. “You are dismissed, Mr. York.” Your maid tells Dave, her eyes suspicious as she wonders why Dave was in your room. Dave nods, his eyes meeting yours for a second until he exits the room. You want to demand he stays but that would be strange to the staff. The doctor takes your blood and you wince as his hands push your dress up. Pressing his hand to your stomach, he hums and pushes two fingers into you, making you grimace. “We need a urine sample as well.” He declares and you get off of the bed after he shifts away from you. Peeing into the small cup, you pray that if you are pregnant, the baby is Dave’s. At least you’ll have some part of him when your affair has to end because of Edward. You come out to find the doctor examining the samples with the heavy equipment he had brought up and he’s there for a while until he says “you’re pregnant, Mrs. Holt.” You nod, absorbing the news, unsure of if you should be happy or not.

“Your husband will be most pleased.” He’s aware that Edward wants a son and he is pulling out some pills for you to take. “To help with the nausea to come and settle your nerves.” He explains. “You are not too far along so if you experience heavy spotting, please call.”

Your maid takes the pills and nods, “we will call if there is anything amiss.” She promises and you nod, a little dumbstruck by the news. You’ve done everything you could to avoid getting pregnant by Edward. You pray the baby is Dave’s. Even if you’re stuck with Edward, at least you’ll have a part of the man you love and the happy memories. Your hand slides down to your stomach and the doctor soon leaves. “Congratulations, ma’am.” She smiles at you. You offer her a weak smile back. “Shall I bring you something to eat?” She asks and you nod, “yes please.” She exits your bedroom, leaving you to absorb the news. Second after she leaves, your door opens and Dave slides into your bedroom. “What did he say?” He asks, anxious as you were, and you look at him, “he confirmed it. I’m pregnant.”

Dave nods seriously, trying to gauge your feelings as he steps closer to you. “Pregnant.” He murmurs softly. “So I guess I can’t fuck you?” He asks and you shake your head. “Sex is still allowed, but Dave…” he cuts you off and lunges forward to press his lips to yours harshly. Wanting to remind you that no matter what, you are his.

You moan into his mouth, your fingers gripping his suspenders to pull him closer so you can press your entire body against him. You belong to him, your heart belongs to him. His ring isn’t on your fingers and you’re not sure if it’s his child inside of you, but the rest of you is entirely his. “I love you.” You murmur breathlessly as he pulls back to work on removing your clothes, exposing the stomach that hasn’t just rounded with the baby inside of you. Potentially his baby.

Dave groans as he caresses your stomach and leans down. “You know how I feel.” He tells you before biting your nipple through the fabric of your bra. He doesn’t have too long before the maid returns but he wants to make you feel good. “Unzip my pants, Princess.”

You do know how he feels in the way he touches you, the nights he spends wrapped around you. It’s a tragic tale. A story of two people that love each other but can never be. All you have for now is his touch. You won’t waste a second. You fumble to unzip his pants and you reach in to pull his half hard cock out of his briefs. You hook your fingers in your panties, pushing them down your legs but keeping your stockings and garter belt on as you grab his tie and guide him back towards your bed. “Fuck me, David.” You order, wanting to lose yourself in his touch while you can.

He chuckles at your impatience, though he feels the same way. Following you onto the bed and he wishes he had time to lay you out, to feast on you. To make you limp from pleasure before he ever slides inside you. “We’re gonna have a baby.” He murmurs, reminding you that he’s with you, even if the baby is not his.

You watch him spit in his hand and pump his cock a few times to get harder and you shift to lay on the bed, your head against your pillows as he shifts to hover over you, his hand trailing along your inner thigh. He pushes you open to accommodate his body between your legs and he guides his cock to your cunt, slowly pushing in and you moan at the look on his face as he claims you as his.

Dave groans your name. Reaching down to pull you up to his lips as he starts to move. Loving how you are so sensitive to him. Clenching down his cock and whimpering his name.

Your hands slide along his arms, caressing the hair at the nape of his neck before you loop your arms around his neck, dragging him down on top of you, wanting to feel the weight of him. He shifts to his elbows, keeping his weight off of your stomach and you moan when he kisses along your neck. “Gotta be quiet, sweetheart.” He reminds you and you nod, biting your lip as he moves inside of you.

Dave rocks into you again and again. Watching you as he does to make sure he doesn’t hurt you by accident. Even as rough as he has been on his harshest with you, he wants you to enjoy yourself. Doesn’t want to hurt the baby.

Your nails dig into the back of his neck as he pushes you closer to your orgasm, falling over the edge when his fingers find your clit, and you whimper his name, trying to keep quiet. 

“Dave!” You choke, clamping down on his cock.

****

“Oh God, Dave!” You moan, your hand finding his as he moves inside of you. It’s the middle of the night and Dave snuck into your room to see you. His body curls around yours as he rocks into you from behind, his fingers rubbing your clit to work you through your orgasm until his hand slides up to your bump. You’re due any day now. Secretly terrified that the baby is Edward’s. Your husband is over the moon, telling everyone his son will be here any day now, and you want to scream at him that it could be Dave’s child. It might not be a boy either. Edward has been strangely affectionate towards you, no longer hitting you or belittling you. He has been disappearing to his whores still but he hasn’t been cruel to you during your pregnancy. Dave has been here, decided to move in after Edward insisted he move in to protect you during his extended “business trips.” Obviously, you and Dave loved the idea and for the past nine months, you and Dave have continued your affair under the nose of your husband. “Cum for me.” You murmur, turning your head to nudge your nose against Dave’s jaw as it clenches with his imminent orgasm.

“I love you.” Dave groans out, knowing how much you love hearing that. You’ve grown more beautiful as the months have gone by and he has enjoyed seeing you swell with his child. He knows it’s his child, he feels it. The baby inside you responding to his voice, his presence. He takes such satisfaction from the fact that you have been safe here and Dave hasn’t wanted to move forward with his plans just yet because of your pregnancy. So he has been taking care of you this entire time while waiting for the perfect place

He pushes deep into you and groans into your neck as he cums, painting your walls with his seed and you sigh in bliss. The baby moves beneath Dave's hand as he caresses your bump. "I love you." You whisper, silently praying that the baby is Dave's. You turn your head to kiss the man you love, nudging your nose against his as he relaxes behind you. "Not long now." He murmurs and you nod, "baby is coming any day now." You feel apprehensive, scared for the pains of childbirth and terrified to find out who the father is once and for all.

Dave doesn’t pull out of you, staying buried inside you as you sigh again. “Don’t worry.” He murmurs, rubbing your stomach gently. “I just wish I could be with you.” Even if he was your husband, he wouldn’t be allowed to be in the room while you are giving birth, and he hates it.

You feel yourself tear up at the fact that he won't be in the room with you. You place your hand over his, "I wish you could too." You murmur, closing your eyes as he remains inside of you, surrounding you. 

****

Your scream echoes through the house, your forehead soaked with sweat as you bear down once again. "That's it, Mrs. Holt. Keep pushing." The midwife orders and you shake your head as you grip the sheets. "I- I can't." You choke, "so tired." You murmur and your maid slaps you awake. "You can." She demands and you start to sob, "please. I need Dave." You beg, lost in the haze of your pain. "You need to push." Daisy, your maid demands, and you scream through gritted teeth, pushing as hard as you can on the next contraction until finally, the pressure releases and you gasp in a breath as the pain immediately recedes. A cry fills the air seconds later and it's a blur as the midwife wraps the baby up and carries it to you to place it on your bare chest. "It's a boy." She declares and you look down at the baby in your arms. Your eyes scan his features as he wails in your arms, and you start to sob again.

Dave doesn’t even act like he wasn’t listening to every scream, every cry. Sitting by himself outside the door. Edward had disappeared to go be with his lover as soon as you had started moaning in pain. Telling Dave to send word once his son had been born. At least he hadn’t had to pretend that he didn’t care. He hadn’t demanded to be in the room, but he hadn’t left. Looking up from the drink in his hand every time the door opened. Now, with the cry of a baby, he leaps to his feet and pushes into the room as he calls out your name.

You look up with tears streaming down your cheeks as Dave barges into the room, ignoring the cries of protest from the other women, and he immediately comes to your side, kissing your forehead. "Are you okay?" He asks, wanting to make sure you aren't suffering from more than childbirth itself. "I-" You can't speak as you adjust the baby at your breast so Dave can see his face. He looks just like his father. Dave's signature nose and there's no denying who his father is. He doesn't look like Edward at all. "Your son." You mouth, eyes crinkling with happiness as you cradle the baby.

“My son.” Dave murmurs in awe, caressing your cheek and staring down at the babe in your arms. He doesn’t give a damn if they know now that you have been unfaithful to Edward. All that matters is that you and the baby are safe. “Our son, Princess. You have done such a good job.” He kisses your forehead and leans in to kiss the baby. “I love you.” He whispers softly as the baby quiets down when he hears his voice. He had talked to your stomach a lot during the late night hours when he couldn’t sleep.

Daisy isn't dumb. She knows about you and Dave but she has kept it to herself. Edward has treated you horribly during your marriage and she has never seen you so happy when David is around. Your secret is safe with her. You want to kiss him but the midwife is pushing down on your stomach for the afterbirth and you are exhausted. Once the placenta has been accounted for, the midwife carries the baby off to bathe him and weigh him, and Daisy helps you clean up and changes the sheets to let you rest in the bed. Dave remains in the room the entire time, and eventually, the midwife is letting you rest and placing the baby in the bassinet. No one says a word as they exit the room and leave Dave watching over his family. The silence only lasts a few minutes until the baby starts to cry and Dave walks over to the bassinet, quickly scooping his son into his arms. He walks over to the window, looking at his son before he looks up at the stars. "You are destined for incredible things, my boy. You will be the best of me and your mother." He promises, leaning in to kiss the baby's forehead as he settles down in his arms. Dave stands there for a while watching the baby sleep until the door flings open. "Dave, you did not send word! The butler sent a car for me. Let me see him." Edward rushes over to Dave and you are woken up by the noise and your sleepy eyes widen as Dave holds the baby.

“It’s a boy? The driver told me it was a boy.” In his excitement, he doesn’t question why Dave is holding his son and is shocked when your lover pulls back so Edward can’t touch him. “You will not touch my son.” Dave growls, finally allowing his hatred for Edward to shine through his eyes as he looks at the other man in disgust. “That’s right, he’s mine. Your wife is mine. I got her pregnant. I filled her with my seed and satisfied her in ways you could never imagine.” Dave chuckles at the shocked look on Eddie’s face as the maid rushes over to take his son from his arms. “You are through, Edward. I’ve managed to take all your business partners. They will be ending their dealings with you. While you were off fucking your whores, I was replacing you. In business and in your life.” He smirks. “Your wife is in love with me and I’m going to marry her. Give our son my last name and raise him.”

Edward’s eyes widen and he looks over at you, waiting for a denial but you don’t say a word. He knows it’s true. The man he’s trusted most in the world with everything has pulled the rug out from under him. “You motherfucker.” Eddie growls, advancing on Dave and Daisy holds the baby, backing up against the wall. Dave easily dodges the hit and raises his arm to punch your husband in the jaw. “I don’t want to fight you. Just want you to let us walk away.” Dave says as Eddie bows over in pain. “No. No. You can’t take her. She’s mine. She’s my fucking wife. Her family money. It’s mine.” He growls as surges forward to hit Dave again.

Dave blocks the clumsy attempt and his next punch knocks Edward down onto the carpeted floor. Making him groan in pain and Dave points at him. “I’ve killed men, Ed, don’t make me kill you.” He growls, not wanting you to be more upset than you already are. Daisy rushes towards the bed and gives you the baby after you start crying. “Stay down.” He warns, but Edward is too crazed by anger. “You bastard!” He hisses as he struggles to his feet. “You were nothing but a thug when I met you. I made you and you betrayed me?” He lunges forward again and Dave strikes first, punching him in the gut and then giving him another uppercut that damn near knocks the man out as he drops to the ground. “It’s done.” Dave spits.

You shake your head, “please Eddie. Just walk away.” You beg, cradling the baby who is crying at the noise, and Eddie sees you sitting there with a child that is not his and he sees red. “You fucking bitch. You’re a goddamn whore! I should kill you and that bastard in your arms.” He growls and surges forward towards you but Dave grabs him, swinging him around and Edward hisses, grabbing the knife from his belt. Dave spots it immediately and grabs Edward’s arm, twisting it and he doesn’t think. He just acts as he shoves Edward towards the window. The glass breaks as Edward flies out of the third floor window, glass shatters on the floor and Dave watches as the man he considered a friend many years ago plunges to his death. You scream, the baby crying in your arms and you watch Dave inhale deeply, chest heaving as Edward is flung out of the window.

Dave looks down at the broken and bloody body for a second before he looks back at Daisy, his eyes dark. “I- he attacked you.” Daisy stutters, terrified of what she’s just witnessed. “He went crazy and you couldn’t reason with him, Mr. York.” She knows that is the truth, but if the police know that you and Dave had cuckolded Edward, they would arrest him for murder.

You’re shaking as you try to calm the baby, trying to soothe him as your heart pounds. Edward is dead. “Da-Dave.” You stammer, needing reassurance from him, to know he’s okay. You saw the knife and you were terrified that Dave was going to be killed.

His gaze slides from Daisy to you and he softens immediately, rushing over to you and crushing you and the baby to his chest. “It’s okay, it’s over.” He promises you. “He’ll never hurt you again, he’ll never touch our son.” He kisses your forehead several times and then presses his lips to yours before kissing the baby. “It’s okay.” He croons gently. He’s a harsh man, but he would never hurt those he loves and you and his son are at the top of that list. “It’s okay, baby boy. You’re safe, you’re safe with mama and papa.”

You sob as he curls around you, protecting you from everything outside of this room, even your now deceased husband. “I love you.” You murmur, kissing him softly and you cradle the baby. “Please don’t leave me.” You beg, needing him here, needing him to be here with you and the baby. “We need to name our son.” You tell Dave, pulling back to look at him.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Dave promises. “What do you want to name him, baby?” He asks softly. Soon the police will be here but he wants to pick out a name first. “We can wait until we are married.” He offers. “Give him my last name officially.”

You nod, “yes. I want him to have your last name. I want to call him Samuel. After your father.” You tell Dave softly. He had told you about his family and you reach up to caress his cheek. “No matter what happens. I love you. I am yours, David York.”

“I love you too.” He promises softly, pressing his lips against yours once more. He had fallen in love with you and tried to stay away. Unable to resist the temptation of you and now he has you, a beautiful son and you will never have to worry about him lifting a hand to you. He will kill for you and his son, he’s already proven that.

****

You remove your earrings, looking at Dave in the mirror of your vanity as he works on taking off his tie and cufflinks. “Last one married off.” He chuckles, setting down the cufflinks on the side. “Five children. Five weddings. Makes me think of ours. The little courthouse wedding we had after the police let you out of questioning and Edward was buried.” You haven’t thought of your ex husband for many years. You and Dave had to wait until Edward was buried before you could be married then your first son was officially a York and so were you. Edward’s estate became yours as his widow and you decided to sell the estate and find somewhere new with David. “I’ve been thinking about that.” Dave hums as he walks over to you and reaches into his pocket. He kneels down and your eyes widen, “baby?” You gasp when he opens a velvet box to display a beautiful diamond ring. “Marry me again. Renew our vows. I want us to have the wedding we should’ve had.” He declares and you sniff, tears gathering in your eyes. “Yes. Always yes.” You promise, leaning in to press your lips to his after you cup his cheeks. “I love you, Dave.” You murmur and he nudges his nose against yours, sliding the ring onto your finger next to the simple gold band he got you for your wedding. “I love you too, Princess.” He promises, “I’d do anything for you.” He murmurs softly and you smile, “even kill.” You remind him and he chuckles, “even kill.” He says and helps you stand up, wanting to remind you how much he loves you. You never imagined that you’d be rescued from a loveless, abusive marriage but Dave was your knight in shining armor.

[frannyzooey]

Joel Miller x f!reader

Rating: E (age gap)

Summary: Best friends with younger one, you’ve known the Miller brothers since forever — you’ve wanted the older one for just as long.

a/n: it’s been a while! I’ve been writing over on Ao3, but thought I would pop in and say hi and happy summer ❤️ enjoy! —

Glancing at the clock on the wall, you wonder how much longer you need to stay before it’s appropriate to leave. 

You can’t even remember the name of the person who's talking at you – someone who said they took calc with you or something, back in high school. Brian, maybe? Ben? Picking at the label on the bottle in your hand, you tip the last swallow of warm beer into your mouth, grimacing at the taste. 

“Gimme a second,” you interrupt him. “I’ll be right back.”

Not a fuckin’ chance , you think to yourself. 

Navigating through the crowd of people packed into the Miller’s living room, you make your way towards the kitchen. Needing another beer to get through it all, you head straight for the fridge – only to see someone already there, their broad back facing you. When they straighten and shut the door, you reach out and pluck the beer from their hand.

“Thanks for the beer, Miller.”

Joel huffs, grabbing another one from the fridge. Turning to face you, he leans his hip against the counter. 

“You even old enough to drink?” Twisting the cap off, he takes a long, slow drink, his throat working with the motion. 

You roll your eyes, and his eyes drift down your body and back up again. 

Playing it cool, you clink your bottle against his. 

“Cheers, old man.”

His eyes narrow, and he waits a beat before tipping the bottle against his lips. 

His face has been a fixture in your life for as long as you’ve known Tommy –  a kid you met back in elementary school. Tommy was a few years older than you, Joel even older than him. The fact that you were younger never bothered Tommy –  you were just as daring as any boy his age, and he was more fun than any girl your own. A fixture by his side more often than not, you’d stuck together through middle school and then high school, through boyfriends and girlfriends, through Tommy’s enlistment after senior year. 

The entire time, Joel was there. 

In the beginning, you never paid him any attention. Busy working since he could, you barely saw him. The couple times you did see him at parties, it was only as Tommy’s ride, or showing up when Tommy got in trouble with his mouth. Like he never had any patience for parties or stuff like that; an aged man since forever. Even at their house, Joel had been…around, but he never stuck around for long. Always drifting away to go hang out in the garage, or in his room. 

It was during high school when you started looking at him differently. Started paying attention to him in a way you never did before. Starting noticing things like he never had a girl around –  or at least one that stuck , though you knew he knew his way around them, because you saw him in town sometimes. 

Walking out of a liquor store with a brown bag, a girl sitting in the passenger seat of his truck. 

Pulling open the door of the bar, his hand on the small of another girl’s back. 

Once, you saw him at the movie theater you worked at senior year. You still remember the heat that flooded your face when he strolled up to the ticket booth where you were standing, the broad smile he had on his face for his date, one that turned your insides warm. His arm was looped around her back, his hand resting on her ass with casual confidence. 

You’d never been so jealous of someone in your life. 

You left him behind (not that he ever knew it) when you went away to college. A visit back home after your first year timed with a visit home from Tommy,  Joel is right where you left him, still on the fringes. Only at the party to keep an eye on things, to make sure it doesn’t get out of hand, still keeping to himself. He’s been upstairs all night, only coming down every so often for another beer. 

The mystery of how he spent his time used to consume you back in your school-kid crush days…and it comes back full force, when he leaves you in the kitchen to go back up to his room. 

Leaving the noise of the party behind you, you climb the worn carpeted stairs. The second floor of their house is off limits to party guests, but you also know that doesn’t apply to you. Having been to this house more times than you can count, you know right where Joel’s bedroom is. You’ve never been in it though, which is part of the pull that drives you towards it – along with a slice of light that breaks through where he’s left the door cracked.

You nudge it open with your knuckle, to find him sitting inside. 

At a desk chair, his legs spread wide in his slouch. A beer rests in his hand, the other one holding a book and at your presence, he puts the book face down in his lap. 

He frowns. “Everything okay down there?”

“Yea. Just thought I’d come up and say hi. See what you’re doing.”

“Said hi in the kitchen,” he teases. He lifts the book with one hand. “And I was readin’.”

Used to his gruff sarcasm, you ignore it. “Any good?” 

His eyes follow you as you walk further into the room, sitting down on the edge of his bed. 

“Not really,” he answers. “Just waitin’ for everyone to leave.”

You know that’s not going to happen any time soon; another large group of people had walked in just as you made your way upstairs. 

A golden hue washes over everything, a single lamp burning on the desk, the colors of everything else dulled in the dim light. Shadows pool in the corners of the room, but he is lit, though only parts of him: the chestnut ends of his curls, his tanned skin, the stretch of his jeans across his thighs. The bed you sit on has a rumpled comforter, clearly having been slept in. 

Arousal pools low and heady between your hips. 

Has he ever brought another girl up here? Has he fucked anyone in this bed?

You imagine it briefly: his flushed cheeks, his heavy breathing, his muscles shifting under his skin. Your hand trembles, and you grip your beer tighter. 

“Already sick of bein’ downstairs?” he asks. 

You thumb at the condensation gathered on the bottle, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Yea. Sort of. It’s always a little awkward when you come back, you know?”

He shakes his head. “Not really. Never been anywhere but here.”

Your shoulders slump, and you let out a sigh. “Right. But you know what I mean.”

Suddenly, the weight of exhaustion pulls at you: the smiles you had to force downstairs, the names you tried to recall, the crush of people and the fake enthusiasm. You came here for Tommy, and you’ve barely seen him tonight. Forgetting for a second that you’re not in Tommy’s bedroom, you relax and let yourself fall backwards on Joel’s bed. The second you do it, you freeze – but don’t correct it. 

You’re in Joel Miller’s bed. Lying down. 

You feel the hem of your shirt ride up, but don’t fix it. The sheets smell like him, and you hear him huff. 

You also feel the weight of his eyes on you. 

–

He should be more annoyed that you’re in his bedroom, but he can’t take his eyes off your legs: a mile long in your cutoffs, the slight peek at the curve of your ass in their ride high. The slice of soft skin he can see, between your waistband and your shirt. 

He watches you roll over and prop your head up on your hand, not liking at all how good you look in his bed. 

He’s been watching you since you came back. Watched you even before that, though he’d never admit it. Walking around their backyard in a tiny bikini when you lounge with Tommy by the pool, looking gorgeous as hell all windblown and carefree sitting in the passenger seat of Tommy’s truck, looking so fucking innocent and beautiful swamped in one of Tommy’s sweaters by the bonfires he’s been having at night since he came back.  

The sight of your ass in those shorts as you walk around their house has been imprinted on his mind all week. 

He sits up, clearing his throat. Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, he lets his head hang down between his shoulders. If he can avoid looking at you, maybe his cock will stop hardening with interest. 

“I think you better get back downstairs.”

“I just wanna catch up,” you reply innocently, looking anything but. 

He looks up, giving you a knowing look in reprimand. “That ain’t all you wanna do.”

He doesn’t know what compelled him to say that to you , but he does know it to be true. He’s seen the look on your face on plenty of women before – women . You’re a girl . One he’s known since forever. One he never thought about until he did, and one he tried not to think about once he started. 

One who is way too fucking young for the things he’s thought about doing to you. 

“No?” you ask. “Why don’t you tell me what you think I wanna do?”

He shakes his head instead. 

The edges of your mouth curl up in a soft, teasing smile. “Joel Miller, a secret prude.” 

His head snaps up, “I ain’t no prude, honey, you’re just –”

“Honey?” Your eyebrows lift, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’m just what?”

“ Young. Too young.”

“I’m twenty.”

He tilts his head, narrowing his eyes and you cave. 

“Almost. In a few months.”

He huffs in disgust, dropping his head back down. “Jesus Christ. A baby.”

He feels you study him for a moment. 

“I missed you while I was gone, you know.”

The confession surprises him, and he looks up to find your face completely sober, truthful. 

“Did you miss me?” you ask quietly. 

The vulnerability on your face pulls at him, and even though he knows what will happen if he gets on that bed, he wants to. If only to tuck you against his chest and reassure you that he did. He really did. He knows you think he never noticed you, but that’s only because he made you feel that way. He couldn’t notice you, for both your sakes. 

“Just come…sit with me, okay?” you ask. “I’m not gonna bite.”

He doesn’t move for a moment, keeping his eyes on the floor. He feels you wait with bated breath, knowing full well that he should stand up and walk you out of his bedroom…but he can’t bring himself to leave you hanging like that. 

Instead, he stands, and walks over to the bed. 

Your face flashes with surprise that you try to hide, and he smirks. 

There is a look on your face he’s seen a million times — a bolstering sort of lift to your chin, the look of a tough girl that would follow his brother anywhere. A girl who never backed down, even when he could tell she was nervous. 

A girl he knows he shouldn’t want, but does anyway. 

He tests the waters, crawling onto his bed. Stretching out next to you, he sprawls across the mattress, his broad form partially covering yours in shadow.  He can feel the heat gather between your bodies. You look even younger close up, and he leans closer, unable to stop himself from pushing to see how far you’ll go.

He recognizes that same determined look on your face now, only this one is slightly different. This one is laced with lust, and want. So much fucking want it makes him ache. 

“Okay, big girl,” he drawls. “Now what?”

–

It’s his turn to be surprised when you lean in and press your mouth to his. 

You can tell because he momentarily freezes when your lips meet, his stubble brushing against your skin, your lips fitting neatly along the seam of his own.  You kiss him again, this time opening your mouth just enough to let him in and he takes your invitation, the taste of beer thick on his tongue when he slides it against yours. His hand comes up, cradling the curve of your jaw as you tilt your head to the side to deepen the kiss and a soft sound that catches in the back of your throat has his fingers flexing, pulling you closer. 

The sheets rustle beneath you when he takes over, his hold guiding you beneath him on the bed. He kisses you harder, longer, a deep groan rumbling from his chest, the light of the room blocked out behind him. His solid body weighs heavy on top of you, his denim clad hips pushing between your thighs with a grind and you open your legs wider, his hand sliding up the outside of your leg to hitch your knee around his hip. 

It’s sensory overload after wanting him for so long. You’ve daydreamed about this a million times, imagined it happening a million different ways, but you never thought it would be anything like this. Lost in the weighted haze of lust, drunk on the way he feels against you, head swimming with arousal, the crotch of your panties already so fucking wet that they slide over your achingly empty core with every rock of his hips into yours. Meeting the rolling grind of his hips with your own, you feel the weight of his cock press against you, his calloused hand covering your breast with a squeeze. His hips rock forward again, the grinding promise of what he’s capable of against the damp seam of your shorts and you are just about to beg him for more when he pulls back, standing. 

In one long stride, he shoves the door shut and locks it. 

Tugging his shirt off with a one handed grip over his head, you take in the sight of his broad, solid chest and the dusting of hair that scatters sparsely just under his collarbones. It’s thicker along his sternum, even thicker still just under his navel, where it leads into the waistband of his jeans. He looks so…big, from where you lay on the bed. Older, masculine in a way you’ve never seen on a boy your age. Your eyes run the length of his body and back up again, the outline of his thick cock pushing against the fly of his jeans making your cunt flutter. 

He opens the drawer next to his bed, tossing a condom down and there is something so arousing about the matter of fact action, the implied sight of it just sitting there, waiting for him. Black, with gold letters. When his hands drop to work open his belt buckle with single minded intent, you reach down to slide your shorts off. 

“Don’t.”

Your hands pause. 

“I wanna do that.”

You don’t even know what to say in response before he’s bending to grab you behind your knees, hauling you to the edge of the bed. Your shirt rides up your back, and sit up enough to tear it over your head, your bra following shortly after as his greedy eyes track every movement. His thick fingers pop open the button on your shorts, hooking under the fabric and he drags them down and off, bringing your panties along with them.  

Then he stands there, his hands on your knees. He pushes them apart, and you try not to squirm as he spreads you for him. 

“Goddamn.” The word pours out of his mouth, saturated with awe, low with lust. 

Your thighs flinch, your knees trying to pull together to hide yourself from the heat of his gaze, but he keeps a firm grasp on them, holding you open. 

“Don’t try to hide it from me now, honey.”

His eyes drop from your face to the gleaming spread of your cunt. He reaches down, his thumb brushing over your opening, and it’s so fucking filthy the way he drags it through the mess you’ve made for him. 

“Especially not when it’s this pretty,” he murmurs. 

He drops to his knees, your breath hitching when he tugs you closer to his mouth and guiding your legs over his bare shoulders, his mouth immediately seeks you out. 

“ Fuck .” 

The word slides into a moan when your body bows off the bed to chase the slick heat of his tongue. It smears wetness over everything, dipping inside you to drag upwards to your clit and then he’s fitting the bottom half of his face along your cunt with a messy, open mouthed kiss. 

He devours you there the same way he devoured your mouth earlier, and the sensation is simultaneously  too much but not enough, your hands finding purchase in his sheets. You fist them, twisting them in your grip as you start to rock your hips and you have never - never - had this done to you before, a tremble pouring sweet and thick down your spine to pool right under his mouth. 

His hands keep your thighs forced open, his shoulders spreading you wider and when his tongue starts to swirl firm, tight circles over your clit, it drags a hoarse moan out of your throat. 

Too consumed to care if you’re being too loud, every thought leaves your head when two thick fingers stroke delicately along  the dip of your opening, before sliding inside you with a filling stretch just as he starts to suck . His whiskered cheeks hollow with it, your words breathless and pleading. A stretch just to take his fingers , you close your eyes and feel your stomach drop when you think about taking his cock.

The thought alone sends you flying over the edge. 

When it happens, he groans into you just as loud as if he’s the one who’s come, and a second wave washes hot over your limbs when you peek down to see the upper half of his face between your spread thighs. His brows pinched together, his eyes closed tight, his white knuckled hold on your thighs. 

The music turns up louder downstairs, a shout of a crowd greeting new arrivals – but it’s lost in the intimacy of the bedroom. His satisfied low groans, your trembling thighs, his damp beard against your skin.  

Pulling back, he wipes your slick from his face with his hand – and then gives your cunt a sharp, flat swat. 

The action shocks you, your eyes widening and the grin on his face is charmingly boyish. Or would be, if he didn’t follow it with a filthy suck of the fingers that were just inside you. He stands, shucking his jeans and briefs off in one movement, and puts a knee on the bed between your legs, reaching for the condom. His large hands rip it open, and though you can feel his gaze rest heavily on you as he puts it on, your eyes are fixed firmly on his cock. 

It’s – big. Much bigger than you’ve ever seen, a grown man’s dick. He fists it lazily for a moment, the weight of it evident in his grip and when he places the condom over the tip and rolls it down to the base, you openly stare. The translucent rubber fits snug and tight, down to the thatch of hair at the base of his cock. 

When you finally drag your eyes up to his face, he looks smug. 

“Don’t worry, darlin’. It’ll fit.”

The amount of times you’ve thought about this moment is nothing compared to the real thing. The man standing in front of you has always been off limits, a complete mystery to you all these years, even as the subject of most of your debased fantasies. The realness of him — the solid width of his frame, the flush to his skin, the amount of bare, firm skin on display. You swallow hard, a bundle of nervous anticipation even though he just fucked you with his mouth. 

He settles his body on top of you, caging you underneath him and the press of his hot skin has all of your nerves scattering, evaporating into need . 

His mouth rests right next to your ear, a kiss brushed against the divot below it. 

“We’ll make it,” he whispers. 

If you thought his fingers were a snug fit, it’s nothingcompared to how full you feel as he slides in. The stretch almost to the point of pain save for how wet he got you beforehand, it still steals the air from your lungs as he pushes inside. You squirm underneath him, shifting to accommodate every single inch and his hand curls around your waist, his hips pushing forward with a final, hard thrust. 

His mouth brushes tenderly along your clenched jaw, letting you get used to it before his hips find a rolling rhythm. Every downstroke shoving you up underneath his hold, you hold on tight, hitching your knees up along his ribs and your feet slide over his tailbone, a whine crawling out of your outstretched throat. 

“This little pussy is so tight ,” he groans, his hot breath gusting over your skin. “So fucking tight.”

His hand shoves itself under your tailbone, angling your hips to take him deeper and his own groan sounds deep over your softer, higher one. 

“Do you have any idea how much I thought about fuckin’ you? How many different ways I’ve wanted to?”

Hearing him utter those words makes your chest crack open, your heart thundering underneath your rib cage. Everything you’ve ever wanted to hear, paired with more than you ever thought you would. 

He picks up pace, his hips a relentless, heavy pound into the cradle of your own, each thrust punching the air out of you – and your fingers claw into his forearms when he sits back on his heels, pushing your knees to your chest to fuck you harder. 

The bed pounds lewdly against the wall, the music from the party covering it up. 

“Joel,” you whine, a tear slipping from the corner of your eye. It feels like you’re being used by him, your body a tool for his own pleasure, your pliant, moldable body being positioned just for his use. It sends you higher, thinking about him doing the same for others, right here in this bed. 

You start to tense underneath him, the wave of slick, brutal pleasure pulling you under and when you come, it’s a wordless, breathless thing – your body pulling taut, your cunt squeezing him tight. He groans, dropping forward to cover your mouth with his, his hand sliding up to wrap around the nape of your neck with a grip and he forces himself deeper, his strokes urgent in their snap against you. 

He rests his forehead against yours, and through the haze of your freshly fucked gaze, he recognizes the same look from before. A girl who never backs down, a girl who knows how to hold her own. 

“I already want it again, Joel,” you breathe against his mouth, his heavy pants washing over your lips. “Next time, I’m gonna ride you. I’m gonna sit on your lap and you can watch me take it, okay?”

“Fuck,” he groans, his hips stuttering. They chase the slick warmth of your cunt, his eyes closing tight. 

“You’re fuckin’ trouble, you know that?” he rasps, his fingers threading into the hair at your nape, fisting it with a tug. The motion tips your head back for him, a victorious grin stretching across your face. 

“A pain in my ass since I met you,” he pants, letting out a deep groan. “A sweet piece of ass in my bed.”

You nod, the smile on your face melting into something pleasure soaked when he shifts the angle of his hips. 

“I’m gonna come inside this little cunt, okay? And then I’m gonna do it all over again. You ready, honey?”

“God yes.”

He buries his face in the damp crook of your neck when he comes, he back rounding as his hips still in their push against yours. He’s so deep you know you’re going to feel it tomorrow – more than you’ve ever taken, a stretch you know will make you ache every time you sit down. He holds onto you so tight that you can barely breathe, and it’s a special sort of heaven to be buried underneath the bulk of his body. Your cheek pressed against his curls, your chest compressed under his. Your hips sore from being spread so wide, your cunt still snug around him. 

He lifts just enough to see you, and opens his mouth – right when something crashes beneath his room. 

“What the fuck , Tommy,” he grumbles, and you laugh at his instant change of expression. He slips out from inside you with a groan, his hips imperceptibly shifting forward to chase the heat between your thighs. He presses a quick, hard kiss against your lips and then he’s dragging himself from the bed, tugging the condom off and tying it in a neat knot. 

Tossing it in the trash next to his bed, he grabs his jeans off the floor. 

“I’m gonna go downstairs and see what the hell that was,” he says, sliding them up over his bare ass. Buttoning them, he shoots you a look. “Don’t you dare fuckin’ get dressed.”

You gesture a wordless salute, and he shakes his head, smiling. 

“Smartass,” he grumbles, picking a shirt up off the floor. Sliding it over his head, he opens the door and disappears. 

“Tommy!” 

You hear him shout and a laugh bubbles up from your chest. 

“What the fuck was that?”

Stretching out, you slide against the warm, rumpled sheets and listen to the familiar sound of their deep voices. For the first time since you’ve been back, you feel like you’re home. 

Pressing your face into his pillow, you take a deep breath – and grin. 

[ienjoywritingfilth-deactivated2]

a sinner i am

If its so wrong, why does it feel so good?

trope: Boyfriend's Dad PP character: Joel Miller x f reader summary: Your boyfriend Shawn Miller and his dad Joel bring you along to Hawaii for Christmas vacation. Things don't go as planned.

warning: 10/10 on the sexual tension scale, slowishh burn, kissing, grinding, cheating on your bf (but it’s cool, cuz its with Joel and everything is fictional in this universe), alternative universe b/c daddy miller stays alive and hates golf and he has a son named Shawn, no Sarah. rating: E

words 6.8k

wanna see my other stuff?

part i :

The best things in life are the people we love, the places we’ve been, and all the memories we’ve made along the way. - author unknown

"Loving him is a sin; of that I'm fully aware. But a sinner I am." - Bella Jewel

Your boyfriend Shawn brings over two iced coffees as the two of you work on a crossword together at your local coffee shop. You have been filling in the squares quickly.

"Thanks babe," you say warmly as you take the coffee from him. He presses a kiss to your temple, taking a seat next to you. 

"Damn, you're fast this mornin'," he says when he sees all you've filled in. It's a tradition for the two of you; weekend crosswords over coffee. It's nice. It's domestic. 

It's a little boring. 

You're college sweethearts who met your sophomore year and have been inseparable since. And while the love is still very much there the butterflies have unfortunately been hibernating for a while. 

It's normal, you tell yourself when you sometimes zone out during sex. It's normal when you've been together with someone so long. 

"It's so nice to be doing this instead of college essays," you say. 

"Fuck yeah it is." 

This is your first summer of freedom without the threat of schoolwork looming in the near distance. Shawn is starting his master's in the fall and you've just accepted a position at the local museum. 

“Just think I’ll actually be able to enjoy Christmas this year,” you tease. “Unlike someone who’ll be working on essays.”

“Hey now,” Shawn says with mock offence. “I’ll be able to enjoy my Christmas just fine. Actually, my dad wants to celebrate Christmas somewhere warm this year. He's talkin' about some resort in Hawaii."

Shawn comes from money, the son of the infamous Joel Miller of The Miller Company, the premiere construction firm in Texas. This means expensive vacations, nice cars, all of that is normal for him. You meanwhile have had to work hard for everything you have.

Being left behind at Christmas seems strangely unkind for the normally thoughtful head of the Miller family. Shawn's dad has always treated you like one of the family so this news is unexpected.

"Have a great time," you say trying not to be jealous. "Bring me back some chocolate macadamia nuts."

You can admit that even though both Shawn and his father are humble, kind men, you're always a bit bitter that they live so nicely. Leaving you out of their holiday vacation seems especially unkind. 

"He's taking both of us babe," Shawn says with a grin. "You think he's gonna leave you behind on Christmas? After you’ve spent the last six with us?" 

Christmas in Hawaii? Is this a dream? Your pencil lays forgotten on the table as you gape open-jawed at your boyfriend. 

"Are you serious?"

"Babe," Shawn says meaningfully. "My dad likes you better than he likes me. Of course you're invited."

You've always gotten along with Joel. It's impossible not to. He's friendly, funny and charming. There's a reason he's good at his job. And you're a good girl, a kind girlfriend to his son with clear career ambitions. 

A smile breaks out over your features and you pull Shawn into a tight hug. He chuckles, embracing you back, kissing your cheek. 

"Make sure you don’t overpack, okay?" He murmurs in your ear as you giggle. “I don’t feel like helping you haul six bags of shoes for a week-long trip.”

Thoughts of lounging by the pool with a drink in one hand and a magazine in the other while the Hawaiian sun beats down on you is all too enticing. You kiss him fiercely, imagining the time together.

"I can't wait." 

The two of you finish the crossword puzzle all the while talking about the drinks and food and the excursions you'll both take. 

"Maybe once I've got a handle on school we can think about findin' an apartment in the new year," Shawn broaches, his hand over yours.

Sex fades, but this? This domestic stuff you have with Shawn? That's special. That's love. 

“Yeah, I’d love that.”

He gives you a smile, that dimple poking out of his cheek that makes you swoon.

"Ready to go?" Shawn asks, extending his hand to you when your coffees are drained. 

"Yeah," you say with your hand taking his. "Let's go."

When December twentieth announces itself with a thunderstorm you couldn’t care less because you’re at the airport. Your large rolling bag bag is stuffed with cute outfits, swimsuits and even some snorkelling gear. 

"Feels like you got a dead body in here," Shawn laughs as he struggles with the two bags, handing you yours before swinging an arm around your shoulders. 

"I wanted to be prepared."

"Let's go my little Girl Scout," he laughs with a gentle kiss to your temple. You both check in and then find your boarding gate. 

"I'm gonna grab breakfast, you want anything?" Shawn asks as he parks you and the suitcases by the gate full of noisy travellers. 

"Nah, I'm good." 

Shawn jogs off in the direction of a Starbucks you passed on your way in. 

Out the larger windows you can see planes taking off. You've never flown before; you thought that you'd be excited. But at the first view of those planes out the window you feel your stomach drop. 

They’re so big and bulky. How does it fly properly? It couldn’t. What if people shift around too much in their seats? Surely this can’t be a safe form of travel!

You pull out your phone, distracting yourself with a game. You try for several moments but your eyes keep being drawn to the huge planes outside. You grimace, wondering if you should have gotten your doctor to prescribe you something for anxiety. 

"Cheer up," a voice says. "You look like you're goin' to prison, not a five star resort." 

You glance over to see Shawn's dad, Joel, at the other side of you, an amused look on his handsome face. He's wearing jeans and a faded grey Longhorns t-shirt. You're momentarily thrown as normally you see him in dress pants and button downs for work. 

"I'm excited for the resort, just not the giant metal death box hurling through the air that is my only means of getting there." 

"Touche."

Shawn jokes about Joel liking you better then he likes him, but the truth is you and Joel are very similar. Your senses of humour, your ability to read people, your tendency to see the worst in people before they prove themselves worthy.

Shawn is more like his mom, sweet and naive at times, always seeing the good in people. It's ironic considering which parent stuck around to raise him and which one escaped the country six years after Shawn was born. 

Joel takes the empty seat next to you, his kneecap kissing yours as he pulls out his phone. 

"Never flown before," you explain. 

"Ah, I see," Joel puts his phone in his pocket, his attention fully fixed on your face. "Well what if I told you it's actually the safest way to travel?"

"I'd call you a liar."

Joel chuckles richly, his hand falling to your knee and squeezing as he laughs. 

"I promise you, I wouldn't take you on anything unsafe. And if all that's not good enough, you'll have Shawn beside you holding your hand the whole time."

You grin at that, nodding. The thought of Shawn being there does help your anxiety. Joel smiles back, eyes crinkling in the corners. 

"Thank you so much for inviting me along in this trip, Joel. I've always wanted to go to Hawaii."

"S'a beautiful place," Joel nods. "And you don't need to thank me. You're practically family at this point." 

Shawn returns with a muffin and two coffees in hand. 

"Hey dad, got you a coffee," Shawn says handing it to his father. 

"Thanks," Joel says gratefully. Just then the intercom alert sounds 

"Good afternoon passengers.This is the announcement for flight 82B for Oahu, Hawaii. We are now inviting passengers to begin boarding. Please have your boarding pass and identification ready. Thank you.”

“That’s us.”

The lineup goes uncomfortably fast. You stand beside Sean who is talking to Joel behind you, the two of them deep in conversation about football, a subject you couldn't care less about. You are still too preoccupied with the flight, being surrounded by almost all strangers sailing through the sky. 

You're not a fan of heights. So when you get to the door of the plane you hesitate, willing your foot to move. When it doesn't and the flight attendants shoot you a confused look, you feel yourself start to panic. 

Shawn has gone on ahead to grab your seats and place your carry-on bag in the overhead bin, not noticing that you're not behind him. A large hand flies to the small of your back, a comforting gesture. Joel. He rubs there, soothing you. 

"You'll be okay darlin'," he rumbles in your ear. "Remember, it’s safer than drivin' a car."

“Liar.”

Joel’s deep chuckle makes you grin and you allow Joel to gently prod you onto the plane, shooting the waiting attendants grateful looks for their patience. He takes his seat near the front, watching as you make your way to your seat next to Shawn. As you buckle in a thought occurs to you and you move your voice to a whisper.

"Isn't it gonna be kinda weird with us being there all week with just your dad? I mean, sharing the place and all?" 

"Nah, he made sure the rooms were far apart. Plus, he invited his girlfriend to come along so I doubt we'll see much of him."

Joel is a chronic workaholic, often pulling late nights and working on his phone. You’ve seen him out and about with beautiful women at the events Shawn takes you to but never formally dating them. You always assumed to be a lifelong bachelor. You wouldn't blame him, especially after what he's been through with Shawn's mother. 

"I didn't know he had a girlfriend," you say honestly. "Good for him."

"A couple months now," your boyfriend tells you. "You know my dad, mister private. But he took me to dinner and told me about her so I think he's getting serious." 

"That's really sweet," you say honestly. You want nothing but the best for him. 

All of a sudden the plane starts to jiggle, sending people stumbling down the aisles and others gasping in surprise. You reach over and grab Shawn's hand, trying to regulate your breathing. 

"Not so tight, babe," Shawn complains before gently sliding his hand from under yours. "You scratched me with your nails."

"Sorry," you mumble, eyes closed as the jostling of the plane continues.  

You tighten your seat belt before gripping the seat arms so tightly that your knuckles are white. Sean squeezes your kneecap, murmuring that everything will be okay and that you’re safe. You keep your eyes closed, trying to focus on the soothing sounds of his words.

Eventually the plane enters smooth skies and the seat belt sign is turned off. Despite this you remain keyed up, sitting stiffly as Shawn fades into a nap. 

"Excuse me, Miss?"

You crack open an eye to see a beautiful redheaded flight attendant bending down towards you with a glass of what appears to be whisky in her hand.  She extends it towards you and you take it confused.

"This is from the gentleman in A-1. He says to take this and you'll be relaxed for the rest of the flight." 

You look up a few rows to see Joel giving you a brief wave. You thank the women before raising it towards Joel in a Cheers motion. 

Drink it. Joel mouths. 

Yes, sir. You mouth back complete with a stiff fake salute before tossing back the drink. 

He grins at you before settling back in his seat. 

The drink does the job. 

"Here we are."

The cab drops the three of you in front of the beach resort. When you step out the air is fragrant with the scent of flowers. You wait while Joel checks you all in before he's back, motioning for you both to follow. 

There's the main section of the resort with luxurious hotel rooms. The more secluded section contains a variety of self contained houses that dot the waterfront. Its reserved for people who have unlimited credit card limits and drive cars that cost more than your parents first home.

When you arrive to your unit, your eyes are ready to bug out of your head. It's massive, as far as vacation rentals go. When you all step into the air conditioned unit you have to take a moment to take it all in. 

The beach house is beautiful with floor to ceiling windows, stunning tile floors and tasteful furniture. All of this is topped off with spectacular views of the beach outside your door. 

A plate of sliced pineapple and chilled wine sits on the kitchen table, along with a note that Joel reads when he wanders over. 

"Welcome note," he explains when he sees you looking at it. "I knew the owner back in trade school." 

You and Shawn nod, your boyfriends hand trailing down your back gently. It's much the same as what Joel did back at the airplane, but it feels different. You trail your suitcase behind you hearing the clack of it against the stone floor as you move around the room. 

"Wow." 

It's all you can utter as the three of you tour the rest of the unit. There’s a simple kitchen with an expensive looking coffee machine and a brand new bag of kona coffee waiting to be used.  The living room holds a table and four chairs, a few board games and a list of nearby places to visit along with the wifi code.  The couch is simple, placed in front of a large television that you’re sure you won’t use.

"My bedrooms on the right," Joel tells you both. "Yours it's on the left. We're sharin’ a bathroom, sorry about that. Pretty common in these places." 

Who cares about sharing a bathroom when you're in one of the most beautiful places you've ever been? Even the bathroom is beautiful with its high waterfall shower head and sleek marble. This place must have cost a fortune for the week. 

Joel encourages you both to take a look at your room down the hall and you don't hesitate to take Shawn's hand, dragging him there. Shawn pushes open the door to the bedroom and you can't hold in your shriek. 

"Holy shit! It's gorgeous!" 

The big windows overlook the ocean, the late afternoon beach beckoning to you. The bed is large and plush with white sheets, and framed prints of Oahu sunsets. Its spacious, the bed so large it looks like two giant beds pushed together. The closet is spacious and boats dozens of wood coat hangers.

“Wood, because it’s classy,” you tell Shawn in amusement who is already unpacking his suitcase while you continue to stare in a daze. 

"You like it?"

Joel is standing at the door frame, a shoulder balanced against it, watching you take it all in. He's smiling at you in that gentle, sweet way of his that makes you feel cared for. 

You're suddenly overcome with gratitude and you streak over to him. 

"Thank you, Joel!" You say, throwing your arms around his neck and hugging him. "This is the most beautiful place I've ever been."

Joel laughs along with Shawn at your embrace and enthusiasm, holding you around the middle and hoisting you in his arms. Your face presses into his neck as he squeezes you, and the scent of leather and sandalwood envelops you. 

You've never really hugged Joel before. Maybe a polite side hug during family events, a high-five during baseball games and even once a hard push to his shoulder when he made fun of you for being afraid of a spider that had gotten into the house. 

But you've never had your front pressed to his, never really felt the muscles of his back and arms, seen the tendons in his neck or realized just how big his hands are when they squeeze your waist before lowering you.  

"I guess that means you like it," he says, red-faced. You pull back, embarrassed at your overzealous response. 

Shawn and his dad are very similar in their looks. Except Shawn is clean-shaven while Joel has a beard and Shawn's eyes are hazel like his mom's while Joel's are the darkest brown you've ever seen. You've never really noticed how dark until this very moment. 

You shoot him a cheery thank you again before smiling and skipping over to Shawn announcing that you'll unpack as well. 

"You two enjoy, I gotta make a few calls but then we can head out to dinner."

"Sounds great," Shawn says as he searches for his phone charger. 

Joel closes the door behind him and you turn to your boyfriend. You can't explain it but you feel turned on. The Hawaiian air must be doing something to you because

You crawl towards where he kneels unpacking. You grin, feeling the pulse of desire hitting you below the navel. You kneel beside him, dropping your voice to a husky murmur. 

"Should we break the bed in?" 

An hour later the three of you are sitting at a local eatery. Joel and Shawn are talking with one another while you scan the busy restaurant. 

Couples, families, all laughing and cheerful. And why wouldn't they? This is Paradise after all. But you don't feel anything like it, if anything, you feel like a little black rain cloud. 

Shawn turned down your earlier advances, citing that he was too tired. The problem is for the past three months Shawn has been too tired most of the time. At first he blamed grad school but when you pointed out he still made lots of time for gaming with best friends Brian and Kevin he'd been quick to explain that gaming relaxed him. 

That conversation had gone over about as well as a turd in the punch bowl. You remember being so hurt at what you felt was a slight against you. Weren't you relaxing? Weren't you something that made him happy? 

So yeah, you had hoped that this little vacation might stir some of that old spark back. But maybe you were too eager. You had just arrived at the place after all. Maybe you were being unfair. Still, the rejection stung.

"Thought we could do all the tourist-y shit while we're here," Joel says after you've all placed your orders. "Luau, sunset cruise."

"Snorkelling?" Shawn offers. 

"Hell yes," Joel nods grinning. "ATV tour too."

The Millers like to have fun. They also like to keep busy. It's like second nature to them to be off on adventures or activities. You meanwhile plan on spending lots of time by the pool or the beach, reading and drinking. 

"What about you, darlin'?" Joel asks between sips of whisky. "What're you hopin' to do?"

You know exactly what. The thing you've been dying to do since you were a kid at the aquarium. 

"I wanna swim with the turtles."

Shawn bursts into amused laughter beside you, and if you weren't already irritated with him before, you certainly are now. He grins at you not understanding that you're secretly furious with him. 

"Turtles? Really?"

"What's wrong with turtles?"

"Seems kinda babyish doesn't it?"

"What's babyish about liking animals?" Joel cuts in. "You forgetting about the time we wouldn't let you in the petting zoo and you threw your shoe at me?"

"I was five, dad."

"Yeah well, some things don't change," Joel says with a smirk. "Still throwin' tantrums when you don't get your way."

"Fuck off old man," Shawn says through chuckles. “Don’t forget I’m your only child. I pick which retirement home I’m gonna stick you in when your mind goes.”

“Little bastard,” Joel mutters, trying to hold back a loud laugh.

He settles for tossing a drink umbrella in Shawn’s direction, chuckling when Shawn dodges it easily. You can't help but laugh along with him, your bad mood fading. 

By the time dessert arrives you're all several glasses of wine in reminiscing about Shawn's last attempt at surfing. 

"I've gotten better," he exclaims. “I swear.”

"Yeah well we'll see about that," Joel says paying the check. "Alright team, let's head back and get some shut eye. This old man needs it." 

You roll your eyes at that. Joel isn't even fifty and even if he was he's about the best looking man his age bracket and younger. You've seen the way women stare at him, whispering, blushing when he looks their way. He is not what you’d qualify as old.

The three of you arrive back at the unit to the sound of nighttime creatures croaking and buzzing. 

"Alright I'll meet you two out here tomorrow morning around nine. We can go to the excursion desk and plan the week. Sound good?"

"Sounds good, night Dad."

"Night Joel."

The three of you part ways into the opposite bedrooms. Shawn nuzzles your neck gently kissing there. He always does that when he's been drinking. You smile delightedly at this, eager to get into bed.

When the lights are off and the two of you have slipped off your clothes and under the covers you roll towards him, peppering his face with soft kisses. 

"It's late, babe," he murmurs, kissing you sweetly but with finality. 

"We're on vacation," you remind him, slipping your hand under his boxers.

You feel him slowly start to harden in your grip. You hear his breath hitch and you smile, knowing those sounds so intimately. You tug off your panties and slide onto his lap, preparing to ride him. 

"Fuck me," you whisper, hips grinding against his. "Wanna feel your cock in me."

“Baby, no.”

Shawn pulls you off of him and you tumble into the bed next to him, feeling your cheeks grow hot with humiliation.

"My dad is right across the hall," Shawn hisses. “I don’t want him hearing us.”

Rejection never sits well with you and immediately you feel yourself growing defensive. 

"You're dad is gonna be across the hall the whole week, Shawn,” you whisper angrily. “So what, we're not going to have fuck this entire trip?"

"We'll have sex," Shawn said rolling his eyes. "Just not when my dad is ten feet away sharing a fuckin' bathroom with us."

Bullshit. Another excuse to put off the intimacy that’s been dwindling for months. You push yourself from the bed, tugging on your dress from earlier. Shawn leans up on his elbows, giving you a look of concern.

"Where are you going?"

"A walk."

"I'll c---"

"No," you say sharp as a knife. "I want to go alone." 

You stalk out of the house, eyes glossy with hurt and anger. That's the thing they don't tell you about relationships that have gone on so long -- both partners need to work to keep the fires going. 

You make your way to the beach along the softly lit pathway. Its well after midnight and the resort is quiet; the lights dimmed or off entirely. You take a seat on a nearby rock, listening to the gentle sound of the evening waters lapping by the shore. You're very excited to go swimming tomorrow. To feel the warm sand underneath your feet. 

You can hear noise coming from the far end of the resort. You remember over dinner Joel going through the resort map on his phone, letting you know what amenities they had. He had told you both about the dance club the resort had.

Shawn had immediately laughed, stating that he’d take a pass on it.  Shawn hates dancing. You tried to get him to do dance lessons with you once but he wouldn't even give it a shot. 

Right now it seems all you can do is focus on Sean's flaws. You know that he's a decent man, you know the treats you well, but there are these bugaboos these irritants that can't help frustrate you right now. 

"Fuck it," you murmur to yourself, raising yourself from the sand and brushing it from your sundress. You follow the sound of the music, stopping in front of a door with blinking lights. A man in a blue Hawaiian shirt smiles at you when you approach. 

"Aloha, may I ask your Unit number?"

"Number 4, under Miller."

The man types into his computer before nodding, opening the door for you. You step into the darkness, letting your eyes adjust to the blue lights and colourful dance floor. The speakers are playing typical vacation music with a heavy bass.

Bodies writhe on the dance floor, half naked in revealing dresses or in the men's case, unbuttoned shirts. You order a drink at the bar, taking it with you as you scout the area for a free chair. A hand on your wrist surprises you.

"Joel?"

Joel is seated at one of the small circle tables nursing what appears to be a tumbler of Scotch. He motions for you to take the free chair next to him and you do gratefully falling into it, your arm bumping his. 

"What are you doin' here? Since when does Shawn dance?" He asks over the bass, grinning. He looks a bit tipsy, his neck red. 

"He doesn't, I'm here alone. I needed to blow off some steam," you tell him over the music. 

"Me too," he says loudly back. "Couldn't sleep. Too excited, I guess." 

You nod, looking back at the dance floor wistfully. Everyone looks like they're having such a fun time, their worries and concerns far away from them as they undulate to the rhythm of the music.  Joel takes another sip of his drink, watching you from the corner of his eyes. 

You wish Shawn was here with you, you wish he was spinning you around on the dance floor. You wish it was like those early years where you couldn’t keep your hands off of each other.

"You and Shawn doin' okay?"

Joel's voice cuts into your confusing thoughts. You glance his way.

"Why do you ask?"

"Cuz I'm a dad," Joel. "And I've been married. And I know what tension between two people looks like." 

You sigh heavily, your mind drifting to earlier. You don’t answer Joel because what would you tell him? You can’t tell your boyfriend’s dad that you’re worried his son is growing distant. You can’t tell him that your sex life has been disintegrating for the past several months. Instead you just shrug.

"You two talked about marriage?"

"What? No.”

You and Shawn have been together a long time, but you have no intention of settling down anytime soon. Sean is still doing his masters and you're loving your job at the museum.

"Good. No, not like that," Joel amends when he sees your stricken expression. "I just mean you're both so young."

"You were younger than us when you got married.”

"Yeah and look where that got me," he says with a scoff. 

"Yeah, well, I think it's just been a long time and we're hitting a rough patch. Nothing we can't overcome," you add quickly. "It's just hard sometimes, you know?"

"Yeah," Joel nods. "I know." 

The two of you lapse into silence, watching the twirling, shouting, laughing people swan around you. You shouldn’t be glum, you should be experiencing life!

"You wanna dance?"

His voice is low and husky in your ear. You start, surprised to see Joel inches from your face. You know he's speaking so close to you because it's so loud in here, but it doesn't stop your pulse from ticking at the shock. 

"Don't really know how.”

"Shit reason. C'mon."

Joel throws back the rest of his drink and drags you onto the dance floor. You laugh as he spins you, both of you almost knocking into an older couple who are taking the dance very seriously. They shoot you both a nasty look and you and Joel have to work hard to muffle your laughter. 

"You're gonna get us kicked out!"

"Nah," Joel shakes his head, spinning you again but closer to him. "I'm too charmin’."

"You think pretty highly of yourself don't you?"

Joel shrugs, laughing as the song ends. Another quick one begins and Joel looks serious. 

"I'm gonna teach you some moves Shawn's mom taught me."

"Okay."

You're surprised, he doesn't really mention Shawn's mother very often. 

You watch as Joel attempts to teach you some simple dance moves. You don't know if it's the stuffy club, the drinks running through your veins or the fact that you're dancing with your boyfriend's dad, but you can't really focus on the steps.

"I give up," you moan after the fifth failed attempt at a two-step. 

"You ain't a quitter," Joel assures you, trying to spin you slowly so you can get your footing. 

You never realized that Joel was such a good dancer. Watching him move his tall body is strangely hypnotizing, mainly because you never expected a man that broad and muscular to move so fluidly. 

"Atta girl," he says proudly when you get some of the footing correct. 

You smirk when you see the women nearby watching him, shooting him smiles. But his focus is on you, teaching you the moves and assuring you: it's alright darlin', we'll get you there just take your time. 

You're having so much fun with him you barely realize that an hour has gone by and you can only tell when you realize the back of your neck is damp with sweat. 

You're about to announce your heading back to the unit when the beat slows and many trickle off the dance floor. It's a slow song, and only the couples remain in the glowing dance floor. 

You go to step off when you feel Joel spin you again, back into his arms. You smile breathlessly up at him, the two of you shiny from perspiration from the dancing and the warm crowded space. 

Joel is looking at you strangely, his eyes luminous in the reflection of the twinkling club lights. When he slides a hand at your lower back and urges your hands around his neck you don't hesitate. You lace your fingers there, shifting from foot to foot.

You feel strange to be dancing with Joel. And not because he makes you feel uncomfortable, it's the opposite, actually. You feel almost too comfortable. Joel’s eyes are trailing over your face, sometimes highlighted by the flash of the DJ’s lights.

“You talked to Shawn about all that’s botherin’ you and this rough patch?” Joel asks out of nowhere.

He looks vulnerable; unlike the Joel you know who is all smiles and jokes.

“Kinda,” you say shyly, looking over his shoulder. “It’s just hard. . . We can both get pretty defensive. Plus, I wonder if I’m maybe being unfair. He’s in school and everything.”

“Uh huh, and you started that museum job didn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Pretty demanding job, ain’t it?”

“Yeah.”

Joel gives you a look as he rocks you both from side to side

“Can I say somethin’ you might not wanna hear?”

You nod.

“In my experience, it takes two people to make a relationship. Not one puttin’ in all the effort while the other one has his or her head in the sand.”  

You nod slowly, absorbing his words. The song ends and Joel releases his hands you’re your waist before he announces he has to hit the washroom. You head to the bar for a glass of water and to wait for him. 

"Hi beautiful." 

An Australian man around Joel's age with a moustache is leaning against the bar next to you. His eyes are bleary and red-rimmed, his cheeks ruddy. He’s obviously very drunk. You give a forced smile before going back to wait for your water.

"Can I get you a drink?"

"No thanks," you answer quickly. "Just getting water." 

"How about a dance then?"

"I'm good," you say forcing a polite smile. You’re facing away from him, eyes on the bartender hoping he notices you.  

"C'mon beautiful," the man insists, eyes sliding over your chest in a very obvious way. "I'm a good dancer too. Could give you lots of lessons." 

"She said no."

Joel's voice is there, having clearly come back from the bathroom. You step backwards and before you know it Joel is sliding his arm protectively around you.  You glance up to see Joel's face contorted into a mask of fury. His teeth are bared like some wild animal and he grips you tightly to him. 

"Sorry man," The guy says holding his hands up in surrender towards Joel. "Didn't know she was taken." 

Joel sneers before leading you out of the club. The cool air is a welcome reprieve when you step outside, breathing deeply. 

"That place is nothin' but perverts," Joel growls as the two of you make your way back along the beach in the direction of your unit. 

"Joel,  you were there," you say giggling. "That make you a pervert?"

"Ha ha."

You walk quietly along the shoreline, confused as to how you can feel this good when just an hour ago it felt like everything was falling apart. Maybe it’s the drink in your veins, maybe its Hawaii, or maybe it’s just Joel.

"Watch it--"

Joel takes your hand when you stumble over a rock in the semi darkness. You let him, not dropping it even when your walking evens out. It feels nice to walk hand in hand with him, it feels safe. He doesn't let go of your hand either as you continue along, your shoes making dual footprints in the sand. 

"Thanks for in there," you say. “I hate creepy guys like that.”

"Was nothin'," he says, then he drops your hand after a moment. "Shawn would have done the same."

"No, he wouldn't have." 

It slips out before you can stop yourself. Joel stops in the sand, his concern there in his face. It’s clear that what you’ve said has upset him.

"What?"

"He doesn't like confrontation, you know that," you say with a shrug. "And I like that about him."

"You do?" Joel challenges. "Really?" 

"Sometimes." 

Honestly you’ve never enjoyed the men who start fights for no reason, who act like cavemen when someone looks at their girlfriend. Shawn is too smart for that, too above it to engage with assholes like that. But you have to admit that there was a part of you that found Joel’s actions inside the club to be a bit attractive. Is that the word? Would you really call your boyfriend’s father attractive?

You look at him standing there, his grey t-shirt clinging to his muscles and wide shoulders, the muscular thighs in denim and you think, fuck, yeah he is attractive. You knew he wasn’t ugly, you’d just never looked at him like that. Like he was a man outside of being Shawn’s dad.

"I come from a time when you take care of what's yours." Joel runs a hand through his messy curls. "If you were mine I wouldn't let anyone talk to you the way that man did, let alone touch you." 

If you were mine. 

You can't understand why but you're nipples tighten under your dress at those words. The possessiveness in Joel's voice is so dark and husky. He’s looking off into the dark like he’s really upset.

"If I was yours," you murmur. 

His glazed eyes move from the beach over to your face. You’re standing so close to one another and you can see his chest rising and falling quickly as he breathes. His scotch-coated breath huffs over your cheeks and you swear you’re getting drunker just inhaling it.

You must be, because why else would you be putting your hands on his shoulders. Why else would you be pressing your mouth to his? Why else would you be tracing his plush lips with your tongue and whimpering when he groans into your parted mouth?

And he must be drunk because he doesn’t pull away or hesitate. He dips his head and his hands wrap around your waist, bringing your body against him tightly. His palms slide over your skin, desperate to touch you everywhere as he tilts his head, deepening the kiss. You welcome it, going gooey in his arms, allowing him to take what he wants from you.   

He’s so fucking broad, so strong, so masculine. You gasp into his mouth when he grips your ass with his big hands, pulling your hips against his, circling them as he kisses you. You feel his hardened cock through the layers of fabric, straining against the zipper of his jeans, desperate to bury itself in your slick heat.

To be desired like this feels powerful. It feels like years since Shawn wanted you like this much. It makes you lean more into Joel, desperate to keep the sensation going. His hands are sliding under your dress, up your silken thigh and you tremble.

A splash sounds nearby in the water, a fish or something startling you both and you simultaneously break apart. You both take a step back from one another in the sand, eyes wide. Joel looks completely crazed.

“The fuck—what are we doin’?” Joel whispers, the regret clear in both your faces.

You bring your trembling hands to your warm cheeks and tears immediately spring to your waterline.

What have you just done?

“Oh my fuck, no no, I don’t – I don’t know why-“

You bend at the waist, hands braced on your knees as you start to hyperventilate. Joel is pacing up and down the sand, his silhouette barely seen in the darkness of night. You can see his feet pacing back and forth. . . back and forth . . . He stops when you let out a hiccup, on the verge of throwing up.

“Honey stop,” Joel says, a hand on your back, rubbing gently along your spine. “Calm down. Calm down, its okay.”

“I don’t know why I did that,” you say, tears streaming down your face and dropping into the sand below. “What the fuck is wrong with me?”

“S’not your fault,” Joel says, his voice even and calm. It makes you feel calm. And yet, guilt still bubbles up in your lungs, making a small sob escape.

 “I have to—you need to—I need to tell Shawn. Right now.”

“Hold on,” Joel says roughly, gripping you by the shoulder and urging you to stand. He peers into your face with a grim expression.

“You cannot tell Shawn anythin’.”

“I have to,” you whine.

“It’ll just hurt him,” Joel insists, nodding and hoping you’ll do the same. “It was a mistake. It was nothing, it was just the booze. We just drank too much and we were all hopped up on that asshole inside the club and we weren’t thinkin’.”

“Right,” you agree, relief sliding through every vein you possess as he lays it out for you. “That’s totally what it was. The drinking. We’re drunk.”

“Completely.”

“Okay. Good.”

You’re still shaken up by what just happened, still tipsy from the drinks. Joel runs an anxious hand through his curls, looking utterly wrecked.

“Let’s go back.”

The two of you walk the rest of the way back in silence. You still cannot believe what you did. You kissed your boyfriend’s father. You kissed him and he kissed you back. Fuck, you both must be utterly wasted. Maybe if you’re lucky you’ll both forget it even happened. You would welcome the hangover from hell if it could erase the last fifteen minutes from both your minds for good.

Joel tugs open the sliding glass door, not able to look at you as you both pad towards the opposing doors. You glance over your shoulder to see Joel staring at you as you enter the bedroom where his son sleeps. You give him a sorrowful smile before closing the door.

You crawl under the covers, thankful that Shawn is asleep. You slip off the dress, your hair wild from dancing, your skin sticky with sweat, and your mouth still tasting of scotch. Your cunt flutters at the memory of the noises he made.

You roll onto your side, trying to drift to sleep. Shawn, still half-slumbering snuggles up against your back. His arm slips over your waist and he holds you, as he often holds you back home, gentle and tender and full of love.

“I’m sorry about before, babe,” he murmurs into your hair.

You feel tears burning the back of your eyes. You blink rapidly, closing your eyes and trying to swallow the guilt.

You know that Joel is in his bed right now similarly afflicted, thinking about how he did something so unforgivable and to his own son. Joel is the kindest dad you know; he loves his son more than anything. You know that what you both just did was awful and disgusting.

You also know that there is something deeply wrong with you because as you lay there in Shawn’s arms your pussy floods with memories of his father’s mouth on yours still vivid in your mind.  

do you guys want more of this? or should it be a one-shot? also trying a new aesthetic what do we tthink?

[ienjoywritingfilth-deactivated2]

the blue burrow

what if you could have everything? Well, almost everything.

trope: sugar daddy PP character: Dave York x f reader summary: money has always been a hard thing to come by, so when a handsome man offers you everything you've ever dreamed of, you'd be an idiot to say no, right?

warning: alcohol. strippers. smoking. my usual friday night. just so you know this story is gonna get 18+ in later chapters

words 4.4k

wanna see my other stuff?

part i - the blue burrow

The parking lot is already packed when you arrive at the Blue Burrow in your black shorts and white tank top, a typical uniform for the girls that sell booze and food while the others dance on stage. 

"Evenin' sweet thing," a tall black bouncer croons to you as you approach. 

"Evenin' handsome," you parrot his accent with a playful wink as you make your way inside. 

Randy the bouncer was the first person you met on your first day on the job. It was Randy who pulled the hand of the lecherous old creep in the third row off your ass when you froze up in shock. 

You've been working as a server here for almost six months, saving up for more night classes. You couldn't afford college right after high school so years later you're finally getting back into your studies. The only issue is saving enough for both that and rent in a world that seems to grow more expensive by the day. 

You make your way to the back of the club, past the gyrating woman on stage and the glassy eyed regulars in the front row. A few men sit near the back, a bachelor party by the looks of it. Those are usually good for two things: big tips and drunken fights. You pray it's the former tonight. 

You open your locker in the back room, placing your purse inside before sliding the lock back in place. The club is in a decent part of town, but you can never be too careful. Unlike the others here your locker is free of stickers and photos, free of anything that makes it personalized. You don’t want to get too comfortable here.

A leggy brunette walks up beside you, covered in glitter, her lips puffy and glossy. It's Tiffany, one of the best dancers here. She's impossibly sweet and when she's not dancing she's working at the seniors home her grandmother lives in. 

She looks tired tonight, her forehead damp, obviously having just finished her shift on stage. When she pulls open her locker you see the framed photo of her and her boyfriend in his truck from the summer along with a magnetic mirror, a bag of makeup and a few changes of clothes.

"Good night? You ask, watching as she pulls the stack of bills from her bra and tucked into the side of her panties. She packs them into the locker and closes it, giving you a wink.

"Great night. When are you gonna get your ass up there and make some real money?" Tiffany teases. 

"As soon as I don't care what I look like naked," you shoot back with an eye roll as she giggles. 

The truth is even if you had a figure like a Hadid sister, you still would never get up there and strip for the masses. You don't judge the girls who do; it's just not for you. And contrary to what the media wants you to believe, lots of these girls are like you and me. They do this as a job, meaning it’s professional, they have goals and dreams and they’re some of the nicest coworkers you’ve ever had. From your very first day they took you under their wing when men said disgusting things as you brought them beers. You’re used to it now, used to the gross way they talk and act.

You’re used to the stale cigarette smell inside the club, used to the streaked mirrors in the bathroom and the occasional coke-head you find in the toilets. You’re used to the smell of lotion the girl’s wear and finding glitter stuck to the bottom of your shoes. You’ve become used to a lot.

You walk back onto the floor ready to start your shift, going behind the bar to grab your ruffle apron and circular drink tray. You prepare to make the circuit when something stops you mid-turn.

"My girl!"

A slurred voice sounds out from behind you and you hold in a cringe. A man in his fifties wearing a Hawaiian shirt is curled over the bar waving at you. 

"Hey Pat," you say trying to keep your tone happy as you approach. If your boss is around he'll be pissed to hear you anything less than chipper. 

"Hi honey," Pat says giving you a weak smile. "Can you get me a beer?"

You glance over at Brian, the bartender and overall terrifying figure at six foot to and three hundred pounds.

"He's been here for hours," Brian tells you sharply over the bar as he wipes it down. "I cut him off forty minutes ago but he said he wanted to wait and see you." 

“Thanks, Brian.”

You sigh before pasting a smile onto your face and heading over to the slumped-over figure who slurs something when you approach. It’s garbled, thick with mucus and alcohol and you can’t decipher it.

"You know I have to work, Pat," you say patiently. "Let's go get you a taxi." 

Pat goes to protest but you fix him with a stare that tells him you don't have time to be messed with. Like a whipped dog he stands, trailing after you over the sticky floors, past the women who wave him out with sweet goodbyes. They like him, he never messes with them or makes them feel less than.

When Pat stumbles a third time on the way out you pull his beefy arm over your shoulder and you help him out the front doors of the establishment. He’s sweaty and reeks of old booze. You wrinkle your nose.

The two of you move past some approaching men who take one look at Pat hanging desperately onto your shoulder and then smirk at one another, murmuring loudly.

“Kill me if I ever get that bad.”

You glare at the two of them, about to say something when Pat’s sour breath is on the side of your face. 

"I never see you anymore.” 

"Been busy," you inform him, grunting as you attempt to guide him to the nearest taxi. "I thought you were gonna cut back on the booze?"

"I have been I swear."

“Uh huh.”

The taxi pulls up to the curb and Pat sniffles right in your ear, a wet loud thing that make you grimace as you pull the taxi door open. You herd him towards the taxi, trying not to let your irritation get the better of you.

"I just miss her so much," Pat says and you feel your heart break. 

"I know." 

He pulls back when you motion to the open taxi door.

"Pat, I don't have time for this," you say trying to keep your tone light. "They're already going to be pissed that I'm out here instead of serving drinks inside. So help me out, huh? Or would you prefer I lose this job?"

Pat's watery eyes meet yours. He nods and he now shuffles towards the open door of the taxi. 

"There we go," you sigh, helping him into the cab, making sure he doesn't knock his head against the low roof. 

When you straighten to go to the driver’s side you notice a man standing outside the club watching you, a lit cigarette dangling from his fingers. He's dressed in a suit, his dark brown hair tousled fashionably. He doesn’t look like the usual clientele.

For all you know he watched the entire display so far. The thought is embarrassing. You can't see his face but you're sure it holds judgment. 

You shift your attention away and tilt down to the driver’s window to give the tired looking cabbie Pat's address. 

"I didn't bring my wallet," Pat moans from where he's seated in the back. "And I used up all my cash inside." 

You hold in the urge to scream at him. 

"I've got it," you sigh, digging into your shorts for the rumpled twenty you put there this morning. It's the money you were saving for dinner after your shift. The shitty greasy fare they serve at your job isn't exactly stellar. But you'll manage. 

The dough-faced cabbie takes it and you know from experience twenty isn't enough to take Pat home. But tonight you're hopeful he'll take pity. You give him Pat's address and he holds up the twenty as if disgusted. 

"This won't cover it."

"C'mon man. It's all I've got."

"I'll take him twenty bucks worth," the sneering cabbie tells you. "Then he's out on his ass."

Thoughts of Pat in a gutter somewhere make you panic. 

"I'll pay you the rest tonight after my shift," you plead with the cabbie. "All my tip money. Just make sure he gets home."

"This ain't a charity."

Pat is half propped up in the back seat, looking ashamed of himself and your heart breaks. You feel frustrated tears starting but you blink them away. Maybe you can borrow another twenty from Tiffany.

Before you plead for the cabbie to give you a minute to dash back inside a masculine hand moves over your shoulder, not touching you, holding a fifty in between his middle and pointer finger. The cabbie takes it, knowing full well a fifty by itself would cover the entire trip plus a tip. You turn, about to tell the mystery man just that. 

Your words turn to sand on your tongue when you recognize the man from before. Only up this close you can see he's very handsome with pouty lips and eyes the colour of mahogany. The kind of handsome that ties your tongue.  He smells amazing, something expensive you're sure.

It all combines to distract you long enough for the cabbie to take off with Pat slumped over in the back. When they peel off you have enough sense to step back, lest you get your feet run over. The man is still staring at you, his cigarette smouldering, forgotten.

"He scammed you," you finally croak. "Only costs thirty to get Pat home." 

The man shrugs, watching the taxi speed off into the encroaching night.

"Thank you for that," you tell him. 

"It's okay." The man surveys your face and his voice is soft molasses. "He always act like that?" 

"Pat? No. Not always. He's a really nice guy. Just drinks too much lately." You swallow. "His wife passed away a few months ago and he's been a wreck ever since."

The man nods, taking a drag off his cigarette. 

"I can relate," he finally says quietly.

You glance to see his ring finger free of any gold band and you understand his loss. 

"I'm so sorry."

"Why?" He asks sardonically. "You didn't kill her. Unless you moonlight as lymphoma?" 

His dark humour takes you by surprise. Before you can reply he offers you a cigarette but you shake your head politely explaining you don't smoke. 

"I better get back before I'm fired," you say. He nods, wishing you goodnight and you’re fairly certain you feel his eyes following you until the door to the club swings shut behind you.  

----------------------------

You're reading on your dinner break several weeks later when two familiar black shoes stop next to you. Gucci, if you’re not mistaken. Though you were never one for brands. You glance up the long legs to see the dark haired man from last time and your heart trips in your chest. 

"Evening."

"Hi. 

You're sitting in the alley between the club and the shop next door. It's clean and quiet and a great place to catch up on your coursework. A diet coke and crumpled bag of Cheetos rest next to you on the bench you’ve made of old crates.

The man glances at your seat before his eyes move to the book you hold, your thumb acting as your bookmark. 

"What're you reading?"

You hold up the book to show him the cover. 

"Tess of the d'Urbervilles." 

"A classic," the man says lighting a cigarette and inhaling deeply. You watch the smoke curl around his lips, but its his chocolate eyes make you want to keep talking. “I was never a Hardy fan though.”

“No?”

“Nah, more a Vonnegut guy. Breakfast of Champions, Sl- ”

“Slaughterhouse Five. Of course,” you say rolling your eyes. “I bet you really love Kerouac too, right? Every man does.”

“And every woman loves the Bronte sisters, Jane Austen,” he lights his cigarette before motioning to your book, “and Hardy, apparently.”

"It's for the course I'm doing,” you laugh. He joins you, a warm chuckle sounding from deep in his chest.

"Which course is that?"

"English lit." 

He nods thoughtfully, looking at you before glancing over to the stream of people entering the club. It's going to be a busy night. He must see your chagrined expression because his gaze turns sympathetic. 

"You like working here?"

"It pays the bills." 

“If you had all the money you needed, what would you do all day?"

The answer comes to you immediately. 

"Paint, drink coffee overlooking the water somewhere warm," you smile dreamily. "How about you?"

The man looks surprised, scuffing the bottom of his shoes on the low brick of the alley. "Me?"

"Yeah," you nod. "What would you do if you had all the money in the world?" 

Dave quirks a smile before answering. 

"Try to make other people happy."

"Oh that's a much less selfish answer then mine," you say with a laugh that the man joins in on. 

"I don't think you're selfish. Just honest."

He seems to be about to ask you more when the side door squeaks open and your name is hissed out by your boss; a stocky bald man that's is perpetually sweating. 

"Breaks over. We're bottlenecking in here."

"I still have ten minu---"

"You'll have all the time in the world if I fire you right now," he snarls back at you. "if you'd prefer that?"

You sigh, wiping your dusty fingers on your shorts. You cast a look at Dave that reads this is my life. Dave is glaring at the bald man who ducks behind the door before you're headed back inside after your asshole employer. 

-------------------------------

You saw him the second he entered the club a few weeks later; the man in the suit. You watched another one of the girls wait on him, deflated that you wouldn't get the chance to chat with him again.  You liked him, liked how he talked to you without raking his eyes over your chest or ordering you to fetch him another vodka. 

So you were disappointed that it was the men who did just that, that you had to wait on that evening. You ignored their leers as they watched the girls on stage. You held in a grimace when they wafted their onion and beer breath over your face asking for a refill.

You try not to be jealous when some of the dancers come out to the crowd, offering lap dances. You see several approach the man in the suit - why wouldn't they? He's dressed clean, he's handsome, he smells gorgeous and he looks like he has money.

You hold your breath, covertly watching him as they approach him. He shakes his head politely, waving off their offers. He seems perfectly content to watch in the back row nursing a glass of whisky. 

A pathetic part of you is delighted. It's not every man that can turn down Tiffany and Candi. 

But the man in the suit catches your attention a short while later as you dropped off a beer at a neighbouring table, murmuring your name. You didn't realize he'd known it. The sound of it in his silky baritone make you break out in tingles.

“Hey.”

“Hey. Was hoping I’d see you tonight.”

The man gives a calm smile up at you and you attempt to hide your delighted beam. He was hoping to see you. You can’t deny thinking about him lately, hoping every shift that he’ll be there. He’s become a bright spot to your shifts, a dream of something you’ll never have.

Men with money who drink top-shelf alcohol and wear fancy shoes. Men who comes to strip clubs when they feel like it and go home to frosty girlfriends with manicured nails. You imagine his apartment, sprawling, with leather furniture and massive televisions in every room. Despite his fondness for literature you don’t imagine bookshelves, only marble floors and sterile rooms. Plush beds for him to fuck pretty, fragile-looking girls on. Girl’s with trust funds or high-paying jobs, girls that smell like Dior and not old grease from the oil trap you often help to clean.

You’ve already got him squared away in your head, the handsome man in the suit. He’s not for the likes of you. But that’s alright, you enjoy his company when he gives it. You don’t want to ask for more.

He twists in his seat, lowering his voice to a purr that only you can hear.

"How much for a private dance with you?"

All the goodwill you'd held for him is lost in an instant. He is in fact just like the rest of them. You balance your drink tray on your hip, swallowing your disappointment but you keep your customer service expression.

"I'm just a waitress here," you mutter, your face heating under his scrutiny. 

"I'm aware." The man nods his head. "I asked how much it would be for you to do a private dance for me." 

You blink at him still unsure that he understands what's offered. But you've seen him before; he obviously knows what goes on in here. 

"I don't know how to dance," you explain, fumbling for the right words. "Sexy, I mean. I don't know how to dance like those girls on stage." 

You motion to one of your friends who is twisting around the pole with feline grace as men wolf-whistle. The man doesn't follow your gesture; he just stares at you with his arms folded over his chest. He has a look on his features that reads that's not what I asked. 

You feel sweat accumulating at the back of your knees, the commotion of the girls on the stage and the men cheering making the room feel small and suffocating. Yet the man still waits for your response with what feels like cool appraisal. 

Fuck it.

"Five hundred," you say, biting back a smirk. 

Most of the dances are from fifty to a hundred for three songs in one of the back rooms. You know it's too expensive but that's-

"Done."

"What?"

The man is standing and pulling his wallet from his back pocket and you can see several crisp hundred dollar bills stuffed inside. He pockets the wallet, straightening. 

"I'm good," he says. "Lead the way."

You stare at him a full moment before cheers for the girl onstage shake you. You nod, twisting and making your way to the back rooms. The champagne rooms. Rooms where the girl’s take the men that pay extra for private dances.

Randy looks you over, smirking as he unhooks the red ropes allowing the two of you to pass. 

"Pulling double duty tonight are we?"

You give him a pointed look. Don't blow this for me. Five hundred dollars is a good chunk of your rent. 

"Room three is open." Randy's smile drops as he looks at the tall man behind you. "Three songs, no touching the talent, you remain seated the entire time. Break the rules and you'll be fined and banned."

"Understood." 

"Enjoy your evening," Randy says nodding at the both of you before hooking the ropes behind you. 

You enter the room with its leather couch and dim lighting. There's a pole in the centre and on the far side is a set of speakers. Beside the couch is a bucket of ice and a waiting bottle of champagne. You don’t drink enough to know if it’s good or not.

"What's your name?"

He surprises you with this question. You glance over your shoulder to see him standing with his hands in his pockets, casual and nonplussed. 

You think of all the things you've overheard working here for the past year.

Never give your real name. Never go home with a guy here. Never walk to your car alone. 

"Aurora," you answer quickly, the first name you can think of as your eyes search the floor before they dart to his face. It's clear that he doesn't believe you, but there's bemusement in his expression. 

"Sleeping Beauty," the man replies in a throaty rasp. "Nice to officially meet you, I'm Dave."

"Hi, Dave."

He smirks before taking a seat on the couch, looking sidelong at you. You swallow anxiously before setting up the speakers with the music player that permanently resides there, stocked with an array of sexy tunes. 

You click the first one and the speakers blast a slow, sensual tango. You lower the volume a bit, so it's not so shrill but you don’t turn around.  

You feel Dave's eyes on your back. Is his name really Dave? It doesn't matter. You have to dance for him. For three songs. You've seen the other girls do this. They rub themselves on the clients, gyrating along to the music. It can't be that hard, right? 

You finally turn and make your way shakily over to him, forcing a smile. 

Dave makes no move to touch you, no desire to degrade you. He simply watches you sway from side to side like a middle-schooler at a dance. You can feel the money slipping away second by second. 

Here goes nothing. 

You prepare to peel the tank top off your body, painfully aware that your old bra is full coverage and likely not the sexy piece Dave was hoping for. Neither is your body which can't hold a candle to the women he's been watching on the stage. 

You hesitate.

"Do you want to take it off?"

Dave's voice reaches you as you consider your options. Five hundred dollars is on the line right now. 

"It's what you paid for."

"I asked if you want to take it off."

You nibble at your lower lip anxiously. 

"No."

"Then don't." 

Dave continues staring at you with a serious expression until your hands fall to your sides. The first song ends, the next track beginning. He settles back in the leather seat, arms wide on the backs as if he’s watching a movie.

You shift from side to side, painfully aware that this is the most awkward experience of your adult life. 

"Do you have a song you want to hear?"

"I don't really care about the music," Dave answers honestly. "I thought maybe we could talk." 

"Talk?"

"Yeah. Communicate. Exchange words." He smirks up at you before patting the seat next to him. 

“You want to talk?”

“If you don’t mind.”

You hesitate a moment before striding over and placing yourself at the edge, prepared to take off if Dave tries anything. 

"How's your class?"

"Uh, good, good," you answer truthfully.

“You’re still enjoying it?”

“Yeah, I am,” you smile. “No Vonnegut on the syllabus this semester so I’m in luck.”

Dave leans back against the sofa, chuckling a bit. You feel a flush crawling up your neck, but you maintain eye contact with him. He tilts his head slightly to the left, taking you in.

"Are you taking more classes after?"

"Yeah I wanna get my degree," you confess. "But classes aren't cheap hence me working here at night and at a coffee shop during the day."

"You have two jobs?"

He looks so incredulous you can’t help but giggle.

"Yeah."

"When do you sleep?"

"Whenever I can."

Dave nods thoughtfully, rubbing at his chin in thought. 

"Must be hard."

"It's not easy," you confess. "How about you? How many jobs you got?"

Dave smiles at your question, showing off perfect teeth. This doesn't surprise you. Dave screams money and money people always have perfect teeth. 

"Just the one."

"You like it?"

"Sometimes." 

The third song begins while he glances around the small, humid room with its soft lighting and brass pole. He turns back to you. 

"Why do you work here?"

You give him a sardonic laugh. 

"Why does anyone work? To pay the bills."

"Yeah, but why here? At this club?"

"Because they were one of the only places hiring when I was looking. And because I don't have a degree it's hard to find jobs that pay well and I need the money. Plus the people here are really nice, sometimes the tips are good and I get a free meal every shift." 

"I see." 

The music ends, leaving the two of you in absolute silence. Only the muffled sound of the main room is heard. There’s a gentle rap of knuckles on the other side of the door, Randy making sure you’re not being worked overtime. You give a half shrug to Dave, almost apologetic.

"Times up."

Dave nods, not looking upset. 

"When do you work next?"

This is another one of the rules. You should never tell a guy your schedule.

The only thing is you kinda want to see Dave again. Even if it’s just to sit here and chat with someone who finds you interesting enough to talk to. You so rarely have the opportunity to do that these days.

"Friday."

"Okay."

He stands up, pulling the wallet from his pocket. He pulls out the bills, folding them and handing them to you politely. Despite everything the action makes you feel cheap. You look down, shocked to see he left you eight hundred dollars. For three minutes of work. 

He's moving towards the door where Randy waits just outside. 

"Wait," you say quickly and he pauses, turning to look at you with surprise. 

"I'm sorry, I lied to you before. Dances are only, like, a hundred max, not five. Here."

You hold out all the money to him, feeling ashamed. You did a terrible job, not worthy of being paid at all. 

"Here,” you repeat, shaking the bills at him. “I didn't even dance."

You've never been one to lie and if he'd treated you like shit then maybe you would have kept his money. But as it is he was kind and gentle. He helped you with Pat. You don't feel right keeping his money. 

Dave looks at the money outstretched in your hand, his liquid chocolate gaze moving up your arm until it leads to your down turned face. 

"I know dances aren't five hundred," he says smoothly. "I paid what I thought you deserved."

"I didn't deserve almost a thousand dollars for a chat," you say huffing a laugh. 

"It was worth it to me," Dave replies. "Keep it."

You hesitate and then finally lower your arm, shoving the money into your shorts. He takes a moment to linger at the door, a wry smirk on his face before he taps the door twice with his knuckles. 

"I'll see you Friday, Sleeping Beauty." 

[mothandpidgeon]

Homecoming (Joel Miller x f!reader x Frankie Morales)

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader x Frankie Morales, no outbreak!Joel Miller

Summary: Frankie asks his neighbor to keep an eye on things while he's in South America.

“I think that’s what he wants,” Joel finally speaks. His voice is low and dark, his eyes narrow. He’s talking to you but he’s looking right at Frankie. “I think when he asked me to look after you, he was hoping to come home to that. To see his woman treated right by another man. Tell me I ain’t right.”

Words: 5.6k

Rating: E 18+

Warnings: Frankie has to watch, he likes it, cuckolding, dom Joel, oral sex, voyeurism, orgasm denial, hand job, mentions of Frankie's addiction, toxic relationship, Frankie kind of sucks (canon, I said what I said), Joel steal your girl Miller (I'm sure I forgot some, let me know!)

a/n: I'll be honest, I don't see how Frankie was coming home to anything other than divorce papers after leaving his lady with a new baby (suggesting other babies!?) and giving all of his money away. Let's torment him!

As always thanks to @ezrasbirdie for the beta. Consider this my toxic Catalyst verse.

MASTERLIST - follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

--

Frankie drums his fingers on his thigh. Flight leaves in an hour and he’s thinking about the front door. 

He should be thinking about this gig. It’s risky as hell. If things go sideways, they’ll be completely fucked in the jungle with a narco on their ass. The money’s good but there are a hundred ways it could get hairy. 

But you had a bad habit of leaving the front door unlocked. You’d done it just the day before when you picked the baby up from daycare. 

“Christ, Frankie. My hands were full, ok?” you said when he mentioned it.

“Just don’t forget while I’m gone. You’ll be alone with the kids and I don’t want the house to be wide open,” he said. 

“If you’re so worried about us, don’t go,” you said.

You’d given him a raft of shit about it. Leaving you with a baby and a three year old and no help. 

“You promised me you were done doing stupid shit,” you said. 

He’s promised you a lot of things. 

You’re still so pissed that when he kissed Franny and the baby goodbye, you barely acknowledged he was leaving. 

Which means if something does happen, you’ll never forgive him. He’s biting on the side of his thumb when he reaches for his phone.  

 …I’m going out of town for a bit but I’d feel a lot better if you’d just keep an eye on things…

He shoots the text off to his neighbor. Frankie doesn’t know him all that well—they’ve shared some beers at backyard barbecues— but he’s a good guy. His daughter babysits Franny all the time. Frankie feels a little better. At least you’ll be safe while he’s not there. 

—

When Joel sees you a few days after he gets the text from Frankie, he knows you’re going through it. 

You’re juggling a diaper bag, keys, and a water bottle while trying to lug the car seat up the front walk. The humidity isn’t doing anything kind to your hair and he’s pretty sure he saw you wearing the same yoga pants and oversized t-shirt the day before. Your daughter is whining about something he can’t quite make out from his driveway. She hovers around you doing dramatic, exasperated stomps. 

He remembers Sarah at that age. It was hard enough to be a single parent to one, he can’t imagine how you’re doing it with two even if it’s just temporary. 

Joel has to admit, he’d be looking over at you even if Frankie hadn’t asked. He likes you. You always ask about Sarah and even remember her birthday. When she stays late babysitting, you stand at the door and watch to make sure she gets in safe even though she’s just crossing the yard. And he’ll admit it, you’re attractive. He knows you’re spoken for but  he can’t help the way his eyes linger when you’re bent over the back seat vacuuming up cheerios. 

“Maybe when daddy gets back,” Joel hears you say. You’re out of breath but trying to keep a light air in your voice. 

“But when is he coming home?” she complains. 

The little girl tugs on your arm and the carefully balanced tower in your hand topples to the ground, the bottle making an especially loud clang that sets the baby off crying. 

“Franny!” you snap. 

“I didn’t mean to,” Franny says. 

You pinch the bridge of your nose. Joel watches your chest rise and fall, one deep breath to collect yourself. He imagines that you’re counting to ten in your head as he’s done a thousand times.  

“I know, mija,” you say. 

You run a hand over your messy hair and begin collecting your keys from the grass. Joel’s sure you’re on the edge of tears. 

“You need a hand?” he calls over. 

You’re startled when you look over at him. Maybe you’d been so focused on getting everybody into the house, you hadn’t even noticed he was in his yard. Your brows knit together and it looks like you’ve been clenching your jaw for hours. Finally, your shoulders lower slightly and Joel feels like he’s lifted the weight right off of you just by asking. 

“Yeah, actually,” you say. 

—

Motherhood is torture. Even on the good days. You’re covered in spit up and boogers and sticky lollipop sugar. Your eyes are ringed from sleep deprivation. Most meals are the sandwich crusts Franny refuses to eat. 

But what really gets to you is the noise. Franny is a chatterbox, the baby is always at an 11, and the house is full of plastic toys that each play a series of increasingly infuriating songs. Even the white noise machine feels like taking a cheese grater to your ears. 

It’s not so bad when you can share the load. But Frankie’s gone. He’s been gone more and more often. A stint in rehab. Pounding the pavement for a new job. Now off with Pope and the guys being weekend warriors. You’ve lost count of the number of second chances you’ve given him.

You’re just about to lose your shit when Joel calls over to you. He’s a godsend. He carries the carseat into the house for you and has Sarah come over to help keep Franny entertained. He insists you take a shower– something you haven’t had time to do in three days– and when you come back into the kitchen, you nearly burst into tears when you see he’s done the dishes.

The kids are in bed now and Sarah’s gone back next door to do homework. Joel sets grilled cheese sandwiches on the table for the two of you and you give him one of Frankie’s beers. 

“A little crispy,” Joel says as way of apology for the bread that’s absolutely blackened. “Cooking’s not really my thing.”

“That’s ok. It’s just nice to have someone else do it for a change,” you say. “Thanks again. And Sarah too. She’s a good kid.”

“She is.” Joel smiles to himself. 

“You raised her right,” you say and his blush is so handsome. 

He’s older than Frankie but just as good looking. Strong arms, narrow waist. The light over the kitchen table picks up all the gray hairs around his temples. He’s definitely not hard to look at after a long day. 

Eventually it comes up.

“So where’s your man off to?” Joel asks innocently enough.

“Fuck if I know,” you grumble. You don’t want to think about him, not now in this nice moment. You weren’t pretending to play house with Joel but you didn’t mind forgetting about Frankie for an hour or two. “Maybe he‘ll do us a favor and stay there.”

You don’t mean it. Years of putting up with his crap has made you bitter, downright mean. 

“He asked me to check in on you while he was gone,” Joel says.

“He did?” you ask and he nods. “I wish you hadn’t told me that.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because every time I decide I’m done with him, he does something sweet and I lose my nerve.”

Joel’s quiet. Probably doesn’t know how to respond to such a personal bombshell when he was just making small talk.

“Sorry. You don’t want to hear my business.”

“Did I say that?” Joel asks. 

You sigh. His eyes are so kind and you’re so goddamn tired.

“He told me three days before that he was going. Doing some Rambo shit with his boys. He said it was going to pay well and I can’t argue with him there because we need the money because he lost his job. Drugs. I couldn’t even call my sister and ask for her help this week because I was so embarrassed. You know how many times she’s told me to dump his ass? And I should, you know. I’ve got nobody to blame but myself.”

By now, you can feel tears coming. You’re so angry with Frankie and you’re mad at yourself. You can’t imagine what Joel must think— that you’re an idiot, that you’re weak. 

But he cups your chin in his big hand. He’s got a deep crease between his eyebrows and, the way he’s looking at you, you feel like someone’s seeing you for the first time in years. “That’s not true. You don’t deserve any of that.” 

The air feels thick between you and you feel so fucking grateful for the words he’s just said. 

You kiss him, practically falling into his lips. He’s been so damn good to you and it’s been so long since you’ve felt taken care of. And he kisses you back. He pulls you into him. His thumb strokes your cheek and he opens his mouth to you. You can taste the beer on his tongue and it’s familiar. You’ve tasted it a thousand times on Frankie. 

You realize what you’re doing. You’re sick of Frankie’s shit but he’s still your partner, the father of your children. Maybe this is really the last straw and you’ll finally end it with him but you haven’t yet. You’ve always considered yourself the better person, the bigger one, who put the kids first and doesn’t keep secrets. You don’t get to act all morally superior if you’re cheating on Frankie. 

You break away and slap a hand over your mouth. 

“Fuck. Shit. I’m sorry,” you say. 

“No. That’s alright.” Joel’s blinking like he’s trying to make sense of what just happened. “My fault. I came on too strong there. You’re having a bad day. I didn’t mean to take advantage.”

“I want to but I shouldn’t,” you tell him. You’ve never felt so mixed up in your life. “I guess I’ve got some thinking to do.”

Joel stands. “Listen, why don’t I get out of here. You can go to bed early.”

You’re mortified. He’s practically running away because you’re acting like a maniac. This man was kind to you for a minute and you blew it. 

“Sorry again. Thank you,” you add as an afterthought. 

He lingers in the doorway. 

“Why don’t I bring Sarah back tomorrow if you’re still needing help? Promise I can keep my hands to myself,” he says with a little chuckle. “Unless…maybe you just want Sarah?” He’s jiggling his hand nervously. 

You feel the faintest relief. You want him to come back. Not just for kissing purposes. He made you feel less alone. 

“That’s be great. Both of you,” you say. 

He gives you a sweet smile before leaving you to bury your face in your hands. 

—

Frankie knows what to expect when he gets back. When he finally got cell service, you’d sent it his call straight to voicemail. He couldn’t blame you. He’d all but disappeared. And now he was returning home with nothing to show for it. 

It’s not like this is the first time. He’s slept on Will and Benny’s couch more than once, come home to an empty house with a note on the kitchen table that you took Franny to your friend’s place. Don’t call until you get your shit together. 

He’s got a whole speech in his head that he’s been thinking about for days. He wishes that he could tell you how close he’d come to death and how much he wants to turn things around but even he knows how hollow those words sound. This time he’s going to make it up to you. 

It’s dark when he gets in. The house is quiet. He’s nervous again, jingling his keys in his hand. You’re sitting at the kitchen table which means he’s in deep shit. He’s ready to launch into his monologue but Frankie’s thrown off when he sees his neighbor sitting beside you. 

“Is everything ok?” he asks, eyes darting between you and your guest. His mind immediately goes to the darkest places, worse things than the failure of your relationship. 

“No, Frankie,” you say. 

“Did something happen to the baby?” Adrenaline floods him for what must be the millionth time since he last stood in this room. 

You sigh. “The kids are fine. They’re next door. Sarah’s watching them.”

“Oh.”

There’s a long pause where Frankie tries to recollect everything he was going to tell you, all of the promises he’d really keep this time. All he can think about is the fact that Joel’s sitting there looking at him like he’s a piece of shit. Frankie pushes up the brim of his hat to rub his forehead.

“Do I have to say it?” you ask. You look as exhausted as he feels. “I can’t do this any more.”

“I know,” Frankie says. 

The guilt has made his throat go dry. He’s fucked up so many things. He remembers the last time you were sitting there, the little bag of white powder you’d found in his jacket resting on the table.

“You said you were extending the trip. I haven’t heard from you in a week,” you go on. 

“Can we talk about this alone, baby?” he asks. 

“No I don’t think so,” you tell him. 

It’s hard enough to face the fact that he’s five minutes from losing you with without someone gawking. He shifts awkwardly. 

“Can you give us a minute, man?” Frankie tries. 

“Stay,” you tell Joel. 

You put your hand on his upper arm and Frankie feels sick. He can tell just by that touch that Joel’s not just your shoulder to cry on. It boils in his gut. 

“You’re going to do this in front of a stranger?” Frankie asks. It comes out louder than he meant. He’s got no business being angry. Not when he drove you away. But it’s suddenly not so easy to own up to his own failures. 

“Frankie,” you say, level and quiet. 

Joel crosses his arms and it feels like a warning. If Frankie doesn’t get his emotions in check, he will. Frankie’s almost tempted to test him. It would feel good to get hit. 

“What’s this? Did you fuck him?” he asks. 

Frankie wants to hear you say yes, to feel the knife slide in and twist. 

“I didn’t,” you snap back. “But I wish I had.” You look like you want to stuff them back into your mouth but you raise your chin defiantly. 

The words rattle around in Frankie’s ears. It hurts just the way he thought it would, imagining you spread out over this man’s lap. 

There’s another feeling, too. He can’t name it. There’s a place where jealousy turns into violence but somehow it’s taken a left turn to self loathing. You deserve to have someone to make you feel good and Frankie, well, he’s hitting rock bottom again. 

“I think that’s what he wants,” Joel finally speaks. His voice is low and dark, his eyes narrow. He’s talking to you but he’s looking right at Frankie. “I think when he asked me to look after you, he was hoping to come home to that. To see his woman treated right by another man.”

Frankie’s glaring at him but his breath shallows. The gravel in Joel’s voice goes straight to his groin. It’s twisted and he ought to punch Joel right in the mouth. Instead he’s frozen in place wondering why the blood is rushing to his cock. 

Joel stands lazily and takes two steps to cross the distance between them. His eyes travel up Frankie’s body, slow, dangerous, until he meets his gaze. He’s mere inches away, close enough that Frankie can smell the clean scent of his soap.

“Tell me I ain’t right,” Joel says. 

—

You’re on your feet in a flash to pull Joel away before they can come to blows but then you spy the growing bulge in Frankie’s pants. Your eyes go wide. Suddenly you're flooded with arousal though you can’t explain why. It should piss you off but you can’t help but imagine the look on his face if he’d walked in on you riding Joel in his own bed. You want to see it. 

Before a cooler head prevails, you’re pulling Joel by the hand down the hall to your bedroom. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Frankie asks, following behind. 

“Looks like you’re getting your wish,” Joel says. 

Frankie stands there gaping but he doesn’t do anything to stop you. 

“You can stay there and watch or you can leave,” you tell him. That last word has a heavy finality to it. This isn’t like the other times when you took him back. He’s not coming home again. 

Frankie says nothing, just shuts his mouth. 

“You want to do this, sweetheart?” Joel asks. His tone is gentle. 

You’re breathless. You’ve been fantasizing about fucking Joel since he swooped in and saved you. Behind Frankie’s back, maybe, not right in front of his face. But you want him to see, to know exactly what he lost each time he fucked up. You want to punish him. 

“Yes,” you say and your eyes fall on Frankie. 

His expression is a strange mixture of hunger and melancholy. Those sweet brown eyes are always what make you take him back no matter how much he’s hurt you. 

“Pretend he’s not here,” Joel says, guiding your face back to him with his fingertips. 

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” you say. It feels so good to be cruel. 

“Good girl.” 

His praise makes your mouth twitch into a smile.

“Tell him to take his clothes off,” you say.  

 Joel’s brows tick up. 

“You heard her. Show her how hard you got,” he says. 

“You fucking kidding?” Frankie asks but his words are toothless. 

“You can go right now,” you say. 

Frankie’s jaw shifts, grinding his molars. As he hesitates, Joel grabs the brim of his hat and pulls it off of Frankie’s curls. He examines the old thing with disinterest, then tosses it to the floor. 

“Strip,” he demands. 

The command makes you clench. 

Joel turns his attention back to you once Frankie’s reluctantly begun to work at the buttons of his shirt. He brushes your cheekbone with the back of his knuckles, the pad of his thumb on your lips. 

“Been thinking about kissing you since the other day,” he tells you. 

His lips brush against yours, his nose nuzzling your cheek. The prickle of his mustache makes you gasp. 

“Went home and thought about doing more than kissing you,” he says. 

Your cheeks heat. He gives you a good, proper kiss now, pulling you in with a hand on your waist. It’s deep and slow, practically romantic though you’re in a situation that feels quite the opposite. Either way, you’re left swooning a little, tangling your fingers into his full hair so your knees don't buckle. 

Frankie’s completely bare and Joel glances in his direction. His eyebrows lift momentarily when he catches sight of Frankie’s erection then he scoffs quietly and goes back to kissing you. He gets his hands under your shirt and slides it over your head. 

You can feel Frankie’s eyes dancing over the two of you. You crack yours open to look at him while you let Joel’s tongue into your mouth. It’s like he’s watching a car crash and he can’t look away— horrified, exhilarated, disgusted. It feels as sinful as Joel’s mouth traveling down your neck. 

You want Frankie to know just how badly you want this so you snake your hand down to palm at Joel’s cock straining against his jeans. He’s big, more than a handful. Joel groans against your collar bone. Frankie winces. 

Joel’s touch leaves goosebumps on your skin. He trails his fingers down your chest and teases around the fabric of your bra. You unhook it and toss it aside then wriggle out of your pants. He lets out a low hum at the sight of you exposed. 

“I’d hate to be the man that let this gorgeous thing get away,” Joel says. 

He cups your breast, then puts his mouth to it. His teeth graze against your nipple and you hear Frankie hiss before you do. 

Joel sits down on the bed, the one you’ve shared with Frankie for years, and draws you down to his lips. As he kisses you, his forefingers notch in the waistband of your panties and drags them down painfully slowly. He’s drawing it out for his audience, inch by inch before dropping them to the floor. His eyes look over the newly revealed flesh hungrily. The heat of his gaze and Frankie’s longing stare has you slick and needy. 

Joel turns you around and sits you between his legs. He pulls you into his chest and spreads your legs wide, putting you on display for Frankie. His fingers strum at you, feather light and your hips buck. 

“Fuck,” you sigh. 

“Sensitive,” he says. 

His stubble bites into your shoulder as he continues to touch you, carefully, finding the spots that make you melt. You tip your head back into him, tuck your face into the crook of his neck as you  begin to lose yourself to pleasure. He smells so good— earthy and fresh and masculine. You want his scent all over your sheets. 

“Come here. On your knees,” Joel commands. 

Frankie swears under his breath but he obeys, kneeling in front of you, his nostrils flaring as he watches you writhe under Joel’s touch. 

“Open up,” Joel says and swats at Frankie’s cheek. 

It doesn’t seem like he used much force but still you say, “Don’t hurt him.”

None of the scars you have from Frankie are physical. 

“That’s okay,” Frankie mumbles. 

You’re surprised by him once again. He wants it, the full force of this torture. 

“Yeah. She’s too nice to you,” Joel tells him. 

He sticks two thick fingers into Frankie’s mouth, so deep that he gags. Joel returns them to your pussy, sliding one inside. The stretch pulls a dreamy sigh from you as the heel of his hand creates unbelievable friction against your clit.

Frankie’s eyes are riveted to the spot where Joel’s finger disappears inside of you.  

“Hey,” Joel barks. 

You look past the edge of the bed to see Frankie’s hand over his dick, thumb brushing down its length. It’s glazed in strands of precum, desperate. 

“Hold on, beautiful,” Joel says, kissing your neck and removing his hand. He shifts around you on the bed and stands up. 

“Do you think ought to be doing that?” Joel asks. 

You bite down on your lip at the sight of him towering over Frankie, fully clothed while the other man shrinks beneath him like a scolded puppy. 

“Next time you want to touch yourself, think about how you wronged this woman.”

Frankie makes a choked sound and he looks up at you with an apology in his eyes. Your first impulse is to go to him, comfort him, but then you remember why you’re here— the litany of fuck ups you’ve had to suffer. The nights you were home with the baby while Frankie went to Benny’s fights. The money that went up his nose. The excuses you made for him. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. He’ll make it up to you. You know what she likes?” Joel asks him. 

Frankie nods. 

“Show me.”

Frankie moves slowly like he’s worried Joel’s trying to trick him. He puts his lips to you, tongue rounding your clit in the way that always drives you wild. Your head falls back with a long, slow release of breath. There’s no denying how good those luscious strokes feel. If there’s one thing you can count on, it’s Frankie disappointing you and then giving you a mind blowing orgasm as penance. 

As you rock your hips up towards his mouth, he starts to work faster like his life depends on it. Little grunts escape him and the sensation mounts, muscles tensing. 

“Joel,” you whine as if he’s the one that’s making your legs begin to shake. 

Frankie falters for just a second upon hearing the other man’s name. Though he lost that perfect rhythm, knowing you’ve hit him again makes up for it. 

You go inwards, focusing all of your attention on the heat at your core, sure that you’ll break at any moment. 

Suddenly, he’s gone and you gasp, your high stolen away. You look up to see Joel holding Frankie back by the scruff of his neck.

“You don’t get to make her cum,” Joel says. 

If you were disappointed, Frankie looks absolutely devastated to be parted from you. His face is screwed up in torment, his glistening lower lip turned down in a frown. 

Joel casts him aside and takes his place between your thighs. 

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he says, hooking his forearms around your open thighs. 

His strokes are different but it feels just as dizzying. You close your eyes and lay back again, melting into his wet mouth. He hums against your lips and you feel it vibrate through your whole body. It’s been such a long time since you’ve felt something wholly different, the newness makes everything you experience heightened. 

It’s not long before your ass is lifting off the sheets, panting and absolutely coming undone. Your tightening around nothing, your legs threatening to snap shut around Joel’s ears. 

You’ve completely forgotten about Frankie in this moment of bliss. Especially when Joel says, “That’s my girl. Deserve to feel like that all the time.” 

He kisses the crease of your thigh and up your belly, putting his lips to every inch of you. 

“You look beautiful, darlin’. Doesn’t she look beautiful?” 

“Yeah.” Frankie’s throat sounds dry like he just crossed a desert. 

A blissful smile softens your face. 

You roll into Joel’s chest and tug on his belt loops, grinding his hips against you. The denim is deliciously rough against your swollen clit and you can feel a damp spot. He wants you. 

“Get these off so you can fuck me,” you say. 

Joel chuckles. “Needy girl.”

He gets up and you see Frankie at the foot of the bed, helpless. You know him well enough to understand that look in his eye that’s begging you not to go all the way. You’ve made your point. Mercy. 

You arch an eyebrow. Does he really think he’s paid the price?

— 

All of the muscles in Frankie’s legs burn. His knees ache. It’s his ego that’s taking a beating. 

He doesn’t have to sit here and watch this. In fact, he probably could’ve stopped this before it even began. But he hasn’t moved an inch. There’s part of him that knows he deserves this torment, another part that enjoys it. So he stays there watching you from a wholly new perspective. 

“What’s her favorite position?” Joel asks as he shucks off his pants. 

You’re watching him strip down eagerly, licking your lips like some kind of hungry beast. You used to look at him like that. 

“She likes it from behind,” Frankie admits. 

Joel’s eyebrows raise and he looks at you for confirmation. You can’t help but giggle. 

“Filthy little thing,” Joel says. 

Frankie’s always thought that too. You drove him wild with the dirty things you asked for. You’d get him hard under the table at the bar, pull him into the bathroom at Will’s place for a quickie. Things haven’t been like that between you for a long time, though. 

Frankie’s eyes rake over Joel’s naked form. His arms are muscular and tan, well built for a man in his 50s. Well endowed, too. He doesn’t want to look but how can he stop himself from comparing his own cock to the one that’s about to fuck you? He doesn’t want to think about the way his mouth waters either. 

“Frankie, you got a condom?” Joel calls. 

“I’m on the pill,” you tell him. “You can cum in me.”

Frankie’s stomach turns but the desire twists in his belly. He can’t wait to be put out of his misery. 

“Fuck,” Joel growls. 

You get on all fours for Joel, ass up in the air, tits swaying just the way Frankie likes. You’re about eye level with him so he’s right there with you when Joel pushes inside of you. You moan, so pretty, and your face strains at the pressure. It’s such an obscene sight— only problem is that he’s not the one giving it to you. His cock still responds, twitching with need. He hates it and he loves it. 

Joel’s swearing, gritting his teeth. His fingers dimple the flesh around your hips with a strong grip. Frankie knows exactly how exquisite it feels to be inside you, surrounded by warm velvet. He wants to be the one who’s hips, thighs are fucking against you, splitting you open and making you shake.

Instead he has to watch. Watch your back arch. Listen to that succulent squelch where your bodies meet. Savor the taste of you still on his tongue. 

And because he wants to touch himself and he’s good at following a command, he thinks about all the times he’s forgotten your anniversary or gotten high before Thanksgiving dinner. It hurts and it feels so good. 

When Joel finishes, he spares Frankie by not doing it inside of you. But Frankie has to see him paint your ass with it, marking you as you touch yourself and whine. 

It stings. You’ve been looking at him like a cockroach and he’s so fucking turned on it’s painful. He’s still throbbing, surprised he hasn’t yet burst from hearing you cum. His cock is swollen, leaking and slick. 

He’s obediently waiting, biting on his lip so hard that he can practically taste blood. Each moment of torment only intensifies the pleasure. 

You’re glowing now, laid out on your side, chest still heaving. Joel’s caging you between his arms, kissing your jaw as you rake your fingers through his hair. He glances at Frankie like he just remembered that he’s there. 

“How does he look?” Joel asks.

“Pathetic,” you say, still out of breath, and give a little laugh.

It makes him ache. 

You stretch your arms over your head luxuriously 

and sigh. “Let him cum.”

Frankie lets out a whimper. You’ve always been so generous with him. You’ve been patient and loved him when he’s made it so damn difficult. He’s never deserved you and he doesn’t deserve to get this release. But fuck he’s never needed it more. 

“You do it,” you tell Joel with a mischievous smile.

He shakes his head with a laugh. 

Frankie swallows thickly when Joel approaches him. He takes Frankie’s chin in his hand, the pad of his thumb grazing against his stubble. From his place on the floor, Frankie can smell you on him. 

“Up,” Joel says. 

He gets to his feet as quickly as he can but it takes some effort. His toes are tingling and even the air moving around his cock as he rises feels unbearable. 

Joel’s near enough that Frankie can feel his breath on his neck. He lets out a moan and shuts his eyes. Joel’s hand closes around him, squeezes the base of his cock and Frankie bucks. 

“You like that Frankie?” he hears you ask. “You like feeling his hands on you?”

He doesn’t know, can’t form words or even thoughts. Frankie’s never been touched by another man before, not like that. He’s so senseless he doesn’t even bother to figure out how he feels about doing this. If that’s what you want for him right now, he’s willing to do it.

Joel tugs at him, his hand rough except for what’s leaked down Frankie’s length. He’s so sensitive, so delirious. 

“She asked you a question.” Joel’s lips are pressed against his ear, the sweat of his chest sticky on Frankie’s back. He sets a steady pace with his strokes. 

Frankie tries to answer but he chokes, sees white behind his eyes. His climax is as violent as a slap in the face. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, baby,” he babbles as he coats Joel’s fist. 

When the fog lifts and Frankie blinks his vision back into focus, you’re staring at him and Joel with your lips parted. You look turned on and awe struck and exhilarated. Frankie wavers and Joel catches him by the shoulder.  

“You gonna make it?” Joel asks him. 

Frankie can only nod. He feels relieved. Not just from the release. He tries to catch his breath, sitting on the floor. 

“Let me clean you up, sweetheart,” Joel offers. 

“Mm,” you respond. 

Frankie’s left alone. He hears the shower. There’s so much to make sense of and he’s still, quite frankly, delirious. 

He’s shocked when you come out of the bathroom a moment later, your robe hangs in your naked body. He wishes he could touch you but he’s not sure if he still has that privilege. 

You crouch down beside him, a damp washcloth in your hand, and you begin to clean him. It’s warm and soft on his chin and you’re gentle as you mop up his thigh. He’s overcome. Once again you’re so good to him and he’s unworthy. 

Your face is a mix of emotions and he can tell you’re thinking. You’re careful not to meet his eye until you’re finished and when you do, all of the mischief and desire is gone. 

You sigh. 

“You can stay but you’re sleeping on the couch,” you tell him. 

A knot forms in his throat and he thinks he might just cry. 

“Thank you,” he manages to whisper without tears.

You nod and then hesitate. Another sigh. Finally you put your lips to his forehead, a light, quick kiss. It feels like something close to forgiveness.

---

thanks for reading!

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[punkshort]

The Stranger

Pairing: Dave York x f!reader

Summary: An unexpected visitor barges into your new apartment, turning your whole life upside down, then disappears just as quickly. Or does he?

Warnings: infidelity is mentioned (reader gets cheated on by OC), language, threats of violence, heavy making out and some sexy situations but no smut

WC: 3K

A/N: When I wrote this, I had still yet to see The Equalizer 2 but I wanted to write an assassin fic and Dave was just right there. So, for the sake of this story, Dave doesn't have a family and he has a cover job. K bye.

Written for @undercoverpena April Showers Challenge

Sunday Night

The apartment was small and a little dirty, but it would do. It would have to. The choices were limited on such short notice, and beggars can't be choosers.

The last thing you thought you would be doing the night before you started your new job was unpacking what little belongings you had in the middle of a goddamn thunderstorm. In an ideal world, you would have waited to move in when the weather was expected to clear, but when you walked in on your boyfriend of four years naked in your bed with his ex-girlfriend only a week ago, you would have moved in the middle of a blizzard if you had to.

That was how you found yourself late Sunday night drenched in a mix of your own sweat and rain, unpacking the last of your clothes from wet cardboard boxes. Making your bedroom the priority was a must. The last thing you needed on top of everything else was wrinkled clothes and a bad night's sleep for your first day of work.

If only you knew what your night had in store.

You were just starting to unpack the boxes for your bathroom, cursing under your breath when you noticed the towels at the very top and bottom of said box were soaked in rain water, when you heard a pounding on your door so loud, you almost screamed.

Nobody even had your address yet. Too embarrassed to tell your friends what your boyfriend - ex-boyfriend - did, the only people who knew you were moving were your parents, and they certainly wouldn't be blessing you with a surprise visit on this side of town after dark.

Tip-toeing out of your bedroom, your hair a half-dry and tangled mess, you slowly crept towards your door. Just as you were about to peek through the peephole, you heard the deadbolt unlock and the door swung open, only to be stopped by a laughably weak, eight link chain.

"Alvarez, it's me, open up," a gruff voice said through the crack in the door. He sounded panicked, but at least it wasn't a home invasion. This man just didn't realize Mr. Alvarez was no longer here and he must have had a key.

Combing your hair back from your face, you tentatively stepped into the beam of light that stretched into your living room from the hallway. When you locked eyes with your stranger, all dark and mysterious, your throat constricted. You could only see part of his face, just one eye and half of his soft looking mouth, but your heart still fluttered a bit in your chest.

"Who are you?" he frowned, eyeing you up and down, and suddenly you felt incredibly self-conscious standing in your own apartment only wearing your white tank top and sleep shorts.

"Excuse me? I live here. Who are you?" you countered, crossing your arms defensively. The man scoffed and tried to get a better glimpse of your apartment, as if he were expecting another person to emerge.

"Where's Alvarez?"

At that point, you felt a little bad. If this man knew Mr. Alvarez well enough to have a key, what you were about to tell him would be devastating, so you sighed and motioned for him to step back.

"Let me undo the chain," you explained, and he paused for a moment, his eyes lingering on your chest before taking a step back and allowing you to close the door and slide the chain off. When you reopened it, you finally saw all of your mystery man. He was decked out in black: black ski cap, black leather gloves, black jeans and jacket, and he dripped rainwater from each article of clothing, creating a small puddle in the thin carpet right outside your door.

"I'm so sorry, but Mr. Alvarez passed away a few weeks ago," you said sympathetically, and while, in your experience, men tended to be less emotional, you didn't expect his response.

"Well that's just fucking great," he muttered, and for the first time you realized he was out of breath. Red flags began to pop up everywhere: the dark clothes, the indifferent response to a friend's death, the fucking hand hidden behind his back. How didn't you notice that before?

You went to quickly shut your door but his hand shot out and stopped you.

"I'm sorry, but I'm gonna need to come in," he said, and your eyes went wide. Your parents warned you this side of town was bad, but the very first night?

"No!" you protested, putting all your weight into pushing on your door, but he wedged himself so you couldn't close it.

"I left something in here and I need it," he explained through gritted teeth.

"Nothing was here when I moved in," you said, still pushing on the door, "I have my phone and I'm calling the police!"

It was a lie. You didn't have your phone. It was still charging on your bed, but you had hoped that would make the man leave. Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect.

The door shoved open and you flew backwards, falling onto your back with a yelp, a sharp pain shooting up your spine.

The man entered your apartment and quickly shut the door behind him before glancing around.

"Are we alone?"

You scowled at him, about to lie, but you realized there was no point so you didn't say anything. He sighed and reached out an arm.

"I'm sorry," he said, and for the first time in your brief interaction, you heard some emotion in his voice. You stared hesitantly at his still wet, gloved hand before grabbing it and allowing him to pull you back up as you rubbed the back of your head with a wince. "You okay?" he asked, his brows furrowed and when you realized both his hands were visible, you relaxed a fraction.

"I think so. What the hell? Who are you?"

"I'm-"

He was about to explain when you both heard heavy footsteps running towards your door. In the blink of an eye, he reached forward and slid the chain back into the lock and deadbolted the door. There wasn't a second to spare because two fists began pounding heavily on the door from the other side.

You gasped softly and stepped backwards, eyes wide and filled with fear. That was when your mystery man pulled out the handgun from the back of his pants, silencer already attached, and your mind went blank.

This was how you were going to die.

"Open up!" a man's voice shouted from the other side as he began to kick at the door, making you jump. The intruder turned to you just as a rumble of thunder shook your building.

"You gotta make them leave."

"Me?" you whispered in a panic, "how do you expect me to do that?"

"They want me, and if they know I'm here, they'll kill me. Do you understand?" he asked, matching the volume of your voice while grabbing your shoulders.

Your lower lip began to tremble and he noticed.

"You can do this," he assured you, walking you backwards towards your bedroom as the shouting and pounding got louder. And as you stared into his deep brown eyes, you started to believe him. "I'm gonna hide and then you gotta tell them I'm not here. Can you do that?"

"If they just want you, why don't I just let them have you?" you asked as he continued to walk you backwards.

"Because they'll kill you, too," he said, his gaze never wavering. "These guys don't leave loose ends."

Fear shot through your body like the bolt of lightning outside your window.

Once he got to your bedroom, he released his grip on your shoulders and headed for your closet. He opened the accordion doors and pushed your clothes aside before sliding in against the wall.

"Just convince them I'm not here. You just moved in, you have no idea what they're talking about, okay?" he said, holding your gaze until you slowly nodded. Then he snapped the doors shut and shuffled your clothes around, leaving you all alone.

As you walked back towards your front door, you snagged a towel from the open box of bathroom stuff and wrapped it around your hair. You could do this. You had to.

You took a deep breath, your hand curling around the brass doorknob, and yanked it open, the chain still holding the door in place so you only saw a glimpse of the men in the hall, but you could see at least four.

"Can I help you?" you asked, trying your best to sound annoyed and not scared for your life. "You interrupted my shower," you added, pointing to your wrapped hair.

"Where is he?" the first man asked. His head was bald but you could see some stubble coming through, indicating he must shave his head.

"Who?" you asked innocently, and the man sneered.

"You know who."

"Actually, no I don't," you said, crossing your arms. "This is my apartment and I was enjoying a quiet night in before you arrived."

"Oh, yeah? You wear a men's shoe, size eleven?" the beefy looking guy asked, quirking an eyebrow as he stared down at the floor. Your eyes slowly drifted down and noticed a wet and dirty outline of your stranger's boot pressed firmly into the ancient beige carpet.

"No," you said, meeting his eye again. "But my boyfriend does. And he's out getting us dinner. We just moved in tonight," you told him confidently, squaring your shoulders and fucking praying the chain would hold if push came to shove.

You saw the men behind him exchange glances and shift their weight as they mulled over what you said. It was working. All you could hear was your own heart pounding loudly in your chest, the rain beating heavily against the glass windows of your living room, and in the distance, another soft rumble of thunder.

The bald man shot one more cursory glance into your apartment before meeting your eye.

"Must have the wrong unit."

You smirked.

"Honest mistake," you said, bravely holding his gaze as the group of them slowly ambled back towards the stairs. Once they were out of sight, you shut the door and twisted the lock, letting out a shaky breath. Your arms and legs were weak, head fuzzy from the adrenaline when you remembered a stranger was stuffed inside your closet.

Stumbling back towards your bedroom, you swung open the closet door, breath shallow and fast just to find him leaning up against the wall, a floorboard in your closet removed, revealing a now empty cash box, and holding up a piece of lingerie.

"For your boyfriend?" he questioned, and your fear quickly transformed into anger when you snatched it from his hand and tossed it on the floor next to his feet.

"Get the hell out of here," you told him, voice trembling.

He gave you a cocky smirk and pushed himself off the wall.

Gazing down at you, eyes flicking from your lips to your eyes, he lowly asked "got a towel I could use?"

You swallowed the lump in your throat and forced your feet to move towards the open box in the middle of your room, snatching up a clean towel and tossing it to him before pulling your own towel from your head and dropping it by your feet.

You watched for a moment as he plucked the ski cap off his head, revealing a thicket of dark brown, wet hair and used the towel to help flick away the moisture. Then your eyes landed on his gun, now tucked into the front of his jeans.

His gaze followed yours and smirked, thinking you were looking at something else.

"See something you like?" he asked, making you blush.

You swallowed roughly and took a step back. "Are you going to kill me, now?"

His gaze softened and he dropped his towel next to yours.

"No."

You eyed him wearily, still not believing him until he took the gun from his pants and tossed it on your bed, a good five feet away, leaving you both defenseless.

"Better?" he asked, and you raked your eyes up and down his body.

"How do I know you don't have any other weapons on you?"

He grinned and took another step forward, his eyes darkening. "You wanna frisk me?"

Your cheeks flushed with heat and you looked away, but he pinched your chin, the leather soft against your skin, and tilted your head back in his direction.

"Tell me something," he murmured, his eyes boring into yours, "you really got a boyfriend coming back here?"

He could see your face fall and he instantly felt regret.

"No," you said softly, your eyes now pinned to the floor with shame, "we broke up. It's why I just moved in here."

He frowned as he studied your face. "Why did you break up?" he asked, his fingers still gripping your chin.

"Caught him cheating on me," you told him. Why could you tell this perfect stranger your deepest shame but you couldn't tell your best friends?

He tsked and inched a little closer. "He's a fucking idiot."

Your eyes snapped up to his in surprise, only to find desire and need reflected right back.

Before either of you could overthink it, your mouths crashed together, your arms wrapping around the back of his neck and his hands pulling at your waist, dragging you against him as you devoured one another. Your fingers raked through his still damp hair, his skin smelling like the rain and sweat and gunpowder, the combination intoxicating. His tongue slipped past your lips with a groan, his exhale coming in quick, hot puffs against your cheek as he walked you back toward your bedroom wall. Once your body made contact with the chipped paint, he reached down and snagged the backs of your thighs, wrapping your legs around him while his tongue swirled aggressively around yours.

When he ground his hips into you, his hardening length rubbing against the ache between your legs, you gasped and tipped your head back.

"I don't even know your name," you whispered as his lips traveled down your neck, nipping and biting playfully as he went, the rain sounding like little musical notes against your singular bedroom window. He just moaned against your skin, his teeth dragging lightly over your collarbone while you rolled your hips against him, desperately some seeking relief for the fire he started between your legs.

He yanked you from the wall, a small squeak of surprise slipping past your lips, fingers digging into his broad shoulders as he carried you to your bed and dropped you down next to his gun. His assault on your neck never stopped. You arched your back, wishing he would take off those damn gloves so you could feel him when his phone suddenly trilled in his pocket. His lips stalled and you held your breath, each of you frozen in the moment wondering how you managed to find yourselves in such a compromising position so quickly.

"Shit," he whispered, reaching into his pants pocket, and you knew right then and there it was over.

He glanced at the screen and gave you an apologetic look.

"I'm sorry," he said, pushing himself away from you and snatching up his gun and hat. "I gotta go."

You sat up on your bed and pressed your legs together, hoping your face didn't look as red as it felt.

Before he left, he glanced back at you, his eyes falling to your mouth, watching as your teeth sunk anxiously into your lower lip, chin bright red from the burn of his five o'clock shadow.

"Thank you," he said, his gloved fingers clenching and unclenching at his side. And before you could respond, he disappeared with just a soft click of your door, making you wonder by morning if you had dreamed him up.

Monday

As expected, you hardly slept. Sleeping in a new place all on its own had its challenges, but after almost dying a handful of times within an hour, a good nights sleep was pretty much out of the question.

You don't know why you did it, but as you were getting ready for work, after a lukewarm shower, you foolishly grabbed the piece of lingerie your stranger discovered in your closet and put it on under your clothes. Maybe you wanted a reminder of him, or maybe you just wanted to feel more confident.

Arriving ten minutes early, the rain drying on the sidewalk but the smell still thick and heavy in the air, you strode up to the front doors of the financial consulting firm, hoping that the amount of coffee you poured down your throat that morning would be enough to keep you at your best.

The perky blonde from HR was showing you around the impressive building as she led you back to the department you would be working with. You were longingly eyeing the fresh fruit in the break room when you turned around and nearly ran smack dab into her back, stumbling a bit in the process.

An apology died on your lips when you found yourself looking past her, gaze falling onto an all too familiar looking man inside an office less than ten feet away, his phone cradled between his shoulder and ear as he typed into his computer, a concentrated look painting his impossibly handsome face. His dark, soft hair was neatly combed, his plush lips twitching into the receiver as his muscular shoulders stretched the fabric of his light blue button down, and when he reached for a file, his eye suddenly catching yours.

Neither of you looked away while he continued to give one word answers over the phone and you barely recognized that the HR girl was showing you your new desk. A desk right outside his office. All you could think about was what his hair felt like between your fingers, what his mouth felt like when he left those marks on your neck you had to cover that morning with makeup.

How he left you, needy and aching for more.

Then your eyes flicked to the shiny name plaque next to his door frame: Dave York.

Part two

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[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Claimed

Summary: While on the run from raiders and their twisted game of hide and seek you get saved in the last minute by a creature you only thought existed in books. You knew you should be scared, yet you could not find it in you as you looked into the warm brown eyes of a wolf that seemed way too human to be a monster, letting him have you and your body, letting him claim you. Waking up in a cabin the next morning you think it was all a dream, wanting to move on until Tommy and Joel Miller find you in that cabin, offering you to stay in a town called Jackson.

Pairing: Werewolf! Joel Miller x fem. reader

Rating: E

Wordcount: 5.4k

Warnings: monster fucking (dub con -> enthusiastic consent; basically she's really into it once she's awake) angst, threats of SA, violence, death, smut (Somnophilia; oral sex f receiving; unprotected sex, knotting, cumplay), successful breeding, so much guilt, fluff, Joel is bad at feelings

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You were cold. Cold and hungry. Exhausted and, most of all, scared. 

You didn’t know exactly how long you had been running. The four men pursuing you had found you and your group a day (or three?) before, had killed everyone except for you, telling you to run for your life after stripping you of most of your clothes. 

Like some sick fucking game. 

Then again, ever since the outbreak, everything seemed to be a game of life and death. It wasn’t long until humanity showed its ugly face, and (mostly) men lived out their sick, primitive fantasies without the fear of any kind of punishment. 

You could hear them outside, laughing and snickering, fantasising about the sick things they would do to you if they found you. How they would decide if you were allowed to stay alive and become their pet, or if they would kill you. 

The sun had set hours ago, the only light source outside the full moon high on the cloudless sky. You were hiding under a trapdoor in a barn that looked like it might collapse the next time it rained. Though if you had to guess, you think it’d snow before it rained. 

It had to be November by now, Wyoming cooling down to a fucking freezer overnight, your teeth clattering as you shivered. 

They had only left you in your shoes and underwear. You had picked up an old jacket as you ran into an abandoned cabin the day before. Then you found a thin blanket that you currently had wrapped around your cold legs, the smell coming from it making it hard to breathe without feeling nauseous. 

Your fingers were wrapped around a rusty piece of metal you had found down here, not really knowing if you’d use it on the raiders or yourself before they got their hands on you. 

Though the thought crossed your mind that you being dead probably wouldn’t stop them from…

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. In your head, you hummed the lullaby your mother used to sing to you whenever you felt anxious as you were growing up. 

You didn’t dream of seeing her again one day anymore. You buried that hope after twenty years of whatever life you had lived since the outbreak. You liked to imagine she had a quick death once things started going downhill. You had been on vacation with your best friend in New York City when it all happened. You still had no idea how you made it out of there alive. 

“Come out, come out, wherever you are…” one of the men mocked you, his voice way too close for comfort. You wrapped a hand over your mouth, trying to be as quiet as possible in hopes he would just move on and leave you here to… probably die from hypothermia. Still a better death than what they had planned. 

You heard the footsteps getting closer before there was an earth-shattering scream outside, followed by growling. 

“What the fuck is going on there? Did the bitch cut your balls off, Clark?” The men who must be standing right above you right now yelled outside. There was a roar followed by a howl outside, and you closed your eyes. 

“Clark? Will?” The man above you called out, but there was no answer. 

“You better not be fucking with me, you assholes,” he said, his footsteps moving away from you. You allowed yourself to release a shuddering breath, pulling the blanket tighter around you. 

Another scream outside, followed by a loud howl, before there was only silence. 

Minutes went by, and you were pretty sure whatever was out there had probably killed the men that were after you. Yet you couldn’t bring yourself to risk getting out of your hiding spot to seek shelter somewhere else. Or find another blanket. 

You had no idea how to survive out here on your own. You hadn’t eaten in two days, only barely found something to drink while running. 

Maybe whatever was out there would make your death quick, and you could rest. The thought of getting a good night’s sleep made you sigh as you felt your mind slowly slip into darkness. 

Yet before you could let your mind rest, the trapdoor above you was ripped open, and you jumped, suddenly blinded by how bright the moon illuminated the night. You blinked against the sudden light, gasping when you found a creature looking down at you, big brown eyes fixated on you. 

It was standing on two legs, fur covering the whole body, the teeth sharp, reflecting the moonlight. 

It looked like a wolf. A huge fucking wolf, yet there was something human about it. 

You should have been scared, you should have been screaming, but somehow you didn’t, overcome with the feeling of being safe the longer you looked into its eyes. 

“You’re so pretty,“ you mumbled. “Are you here to kill me?“

The creature’s eyes widened before his massive head shook from side to side, as if saying no. You smiled softly at that. 

“You’re a good doggy,” you sighed, your eyes slipping closed. And you could swear the last thing you heard was an amused roar before your mind slipped into unconsciousness. 

You felt…. Warm. 

You didn’t know the last time you felt warm, which left you to the conclusion that you must have died. 

You were lying on something soft, surrounded by warmth. 

A satisfied moan slipped through your lips in the next moment, still half asleep, and you felt your body shuddering. Your hands ran over your body, your fingers slipping down your stomach before your eyes opened slowly, looking down just in time to see why you woke up, your pussy throbbing as an orgasm rushed through your body, making you arch your back and cry out as you looked between your thighs to find big brown eyes looking up at you. 

You thought you dreamed the wolf you remembered saving you before, but it was him. 

“You’re… You’re real…“ you whispered, your hand hesitantly reaching out, your fingers meeting the soft fur of the animal between your legs. It was real. He was real. The wolf was real, and he was here, and he was…

The wolf seemed to lean into your touch, his eyes seemingly trying to communicate with you, his expression torn before he growled, his eyes closing. 

“Oh shit,“ you whispered, slowly noticing that you were stripped completely naked, big strong and furry arms wrapped around your thighs, keep you lying on the mattress beneath you. 

You should be scared, you know you should. Yet you weren’t. Instead, you felt the safest you ever did. The big nose of the wolf nuzzled against your pussy, and you moaned quietly, your chest heaving as you took a deep breath. 

You should fight, run, scream, yet you wanted more. 

You wanted this creature to own you, to claim you. To be his. It seemed like the only thought in your mind the longer you looked into its eyes.

The wolf kept his dark eyes on yours, his cold nose nuzzling against your pussy until you felt his big tongue lick through your slit. 

“Oh fuck,“ you let yourself fall back down against the ground, the hand that had been touching the wolf coming up to your breast, squeezing it, playing with your nipple, noticing something… sticky on your chest. Bringing your fingers up, looking at them and the creamy substance on your fingers, your eyes found the wolf, finding him watching you intently. 

The long warm tongue kept licking you almost softly, the wet nose rubbing over your clit. 

Keeping your eyes on his, you brought your fingers to your mouth, your tongue darting out to taste it. The wolf growled, his eyes seemingly getting even darker as you tasted what you thought was his cum. You hummed, licking your fingers clean, the wolf’s tongue moving faster, making your legs twitch.

His big claws dug warningly into the soft skin of your thighs, before his tongue forced its way inside your pussy. 

Your lips parted as you cried out in ecstasy, the feeling foreign yet so fucking good as the big tongue of the wolf moved inside of you.

Biting your lips, you tried to keep quiet, panting for air as his tongue brushed over something inside of you that made you cry out in pleasure. 

“There… Fuck… Right there,“ you whined, trying to move your hips under his grip, but he growled, his tongue fixated on that one spot inside of you until you moaned loudly, your whole body shaking as you came hard, soaking the wolf between your legs as you squirted for the first time in your life. 

With your chest heaving, you slumped back against the mattress, panting as you tried to process what just happened. 

The wolf licked you clean softly before his claws let go of your thighs. You opened your eyes, watching him when you felt his tongue licked over your upper thigh, only noticing now that one of his claws must have nabbed your skin, drawing a tiny bit of blood he licked off. 

You were watching him, your eyes widening as the wolf slowly got on his feet, towering above you in his full height. 

He was breathtaking. Literally. 

Your eyes dropped to his cock, leaking with pre cum and standing proudly against his stomach. 

It was… definitely not human. 

It was dark red, at least 9 inches long. You probably could not close your fist around it, the girth was too big. But it was the knot that made you suck in your bottom lip, worrying. 

He was breathing deeply, his eyes fixed on your form, almost pleading to you, but you did not know for what. 

“It’s… It’s okay,“ you whispered, slowly sitting yourself up. It was almost like the wolf was shaking his head. 

“It’s okay. Take what you want.“

The moment those words slipped out of your mouth, Joel knew he had lost the last bit of control he had over his actions. He got on all fours, his face hovering over you and your beautiful eyes. 

You didn’t know the inner fight he had put on for hours since bringing you here. 

Joel was a man who always made more than sure that whatever he did with the person he was with, they were giving him enthusiastic consent before he touched them. 

But right now, Joel wasn’t a man. 

He was a creature of the night, his instincts reduced to his animalistic primal needs. 

He had made you cum twice before you even woke up, high on your taste, wanting more and more. Fuck he had even jerked off, shooting his cum all over your body like the animal he was. 

He’d never fucked anyone in this form before, and while a part of him hated the lack of control he had over how he behaved right now, another part was ready to be inside of you.

“Mhhh….“ he heard you hum, your fingers stroking through his fur, and Joel was sure he’d purr if you continued to touch him. 

But his cock was aching, and you were oh so soft and wet. 

And ready to breed. 

He leaned down, his nose nuzzling against your neck, inhaling you deeply before he looked deep into your eyes, ready to take what was his.

The wolf began to lick your upper body, focusing on your breasts, making you whimper, your fingers pulling on the fur of his arms. Slowly you let your hand slip down your body, your eyes widening when you came in contact with his cock, gasping softly. 

The wolf looked up at you, grunting as you tried to wrap your hand around it, your hand too small.

You felt the wolf lick your cheek, and you looked up at him, wondering what he was thinking. 

Taking a deep breath, you laid back, parting your legs for him even wider. 

The wolf was actively looking between your pussy and his claws, and you wondered if the man inside him would be putting his fingers inside of you if he was able to. He closed his eyes as you guided his cock towards your pussy. 

“Try to be gentle, yeah? At least at first…“ you hummed and sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, your eyes falling shut as the tip of his cock entered you ever so slowly. You stopped breathing. You didn’t know if it was seconds or hours until your pussy was stretched around his hot cock, the knot just outside of your pussy. 

He waited until you relaxed, letting you get used to his size.

The wolf leaned down, his fur brushing against your skin, looking deeply into your eyes before he bottomed out and began to move. His cock slowly dragging through your walls, the foreign shape stretching you out and hitting all the right spots.

You held on to the broad shoulders of the creature fucking you slowly.

“Harder,“ you moaned quietly, trying to move your hips up, but the wolf growled, pinning you against the ground. He stilled inside of you before he pulled out of you. 

Before you could react, he had you turned around, pulling you up so you were on your hands and knees, his cock entering you from behind in one hard thrust, making you cry out. 

He fucked into you deeply, pumping his cock inside you, his claws holding on to your hips, keeping you where he wanted you. 

“Oh fuck,“ you cried out, letting yourself fall down to your elbows, your head falling against the mattress. 

The wolf howled, and you felt his cock throbbing, the pointed tip kissing your cervix, making your legs shake. 

You felt so fucking full, his cock stretching you just right. 

“I’m gonna cum,“ you whined, meeting his thrusts, and you screamed when you came, clenching around his cock. Fucking you through your orgasm, he leaned over your body, his fur brushing over your naked back. Aftershocks of your orgasm were still running through your body when you heard the wolf growl, the cock inside you seemed to get even bigger before he howled, his knot pushing inside of you, filling you with his cum and keeping it inside of you. 

You felt his strong, soft arms wrapping around your middle before he slowly pulled you to your side, his cock still stuck inside of you, steadily filling you with his cum. 

Breeding you. 

You shuddered at the thought, feeling him lick your neck softly, pulling you even closer, keeping you warm.

The last thing you remember thinking before you fell asleep was that you wished you’d known his name…..

When you woke up, you found yourself under a mountain of blankets. Your memory was a little foggy, but you knew someone… or something had saved you. And from the soreness you felt all over your body, you were beginning to think you did not dream of the wolf who had taken you last night. 

Your lips parted as you realised there was a fire cracking in the small fireplace. You sat up, looking down at yourself, noticing that you were now wearing a soft Flannel. You brought the fabric up to your nose, surprised when you found it smelling clean with a hint of… wood. It reminded you of how your uncle had smelled when he returned from his job at the local wood factory. 

“Hello?” You called out, silence meeting you. 

There was a full bottle of what looked like water next to the old sofa you had slept on. Opening the lid carefully, you smelled it, confirming it was water. It could be drugged, your mind provided. But you were too thirsty to care, almost chugging the whole bottle down before slowly pushing yourself up to stand. 

You were wearing thick wool socks, your legs still naked. You brushed your fingers over a mark on your inner thigh.

Confused, you began to explore the room. 

It had been cleared out, but for some reason, you did not think someone actually lived here. There was, however, food on the table. Just a can of old beans and a fork. 

Narrowing your eyes, you eyed the can, your hands gripping the back of the chair that was tucked against the old wooden table. Looking down at your hands, you had grabbed something soft, finding yourself looking at an old, worn pair of sweatpants. 

You began to feel like you were in the twilight zone, waiting for someone to jump out of a corner. 

For him to find you in whatever form he was this morning. 

Sucking your bottom lip in, you looked around again before you slowly slipped your legs into the sweatpants, finding them way too big. But they were warm and soft, and you sighed in relief. 

Which didn’t last long, because you heard voices outside. 

Frantically looking around, you found the rusty piece of metal you had with you when you had hidden the night before, grabbing it. 

You moved behind the door as silently as possible, the voices coming closer. 

“We’re not here to kill you,” someone called out. A man. 

You heard that before. 

“I know you have no reason to trust us. But we’re here to help.”

He could smell her. 

Her and her flowery scent that seemed to drive him to insanity ever since he crossed it two days ago. 

Due to his… other self, his senses were always better than those of an average human, but in the week leading up to the full moon, they seemed to sharpen even further. It was why he and Tommy always went out on their monthly trip to the radio tower that lasted three days when they really just used the full moon to hunt down infected and people who would potentially bring harm to Jackson. 

He had been tracking three men, raiders, their scent full of adrenaline and arousal, when he came across your scent. Frightened, dehydrated, but so flowery and sweet that it was the only thing he could think about. 

Still in his human form, he had seen you, almost naked, running frantically through the woods. Away from them. 

He had kept an eye on you, the animal in him taking over, his urge to protect you taking over. Yet he waited until the next night, his wolf form making him stronger, to take your attackers out one by one, making it as painful as possible. 

And then you were in his arms. Cold, unconscious, yet so so beautiful.

He brought you to the cabin he and Tommy had cleared out the month after he got to Jackson, setting you down on the couch. 

Pulling a blanket over you, he was thankful for the fire Tommy must have lit when he had been here earlier, carefully putting another log of wood into the fire to keep it going. 

Making his way back to you, he was overcome with the urge to have you back in his arms. Carefully, he pulled you against him, and you seemed to seek his warmth, your fingers digging into his fur. 

Looking out, he counted that he had around three hours until the sun came up, and he’d change back to his human form. 

He knew he should have left you there. He should have gone out, leaving you safe and unharmed. 

He wished he could blame everything that happened in the cabin on his wolf side. The wolf side knew he had to have you because you were ready to breed. It’s why you smelled so sweet and irresistible for him. You were ovulating and ready to bear his offspring. But Joel was still inside. He knew what he was doing. And he tried to stop initially, but it was a fight he quickly let himself lose, getting lost in you. And the worst part was he enjoyed every single second. The way you held on to him. The way you tasted. The way you looked when you came. The way you smiled as he pumped you full of his cum, just before you passed out again. 

Joel sighed, following his brother as he approached the house slowly. Joel could smell you. Adrenaline cursing through your veins.

“I’m Tommy, and this is my brother Joel,” Tommy stopped in front of the house, holding his hands up. 

“We come from a community not far from here. We have water, electricity, food…”

Joel’s heart seemed to stop the moment he heard your voice. 

“How do you even know I’m here?” You asked. Tommy’s eyes found Joel’s. 

“We have cameras set up around the patrol route, and we saw you on one of them,” he lied easily. 

Joel and Tommy had talked about what to tell you. Tommy knew from the moment they met up after the moon disappeared, smelling you all over him. 

He did not ask questions when Joel told him they had to go get you from the cabin. 

They both had their fair share of things they weren’t the most proud of, both as humans and werewolves. Tommy knew better than anyone else how hard it was to keep yourself in control when all the monster in you wanted was to claim someone. 

It was how he met Maria.

Thankfully it all turned out for the best in the end, but still, Joel felt like a fucking monster. 

The door opened, and you stepped out carefully, holding up the piece of metal he had found you with last night in front of you. You were wearing his shirt. 

Mine. 

His pants.

Mine. 

He could smell himself all over you. 

Mine. 

He wondered if he was still dripping out of you.

“Cameras? You… You know how I got here?” You asked, your heartbeat quickened. 

Tommy shook his head. 

“No. The cameras only activate once you’re inside the cabin.”

“Oh,” you nodded, hesitating.

“Did you…. See something weird?”

“Just you pretty much passing out,” Tommy lied again. 

“Weird,” you whispered to yourself, but both Joel and Tommy could hear it. 

“So… what do you say? Care to join us?” Tommy asked. 

“I… I should not trust strangers. But these last days have been… I’m still not quite sure how I survived…” you shook your head, your arms hugging yourself. 

“You are welcome to wait out until patrol gets here. My wife will be with them, she’s kind of the leader of our little community,” Tommy said.

Your heartbeat slowed down. 

“You’re married?” She asked with a small smile. Tommy nodded, his smile wide.

“Married and about to become a dad. Well… still a couple months to go, but, yeah.”

You nodded. 

“What about your brother? Joel, was it?” You asked. 

There was something familiar about the broad man standing just behind Tommy. He hadn’t looked at you directly once, but something told you you knew him. 

“It’s complicated,” he said, and a shiver ran through your whole body, hearing his voice. 

You swallowed. 

“I haven’t heard that since college,” you joked. 

“You went to college?” Tommy asked. 

“Yeah. I was 19 when the outbreak happened,” you said. 

“Did anyone make it?” Tommy asked. 

You closed your eyes, shaking your head. 

“Whole family is dead. The people I was with… Raiders killed them before they made me…” you shook your head, missing the way Joel’s whole body stiffened as he tried to control his anger. 

“I’m so sorry,” Tommy said, and you sighed. 

“Well. I should have learned not to get too attached to people. It’s a luxury nowadays to have someone.”

“Maybe you’ll have more luck in our community,” Tommy winked, and you took a deep breath. What other choices did you really have?

You were tired and weak, and maybe you had hallucinated having sex with a… wolf? 

Because if they had cameras inside the cabin and last night really happened… You felt your cheeks growing warm, a throbbing between your legs. 

You looked at Joel again, his eyes now on you. Brown eyes that seemed to look right into your soul, making you part your lips in a gasp.

Was it him?

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, not looking at you again. 

“What do you say, darlin’?” Tommy asked, and you did not miss the way Joel’s head snapped to look at his brother, glaring at him. 

Tommy smirked. 

“I think I would kill for a hot shower,” you said with a small smile.

“When are you gonna stop hovering like a mother hen and go tell her?” Joel almost jumped as he heard his brother’s voice behind him. He was hiding out of sight from you, watching how you helped Maria with some garden work. 

It had been 16 nights since he had you, 15 days since you moved into the house next to his, and it had been pure hell. Being so close to you but not touching you. He took care of you in his own way, from afar. Meals showing up in front of your door, so he was sure you ate. Sending his brother over to fix up the house, because he did not know if he could hold himself back if he was so close to you. 

He had done some reading the day before, not understanding why he felt like this. 

Now, there wasn’t, like, some kind of How to be a Werewolf for Dummies book around, but what he found made him realise that you probably were his mate. He never felt like this before, his body physically hurting when he did not know where you were. 

He wondered if you felt it, too. If you felt the changes…

“Tell her what?” Joel grumbled. 

“You could start with telling her that you’re sorry that you behaved like a dick, then start with explaining to her that once a month you turn into a werewolf and that yes, it was you that fucked her. And then you could congratulate her that she’s pregnant,” Tommy listed, and Joel growled. 

He had known he had bred you the moment he had changed back the morning after, his guilty conscience killing him ever since. 

Not only that he took advantage of you, no, he claimed you, bred you, and it took everything in him not to make you his officially. 

Joel shook his head. 

“She’s gonna hate me. And fuck… A baby? I’m way too old to raise a child…”

“I don’t know, big brother, you’re doing a great job with Ellie. Any kid would be fortunate to have you as their dad,” Tommy said surprisingly softly. 

Joel took a deep breath, watching you wave Maria goodbye as you walked down the street towards home. 

“Okay,” Joel said, straightening his shoulders before he followed you home. 

You were surprised when you came home and did not find food on your doorstep, if you were honest. You had asked Maria if finding food was normal. It wasn’t.

You had a suspicion as to who it was leaving it, but you had not found the confidence to ask him. 

It was like every thought was filled with Joel since you saw his eyes. And even though it sounded insane, you were almost certain that the wolf from the night who claimed you and the man who seemed unable to look into your eyes afterward were the same person. 

He felt familiar, like you knew each other, and it was getting harder each day to not be with him. You had never felt like this before, pining over a man who was not only much older than you but who you had never really talked to before. 

Shaking your head, you stared at your reflection in the mirror before you washed your face. Tomorrow, you would start working at the greenhouse, and you wanted to make a good impression, which was why you decided to go to bed early. 

You were brushing your teeth when you heard a knock on your door. Frowning to yourself, your body buzzing as if it knew who it was, you spit the toothpaste into the sink before you pulled the shirt you had from the cabin over your head and walked towards the door. 

His eyes were on you as you walked over to your door, a nervous flutter in your belly as you slowly pulled the door open. 

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before he looked at you, his jaw flexing. 

“Hi Joel,“ you said quietly, your hand wrapped around the side of your door. 

His eyes seemed to soften as he looked at you. 

“Can… Can we talk?“ He asked. 

Taken by surprise, you nodded. 

“Would you like to come in?“

He could hear you in your kitchen, cluttering as you prepared him some tea. You had only been in this town, this house, for a week, and it already felt more homey than the house he lived in for the last years. Ever since Ellie moved out, he did not like spending time alone in his house. Something was missing. 

You were missing. 

“I hope you like peppermint,“ you said as you came back into your living room. He didn’t, but he would never tell you. 

“Thank you,“ he said, nervous all of a sudden. 

You sat down on the other side of the couch from him, pulling your legs against your chest as you looked at him. 

“What did you want to talk about?“ You asked. 

He took a moment to think about what to say, not really sure how to start. 

“Is it about the… the night we met?“ he heard you ask carefully, and he turned his head to look at you, surprised. 

“I thought it was a dream at first. How I woke up during the night. I thought I might be losing my mind, but… But I wasn’t, right?“ you asked. 

He took a deep breath, before he shook his head. 

“You weren’t. I.. I saved you. I killed those… monsters, only to…“

He felt your hand on his. 

“Is that why you were ignoring me? Because you…“

“I took advantage of you! You smelled so sweet, and you were so soft… And I usually can control myself, I know what is happening, but I couldn’t around you. I had to… I have to have you. It’s like…. “

“Like you don’t feel whole when you’re not around me? Yeah. That’s how I feel too,“ you said quietly, and he raised his eyebrows in surprise. 

“You do?“

You nodded. 

“You’re not… scared of me?“ he asked.

You giggled, slipping closer to him. 

“Joel, you saved my life, and then you made me cum four times. Was I a little out of it? Maybe. But I don’t regret it.“

“Good… That’s… That’s… good…“ he mumbled, closing his eyes as he felt your warm hand on his cheek, turning his head towards you. 

“You’re so pretty,“ you mumbled, and he chuckled. 

“That’s the first thing you said to me that night,“ and he was still surprised about it. 

“It’s true. It’s… I always knew there was more out there than just us. Well and walking mushrooms that are trying to kill us. And I might have read my fair share of fantasy books.“

“Yeah?“ he asked, his hand coming to rest on your thigh. You nodded. 

“It’s hot,“ you shrugged before you leaned in and kissed him softly. 

He rested his forehead against yours, breathing you in. 

“I have to tell you something else,“ he said. 

“What?“ you whispered. 

“The reason why I couldn’t control myself was because my senses are heightened when I’m in my wolf form. And I… could smell that you were ovulating, which is why everything in my head screaming at me to… breed… you….“

Your lips parted, and he could practically hear you processing what he had just said. 

“And… And…. Would you… Would you know if you bred me?“ you asked. 

He nodded. 

“Then I guess I should tell you that twin pregnancies are common in my family line,“ you said.

He huffed a laugh before he felt you climb into his lab. 

“I think you should take me out on a date,“ you mumbled. 

“Yeah?“

“Yeah,“ you nodded, before you leaned in and kissed him. 

[kiwisbell]

Candy Girl [joel miller]

The before and after. Or, Joel fucks his friend's daughter for the first time.

my masterlist!

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

rating: 18+ [mdni]

tags/warnings: daddy kink, baker!reader, age gap (20s/40s), (sort of) dbf!joel, daddy dom!joel, soft!joel, angst, self-loathing, waxing poetic about eating pussy, unprotected piv (wrap that shit up like a pastry), creampie, cream pies, dirty talk, pet names, forbidden romance, tw for occasional stylistic omission of quotation marks, moodboard for aesthetics only

word count: ~ 6k

read on ao3!

a/n: hi, all!! please, as always, mind the tags for this fic - it's quite a departure from what i typically write, but daddy joel has set up shop in my brain and he won't leave. if this isn't for you, that's cool - you don't have to read it. i hope you'll be kind, and as always, i hope you enjoy!! xoxo

thank you HUGELY to my dear mya @cavillscurls for the absolutely stunning moodboard!!! i love you and i'm obsessed with you and you're crazy talented 🫶 and thank you endlessly to my parents sam and el @tieronecrush and @northernbluess for being AMAZING betas and always supporting me and my silly fics!!

CANDY GIRL

What have I done, he thinks, parting your dewy folds with two fingers and sliding his tongue through the glistening mess between your thighs, to deserve this?

He certainly can’t think of some good-enough deed to warrant him being here, tucked warmly in this apex, kindling a fire, rubbing his hands over the red of the flame, breathing sighs and gasps and groans into the sweet-smelling flesh of your thighs as if he were destined to arrive here. As if it were a mere quirk of fate, and now everything is gently settling into motion. 

Your fingers are curled in his hair and your chest—bare, smattered with a faint sheen of sweat and reflecting moonlight, illicit—is heaving. You have no instinct to steer him. Your hand knows no guiding push or pull. Your back is bowing off the mattress and your mouth is emitting needy little whines and whimpers and pleas for mercy, more, please, Daddy. 

And he’s acquiescing, toppling slowly into that heady pull of sticky wet warmth between your thighs, and all he can think is that you smell like cherries. 

And you are messy. Fuck, you’re dripping onto his chin as he licks through you, languishing in the prickling taste as if he's guiding his tongue along the salt rim of a glass. His fingers absently dimple your thighs, bruising, forcing them to fall open, part wider, for him. 

Let me in, baby girl. 

Thaaat’s it. My sweet girl. My pretty girl. 

So goddamn beautiful like this. 

You just relax, baby, and let me in. C’mon, now. 

You obey every muffled order like it’s law, letting him shoulder his way between your legs, his hand pressing firm on your belly, pinning you. The answering mewl he hears from your parted lips is the sweet slide of your strawberry icing along his taste buds. He buries his tongue between your wet folds and holds you tighter, dizzied with the smell and the taste and the feel of finally taking what he wants. What you've given him. 

Joel licks self-indulgently through your slit until your pretty cunt is slathered in his spit and glistens with your own juices. When he sees your clit, puffy and fucking needy and shining at him like a goddamn pearl, he licks his lips. 

Look at her. She’s fuckin’ cryin’ for me, baby girl. You need your Daddy to kiss it better? 

You whine, grasping his locks, still never quite urging or pushing, but begging: Daddy, I’ll do anything. Please, I’ll do anything.

Shh, sweetheart. Don’t have to do anything. Just keep ‘em open for me. I’ll make it good. Hear me?

A frantic nod. A reflexive squeeze of the hand on your belly. Eyes, watery and butter-soft in the darkness—wrong, risk—meet his own. 

Yes, Daddy. 

It didn't begin this way. 

Some of the edges are blurred with time. He vaguely recalls the time before you—mornings alone at the breakfast table, intermittent calls to Sarah all the way in College Station, long days on the job site because he had nothing else to come home to—and he’s bitter. It tastes nothing like the after: strawberry icing, vanilla perfume, cherries. 

It must have begun when Chris slapped him on the back after the scaffolding on the Queen Street job was taken down and said, “Couple of us are grabbing coffees at the Morning Star. You should come along, man. Get outta the house.”

The Morning Star. A slightly weathered pink awning and a varnished oak interior, a couple small tables (occupied), a flurry of activity in front of and behind the counter. A glass display case brimming with cakes and croissants and macarons. Glass vases filled with pink roses whose stems have been neatly trimmed. A pretty girl working behind the counter, tending to customers with an irradiating smile, a tender hand, the blinding glint of a bracelet, a pair of earrings, glowing. 

“What can I get for you this morning?” you asked him, like it was some secret spilling from the torso, a heart lurching from its cage, spread out on the ground. 

Petal-pink flowers painted on your fingernails. The aching attentiveness of your stare. Ekphrastic turns of phrases pasted to the wall behind the counter, in the form of a mural, crowd-sourced poems and letters and works of art. Lived-in, loved. The smell of cherries as you approached.

And then it was Chris, clapping Joel on the shoulder, a jolt of good-natured violence turning to torrent as he said, “The usual for me, honey.”

It's been wrong since that moment. Maybe it's been wrong all along. That doesn't stop him from ending up here. And it doesn't stop you from following. 

On your back, in Joel’s bed, your legs spread wide to accommodate his broad shoulders, welcoming the face-warming intrusion of his mouth between your slick folds. Bold in the way you curl your pretty polished fingers in his greying locks—he’s too old, much too old for you—and receptive in your soft moans and your uttered hexes of yesyesyes. 

Bewitched, he flattens his tongue against your pulsing clit and latches his lips around it, his eyes fixed on the way your head falls back, the length of your throat exposed, the evidence of your beating heart laid bare for him in the tremble of your pulse. 

He sucks on your clit until your legs begin to shake, and it’s the telltale squeeze of your thighs around his shoulders, the way you reflexively kick his back with your heel. But he’s pulling away, crushing his nose in the flesh of your thigh, nipping your soft skin, and the cry that leaves your mouth carves a tremor down his spine. 

Your tight little hole flutters with the need to be filled, to take him inside you, to make him wholly yours, the way he already is, the way you can never know. 

So he slides his tongue over your clit and lathers you in his spit and digs his fingertips into your thighs as if he owns you—because he never can. 

The flickering burn of regret and shame soothes when he's between your thighs, sucking your clit into his mouth and making you come so hard that you weep—leg kicking out, shackled by a firm hand around your ankle, back arching, fingers grasping, flexing, at whatever you can touch. You pour into him, molten gold, recast in his likeness, and he doesn't deserve this but he will take it. 

Instinctively, he pushes deeper, lapping your release from your messy hole, his nose pressed against your oversensitive clit—and he can’t resist, has never been able to, gently coaxing you through it, Poor baby, so goddamn needy for Daddy, sweetheart. Taste so fuckin’ sweet.

You’re whining, finally pushing at his head as the pleasure notches too high, and he presses a soft kiss to your clit before dragging his lips up your belly, between your tits, pulling you upright to sit you in his lap. You grin lazily and drop your forehead against his. 

Fuck, he's so proud. He smooths his hand down the crown of your head and skates his fingers down your sweat-slick spine. 

You tired, baby?

You nod, and he nips at your pouting bottom lip.

Hmm, but you ain't a quitter. You can give me another, can't you? You wanna be good for me. 

He whispers it all against the curve of your throat, into your collarbones, fitting his rough palm against your lower back and pulling your body flush to his. He sweats through all his layers and bleeds his warmth into you, but you don't care, grinding down on his lap, sliding your wet pussy along the hard length in his jeans. 

Your hand is slippery at the back of his neck and your eyes are lidded, sleepy, near-black, as you take what you need because you're a greedy girl when it comes down to it, and he's holding your bloody beating heart in his palms. 

I’ll be so good, Daddy. 

He knows. God, he knows—his lips find your temple, hair matted with sweat, and he can feel your tits pressing up against his chest, the erratic melody your heart sings to him, for him, through him. And he doesn’t deserve this.

Gonna need to take me out, baby girl. Go on, now.

You scramble, reaching between your bodies and unbuttoning his jeans, your hand teasing down the waistband of his boxers. Joel groans when you squeeze him, his teeth catching on your earlobe, nibbling from your jaw to your chin. He watches your manicured hand with its pretty pink polish wrap snugly around the base of his cock—you give him a firm, slow stroke, and he curses at the sight of your oh-so eager gaze.

Shit, baby. You're grinding your hips, smearing your wetness along his length, and he kneads your hip like dough while you grasp his shoulder, your head lolling. He bares his teeth, growling and snapping like a dog at the hot, slick slide of your cunt, his eyes a pendulum between the joining of your bodies and the heavy gaze you give him. That’s it, that’s fuckin’ it, take what you need. 

Your legs are trembling, too weak to hold yourself upright, and he knows, as always, exactly what it is you want. 

You’ve always been spoiled, because he’s let it happen. 

“Just a coffee,” he said, his third consecutive day in the Morning Star. “Please.”

He felt the twist of your lips in his ribcage. “I promise we have more than just coffee.”

“‘s good coffee,” he said. “Why spoil a good thing?”

He liked your pale pink hat and apron and the colour of your nails. He liked the way you feathered your fingertips over the till while you waited patiently for orders, the way you dealt so kindly with indecisiveness, the way your heart-shaped pendant glimmered when the sun dipped low in the western sky. 

He only knows it glows like that because you let him stay one night, long after close, to fix the hinge on the front door.

He’d known the Morning Star for a month. He knew it better than he knew you. 

“You don’t have to do this, Joel.”

An anxious shifting of your weight from one foot to the other, an intermittent four-fingered tap of your nails on the countertop, a soft weariness blurring the edges of your irises, as you tried to tell him you were fine, you could call your dad in the morning, please don’t worry about me.

The gentle in-and-out of your chest as you breathed, the golden near-evening light trickling the sun into the whites of your eyes, where it belonged. When you inhaled, he exhaled, the rhythmic pulse of life dancing between you, twirling carelessly on the edge of something neither of you could explain. 

“I wanna help,” he said. “And you should let me.”

You sighed, little of the charging bull and more of the huffing kitten, and his stomach lurched painfully. He wanted to touch you. He wanted to rest his hand at the crown of your head, soothe the tension in your shoulders with a measured press of his fingertips, unearth the blood-flecked bones that heralded emotions he could not yet name. Later, he would know them intimately; later, he would set his teeth in the white marrow and lick the blood from his chops. 

He wanted to ask all of his questions with his fingers, not his mouth, let you answer them the way you saw fit, giving that silent, haptic space the power it needed to pry open the parts of your life he could only guess at. 

But he did not touch you. 

Then, a time firmly lodged in the hazy somewhere of before-and-after, he could only pretend. And he could fix the door. 

Now, he’s gazing in disbelief at the way your tight little hole wrenches open around the weeping tip of his heavy cock, his sweaty body sliding along yours as you hastily shove the buttons of his flannel out of their slits and shuck off his shirt. Skin-to-skin, he feels your pulse ever stronger, licking and sucking at the juncture of your neck and shoulder. His palm is flat between your shoulder blades as he eases you open, helping you take his big cock. 

Daddy…

I know, baby girl, I know. Just a little more. That’s it—keep holdin’ onto me, baby. 

Petting you like a domesticated cat, fitting his fingers in the grooves between your ribs, feeling his own heartbeat settle into the rhythm of yours. You grasp his shoulder, the nape of his neck, your lips parting against his forehead, pressing feverish kisses to the space where his greying curls stick to his skin. 

You can take me, sweet girl. My baby. So good for me—

—the way you always have been.

“When my mom left, she gave the bakery to me.” Guiding the pink icing onto the small fluffy cakes, you moved seamlessly. Second nature, like laying mortar and brick. Your hands were speckled with flour and frosting. 

The vanilla cupcakes, robed in white paper, were a commission for a young girl’s sixth birthday. “Pink was Sarah’s favourite, too,” he’d said when he walked in that morning—perhaps too needy for a reason to connect. Blindly tossing a fishing line into a murky lake. 

But you still glowed when you had beamed up at him: “And now? She still a pink lover?”

“Haven't asked in a while,” he’d said, “but I’d reckon so.”

“She’s smart.” You had slid the black coffee across the counter and placed a cupcake next to it. Joel frowned. 

“What's this?”

You had lifted your brows, your eyes telegraphing a challenge. He had sunk neck-deep into your emboldened gaze. “This is a cupcake.”

“Smartass,” he’d huffed. “You got a reason for givin’ me a cupcake?”

You’d gently pushed them closer to him and given him that blinding, tempting grin, and how could he ever hope to decline you when you looked at him like that? 

“I value your opinion, Joel,” you’d told him, “and if you don’t eat it, you’ll hurt my feelings.”

He'd taken the cupcake and sunk his teeth into its pillowy flesh right there in front of you. 

“And your dad?” asked Joel, on his knees under the counter, replacing the latch on the display door’s hinge. “He help you out a lot?”

 An intrusive figure, playing unwitting God in the budding flower bed, picking petals before they were dead. He would always inflate the distance between you, assert his right to decide who you wanted, dated, fucked—he would always be Joel’s judge and jury. 

The executioner’s axe he’d take up himself. 

You topped off a row of cupcakes with little candied cherries. “He couldn't afford to quit, so I’m running the place. So much for school.”

Joel didn't like that. He didn’t like the way you let it all slide gently down your spine. There was a quiet defiance in the way you spoke—some simmering anger you buried deep in the earth where the colours weren't bright and your heart wasn't so naked. He could feel its veins as if holding it in his palm, the gentle ba-dum, ba-dum of a vulnerable organ so acquainted with disappointment.

“What do you want to study?” he asked. 

“Don’t know. Never got the chance to think about it.”

Never got the chance to find yourself. To learn. To grow. You had simply stepped into another’s body, a ghost, occupied endlessly with the next task and the next and then one more. You should've been spending your early twenties partying and studying and crying your eyes out over idiot boys who didn’t know how good they had it. You shouldn't have to be here, decorating cupcakes for a six-year-old while some old man fixed yet another broken hinge, latch, bulb. 

“I became a dad pretty young,” said Joel. “Thought I was gonna lose my whole life, all my opportunities, not that I had any.”

He did not deserve the empathetic shimmer in your waterline. “Joel, that's not true—”

“But,” he said with a faint groan as he rose, “I got to make a life of my own, with my kid, and I was happy.”

“You were happy?” you said wearily. “You aren't anymore?”

“I’m…”

He caught your eye and felt the plates far beneath his feet dislodge. Quantum shift. You held his gaze as if you were waiting for some truth to crawl from his sockets—like he was your answer. And Joel did not know what to do with that, but if you would keep looking at him this way, he would tell you any false truths you wanted to hear. 

“I’m lonely,” he said at last. Joel reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. A shiver coursed through your heart which lay in his palm, warm crimson blood trickling down his wrists. “And you shouldn't have to be. You’ve got so much life ahead of you, sweetheart.”

Some glacial melt keeled the weight of your head toward him, and your cheek was resting in the pool of his palm. Joel did not care for the hand of God whose fingers would inevitably squeeze the life from whatever this was. The jigsaw fit of your bodies felt so right in this incomprehensible sliver between before and after.

“You're not old, Joel,” you said softly. 

“Too old for you.”

He didn't know why he said it, but it made you smile. 

“You keep lying to me, Mr. Miller, and I’m not going to trust you anymore.” A wry twist of your lips. “You don’t want that, do you?”

Is this flirting? he thought to himself, so fucking out of practice that the concept felt altogether foreign. But you were giving him that foxlike look and his hand was still cupping your cheek and he could feel the flutter of your pulse, and he didn’t want to stop.

“No, baby. I don’t want that.”

Flesh meets flesh. Your hips drop, and you’re sitting so prettily on his cock, the whole of him buried inside you, stretching your capacities, shifting the dichotomy of right and wrong. He stares up at you—lips parted, eyes lidded, heart beating JoelJoelJoel—and pleasure pinballs down each knob of his spine. He’s locked in the tidal push-and-pull with your body, gravity sucking him into you, or sucking you down onto him. It doesn't matter. 

This is the after, and you're drunkenly nudging his nose with yours, trying to kiss him, and he's taking you. Running with the diamond. Sliding his tongue into your mouth, tasting cherries and frosting and giving you a piece of what he's already taken from you. You're sighing and moaning and greedily opening your mouth into him to swallow down your own taste. 

His hand slides up your spine to the sticky nape of your neck as he presses you to him, joined by every joint, every pound of flesh. 

And when he begins to move, to grind up into you and draw gooey, cloying gasps from your mouth, Joel thinks he briefly sees white. 

Jesus. Been waitin’ so goddamn long for this. You're so fuckin’ soft, baby girl. So fuckin’ beautiful. 

His teeth in your throat, around your earlobe, scraping your jaw, pleasure pinching, recapitulating, recovering only to start again. Your name on his tongue, passing from his mouth to yours, the anchor of your hand around his neck, the other on his shoulder, reciprocal re-stabilising. 

He needs you just as much as you need him, and he shows you in the way he pulls you firmly to him, because he cannot bring himself to whisper it into the barely-there space between your bodies.

“Joel, I’m sorry to call you so early, but I’m out of options, and the party starts in two hours, and my delivery guy flaked, and—”

“Honey, slow down. Lemme wake up, okay? I’m comin’ to you.”

“Oh, God, just forget I said anything. Go back to sleep. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

He still remembers the break in your voice, the fragile warble of your resolve cleaving down the middle. He remembers the sting in his own chest like it was his wound, not yours. He was awake before the sun began to climb.

You had to personally drive the cake you’d made for a ten-year-old’s birthday party all the way across town now that your delivery service had fallen through. You didn’t even have a car; you took the bus everywhere, which Joel had chewed his tongue to pieces over for months. Things could happen in the dark. Public transport was no different. But your own father didn’t seem to take issue with it, so how could Joel?

“Don’t say a word,” he told you when you hopped up into his truck and opened your mouth to apologise. “I don’t mind. You know damn well I don’t mind.”

“You should mind,” you said, instinctively picking a piece of lint from his flannel with that miserable little pout on your face. “All I’ve ever done is ask you for things.”

“And if I like doin’ things for you?”

“Then I’ll put you on my payroll,” you countered.

Joel shook his head fondly. You cleaned when you were anxious; grooming and picking at him like a monkey should not have surprised him. “Well, I got a birthday comin’ up, if you wanna thank me.”

“Yeah?” You bit your lip and some of the heaviness sitting on your shoulders lifted, the promise of getting to repay him for his altruism at last eliciting the smile he wanted. “What would you like?”

You take me so well, baby girl. Goddamn meant for me.  

The hot, wet slide of your cunt up and down the length of his steel-hard cock has him doubling over, mouthing sloppily at your tits, sucking and nibbling on your stiff nipples as you cry and whimper: Oh, Daddy, please… fuck, that feels… I can’t—

He’s blinking hard to squeeze the bleeding edges of fantasy away—because this is real, and he cannot know if he will ever have this again. I know you can. You can take me.

A nod, frantic and sick with desire, slips against his temple. I can take it. Please—let me be your good girl. I’m good, good for you. 

I know you are, baby girl. So good for Daddy. 

“Joel!”

He had never heard his own name infused with such thrill. It settled in the pool of his gut and oozed out past his ribs. 

You beckoned him to the counter and placed a steaming mug between the pair of you. The umber liquid sloshed gently in the cup. “It’s a macchiato. And don’t worry”—you caught him before the gash between his brows could deepen worriedly—“it’s nothing like that sugar heap you'll get at a Starbucks. Two shots of espresso, balanced with the milk foam.”

Joel tried to smile, but he was sure it looked more like a grimace. “Milk… foam.”

“I know you're a coffee purist, Joel, but hear me out.” You scurried to the large black boards on the back wall and flipped one over to reveal the bright white writing—stark, vibrant, a proclamation you should’ve had no business making, not when it was so bold as this. 

NEW, it read in a pretty, looping font. THE MILLER. 

His heart leapt to his throat. And there you were, gesturing to the board with his name—Joel’s name—on it, and he was lifting the confounding liquid to his lips. 

Some of the foam accumulated in his moustache as he tentatively sipped and rolled the flavour over his tongue. It wasn't… bad. Not at all. A little too sweet where he preferred the bitter drag of a dark roast. A few too many frills. But—

“It’s good,” he said. Your answering smile decided it for him. He would never go back to black coffee. 

Fuck, baby, that's it. Keep on ridin’ me just like that. Oh, Jesus—

The slow, rhythmic slap of your thighs against his as you lock your arms around his neck and lift yourself up and down on his dick. Your head lolling around your shoulders, your brows drawn up in the middle. The squelch of your creamy cunt as you take him to the hilt and bring your hips down in measured, grinding motions. 

You’re getting yourself off, too, your clit rubbing against the hairs at the base of his cock, and Joel groans, Fuckin’ hell. Christ, that’s good. That’s it, that’s—

“Think I’m gettin’ fat on all these sweets, baby.”

He’d begun to come into the bakery on Saturday mornings, too, even though he didn’t work. With Sarah no longer in Austin and a dreadfully empty house whose groans and creaks only kept him up all hours, he had little to do but work, maintain the lawns, and, well…

Sat together at the table by the window, you shared a leftover slice of rich cherry pie. The awning outside fluttered gently in the breeze, cutlery and ceramic softly colliding as folks indulged in your treats. You beamed at Joel and reached out to swipe some foamed milk from his moustache. 

“I like you this way,” you said, your thumb coasting along his jawline, your eyes like jewels. The pendant on your throat dipped as you swallowed, settling in the hollow like a perching bird. 

Joel, white-knuckling his fork, felt his cock grow hard in his boxers, a heavy weight against his leg. The rapid shuttering of your eyes left him feeling inexplicably panicked. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep—”

“No,” said Joel, his hand covering your knee beneath the table. You were wearing a little skirt that day. The silky fabric shifted under the coarse texture of the pads of his fingers and he wondered if the softness would be akin to the flesh of your thighs, your belly, your tits (sitting so pretty in that plain T-shirt: pink, of course). “No, you didn’t… You know I…”

And what could he say?

You know I’ve wanted to slip my hand down each one of those pretty skirts you wear since the first day I saw you. You know I take my cock in my hand and jerk off in the shower and I picture your lips around it. You know you’ve fucking infected me. You know I’m poisoned. You know I ain’t good enough. Youknowyouknowyouknow I can never have you.

“Joel, man, I’ve been calling your cell.”

His hand smacked the underside of the table in its hasty retreat as Chris rounded the corner and clapped Joel on the shoulder. “Hey, kiddo. You mind if I have a bite?”

And because you were so goddamn sweet, because you were a smart girl and knew how to play it cool, you gave your father your fork with a big smile and said, “All yours. I should get back. Thanks for the taste test, Joel.”

Chris easily occupied your seat at the table and Joel, adjusting his pants discreetly, was struck by how wrong this had been. To sit with you, sharing a pie, touching, wanting—

He was fucked. And he didn’t care. He only wanted more. 

“Cowboys kick off next Sunday,” said Chris through a mouthful of baked cherries. The warm, cloying scent reminded Joel of your perfume. “You want to come over for dinner? We’ll order takeout, grab some beers.”

Joel swallowed, rubbing his fingers over his mouth. He felt the phantom touch of your thumb lingering just above his Cupid’s bow. “Yeah, man. Be fun.”

Chris grinned over the pie—now his, no lingers yours and Joel’s. “Hope you don’t mind that I invited my kid, too. She needs the break.”

You’re close, baby. Can fuckin’ feel it. Feel you squeezin’ me.

Thighs trembling, muscles gooey, you struggle to lift yourself up, and it's Joel who scoops you up with a hand on your ass and lies you on your back, never once pulling out. He doesn't think he can. How did the first man to discover fire ever snuff it out?

He bends over you and thrusts deep, punching a sob out of your throat. Joel groans, nipping your chin as you toss your head back, his mouth trailing down the hollow of your throat, latching around one of your sore nipples, already abused by his attention. You rake your fingers through his tousled greying locks and lift your legs up around his hips as he fucks you slow, hard, deep enough that your heart begins to bruise. 

Joel hisses when he feels your fingernails scratching down his spine, between his shoulder blades, pulling him close to you. He dulls his pain in your flesh, open-mouthed kisses soothing the biting bruises he's left on your throat. 

Your cunt rhythmically pulses around his cock and Joel grunts, driving deeper, hand fisting your hair, and Daddy, I’m so close—!

Friday night. Joel’s birthday. 

He’d spent it on the job site, laying brick, then at home, cracking open a cold beer and calling Sarah, whose gift hadn't arrived yet. She sang him “Happy Birthday” from her dorm room and Joel smiled. All things considered, it wasn't a shitty day. Just…

Lonely. 

And you—

You were at his door at ten o’clock, shrouded in night in a way he'd never seen you. Not dressed in pink but black: sweatpants and a tight little tank top that made him swallow his tongue. You were holding a goddamn cake. 

You'd had a stressful day. He could tell. Eyes a little sunken, shoulders a little rounded, but you were still smiling, still holding up that cake—chocolate, circled with candied cherries, of course—and singing a weary “Surprise!”

Joel laughed—in shock, maybe—and rubbed his hand over his beard. “Jesus, baby,” he said. “C’mon in; it’s cold out.”

He helped you secure the cake in the refrigerator and offered you dinner: leftover pad thai and a beer. You accepted the former with a grumbling stomach and politely declined the latter. Of course, you were a wine girl. 

“I’m sorry it’s so late,” you told him, sitting across the couch while reruns of Happy Days idly played on the television. “Shit goes down at the Morning Star when you're not there.”

Joel shook his head. “I run a tight ship. You doin’ okay?”

“I’m strung-out, Joel, as ever. But fine.” Your conciliatory smile was so fucking cheeky he had half a mind to put you over his knee. “I hope your birthday wasn't a disappointment.”

“Couldn't have been,” he said. “You brought me a cake.”

You beamed. And the cord wrapped around both of your bodies jerked tighter. Joel was hiding his erection with the takeout container, too humiliated to let you see the hard band of his cock in his jeans. You'd run. You'd think he was a freak, a perv, a sleaze. 

He was all three, of course. Didn't stop him from wanting—

His cock driving deep inside you, achingly slow, back screaming for relief. Daddy, please, I’m… nnngh, please let me come! Daddy, I’ll do anything, please!

Shhh, baby girl. He rises to his haunches and dips his hand between your joined bodies, rubbing your slick little pearl in fast circles. Your eyes roll back and your head collided with the pillow once more. Thaaat’s it, baby. You gonna come for Daddy? Be a good girl for me?

“Joel,” you said softly, your food forgotten on the table, your body inching closer to his, now two feet apart at best. Your eyes buttery in the darkness, lips dewy with some pinkish gloss you always wore, gloss he knew tasted like cherries. He licked his lips. 

His hands flexed. “Yeah.”

“I’ve seen the way you look at me,” you said, bridging the gap, placing your hand on his knee, pink nails and soft skin and vanilla perfume. Joel sets his container aside, swallowing hard. 

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” You were tentative at first, scooting closer, your hand gingerly exploring the length of his strong thigh, against the grain of the denim. 

“Baby,” said Joel, more a long-bated exhale than a word at all. Gritting his teeth, hands at his sides, he watched in disbelief as you explored him, your manicured hand gently palming the hard length in his jeans. The moan he let out surprised himself. 

“Tell me to stop,” you whispered, pulling yourself onto his lap, straddling his hips, your arms winding around his neck, perfumecherrieslipgloss—

“Tell me to stop and I will.”

Joel’s hands, no longer balled into fists, flattened against your arms and travelled their length, exploring your contours, dipping his palms into the curves of your shoulder blades, lodging himself firmly in the after with you. 

You shivered, and he liked it. 

“You need someone to touch you, too, baby girl.”

Not a question. You nodded anyway. 

“Words,” he demanded. 

Your lips parted and suddenly your noses were brushing, the pupils of your heavy eyes expanding, taking all of him in. 

“I need you to touch me, Joel.”

“I know,” he said, one hand smoothing down the crown of your head, the other trailing featherlight up your spine. “I’m gonna kiss you, baby.”

You nodded again, a little feverish, pulling yourself closer to him, your thighs squeezing his. “Please.”

The after began with you, the way it will end with you. And he's kissing you now, too, swallowing the sounds of your orgasm as you hold him so tightly to you there's no escape. Not that he wants to leave. Not that he finally has this. 

He's breathing life into your climax and burning it bright, hot, endless—that’s my good girl, coming so much for me, I know it's a lot, baby girl, just keep holdin’ me, that’s it, sweetheart. 

And he's coming, too, grasping your hips so hard they'll bruise, nipping your earlobe and your jaw and leaving sloppy kisses on your neck, spiralling out of control, squeezed so tight by your hot, wet pussy. He comes with a pinch of pain in his lower back, groaning your name into you, pitching up into a near-whine as you milk him, guide him, coax him. 

Fuck, fuck… goddamn—

Daddy, I need your cum. Please come inside me. 

I will, baby girl, I will… Jesus—

It's so warm and slick where his cock begins to pulse inside you that he couldn't pull out if he wanted to. He empties himself, absolves himself, no longer a sinning man but one cleansed. Your body begs for it, your cunt pulling every drop from him, letting him make a mess of your used hole. Joel grinds absently until it's too much, until he’s sensitive and softening and trying not to collapse on top of you. 

Your lip gloss is smudged. He licks his lips and tastes cherries. 

“You okay, baby?”

You wince as he pulls out of you, globs of cum pooling at your hole and dripping onto the bed sheets. “Mhm.” You pull him closer, asking for a kiss he happily gives you. 

“I feel good. I feel happy.”

He grins into your throat, littering meagre kisses in the junction there. “Did so well for me,” he mumbles.

“Tell me something,” you whisper, combing your fingers through his hair. 

He purrs at the satiating scratch of your nails, his head resting on your chest. “Mmm.”

“Do you really like the Miller Macchiato, or are you just ordering it to make me happy?”

Joel chuckles, playfully taking your nipple between his teeth. “It's grown on me.”

From here, where he can feel the thrum of your settling heart reverberate through his skull, Joel gently tucks the beating organ back between your ribs for safekeeping. Here, in the clear-blue space of after, he doesn't need to hold it to know he's got it. He only needs to lower his ear to your chest and hear it sing his name. 

tagging some friends who showed interest in the wip!!: @casa-boiardi @swiftispunk @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @cool-iguana @morning-star-joy @party-hearses @5oh5 (i love you all 🫶)

[fiery-empath]

So, the above song inspired this little bit with Dave York. It's not finished (or even close to it...yeah sorry...) but it is something that I would like to work on more. This is a Dave York x fem reader WIP that I have titled Fire. Warning...this little tidbit that I am about to submit to the Dave York Pit (under the cut) will most likely leave you breathless and needing more. ;)

They told me to stay away from him. Said getting involved with him was like playing with fire…and I was asking to go up in flames even thinking about it. But the moment Dave York said hello, offered a warm smile as he took my hand in both of his, the match hit the gasoline laden pyre and I was completely consumed. I knew it was wrong. It was everything I had been against. But as he pressed me into the wall of his hotel room, all my morals and thoughts disappeared in the flames and I was too weak to crawl away from the lapping fire. 

“Such a good girl,” he rasped in my ear as his warm tongue licked at the lobe, drawing the fleshy bit into his mouth as he gently nipped it. The warmth of his breath flowing over the shell of my ear drew a low moan from the back of my throat as I clenched my thighs together in a desperate attempt to quell the ache awakened there. I felt him smile against my cheek as his lips traveled the curve of my jaw to my lips, softly pressing his lips against them in a slow burning kiss. His hand smoothed up my side as he cradled the back of my head, holding me in place as his mouth slanted over mine, taking the kiss from gentle to urgent and rough within seconds. I knew I should stop it, push him away, walk out the door, and never look back. But the fiery lust that flowed through my veins as he pulled back from the kiss was addicting and I couldn’t bring myself to end it. 

He pressed his body against mine as he kissed and sucked at the column of my neck, everything lower in me tightening as his hard member rubbed against my thigh. I whimpered, my hips bucking against him for more friction against my clothed, wet core. 

“So eager,” he cooed mockingly, his free hand sliding down my curves and up the skirt of my black dress. His fingers feather light against my satin covered pussy made me shiver, goosebumps erupting all over my body.

“Fuck baby girl. You are soaked,” he husked as he pressed his fingers against my panties. I ground my hips downward, rubbing myself against his fingers. I moaned as he smiled, watching me writhe against him. He pushed his hand under the waistband, his fingertips slipping between my folds and just along the slick entrance to my throbbing heat.

“Dave…fuck…we shouldn’t…” I whined as he teased his fingers in. Quickly he pulled them back, instead slipping them between my opening and the swollen nub straining for attention.

“Shouldn’t we?” he leaned in closer, his breath sweeping over my heated tingly skin.

“You’re married,” I gasped, my body steadily coming apart with his ministrations. The hand cradling my head wrapped around my throat, his fingers biting into tender flesh. I wheezed as he turned my head enough to meet his unamused gaze. A grin then stretched his face, his fingers plunging into my fluttering sheath. My eyes rolled back, a strangled cry sputtered from my lips as I rode his fingers with the surge of electric heat coursing through me. 

“This will be our little secret. Right? You won’t tell a soul because you’re my good girl? Right?” he rasped. I felt the rush between my thighs, spilling out over his fingers and in my panties as he continued pumping them in and out of me.

“Y…yyeess,” I choked.

His fingers scissored in and out of me, his thumb applying the sweetest pressure to the bundle of nerves. The hand on my throat released and I sucked in a breath as deep as I could.

His lips slotted against mine in a sloppy kiss. I sucked in his lower lip as he moaned. The warmth of my impending release radiated throughout my body as my core contracted around his fingers raking against that sweet spot within. I couldn’t stop myself from bucking my hips into his hands as I felt everything tighten within me, the coil taut and ready to snap.

“Fuuuck! Dave!” I keened as the damn burst, releasing me from every tether holding me in place. I felt myself gush all over his hand as brilliant bursts of radiant colors flashed behind my eyelids. His forehead pressed to mine, his breath hot against the skin of my cheeks as he panted, his fingers furiously pumping in and out of me as I rode out my orgasm. I gasped as he slowly withdrew his fingers, wetness seeping down into my now soaked panties. He brought his fingers to my lips, his forehead still against mine as he pressed them against the seam. 

“Suck,” he demanded.

My lips parted as I sucked his fingers in, tasting my tangy essence as I lapped every last bit of it off his skin. He hissed at the pulling sensation from my tongue and mouth, shivering as he tried to steadily draw them out only to have them sucked back in harder. He shuddered and whimpered as he tugged his fingers out of my mouth. His lips sealed over mine hastily, his tongue pushing past my lips to dance across mine for a taste of my release. He moaned into the kiss, his hands cupping my jaw. He pulled away, both of us breathless as he fumbled to grasp the hem of my dress and yank it up over my head.

[dindjarinsotherride]